Transcriber’s note
Variable spelling and hyphenation have been retained. Minor punctuation
inconsistencies have been silently repaired. The corrections made can
be found at the end of the text. Formatting and special characters are
indicated as follows:
_italic_
=blackletter=
THE CHIEF ELIZABETHAN DRAMATISTS
[Illustration: GEORGE CHAPMAN FRANCIS BEAUMONT JOHN FLETCHER BEN
JONSON THOMAS MIDDLETON PHILIP MASSINGER JAMES SHIRLEY]
THE CHIEF
ELIZABETHAN DRAMATISTS
EXCLUDING SHAKESPEARE
Selected Plays
BY
LYLY, PEELE, GREENE, MARLOWE, KYD, CHAPMAN, JONSON
DEKKER, MARSTON, HEYWOOD, BEAUMONT, FLETCHER
WEBSTER, MIDDLETON, MASSINGER, FORD, SHIRLEY
EDITED FROM THE ORIGINAL QUARTOS AND FOLIOS
WITH NOTES, BIOGRAPHIES, AND BIBLIOGRAPHIES
BY
WILLIAM ALLAN NEILSON, PH. D.
PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH, HARVARD UNIVERSITY
[Illustration: The Riverside Press]
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
1911
COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY WILLIAM ALLAN NEILSON
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
PREFACE
THE aim in the selection of the plays in this volume has been twofold:
first, to present typical examples of the work of the most important
of Shakespeare’s contemporaries, so that, read with Shakespeare’s own
writings, they might afford a view of the development of the English
drama through its most brilliant period; secondly, to present, as far
as it was possible in one volume, the most distinguished plays of that
period, regarded merely from the point of view of their intrinsic
value. It is clear that these two purposes could not always be
perfectly combined; but it is hoped that each has been in good measure
achieved without undue sacrifice of the other, and that the interests
of the academic student and the general reader have been fairly
harmonized.
In the treatment of the text, the same principles have been followed
as in the editor’s edition of Shakespeare’s works in the Cambridge
Poets Series. Each play has been printed from the most authentic text
accessible, and emendations have been adopted sparingly. Modern stage
directions, and divisions into scenes and acts which do not appear in
the original editions, have been distinguished by square brackets;
modern notes of place at the beginning of scenes have been relegated
to the footnotes; and indications given by the early copies of the
authors’ intentions with regard to the reading of the metre have been
carefully preserved, especially in the matter of elided vowels. It is
probable that, in the case of most of the present plays, the final
_-ed_ of verbs was intended to be pronounced as a separate syllable
whenever it is spelled in full. The spelling and punctuation have
been modernized throughout, except when the older spelling implied a
different pronunciation.
The footnotes give the most important variant readings, and
explanations of obsolete expressions; and the Additional Notes at the
end of the volume supply information with regard to the circumstances
of publication, date, and sources of each play. In accordance with the
plan of the Chief Poets Series, to which the volume belongs, there have
been added concise biographical sketches and a selected bibliography of
the dramatic work of each author. In view of the full bibliographies
printed recently in Professor Schelling’s _Elizabethan Drama_ and in
_The Cambridge History of English Literature_, vols. v and vi, it has
not seemed advisable to attempt to give exhaustive bibliographies at
the expense of reducing the number of dramas. All collected editions of
the dramatists concerned are, however, mentioned; all separate editions
of the plays here printed; a complete list of each author’s dramas,
with the dates of the original editions; and a selection of the more
important critical and biographical articles and books. Attention may
also be called to the complete index of all the _dramatis personae_ who
have speaking parts, and to the index of songs.
In the selection of the thirty plays to be included I have received
valuable advice from many friends and colleagues on the faculties of
many colleges and universities; so many that a complete acknowledgment
would be impracticable, a partial one invidious. For all such help I am
deeply grateful. I have also received courtesies from the authorities
of the Boston Public Library, the Boston Athenaeum, and the Harvard
College Library, which have enabled me to add to the authority of my
texts by a first-hand collation of a number of the original quartos.
Printing from so great a variety of sources and from so many different
authors, I have found it difficult to preserve perfect uniformity
of treatment, and have doubtless at times failed of accuracy. Any
corrections which may occur to students of the Elizabethan drama who
use the volume will be warmly welcomed.
W. A. N.
CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS, January, 1911.
CONTENTS
ENDYMION, THE MAN IN THE MOON, _by John Lyly_ 1
THE OLD WIVES TALE, _by George Peele_ 24
THE HONOURABLE HISTORY OF FRIAR BACON AND FRIAR BUNGAY,
_by Robert Greene_ 35
TAMBURLAINE, PART I, _by Christopher Marlowe_ 57
THE TRAGICAL HISTORY OF DOCTOR FAUSTUS, _by Christopher Marlowe_ 80
THE JEW OF MALTA, _by Christopher Marlowe_ 96
THE TROUBLESOME REIGN AND LAMENTABLE DEATH OF EDWARD THE SECOND,
_by Christopher Marlowe_ 122
THE SPANISH TRAGEDY; OR, HIERONIMO IS MAD AGAIN, _by Thomas Kyd_ 153
BUSSY D’AMBOIS, _by George Chapman_ 185
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR, _by Ben Jonson_ 214
SEJANUS, HIS FALL, _by Ben Jonson_ 247
VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX, _by Ben Jonson_ 285
THE ALCHEMIST, _by Ben Jonson_ 325
THE SHOEMAKERS’ HOLIDAY, _by Thomas Dekker_ 367
THE HONEST WHORE, PART I, _by Thomas Dekker_ 393
THE HONEST WHORE, PART II, _by Thomas Dekker_ 425
THE MALCONTENT, _by John Marston and John Webster_ 456
A WOMAN KILLED WITH KINDNESS, _by Thomas Heywood_ 485
THE KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE,
_by Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher_ 509
PHILASTER; OR, LOVE LIES A-BLEEDING,
_by Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher_ 539
THE MAID’S TRAGEDY, _by Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher_ 568
THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS, _by John Fletcher_ 598
THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE, _by John Fletcher_ 625
THE DUCHESS OF MALFI, _by John Webster_ 656
A TRICK TO CATCH THE OLD ONE, _by Thomas Middleton_ 690
THE CHANGELING, _by Thomas Middleton and William Rowley_ 715
A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS, _by Philip Massinger_ 741
THE BROKEN HEART, _by John Ford_ 770
THE LADY OF PLEASURE, _by James Shirley_ 800
THE CARDINAL, _by James Shirley_ 830
ADDITIONAL NOTES ON THE PLAYS 855
BIBLIOGRAPHIES 861
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 869
INDEX OF CHARACTERS 875
INDEX OF SONGS 879
INDEX OF AUTHORS 880
INDEX OF PLAYS 880
ENDYMION, THE MAN IN THE MOON
BY JOHN LYLY
[DRAMATIS PERSONAE
ENDYMION, in love with Cynthia.
EUMENIDES, his friend, in love with Semele.
CORSITES, a Captain, in love with Tellus.
PANELION, }
ZONTES, } Lords of Cynthia’s Court.
PYTHAGORAS, the Greek Philosopher.
GYPTES, an Egyptian Soothsayer.
GERON, an old man, husband to Dipsas.
SIR TOPHAS, a Braggart.
DARES, Page to Eumenides.
SAMIAS, Page to Endymion.
EPITON, Page to Sir Tophas.
Master Constable.
First Watchman.
Second Watchman.
CYNTHIA, the Queen.
TELLUS, in love with Endymion.
FLOSCULA, her friend.
SEMELE, loved by Eumenides.
SCINTILLA, }
FAVILLA, } Waiting-maids.
DIPSAS, an old Enchantress.
BAGOA, her servant.
Watchmen; Fairies; Three Ladies and an Old Man in the Dumb Show.]
THE PROLOGUE
Most high and happy Princess, we must tell you a tale of the Man in the
Moon, which, if it seem ridiculous for the method, or superfluous for
the matter, or for the means incredible, for three faults we can make
but one excuse: it is a tale of the Man in the Moon.
It was forbidden in old time to dispute of Chimæra because it was a
fiction: we hope in our times none will apply pastimes,[1] because they
are fancies; for there liveth none under the sun that knows what to
make of the Man in the Moon. We present neither comedy, nor tragedy,
nor story, nor anything but that whosoever heareth may say this: Why,
here is a tale of the Man in the Moon.
ACT I
SCENE I.[2]
[_Enter_] ENDYMION _and_ EUMENIDES.
_Endymion._ I find, Eumenides, in all things both variety to content,
and satiety to glut, saving only in my affections, which are so
staid, and withal so stately, that I can neither satisfy my heart
with love, nor mine eyes with wonder. (5) My thoughts, Eumenides, are
stitched to the stars, which being as high as I can see, thou mayest
imagine how much higher they are than I can reach.
_Eum._ If you be enamoured of anything (10) above the moon, your
thoughts are ridiculous, for that things immortal are not subject
to affections; if allured or enchanted with these transitory things
under the moon, you show yourself senseless to attribute such lofty 15
titles to such [low][3] trifles.
_End._ My love is placed neither under the moon nor above.
_Eum._ I hope you be not sotted[4] upon the Man in the Moon. 20
_End._ No; but settled either to die or possess the moon herself.
_Eum._ Is Endymion mad, or do I mistake? Do you love the moon,
Endymion?
_End._ Eumenides, the moon. 25
_Eum._ There was never any so peevish[5] to imagine the moon either
capable of affection or shape of a mistress; for as impossible it
is to make love fit to her humour, which no man knoweth, as a coat
to her form, which continueth (30) not in one bigness whilst she is
measuring. Cease off, Endymion, to feed so much upon fancies. That
melancholy blood must be purged which draweth you to a dotage no less
miserable than monstrous. 35
_End._ My thoughts have no veins, and yet unless they be let blood, I
shall perish.
_Eum._ But they have vanities, which being reformed, you may be
restored.
_End._ O, fair Cynthia, why do others term (40) thee unconstant whom
I have ever found unmovable? Injurious time, corrupt manners, unkind
men, who, finding a constancy not to be matched in my sweet mistress,
have christened her with the name of wavering, waxing, and 45
waning! Is she inconstant that keepeth a settled course; which, since
her first creation, altereth not one minute in her moving? There is
nothing thought more admirable or commendable in the sea than the
ebbing and flowing; (50) and shall the moon, from whom the sea taketh
this virtue, be accounted fickle for increasing and decreasing?
Flowers in their buds are nothing worth till they be blown, nor are
blossoms accounted till they be ripe fruit; and shall (55) we then
say they be changeable for that they grow from seeds to leaves,
from leaves to buds, from buds to their perfection? Then, why be
not twigs that become trees, children that become men, and mornings
that grow to evenings, (60) termed wavering, for that they continue
not at one stay? Ay, but Cynthia, being in her fulness, decayeth, as
not delighting in her greatest beauty, or withering when she should
be most honoured. When malice cannot object (65) anything, folly
will, making that a vice which is the greatest virtue. What thing
(my mistress excepted), being in the pride of her beauty and latter
minute of her age, that waxeth young again? Tell me, Eumenides, what
is he that (70) having a mistress of ripe years and infinite virtues,
great honours and unspeakable beauty, but would wish that she might
grow tender again, getting youth by years, and never-decaying beauty
by time; whose fair face neither the (75) summer’s blaze can scorch,
nor winter’s blast chap, nor the numbering of years breed altering of
colours? Such is my sweet Cynthia, whom time cannot touch because she
is divine, nor will offend because she is delicate. O Cynthia, 80
if thou shouldst always continue at thy fulness, both gods and men
would conspire to ravish thee. But thou, to abate the pride of our
affections, dost detract from thy perfections, thinking it sufficient
if once in a month (85) we enjoy a glimpse of thy majesty; and then,
to increase our griefs, thou dost decrease thy gleams, coming out
of thy royal robes, wherewith thou dazzlest our eyes, down into thy
swathe clouts,[6] beguiling our eyes; and then— 90
_Eum._ Stay there, Endymion; thou that committest idolatry, wilt
straight blaspheme, if thou be suffered. Sleep would do thee more
good than speech: the moon heareth thee not, or if she do, regardeth
thee not. 95
_End._ Vain Eumenides, whose thoughts never grow higher than the
crown of thy head! Why troublest thou me, having neither head to
conceive the cause of my love or a heart to receive the impressions?
Follow thou thine own fortunes, (100) which creep on the earth, and
suffer me to fly to mine, whose fall, though it be desperate, yet
shall it come by daring. Farewell. [_Exit._]
_Eum._ Without doubt Endymion is bewitched; otherwise in a man of
such rare virtues there (105) could not harbour a mind of such
extreme madness. I will follow him, lest in this fancy of the moon he
deprive himself of the sight of the sun.
_Exit._
SCENE II.[7]
[_Enter_] TELLUS _and_ FLOSCULA.
_Tellus._ Treacherous and most perjured Endymion, is Cynthia the
sweetness of thy life and the bitterness of my death? What revenge
may be devised so full of shame as my thoughts are replenished with
malice? Tell me, Floscula, (5) if falseness in love can possibly be
punished with extremity of hate? As long as sword, fire, or poison
may be hired, no traitor to my love shall live unrevenged. Were
thy oaths without number, thy kisses without measure, thy sighs
(10) without end, forged to deceive a poor credulous virgin, whose
simplicity had been worth thy favour and better fortune? If the gods
sit unequal beholders of injuries, or laughers at lovers’ deceits,
then let mischief be as well forgiven (15) in women as perjury winked
at in men.
_Flosc._ Madam, if you would compare the state of Cynthia with your
own, and the height of Endymion his thoughts with the meanness
of your fortune, you would rather yield than (20) contend, being
between you and her no comparison; and rather wonder than rage at the
greatness of his mind, being affected with a thing more than mortal.
_Tellus._ No comparison, Floscula? And (25) why so? Is not my beauty
divine, whose body is decked with fair flowers, and veins are vines,
yielding sweet liquor to the dullest spirits; whose ears are corn,
to bring strength; and whose hairs are grass, to bring abundance?
(30) Doth not frankincense and myrrh breathe out of my nostrils, and
all the sacrifice of the gods breed in my bowels? Infinite are my
creatures, without which neither thou, nor Endymion, nor any, could
love or live. 35
_Flosc._ But know you not, fair lady, that Cynthia governeth all
things? Your grapes would be but dry husks, your corn but chaff, and
all your virtues vain, were it not Cynthia that preserveth the one
in the bud and nourisheth the (40) other in the blade, and by her
influence both comforteth all things, and by her authority commandeth
all creatures. Suffer, then, Endymion to follow his affections,
though to obtain her be impossible, and let him flatter himself in
his (45) own imaginations, because they are immortal.
_Tellus._ Loath I am, Endymion, thou shouldest die, because I love
thee well; and that thou shouldest live, it grieveth me, because thou
lovest Cynthia too well. In these extremities, (50) what shall I do?
Floscula, no more words; I am resolved. He shall neither live nor die.
_Flosc._ A strange practice,[8] if it be possible.
_Tellus._ Yes, I will entangle him in such a sweet net that he
shall neither find the means (55) to come out, nor desire it. All
allurements of pleasure will I cast before his eyes, insomuch that
he shall slake that love which he now voweth to Cynthia, and burn
in mine, of which he seemeth careless. In this languishing, between
(60) my amorous devices and his own loose desires, there shall
such dissolute thoughts take root in his head, and over his heart
grow so thick a skin, that neither hope of preferment, nor fear
of punishment, nor counsel of the wisest, nor (65) company of the
worthiest, shall alter his humour, nor make him once to think of his
honour.
_Flosc._ A revenge incredible, and, if it may be, unnatural.
_Tellus._ He shall know the malice of a woman (70) to have neither
mean nor end; and of a woman deluded in love to have neither rule
nor reason. I can do it; I must; I will! All his virtues will I
shadow with vices; his person (ah, sweet person!) shall he deck with
such rich (75) robes as he shall forget it is his own person; his
sharp wit (ah, wit too sharp that hath cut off all my joys!) shall
he use in flattering of my face and devising sonnets in my favour.
The prime of his youth and pride of his time shall be spent 80
in melancholy passions, careless behaviour, untamed thoughts, and
unbridled affections.
_Flosc._ When this is done, what then? Shall it continue till his
death, or shall he dote forever in this delight? 85
_Tellus._ Ah, Floscula, thou rendest my heart in sunder in putting me
in remembrance of the end.
_Flosc._ Why, if this be not the end, all the rest is to no end. 90
_Tellus._ Yet suffer me to imitate Juno, who would turn Jupiter’s
lovers to beasts on the earth, though she knew afterwards they should
be stars in heaven.
_Flosc._ Affection that is bred by enchantment (95) is like a flower
that is wrought in silk,—in colour and form most like, but nothing
at all in substance or savour.
_Tellus._ It shall suffice me if the world talk that I am favoured of
Endymion. 100
_Flosc._ Well, use your own will; but you shall find that love gotten
with witchcraft is as unpleasant as fish taken with medicines[9]
unwholesome.
_Tellus._ Floscula, they that be so poor that (105) they have neither
net nor hook will rather poison dough than pine with hunger; and she
that is so oppress’d with love that she is neither able with beauty
nor wit to obtain her friend, will rather use unlawful means than try
intolerable (110) pains. I will do it. _Exit._
_Flosc._ Then about it. Poor Endymion, what traps are laid for thee
because thou honourest one that all the world wondereth at! And what
plots are cast to make thee unfortunate that (115) studiest of all
men to be the faithfulest! _Exit._
SCENE III.[10]
[_Enter_] DARES _and_ SAMIAS.
_Dares._ Now our masters are in love up to the ears, what have we to
do but to be in knavery up to the crowns?
_Samias._ Oh, that we had Sir Tophas, that brave squire, in the midst
of our mirth,—_et_ (5) _ecce autem_, “Will you see the Devil”,—
_Enter_ SIR TOPHAS [_and_ EPITON].
_Top._ Epi!
_Epi._ Here, sir.
_Top._ I brook not this idle humour of love; it tickleth not my
liver, from whence the lovemongers (10) in former ages seemed to
infer they should proceed.
_Epi._ Love, sir, may lie in your lungs,—and I think it doth, and
that is the cause you blow and are so pursy. 15
_Top._ Tush, boy, I think it but some device of the poet to get money.
_Epi._ A poet? What’s that?
_Top._ Dust thou not know what a poet is?
_Epi._ No. 20
_Top._ Why, fool, a poet is as much as one should say—a poet.
[_Noticing_ DARES _and_ SAMIAS.] But soft, yonder be two wrens; shall
I shoot at them?
_Epi._ They are two lads. 25
_Top._ Larks or wrens, I will kill them.
_Epi._ Larks! Are you blind? They are two little boys.
_Top._ Birds or boys, they are both but a pittance for my breakfast;
therefore have at (30) them, for their brains must as it were
embroider my bolts.[11]
_Sam._ Stay your courage, valiant knight, for your wisdom is so weary
that it stayeth itself.
_Dar._ Why, Sir Tophas, have you forgotten (35) your old friends?
_Top._ Friends? _Nego argumentum_.
_Sam._ And why not friends?
_Top._ Because _amicitia_ (as in old annals we find) is _inter
pares_. Now, my pretty companions (40) you shall see how unequal
you be to me; but I will not cut you quite off, you shall be my
half-friends for reaching to my middle; so far as from the ground to
the waist I will be your friend. 45
_Dar._ Learnedly. But what shall become of the rest of your body,
from the waist to the crown?
_Top._ My children, _quod supra vos nihil ad vos_; you must think the
rest immortal, because (50) you cannot reach it.
_Epi._ Nay, I tell ye my master is more than a man.
_Dar._ And thou less than a mouse.
_Top._ But what be you two? 55
_Sam._ I am Samias, page to [Eumenides].
_Dar._ And I Dares, page to [Endymion].
_Top._ Of what occupation are your masters?
_Dar._ Occupation, you clown! Why, they are honourable
and warriors. 60
_Top._ Then are they my prentices.
_Dar._ Thine! And why so?
_Top._ I was the first that ever devised war, and therefore by Mars
himself given me for my arms a whole armory; and thus I go, as you
(65) see, clothed with artillery. It is not silks, milksops, nor
tissues, nor the fine wool of Seres,[12] but iron, steel, swords,
flame, shot, terror, clamour, blood, and ruin, that rocks asleep my
thoughts, which never had any other cradle (70) but cruelty. Let me
see, do you not bleed?
_Dar._ Why so?
_Top._ Commonly my words wound.
_Sam._ What then do your blows?
_Top._ Not only [wound],[13] but also confound. 75
_Sam._ How darest thou come so near thy master, Epi? Sir Tophas,
spare us.
_Top._ You shall live:—you, Samias, because you are little; you,
Dares, because you are no bigger; and both of you, because you are
but (80) two; for commonly I kill by the dozen, and have for every
particular adversary a peculiar weapon.
_Sam._ May we know the use, for our better skill in war?
_Top._ You shall. Here is a bird-bolt for the (85) ugly beast the
blackbird.
_Dar._ A cruel sight.
_Top._ Here is the musket for the untamed or, as the vulgar sort term
it, the wild mallard.[14]
_Sam._ O desperate attempt! 90
_Epi._ Nay, my master will match them.
_Dar._ Ay, if he catch them.
_Top._ Here is a spear and shield, and both necessary, the one to
conquer, the other to subdue or overcome the terrible trout, which
although (95) he be under the water, yet tying a string to the top
of my spear and an engine of iron to the end of my line, I overthrow
him, and then herein I put him.
_Sam._ O wonderful war! [_Aside._] Dares, (100) didst thou ever hear
such a dolt?
_Dar._ [_Aside._] All the better; we shall have good sport hereafter,
if we can get leisure.
_Sam._ [_Aside._] Leisure! I will rather lose my master’s service
than his company! Look (105) how he struts. [_To_ Sir TOPHAS.] But
what is this? Call you it your sword?
_Top._ No, it is my simitar; which I, by construction often studying
to be compendious, call my smiter. 110
_Dar._ What, are you also learned, sir?
_Top._ Learned? I am all Mars and Ars.
_Sam._ Nay, you are all mass and ass.
_Top._ Mock you me? You shall both suffer, yet with such weapons as
you shall make choice (115) of the weapon wherewith you shall perish.
Am I all a mass or lump; is there no proportion in me? Am I all ass;
is there no wit in me? Epi, prepare them to the slaughter.
_Sam._ I pray, sir, hear us speak! We call (120) you mass, which
your learning doth well understand is all man, for _mas_, _maris_ is
a man. Then _as_ (as you know) is a weight, and we for your virtues
account you a weight.
_Top._ The Latin hath saved your lives, the (125) which a world of
silver could not have ransom’d. I understand you, and pardon you.
_Dar._ Well, Sir Tophas, we bid you farewell, and at our next meeting
we will be ready to do you service. 130
_Top._ Samias, I thank you: Dares, I thank you: but especially I
thank you both.
_Sam._ [_Aside._] Wisely. Come, next time we ’ll have some pretty
gentlewomen with us to walk, for without doubt with them he will
(135) be very dainty.
_Dar._ Come, let us see what our masters do; it is high time.
_Exeunt_ [SAMIAS _and_ DARES.]
_Top._ Now will I march into the field, where, if I cannot encounter
with my foul (140) enemies, I will withdraw myself to the river, and
there fortify for fish, for there resteth no minute free from fight.
_Exeunt_ [Sir TOPHAS _and_ EPITON.] 145
SCENE IV.[15]
[_Enter at one side_] FLOSCULA _and_ TELLUS, [_at the other_] DIPSAS.
_Tellus._ Behold, Floscula, we have met with the woman by chance that
we sought for by travel. I will break my mind to her without ceremony
or circumstance, lest we lose that time in advice that should be
spent in (5) execution.
_Flosc._ Use your discretion; I will in this case neither give
counsel nor consent, for there cannot be a thing more monstrous than
to force affection by sorcery, neither do I imagine (10) anything
more impossible.
_Tellus._ Tush, Floscula, in obtaining of love, what impossibilities
will I not try? And for the winning of Endymion, what impieties will
I not practise? Dipsas, whom as many honour for (15) age as wonder at
for cunning, listen in few words to my tale, and answer in one word
to the purpose, for that neither my burning desire can afford long
speech, nor the short time I have to stay many delays. Is it possible
by herbs, (20) stones, spells, incantation, enchantment, exorcisms,
fire, metals, planets, or any practice,[16] to plant affection where
it is not, and to supplant it where it is?
_Dipsas._ Fair lady, you may imagine that (25) these hoary hairs are
not void of experience, nor the great name that goeth of my cunning
to be without cause. I can darken the sun by my skill and remove the
moon out of her course; I can restore youth to the aged and make 30
hills without bottoms; there is nothing that I cannot do but that
only which you would have me do: and therein I differ from the gods,
that I am not able to rule hearts; for were it in my power to place
affection by appointment, I (35) would make such evil appetites, such
inordinate lusts, such corsed desires, as all the world should be
filled both with superstitious heats and extreme love.
_Tellus._ Unhappy Tellus, whose desires are (40) so desperate that
they are neither to be conceived of any creature, nor to be cured by
any art!
_Dipsas._ This I can: breed slackness in love, though never root it
out. What is he whom (45) you love, and what she that he honoureth?
_Tellus._ Endymion, sweet Endymion is he that hath my heart; and
Cynthia, too, too fair Cynthia, the miracle of nature, of time, of
fortune, is the lady that he delights in, and (50) dotes on every
day, and dies for ten thousand times a day.
_Dipsas._ Would you have his love either by absence or sickness
aslaked?[17] Would you that Cynthia should mistrust him, or be
jealous (55) of him without colour?
_Tellus._ It is the only thing I crave, that, seeing my love to
Endymion, unspotted, cannot be accepted, his truth to Cynthia, though
it be unspeakable, may be suspected. 60
_Dipsas._ I will undertake it, and overtake[18] him, that all his
love shall be doubted of, and therefore become desperate: but this
will wear out with time that treadeth all things down but truth. 65
_Tellus._ Let us go.
_Dipsas._ I follow. _Exeunt._
ACT II
SCENE I.[19]
[_Enter_] ENDYMION.
_Endymion._ O fair Cynthia! O unfortunate Endymion! Why was not thy
birth as high as thy thoughts, or her beauty less than heavenly; or
why are not thine honours as rare as her beauty, or thy fortunes as
great as thy deserts? (5) Sweet Cynthia, how wouldst thou be pleased,
how possessed? Will labours, patient of all extremities, obtain thy
love? There is no mountain so steep that I will not climb, no monster
so cruel that I will not tame, no action (10) so desperate that I
will not attempt. Desirest thou the passions of love, the sad and
melancholy moods of perplexed minds, the not-to-be-expressed torments
of racked thoughts? Behold my sad tears, my deep sighs, my hollow
(15) eyes, my broken sleeps, my heavy countenance. Wouldst thou
have me vow’d only to thy beauty and consume every minute of time
in thy service? Remember my solitary life almost these seven years.
Whom have I entertained (20) but mine own thoughts and thy virtues?
What company have I used but contemplation? Whom have I wond’red
at but thee? Nay, whom have I not contemned for thee? Have I not
crept to those on whom I might have trodden, (25) only because thou
didst shine upon them? Have not injuries been sweet to me, if thou
vouchsafest I should bear them? Have I not spent my golden years in
hopes, waxing old with wishing, yet wishing nothing but thy love?
(30) With Tellus, fair Tellus, have I dissembled, using her but as
a cloak for mine affections, that others, seeing my mangled and
disordered mind, might think it were for one that loveth me, not for
Cynthia, whose perfection alloweth (35) no companion nor comparison.
In the midst of these distemp’red thoughts of mine thou art not only
jealous of my truth, but careless, suspicious, and secure; which
strange humour maketh my mind as desperate as thy conceits are 40
doubtful. I am none of those wolves that bark most when thou shinest
brightest, but that fish (thy fish,[20] Cynthia, in the flood Araris)
which at thy waxing is as white as the driven snow, and at thy waning
as black as deepest darkness. (45) I am that Endymion, sweet Cynthia,
that have carried my thoughts in equal balance with my actions, being
always as free from imagining ill as enterprising; that Endymion
whose eyes never esteemed anything fair but thy (50) face, whose
tongue termed nothing rare but thy virtues, and whose heart imagined
nothing miraculous but thy government; yea, that Endymion, who,
divorcing himself from the amiableness of all ladies, the bravery of
all courts, (55) the company of all men, hath chosen in a solitary
cell to live, only by feeding on thy favour, accounting in the
world—but thyself—nothing excellent, nothing immortal: thus mayest
thou see every vein, sinew, muscle, and artery of (60) my love, in
which there is no flattery, nor deceit, error, nor art. But soft,
here cometh Tellus. I must turn my other face to her, like Janus,
lest she be as suspicious as Juno.
_Enter_ TELLUS, [FLOSCULA, _and_ DIPSAS].
_Tellus._ Yonder I espy Endymion. I will (65) seem to suspect
nothing, but soothe him, that seeing I cannot obtain the depth of
his love, I may learn the height of his dissembling. Floscula and
Dipsas, withdraw yourselves out of our sight, yet be within the
hearing of our (70) saluting. [FLOSCULA _and_ DIPSAS _withdraw._] How
now, Endymion, always solitary? No company but your own thoughts, no
friend but melancholy fancies?
_End._ You know, fair Tellus, that the (75) sweet remembrance of your
love is the only companion of my life, and thy presence, my paradise;
so that I am not alone when nobody is with me, and in heaven itself
when thou art with me. 80
_Tellus._ Then you love me, Endymion?
_End._ Or else I live not, Tellus.
_Tellus._ Is it not possible for you, Endymion, to dissemble?
_End._ Not, Tellus, unless I could make me (85) a woman.
_Tellus._ Why, is dissembling joined to their sex inseparable, as
heat to fire, heaviness to earth, moisture to water, thinness to air?
_End._ No, but found in their sex as common (90) as spots upon doves,
moles upon faces, caterpillars upon sweet apples, cobwebs upon fair
windows.
_Tellus._ Do they all dissemble?
_End._ All but one. 95
_Tellus._ Who is that?
_End._ I dare not tell; for if I should say you, then would you
imagine my flattery to be extreme; if another, then would you think
my love to be but indifferent. 100
_Tellus._ You will be sure I shall take no vantage of your words.
But, in sooth, Endymion, without more ceremonies, is it not Cynthia?
_End._ You know, Tellus, that of the gods we are forbidden to
dispute, because their deities (105) come not within the compass of
our reasons; and of Cynthia we are allowed not to talk but to wonder,
because her virtues are not within the reach of our capacities.
_Tellus._ Why, she is but a woman. 110
_End._ No more was Venus.
_Tellus._ She is but a virgin.
_End._ No more was Vesta.
_Tellus._ She shall have an end.
_End._ So shall the world. 115
_Tellus._ Is not her beauty subject to time?
_End._ No more than time is to standing still.
_Tellus._ Wilt thou make her immortal?
_End._ No, but incomparable.
_Tellus._ Take heed, Endymion, lest like (120) the wrestler in
Olympia, that striving to lift an impossible weight catch’d an
incurable strain, thou, by fixing thy thoughts above thy reach, fall
into a disease without all recure. But I see thou art now in love
with Cynthia. 125
_End._ No, Tellus, thou knowest that the stately cedar, whose top
reacheth unto the clouds, never boweth his head to the shrubs that
grow in the valley; nor ivy, that climbeth up by the elm, can ever
get hold of the (130) beams of the sun. Cynthia I honour in all
humility, whom none ought or dare adventure to love, whose affections
are immortal, and virtues infinite. Suffer me, therefore, to gaze on
the moon, at whom, were it not for thyself, I would (135) die with
wondering. _Exeunt._
SCENE II.[21]
[_Enter_] DARES, SAMIAS, SCINTILLA, _and_ FAVILLA.
_Dar._ Come, Samias, didst thou ever hear such a sighing, the one for
Cynthia, the other for Semele, and both for moonshine in the water?
_Sam._ Let them sigh, and let us sing. How (5) say you, gentlewomen,
are not our masters too far in love?
_Scint._ Their tongues, haply, are dipp’d to the root in amorous
words and sweet discourses, but I think their hearts are scarce
tipp’d on (10) the side with constant desires.
_Dar._ How say you, Favilla, is not love a lurcher,[22] that taketh
men’s stomachs away that they cannot eat, their spleen that they
cannot laugh, their hearts that they cannot fight, (15) their eyes
that they cannot sleep, and leaveth nothing but livers to make
nothing but lovers!
_Favil._ Away, peevish boy; a rod were better under thy girdle than
love in thy mouth! It will be a forward cock that croweth in the 20
shell.
_Dar._ Alas, good old gentlewoman, how it becometh you to be grave!
_Scint._ Favilla, though she be but a spark, yet is she fire. 25
_Favil._ And you, Scintilla, be not much more than a spark, though
you would be esteemed a flame.
_Sam._ [_Aside to Dares._] It were good sport to see the fight
between two sparks. 30
_Dar._ [_Aside to Samias._] Let them to it, and we will warm us by
their words.
_Scint._ You are not angry, Favilla?
_Favil._ That is, Scintilla, as you list to take it. 35
_Sam._ That, that!
_Scint._ This it is to be matched with girls, who coming but
yesterday from making of babies,[23] would before to-morrow be
accounted matrons.
_Favil._ I cry your matronship mercy. Because (40) your pantables[24]
be higher with cork, therefore your feet must needs be higher in the
insteps. You will be mine elder because you stand upon a stool and I
on the floor.
_Sam._ Good, good! 45
_Dar._ [_To Samias._] Let them alone, and see with what countenance
they will become friends.
_Scint._ Nay, you think to be the wiser, because you mean to have the
last word. 50
_Sam._ [_To Dares._] Step between them lest they scratch.—In faith,
gentlewomen, seeing we came out to be merry, let not your jarring mar
our jests; be friends. How say you?
_Scint._ I am not angry, but it spited me to (55) see how short she
was.
_Favil._ I meant nothing till she would needs cross me.
_Dar._ Then, so let it rest.
_Scint._ I am agreed. 60
_Favil._ And I. Yet I never took anything so unkindly in my life.
[_Weeps._]
_Scint._ ’Tis I have the cause, that never offered the occasion.
[_Weeps._]
_Dar._ Excellent, and right like a woman. 65
_Sam._ A strange sight to see water come out of fire.
_Dar._ It is their property to carry in their eyes fire and water,
tears and torches, and in their mouths honey and gall. 70
_Enter_ [_at the opposite side_] SIR TOPHAS [_and_ EPITON].
_Scint._ You will be a good one if you live. But what is yonder
formal fellow?
_Dar._ Sir Tophas, Sir Tophas, of whom we told you. If you be good
wenches, make as though you love him, and wonder at him. 75
_Favil._ We will do our parts.
_Dar._ But first let us stand aside, and let him use his garb,[25]
for all consisteth in his gracing.
[_The four retire._]
_Top._ Epi!
_Epi._ At hand, sir. 80
_Top._ How likest thou this martial life, where nothing but blood
besprinkleth our bosoms? Let me see, be our enemies[26] fat?
_Epi._ Passing fat: and I would not change this life to be a lord;
and yourself passeth all (85) comparison, for other captains kill
and beat, and there is nothing you kill, but you also eat.
_Top._ I will draw out their guts out of their bellies, and tear
the flesh with my teeth, so mortal is my hate, and so eager my 90
unstaunched stomach.
_Epi._ [_Aside._] My master thinks himself the valiantest man in the
world if he kill a wren; so warlike a thing he accounteth to take
away life, though it be from a lark. 95
_Top._ Epi, I find my thoughts to swell and my spirit to take wings,
insomuch that I cannot continue within the compass of so slender
combats.
_Favil._ This passeth! } 100
_Scint._ Why, is he not mad? } [_Aside._]
_Sam._ No, but a little vainglorious.}
_Top._ Epi!
_Epi._ Sir.
_Top._ I will encounter that black and cruel (105) enemy that beareth
rough and untewed[27] locks upon his body, whose sire throweth down
the strongest walls, whose legs are as many as both ours, on whose
head are placed most horrible horns by nature as a defence from all
harms. 110
_Epi._ What mean you, master, to be so desperate?
_Top._ Honour inciteth me, and very hunger compelleth me.
_Epi._ What is that monster? 115
_Top._ The monster _Ovis_. I have said,—let thy wits work.
_Epi._ I cannot imagine it. Yet let me see,—a “black enemy” with
“rough locks.” It may be a sheep, and _Ovis_ is a sheep. His sire so
(120) strong: a ram is a sheep’s sire, that being also an engine of
war. Horns he hath, and four legs,—so hath a sheep. Without doubt,
this monster is a black sheep. Is it not a sheep that you mean? 125
_Top._ Thou hast hit it: that monster will I kill and sup with.
_Sam._ [_Aside._] Come let us take him off. [SAMIAS, DARES, FAVILLA,
_and_ SCINTILLA _come forward_.] Sir Tophas, all hail! 130
_Top._ Welcome, children; I seldom cast mine eyes so low as to the
crowns of your heads, and therefore pardon me that I spake not all
this while.
_Dar._ No harm done. Here be fair ladies (135) come to wonder at your
person, your valour, your wit, the report whereof hath made them
careless of their own honours, to glut their eyes and hearts upon
yours.
_Top._ Report cannot but injure me, for that (140) not knowing fully
what I am, I fear she hath been a niggard in her praises.
_Scint._ No, gentle knight, report hath been prodigal, for she hath
left you no equal, nor herself credit, so much hath she told, yet no
(145) more than we now see.
_Dar._ A good wench.
_Favil._ If there remain as much pity toward women as there is in
you courage against your enemies, then shall we be happy, who, 150
hearing of your person, came to see it, and seeing it, are now in
love with it.
_Top._ Love me, ladies? I easily believe it, but my tough heart
receiveth no impression with sweet words. Mars may pierce it, 155
Venus shall not paint on it.
_Favil._ A cruel saying.
_Sam._ [_Aside._] There’s a girl.
_Dar._ Will you cast these ladies away, and all for a little love? Do
but speak kindly. 160
_Top._ There cometh no soft syllable within my lips; custom hath made
my words bloody and my heart barbarous. That pelting[28] word love,
how waterish it is in my mouth; it carrieth no sound. Hate, horror,
death, are (165) speeches that nourish my spirits. I like honey, but
I care not for the bees; I delight in music, but I love not to play
on the bagpipes; I can vouchsafe to hear the voice of women, but to
touch their bodies, I disdain it as a (170) thing childish and fit
for such men as can digest nothing but milk.
_Scint._ A hard heart! Shall we die for your love and find no remedy?
_Top._ I have already taken a surfeit. 175
_Epi._ Good master, pity them.
_Top._ Pity them, Epi? No, I do not think that this breast shall be
pest’red with such a foolish passion. What is that the gentlewoman
carrieth in a chain? 180
_Epi._ Why, it is a squirrel.
_Top._ A squirrel? O gods, what things are made for money!
_Dar._ Is not this gentleman over-wise?
_Favil._ I could stay all day with him, if (185) I feared not to be
shent.[29]
_Scint._ Is it not possible to meet again?
_Dar._ Yes, at any time.
_Favil._ Then let us hasten home.
_Scint._ Sir Tophas, the god of war deal (190) better with you than
you do with the god of love.
_Favil._ Our love we may dissemble, digest we cannot; but I doubt not
but time will hamper you and help us. 195
_Top._ I defy time, who hath no interest in my heart. Come, Epi, let
me to the battle with that hideous beast. Love is pap, and hath no
relish in my taste because it is not terrible.
[_Exeunt_ SIR TOPHAS _and_ EPITON.]
_Dar._ Indeed a black sheep is a perilous (200) beast; but let us in
till another time.
_Favil._ I shall long for that time. _Exeunt._
SCENE III.[30]
[_Enter_] ENDYMION.
_End._ No rest, Endymion! Still uncertain how to settle thy steps by
day or thy thoughts by night! Thy truth is measured by thy fortune,
and thou art judged unfaithful because thou art unhappy. I will
see if I can beguile (5) myself with sleep, and if no slumber will
take hold in my eyes, yet will I embrace the golden thoughts in my
head, and wish to melt by musing; that as ebony, which no fire
can scorch, is yet consumed with sweet savours, so my heart, 10
which cannot be bent by the hardness of fortune, may be bruised by
amorous desires. On yonder bank never grew anything but lunary,[31]
and hereafter I will never have any bed but that bank. O Endymion,
Tellus was fair. But (15) what availeth beauty without wisdom? Nay,
Endymion, she was wise. But what availeth wisdom without honour?
She was honourable, Endymion; belie her not. Ay, but how obscure
is honour without fortune. Was she not fortunate (20) whom so many
followed? Yes, yes, but base is fortune without majesty: thy majesty,
Cynthia, all the world knoweth and wondereth at, but not one in
the world that can imitate it or comprehend it. No more, Endymion.
Sleep (25) or die. Nay, die, for to sleep, it is impossible;—and
yet I know not how it cometh to pass, I feel such a heaviness both
in mine eyes and heart that I am suddenly benumbed, yea, in every
joint. It may be weariness, for when (30) did I rest? It may be
deep melancholy, for when did I not sigh? Cynthia! Ay, so;—I say,
Cynthia! _He falls asleep._
[_Enter_ DIPSAS _and_ BAGOA.]
_Dipsas._ Little dost thou know, Endymion, when thou shalt wake, for
hadst thou placed (35) thy heart as low in love as thy head lieth
now in sleep, thou mightest have commanded Tellus, whom now, instead
of a mistress, thou shalt find a tomb. These eyes must I seal up
by art, not nature, which are to be opened neither by (40) art nor
nature. Thou that layest down with golden locks shalt not awake until
they be turned to silver hairs; and that chin on which scarcely
appeareth soft down shall be filled with bristles as hard as broom.
Thou shalt sleep (45) out thy youth and flowering time, and become
dry hay before thou knewest thyself green grass; and ready by age to
step into the grave when thou wakest, that was youthful in the court
when thou laidest thee down to sleep. (50) The malice of Tellus hath
brought this to pass, which if she could not have intreated of me by
fair means, she would have commanded by menacing, for from her gather
we all our simples to maintain our sorceries. [_To_ BAGOA.] (55) Fan
with this hemlock over his face, and sing the enchantment for sleep,
whilst I go in and finish those ceremonies that are required in our
art. Take heed ye touch not his face, for the fan is so seasoned that
whoso it toucheth with (60) a leaf shall presently die, and over whom
the wind of it breatheth, he shall sleep forever.
_Bagoa._ Let me alone; I will be careful. [_Exit_ DIPSAS.] What hap
hadst thou, Endymion, to come under the hands of Dipsas? O fair
Endymion, (65) how it grieveth me that that fair face must be turned
to a withered skin and taste the pains of death before it feel the
reward of love! I fear Tellus will repent that which the heavens
themselves seemed to rue. But I hear Dipsas (70) coming! I dare not
repine, lest she make me pine, and rock me into such a deep sleep
that I shall not awake to my marriage.
_Re-enter_ DIPSAS.
_Dipsas._ How now, have you finished?
_Bagoa._ Yea. 75
_Dipsas._ Well then, let us in; and see that you do not so much as
whisper that I did this, for if you do, I will turn thy hairs to
adders and all thy teeth in thy head to tongues. Come away, come
away. _Exeunt_ [DIPSAS _and_ BAGOA]. 80
A DUMB SHOW[32] [_representing the dream of Endymion_].
_Music sounds. Three ladies enter: one with a knife and a
looking-glass, who, by the procurement of one of the other two,
offers to stab Endymion as he sleeps; but the third wrings her hands,
lamenteth, offering still to prevent it, but dares (85) not. At last,
the first lady looking in the glass, casts down the knife. Exeunt._
_Enters an ancient man with books with three leaves; offers the same
twice. Endymion refuseth. He rendeth[33] two, and offers the third, 90
where he stands awhile; and then Endymion offers to take it.
Exit [the Old Man]._
ACT III
SCENE I.[34]
[_Enter_] CYNTHIA, TELLUS, [SEMELE, EUMENIDES, CORSITES, PANELION,
_and_ ZONTES.]
_Cynthia._ Is the report true, that Endymion is stricken into such a
dead sleep that nothing can either wake him or move him?
_Eum._ Too true, madam, and as much to be pitied as wondered at. 5
_Tellus._ As good sleep and do no harm as wake and do no good.
_Cynth._ What maketh you, Tellus, to be so short? The time was
Endymion only was.
_Eum._ It is an old saying, madam, that a (10) waking dog doth afar
off bark at a sleeping lion.
_Sem._ It were good, Eumenides, that you took a nap with your friend,
for your speech beginneth to be heavy. (15)
_Eum._ Contrary to your nature, Semele, which hath been always
accounted light.
_Cynth._ What, have we here before my face these unseemly and
malapert overthwarts![35] I will tame your tongues and your thoughts,
(20) and make your speeches answerable to your duties, and your
conceits fit for my dignity, else will I banish you both my person
and the world.
_Eum._ Pardon, I humbly ask; but such is my unspotted faith to
Endymion that whatsoever (25) seemeth a needle to prick his finger
is a dagger to wound my heart.
_Cynth._ If you be so dear to him, how happeneth it you neither go to
see him, nor search for remedy for him? 30
_Eum._ I have seen him to my grief, and sought recure with despair,
for that I cannot imagine who should restore him that is the wonder
to all men. Your Highness, on whose hands the compass of the earth
is at command, though (35) not in possession, may show yourself both
worthy your sex, your nature, and your favour, if you redeem that
honourable Endymion, whose ripe years foretell rare virtues, and
whose unmellowed conceits promise ripe counsel. 40
_Cynth._ I have had trial of Endymion, and conceive greater assurance
of his age than I could hope of his youth.
_Tellus._ But timely, madam, crooks that tree that will be a
cammock,[36] and young it pricks (45) that will be a thorn; and
therefore he that began without care to settle his life, it is a sign
without amendment he will end it.
_Cynth._ Presumptuous girl, I will make thy tongue an example of
unrecoverable displeasure. (50) Corsites, carry her to the castle in
the desert, there to remain and weave.
_Cors._ Shall she work stories or poetries?
_Cynth._ It skilleth[37] not which. Go to, in both; for she shall
find examples infinite in either (55) what punishment long tongues
have. Eumenides, if either the soothsayers in Egypt, or the
enchanters in Thessaly, or the philosophers in Greece, or all the
sages of the world can find remedy, I will procure it; therefore,
dispatch (60) with all speed: you, Eumenides, into Thessaly; you,
Zontes, into Greece, because you are acquainted in Athens; you,
Panelion, to Egypt; saying that Cynthia sendeth, and if you will,
commandeth. (65)
_Eum._ On bowed knee I give thanks, and with wings on my legs, I fly
for remedy.
_Zon._ We are ready at your highness’ command, and hope to return to
your full content.
_Cynth._ It shall never be said that Cynthia, (70) whose mercy and
goodness filleth the heavens with joys and the world with marvels,
will suffer either Endymion or any to perish, if he may be protected.
_Eum._ Your Majesty’s words have been always (75) deeds, and your
deeds virtues. _Exeunt._
SCENE II.[38]
[_Enter_] CORSITES _and_ TELLUS.
_Cors._ Here is the castle, fair Tellus, in which you must weave,
till either time end your days, or Cynthia her displeasure. I am
sorry so fair a face should be subject to so hard a fortune, and that
the flower of beauty, which is honoured (5) in courts, should here
wither in prison.
_Tellus._ Corsites, Cynthia may restrain the liberty of my body, of
my thoughts she cannot; and therefore do I esteem myself most free,
though I am in greatest bondage. 10
_Cors._ Can you then feed on fancy, and subdue the malice of envy by
the sweetness of imagination?
_Tellus._ Corsites, there is no sweeter music to the miserable than
despair; and therefore (15) the more bitterness I feel, the more
sweetness I find; for so vain were liberty, and so unwelcome the
following of higher fortune, that I choose rather to pine in this
castle than to be a prince in any other court. 20
_Cors._ A humour contrary to your years and nothing agreeable to your
sex; the one commonly allured with delights, the other always with
sovereignty.
_Tellus._ I marvel, Corsites, that you being (25) a captain, who
should sound nothing but terror and suck nothing but blood, can find
in your heart to talk such smooth words, for that it agreeth not with
your calling to use words so soft as that of love. 30
_Cors._ Lady, it were unfit of wars to discourse with women, into
whose minds nothing can sink but smoothness; besides, you must not
think that soldiers be so rough-hewn, or of such knotty mettle, that
beauty cannot allure, (35) and you, being beyond perfection, enchant.
_Tellus._ Good Corsites, talk not of love, but let me to my labour.
The little beauty I have shall be bestowed on my loom, which I now
mean to make my lover. 40
_Cors._ Let us in, and what favor Corsites can show, Tellus shall
command.
_Tellus._ The only favour I desire is now and then to walk. _Exeunt._
SCENE III.[39]
[_Enter_] Sir TOPHAS _and_ EPITON.
_Tophas._ Epi!
_Epi._ Here, sir.
_Tophas._ Unrig me. Heigho!
_Epi._ What’s that?
_Tophas._ An interjection, whereof some are (5) of mourning: as _eho,
vah_.[40]
_Epi._ I understand you not.
_Tophas._ Thou seest me.
_Epi._ Ay.
_Tophas._ Thou hearest me. 10
_Epi._ Ay.
_Tophas._ Thou feelest me.
_Epi._ Ay.
_Tophas._ And not understand’st me?
_Epi._ No. 15
_Tophas._ Then am I but three-quarters of a noun substantive. But
alas, Epi, to tell thee the troth. I am a noun adjective.
_Epi._ Why?
_Tophas._ Because I cannot stand without (20) another.
_Epi._ Who is that?
_Tophas._ Dipsas.
_Epi._ Are you in love?
_Tophas._ No; but love hath, as it were, (25) milk’d my thoughts and
drained from my heart the very substance of my accustomed courage;
it worketh in my head like new wine, so as I must hoop my sconce
with iron, lest my head break, and so I bewray[41] my brains. But, I
(30) pray thee, first discover me in all parts, that I may be like a
lover, and then will I sigh and die. Take my gun and give me a gown:
_Cedant arma togæ_.[42]
_Epi._ Here. 35
_Tophas._ Take my sword and shield and give me beard-brush and
scissors: _Bella gerant alii, tu Pari semper ama._[43]
_Epi._ Will you be trimm’d, sir?
_Tophas._ Not yet; for I feel a contention (40) within me whether I
shall frame the bodkin beard or the bush. But take my pike and give
me pen: _Dicere quæ puduit, scribere jussit amor_.[44]
_Epi._ I will furnish you, sir.
_Tophas._ Now, for my bow and bolts give (45) me ink and paper, for
my smiter a pen-knife; for
_Scalpellum, calami, atramentum, charta, libelli,
Sint semper studiis arma parata meis._[45]
_Epi._ Sir, will you give over wars and play (50) with that bauble
called love?
_Tophas._ Give over wars? No, Epi, _Militat omnis amans, et habet sua
castra Cupido_.[46]
_Epi._ Love hate made you very eloquent, but your face is nothing
fair. 55
_Tophas. Non formosus erat, sed erat facundus Ulysses._[47]
_Epi._ Nay, I must seek a new master if you can speak nothing but
verses.
_Tophas. Quicquid conabar dicere, versus (60) erat._[48] Epi, I feel
all Ovid _De Arte Amandi_ lie as heavy at my heart as a load of logs.
Oh, what a fine, thin hair hath Dipsas! What a pretty low forehead!
What a tall and stately nose! What little hollow eyes! What great 65
and goodly lips! How harmless she is, being toothless,—her
fingers fat and short, adorned with long nails like a bittern! In how
sweet a proportion her cheeks hang down to her breasts like dugs and
her paps to her waist like bags! (70) What a low stature she is, and
yet what a great foot she carrieth! How thrifty must she be in whom
there is no waist! How virtuous is she like to be, over whom no man
can be jealous!
_Epi._ Stay, master, you forget yourself. 75
_Tophas._ O Epi, even as a dish melteth by the fire, so doth my wit
increase by love.
_Epi._ Pithily, and to the purpose! But what, begin you to nod?
_Tophas._ Good Epi, let me take a nap; for (80) as some man may
better steal a horse than another look over the hedge, so divers
shall be sleepy when they would fainest take rest. _He sleeps._
_Epi._ Who ever saw such a woodcock![49] Love Dipsas! Without doubt
all the world will (85) account him valiant, that ventureth on her
whom none durst undertake. But here cometh two wags.
_Enter_ DARES _and_ SAMIAS.
_Sam._ Thy master hath slept his share.
_Dar._ I think he doth it because he would (90) not pay me my
board-wages.
_Sam._ It is a thing most strange: and I think mine will never
return, so that we must both seek new masters, for we shall never
live by our manners. 95
_Epi._ If you want masters, join with me and serve Sir Tophas; who
must needs keep more men, because he is toward marriage.
_Sam._ What, Epi, where’s thy master?
_Epi._ Yonder, sleeping in love. 100
_Dar._ Is it possible?
_Epi._ He hath taken his thoughts a hole lower, and saith, seeing it
is the fashion of the world, he will vail[50] bonnet to beauty.
_Sam._ How is he attired? 105
_Epi._ Lovely.
_Dar._ Whom loveth this amorous knight?
_Epi._ Dipsas.
_Sam._ That ugly creature? Why, she is a fool, a scold, fat, without
fashion, and quite (110) without favour.
_Epi._ Tush, you be simple; my master hath a good marriage.
_Dar._ Good! As how?
_Epi._ Why, in marrying Dipsas he shall (115) have every day twelve
dishes of meat to his dinner, though there be none but Dipsas with
him: four of flesh, four of fish, four of fruit.
_Sam._ As how, Epi?
_Epi._ For flesh these: woodcock, goose, (120) bittern, and rail.
_Dar._ Indeed, he shall not miss, if Dipsas be there.
_Epi._ For fish these: crab, carp, lump, and pouting. 125
_Sam._ Excellent, for of my word she is both crabbish, lumpish, and
carping.
_Epi._ For fruit these: fritters, medlars, hartichokes, and
lady-longings. Thus you see he shall fare like a king, though he be
but a (130) beggar.
_Dar._ Well, Epi, dine thou with him, for I had rather fast than see
her face. But see, thy master is asleep; let us have a song to wake
this amorous knight. 135
_Epi._ Agreed.
_Sam._ Content.
THE FIRST SONG.[51]
_Epi._ Here snores Tophas,
That amorous ass,
Who loves Dipsas, 140
With face so sweet,
Nose and chin meet.
_All three._ { At sight of her each Fury skips
{ And flings into her lap their whips.
_Dar._ Holla, holla in his ear. 145
_Sam._ The witch, sure, thrust her fingers there.
_Epi._ Cramp him, or wring the fool by th’ nose;
_Dar._ Or clap some burning flax to his toes.
_Sam._ What music’s best to wake him?
_Epi._ Bow-wow, let bandogs shake him! 150
_Dar._ Let adders hiss in ’s ear;
_Sam._ Else earwigs wriggle there.
_Epi._ No, let him batten[52]; when his tongue
Once goes, a cat is not worse strung.
_All three._ { But if he ope nor mouth nor eyes, 155
{ He may in time sleep himself wise.
_Top._ Sleep is a binding of the senses, love a loosing.
_Epi._ [_Aside._] Let us hear him awhile.
_Top._ There appeared in my sleep a goodly (160) owl, who, sitting
upon my shoulder, cried “Twit, twit”; and before mine eyes presented
herself the express image of Dipsas. I marvelled what the owl said,
till at the last I perceived “Twit, twit,” “To it, to it,” only 165
by contraction admonished by this vision to make account of my sweet
Venus.
_Sam._ Sir Tophas, you have overslept yourself.
_Top._ No, youth, I have but slept over (170) my love.
_Dar._ Love? Why, it is impossible that into so noble and unconquered
a courage love should creep, having first a head as hard to pierce as
steel, then to pass to a heart (175) arm’d with a shirt of mail.
_Epi._ Ay, but my master yawning one day in the sun, Love crept into
his mouth before he could close it, and there kept such a tumbling
in his body that he was glad to untruss[53] (180) the points of his
heart and entertain Love as a stranger.
_Top._ If there remain any pity in you, plead for me to Dipsas.
_Dar._ Plead! Nay, we will press her to it. (185) [_Aside to_
SAMIAS.] Let us go with him to Dipsas, and there shall we have good
sport.—But, Sir Tophas, when shall we go? For I find my tongue
voluble, and my heart venturous, and all myself like myself. 190
_Sam._ [_Aside to_ DARES.] Come, Dares, let us not lose him until we
find our masters, for as long as he liveth, we shall lack neither
mirth nor meat.
_Epi._ We will traverse.[54] Will you go, sir? 195
_Top. I præ, sequar._[55] _Exeunt._
SCENE IV.[56]
[_Enter_] EUMENIDES _and_ GERON.
_Eum._ Father, your sad music being tuned on the same key that my
hard fortune is, hath so melted my mind that I wish to hang at your
mouth’s end till my life end.
_Ger._ These tunes, gentleman, have I been (5) accustomed with these
fifty winters, having no other house to shroud myself but the broad
heavens; and so familiar with me hath use made misery that I esteem
sorrow my chiefest solace, and welcomest is that guest to me (10)
that can rehearse the saddest tale or the bloodiest tragedy.
_Eum._ A strange humour. Might I inquire the cause?
_Ger._ You must pardon me if I deny to tell (15) it, for knowing that
the revealing of griefs is, as it were, a renewing of sorrow, I have
vowed therefore to conceal them, that I might not only feel the depth
of everlasting discontentment, but despair of remedy. But whence are
you? (20) What fortune hath thrust you to this distress?
_Eum._ I am going to Thessaly, to seek remedy for Endymion, my
dearest friend, who hath been cast into a dead sleep almost these
twenty years, waxing old and ready for the grave, (25) being almost
but newly come forth of the cradle.
_Ger._ You need not for recure travel far, for whoso can clearly see
the bottom of this fountain shall have remedy for anything.
_Eum._ That methinketh is impossible. Why, (30) what virtue can there
be in water?
_Ger._ Yes, whosoever can shed the tears of a faithful lover shall
obtain anything he would. Read these words engraven about the brim.
_Eum._ Have you known this by experience, (35) or is it placed here
of purpose to delude men?
_Ger._ I only would have experience of it, and then should there be
an end of my misery; and then would I tell the strangest discourse
that ever yet was heard. (40)
_Eum._ Ah, Eumenides!
_Ger._ What lack you, gentleman; are you not well?
_Eum._ Yes, father, but a qualm that often cometh over my heart doth
now take hold of (45) me. But did never any lovers come hither?
_Ger._ Lusters, but not lovers; for often have I seen them weep, but
never could I hear they saw the bottom.
_Eum._ Came there women also? 50
_Ger._ Some.
_Eum._ What did they see?
_Ger._ They all wept, that the fountain overflowed with tears, but
so thick became the water with their tears that I could scarce 55
discern the brim, much less behold the bottom.
_Eum._ Be faithful lovers so scant?
_Ger._ It seemeth so, for yet heard I never of any.
_Eum._ Ah, Eumenides, how art thou perplexed! (60) Call to mind
the beauty of thy sweet mistress and the depth of thy never-dying
affections. How oft hast thou honoured her, not only without spot,
but suspicion of falsehood! And how hardly hath she rewarded thee
without (65) cause or colour of despite. How secret hast thou been
these seven years, that hast not, nor once darest not to name her,
for discontenting her. How faithful, that hast offered to die for
her, to please her! Unhappy Eumenides! 70
_Ger._ Why, gentleman, did you once love?
_Eum._ Once? Ay, father, and ever shall.
_Ger._ Was she unkind and you faithful?
_Eum._ She of all women the most froward, and I of all creatures the
most fond. 75
_Ger._ You doted then, not loved, for affection is grounded on
virtue, and virtue is never peevish; or on beauty, and beauty loveth
to be praised.
_Eum._ Ay, but if all virtuous ladies should (80) yield to all
that be loving, or all amiable gentlewomen entertain all that be
amorous, their virtues would be accounted vices, and their beauties
deformities; for that love can be but between two, and that not
proceeding of him (85) that is most faithful but most fortunate.
_Ger._ I would you were so faithful that your tears might make you
fortunate.
_Eum._ Yea, father, if that my tears clear not this fountain, then
may you swear it is but a (90) mere mockery.
_Ger._ So saith every one yet that wept.
_Eum._ Ah, I faint, I die! Ah, sweet Semele, let me alone, and
dissolve, by weeping, into water. [_He gazes into the fountain._] 95
_Ger._ This affection seemeth strange: if he see nothing, without
doubt this dissembling passeth, for nothing shall draw me from the
belief.
_Eum._ Father, I plainly see the bottom, (100) and there in white
marble engraven these words: _Ask one for all, and but one thing at
all_.
_Ger._ O fortunate Eumenides, (for so have I heard thee call
thyself,) let me see. I cannot discern any such thing. I think thou
dreamest. (105)
_Eum._ Ah, father, thou art not a faithful lover, and therefore canst
not behold it.
_Ger._ Then ask, that I may be satisfied by the event, and thyself
blessed.
_Eum._ Ask? So I will. And what shall I (110) do but ask, and whom
should I ask but Semele, the possessing of whose person is a pleasure
that cannot come within the compass of comparison; whose golden locks
seem most curious when they seem most careless; whose sweet looks 115
seem most alluring when they are most chaste; and whose words
the more virtuous they are, the more amorous they be accounted? I
pray thee. Fortune, when I shall first meet with fair Semele, dash
my delight with some light disgrace, (120) lest embracing sweetness
beyond measure, I take a surfeit without recure. Let her practise her
accustomed coyness that I may diet myself upon my desires; otherwise
the fulness of my joys will diminish the sweetness, and (125) I shall
perish by them before I possess them.
Why do I trifle the time in words? The least minute being spent in
the getting of Semele is more worth than the whole world; therefore
let me ask. What now, Eumenides! Whither (130) art thou drawn? Hast
thou forgotten both friendship and duty, care of Endymion, and the
commandment of Cynthia? Shall he die in a leaden sleep because thou
sleepest in a golden dream? Ay, let him sleep ever, so I slumber
(135) but one minute with Semele. Love knoweth neither friendship nor
kindred. Shall I not hazard the loss of a friend for the obtaining of
her for whom I would often lose myself? Fond[57] Eumenides, shall the
enticing beauty of a (140) most disdainful lady be of more force than
the rare fidelity of a tried friend? The love of men to women is a
thing common and of course; the friendship of man to man infinite and
immortal. Tush! Semele doth possess my love. Ay, (145) but Endymion
hath deserved it. I will help Endymion. I found Endymion unspotted in
his truth. Ay, but I shall find Semele constant in her love. I will
have Semele. What shall I do? Father, thy gray hairs are embassadors
of (150) experience. Which shall I ask?
_Ger._ Eumenides, release Endymion, for all things, friendship
excepted, are subject to fortune: love is but an eye-worm, which only
tickleth the head with hopes and wishes; (155) friendship the image
of eternity, in which there is nothing movable, nothing mischievous.
As much difference as there is between beauty and virtue, bodies and
shadows, colours and life, so great odds is there between love and 160
friendship.
Love is a chameleon, which draweth nothing into the mouth but air,
and nourisheth nothing in the body but lungs. Believe me, Eumenides,
desire dies in the same moment that beauty (165) sickens, and beauty
fadeth in the same instant that it flourisheth. When adversities
flow, then love ebbs; but friendship standeth stiffly in storms. Time
draweth wrinkles in a fair face, but addeth fresh colours to a fast
friend, (170) which neither heat, nor cold, nor misery, nor place,
nor destiny, can alter or diminish. O friendship, of all things the
most rare, and therefore most rare because most excellent, whose
comforts in misery is always sweet, (175) and whose counsels in
prosperity are ever fortunate! Vain love, that, only coming near to
friendship in name, would seem to be the same or better in nature!
_Eum._ Father, I allow your reasons, and (180) will therefore conquer
mine own. Virtue shall subdue affections, wisdom lust, friendship
beauty. Mistresses are in every place, and as common as hares on
Athos, bees in Hybla, fowls in the air; but friends to be found 185
are like the phœnix in Arabia, but one; or the philadelphi in Arays,
never above two. I will have Endymion. Sacred fountain, in whose
bowels are hidden divine secrets, I have increased your waters with
the tears of unspotted (190) thoughts, and therefore let me receive
the reward you promise. Endymion, the truest friend to me, and
faithfulest lover to Cynthia, is in such a dead sleep that nothing
can wake or move him. 195
_Ger._ Dost thou see anything?
_Eum._ I see in the same pillar these words: _When she whose figure
of all is the perfectest, and never to be measured; always one, yet
never the same; still inconstant, yet never wavering; (200) shall
come and kiss Endymion in his sleep, he shall then rise, else never._
This is strange.
_Ger._ What see you else?
_Eum._ There cometh over mine eyes either a dark mist, or upon the
fountain a deep (205) thickness, for I can perceive nothing. But how
am I deluded, or what difficult, nay impossible thing is this?
_Ger._ Methinketh it easy.
_Eum._ Good father, and how? 210
_Ger._ Is not a circle of all figures the perfectest?
_Eum._ Yes.
_Ger._ And is not Cynthia of all circles the most absolute? 215
_Eum._ Yes.
_Ger._ Is it not impossible to measure her, who still worketh by her
influence, never standing at one stay?
_Eum._ Yes. 220
_Ger._ Is she not always Cynthia, yet seldom in the same bigness;
always wavering in her waxing or waning, that our bodies might the
better be governed, our seasons the dailier give their increase; yet
never to be removed from her (225) course, as long as the heavens
continue theirs?
_Eum._ Yes.
_Ger._ Then who can it be but Cynthia, whose virtues being all divine
must needs bring things to pass that be miraculous? Go, humble
thyself (230) to Cynthia; tell her the success, of which myself shall
be a witness. And this assure thyself, that she that sent to find
means for his safety will now work her cunning.
_Eum._ How fortunate am I, if Cynthia be (235) she that may do it!
_Ger._ How fond[58] art thou, if thou do not believe it!
_Eum._ I will hasten thither that I may entreat on my knees for
succour, and embrace in (240) mine arms my friend.
_Ger._ I will go with thee, for unto Cynthia must I discover all my
sorrows, who also must work in me a contentment.
_Eum._ May I now know the cause? 245
_Ger._ That shall be as we walk, and I doubt not but the strangeness
of my tale will take away the tediousness of our journey.
_Eum._ Let us go.
_Ger._ I follow. _Exeunt._ 250
ACT IV
SCENE I.[59]
[_Enter_] TELLUS.
_Tellus._ I marvel Corsites giveth me so much liberty,—all the
world knowing his charge to be so high and his nature to be most
strange,—who hath so ill entreated ladies of great honour that he
hath not suffered them to look out (5) of windows, much less to walk
abroad. It may be he is in love with me, for (Endymion, hard-hearted
Endymion, excepted) what is he that is not enamour’d of my beauty?
But what respectest thou the love of all the world? Endymion 10
hates thee. Alas, poor Endymion, my malice hath excepded my love,
and thy faith to Cynthia quenched my affections. Quenched, Tellus?
Nay, kindled them afresh; insomuch that I find scorching flames for
dead embers, (15) and cruel encounters of war in my thoughts instead
of sweet parleys. Ah, that I might once again see Endymion! Accursed
girl, what hope hast thou to see Endymion, on whose head already
are grown gray hairs, and whose life (20) must yield to nature,
before Cynthia end her displeasure. Wicked Dipsas, and most devilish
Tellus, the one for cunning too exquisite, the other for hate too
intolerable! Thou wast commanded to weave the stories and poetries
(25) wherein were showed both examples and punishments of tattling
tongues, and thou hast only embroidered the sweet face of Endymion,
devices of love, melancholy imaginations, and what not, out of thy
work, that thou shouldst (30) study to pick out of thy mind. But here
cometh Corsites. I must seem yielding and stout; full of mildness,
yet tempered with a majesty: for if I be too flexible, I shall give
him more hope than I mean; if too froward, enjoy less liberty 35
than I would. Love him I cannot, and therefore will practise that
which is most contrary[60] to our sex, to dissemble.
_Enter_ CORSITES.
_Cor._ Fair Tellus, I perceive you rise with the lark, and to
yourself sing with the (40) nightingale.
_Tellus._ My lord, I have no playfellow but fancy; being barred of
all company, I must question with myself, and make my thoughts my
friends. 45
_Cor._ I would you would account my thoughts also your friends, for
they be such as are only busied in wondering at your beauty and
wisdom; and some such as have esteemed your fortune too hard; and
divers of that kind (50) that offer to set you free, if you will set
them free.
_Tellus._ There are no colours so contrary as white and black, nor
elements so disagreeing as fire and water, nor anything so opposite
as (55) men’s thoughts and their words.
_Cor._ He that gave Cassandra the gift of prophesying, with the curse
that, spake she never so true, she should never be believed, hath I
think poisoned the fortune of men, (60) that uttering the extremities
of their inward passions are always suspected of outward perjuries.
_Tellus._ Well, Corsites, I will flatter myself and believe you. What
would you do to enjoy (65) my love?
_Cor._ Set all the ladies of the castle free, and make you the
pleasure of my life: more I cannot do, less I will not.
_Tellus._ These be great words, and fit your (70) calling; for
captains must promise things impossible. But will you do one thing
for all?
_Cor._ Anything, sweet Tellus, that am ready for all.
_Tellus._ You know that on the lunary bank (75) sleepeth Endymion.
_Cor._ I know it.
_Tellus._ If you will remove him from that place by force, and convey
him into some obscure cave by policy, I give you here the (80) faith
of an unspotted virgin that you only shall possess me as a lover, and
in spite of malice have me for a wife.
_Cor._ Remove him, Tellus! Yes, Tellus, he shall be removed, and that
so soon as[61] thou (85) shalt as much commend my diligence as my
force. I go.
_Tellus._ Stay, will yourself attempt it?
_Cor._ Ay, Tellus; as I would have none partaker of my sweet love, so
shall none be (90) partners of my labors. But I pray thee go at your
best leisure, for Cynthia beginneth to rise, and if she discover our
love, we both perish, for nothing pleaseth her but the fairness of
virginity. All things must be not only without (95) lust but without
suspicion of lightness.
_Tellus._ I will depart, and go you to Endymion.
_Cor._ I fly, Tellus, being of all men the most fortunate. _Exit._ 100
_Tellus._ Simple Corsites, I have set thee about a task, being but
a man, that the gods themselves cannot perform, for little dost
thou know how heavy his head lies, how hard his fortune; but such
shifts must women have to deceive (105) men, and under colour of
things easy, entreat that which is impossible; otherwise we should
be cumb’red with importunities, oaths, sighs, letters, and all
implements of love, which to one resolved to the contrary are most
loathsome. (110) I will in, and laugh with the other ladies at
Corsites’ sweating. _Exit._
SCENE II.[62]
[_Enter_] SAMIAS _and_ DARES.
_Sam._ Will thy master never awake?
_Dar._ No; I think he sleeps for a wager. But how shall we spend the
time? Sir Tophas is so far in love that he pineth in his bed and
cometh not abroad. 5
_Sam._ But here cometh Epi in a pelting chafe.[63]
[_Enter_ EPITON.]
_Epi._ A pox of all false proverbs, and were a proverb a page, I
would have him by the ears!
_Sam._ Why art thou angry?
_Epi._ Why? You know it is said, “The (10) tide tarrieth no man.”
_Sam._ True.
_Epi._ A monstrous lie; for I was tied two hours, and tarried for one
to unloose me.
_Dar._ Alas, poor Epi! 15
_Epi._ Poor! No, no, you base-conceited slaves, I am a most complete
gentleman, although I be in disgrace with Sir Tophas.
_Dar._ Art thou out with him?
_Epi._ Ay, because I cannot get him a lodging (20) with Endymion. He
would fain take a nap for forty or fifty years.
_Dar._ A short sleep, considering our long life.
_Sam._ Is he still in love?
_Epi._ In love? Why he doth nothing but (25) make sonnets.
_Sam._ Canst thou remember any one of his poems?
_Epi._ Ay, this is one:—
The beggar, Love, that knows not where to lodge, 30
At last within my heart, when I slept,
He crept,
I wak’d, and so my fancies began to fodge.[64]
_Sam._ That’s a very long verse.
_Epi._ Why, the other was short. The first (35) is called from the
thumb to the little finger; the second from the little finger to the
elbow; and some he hath made to reach to the crown of his head, and
down again to the sole of his foot. It is set to the tune of the
black (40) Saunce[65]; _ratio est_, because Dipsas is a black saint.
_Dar._ Very wisely. But pray thee, Epi, how art thou complete; and
being from thy master, what occupation wilt thou take? 45
_Epi._ Know,[66] my hearts. I am an absolute _Microcosmus_, a petty
world of myself: my library is my head, for I have no other books but
my brains; my wardrobe on my back, for I have no more apparel than is
on my body; (50) my armory at my fingers’ ends, for I use no other
artillery than my nails; my treasure in my purse. _Sic omnia mea
mecum porto._[67]
_Dar._ Good!
_Epi._ Know,[68] sirs, my palace is pav’d with (55) grass, and tiled
with stars, for _Cœlo tegitur qui non habet urnam_,[69]—he that hath
no house must lie in the yard.
_Sam._ A brave resolution! But how wilt thou spend thy time? 60
_Epi._ Not in any melancholy sort; for mine exercise I will walk
horses.
_Dar._ Too bad!
_Epi._ Why, is it not said, “It is good walking when one hath his
horse in his hand”? 65
_Sam._ Worse and worse! But how wilt thou live?
_Epi._ By angling. Oh, ’tis a stately occupation to stand four hours
in a cold morning, and to have his nose bitten with frost before his
(70) bait be mumbled with a fish.
_Dar._ A rare attempt! But wilt thou never travel?
_Epi._ Yes, in a western barge, when with a good wind and lusty
pugs,[70] one may go ten (75) miles in two days.
_Sam._ Thou art excellent at thy choice. But what pastime wilt thou
use? None?
_Epi._ Yes, the quickest of all.
_Sam._ What, dice? 80
_Epi._ No, when I am in haste, one-and-twenty games at chess, to pass
a few minutes.
_Dar._ A life for a little lord, and full of quickness.
_Epi._ Tush, let me alone! But I must (85) needs see if I can
find where Endymion lieth, and then go to a certain fountain hard
by, where they say faithful lovers shall have all things they will
ask. If I can find out any of these, _Ego et magister meus erimus
in tuto_, I (90) and my master shall be friends. He is resolved to
weep some three or four pailfuls to avoid the rheum of love that
wambleth[71] in his stomach.
_Enter_ [Master Constable _and_ Two] Watch[men].
_Sam._ Shall we never see thy master, Dares?
_Dar._ Yes; let us go now, for to-morrow (95) Cynthia will be there.
_Epi._ I will go with you;—but how shall we see for the Watch?
_Sam._ Tush, let me alone! I’ll begin to them. Masters, God speed
you. 100
_1 Watch._ Sir boy, we are all sped already.
_Epi._ [_Aside._] So methinks, for they smell all of drink, like a
beggar’s beard.
_Dar._ But I pray, sirs, may we see Endymion? 105
_2 Watch._ No, we are commanded in Cynthia’s name, that no man shall
see him.
_Sam._ No man! Why, we are but boys.
_1 Watch._ Mass, neighbours, he says true, for if I swear I will
never drink my liquor by (110) the quart, and yet call for two pints,
I think with a safe conscience I may carouse both.
_Dar._ Pithily, and to the purpose.
_2 Watch._ Tush, tush, neighbours, take me with you.[72] 115
_Sam._ [_Aside._] This will grow hot.
_Dar._ [_Aside._] Let them alone.
_2 Watch._ If I say to my wife, “Wife, I will have no raisins in
my pudding,” she puts in currants; small raisins are raisins, and
boys (120) are men: even as my wife should have put no raisins in my
pudding, so shall there no boys see Endymion.
_Dar._ Learnedly.
_Epi._ Let Master Constable speak; I think (125) he is the wisest
among you.
_Master Constable._ You know, neighbours, ’tis an old said saw,
“Children and fools speak true.”
_All._ True. 130
_Mast. Const._ Well, there you see the men be the fools, because it
is provided from the children.
_Dar._ Good.
_Mast. Const._ Then, say I, neighbours, that (135) children must not
see Endymion, because children and fools speak true.
_Epi._ O wicked application!
_Sam._ Scurvily brought about!
_1 Watch._ Nay, he says true, and therefore (140) till Cynthia have
been here, he shall not be uncovered. Therefore, away!
_Dar._ [_Aside to Sam. and Epi._] A watch, quoth you! A man may watch
seven years for a wise word, and yet go without it. Their wits 145
are all as rusty as their bills.—But come on, Master Constable,
shall we have a song before we go?
_Mast. Const._ With all my heart.
THE SECOND SONG[73]
_Watch._ Stand! Who goes there? 150
We charge you appear
’Fore our constable here,
In the name of the Man in the Moon.
To us billmen relate
Why you stagger so late, 155
And how you come drunk so soon.
_Pages._ What are ye, scabs?
_Watch._ The Watch;
This the Constable.
_Pages._ A patch.[74]
_Const._ Knock ’em down unless they all stand
If any run away, 160
’Tis the old watchman’s play.
To reach him a bill of his hand.
_Pages._ O gentlemen, hold.
Your gowns freeze with cold,
And your rotten teeth dance in your head; 165
_Epi._ Wine, nothing shall cost ye;
_Sam._ Nor huge fires to roast ye.
_Dares._ Then soberly let us be led.
_Const._ Come, my brown bills, we’ll roar,[75]
Bounce loud at tavern door. 170
_Omnes._ And i’ th’ morning steal all to bed.
_Exeunt._
SCENE III.[76]
CORSITES _solus_. [ENDYMION _lies asleep on the lunary bank_.]
_Corsites._ I am come in sight of the lunary bank. Without doubt
Tellus doteth upon me, and cunningly, that I might not perceive her
love, she hath set me to a task that is done before it is begun.
Endymion, you must change (5) your pillow, and if you be not weary
of sleep, I will carry you where at ease you shall sleep your fill.
It were good that without more ceremonies I took him, lest being
espied, I be entrapt, and so incur the displeasure of Cynthia, who
(10) commonly setteth watch that Endymion have no wrong. [_He tries
to lift Endymion._] What now, is your mastership so heavy, or are
you nail’d to the ground? Not stir one whit! Then use all thy force,
though he feel it and wake. (15) What, stone-still? Turn’d, I think,
to earth with lying so long on the earth. Didst not thou, Corsites,
before Cynthia, pull up a tree that forty years was fast’ned with
roots and wreathed in knots to the ground? Didst not (20) thou, with
main force, pull open the iron gates which no ram or engine could
move? Have my weak thoughts made brawn-fallen my strong arms, or is
it the nature of love, or the quintessence of the mind, to breed
numbness or (25) litherness,[77] or I know not what languishing in
my joints and sinews, being but the base strings of my body? Or doth
the remembrance of Tellus so refine my spirits into a matter so
subtle and divine that the other fleshy parts (30) cannot work whilst
they muse? Rest thyself, rest thyself; nay, rend thyself in pieces,
Corsites, and strive, in spite of love, fortune, and nature, to
lift up this dulled body, heavier than dead and more senseless than
death. 35
_Enter_ Fairies.
But what are these so fair fiends that cause my hairs to stand
upright and spirits to fall down? Hags,—out alas, nymphs, I crave
pardon. Ay me, out! what do I hear!
[_The Fairies dance, and with a song pinch him, and he falleth asleep.
They kiss Endymion and depart._
THE THIRD SONG[78] BY FAIRIES
_Omnes._ Pinch him, pinch him, black and blue, 40
Saucy mortals must not view
What the Queen of Stars is doing,
Nor pry into our fairy wooing.
_1 Fairy._ Pinch him blue,
_2 Fairy._ And pinch him black; 45
_3 Fairy._ Let him not lack
Sharp nails to pinch him blue and red,
Till sleep has rock’d his addle head.
_4 Fairy._ For the trespass he hath done,
Spots o’er all his flesh shall run. 50
Kiss Endymion, kiss his eyes,
Then to our midnight heidegyes.[79] _Exeunt_ [Fairies].
[_Enter, at the side of the stage[80] opposite_ CORSITES,] CYNTHIA,
FLOSCULA, SEMELE, PANELION, ZONTES, PYTHAGORAS, _and_ GYPTES. [CORSITES
_sleeps still._]
_Cynth._ You see, Pythagoras, what ridiculous opinions you hold, and
I doubt not but you are now of another mind. 55
_Pythag._ Madam, I plainly perceive that the perfection of your
brightness hath pierced through the thickness that covered my mind;
insomuch that I am no less glad to be reformed than ashamed to
remember my (60) grossness.
_Gyptes._ They are thrice fortunate that live in your palace where
truth is not in colours but life, virtues not in imagination but
execution.
_Cynth._ I have always studied to have rather (65) living virtues
than painted gods, the body of truth than the tomb. But let us walk
to Endymion; it may be it lieth in your arts to deliver him; as for
Eumenides, I fear he is dead. 70
_Pythag._ I have alleged all the natural reasons I can for such a
long sleep.
_Gyptes._ I can do nothing till I see him.
_Cynth._ Come, Floscula; I am sure you are glad that you shall behold
Endymion. 75
_Flosc._ I were blessed, if I might have him recovered.
_Cynth._ Are you in love with his person?
_Flosc._ No, but with his virtue.
_Cynth._ What say you, Semele? 80
_Sem._ Madam, I dare say nothing for fear I offend.
_Cynth._ Belike you cannot speak except you be spiteful; but as good
be silent as saucy. Panelion, what punishment were fit for 85
Semele, in whose speech and thoughts is only contempt and sourness?
_Panel._ I love not, madam, to give any judgment; yet, sith Your
Highness commandeth, I think to commit her tongue close prisoner 90
to her mouth.
_Cynth._ Agreed. Semele, if thou speak this twelvemonth, thou shalt
forfeit thy tongue. Behold Endymion![81] Alas, poor gentleman,
hast thou spent thy youth in sleep, that once (95) vowed all to
my service! Hollow eyes, gray hairs, wrinkled cheeks, and decayed
limbs! Is it destiny or deceit that hath brought this to pass? If the
first, who could prevent thy wretched stars? If the latter, I would I
(100) might know thy cruel enemy. I favoured thee, Endymion, for thy
honour, thy virtues, thy affections; but to bring thy thoughts within
the compass of thy fortunes, I have seemed strange, that I might have
thee staid; and (105) now are thy days ended before my favour begin.
But whom have we here? Is it not Corsites?
_Zon._ It is, but more like a leopard than a man.
_Cynth._ Awake him. [_Zontes wakens Corsites._] How now, Corsites,
what make you here? (110) How came you deformed? Look on thy hands,
and then thou seest the picture of thy face.
_Cors._ Miserable wretch, and accursed! How am I deluded! Madam, I
ask pardon for my offence, and you see my fortune deserveth pity. 115
_Cynth._ Speak on; thy offence cannot deserve greater punishment:
but see thou rehearse the truth, else shalt thou not find me as thou
wishest me.
_Cors._ Madam, as it is no offence to be in (120) love, being a man
mortal, so I hope can it be no shame to tell with whom, my lady being
heavenly. Your Majesty committed to my charge fair Tellus, whose
beauty in the same moment took my heart captive that I undertook
to carry (125) her body prisoner. Since that time have I found
such combats in my thoughts between love and duty, reverence and
affection, that I could neither endure the conflict, nor hope for the
conquest. 130
_Cynth._ In love? A thing far unfitting the name of a captain, and
(as I thought) the tough and unsmoothed nature of Corsites. But forth!
_Cors._ Feeling this continual war, I thought (135) rather by parley
to yield than by certain danger to perish. I unfolded to Tellus the
depth of my affections, and framed my tongue to utter a sweet tale
of love, that was wont to sound nothing but threats of war. She, too
fair to be (140) true and too false for one so fair, after a nice
denial, practised a notable deceit, commanding me to remove Endymion
from this cabin, and carry him to some dark cave; which I, seeking to
accomplish, found impossible; and so by (145) fairies or fiends have
been thus handled.
_Cynth._ How say you, my lords, is not Tellus always practising of
some deceits? In sooth, Corsites, thy face is now too foul for a
lover, and thine heart too fond for a soldier. You (150) see when
warriors become wantons how their manners alter with their faces. Is
it not a shame, Corsites, that having lived so long in Mars his camp,
thou shouldst now be rocked in Venus’s cradle? Dost thou wear Cupid’s
(155) quiver at thy girdle and make lances of looks? Well, Corsites,
rouse thyself and be as thou hast been; and let Tellus, who is made
all of love, melt herself in her own looseness.
_Cors._ Madam, I doubt not but to recover (160) my former state, for
Tellus’s beauty never wrought such love in my mind as now her deceit
hath despite; and yet to be revenged of a woman were a thing than
love itself more womanish.
_Gyptes._ These spots, gentleman, are to be (165) worn out, if you
rub them over with this lunary; so that in place where you received
this maim you shall find a medicine.
_Cors._ I thank you for that. The gods bless me from love and these
pretty ladies that (170) haunt this green.
_Flosc._ Corsites, I would Tellus saw your amiable face. [SEMELE
_laughs._]
_Zont._ How spitefully Semele laugheth, that dare not speak. 175
_Cynth._ Could you not stir Endymion with that doubled strength of
yours?
_Cors._ Not so much as his finger with all my force.
_Cynth._ Pythagoras and Gyptes, what (180) think you of Endymion?
What reason is to be given, what remedy?
_Pyth._ Madam, it is impossible to yield reason for things that
happen not in compass of nature. It is most certain that some strange
enchantment (185) hath bound all his senses.
_Cynth._ What say you, Gyptes?
_Gyptes._ With Pythagoras, that it is enchantment, and that so
strange that no art can undo it, for that heaviness argueth a malice
unremovable (190) in the enchantress, and that no power can end it,
till she die that did it, or the heavens show some means more than
miraculous.
_Flosc._ O Endymion, could spite itself devise a mischief so
monstrous as to make thee dead (195) with life, and living, being
altogether dead? Where others number their years, their hours, their
minutes, and step to age by stairs, thou only hast thy years and
times in a cluster, being old before thou rememb’rest thou wast
young. 200
_Cynth._ No more, Floscula; pity doth him no good: I would anything
else might; and I vow by the unspotted honour of a lady he should not
miss it. But is this all, Gyptes, that is to be done? 205
_Gyptes._ All as yet. It may be that either the enchantress shall die
or else be discovered; if either happen, I will then practise the
utmost of my art. In the mean season, about this grove would I have a
watch, and the first living (210) thing that toucheth Endymion to be
taken.
_Cynth._ Corsites, what say you, will you undertake this?
_Cors._ Good madam, pardon me! I was overtaken[82] too late. I should
rather break into (215) the midst of a main battle than again fall
into the hands of those fair babies.
_Cynth._ Well, I will provide others. Pythagoras and Gyptes, you
shall yet remain in my court, till I hear what may be done in this
(220) matter.
_Pyth._ We attend.
_Cynth._ Let us go in. _Exeunt._
ACT V
SCENE I.[83]
[_Enter_] SAMIAS _and_ DARES.
_Samias._ Eumenides hath told such strange tales as I may well wonder
at them, but never believe them.
_Dar._ The other old man, what a sad speech used he, that caused us
almost all to weep. (5) Cynthia is so desirous to know the experiment
of her own virtue, and so willing to ease Endymion’s hard fortune,
that she no sooner heard the discourse but she made herself in a
readiness to try the event. 10
_Sam._ We will also see the event. But whist! here cometh Cynthia
with all her train. Let us sneak in amongst them.
_Enter_ CYNTHIA, FLOSCULA, SEMELE, [EUMENIDES,] PANELION, _etc._
_Cynth._ Eumenides, it cannot sink into my head that I should be
signified by that sacred (15) fountain, for many things are there in
the world to which those words may be applied.
_Eum._ Good madam, vouchsafe but to try; else shall I think myself
most unhappy that I asked not my sweet mistress. 20
_Cynth._ Will you not yet tell me her name?
_Eum._ Pardon me, good madam, for if Endymion awake, he shall; myself
have sworn never to reveal it.
_Cynth._ Well, let us to Endymion. I will (25) not be so stately,
good Endymion, not to stoop to do thee good; and if thy liberty
consist in a kiss from me, thou shalt have it; and although my mouth
hath been heretofore as untouched as my thoughts, yet now to recover
thy life, (30) though to restore thy youth it be impossible, I
will do that to Endymion which yet never mortal man could boast of
heretofore, nor shall ever hope for hereafter. _She kisseth him._
_Eum._ Madam, he beginneth to stir. 35
_Cynth._ Soft, Eumenides; stand still.
_Eum._ Ah, I see his eyes almost open.
_Cynth._ I command thee once again, stir not. I will stand behind him.
_Pan._ What do I see? Endymion almost (40) awake?
_Eum._ Endymion, Endymion, art thou deaf or dumb, or hath this long
sleep taken away thy memory? Ah, my sweet Endymion, seest thou not
Eumenides, thy faithful friend, thy faithful (45) Eumenides, who for
thy safety hath been careless of his own content? Speak, Endymion!
Endymion! Endymion!
_End._ Endymion? I call to mind such a name. 50
_Eum._ Hast thou forgotten thyself, Endymion? Then do I not marvel
thou rememb’rest not thy friend. I tell thee thou art Endymion, and I
Eumenides. Behold also Cynthia, by whose favour thou art awaked, and
by whose (55) virtue thou shalt continue thy natural course.
_Cynth._ Endymion, speak, sweet Endymion! Knowest thou not Cynthia?
_End._ O heavens, whom do I behold? Fair Cynthia, divine Cynthia? 60
_Cynth._ I am Cynthia, and thou Endymion.
_End._ “Endymion”! What do I hear[84]? What, a gray beard, hollow
eyes, withered body, decayed limbs,—and all in one night?
_Eum._ One night! Thou hast here slept (65) forty years,—by what
enchantress as yet it is not known,—and behold, the twig to which
thou laid’st thy head is now become a tree. Callest thou not
Eumenides to remembrance?
_End._ Thy name I do remember by the (70) sound, but thy favour[85] I
do not yet call to mind; only divine Cynthia, to whom time, fortune,
destiny, and death are subject, I see and remember, and in all
humility I regard and reverence. 75
_Cynth._ You have good cause to remember Eumenides, who hath for thy
safety forsaken his own solace.
_End._ Am I that Endymion who was wont in court to lead my life, and
in justs, tourneys, (80) and arms, to exercise my youth? Am I that
Endymion?
_Eum._ Thou art that Endymion, and I Eumenides: wilt thou not yet
call me to remembrance? 85
_End._ Ah, sweet Eumenides, I now perceive thou art he, and that
myself have the name of Endymion; but that this should be my body
I doubt, for how could my curled locks be turned to gray hairs and
my strong body to a dying (90) weakness, having waxed old, and not
knowing it.
_Cynth._ Well, Endymion, arise. [_Endymion, trying to rise, sinks
back._] A while sit down, for that thy limbs are stiff and not able
to stay (95) thee, and tell what hast thou seen in thy sleep all
this while,—what dreams, visions, thoughts, and fortunes; for it is
impossible but in so long time thou shouldst see things strange.
_End._ Fair Cynthia, I will rehearse what (100) I have seen, humbly
desiring that when I exceed in length, you give me warning, that
I may end; for to utter all I have to speak would be troublesome,
although haply the strangeness may somewhat abate the tediousness. 105
_Cynth._ Well, Endymion, begin.
_End._ Methought I saw a lady passing fair, but very mischievous,
who in the one hand carried a knife with which she offered to cut
my throat, and in the other a looking-glass, (110) wherein seeing
how ill anger became ladies, she refrained from intended violence.
She was accompanied with other damsels, one of which, with a stern
countenance, and as it were with a settled malice engraven in her
eyes, (115) provoked her to execute mischief; another, with visage
sad, and constant only in sorrow, with her arms crossed, and watery
eyes, seemed to lament my fortune, but durst not offer to prevent the
force. I started in my sleep, (120) feeling my very veins to swell
and my sinews to stretch with fear, and such a cold sweat bedewed all
my body that death itself could not be so terrible as the vision.
_Cynth._ A strange sight! Gyptes, at our (125) better leisure, shall
expound it.
_End._ After long debating with herself, mercy overcame anger, and
there appeared in her heavenly face such a divine majesty mingled
with a sweet mildness that I was ravished (130) with the sight above
measure, and wished that I might have enjoyed the sight without end:
and so she departed with the other ladies, of which the one retained
still an unmovable cruelty, the other a constant pity. 135
_Cynth._ Poor Endymion, how wast thou affrighted! What else?
_End._ After her, immediately appeared an aged man with a beard as
white as snow, carrying in his hand a book with three leaves, 140
and speaking, as I remember, these words: “Endymion, receive this
book with three leaves, in which are contained counsels, policies,
and pictures,” and with that he offered me the book, which I
rejected; wherewith, (145) moved with a disdainful pity, he rent the
first leaf in a thousand shivers. The second time he offered it,
which I refused also; at which, bending his brows, and pitching his
eyes fast to the ground, as though they were fixed (150) to the earth
and not again to be removed, then suddenly casting them up to the
heavens, he tore in a rage the second leaf, and offered the book only
with one leaf. I know not whether fear to offend or desire to know
some (155) strange thing moved me: I took the book, and so the old
man vanished.
_Cynth._ What didst thou imagine was in the last leaf?
_End._ There portray’d to life, with a cold (160) quaking in every
joint, I beheld many wolves barking at thee, Cynthia, who having
ground their teeth to bite, did with striving bleed themselves to
death. There might I see Ingratitude with an hundred eyes gazing
for benefits, (165) and with a thousand teeth gnawing on the bowels
wherein she was bred; Treachery stood all clothed in white, with a
smiling countenance, but both her hands bathed in blood; Envy with
a pale and meagre face (whose body (170) was so lean that one might
tell all her bones, and whose garment was so tatter’d that it was
easy to number every thread) stood shooting at stars, whose darts
fell down again on her own face. There might I behold drones or 175
beetles—I know not how to term them—creeping under the wings of a
princely eagle, who, being carried into her nest, sought there to
suck that vein that would have killed the eagle. I mused that things
so base should (180) attempt a fact so barbarous, or durst imagine a
thing so bloody. And many other things, madam, the repetition whereof
may at your better leisure seem more pleasing, for bees surfeit
sometimes with honey, and the gods are (185) glutted with harmony,
and your highness may be dulled with delight.
_Cynth._ I am content to be dieted; therefore, let us in. Eumenides,
see that Endymion be well tended, lest either eating immoderately or
(190) sleeping again too long, he fall into a deadly surfeit or into
his former sleep. See this also be proclaimed: that whosoever will
discover this practice shall have of Cynthia infinite thanks and no
small rewards. 195
_Exeunt_ [_all except_ ENDYMION, EUMENIDES, FLOSCULA _and_ SEMELE.]
_Flosc._ Ah, Endymion, none so joyful as Floscula of thy restoring.
_Eum._ Yes, Floscula, let Eumenides be somewhat gladder, and do not
that wrong to the settled friendship of a man as to compare it (200)
with the light affection of a woman. Ah, my dear friend Endymion,
suffer me to die with gazing at thee.
_End._ Eumenides, thy friendship is immortal and not to be conceived;
and thy good (205) will, Floscula, better than I have deserved; but
let us all wait on Cynthia. I marvel Semele speaketh not a word.
_Eum._ Because if she do, she loseth her tongue. 210
_End._ But how prospereth your love?
_Eum._ I never yet spake word since your sleep.
_End._ I doubt not but your affection is old and your appetite
cold. 215
_Eum._ No, Endymion, thine hath made it stronger, and now are my
sparks grown to flames and my fancies almost to frenzies: but let us
follow, and within we will debate all this matter at large.
_Exeunt._ 220
SCENE II.[86]
[_Enter_] Sir TOPHAS _and_ EPITON.
_Top._ Epi, Love hath justled my liberty from the wall, and taken the
upper hand of my reason.
_Epi._ Let me then trip up the heels of your affection and thrust
your good will into the (5) gutter.
_Top._ No, Epi, Love is a lord of misrule and keepeth Christmas in my
corps.
_Epi._ No doubt there is good cheer: what dishes of delight doth his
lordship feast you (10) withal?
_Top._ First, with a great platter of plum porridge of pleasure,
wherein is stewed the mutton of distrust.
_Epi._ Excellent love-pap.[87] 15
_Top._ Then cometh a pie of patience, a hen of honey, a goose of
gall, a capon of care, and many other viands, some sweet and some
sour, which proveth love to be, as it was said of in old years,
_Dulce venenum_. 20
_Epi._ A brave banquet!
_Top._ But, Epi, I pray thee feel on my chin; something pricketh me.
What dost thou feel or see?
_Epi._ There are three or four little hairs. 25
_Top._ I pray thee call it my beard. How shall I be troubled when
this young spring[88] shall grow to a great wood!
_Epi._ Oh, sir, your chin is but a quiller[89] yet; you will be most
majestical when it is full-fledged. (30) But I marvel that you love
Dipsas, that old crone.
_Top. Agnosco veteris vestigia flammæ_[90]; I love the smoke of an
old fire.
_Epi._ Why she is so cold that no fire can (35) thaw her thoughts.
_Top._ It is an old goose, Epi, that will eat no oats; old kine will
kick, old rats gnaw cheese, and old sacks will have much patching. I
prefer an old coney before a rabbit-sucker,[91] (40) and an ancient
hen before a young chicken-peeper.
_Epi._ [_Aside._] _Argumentum ab antiquitate_; my master loveth
antique work.
_Top._ Give me a pippin that is withered (45) like an old wife!
_Epi._ Good, sir.
_Top._ Then,—_a contrario sequitur argumentum_,—give me a wife that
looks like an old pippin. 50
_Epi._ [_Aside._] Nothing hath made my master a fool but flat
scholarship.
_Top._ Knowest thou not that old wine is best?
_Epi._ Yes.
_Top._ And thou knowest that like will to[92] (55) like?
_Epi._ Ay.
_Top._ And thou knowest that Venus loved the best wine?
_Epi._ So. 60
_Top._ Then I conclude that Venus was an old woman in an old cup of
wine, for _est Venus in vinis, ignis in igne fuit_.[93]
_Epi. O lepidum caput._[94] O madcap master! You were worthy to win
Dipsas, were she as (65) old again, for in your love you have worn
the nap of your wit quite off and made it threadbare. But soft, who
comes here?
[_Enter_ SAMIAS _and_ DARES.]
_Top._ My solicitors.
_Sam._ All hail, Sir Tophas; how feel you (70) yourself?
_Top._ Stately in every joint, which the common people term
stiffness. Doth Dipsas stoop? Will she yield? Will she bend?
_Dar._ Oh, sir, as much as you would wish, (75) for her chin almost
toucheth her knees.
_Epi._ Master, she is bent, I warrant you.
_Top._ What conditions doth she ask?
_Sam._ She hath vowed she will never love any that hath not a tooth
in his head less than (80) she.
_Top._ How many hath she?
_Dar._ One.
_Epi._ That goeth hard, master, for then you must have none. 85
_Top._ A small request, and agreeable to the gravity of her years.
What should a wise man do with his mouth full of bones like a
charnel-house? The turtle true hath ne’er a tooth.
_Sam._ [_Aside._] Thy master is in a notable (90) vein, that will
lose his teeth to be like a turtle.
_Epi._ [_Aside._] Let him lose his tongue, too; I care not.
_Dar._ Nay, you must also have no nails, for she long since hath cast
hers. 95
_Top._ That I yield to. What a quiet life shall Dipsas and I lead
when we can neither bite nor scratch! You may see, youths, how age
provides for peace.
_Sam._ [_Aside._] How shall we do to make (100) him leave his love,
for we never spake to her?
_Dar._ [_Aside._] Let me alone. [_To_ Sir TOPHAS.] She is a notable
witch, and hath turned her maid Bagoa to an aspen tree, for bewraying
her secrets. 105
_Top._ I honour her for her cunning, for now when I am weary of
walking on two legs, what a pleasure may she do me to turn me to some
goodly ass, and help me to four.
_Dar._ Nay, then I must tell you the (110) truth. Her husband, Geron,
is come home, who this fifty years hath had her to wife.
_Top._ What do I hear? Hath she an husband? Go to the sexton and tell
him Desire is dead, and will him to dig his grave. O (115) heavens,
an husband! What death is agreeable to my fortune?
_Sam._ Be not desperate, and we will help you to find a young lady.
_Top._ I love no grissels[95]; they are so brittle (120) they will
crack like glass, or so dainty that if they be touched they are
straight of the fashion of wax; _animus majoribus instat_.[96] I
desire old matrons. What a sight would it be to embrace one whose
hair were as orient as (125) the pearl, whose teeth shall be so pure
a watchet[97] that they shall stain the truest turquoise, whose nose
shall throw more beams from it than the fiery carbuncle, whose eyes
shall be environ’d about with redness exceeding (130) the deepest
coral, and whose lips might compare with silver for the paleness!
Such a one if you can help me to, I will by piecemeal curtail my
affections towards Dipsas, and walk my swelling thoughts till they be
cold. 135
_Epi._ Wisely provided. How say you, my friends, will you angle for
my master’s cause?
_Sam._ Most willingly.
_Dar._ If we speed him not shortly, I will burn my cap. We will serve
him of the spades, (140) and dig an old wife out of the grave that
shall be answerable to his gravity.
_Top._ Youths, adieu; he that bringeth me first news, shall possess
mine inheritance. [_Exit_ Sir TOPHAS.]
_Dar._ What, is thy master landed? 145
_Epi._ Know you not that my master is _liber tenens_?
_Sam._ What ’s that?
_Epi._ A freeholder. But I will after him.
_Sam._ And we to hear what news of Endymion (150) for the conclusion.
_Exeunt._
SCENE III.[98]
[_Enter_] PANELION _and_ ZONTES.
_Pan._ Who would have thought that Tellus, being so fair by nature,
so honourable by birth, so wise by education, would have entered into
a mischief to the gods so odious, to men so detestable, and to her
friend so malicious. 5
_Zon._ If Bagoa had not bewrayed it, how then should it have come to
light? But we see that gold and fair words are of force to corrupt
the strongest men, and therefore able to work silly women like wax. 10
_Pan._ I marvel what Cynthia will determine in this cause.
_Zon._ I fear, as in all causes:—hear of it in justice, and then
judge of it in mercy; for how can it be that she that is unwilling to
punish (15) her deadliest foes with disgrace, will revenge injuries
of her train with death.
_Pan._ That old witch, Dipsas, in a rage, having understood her
practice to be discovered, turned poor Bagoa to an aspen tree. But
let (20) us make haste and bring Tellus before Cynthia, for she was
coming out after us.
_Zon._ Let us go. _Exeunt._
[_Enter_,] CYNTHIA, SEMELE, FLOSCULA, DIPSAS, ENDYMION, EUMENIDES,
[GERON, PYTHAGORAS, GYPTES, _and_ SIR TOPHAS].
_Cynth._ Dipsas, thy years are not so many as thy vices, yet more
in number than commonly (25) nature doth afford or justice should
permit. Hast thou almost these fifty years practised that detested
wickedness of witchcraft? Wast thou, so simple as for to know the
nature of simples, of all creatures to be most sinful? Thou hast 30
threat’ned to turn my course awry and alter by thy damnable art the
government that I now possess by the eternal gods; but know thou,
Dipsas, and let all the enchanters know, that Cynthia, being placed
for light on earth, is also (35) protected by the powers of heaven.
Breathe out thou mayest words; gather thou mayest herbs; find out
thou mayest stones agreeable to thine art; yet of no force to appal
my heart, in which courage is so rooted, and constant (40) persuasion
of the mercy of the gods so grounded, that all thy witchcraft I
esteem as weak as the world doth thy case wretched. This noble
gentleman, Geron, once thy husband but now thy mortal hate, didst
thou procure to live in (45) a desert, almost desperate; Endymion,
the flower of my court and the hope of succeeding time, hast thou
bewitched by art, before thou wouldst suffer him to flourish by
nature.
_Dipsas._ Madam, things past may be repented, (50) not recalled:
there is nothing so wicked that I have not done, nor anything so
wished for as death; yet among all the things that I committed, there
is nothing so much tormenteth my rented and ransack’d thoughts as
that in (55) the prime of my husband’s youth I divorced him by my
devilish art; for which if to die might be amends, I would not live
till to-morrow; if to live and still be more miserable would better
content him, I would wish of all creatures to (60) be oldest and
ugliest.
_Geron._ Dipsas, thou hast made this difference between me and
Endymion, that being both young, thou hast caused me to wake in
melancholy, losing the joys of my youth, and him (65) to sleep, not
rememb’ring youth.
_Cynth._ Stay, here cometh Tellus; we shall now know all.
[_Re-enter_ PANELION _and_ ZONTES, _with_ CORSITES _and_ TELLUS.]
_Cors._ I would to Cynthia thou couldst make as good an excuse in
truth as to me thou hast (70) done by wit.
_Tellus._ Truth shall be mine answer, and therefore I will not study
for an excuse.
_Cynth._ Is it possible, Tellus, that so few years should harbour so
many mischiefs? Thy (75) swelling pride have I borne, because it is
a thing that beauty maketh blameless, which the more it exceedeth
fairness in measure, the more it stretcheth itself in disdain. Thy
devices against Corsites I smile at, for that wits, the sharper 80
they are, the shrewder[99] they are; but this unacquainted[100] and
most unnatural practice with a vile enchantress against so noble a
gentleman as Endymion I abhor as a thing most malicious, and will
revenge as a deed most monstrous. (85) And as for you, Dipsas, I will
send you into the desert amongst wild beasts, and try whether you can
cast lions, tigers, boars, and bears into as dead a sleep as you did
Endymion, or turn them to trees, as you have done Bagoa. But tell me,
(90) Tellus, what was the cause of this cruel part, far unfitting thy
sex, in which nothing should be but simpleness, and much disagreeing
from thy face, in which nothing seemed to be but softness. 95
_Tellus._ Divine Cynthia, by whom I receive my life and am content to
end it, I can neither excuse my fault without lying, nor confess it
without shame; yet were it possible that in so heavenly thoughts as
yours there could fall (100) such earthly motions as mine, I would
then hope, if not to be pardoned without extreme punishment, yet to
be heard without great marvel.
_Cynth._ Say on, Tellus; I cannot imagine any thing that can colour
such a cruelty. 105
_Tellus._ Endymion, that Endymion, in the prime of his youth, so
ravish’d my heart with love, that to obtain my desires I could not
find means, nor to resist them reason. What was she that favoured not
Endymion, being (110) young, wise, honourable, and virtuous; besides,
what metal was she made of (be she mortal) that is not affected with
the spice, nay, infected with the poison of that not-to-be-expressed
yet always-to-be-felt love, which breaketh the (115) brains and
never bruiseth the brow, consumeth the heart and never toucheth the
skin, and maketh a deep scar to be seen before any wound at all be
felt.[101] My heart, too tender to withstand such a divine fury,
yielded to (120) love. Madam, I, not without blushing, confess [I]
yielded to love.
_Cynth._ A strange effect of love, to work such an extreme hate. How
say you, Endymion? All this was for love? 125
_End._ I say, madam, then the gods send me a woman’s hate.
_Cynth._ That were as bad, for then by contrary you should never
sleep. But on, Tellus; let us hear the end. 130
_Tellus._ Feeling a continual burning in all my bowels, and a
bursting almost in every vein, I could not smother the inward fire,
but it must needs be perceived by the outward smoke; and by the
flying abroad of divers sparks, (135) divers judged of my scalding
flames. Endymion, as full of art as wit, marking mine eyes, (in which
he might see almost his own,) my sighs, (by which he might ever hear
his name sounded,) aimed at my heart, in which he (140) was assured
his person was imprinted, and by questions wrung out that which
was ready to burst out. When he saw the depth of my affections, he
swore that mine in respect of his were as fumes to Ætna, valleys
to Alps, ants (145) to eagles, and nothing could be compared to my
beauty but his love and eternity. Thus drawing a smooth shoe upon a
crooked foot, he made me believe that (which all of our sex willingly
acknowledge) I was beautiful, and (150) to wonder (which indeed is a
thing miraculous) that any of his sex should be faithful.
_Cynth._ Endymion, how will you clear yourself?
_End._ Madam, by mine own accuser. 155
_Cynth._ Well, Tellus, proceed; but briefly, lest taking delight in
uttering thy love, thou offend us with the length of it.
_Tellus._ I will, madam, quickly make an end of my love and my tale.
Finding continual (160) increase of my tormenting thoughts, and that
the enjoying of my love made deeper wounds than the entering into
it, I could find no means to ease my grief but to follow Endymion,
and continually to have him in the object of (165) mine eyes who had
me slave and subject to his love. But in the moment that I feared
his falsehood and tried myself most in mine affections, I found—ah,
grief, even then I lost myself!—I found him in most melancholy and
desperate (170) terms cursing his stars, his state, the earth, the
heavens, the world, and all for the love of—
_Cynth._ Of whom? Tellus, speak boldly.
_Tellus._ Madam, I dare not utter, for fear to offend. 175
_Cynth._ Speak, I say; who dare take offence, if thou be commanded by
Cynthia?
_Tellus._ For the love of Cynthia.
_Cynth._ For my love, Tellus? That were strange. Endymion, is it
true? 180
_End._ In all things, madam, Tellus doth not speak false.
_Cynth._ What will this breed to in the end? Well, Endymion, we shall
hear all.
_Tellus._ I, seeing my hopes turned to mishaps, (185) and a settled
dissembling towards me, and an immovable desire to Cynthia,
forgetting both myself and my sex, fell into this unnatural hate; for
knowing your virtues, Cynthia, to be immortal, I could not have an
imagination to withdraw (190) him; and finding mine own affections
unquenchable, I could not carry the mind that any else should possess
what I had pursued. For though in majesty, beauty, virtue, and
dignity, I always humbled and yielded myself (195) to Cynthia, yet
in affections I esteemed myself equal with the goddesses, and all
other creatures, according to their states, with myself; for stars to
their bigness have their lights, and the sun hath no more, and little
pitchers, when (200) they can hold no more, are as full as great
vessels that run over. Thus, madam, in all truth have I uttered the
unhappiness of my love and the cause of my hate, yielding wholly to
that divine judgment which never erred for want of (205) wisdom or
envied for too much partiality.
_Cynth._ How say you, my lords, to this matter? But what say you,
Endymion; hath Tellus told truth?
_End._ Madam, in all things but in that (210) she said I loved her
and swore to honour her.
_Cynth._ Was there such a time whenas for my love thou didst vow
thyself to death, and in respect of it loathed thy life? Speak,
Endymion; I will not revenge it with hate. 215
_End._ The time was, madam, and is, and ever shall be, that I
honoured your highness above all the world, but to stretch it so
far as to call it love I never durst. There hath none pleased mine
eye but Cynthia, none delighted (220) mine ears but Cynthia, none
possessed my heart but Cynthia. I have forsaken all other fortunes to
follow Cynthia, and here I stand ready to die, if it please Cynthia.
Such a difference hath the gods set between our states that all must
be (225) duty, loyalty, and reverence; nothing (without it vouchsafe
your highness) be termed love. My unspotted thoughts, my languishing
body, my discontented life, let them obtain by princely favour that
which to challenge they (230) must not presume, only wishing of
impossibilities; with imagination of which I will spend my spirits,
and to myself, that no creature may hear, softly call it love; and if
any urge to utter what I whisper, then will I name it honour. 235
From this sweet contemplation if I be not driven, I shall live of all
men the most content, taking more pleasure in mine aged thoughts than
ever I did in my youthful actions.
_Cynth._ Endymion, this honourable respect (240) of thine shall be
christened love in thee, and my reward for it, favour. Persevere,
Endymion, in loving me, and I account more strength in a true heart
than in a walled city. I have laboured to win all, and study to keep
such as I (245) have won; but those that neither my favour can move
to continue constant, nor my offered benefits get to be faithful, the
gods shall either reduce to truth, or revenge their treacheries with
justice. Endymion, continue as thou hast (250) begun, and thou shalt
find that Cynthia shineth not on thee in vain.
_End._ Your Highness hath blessed me, and your words have again
restored my youth; methinks I feel my joints strong and these 255
mouldy hairs to moult, and all by your virtue, Cynthia, into whose
hands the balance that weigheth time and fortune are committed.
_Cynth._ What, young again! Then it is pity to punish Tellus. 260
_Tellus._ Ah, Endymion, now I know thee and ask pardon of thee;
suffer me still to wish thee well.
_End._ Tellus, Cynthia must command what she will. 265
_Flosc._ Endymion, I rejoice to see thee in thy former estate.
_End._ Good Floscula, to thee also am I in my former affections.
_Eum._ Endymion, the comfort of my life, (270) how am I ravished with
a joy matchless, saving only the enjoying of my mistress.
_Cynth._ Endymion, you must now tell who Eumenides shrineth for his
saint.
_End._ Semele, madam. 275
_Cynth._ Semele, Eumenides? Is it Semele, the very wasp of all women,
whose tongue stingeth as much as an adder’s tooth?
_Eum._ It is Semele, Cynthia, the possessing of whose love must only
prolong my life. 280
_Cynth._ Nay, sith Endymion is restored, we will have all parties
pleased. Semele, are you content after so long trial of his faith,
such rare secrecy, such unspotted love, to take Eumenides? Why speak
you not? Not a word? 285
_End._ Silence, madam, consents; that is most true.
_Cynth._ It is true, Endymion. Eumenides, take Semele; take her, I
say.
_Eum._ Humble thanks, madam; now only (290) do I begin to live.
_Sem._ A hard choice, madam, either to be married if I say nothing,
or to lose my tongue if I speak a word. Yet do I rather choose to
have my tongue cut out than my heart distempered: (295) I will not
have him.
_Cynth._ Speaks the parrot! She shall nod hereafter with signs. Cut
off her tongue, nay her head, that having a servant of honourable
birth, honest manners, and true love, will not be (300) persuaded.
_Sem._ He is no faithful lover, madam, for then would he have asked
his mistress.
_Ger._ Had he not been faithful, he had never seen into the fountain,
and so lost his friend (305) and mistress.
_Eum._ Thine own thoughts, sweet Semele, witness against thy words,
for what hast thou found in my life but love? And as yet what have I
found in my love but bitterness? (310) Madam, pardon Semele, and let
my tongue ransom hers.
_Cynth._ Thy tongue, Eumenides! What, shouldst thou live wanting a
tongue to blaze the beauty of Semele! Well, Semele, I will (315) not
command love, for it cannot be enforced; let me entreat it.
_Sem._ I am content your highness shall command, for now only do I
think Eumenides faithful, that is willing to lose his tongue for my
(320) sake; yet loath, because it should do me better service. Madam,
I accept of Eumenides.
_Cynth._ I thank you, Semele.
_Eum._ Ah, happy Eumenides, that hast a friend so faithful and a
mistress so fair! (325) With what sudden mischief will the gods daunt
this excess of joy? Sweet Semele, I live or die as thou wilt.
_Cynth._ What shall become of Tellus? Tellus, you know Endymion is
vowed to a service (330) from which death cannot remove him. Corsites
casteth still a lovely look towards you. How say you, will you have
your Corsites, and so receive pardon for all that is past?
_Tellus._ Madam, most willingly. 335
_Cynth._ But I cannot tell whether Corsites be agreed.
_Cors._ Ay, madam, more happy to enjoy Tellus than the monarchy of
the world.
_Eum._ Why, she caused you to be pinch’d (340) with fairies.
_Cors._ Ay, but her fairness hath pinched my heart more deeply.
_Cynth._ Well, enjoy thy love. But what have you wrought in the
castle, Tellus? (345)
_Tellus._ Only the picture of Endymion.
_Cynth._ Then so much of Endymion as his picture cometh to, possess
and play withal.
_Cors._ Ah, my sweet Tellus, my love shall be as thy beauty is,
matchless. 350
_Cynth._ Now it resteth, Dipsas, that if thou wilt forswear that
vile art of enchanting, Geron hath promised again to receive thee;
otherwise, if thou be wedded to that wickedness, I must and will see
it punished to the uttermost. 355
_Dipsas._ Madam, I renounce both substance and shadow of that most
horrible and hateful trade, vowing to the gods continual penance, and
to your highness obedience.
_Cynth._ How say you, Geron; will you admit (360) her to your wife?
_Ger._ Ay, with more joy than I did the first day, for nothing could
happen to make me happy but only her forsaking that lewd[102] and
detestable course. Dipsas, I embrace thee. 365
_Dipsas._ And I thee, Geron, to whom I will hereafter recite the
cause of these my first follies.
_Cynth._ Well, Endymion, nothing resteth now but that we depart. Thou
hast my favour; (370) Tellus her friend, Eumenides in Paradise with
his Semele; Geron content with Dipsas.
_Sir Top._ Nay, soft; I cannot handsomely go to bed without Bagoa.
_Cynth._ Well, Sir Tophas, it may be there (375) are more virtues in
me than myself knoweth of, for Endymion I awaked, and at my words he
waxed young. I will try whether I can turn this tree again to thy
true love.
_Top._ Turn her to a true love or false, so (380) she be a wench I
care not.
_Cynth._ Bagoa, Cynthia putteth an end to thy hard fortunes; for,
being turn’d to a tree for revealing a truth, I will recover thee
again, if in my power be the effect of truth. 385
[BAGOA _recovers human shape_.]
_Top._ Bagoa, a bots[103] upon thee!
_Cynth._ Come, my lords, let us in. You, Gyptes and Pythagoras, if
you can content yourselves in our court, to fall from vain follies
of philosophers to such virtues as are here practised, (390) you
shall be entertained according to your deserts, for Cynthia is no
stepmother to strangers.
_Pythag._ I had rather in Cynthia’s court spend ten years than in
Greece one hour.
_Gyptes._ And I choose rather to live by (395) the sight of Cynthia
than by the possessing of all Egypt.
_Cynth._ Then follow.
_Eum._ We all attend. _Exeunt._
THE EPILOGUE
A MAN walking abroad, the Wind and Sun strove for sovereignty, the
one with his blast, the other with his beams. The Wind blew hard; the
man wrapped his garment about him harder: it blust’red more strongly;
he then girt it fast to him. “I cannot prevail,” said the Wind. The
Sun, casting her crystal beams, began to warm the man; he unloosed
his gown: yet it shined brighter; he then put it off. “I yield,” said
the Wind, “for if thou continue shining, he will also put off (5) his
coat.”
Dread Sovereign, the malicious that seek to overthrow us with
threats, do but stiffen our thoughts, and make them sturdier in
storms; but if your highness vouchsafe with your favourable beams to
glance upon us, we shall not only stoop, but with all humility lay
both our hands and hearts at your majesty’s feet. 10
THE OLD WIVES TALE
BY GEORGE PEELE
[DRAMATIS PERSONAE
SACRAPANT.
First Brother, named CALYPHA.
Second Brother, named THELEA.
EUMENIDES.
ERESTUS.
LAMPRISCUS.
HUANEBANGO.
COREBUS.
WIGGEN.
Churchwarden.
Sexton.
Ghost of JACK.
Friar, Harvest-men, Furies, Fiddlers, &c.
DELIA, sister to CALYPHA and THELEA.
VENELIA, betrothed to ERESTUS.
ZANTIPPA, }
CELANTA, } daughters to LAMPRISCUS.
Hostess.
ANTIC.
FROLIC.
FANTASTIC.
CLUNCH, a smith.
MADGE, his wife.]
_Enter_ ANTIC, FROLIC, _and_ FANTASTIC.
_Ant._ How now, fellow Frolic![104] What, all amort?[105] Doth this
sadness become thy madness? What though we have lost our way in
the woods, yet never hang the head as though thou hadst no hope to
live till to-morrow; for (5) Fantastic and I will warrant thy life
to-night for twenty in the hundred.
_Fro._ Antic and Fantastic, as I am frolic franion,[106] never in all
my life was I so dead slain. What, to lose our way in the wood, 10
without either fire or candle, so uncomfortable! _O cœlum! O terra! O
Maria!_ O Neptune!
_Fan._ Why makes thou it so strange, seeing Cupid hath led our young
master to the fair lady, and she is the only saint that he hath 15
sworn to serve?
_Fro._ What resteth, then, but we commit him to his wench, and each
of us take his stand up in a tree, and sing out our ill fortune to
the tune of “_O man in desperation_”? 20
_Ant._ Desperately spoken, fellow Frolic, in the dark; but seeing it
falls out thus, let us rehearse the old proverb:
“Three merry men, and three merry men,
And three merry men be we; 25
I in the wood, and thou on the ground,
And Jack sleeps in the tree.”
_Fan._ Hush! a dog in the wood, or a wooden[107] dog! O comfortable
hearing! I had even as lief the chamberlain of the White Horse had 30
called me up to bed.
_Fro._ Either hath this trotting cur gone out of his circuit, or
else are we near some village, which should not be far off, for I
perceive (_Enter_ [CLUNCH] _a smith, with a lantern and candle._) the
glimmering of a glow-worm, a candle, or a (35) cat’s eye, my life for
a halfpenny! In the name of my own father, be thou ox or ass that
appearest, tell us what thou art.
_Smith._ What am I? Why, I am Clunch the smith. What are you? What
make you in (40) my territories at this time of the night?
_Ant._ What do we make, dost thou ask? Why, we make faces for fear;
such as if thy mortal eyes could behold, would make thee water the
long seams of thy side slops,[108] (45) smith.
_Fro._ And, in faith, sir, unless your hospitality do relieve us,
we are like to wander, with a sorrowful heigh-ho, among the owlets
and hobgoblins of the forest. Good Vulcan, for (50) Cupid’s sake
that hath cozened us all, befriend us as thou mayst; and command us
howsoever, wheresoever, whensoever, in whatsoever, for ever and ever.
_Smith._ Well, masters, it seems to me you (55) have lost your way
in the wood; in consideration whereof, if you will go with Clunch to
his cottage, you shall have house-room and a good fire to sit by,
although we have no bedding to put you in. 60
_All._ O blessed smith, O bountiful Clunch!
_Smith._ For your further entertainment, it shall be as it may be, so
and so. _A dog barks_ [_within_].
Hark![109] this is Ball my dog, that bids you all welcome in his own
language. Come, take (65) heed for stumbling on the threshold.—Open
door, Madge; take in guests.
_Enter_ [MADGE, _an_] _old woman_.
_Madge._[110] Welcome, Clunch, and good fellows all, that come with
my good-man. For my good-man’s sake, come on, sit down; here is 70
a piece of cheese, and a pudding of my own making.
_Ant._ Thanks, gammer; a good example for the wives of our town.
_Fro._ Gammer, thou and thy good-man sit (75) lovingly together; we
come to chat, and not to eat.
_Smith._ Well, masters, if you will eat nothing, take away. Come,
what do we to pass away the time? Lay a crab in the fire to roast for
(80) lamb’s-wool.[111] What, shall we have a game at trump[112] or
ruff[112] to drive away the time? How say you?
_Fan._ This smith leads a life as merry as a king with Madge his
wife. Sirrah Frolic, I (85) am sure thou art not without some round
or other; no doubt but Clunch can bear his part.
_Fro._ Else think you me ill brought up; so set to it when you will.
_They sing._
SONG.
Whenas the rye reach to the chin, 90
And chopcherry, chopcherry ripe within,
Strawberries swimming in the cream,
And school-boys playing in the stream;
Then, O, then, O, then, O, my true-love said,
Till that time come again 95
She could not live a maid.
_Ant._ This sport does well; but methinks, gammer, a merry winter’s
tale would drive away the time trimly. Come, I am sure you are not
without a score. (100)
_Fan._ I’faith, gammer, a tale of an hour long were as good as an
hour’s sleep.
_Fro._ Look you, gammer, of the giant and the king’s daughter, and I
know not what. I have seen the day, when I was a little one, 105
you might have drawn me a mile after you with such a discourse.
_Madge._ Well, since you be so importunate, my good-man shall fill
the pot and get him to bed; they that ply their work must keep 110
good hours. One of you go lie with him; he is a clean-skinned man
I tell you, without either spavin or wind-gall: so I am content to
drive away the time with an old wives’ winter’s tale.
_Fan._ No better hay in Devonshire; o’ my (115) word, gammer, I ’ll
be one of your audience.
_Fro._ And I another, that ’s flat.
_Ant._ Then must I to bed with the good-man.—_Bona nox_,
gammer.—Good night, Frolic.
_Smith._ Come on, my lad, thou shalt take (120) thy unnatural rest
with me. _Exit_ ANTIC _and the smith_.
_Fro._ Yet this vantage shall we have of them in the morning, to be
ready at the sight thereof extempore.
_Madge._ Now this bargain, my masters, (125) must I make with you,
that you will say hum and ha to my tale, so shall I know you are
awake.
_Both._ Content, gammer, that will we do.
_Madge._ Once upon a time, there was a (130) king, or a lord, or a
duke, that had a fair daughter, the fairest that ever was, as white
as snow and as red as blood; and once upon a time his daughter was
stolen away; and he sent all his men to seek out his daughter; and he
(135) sent so long, that he sent all his men out of his land.
_Fro._ Who drest his dinner, then?
_Madge._ Nay, either hear my tale, or kiss my tail. 140
_Fan._ Well said! On with your tale, gammer.
_Madge._ O Lord, I quite forgot! There was a conjurer, and this
conjurer could do any thing, and he turned himself into a great
dragon, and carried the king’s daughter away in his (145) mouth to a
castle that he made of stone; and there he kept her I know not how
long, till at last all the king’s men went out so long that her two
brothers went to seek her. O, I forget! She (he, I would say,) turned
a proper[113] (150) young man to a bear in the night, and a man in
the day, and keeps[114] by a cross that parts three several ways; and
he made his lady run mad,—Gods me bones, who comes here?
_Enter the_ Two Brothers.
_Fro._ Soft, gammer, here some come to (155) tell your tale for you.
_Fan._ Let them alone; let us hear what they will say.
_1 Bro._ Upon these chalky cliffs of Albion
We are arrived now with tedious toil; 160
And compassing the wide world round about,
To seek our sister, to seek fair Delia forth,
Yet cannot we so much as hear of her.
_2 Bro._ O fortune cruel, cruel and unkind!
Unkind in that we cannot find our sister, 165
Our sister, hapless in her cruel chance!
Soft! who have we here?
_Enter Senex_ [ERESTUS] _at the cross, stooping to gather_.
_1 Bro._ Now, father, God be your speed! What do you gather there?
_Erest._[115] Hips and haws, and sticks and (170) straws, and things
that I gather on the ground, my son.
_1 Bro._ Hips and haws, and sticks and straws! Why, is that all your
food, father?
_Erest._ Yea, son. 175
_2 Bro._ Father, here is an alms-penny for me; and if I speed in that
I go for, I will give thee as good a gown of grey as ever thou didst
wear.
_1 Bro._ And, father, here is another alms-penny (180) for me; and if
I speed in my journey, I will give thee a palmer’s staff of ivory,
and a scallop-shell of beaten gold.
_Erest._ Was she fair?
_2 Bro._ Ay, the fairest for white, and the (185) purest for red, as
the blood of the deer, or the driven snow.
_Erest._ Then hark well, and mark well, my old spell:
Be not afraid of every stranger;
Start not aside at every danger; 190
Things that seem are not the same;
Blow a blast at every flame;
For when one flame of fire goes out,
Then comes your wishes well about:
If any ask who told you this good, 195
Say, the white bear of England’s wood.
_1 Bro._ Brother, heard you not what the old man said?
“Be not afraid of every stranger;
Start not aside for every danger;
Things that seem are not the same; 200
Blow a blast at every flame;
[For when one flame of fire goes out,
Then comes your wishes well about:]
If any ask who told you this good,
Say, the white bear of England’s wood.” 205
_2 Bro._ Well, if this do us any good,
Well fare the white bear of England’s wood!
_Exeunt_ [_the_ Two Brothers].
_Erest._ Now sit thee here, and tell a heavy tale,
Sad in thy mood, and sober in thy cheer;
Here sit thee now, and to thyself relate 210
The hard mishap of thy most wretched state.
In Thessaly I liv’d in sweet content,
Until that fortune wrought my overthrow;
For there I wedded was unto a dame,
That liv’d in honour, virtue, love, and fame. 215
But Sacrapant, that cursed sorcerer,
Being besotted with my beauteous love,
My dearest love, my true betrothed wife,
Did seek the means to rid me of my life.
But worse than this, he with his chanting spells 220
Did turn me straight unto an ugly bear;
And when the sun doth settle in the west,
Then I begin to don my ugly hide.
And all the day I sit, as now you see.
And speak in riddles, all inspired with rage, 225
Seeming an old and miserable man,
And yet I am in April of my age.
_Enter_ VENELIA _his lady, mad; and goes in again._
See where Venelia, my betrothed love,
Runs madding, all enrag’d, about the woods,
All by his cursed and enchanting spells.— 230
_Enter_ LAMPRISCUS _with a pot of honey._
But here comes Lampriscus, my discontented neighbour. How now,
neighbour! You look toward the ground as well as I; you muse on
something.
_Lamp._ Neighbour, on nothing but on the (235) matter I so often
moved to you. If you do anything for charity, help me; if for
neighbourhood or brotherhood, help me: never was one so cumbered as
is poor Lampriscus; and to begin, I pray receive this pot of honey,
to (240) mend your fare.
_Erest._ Thanks, neighbour, set it down; honey is always welcome to
the bear. And now, neighbour, let me hear the cause
of your coming. 245
_Lamp._ I am, as you know, neighbour, a man unmarried; and lived so
unquietly with my two wives, that I keep every year holy the day
wherein I buried them both: the first was on Saint Andrew’s day, the
other on Saint (250) Luke’s.
_Erest._ And now, neighbour, you of this country say, your custom is
out. But on with your tale, neighbour.
_Lamp._ By my first wife, whose tongue (255) wearied me alive, and
sounded in my ears like the clapper of a great bell, whose talk was
a continual torment to all that dwelt by her or lived nigh her, you
have heard me say I had a handsome daughter. 260
_Erest._ True, neighbour.
_Lamp._ She it is that afflicts me with her continual clamours, and
hangs on me like a bur. Poor she is, and proud she is; as poor as a
sheep new-shorn, and as proud of her hopes (265) as a peacock of her
tail well-grown.
_Erest._ Well said, Lampriscus! You speak it like an Englishman.
_Lamp._ As curst as a wasp, and as froward as a child new-taken from
the mother’s teat; (270) she is to my age as smoke to the eyes or as
vinegar to the teeth.
_Erest._ Holily praised, neighbour. As much for the next.
_Lamp._ By my other wife I had a daughter (275) so hard-favoured, so
foul and ill-faced, that I think a grove full of golden trees, and
the leaves of rubies and diamonds, would not be a dowry answerable to
her deformity.
_Erest._ Well, neighbour, now you have (280) spoke, hear me speak.
Send them to the well for the water of life; there shall they find
their fortunes unlooked for. Neighbour, farewell. _Exit._
_Lamp._ Farewell, and a thousand! And (285) now goeth poor Lampriscus
to put in execution this excellent counsel. _Exit._
_Fro._ Why, this goes round without a fiddling-stick: but, do you
hear, gammer, was this the man that was a bear in the night and a man
(290) in the day?
_Madge._ Ay, this is he; and this man that came to him was a beggar,
and dwelt upon a green. But soft! who comes here? O, these are the
harvest-men; ten to one they sing a (295) song of mowing.
_Enter the_ Harvest-men _a-singing, with this song double repeated._
All ye that lovely lovers be,
Pray you for me.
Lo, here we come a-sowing, a-sowing,
And sow sweet fruits of love; 300
In your sweet hearts well may it prove! _Exeunt._
_Enter_ HUANEBANGO _with his two-hand sword, and_ BOOBY,[116] _the
clown._
_Fan._ Gammer, what is he?
_Madge._ O, this is one that is going to the conjurer. Let him alone;
hear what he says.
_Huan._ Now, by Mars and Mercury, (305) Jupiter and Janus, Sol and
Saturnus, Venus and Vesta, Pallas and Proserpina, and by the honour
of my house, Polimackeroeplacidus, it is a wonder to see what this
love will make silly fellows adventure, even in the wane of their 310
wits and infancy of their discretion. Alas, my friend! what fortune
calls thee forth to seek thy fortune among brazen gates, enchanted
towers, fire and brimstone, thunder and lightning? Beauty, I tell
thee, is peerless, and (315) she precious whom thou affectest. Do off
these desires, good countryman; good friend, run away from thyself;
and, so soon as thou canst, forget her, whom none must inherit but he
that can monsters tame, labours achieve, riddles (320) absolve, loose
enchantments, murder magic, and kill conjuring,—and that is the great
and mighty Huanebango.
_Booby._ Hark you, sir, hark you. First know I have here the flurting
feather, and have (325) given the parish the start for the long
stock:[117] now, sir, if it be no more but running through a little
lightning and thunder, and “riddle me, riddle me what ’s this?” I ’ll
have the wench from the conjurer, if he were ten conjurers. 330
_Huan._ I have abandoned the court and honourable company, to do my
devoir against this sore sorcerer and mighty magician: if this lady
be so fair as she is said to be, she is mine, she is mine; _meus,
mea, meum, in contemptum (335) omnium grammaticorum._
_Booby. O falsum Latinum!_
The fair maid is _minum_.
_Cum apurtinantibus gibletis_ and all.
_Huan._ If she be mine, as I assure myself (340) the heavens will
do somewhat to reward my worthiness, she shall be allied to none
of the meanest gods, but be invested in the most famous stock
of Huanebango,—Polimackeroeplacidus my grandfather, my father
Pergopolineo, (345) my mother Dionora de Sardinia, famously descended.
_Booby._ Do you hear, sir? Had not you a cousin that was called
Gusteceridis?
_Huan._ Indeed, I had a cousin that sometime (350) followed the court
infortunately, and his name Bustegusteceridis.
_Cor._ O Lord, I know him well! He is the knight of the neat’s-feet.
_Huan._ O, he loved no capon better! He (355) hath oftentimes
deceived his boy of his dinner; that was his fault, good
Bustegusteceridis.
_Booby._ Come, shall we go along?
[_Enter_ ERESTUS _at the cross._]
Soft! here is an old man at the cross; let us ask him the way
thither.—Ho, you gaffer! (360) I pray you tell where the wise man
the conjurer dwells.
_Huan._ Where that earthly goddess keepeth her abode, the commander
of my thoughts, and fair mistress of my heart. 365
_Erest._ Fair enough, and far enough from thy fingering, son.
_Huan._ I will follow my fortune after mine own fancy, and do
according to mine own discretion. 370
_Erest._ Yet give something to an old man before you go.
_Huan._ Father, methinks a piece of this cake might serve your turn.
_Erest._ Yea, son. 375
_Huan._ Huanebango giveth no cakes for alms; ask of them that give
gifts for poor beggars.—Fair lady, if thou wert once shrined in this
bosom, I would buckler thee haratantara. _Exit._
_Booby._ Father, do you see this man? You (380) little think he ’ll
run a mile or two for such a cake, or pass[118] for a pudding. I tell
you, father, he has kept such a begging of me for a piece of this
cake! Whoo! he comes upon me with “a superfantial substance, and the
foison[119] of (385) the earth,” that I know not what he means. If
he came to me thus, and said, “My friend Booby,” or so, why, I could
spare him a piece with all my heart; but when he tells me how God
hath enriched me above other fellows (390) with a cake, why, he makes
me blind and deaf at once. Yet, father, here is a piece of cake for
you, as hard as the world goes.[120] [_Gives cake._]
_Erest._ Thanks, son, but list to me;
He shall be deaf when thou shalt not see. 395
Farewell, my son: things may so hit,
Thou mayst have wealth to mend thy wit.
_Cor._ Farewell, father, farewell; for I must make haste after my
two-hand sword that is gone before. _Exeunt omnes._ 400
_Enter_ SACRAPANT _in his study._
_Sac._ The day is clear, the welkin bright and grey,
The lark is merry and records[121] her notes;
Each thing rejoiceth underneath the sky,
But only I, whom heaven hath in hate,
Wretched and miserable Sacrapant. 405
In Thessaly was I born and brought up;
My mother Meroe hight,[122] a famous witch,
And by her cunning I of her did learn
To change and alter shapes of mortal men.
There did I turn myself into a dragon, 410
And stole away the daughter to the king,
Fair Delia, the mistress of my heart;
And brought her hither to revive the man
That seemeth young and pleasant to behold,
And yet is aged, crooked, weak, and numb. 415
Thus by enchanting spells I do deceive
Those that behold and look upon my face;
But well may I bid youthful years adieu.
_Enter_ DELIA _with a pot in her hand._
See where she comes from whence my sorrows grow!
How now, fair Delia! where have you been? 420
_Del._ At the foot of the rock for running water, and gathering roots
for your dinner, sir.
_Sac._ Ah, Delia, fairer art thou than the running water, yet harder
far than steel or adamant! 425
_Del._ Will it please you to sit down, sir?
_Sac._ Ay, Delia, sit and ask me what thou wilt,
Thou shalt have it brought into thy lap.
_Del._ Then, I pray you, sir, let me have the best meat from the King
of England’s table, (430) and the best wine in all France, brought in
by the veriest knave in all Spain.
_Sac._ Delia, I am glad to see you so pleasant.
Well, sit thee down.—
Spread, table, spread, 435
Meat, drink, and bread,
Ever may I have
What I ever crave,
When I am spread,
For meat for my black cock, 440
And meat for my red.
_Enter a_ Friar _with a chine of beef and a pot of wine._
Here, Delia, will ye fall to?
_Del._ Is this the best meat in England?
_Sac._ Yea.
_Del._ What is it? 445
_Sac._ A chine of English beef, meat for a king and a king’s
followers.
_Del._ Is this the best wine in France?
_Sac._ Yea.
_Del._ What wine is it? 450
_Sac._ A cup of neat wine of Orleans, that never came near the
brewers in England.
_Del._ Is this the veriest knave in all Spain?
_Sac._ Yea.
_Del._ What, is he a friar? 455
_Sac._ Yea, a friar indefinite, and a knave infinite.
_Del._ Then, I pray ye, Sir Friar, tell me before you go, which is
the most greediest Englishman? 460
_Fri._ The miserable and most covetous usurer.
_Sac._ Hold thee there, friar. (_Exit_ Friar.) But, soft!
Who have we here? Delia, away, be gone!
_Enter the_ Two Brothers.
Delia, away! for beset are we.—
But heaven or hell shall rescue her for me. 465
[_Exeunt_ DELIA _and_ SACRAPANT.]
_1 Bro._ Brother, was not that Delia did appear,
Or was it but her shadow that was here?
_2 Bro._ Sister, where art thou? Delia, come again!
He calls, that of thy absence doth complain.—
Call out, Calypha, that she may hear, 470
And cry aloud, for Delia is near.
_Echo._ Near.
_1 Bro._ Near! O, where? Hast thou any tidings?
_Echo._ Tidings.
_2 Bro._ Which way is Delia, then; or that, or this? 475
_Echo._ This.
_1 Bro._ And may we safely come where Delia is?
_Echo._ Yes.
_2 Bro._ Brother, remember you the white bear of England’s wood? 480
“Start not aside for every danger,
Be not afeard of every stranger;
Things that seem are not the same.”
_1 Bro._ Brother,
Why do we not, then, courageously enter? 485
_2 Bro._ Then, brother, draw thy sword and follow me.
_Re-enter_ [SACRAPANT] _the Conjurer: it lightens and thunders; the_
Second Brother _falls down._
_1 Bro._ What, brother, dost thou fall?
_Sac._ Ay, and thou too, Calypha.
_The_ First Brother _falls down. Enter_ Two Furies.
_Adeste, dæmones!_ Away with them:
Go carry them straight to Sacrapanto’s cell, 490
There in despair and torture for to dwell.
[_Exeunt_ Furies _with the_ Two Brothers.]
These are Thenores’ sons of Thessaly,
That come to seek Delia their sister forth;
But, with a potion I to her have given,
My arts have made her to forget herself. 495
_Removes a turf, and shows a light in a glass._
See here the thing which doth prolong my life,
With this enchantment I do any thing;
And till this fade, my skill shall still endure,
And never none shall break this little glass,
But she that ’s neither wife, widow, nor maid. 500
Then cheer thyself; this is thy destiny,
Never to die but by a dead man’s hand. _Exit._
_Enter_ EUMENIDES, _the wandering knight, and_ [ERESTUS] _the old man
at the cross._
_Eum._ Tell me, Time,
Tell me, just Time, when shall I Delia see?
When shall I see the loadstar of my life? 505
When shall my wand’ring course end with her sight,
Or I but view my hope, my heart’s delight? [_Seeing Erestus._]
Father, God speed! If you tell fortunes, I pray, good father, tell me
mine.
_Erest._ Son, I do see in thy face 510
Thy blessed fortune work apace.
I do perceive that thou hast wit;
Beg of thy fate to govern it,
For wisdom govern’d by advice,
Makes many fortunate and wise. 515
Bestow thy alms, give more than all,
Till dead men’s bones come at thy call.
Farewell, my son! Dream of no rest,
Till thou repent that thou didst best. _Exit._
_Eum._ This man hath left me in a labyrinth: 520
He biddeth me give more than all,
Till dead men’s bones come at my call;
He biddeth me dream of no rest.
Till I repent that I do best. [_Lies down and sleeps._]
_Enter_ WIGGEN, COREBUS,[123] Churchwarden, and Sexton.
_Wig._ You may be ashamed, you whoreson (525) scald Sexton and
Churchwarden, if you had any shame in those shameless faces of yours,
to let a poor man lie so long above ground unburied. A rot on you
all, that have no more compassion of a good fellow when
he is gone! 530
_Church._[124] What, would you have us to bury him, and to answer it
ourselves to the parish?
_Sex._ Parish me no parishes; pay me my fees, and let the rest run on
in the quarter’s accounts, and put it down for one of your good 535
deeds, o’ God’s name! for I am not one that curiously stands upon
merits.
_Cor._ You whoreson, sodden-headed sheep’s-face, shall a good fellow
do less service and more honesty to the parish, and will you not, 540
when he is dead, let him have Christmas burial?
_Wig._ Peace, Corebus! As sure as Jack was Jack, the frolic’st
franion amongst you, and I, Wiggen, his sweet sworn brother, Jack
shall have his funerals, or some of them shall lie (545) on God’s
dear earth for it, that’s once.[125]
_Church._ Wiggen, I hope thou wilt do no more than thou dar’st answer.
_Wig._ Sir, sir, dare or dare not, more or less, answer or not
answer, do this, or have this. 550
_Sex._ Help, help, help!
WIGGEN _sets upon the parish with a pike-staff_:[126] EUMENIDES _awakes
and comes to them._
_Eum._ Hold thy hands, good fellow.
_Cor._ Can you blame him, sir, if he take Jack’s part against this
shake-rotten parish that will not bury Jack? 555
_Eum._ Why, what was that Jack?
_Cor._ Who, Jack, sir? Who, our Jack, sir? As good a fellow as ever
trod upon neat’s-leather.
_Wig._ Look you, sir; he gave fourscore (560) and nineteen mourning
gowns to the parish when he died, and because he would not make them
up a full hundred, they would not bury him: was not this good dealing?
_Church._ O Lord, sir, how he lies! He was (565) not worth a
halfpenny, and drunk out every penny; and now his fellows, his
drunken companions, would have us to bury him at the charge of the
parish. An we make many such matches, we may pull down the steeple,
sell (570) the bells, and thatch the chancel. He shall lie above
ground till he dance a galliard about the church-yard, for Steven
Loach.
_Wig. Sic argumentaris, Domine_ Loach;—“an we make many such
matches, we may (575) pull down the steeple, sell the bells, and
thatch the chancel!”—in good time, sir, and hang yourselves in the
bell-ropes, when you have done. _Domine, opponens præpono tibi hanc
quœstionem_, whether will you have the (580) ground broken or your
pates broken first? For one of them shall be done presently, and to
begin mine,[127] I’ll seal it upon your coxcomb.
_Eum._ Hold thy hands, I pray thee, good fellow;
be not too hasty. 585
_Cor._ You capon’s face, we shall have you turned out of the parish
one of these days, with never a tatter to your arse; then you are in
worse taking than Jack.
_Eum._ Faith, and he is bad enough. This (590) fellow does but the
part of a friend, to seek to bury his friend. How much will bury him?
_Wig._ Faith, about some fifteen or sixteen shillings will bestow him
honestly.
_Sex._ Ay, even thereabouts, sir. 595
_Eum._ Here, hold it, then:—[_aside._] and I have left me but one
poor three half-pence. Now do I remember the words the old man spake
at the cross, “Bestow all thou hast,” and this is all, “till dead
men’s bones come (600) at thy call.”—Here, hold it [_gives money_];
and so farewell.
_Wig._ God, and all good, be with you, sir! [_Exit_ EUMENIDES.] Nay,
you cormorants, I’ll bestow one peal of[128] Jack at mine own 605
proper costs and charges.
_Cor._ You may thank God the long staff and the bilbo-blade crossed
nor your coxcomb.—Well, we’ll to the church-stile[129] and have a
pot, and so trill-lill. [_Exit with_ WIGGEN.] 610
_Church._}
_Sex._ } Come, let’s go. _Exeunt._
_Fan._ But, hark you, gammer, me thinks this Jack bore a great sway
in the parish.
_Madge._ O, this Jack was a marvellous (615) fellow! he was but a
poor man, but very well beloved. You shall see anon what this Jack
will come to.
_Enter the_ Harvest-men _singing, with women in their hands._
_Fro._ Soft! who have we here? Our amorous harvesters. 620
_Fan._ Ay, ay, let us sit still, and let them alone.
_Here they begin to sing, the song doubled._
Lo, here we come a-reaping, a-reaping,
To reap our harvest-fruit!
And thus we pass the year so long, 625
And never be we mute _Exeunt the_ Harvest-men.
_Enter_ HUANEBANGO _and_ COREBUS, _the clown._
_Fro._ Soft! who have we here?
_Madge._ O, this is a choleric gentleman! All you that love your
lives, keep out of the smell of his two-hand sword. Now goes he to
the (630) conjurer.
_Fan._ Methinks the conjurer should put the fool into a juggling-box.
_Huan._ Fee, fa, fum,
Here is the Englishman,— 635
Conquer him that can,—
Come for his lady bright,
To prove himself a knight,
And win her love in fight.
_Cor._ Who-haw, Master Bango, are you (640) here? Hear you, you had
best sit down here, and beg an alms with me.
_Huan._ Hence, base cullion! Here is he that commandeth ingress
and egress with his weapon, and will enter at his voluntary, 645
whosoever saith no.
_A voice and flame of fire_; HUANEBANGO _falleth down._
_Voice._ No.
_Madge._ So with that they kissed, and spoiled the edge of as good a
two-hand sword as ever God put life in. Now goes Corebus in, spite 650
of the conjurer.
_Enter_ [SACRAPANT] the Conjurer _and_ [Two Furies].
_Sac._ Away with him into the open fields,
To be a ravening prey to crows and kites:
[HUAN. _is carried out by the_ Two Furies.]
And for this villain, let him wander up and down,
In naught but darkness and eternal night. 655
_Strikes_ COREBUS _blind._
_Cor._ Here hast thou slain Huan, a slashing knight,
And robbed poor Corebus of his sight. _Exit._
_Sac._ Hence, villain, hence!—Now I have unto Delia
Given a potion of forgetfulness,
That, when she comes, she shall not know her brothers. 660
Lo, where they labour, like to country-slaves,
With spade and mattock, on this enchanted ground!
Now will I call her by another name;
For never shall she know herself again,
Until that Sacrapant hath breath’d his last. 665
See where she comes.
_Enter_ DELIA.
Come hither, Delia, take this goad; here hard
At hand two slaves do work and dig for gold:
Gore them with this, and thou shalt have enough. _Gives her a goad._
_Del._ Good sir, I know not what you mean. 670
_Sac._ [_aside._] She hath forgotten to be Delia,
But not forgot the same she should forget;
But I will change her name.—
Fair Berecynthia, so this country calls you,
Go ply these strangers, wench; they dig for gold. _Exit._ 675
_Del._ O heavens, how
Am I beholding to this fair young man!
But I must ply these strangers to their work:
See where they come.
_Enter the_ Two Brothers _in their shirts, with spades, digging_.
_1 Bro._ O brother, see where Delia is! 680
_2 Bro._ O Delia,
Happy are we to see thee here!
_Del._ What tell you me of Delia, prating swains?
I know no Delia, nor know I what you mean.
Ply you your work, or else you ’re like to smart. 685
_1 Bro._ Why, Delia, know’st thou not thy brothers here?
We come from Thessaly to seek thee forth;
And thou deceiv’st thyself, for thou art Delia.
_Del._ Yet more of Delia? Then take this, and smart.
[_Pricks them with the goad._]
What, feign you shifts for to defer your labour? 690
Work, villains, work; it is for gold you dig.
_2 Bro._ Peace, brother, peace: this vild[130] enchanter
Hath ravisht Delia of her senses clean,
And she forgets that she is Delia.
_1 Bro._ Leave, cruel thou, to hurt the miserable.— 695
Dig, brother, dig, for she is hard as steel.
_Here they dig, and descry a light [in a glass] under a little hill._
_2 Bro._ Stay, brother; what hast thou descried?
_Del._ Away, and touch it not; ’tis something that
My lord hath hidden there. _Covers the light again._
_Re-enter_ SACRAPANT.
_Sac._ Well said![131] thou plyest these pioners[132] well— 700
Go get you in, you labouring slaves. [_Exeunt the_ Two Brothers.]
Come, Berecynthia, let us in likewise,
And hear the nightingale record her notes. _Exeunt._
_Enter_ ZANTIPPA, _the curst daughter, to the Well_ [_of Life_], _with a
pot in her hand._
_Zan._ Now for a husband, house, and home: God send a good one or
none, I pray God! (705) My father hath sent me to the well for the
water of life, and tells me, if I give fair words, I shall have a
husband. But here comes
_Enter_ [CELANTA], _the foul wench, to the Well for water with a pot in
her hand._
Celanta, my sweet sister. I ’ll stand by and hear what she says. 710
_Cel._ My father hath sent me to the well for water, and he tells me,
if I speak fair, I shall have a husband, and none of the worst. Well,
though I am black,[133] I am sure all the world will not forsake me;
and, as the old proverb (715) is, though I am black, I am not the
devil.
_Zan._ Marry-gup with a murrain,[134] I know wherefore thou speakest
that: but go thy ways home as wise as thou camest, or I ’ll set thee
home with a wanion.[135] 720
_Here she strikes her pitcher against her sister’s, and breaks them
both, and then exit._
_Cel._ I think this be the curstest quean in the world. You see what
she is, a little fair, but as proud as the devil, and the veriest
vixen that lives upon God’s earth. Well, I ’ll let her alone, and go
home and get another pitcher, and, (725) for all this, get me to the
well for water. _Exit._
_Enter two Furies out of the Conjurer’s cell and lay_ HUANEBANGO _by
the Well of Life_ [_and then exeunt_.] _Re-enter_ ZANTIPPA _with a
pitcher to the well_.
_Zan._ Once again for a husband; and, in faith, Celanta, I have got
the start of you; belike husbands grow by the well-side. Now my
father says I must rule my tongue. Why, alas, (730) what am I, then?
A woman without a tongue is as a soldier without his weapon. But
I ’ll have my water, and be gone.
_Here she offers to dip her pitcher in, and a_ Head _speaks in the
well_.
_Head._ Gently dip, but not too deep.
For fear you make the golden beard to weep. 735
Fair maiden, white and red,
Stroke me smooth, and comb my head,
And thou shalt have some cockell-bread.[136]
_Zan._ What is this?
“Fair maiden, white and red, 740
Comb me smooth, and stroke my head.
And thou shalt have some cockell-bread”?
“Cockell” callest thou it, boy? Faith, I ’ll
give you cockell-bread.
_She breaks her pitcher upon the_ Head: _then it thunders and lightens;
and_ HUANEBANGO, _who is deaf and cannot hear, rises up_.
_Huan._ Philida, phileridos, pamphilida, florida, flortos: 745
Dub dub-a-dub, bounce, quoth the guns, with a sulphurous
huff-snuff:[137]
Wakt with a wench, pretty peat, pretty love, and my sweet
pretty pigsnie,[138]
Just by thy side shall sit surnamed great Huanebango:
Safe in my arms will I keep thee, threat Mars or thunder Olympus.
_Zan._ [_aside._] Foh, what greasy groom (750) have we here? He looks
as though he crept out of the backside of the well, and speaks like a
drum perisht at the west end.
_Huan._ O, that I might,—but I may not, woe
to my destiny therefore!—[139]
Kiss that I clasp! but I cannot. Tell me, my destiny, wherefore? 755
_Zan._ [_aside._] Whoop! now I have my dream. Did you never hear so
great a wonder as this? Three blue beans in a blue bladder, rattle,
bladder, rattle.
_Huan._ [_aside._] I ’ll now set my countenance, (760) and to
her in prose, it may be, this rim-ram-ruff[140] is too rude an
encounter.—Let me, fair lady, if you be at leisure, revel with your
sweetness, and rail upon that cowardly conjurer, that hath cast me,
or congealed me (765) rather, into an unkind sleep, and polluted my
carcass.
_Zan._ [_aside._] Laugh, laugh, Zantippa; thou hast thy fortune, a
fool and a husband under one.
_Huan._ Truly, sweet-heart, as I seem, (770) about some twenty years,
the very April of mine age.
_Zan._ [_aside._] Why, what a prating ass is this!
_Huan._ Her coral lips, her crimson chin,
Her silver teeth so white within, 775
Her golden locks, her rolling eye,
Her pretty parts, let them go by,
Heigh-ho, hath wounded me,
That I must die this day to see!
_Zan._ By Gogs-bones, thou art a flouting (780) knave. “Her coral
lips, her crimson chin”! ka,[141] wilshaw!
_Huan._ True, my own, and my own because mine, and mine because mine,
ha, ha! Above a thousand pounds in possibility, and things 785
fitting thy desire in possession.
_Zan._ [_aside._] The sot thinks I ask of his lands. Lob[142] be your
comfort, and cuckold be your destiny!—Hear you, sir; an if you will
have us, you had best say so betime. 790
_Huan._ True, sweet-heart, and will royalize thy progeny with my
pedigree. _Exeunt._
_Enter_ EUMENIDES, _the wandering knight_.
_Eum._ Wretched Eumenides, still unfortunate,
Envied by fortune and forlorn by fate,
Here pine and die, wretched Eumenides, 795
Die in the spring, the April of my age!
Here sit thee down, repent what thou hast done:
I would to God that it were ne’er begun!
_Enter_ [_the_ GHOST OF] JACK.
[_G. of_] _Jack._ You are well overtaken, sir.
_Eum._ Who ’s that? 800
[_G. of_] _Jack._ You are heartily well met, sir.
_Eum._ Forbear, I say; who is that which pincheth me?
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Trusting in God, good Master Eumenides, that
you are in so good health as (805) all your friends were at the
making hereof, God give you good morrow, sir! Lack you not a neat,
handsome, and cleanly young lad, about the age of fifteen or sixteen
years, that can run by your horse, and, for a need, make (810) your
mastership’s shoes as black as ink? How say you, sir?
_Eum._ Alas, pretty lad, I know not how to keep myself, and much less
a servant, my pretty boy; my state is so bad. 815
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Content yourself, you shall not be so ill a master
but I ’ll be as bad a servant. Tut, sir, I know you, though you know
not me. Are not you the man, sir, deny it if you can, sir, that came
from a strange place (820) in the land of Catita, where Jack-an-apes
flies with his tail in his mouth, to seek out a lady as white as
snow and as red as blood? Ha, ha! have I touched you now?
_Eum._ [_aside._] I think this boy be a (825) spirit.—How knowest
thou all this?
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Tut, are not you the man, sir, deny it if you can,
sir, that gave all the money you had to the burying of a poor man,
and but one three half-pence left in your (830) purse? Content you,
sir, I ’ll serve you, that is flat.
_Eum._ Well, my lad, since thou art so impor[tu]nate, I am content
to entertain thee, not as a servant, but a copartner in my journey,
(835) But whither shall we go? for I have not any money more than one
bare three half-pence.
_G._ [_of_] _Jack._ Well, master, content yourself, for if my
divination be not out, that shall be spent at the next inn or
alehouse we come (840) to: for, master, I know you are passing
hungry; therefore I ’ll go before and provide dinner until that you
come; no doubt but you ’ll come fair and softly after.
_Eum._ Ay, go before; I ’ll follow thee. 845
[_G. of_] _Jack._ But do you hear, master? Do you know my name?
_Eum._ No, I promise thee, not yet.
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Why, I am Jack. _Exit._
_Eum._ Jack! Why, be it so, then. 850
_Enter the_ HOSTESS _and_ JACK, _setting meat on the table: and
Fiddlers come to play_. EUMENIDES _walketh up and down, and will eat no
meat_.
_Host._ How say you, sir? Do you please to sit down?
_Eum._ Hostess, I thank you, I have no great stomach.
_Host._ Pray, sir, what is the reason your (855) master is so
strange? Doth not this meat please him?
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Yes, hostess, but it is my master’s fashion to pay
before he eats; therefore, a reckoning, good hostess. 860
_Host._ Marry, shall you, sir, presently. _Exit._
_Eum._ Why. Jack, what dust thou mean? Thou knowest I have not any
money; therefore, sweet Jack, tell me what shall I do?
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Well, master, look in your (865) purse.
_Eum._ Why, faith, it is a folly, for I have no money.
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Why, look you, master; do so much for me. 870
_Eum._ [_looking into his purse._] Alas, Jack, my purse is full of
money!
[_G. of_] _Jack._ “Alas,” master! does that word belong to this
accident? Why, methinks I should have seen you cast away your cloak,
(875) and in a bravado dance a galliard round about the chamber. Why,
master, your man can teach you more wit than this.
[_Re-enter_ Hostess.]
Come, hostess, cheer up my master.
_Host._ You are heartily welcome; and if it (880) please you to
eat of a fat capon, a fairer bird, a finer bird, a sweeter bird, a
crisper bird, a neater bird, your worship never eat of.
_Eum._ Thanks, my fine, eloquent hostess.
[_G. of_] _Jack._ But hear you, master, one (885) word by the way.
Are you content I shall be halves in all you get in your journey?
_Eum._ I am. Jack, here is my hand.
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Enough, master, I ask no more.
_Eum._ Come, hostess, receive your money; (890) and I thank you for
my good entertainment. [_Gives money._]
_Host._ You are heartily welcome, sir.
_Eum._ Come, Jack, whither go we now?
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Marry, master, to the conjurer’s presently. 895
_Eum._ Content, Jack.—Hostess, farewell. _Exeunt._
_Enter_ COREBUS [_blind_], _and_ CELANTA, _the foul wench, to the Well
for water_.
_Cor._ Come, my duck, come: I have now got a wife. Thou art fair, art
thou not?
_Cel._ My Corebus, the fairest alive; make no doubt of that. 900
_Cor._ Come, wench, are we almost at the well?
_Cel._ Ay, Corebus, we are almost at the well now. I ’ll go fetch
some water; sit down while I dip my pitcher in.
_Voice._ Gently dip, but not too deep, 905
For fear you make the golden beard to weep.
_A_ Head _comes up with ears of corn, and she combs them into her lap_.
Fair maiden, white and red,
Comb me smooth, and stroke my head.
And thou shalt have some cockell-bread.
_A_ [Second] Head _comes up full of gold; she combs it into her
lap_.[143]
[_Sec. Head._] Gently dip, but not too deep, 910
For fear thou make the golden beard to weep.
Fair maid, white and red,
Comb me smooth, and stroke my head,
And every hair a sheaf shall be,
And every sheaf a golden tree. 915
_Cel._ O, see, Corebus, I have comb’d a great deal of gold into my
lap, and a great deal of corn!
_Cor._ Well said,[144] wench! now we shall have just enough. God
send us coiners to coin our (920) gold. But come, shall we go home,
sweet-heart?
_Cel._ Nay, come, Corebus, I will lead you.
_Cor._ So, Corebus, things have well hit;
Thou hast gotten wealth to mend thy wit.
_Exeunt._
_Enter_ [_the_ GHOST OF] JACK _and_ [EUMENIDES] _the wandering knight_.
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Come away, master, come. 925
_Eum._ Go along. Jack, I ’ll follow thee. Jack, they say it is good
to go cross-legged, and say his prayers backward; how sayest thou?
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Tut, never fear, master; let me alone. Here sit you
still; speak not a word; (930) and because you shall not be enticed
with his enchanting speeches, with this same wool I ’ll stop your
ears: and so, master, sit still, for I must to the conjurer. _Exit._
_Enter_ [SACRAPANT] _the Conjurer to the wandering knight._
_Sac._ How now! What man art thou that sits so sad? 935
Why dost thou gaze upon these stately trees
Without the leave and will of Sacrapant?
What, not a word but mum? Then, Sacrapant,
Thou art betray’d.
_Re-enter_ [_the_ GHOST OF] JACK _invisible, and takes off_ SACRAPANT’S
_wreath from his head, and his sword out of his hand._
What hand invades the head of Sacrapant? 940
What hateful Fury doth envy my happy state?
Then, Sacrapant, these are thy latest days.
Alas, my veins are numb’d, my sinews shrink.
My blood is pierc’d, my breath fleeting away.
And now my timeless date is come to end! 945
He in whose life his actions hath[145] been so foul,
Now in his death to hell descends his soul. _He dieth._
[_G. of_] _Jack._ O, sir, are you gone? Now I hope we shall have some
other coil.—Now, master, how like you this? The conjurer he is 950
dead, and vows never to trouble us more. Now get you to your fair
lady, and see what you can do with her.—Alas, he heareth me not all
this while; but I will help that.
_Pulls the wool out of the ears of_ EUMENIDES.
_Eum._ How now. Jack! What news? 955
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Here, master, take this sword, and dig with it at
the foot of this hill.
EUMENIDES _digs, and spies a light [in a glass]._
_Eum._ How now, Jack! What is this?
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Master, without this the conjurer could do nothing;
and so long as this (960) light lasts, so long doth his art endure,
and this being out, then doth his art decay.
_Eum._ Why, then, Jack, I will soon put out this light.
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Ay, master, how? 965
_Eum._ Why, with a stone I ’ll break the glass, and then blow it out.
[_G. of_] _Jack._ No, master, you may as soon break the smith’s anvil
as this little vial; nor the biggest blast that ever Boreas blew
cannot (970) blow out this little light; but she that is neither
maid, wife, nor widow. Master, wind this horn, and see what will
happen.
EUMENIDES _winds the horn. Here enters_ VENELIA, _and breaks the glass,
and blows out the light, and goeth in again._
So, master, how like you this? This is she that ran madding in the
woods, his betrothed love (975) that keeps the cross; and now, this
light being out, all are restored to their former liberty. And now,
master, to the lady that you have so long looked for.
_The_ GHOST OF JACK _draweth a curtain, and there_ DELIA _sitteth
asleep._
_Eum._ God speed, fair maid, sitting alone,—there (980) is once; God
speed, fair maid,—there is twice; God speed, fair maid,—that is
thrice.
_Del._ Not so, good sir, for you are by.
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Enough, master, she hath (985) spoke; now I will
leave her with you. [_Exit._]
_Eum._ Thou fairest flower of these western parts,
Whose beauty so reflecteth in my sight
As doth a crystal mirror in the sun;
For thy sweet sake I have crost the frozen Rhine;[146] 990
Leaving fair Po, I sail’d up Danuby
As far as Saba, whose enhancing streams
Cut twixt the Tartars and the Russians;
These have I crost for thee, fair Delia:
Then grant me that which I have su’d for long. 995
_Del._ Thou gentle knight, whose fortune is so good
To find me out and set my brothers free,
My faith, my heart, my hand I give to thee.
_Eum._ Thanks, gentle madam; but here comes Jack: thank him, for he
is the (1000) best friend that we have.
_Re-enter_ [_the_ GHOST OF] JACK, _with a head in his hand._
How now. Jack! What hast thou there?
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Marry, master, the head of the conjurer.
_Eum._ Why, Jack, that is impossible; he (1005) was a young man.
[_G. of_] _Jack_. Ah, master, so he deceived them that beheld him!
But he was a miserable, old, and crooked man, though to each man’s
eye he seemed young and fresh; for, (1010) master, this conjurer took
the shape of the old man that kept the cross, and that old man was in
the likeness of the conjurer. But now, master, wind your horn.
EUMENIDES _winds his horn. Enter_ VENELIA, _the_ Two Brothers, _and_
[ERESTUS] _he that was at the cross._
_Eum._ Welcome, Erestus! welcome, fair Venelia! 1015
Welcome, Thelea and Calypha both!
Now have I her that I so long have sought;
So saith fair Delia, if we have your consent.
_1 Bro._ Valiant EUMENIDES, thou well deservest
To have our favours; so let us rejoice 1020
That by thy means we are at liberty.
Here may we joy each in other’s sight,
And this fair lady have her wandering knight.
[_G. of_] _Jack._ So, master, now ye think you have done; but I must
have a saying to (1025) you. You know you and I were partners, I to
have half in all you got.
_Eum._ Why, so thou shalt. Jack.
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Why, then, master, draw your sword, part your lady,
let me have half of (1030) her presently.
_Eum._ Why, I hope. Jack, thou dost but jest. I promised thee half I
got, but not half my lady.
[_G. of_] _Jack._ But what else, master? (1035) Have you not gotten
her? Therefore divide her straight, for I will have half; there is no
remedy.
_Eum._ Well, ere I will falsify my word unto my friend, take her all.
Here, Jack, I’ll (1040) give her thee.
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Nay, neither more nor less, master, but even just
half.
_Eum._ Before I will falsify my faith unto my friend, I will divide
her. Jack, thou shalt (1045) have half.
_1 Bro._ Be not so cruel unto our sister, gentle knight.
_2 Bro._ O, spare fair Delia! She deserves no death. 1050
_Eum._ Content yourselves; my word is passed to him.—Therefore
prepare thyself, Delia, for thou must die.
_Del._ Then farewell, world! Adieu, Eumenides!
EUMENIDES _offers to strike, and_ [_the_ GHOST OF] JACK _stays him._
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Stay, master; it is sufficient (1055) I have tried
your constancy. Do you now remember since you paid for the burying of
a poor fellow?
_Eum._ Ay, very well, Jack.
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Then, master, thank that (1060) good deed for this
good turn; and so God be with you all! _Leaps down in the ground._
_Eum._ Jack, what, art thou gone? Then farewell. Jack!—
Come, brothers, and my beauteous Delia,
Erestus, and thy dear Venelia, 1065
We will to Thessaly with joyful hearts.
_All._ Agreed: we follow thee and Delia.
_Exeunt all_ [_except_ FROLIC, FANTASTIC, _and_ MADGE].
_Fan._ What, gammer, asleep?
_Madge._ By the mass, son, ’t is almost day; and my windows shut at
the cock’s-crow. 1070
_Fro._ Do you hear, gammer? Methinks this Jack bore a great sway
amongst them.
_Madge._ O, man, this was the ghost of the poor man that they kept
such a coil to bury; and that makes him to help the wandering 1075
knight so much. But come, let us in: we will have a cup of ale and a
toast this morning, and so depart.[147]
_Fan._ Then you have made an end of your tale, gammer? 1080
_Madge._ Yes, faith: when this was done, I took a piece of bread and
cheese, and came my way; and so shall you have, too, before you go,
to your breakfast. [_Exeunt._]
THE HONOURABLE HISTORY OF FRIAR BACON AND FRIAR BUNGAY
BY ROBERT GREENE
[DRAMATIS PERSONAE
KING HENRY THE THIRD.
EDWARD, Prince of Wales, his son.
EMPEROR OF GERMANY.
KING OF CASTILE.
LACY, Earl of Lincoln.
WARREN, Earl of Sussex.
ERMSBY, a gentleman.
RALPH SIMNELL, the King’s Fool.
FRIAR BACON.
MILES, Friar Bacon’s poor scholar.
FRIAR BUNGAY.
JAQUES VANDERMAST, a German.
BURDEN, }
MASON, } Doctors of Oxford.
CLEMENT,}
LAMBERT,} gentlemen.
SERLSBY,}
Two Scholars, their sons.
The Keeper of Fressingfield.
THOMAS, } farmers’ sons.
RICHARD, }
Constable.
A Post.
Lords, Country Clowns, &c.
ELINOR, daughter to the King of Castile.
MARGARET, the Keeper’s daughter of Fressingfield.
JOAN, a country wench.
Hostess of the Bell at Henley.
A DEVIL.
Spirit in the shape of HERCULES.
A dragon shooting fire.]
[SCENE I.][148]
_Enter_ PRINCE EDWARD _malcontented, with_ LACY, WARREN, ERMSBY, _and_
RALPH SIMNELL.
_Lacy._ Why looks my lord like to a troubled sky
When heaven’s bright shine is shadow’d with a fog?
Alate[149] we ran the deer, and through the lawns
Stripp’d[150] with our nags the lofty frolic bucks
That scudded ’fore the teasers[151] like the wind.
Ne’er was the deer of merry Fressingfield 6
So lustily pull’d down by jolly mates,
Nor shar’d the farmers such fat venison,
So frankly dealt, this hundred years before;
Nor have I seen my lord more frolic in the chase, 10
And now—chang’d to a melancholy dump.
_War._ After the prince got to the Keeper’s lodge,
And had been jocund in the house awhile,
Tossing off ale and milk in country cans,
Whether it was the country’s sweet content, 15
Or else the bonny damsel fill’d us drink,
That seem’d so stately in her stammel[152] red,
Or that a qualm did cross his stomach then,—
But straight he fell into his passions.
_Erms._ Sirrah Ralph, what say you to your master? 20
Shall he thus all amort[153] live malcontent?
_Ralph._ Hearest thou, Ned?—Nay, look if he will speak to me!
_P. Edw._ What say’st thou to me, fool?
_Ralph._ I prithee, tell me, Ned, art thou in (25) love with the
Keeper’s daughter?
_P. Edw._ How if I be, what then?
_Ralph._ Why, then, sirrah, I’ll teach thee how to deceive Love.
_P. Edw._ How, Ralph? (30)
_Ralph._ Marry, Sirrah Ned, thou shalt put on my cap and my coat and
my dagger, and I will put on thy clothes and thy sword; and so thou
shalt be my fool.
_P. Edw._ And what of this? 35
_Ralph._ Why, so thou shalt beguile Love: for Love is such a proud
scab, that he will never meddle with fools nor children. Is not
Ralph’s counsel good, Ned?
_P. Edw._ Tell me, Ned Lacy, didst thou mark the maid, 40
How lively in her country-weeds she look’d?
A bonnier wench all Suffolk cannot yield:—
All Suffolk! nay, all England holds none such.
_Ralph._ Sirrah Will Ermsby, Ned is deceived.
_Erms._ Why, Ralph? 45
_Ralph._ He says all England hath no such, and I say, and I ’ll stand
to it, there is one better in Warwickshire.
_War._ How provest thou that, Ralph?
_Ralph._ Why is not the abbot a learned man, (50) and hath read many
books, and thinkest thou he hath not more learning than thou to
choose a bonny wench? Yes, I warrant thee, by his whole grammar.
_Erms._ A good reason, Ralph. 55
_P. Edw._ I tell thee, Lacy, that her sparkling eyes
Do lighten forth sweet love’s alluring fire;
And in her tresses she doth fold the looks
Of such as gaze upon her golden hair; 60
Her bashful white, mix’d with the morning’s red,
Luna doth boast upon her lovely cheeks;
Her front is beauty’s table, where she paints
The glories of her gorgeous excellence;
Her teeth are shelves of precious marguerites,[154]
Richly enclos’d with ruddy coral cliffs. 65
Tush, Lacy, she is Beauty’s over-match.
If thou survey’st her curious imagery.[155]
_Lacy._ I grant, my lord, the damsel is as fair
As simple Suffolk’s homely towns can yield;
But in the court be quainter dames than she, 70
Whose faces are enrich’d with honour’s taint,[156]
Whose beauties stand upon the stage of Fame,
And vaunt their trophies in the Courts of Love.
_P. Edw._ Ah, Ned, but hadst thou watch’d her as myself,
And seen the secret beauties of the maid, 75
Their courtly coyness, were but foolery.
_Erms._ Why, how watch’d you her, my lord?
_P. Edw._ Whenas she swept like Venus through the house.
And in her shape fast folded up my thoughts,
Into the milk-house went I with the maid, 80
And there amongst the cream-bowls she did shine
As Pallas ’mongst her princely huswifery,
She turn’d her smock over her lily arms,
And div’d them into milk to run her cheese;
But, whiter than the milk, her crystal skin, 85
Checked with lines of azure, made her blush[157]
That art or nature durst bring for compare.
Ermsby, if thou hadst seen, as I did note it well,
How Beauty play’d the huswife, how this girl,
Like Lucrece, laid her fingers to the work, 90
Thou wouldst, with Tarquin, hazard Rome and all
To win the lovely maid of Fressingfield.
_Ralph._ Sirrah Ned, wouldst fain have her?
_P. Edw._ Ay, Ralph.
_Ralph._ Why, Ned, I have laid the plot in (95) my head; thou shalt
have her already.
_P. Edw._ I’ll give thee a new coat, an learn me that.
_Ralph._ Why, Sirrah Ned, we’ll ride to Oxford to Friar Bacon. O, he
is a brave scholar, (100) sirrah; they say he is a brave necromancer,
that he can make women of devils, and he can juggle cats into
costermongers.
_P. Edw._ And how then, Ralph?
_Ralph._ Marry, sirrah, thou shalt go to (105) him: and because thy
father Harry shall not miss thee, he shall turn me into thee; and
I’ll to the court, and I’ll prince it out; and he shall make thee
either a silken purse full of gold, or else a fine wrought smock. 110
_P. Edw._ But how shall I have the maid?
_Ralph._ Marry, sirrah, if thou be’st a silken purse full of gold,
then on Sundays she’ll hang thee by her side, and you must not say a
word. Now, sir, when she comes into a great (115) press of people,
for fear of the cutpurse, on a sudden she’ll swap thee into her
plackerd;[158] then, sirrah, being there, you may plead for yourself.
_Erms._ Excellent policy! 120
_P. Edw._ But how if I be a wrought smock?
_Ralph._ Then she’ll put thee into her chest and lay thee into
lavender, and upon some good day she’ll put thee on; and at night
when you go to bed, then being turned from a smock (125) to a man,
you may make up the match.
_Lacy._ Wonderfully wisely counselled, Ralph.
_P. Edw._ Ralph shall have a new coat.
_Ralph._ God thank you when I have it on my back, Ned. 130
_P. Edw._ Lacy, the fool hath laid a perfect plot;
For-why[159] our country Margaret is so coy,
And stands so much upon her honest points,
That marriage or no market with the maid.
Ermsby, it must be necromantic spells 135
And charms of art that must enchain her love,
Or else shall Edward never win the girl.
Therefore, my wags, we’ll horse us in the morn.
And post to Oxford to this jolly friar: 140
Bacon shall by his magic do this deed.
_War._ Content, my lord; and that’s a speedy way
To wean these headstrong puppies from the teat.
_P. Edw._ I am unknown, not taken for the prince;
They only deem us frolic courtiers,
That revel thus among our liege’s game; 145
Therefore I have devis’d a policy.
Lacy, thou know’st next Friday is Saint James’,[160]
And then the country flocks to Harleston fair;
Then will the Keeper’s daughter frolic there,
And over-shine the troop of all the maids 150
That come to see and to be seen that day.
Haunt thee disguis’d among the country-swains,
Feign thou ’rt a farmer’s son, not far from thence,
Espy her loves, and who she liketh best;
Cote[161] him, and court her, to control[162] the clown; 155
Say that the courtier tired all in green.
That help’d her handsomely to run her cheese,
And fill’d her father’s lodge with venison,
Commends him, and sends fairings to herself.
Buy something worthy of her parentage, 160
Not worth her beauty; for, Lacy, then the fair
Affords no jewel fitting for the maid.
And when thou talk’st of me, note if she blush;
O, then she loves: but if her cheeks wax pale,
Disdain it is. Lacy, send how she fares, 165
And spare no time nor cost to win her loves.
_Lacy._ I will, my lord, so execute this charge
As if that Lacy were in love with her.
_P. Edw._ Send letters speedily to Oxford of the news.
_Ralph._ And, Sirrah Lacy, buy me a thousand (170) thousand million
of fine bells.
_Lacy._ What wilt thou do with them, Ralph?
_Ralph._ Marry, every time that Ned sighs for the Keeper’s daughter,
I’ll tie a bell about him; and so within three or four days I will
send (175) word to his father Harry that his son and my master Ned is
become Love’s morris-dance.
_P. Edw._ Well, Lacy, look with care unto thy charge,
And I will haste to Oxford to the friar,
That he by art and thou by secret gifts 180
Mayst make me lord of merry Fressingfield.
_Lacy._ God send your honour your heart’s desire. _Exeunt._
[SCENE II.][163]
_Enter_ FRIAR BACON, _with_ MILES _his poor Scholar, with books under
his arm; with them_ BURDEN, MASON, _and_ CLEMENT, _three Doctors_.
_Bacon._ Miles, where are you?
_Miles. Hic sum, doctissime et reverendissime doctor._
_Bacon. Attulisti nos libros meos de necromantia?_ 5
_Miles. Ecce quam bonum et quam jucundum habitare libros in unum!_
_Bacon._ Now, masters of our academic state,
That rule in Oxford, viceroys in your place,
Whose heads contain maps of the liberal arts, 10
Spending your time in depth of learned skill,
Why flock you thus to Bacon’s secret cell,
A friar newly stall’d in Brazen-nose?
Say what’s your mind, that I may make reply.
_Burd._ Bacon, we hear that long we have suspect, 15
That thou art read in magic’s mystery;
In pyromancy, to divine by flames;
To tell, by hydromatic, ebbs and tides;
By aeromancy to discover doubts.
To plain out questions, as Apollo did. 20
_Bacon._ Well, Master Burden, what of all this?
_Miles._ Marry, sir, he doth but fulfil, by rehearsing of these
names, the fable of the Fox and the Grapes; that which is above us
pertains nothing to us. 25
_Burd._ I tell thee, Bacon, Oxford makes report,
Nay, England, and the court of Henry says,
Thou ’rt making of a brazen head by art,
Which shall unfold strange doubts and aphorisms,
And read a lecture in philosophy; 30
And, by the help of devils and ghastly fiends,
Thou mean’st, ere many years or days be past,
To compass England with a wall of brass.
_Bacon._ And what of this?
_Miles._ What of this, master! Why, he doth (35) speak mystically;
for he knows, if your skill fail to make a brazen head, yet Mother
Waters’ strong ale will fit his turn to make him have a copper nose.
_Clem._ Bacon, we come not grieving at thy skill, 40
But joying that our académy yields
A man suppos’d the wonder of the world;
For if thy cunning work these miracles,
England and Europe shall admire thy fame,
And Oxford shall in characters of brass, 45
And statues, such as were built up in Rome,
Etérnize Friar Bacon for his art.
_Mason._ Then, gentle friar, tell us thy intent.
_Bacon._ Seeing you come as friends unto the friar,
Resolve you,[164] doctors, Bacon can by books 50
Make storming Boreas thunder from his cave,
And dim fair Luna to a dark eclipse.
The great arch-ruler, potentate of hell,
Trembles when Bacon bids him or his fiends
Bow to the force of his pentagonon.[165] 55
What art can work, the frolic friar knows;
And therefore will I turn my magic books,
And strain out necromancy to the deep.
I have contriv’d and fram’d a head of brass
(I made Belcephon hammer out the stuff), 60
And that by art shall read philosophy;
And I will strengthen England by my skill,
That if ten Cæsars liv’d and reign’d in Rome,
With all the legions Europe doth contain,
They should not touch a grass of English ground. 65
The work that Ninus rear’d at Babylon,
The brazen walls fram’d by Semiramis,
Carv’d out like to the portal of the sun,
Shall not be such as rings the English strand
From Dover to the market-place of Rye. 70
_Burd._ Is this possible?
_Miles._ I’ll bring ye two or three witnesses.
_Burd._ What be those?
_Miles._ Marry, sir, three or four as honest devils and good
companions as any be in hell. 75
_Mason._ No doubt but magic may do much in this;
For he that reads but mathematic rules
Shall find conclusions that avail to work
Wonders that pass the common sense of men.
_Burd._ But Bacon roves[166] a bow beyond his reach, 80
And tells of more than magic can perform,
Thinking to get a fame by fooleries.
Have I not pass’d as far in state of schools,
And read of many secrets? Yet to think
That heads of brass can utter any voice, 85
Or more, to tell of deep philosophy,—
This is a fable Æsop had forgot.
_Bacon._ Burden, thou wong’st me in detracting thus;
Bacon loves not to stuff himself with lies.
But tell me ’fore these doctors, if thou dare, 90
Of certain questions I shall move to thee.
_Burd._ I will: ask what thou can.
_Miles._ Marry, sir, he’ll straight be on your pick-pack,[167] to
know-whether the feminine or the masculine gender be most worthy. 95
_Bacon._ Were you not yesterday, Master Burden, at Henley upon the
Thames?
_Burd._ I was; what then?
_Bacon._ What book studied you thereon all night? 100
_Burd._ I! none at all; I read not there a line.
_Bacon._ Then, doctors, Friar Bacon’s art knows naught.
_Clem._ What say you to this, Master Burden? Doth he not touch you?
_Burd._ I pass not of[168] his frivolous speeches. 105
_Miles._ Nay, Master Burden, my master, ere he hath done with you,
will turn you from a doctor to a dunce, and shake you so small, that
he will leave no more learning in you than is in Balaam’s ass. 110
_Bacon._ Masters, for that learned Burden’s skill is deep,
And sore he doubts of Bacon’s cabalism,
I’ll show you why he haunts to Henley oft:
Not, doctors, for to taste the fragrant air,
But there to spend the night in alchemy, 115
To multiply with secret spells of art;
Thus private steals he learning from us all.
To prove my sayings true, I’ll show you straight
The book he keeps at Henley for himself.
_Miles._ Nay, now my master goes to conjuration, take heed. 120
_Bacon._ Masters, stand still, fear not, I’ll show you but his book.
_Here he conjures.
Per omnes deos infernales, Belcephon!_
_Enter a Woman with a shoulder of mutton on a spit, and a_ Devil.
_Miles._ O master, cease your conjuration, or you spoil all; for
here’s a she-devil come (125) with a shoulder of mutton on a spit.
You have marr’d the devil’s supper; but no doubt he thinks our
college fare is slender, and so hath sent you his cook with a
shoulder of mutton, to make it exceed. 130
_Hostess._ O, where am I, or what’s become of me?
_Bacon._ What art thou?
_Hostess._ Hostess at Henley, mistress of the Bell.
_Bacon._ How camest thou here?
_Hostess._ As I was in the kitchen ’mongst the maids, 135
Spitting the meat ’gainst supper for my guests,
A motion[169] mov’d me to look forth of door:
No sooner had I pried into the yard,
But straight a whirlwind hoisted me from thence,
And mounted me aloft unto the clouds. 140
As in a trance, I thought nor feared naught,
Nor know I where or whither I was ta’en,
Nor where I am nor what these persons be.
_Bacon._ No? Know you not Master Burden?
_Hostess._ O, yes, good sir, he is my daily guest.— 145
What, Master Burden! ’t was but yesternight
That you and I at Henley play’d at cards.
_Burd._ I know not what we did.—A pox of all conjuring friars!
_Clem._ Now, jolly friar, tell us, is this the book 150
That Burden is so careful to look on?
_Bacon._ It is.—But, Burden, tell me now,
Think’st thou that Bacon’s necromantic skill
Cannot perform his head and wall of brass,
When he can fetch thine hostess in such post? 155
_Miles._ I’ll warrant you, master, if Master Burden could conjure as
well as you, he would have his hook every night from Henley to study
on at Oxford.
_Mason._ Burden, 160
What, are you mated[170] by this frolic friar?—
Look how he droops; his guilty conscience
Drives him to bash,[171] and makes his hostess blush.
_Bacon._ Well, mistress, for I will not have you miss’d.
You shall to Henley to cheer up your guests 165
’Fore supper gin.—Burden, bid her adieu;
Say farewell to your hostess ’fore she goes.—
Sirrah, away, and set her safe at home.
_Hostess._ Master Burden, when shall we see you at Henley? 170
_Exeunt_ Hostess _and_ Devil.
_Burd._ The devil take thee and Henley too.
_Miles._ Master, shall I make a good motion?
_Bacon._ What’s that?
_Miles._ Marry, sir, now that my hostess is gone to provide supper,
conjure up another (175) spirit, and send Doctor Burden flying after.
_Bacon._ Thus, rulers of our academic state,
You have seen the friar frame his art by proof;
And as the college called Brazen-nose
Is under him, and he the master there, 180
So surely shall this head of brass be fram’d,
And yield forth strange and uncouth aphorisms,
And hell and Hecate shall fail the friar.
But I will circle England round with brass.
_Miles._ So be it _et nunc et semper_, amen. _Exeunt._ 185
[SCENE III.][172]
_Enter_ MARGARET, _the fair maid of Fressingfield, and_ JOAN; THOMAS,
[RICHARD,] _and other_ Clowns; _and_ LACY _disguised in country
apparel._
_Thom._ By my troth, Margaret, here’s a weather is able to make a man
call his father “whoreson”: if this weather hold, we shall have hay
good cheap, and butter and cheese at Harleston will hear no price. 5
_Mar._ Thomas, maids when they come to see the fair
Count not to make a cope[173] for dearth of hay;
When we have turn’d our butter to the salt,
And set our cheese safely upon the racks,
Then let our fathers price it as they please. 10
We country sluts of merry Fressingfield
Come to buy needless naughts to make us fine,
And look that young men should be frank this day,
And court us with such fairings as they can.
Phœbus is blithe, and frolic looks from heaven,
As when he courted lovely Semele, 16
Swearing the pedlars shall have empty packs,
If that fair weather may make chapmen buy.
_Lacy._ But, lovely Peggy, Semele is dead,
And therefore Phœbus from his palace pries, 20
And, seeing such a sweet and seemly saint,
Shows all his glories for to court yourself.
_Mar._ This is a fairing, gentle sir, indeed,
To soothe me up with such smooth flattery;
But learn of me, your scoff’s too broad before.—[174] 25
Well, Joan, our beauties must abide their jests;
We serve the turn in jolly Fressingfield.
_Joan._ Margaret, a farmer’s daughter for a farmer’s son:
I warrant you, the meanest of us both
Shall have a mate to lead us from the church.
But, Thomas, what’s the news? What, in a dump? 31
Give me your hand, we are near a pedlar’s shop;
Out with your purse, we must have fairings now.
_Thom._ Faith, Joan, and shall. I’ll bestow a fairing on you, and
then we will to the tavern, (35) and snap off a pint of wine or two.
_All this while_ LACY _whispers_ MARGARET _in the ear._
_Mar._ Whence are you, sir? Of Suffolk? For your terms
Are finer than the common sort of men.
_Lacy._ Faith, lovely girl, I am of Beccles by,
Your neighbour, not above six miles from hence, 40
A farmer’s son, that never was so quaint[175]
But that he could do courtesy to such dames.
But trust me, Margaret, I am sent in charge
From him that revell’d in your father’s house,
And fill’d his lodge with cheer and venison, 45
Tired in green. He sent you this rich purse,
His token that he help’d you run your cheese,
And in the milkhouse chatted with yourself.
_Mar._ To me?
_Lacy._ You forget yourself;[176] 50
Women are often weak in memory.
_Mar._ O, pardon, sir, I call to mind the man.
’T were little manners to refuse his gift,
And yet I hope he sends it not for love;
For we have little leisure to debate of that. 55
_Joan._ What, Margaret! blush not; maids must have their loves.
_Thom._ Nay, by the mass, she looks pale as if she were angry.
_Rich._ Sirrah, are you of Beccles? I pray, how doth Goodman Cob?
My father bought a (60) horse of him.—I’ll tell you, Margaret,
’a were good to be a gentleman’s jade, for of all things the foul
hilding[177] could not abide a doong-cart.
_Mar._ [_aside._] How different is this farmer from the rest 65
That erst as yet have pleas’d my wand’ring sight!
His words are witty, quickened with a smile,
His courtesy gentle, smelling of the court;
Facile and debonair in all his deeds,
Proportion’d as was Paris, when, in grey,[178] 70
He courted Œnon in the vale by Troy.
Great lords have come and pleaded for my love:
Who but the Keeper’s lass of Fressingfield?
And yet methinks this farmer’s jolly son
Passeth the proudest that hath pleas’d mine eye. 75
But, Peg, disclose not that thou art in love,
And show as yet no sign of love to him,
Although thou well wouldst wish him for thy love;
Keep that to thee till time doth serve thy turn,
To show the grief wherein thy heart doth burn.— 80
Come, Joan and Thomas, shall we to the fair?—
You, Beccles man, will not forsake us now?
_Lacy._ Not whilst I may have such quaint girls as you.
_Mar._ Well, if you chance to come by Fressingfield,
Make but a step into the Keeper’s lodge, 85
And such poor fare as woodmen can afford,
Butter and cheese, cream and fat venison,
You shall have store, and welcome therewithal.
_Lacy._ Gramercies, Peggy; look for me ere long. _Exeunt._
[Scene IV.][179]
_Enter_ [KING] HENRY THE THIRD, _the_ EMPEROR, _the_ KING OF CASTILE,
ELINOR, _his daughter_, _and_ VANDERMAST, _a German._
_K. Hen._ Great men of Europe, monarchs of the west,
Ring’d with the walls of old Oceanus,
Whose lofty surge is like the battlements
That compass’d high-built Babel in with towers,
Welcome, my lords, welcome, brave western kings, 5
To England’s shore, whose promontory cliffs
Show Albion is another little world;
Welcome says English Henry to you all;
Chiefly unto the lovely Elinor,
Who dar’d for Edward’s sake cut through the seas, 10
And venture as Agenor’s damsel through the deep,
To get the love of Henry’s wanton son.
_K. of Cast._ England’s rich monarch, brave Plantagenet,
The Pyren Mounts swelling above the clouds,
That ward the wealthy Castile in with walls, 15
Could not detain the beauteous Elinor;
But, hearing of the fame of Edward’s youth,
She dar’d to brook Neptunus’ haughty pride,
And bide the brunt of froward Æolus. 19
Then may fair England welcome her the more.
_Elin._ After that English Henry by his lords
Had sent Prince Edward’s lovely counterfeit,
A present to the Castile Elinor,
The comely portrait of so brave a man,
The virtuous fame discoursed of his deeds, 25
Edward’s courageous resolution,
Done at the Holy Land ’fore Damas’ walls,
Led both mine eye and thoughts in equal links
To like so of the English monarch’s son,
That I attempted perils for his sake. 30
_Emp._ Where is the prince, my lord?
_K. Hen._ He posted down, not long since, from the court,
To Suffolk side, to merry Framlingham,
To sport himself amongst my fallow deer;
From thence, by packets sent to Hampton-house, 35
We hear the prince is ridden with his lords
To Oxford, in the académy there
To hear dispute amongst the learned men.
But we will send forth letters for my son,
To will him come from Oxford to the court. 40
_Emp._ Nay, rather, Henry, let us, as we be,
Ride for to visit Oxford with our train.
Fain would I see your universities,
And what learn’d men your académy yields.
From Hapsburg have I brought a learned clerk
To hold dispute with English orators. 46
This doctor, surnam’d Jaques Vandermast,
A German born, pass’d into Padua,
To Florence and to fair Bologna,
To Paris, Rheims, and stately Orleans, 50
And, talking there with men of art, put down
The chiefest of them all in aphorisms,[180]
In magic, and the mathematic rules:
Now let us, Henry, try him in your schools.
_K. Hen._ He shall, my lord; this motion likes me well. 55
We’ll progress straight to Oxford with our trains,
And see what men our académy brings.—
And, wonder Vandermast, welcome to me.
In Oxford shalt thou find a jolly friar
Call’d Friar Bacon, England’s only flower: 60
Set him but nonplus in his magic spells,
And make him yield in mathematic rules,
And for thy glory I will bind thy brows,
Not with a poet’s garland made of bays,
But with a coronet of choicest gold. 65
Whilst,[181] then, we set[182] to Oxford with our troops,
Let’s in and banquet in our English court. _Exeunt._
[SCENE V.][183]
_Enter_ RALPH SIMNELL _in_ [PRINCE] EDWARD’S _apparel; and_ [PRINCE]
EDWARD, WARREN, _and_ ERMSBY, _disguised._
_Ralph._ Where be these vagabond knaves, that they attend no better
on their master?
_P. Edw._ If it please your honour, we are all ready at an inch.[184]
_Ralph._ Sirrah Ned, I’ll have no more post-horse (5) to ride on:
I’ll have another fetch.[185]
_Erms._ I pray you, how is that, my lord?
_Ralph._ Marry, sir, I’ll send to the Isle of Ely for four or five
dozen of geese, and I’ll have them tied six and six together with
whip-cord, (10) Now upon their backs will I have a fair field-bed
with a canopy; and so, when it is my pleasure, I’ll flee into what
place I please. This will be easy.
_War._ Your honour hath said well; but (15) shall we to Brazen-nose
College before we pull off our boots?
_Erms._ Warren, well motion’d; we will to the friar
Before we revel it within the town.—
Ralph, see you keep your countenance like a
prince. 20
_Ralph._ Wherefore have I such a company of cutting[186] knaves to
wait upon me, but to keep and defend my countenance against all mine
enemies? Have you not good swords and bucklers? 25
_Enter_ [FRIAR] BACON _and_ MILES.
_Erms._ Stay, who comes here?
_War._ Some scholar; and we’ll ask him where Friar Bacon is.
_Bacon._ Why, thou arrant dunce, shall I never make thee good
scholar? Doth not all the (30) town cry out and say, Friar Bacon’s
subsizer[187] is the greatest blockhead in all Oxford? Why, thou
canst not speak one word of true Latin.
_Miles._ No, sir? yes. What is this else? _Ego sum tuus homo_, “I am
your man”: I warrant (35) you, sir, as good Tully’s phrase as any is
in Oxford.
_Bacon._ Come on, sirrah; what part of speech is _Ego_?
_Miles. Ego_, that is “I”; marry, _nomen (40) substantivo_.
_Bacon._ How prove you that?
_Miles._ Why, sir, let him prove himself an ’a will; I can be heard,
felt, and understood.
_Bacon._ O gross dunce! _Beats him._ 45
_P. Edw._ Come, let us break off this dispute between these
two.—Sirrah, where is Brazen-nose College?
_Miles._ Not far from Coppersmith’s Hall.
_P. Edw._ What, dost thou mock me? 50
_Miles._ Not I, sir: but what would you at Brazen-nose?
_Erms._ Marry, we would speak with Friar Bacon.
_Miles._ Whose men be you? 55
_Erms._ Marry, scholar, here ’s our master.
_Ralph._ Sirrah, I am the master of these good fellows; mayst thou
not know me to be a lord by my reparrel? 59
_Miles._ Then here ’s good game for the hawk; for here’s the
master-fool and a covey of coxcombs. One wise man, I think, would
spring you all.
_P. Edw._ Gog’s wounds! Warren, kill him.
_War._ Why, Ned, I think the devil be in (65) my sheath; I cannot get
out my dagger.
_Erms._ Nor I mine. ’Swounds, Ned, I think I am bewitcht.
_Miles._ A company of scabs! The proudest of you all draw your
weapon, if he can.—(70) [_Aside._] See how boldly I speak, now my
master is by.
_P. Edw._ I strive in vain; but if my sword be shut
And conjur’d fast by magic in my sheath,
Villain, here is my fist. _Strikes_ MILES _a box on the ear._
_Miles._ O, I beseech you conjure his hands (75) too, that he may not
lift his arms to his head, for he is light-fingered!
_Ralph._ Ned, strike him; I’ll warrant thee by mine honour.
_Bacon._ What means the English prince to wrong my man? 80
_P. Edw._ To whom speak’st thou?
_Bacon._ To thee.
_P. Edw._ Who art thou?
_Bacon._ Could you not judge when all your swords grew fast,
That Friar Bacon was not far from hence? 85
Edward, King Henry’s son and Prince of Wales,
Thy fool disguis’d cannot conceal thyself.
I know both Ermsby and the Sussex Earl,
Else Friar Bacon had but little skill.
Thou com’st in post from merry Fressingfield, 90
Fast-fancied[188] to the Keeper’s bonny lass,
To crave some succour of the jolly friar;
And Lacy, Earl of Lincoln, hast thou left
To treat[189] fair Margaret to allow thy loves; 94
But friends are men, and love can baffle lords;
The earl both woos and courts her for himself.
_War._ Ned, this is strange; the friar knoweth all.
_Erms._ Apollo could not utter more than this.
_P. Edw._ I stand amaz’d to hear this jolly friar
Tell even the very secrets of my thoughts.—
But, learned Bacon, since thou know’st the cause 101
Why I did post so fast from Fressingfield,
Help, friar, at a pinch, that I may have
The love of lovely Margaret to myself, 104
And, as I am true Prince of Wales, I’ll give
Living and lands to strength thy college state.
_War._ Good friar, help the prince in this.
_Ralph._ Why, servant Ned, will not the friar do it? Were not my
sword glued to my scabbard by conjuration, I would cut off his 110
head, and make him do it by force.
_Miles._ In faith, my lord, your manhood and your sword is all alike;
they are so fast conjured that we shall never see them.
_Erms._ What, doctor, in a dump? Tush, help the prince, 115
And thou shalt see how liberal he will prove.
_Bacon._. Crave not such actions greater dumps than these?
I will, my lord, strain out my magic spells;
For this day comes the earl to Fressingfield, 119
And ’fore that night shuts in the day with dark,
They’ll be betrothed each to other fast.
But come with me; we’ll to my study straight,
And in a glass prospective I will show
What’s done this day in merry Fressingfield.
_P. Edw._ Gramercies, Bacon; I will quite thy pain. 125
_Bacon._ But send your train, my lord, into the town;
My scholar shall go bring them to their inn.
Meanwhile we’ll see the knavery of the earl.
_P. Edw._ Warren, leave me:—and, Ermsby, take the fool;
Let him be master, and go revel it, 130
Till I and Friar Bacon talk awhile.
_War._ We will, my lord.
_Ralph._ Faith, Ned, and I’ll lord it out till thou comest. I’ll be
Prince of Wales over all the black-pots[190] in Oxford.
_Exeunt._ 135
[Scene VI.][191]
FRIAR BACON _and_ [PRINCE] EDWARD _go into the study_.[192]
_Bacon._ Now, frolic Edward, welcome to my cell;
Here tempers Friar Bacon many toys.
And holds this place his consistory-court,
Wherein the devils plead homage to his words.
Within this glass prospective thou shalt see 5
This day what’s done in merry Fressingfield
’Twixt lovely Peggy and the Lincoln Earl.
_P. Edw._ Friar, thou glad’st me. Now shall Edward try How Lacy
meaneth to his sovereign lord.
_Bacon._ Stand there and look directly in the glass. 10
_Enter_ MARGARET _and_ FRIAR BUNGAY.
What sees my lord?
_P. Edw._ I see the Keeper’s lovely lass appear,
As brightsome[193] as the paramour of Mars,
Only attended by a jolly friar.
_Bacon._ Sit still, and keep the crystal in your eye. 15
_Mar._ But tell me. Friar Bungay, is it true[194]
That this fair courteous country swain,
Who says his father is a farmer nigh,
Can be Lord Lacy, Earl of Lincolnshire?
_Bun._ Peggy, ’t is true, ’t is Lacy for my life, 20
Or else mine art and cunning both doth fail,
Left by Prince Edward to procure his loves;
For he in green, that help you run your cheese,
Is son to Henry and the Prince of Wales.
_Mar._ Be what he will, his lure is but for lust. 25
But did Lord Lacy like poor Margaret,
Or would he deign to wed a country lass,
Friar, I would his humble handmaid be,
And for great wealth quite him with courtesy. 29
_Bun._ Why, Margaret, dost thou love him?
_Mar._ His personage, like the pride of vaunting Troy,
Might well avouch to shadow[195] Helen’s scape:[196]
His wit is quick and ready in conceit,
As Greece afforded in her chiefest prime:
Courteous, ah friar, full of pleasing smiles! 35
Trust me, I love too much to tell thee more;
Suffice to me he’s England’s paramour.
_Bun._ Hath not each eye that view’d thy pleasing face
Surnamed thee Fair Maid of Fressingfield?
_Mar._ Yes, Bungay; and would God the lovely earl 40
Had that in _esse_ that so many sought.
_Bun._ Fear not, the friar will not be behind
To show his cunning to entangle love.
_P. Edw._ I think the friar courts the bonny wench;
Bacon, methinks he is a lusty churl. 45
_Bacon._ Now look, my lord.
_Enter_ LACY [_disguised as before_].
_P. Edw._ Gog’s wounds, Bacon, here comes Lacy!
_Bacon._ Sit still, my lord, and mark the comedy.
_Bun._ Here’s Lacy, Margaret; step aside awhile. _They withdraw._
_Lacy._ Daphne, the damsel that caught Phœbus fast, 51
And lock’d him in the brightness of her looks,
Was not so beauteous in Apollo’s eyes
As is fair Margaret to the Lincoln Earl.
Recant thee, Lacy, thou art put in trust: 55
Edward, thy sovereign’s son, hath chosen thee,
A secret friend, to court her for himself,
And dar’st thou wrong thy prince with treachery?
Lacy, love makes no exception of a friend,
Nor deems it of a prince but as a man. 60
Honour bids thee control[197] him in his lust;
His wooing is not for to wed the girl,
But to entrap her and beguile the lass.
Lacy, thou lov’st, then brook not such abuse,
But wed her, and abide thy prince’s frown; 65
For better die than see her live disgrac’d.
_Mar._ Come, friar, I will shake him from his dumps.—[_Comes
forward._]
How cheer you, sir? A penny for your thought!
You ’re early up, pray God it be the near.[198]
What, come from Beccles in a morn so soon? 70
_Lacy._ Thus watchful are such men as live in love,
Whose eyes brook broken slumbers for their sleep.
I tell thee, Peggy, since last Harleston fair
My mind hath felt a heap of passions.
_Mar._ A trusty man, that court it for your friend. 75
Woo you still for the courtier all in green?
I marvel that he sues not for himself.
_Lacy._ Peggy,
I pleaded first to get your grace for him;
But when mine eyes survey’d your beauteous looks, 80
Love, like a wag, straight div’d into my heart,
And there did shrine the idea of yourself.
Pity me, though I be a farmer’s son,
And measure not my riches, but my love. 84
_Mar._ You are very hasty; for to garden well,
Seeds must have time to sprout before they spring:
Love ought to creep as doth the dial’s shade,
For timely[199] ripe is rotten too-too soon.
_Bun._ [_coming forward._] _Deus hic_; room for a merry friar!
What, youth of Beccles, with the Keeper’s lass? 90
’T is well; but tell me, hear you any news?
_Mar._ No, friar. What news?
_Bun._ Hear you not how the pursuivants do post
With proclamations through each country-town? 94
_Lacy._ For what, gentle friar? Tell the news.
_Bun._ Dwell’st thou in Beccles, and hear’st not of these news?
Lacy, the Earl of Lincoln, is late fled
From Windsor court, disguised like a swain,
And lurks about the country here unknown.
Henry suspects him of some treachery, 100
And therefore doth proclaim in every way,
That who can take the Lincoln Earl shall have,
Paid in the Exchequer, twenty thousand crowns.
_Lacy._ The Earl of Lincoln! Friar, thou art mad.
It was some other; thou mistak’st the man. 105
The Earl of Lincoln! Why, it cannot be.
_Mar._ Yes, very well, my lord, for you are he:
The Keeper’s daughter took you prisoner.
Lord Lacy, yield, I’ll be your gaoler once.
_P. Edw._ How familiar they be, Bacon! 110
_Bacon._ Sit still, and mark the sequel of their loves.
_Lacy._ Then am I double prisoner to thyself.
Peggy, I yield. But are these news in jest?
_Mar._ In jest with you, but earnest unto me;
For-why[200] these wrongs do wring me at the heart. 115
Ah, how these earls and noblemen of birth
Flatter and feign to forge poor women’s ill!
_Lacy._ Believe me, lass, I am the Lincoln Earl;
I not deny but, tired thus in rags,
I liv’d disguis’d to win fair Peggy’s love. 120
_Mar._ What love is there where wedding ends not love?
_Lacy._ I meant, fair girl, to make thee Lacy’s wife.
_Mar._ I little think that earls will stoop so low.
_Lacy._ Say, shall I make thee countess ere I sleep?
_Mar._ Handmaid unto the earl, so please himself; 125
A wife in name, but servant in obedience.
_Lacy._ The Lincoln Countess, for it shall be so:
I’ll plight the bands, and seal it with a kiss.
_P. Edw._ Gog’s wounds, Bacon, they kiss! I’ll stab them. 130
_Bacon._ O, hold your hands, my lord, it is the glass!
_P. Edw._ Choler to see the traitors gree so well.
Made me think the shadows substances.
_Bacon._ ’T were a long poniard, my lord, to reach between
Oxford and Fressingfield; but sit still and see more. 135
_Bun._ Well, Lord of Lincoln, if your loves be knit,
And that your tongues and thoughts do both agree,
To avoid ensuing jars, I’ll hamper up the match.
I’ll take my portace[201] forth and wed you here:
Then go to bed and seal[202] up your desires. 140
_Lacy._ Friar, content.—Peggy, how like you this?
_Mar._ What likes my lord is pleasing unto me.
_Bun._ Then hand-fast hand, and I will to my book.
_Bacon._ What sees my lord now?
_P. Edw._ Bacon, I see the lovers hand in hand, 145
The friar ready with his portace there
To wed them both: then am I quite undone.
Bacon, help now, if e’er thy magic serv’d;
Help, Bacon! Stop the marriage now,
If devils or necromancy may suffice, 150
And I will give thee forty thousand crowns.
_Bacon._ Fear not, my lord, I’ll stop the jolly friar
For[203] mumbling up his orisons this day.
_Lacy._ Why speak’st not, Bungay? Friar, to thy book.
_Bungay is mute, crying_, “Hud, hud.”
_Mar._ How look’st thou, friar, as a man distraught? 155
Reft of thy senses, Bungay? Show by signs,
If thou be dumb, what passions holdeth thee.
_Lacy._ He’s dumb indeed. Bacon hath with his devils
Enchanted him, or else some strange disease
Or apoplexy hath possess’d his lungs. 160
But, Peggy, what he cannot with his book,
We’ll ’twixt us both unite it up in heart.
_Mar._ Else let me die, my lord, a miscreant.
_P. Edw._ Why stands Friar Bungay so amaz’d?
_Bacon._ I have struck him dumb, my lord; and,
if your honour please, 165
I’ll fetch this Bungay straightway from Fressingfield
And he shall dine with us in Oxford here.
_P. Edw._ Bacon, do that, and thou contentest me.
_Lacy._ Of courtesy, Margaret, let us lead the friar
Unto thy father’s lodge, to comfort him 170
With broths, to bring him from this hapless trance.
_Mar._ Or else, my lord, we were passing unkind
To leave the friar so in his distress.
_Enter a_ Devil, _who carries off_ BUNGAY _on his back._
O, help, my lord! a devil, a devil, my lord!
Look how he carries Bungay on his back! 175
Let’s hence, for Bacon’s spirits be abroad. _Exit_ [_with_ LACY].
_P. Edw._ Bacon, I laugh to see the jolly friar
Mounted upon the devil, and how the earl
Flees with his bonny lass for fear.
As soon as Bungay is at Brazen-nose, 180
And I have chatted with the merry friar,
I will in post hie me to Fressingfield,
And quite these wrongs on Lacy ere ’t be long.
_Bacon._ So be it, my lord; but let us to our dinner;
For ere we have taken our repast awhile, 185
We shall have Bungay brought to Brazen-nose. _Exeunt._
[Scene VII.][204]
_Enter_ three doctors, BURDEN, MASON, _and_ CLEMENT.
_Mason._ Now that we are gathered in the Regent-house,
It fits us talk about the king’s repair,[205]
For he, trooped with all the western kings,
That lie alongst the Dantzic seas by east,
North by the clime of frosty Germany, 5
The Almain monarch, and the Saxon duke,
Castile and lovely Elinor with him,
Have in their jests resolv’d for Oxford town.
_Burd._ We must lay plots of stately tragedies
Strange comic shows, such as proud Roscius 10
Vaunted before the Roman emperors,
To welcome all the western potentates.
_Clem._ But more; the king by letters hath foretold
That Frederick, the Almain emperor,
Hath brought with him a German of esteem, 15
Whose surname is Don Jaques Vandermast,
Skilful in magic and those secret arts.
_Mason._ Then must we all make suit unto the friar,
To Friar Bacon, that he vouch this task,
And undertake to countervail in skill 20
The German; else there’s none in Oxford can
Match and dispute with learned Vandermast.
_Burd._ Bacon, if he will hold the German play,
Will teach him what an English friar can do.
The devil, I think, dare not dispute with him. 25
_Clem._ Indeed, Mas doctor, he [dis]pleasur’d you,
In that he brought your hostess with her spit
From Henley, posting unto Brazen-nose.
_Burd._ A vengeance on the friar for his pains!
But leaving that, let’s hie to Bacon straight, 30
To see if he will take this task in hand.
_Clem._ Stay, what rumour is this? The town is up in a mutiny. What
hurly-burly is this?
_Enter a_ Constable, _with_ RALPH SIMNELL, WARREN, ERMSBY, [_all three
disguised as before_], _and_ MILES.
_Cons._ Nay, masters, if you were ne’er so good, you shall before the
doctors to answer (35) your misdemeanour.
_Burd._ What’s the matter, fellow?
_Cons._ Marry, sir, here’s a company of rufflers, that, drinking in
the tavern, have made a great brawl, and almost killed the vintner. 40
_Miles._ Salve_, Doctor Burden!
This lubberly lurden,[206]
Ill-shap’d and ill-faced,
Disdain’d and disgraced,
What he tells unto _vobis_ 45
_Mentitur de nobis_.
_Burd._ Who is the master and chief of this crew?
_Miles._ Ecce asinum mundi_
_Fugura rotundi_, 50
Neat, sheat,[207] and fine,
As brisk as a cup of wine.
_Burd._ What are you?
_Ralph._ I am, father doctor, as a man would say, the bell-wether of
this company; these (55) are my lords, and I the Prince of Wales.
_Clem._ Are you Edward, the king’s son?
_Ralph._ Sirrah Miles, bring hither the tapster that drew the wine,
and, I warrant, when they see how soundly I have broke his head, 60
they’ll say ’t was done by no less man than a prince.
_Mason._ I cannot believe that this is the Prince of Wales.
_War._ And why so, sir? 65
_Mason._ For they say the prince is a brave and a wise gentleman.
_War._ Why, and think’st thou, doctor, that he is not so?
Dar’st thou detract and derogate from him,
Being so lovely and so brave a youth? 70
_Erms._ Whose face, shining with many a sug’red smile,
Bewrays that he is bred of princely race.
_Miles._ And yet, master doctor,
To speak like a proctor,
And tell unto you 75
What is veriment and true;
To cease of this quarrel,
Look but on his apparel;
Then mark but my talis.
He is great Prince of Walis, 80
The chief of our _gregis_,
And _filius regis_:
Then ’ware what is done,
For he is Henry’s white[208] son.
_Ralph._ Doctors, whose doting night-caps are (85) not capable of my
ingenious dignity, know that I am Edward Plantagenet, whom if you
displease will make a ship that shall hold all your colleges, and
so carry away the niniversity with a fair wind to the Bankside in
Southwark. (90) —How sayest thou, Ned Warren, shall I not do it?
_War._ Yes, my good lord; and, if it please your lordship, I will
gather up all your old pantofles, and with the cork[209] make you
a (95) pinnace of five-hundred ton, that shall serve the turn
marvellous well, my lord.
_Erms._ And I, my lord, will have pioners to undermine the town,
that the very gardens and orchards be carried away for your 100
summerwalks.
_Miles._ And I, with _scientia_
And great _diligentia_,
Will conjure and charm,
To keep you from harm; 105
That _utrum horum mavis_,
Your very great _navis_,
Like Barclay’s[210] ship,
From Oxford do skip
With colleges and schools, 110
Full-loaden with fools.
_Quid dicis ad hoc_,
Worshipful _Domine_ Dawcock?
_Clem._ Why, hare-brain’d courtiers, are you drunk or mad,
To taunt us up with such scurrility? 115
Deem you us men of base and light esteem,
To bring us such a fop for Henry’s son?—
Call out the beadles and convey them hence
Straight to Bocardo:[211] let the roisters lie
Close clapt in bolts, until their wits be tame. 120
_Erms._ Why, shall we to prison, my lord?
_Ralph._ What sayest, Miles, shall I honour the prison with my
presence?
_Miles._ No, no: out with your blades,
And hamper these jades; 125
Have a flurt and a crash,
Now play revel-dash,
And teach these sacerdos
That the Bocardos,
Like peasants and elves, 130
Are meet for themselves.
_Mason._ To the prison with them, constable.
_War._ Well, doctors, seeing I have sported me
With laughing at these mad and merry wags,
Know that Prince Edward is at Brazen-nose, 135
And this, attired like the Prince of Wales,
Is Ralph, King Henry’s only loved fool;
I, Earl of Sussex, and this Ermsby,
One of the privy-chamber to the king;
Who, while the prince with Friar Bacon stays,
Have revell’d it in Oxford as you see. 141
_Mason._ My lord, pardon us, we knew not what you were:
But courtiers may make greater scapes than these.
Wilt please your honour dine with me to-day?
_War._ I will, Master doctor, and satisfy (145) the vintner for his
hurt; only I must desire you to imagine him all this forenoon the
Prince of Wales.
_Mason._ I will, sir.
_Ralph._ And upon that I will lead the way; (150) only I will have
Miles go before me, because I have heard Henry say that wisdom must
go before majesty. _Exeunt._
[SCENE VIII.][212]
_Enter_ PRINCE EDWARD _with his poniard in his hand_, LACY, _and_
MARGARET.
_P. Edw._ Lacy, thou canst not shroud thy traitorous thoughts,
Nor cover, as did Cassius, all his wiles;
For Edward hath an eye that looks as far
As Lynceus from the shores of Græcia.
Did not I sit in Oxford by the friar, 5
And see thee court the maid of Fressingfield,
Sealing thy flattering fancies with a kiss?
Did not proud Bungay draw his portace forth,
And, joining hand in hand, had married you,
If Friar Bacon had not struck him dumb, 10
And mounted him upon a spirit’s back,
That we might chat at Oxford with the friar?
Traitor, what answer’st? Is not all this true?
_Lacy._ Truth all, my lord; and thus I make reply:
At Harleston fair, there courting for your grace,
Whenas mine eye survey’d her curious shape, 16
And drew the beauteous glory of her looks
To dive into the centre of my heart,
Love taught me that your honour did but jest,
That princes were in fancy[213] but as men; 20
How that the lovely maid of Fressingfield
Was fitter to be Lacy’s wedded wife
Than concubine unto the Prince of Wales.
_P. Edw._ Injurious Lacy, did I love thee more
Than Alexander his Hephæstion? 25
Did I unfold the passions of my love,
And lock them in the closet of thy thoughts?
Wert thou to Edward second to himself,
Sole friend, and partner of his secret loves?
And could a glance of fading beauty break 30
Th’ enchained fetters of such private friends?
Base coward, false, and too effeminate
To be corrival[214] with a prince in thoughts!
From Oxford have I posted since I din’d,
To quite a traitor ’fore that Edward sleep. 35
_Mar._ ’T was I, my lord, not Lacy stept awry:
For oft he su’d and courted for yourself,
And still woo’d for the courtier all in green;
But I, whom fancy made but over-fond,
Pleaded myself with looks as if I lov’d; 40
I fed mine eye with gazing on his face,
And still bewitch’d lov’d Lacy with my looks;
My heart with sighs, mine eyes pleaded with tears,
My face held pity and content at once,
And more I could not cipher-out by signs, 45
But that I lov’d Lord Lacy with my heart.
Then, worthy Edward, measure with thy mind
If women’s favours will not force men fall,
If beauty, and if darts of piercing love,
Are not of force to bury thoughts of friends. 50
_P. Edw._ I tell thee, Peggy, I will have thy loves;
Edward or none shall conquer Margaret
In frigates bottom’d with rich Sethin[215] planks,
Topt with the lofty firs of Lebanon,
Stemm’d and incas’d with burnish’d ivory, 55
And over-laid with plates of Persian wealth,
Like Thetis shalt thou wanton on the waves,
And draw the dolphins to thy lovely eyes,
To dance lavoltas in the purple streams:
Sirens, with harps and silver psalteries, 60
Shall wait with music at thy frigate’s stem,
And entertain fair Margaret with their lays.
England and England’s wealth shall wait on thee;
Britain shall bend unto her prince’s love,
And do due homage to thine excellence, 65
If thou wilt be but Edward’s Margaret.
_Mar._ Pardon, my lord: if Jove’s great royalty
Sent me such presents as to Danaë;
If Phœbus, tired in Latona’s webs,
Come courting from the beauty of his lodge; 70
The dulcet tunes of frolic Mercury,—
Nor all the wealth heaven’s treasury affords
Should make me leave Lord Lacy or his love.
_P. Edw._ I have learn’d at Oxford, then, this point of schools,—
_Ablata causa, tollitur effectus:_ 75
Lacy, the cause that Margaret cannot love
Nor fix her liking on the English prince,
Take him away, and then th’ effects will fail.
Villain, prepare thyself; for I will bathe
My poniard in the bosom of an earl. 80
_Lacy._ Rather than live, and miss fair Margaret’s love,
Prince Edward, stop not at the fatal doom,
But stab it home: end both my loves and life.
_Mar._ Brave Prince of Wales, honoured for royal deeds,
’Twere sin to stain fair Venus’ courts with blood; 85
Love’s conquest ends, my lord, in courtesy.
Spare Lacy, gentle Edward; let me die,
For so both you and he do cease your loves.
_P. Edw._ Lacy shall die as traitor to his lord.
_Lacy._ I have deserv’d it, Edward; act it well. 90
_Mar._ What hopes the prince to gain by Lacy’s death?
_P. Edw._ To end the loves ’twixt him and Margaret.
_Mar._ Why, thinks King Henry’s son that Margaret’s love
Hangs in th’ uncertain balance of proud time?
That death shall make a discord of our thoughts? 95
No, stab the earl, and, ’fore the morning sun
Shall vaunt him thrice over the lofty east,
Margaret will meet her Lacy in the heavens.
_Lacy._ If aught betides to lovely Margaret
That wrongs or wrings her honour from content, 100
Europe’s rich wealth nor England’s monarchy
Should not allure Lacy to over-live.
Then, Edward, short my life, and end her loves.
_Mar._ Rid[216] me, and keep a friend worth many loves.
_Lacy._ Nay, Edward, keep a love worth many friends. 105
_Mar._ An if thy mind be such as fame hath blaz’d,
Then, princely Edward, let us both abide
The fatal resolution of thy rage.
Banish thou fancy and embrace revenge,
And in one tomb knit both our carcases, 110
Whose hearts were linked in one perfect love.
_P. Edw._ [_aside._] Edward, art thou that famous Prince of Wales,
Who at Damasco beat the Saracens,
And brought’st home triumph on thy lance’s point?
And shall thy plumes be pull’d by Venus down? 115
Is’t princely to dissever lovers’ leagues,
To part such friends as glory in their loves?
Leave, Ned, and make a virtue of this fault,
And further Peg and Lacy in their loves:
So in subduing fancy’s passion, 120
Conquering thyself, thou gett’st the richest spoil.——-
Lacy, rise up. Fair Peggy, here’s my hand.
The Prince of Wales hath conquered all his thoughts,
And all his loves he yields unto the earl.
Lacy, enjoy the maid of Fressingfield; 125
Make her thy Lincoln Countess at the church,
And Ned, as he is true Plantagenet,
Will give her to thee frankly for thy wife.
_Lacy._ Humbly I take her of my sovereign,
As if that Edward gave me England’s right, 130
And rich’d me with the Albion diadem.
_Mar._ And doth the English prince mean true?
Will he vouchsafe to cease his former loves,
And yield the title of a country maid
Unto Lord Lacy? 135
_P. Edw._ I will, fair Peggy, as I am true lord.
_Mar._ Then, lordly sir, whose conquest is as great,
In conquering love, as Caesar’s victories,
Margaret, as mild and humble in her thoughts
As was Aspasia unto Cyrus’ self, 140
Yields thanks, and, next Lord Lacy, doth enshrine
Edward the second secret in her heart.
_P. Edw._ Gramercy, Peggy. Now that vows are past,
And that your loves are not to be revolt,[217]
Once, Lacy, friends again. Come, we will post
To Oxford; for this day the king is there, 145
And brings for Edward Castile Elinor.
Peggy, I must go see and view my wife:
I pray God I like her as I loved thee.
Beside, Lord Lincoln, we shall hear dispute 150
’Twixt Friar Bacon and learned Vandermast.
Peggy, we’ll leave you for a week or two.
_Mar._ As it please Lord Lacy; but love’s foolish looks
Think footsteps miles and minutes to be hours.
_Lacy._ I’ll hasten, Peggy, to make short return.—— 155
But please your honour go unto the lodge,
We shall have butter, cheese, and venison;
And yesterday I brought for Margaret
A lusty bottle of neat claret-wine:
Thus can we feast and entertain your grace. 160
_P. Edw._ ’Tis cheer, Lord Lacy, for an emperor,
If he respect the person and the place.
Come, let us in; for I will all this night
Ride post until I come to Bacon’s cell. _Exeunt._
[SCENE IX.][218]
_Enter_ KING HENRY, the EMPEROR, the KING OF CASTILE, ELINOR,
VANDERMAST, _and_ BUNGAY.
_Emp._ Trust me, Plantagenet, these Oxford schools
Are richly seated near the river-side:
The mountains full of fat and fallow deer,
The battling[219] pastures lade with kine and flocks,
The town gorgeous with high-built colleges, 5
And scholars seemly in their grave attire,
Learned in searching principles of art.——
What is thy judgment, Jaques Vandermast?
_Van._ That lordly are the buildings of the town, 9
Spacious the rooms, and full of pleasant walks;
But for the doctors, how that they be learned,
It may be meanly, for aught I can hear.
_Bun._ I tell thee, German, Hapsburg holds none such,
None read so deep as Oxenford contains.
There are within our academic state 15
Men that may lecture it in Germany
To all the doctors of your Belgic schools.
_K. Hen._ Stand to him, Bungay, charm this Vandermast,
And I will use thee as a royal king.
_Van._ Wherein darest thou dispute with me? 20
_Bun._ In what a doctor and a friar can.
_Van._ Before rich Europe’s worthies put thou forth
The doubtful question unto Vandermast.
_Bun._ Let it be this,—Whether the spirits of pyromancy or geomancy
be most predominant (25) in magic?
_Van._ I say, of pyromancy.
_Bun._ And I, of geomancy.
_Van._ The cabalists that write of magic spells,
As Hermes, Melchie, and Pythagoras, 30
Affirm that, ’mongst the quadruplicity
Of elemental essence, _terra_ is but thought
To be a _punctum_ squared[220] to the rest;
And that the compass of ascending elements
Exceed in bigness as they do in height; 35
Judging the concave circle of the sun
To hold the rest in his circumference.
If, then, as Hermes says, the fire be great’st,
Purest, and only giveth shape to spirits,
Then must these dæmones that haunt that place
Be every way superior to the rest. 41
_Bun._ I reason not of elemental shapes,
Nor tell I of the concave latitudes,
Noting their essence nor their quality,
But of the spirits that pyromancy calls, 45
And of the vigour of the geomantic fiends.
I tell thee, German, magic haunts the ground,
And those strange necromantic spells,
That work such shows and wondering in the world,
Are acted by those geomantic spirits 50
That Hermes calleth _terræ filii_.
The fiery spirits are but transparent shades,
That lightly pass as heralds to bear news;
But earthly fiends, clos’d in the lowest deep,
Dissever mountains, if they be but charg’d, 55
Being more gross and massy in their power.
_Van._ Rather these earthly geomantic spirits
Are dull and like the place where they remain;
For when proud Lucifer fell from the heavens,
The spirits and angels that did sin with him, 60
Retain’d their local essence as their faults,
All subject under Luna’s continent.
They which offended less hang in the fire,
And second faults did rest within the air;
But Lucifer and his proud-hearted fiends 65
Were thrown into the centre of the earth,
Having less understanding than the rest,
As having greater sin and lesser grace.
Therefore such gross and earthly spirits do serve
For jugglers, witches, and vile sorcerers; 70
Whereas the pyromantic genii
Are mighty, swift, and of far-reaching power.
But grant that geomancy hath most force;
Bungay, to please these mighty potentates,
Prove by some instance what thy art can do. 75
_Bun._ I will.
_Emp._ Now, English Harry, here begins the game;
We shall see sport between these learned men.
_Van._ What wilt thou do?
_Bun._ Show thee the tree, leav’d with refined gold, 80
Whereon the fearful dragon held his seat,
That watch’d the garden call’d Hesperides,
Subdu’d and won by conquering Hercules.
_Van._ Well done!
_Here_ BUNGAY _conjures, and the tree appears with the dragon shooting
fire._
_K. Hen._ What say you, royal lordings, to my friar? 85
Hath he not done a point of cunning skill?
_Van._ Each scholar in the necromantic spells
Can do as much as Bungay hath perform’d.
But as Alcmena’s bastard raz’d this tree,
So will I raise him up as when he liv’d, 90
And cause him pull the dragon from his seat,
And tear the branches piecemeal from the root.—
Hercules! _Prodi, prodi_, Hercules!
HERCULES _appears in his lion’s skin._
_Her. Quis me vult?_
_Van._ Jove’s bastard son, thou Libyan Hercules, 95
Pull off the sprigs from off the Hesperian tree,
As once thou didst to win the golden fruit.
_Her. Fiat._ _Begins to break the branches._
_Van._ Now, Bungay, if thou canst by magic charm
The fiend, appearing like great Hercules, 100
From pulling down the branches of the tree,
Then art thou worthy to be counted learned.
_Bun._ I cannot.
_Van._ Cease, Hercules, until I give thee charge.—
Mighty commander of this English isle, 105
Henry, come from the stout Plantagenets,
Bungay is learn’d enough to be a friar;
But to compare with Jaques Vandermast,
Oxford and Cambridge must go seek their cells
To find a man to match him in his art. 110
I have given nonplus to the Paduans,
To them of Sien, Florence, and Bologna,
Rheims, Louvain, and fair Rotterdam,
Frankfort, Lutetia,[221] and Orleans:
And now must Henry, if he do me right, 115
Crown me with laurel, as they all have done.
_Enter_ BACON.
_Bacon._ All hail to this royal company,
That sit to hear and see this strange dispute!—
Bungay, how stand’st thou as a man amaz’d?
What, hath the German acted more than thou? 120
_Van._ What art thou that questions thus?
_Bacon._ Men call me Bacon.
_Van._ Lordly thou look’st, as if that thou wert learn’d;
Thy countenance as if science held her seat
Between the circled archers of thy brows. 125
_K. Hen._ Now, monarchs, hath the German found his match.
_Emp._ Bestir thee, Jaques, take not now the foil,
Lest thou dost lose what foretime thou didst gain.
_Van._ Bacon, wilt thou dispute?
_Bacon._ No, 130
Unless he were more learn’d than Vandermast:
For yet, tell me, what hast thou done?
_Van._ Rais’d Hercules to ruinate that tree
That Bungay mounted by his magic spells.
_Bacon._ Set Hercules to work. 135
_Van._ Now, Hercules, I charge thee to thy task;
Pull off the golden branches from the root.
_Her._ I dare not. See’st thou not great Bacon here,
Whose frown doth act more than thy magic can?
_Van._ By all the thrones, and dominations, 140
Virtues, powers, and mighty hierarchies,
I charge thee to obey to Vandermast.
_Her._ Bacon, that bridles headstrong Belcephon,
And rules Asmenoth, guider of the north,
Binds me from yielding unto Vandermast. 145
_K. Hen._ How now, Vandermast! Have you met with your match?
_Van._ Never before was’t known to Vandermast
That men held devils in such obedient awe.
Bacon doth more than art, or else I fail. 150
_Emp._ Why, Vandermast, art then overcome?—
Bacon, dispute with him, and try his skill.
_Bacon._ I come not, monarchs, for to hold dispute
With such a novice as is Vandermast;
I came to have your royalties to dine 155
With Friar Bacon here in Brazen-nose;
And, for this German troubles but the place,
And holds this audience with a long suspence,
I’ll send him to his academy hence.—— 159
Thou Hercules, whom Vandermast did raise,
Transport the German unto Hapsburg straight,
That he may learn by travail, ’gainst the spring,
More secret dooms and aphorisms of art.
Vanish the tree, and thou away with him!
_Exit the spirit_ [_of_ HERCULES] _with_ VANDERMAST _and the tree._
_Emp._ Why, Bacon, whither dost thou send him? (165)
_Bacon._ To Hapsburg; there your highness at return
Shall find the German in his study safe.
_K. Hen._ Bacon, thou hast honour’d England with thy skill,
And made fair Oxford famous by thine art;
I will be English Henry to thyself. 170
But tell me, shall we dine with thee to-day?
_Bacon._ With me, my lord; and while I fit my cheer,
See where Prince Edward comes to welcome you.
Gracious as the morning-star of heaven. _Exit._
_Enter_ [PRINCE] EDWARD, LACY, WARREN, ERMSBY.
_Emp._ Is this Prince Edward, Henry’s royal son? 175
How martial is the figure of his face!
Yet lovely and beset with amorets.[222]
_K. Hen._ Ned, where hast thou been?
_P. Edw._ At Framlingham, my lord, to try your bucks
If they could scape the teasers[223] or the toil. 180
But hearing of these lordly potentates
Landed, and progress’d up to Oxford town,
I posted to give entertain to them:
Chief, to the Almain monarch; next to him,
And joint with him, Castile and Saxony 185
Are welcome as they may be to the English court.
Thus for the men: but see, Venus appears,
Or one that overmatcheth Venus in her shape!
Sweet Elinor, beauty’s high-swelling pride,
Rich nature’s glory and her wealth at once, 190
Fair of all fairs, welcome to Albion;
Welcome to me, and welcome to thine own,
If that thou deign’st the welcome from myself.
_Elin._ Martial Plantagenet, Henry’s high-minded son,
The mark that Elinor did count her aim, 195
I lik’d thee ’fore I saw thee: now I love,
And so as in so short a time I may;
Yet so as time shall never break that so,
And therefore so accept of Elinor.
_K. of Cast._ Fear not, my lord, this couple will agree, 200
If love may creep into their wanton eyes:——
And therefore, Edward, I accept thee here,
Without suspence, as my adopted son.
_K. Hen._ Let me that joy in these consorting greets,
And glory in these honours done to Ned, 205
Yield thanks for all these favours to my son,
And rest a true Plantagenet to all.
_Enter_ MILES _with a cloth and trenchers and salt._
_Miles. Salvete, omnes reges_,
That govern your _greges_
In Saxony and Spain, 210
In England and in Almain!
For all this frolic rabble
Must I cover the table
With trenchers, salt, and cloth;
And then look for your broth. 215
_Emp._ What pleasant fellow is this?
_K. Hen._ ’Tis, my lord, Doctor Bacon’s poor scholar.
_Miles._ [_aside._] My master hath made me sewer[224] of these great
lords; and, God knows, (220) I am as serviceable at a table as a
sow is under an apple-tree. ’T is no matter; their cheer shall not
be great, and therefore what skills where the salt stand, before or
behind? [_Exit._]
_K. of Cast._ These scholars know more skill in axioms, 225
How to use quips and sleights of sophistry,
Than for to cover courtly for a king.
_Re-enter_ MILES _with a mess of pottage and broth; and, after him_,
BACON.
_Miles._ Spill, sir? why, do you think I never
carried twopenny chop[225] before in my life?——
By your leave, _nobile decus_, 230
For here comes Doctor Bacon’s _pecus_,
Being in his full age
To carry a mess of pottage.
_Bacon._ Lordings, admire[226] not if your cheer be this,
For we must keep our academic fare; 235
No riot where philosophy doth reign:
And therefore, Henry, place these potentates,
And bid them fall unto their frugal cates.
_Emp._ Presumptuons friar! What, scoff’st thou at a king?
What, dost thou taunt us with thy peasants’ fare, 240
And give us cates fit for country swains?——
Henry, proceeds this jest of thy consent,
To twit us with[227] a pittance of such price?
Tell me and Frederick will not grieve thee long.
_K. Hen._ By Henry’s honour, and the royal faith 245
The English monarch beareth to his friend,
I knew not of the friar’s feeble fare,
Nor am I pleas’d he entertains you thus.
_Bacon._ Content thee, Frederick, for I show’d the cates,
To let thee see how scholars use to feed; 250
How little meat refines our English wits.——
Miles, take away, and let it be thy dinner.
_Miles._ Marry, sir, I will.
This day shall be a festival-day with me;
For I shall exceed in the highest degree. [_Exit._]
_Bacon._ I tell thee, monarch, all the German peers 256
Could not afford thy entertainment such,
So royal and so full of majesty,
As Bacon will present to Frederick.
The basest waiter that attends thy cups 260
Shall be in honours greater than thyself;
And for thy cates, rich Alexandria drugs,[228]
Fetch’d by carvels from Egypt’s richest straits,
Found in the wealthy strand of Africa,
Shall royalize the table of my king; 265
Wines richer than th’ Egyptian courtesan
Quaff’d to Augustus’ kingly countermatch,
Shall be carous’d in English Henry’s feast;
Candy shall yield the richest of her canes;
Persia, down her Volga by canoes, 270
Send down the secrets of her spicery;
The Afric dates, myrobalans[229] of Spain,
Conserves and suckets[230] from Tiberias,
Cates from Judaea, choicer than the lamp[231]
That fired Rome with sparks of gluttony, 275
Shall beautify the board for Frederick:
And therefore grudge not at a friar’s feast. [_Exeunt._]
[SCENE X.][232]
_Enter two gentlemen_, LAMBERT _and_ SERLSBY, _with the_ Keeper.
_Lam._ Come, frolic Keeper of our liege’s game,
Whose table spread hath ever venison
And jacks[233] of wine to welcome passengers,
Know I’m in love with jolly Margaret,
That overshines our damsels as the moon 5
Dark’neth the brightest sparkles of the night.
In Laxfield here my land and living lies:
I’ll make thy daughter jointer[234] of it all,
So thou consent to give her to my wife;
And I can spend five hundred marks a-year. 10
_Ser._ I am the lands-lord. Keeper, of thy holds,
By copy all thy living lies in me;
Laxfield did never see me raise my due:
I will enfeoff fair Margaret in all,
So she will take her to a lusty squire. 15
_Keep._ Now, courteous gentles, if the Keeper’s girl
Hath pleas’d the liking fancy of you both,
And with her beauty hath subdu’d your thoughts,
’Tis doubtful to decide the question.
It joys me that such men of great esteem 20
Should lay their liking on this base estate,
And that her state should grow so fortunate
To be a wife to meaner men than you.
But sith such squires will stoop to keeper’s fee,[235]
I will, to avoid displeasure of you both, 25
Call Margaret forth, and she shall make her choice. _Exit._
_Lam._ Content, Keeper; send her unto us.
Why, Serlsby, is thy wife so lately dead,
Are all thy loves so lightly passed over,
As thou canst wed before the year be out? 30
_Ser._ I live not, Lambert, to content the dead,
Nor was I wedded but for life to her:
The grave ends and begins a married state.
_Enter_ MARGARET.
_Lam._ Peggy, the lovely flower of all towns,
Suffolk’s fair Helen, and rich England’s star, 35
Whose beauty, tempered with her huswifery,
Makes England talk of merry Fressingfield!
_Ser._ I cannot trick it up with poesies,
Nor paint my passions with comparisons,
Nor tell a tale of Phœbus and his loves: 40
But this believe me,—Laxfield here is mine,
Of ancient rent seven hundred pounds a-year,
And if thou canst but love a country squire,
I will enfeoff thee, Margaret, in all.
I cannot flatter; try me, if thou please. 45
_Mar._ Brave neighbouring squires, the stay of Suffolk’s clime,
A keeper’s daughter is too base in gree[236]
To match with men accounted of such worth:
But might I not displease, I would reply.
_Lam._ Say, Peggy; naught shall make us discontent. 50
_Mar._ Then, gentles, note that love hath little stay,
Nor can the flames that Venus sets on fire
Be kindled but by fancy’s motion:
Then pardon, gentles, if a maid’s reply,
Be doubtful, while[237] I have debated with myself, 55
Who, or of whom, love shall constrain me like.
_Ser._ Let it be me; and trust me, Margaret,
The meads environed with the silver streams,
Whose battling pastures fatt’neth all my flocks,
Yielding forth fleeces stapled with such wool 60
As Leominster[238] cannot yield more finer stuff,
And forty kine with fair and burnish’d heads,
With strouting[239] dugs that paggle[240] to the ground,
Shall serve thy dairy, if thou wed with me.
_Lam._ Let pass the country wealth, as flocks and kine, 65
And lands that wave with Ceres’ golden sheaves,
Filling my barns with plenty of the fields;
But, Peggy, if thou wed thyself to me,
Thou shalt have garments of embroid’red silk,
Lawns, and rich net-works for thy head-attire: 70
Costly shall be thy fair habiliments,
If thou wilt be but Lambert’s loving wife.
_Mar._ Content you, gentles, you have proffer’d fair,
And more than fits a country maid’s degree;
But give me leave to counsel me a time, 75
For fancy blooms not at the first assault;
Give me but ten days’ respite, and I will reply,
Which or to whom myself affectionates.
_Ser._ Lambert, I tell thee, thou’rt importunate;
Such beauty fits not such a base esquire: 80
It is for Serlsby to have Margaret.
_Lam._ Think’st thou with wealth to overreach me?
Serlsby, I scorn to brook thy country braves.
I dare thee, coward, to maintain this wrong,
At dint of rapier, single in the field. 85
_Ser._ I’ll answer, Lambert, what I have avouch’d.——
Margaret, farewell; another time shall serve. _Exit._
_Lam._ I’ll follow.—Peggy, farewell to thyself;
Listen how well I’ll answer for thy love. _Exit._
_Mar._ How Fortune tempers lucky haps with frowns, 90
And wrongs me with the sweets of my delight!
Love is my bliss, and love is now my bale.
Shall I be Helen in my froward[241] fates,
As I am Helen in my matchless hue,
And set rich Suffolk with my face afire? 95
If lovely Lacy were but with his Peggy,
The cloudy darkness of his bitter frown
Would check the pride of these aspiring squires.
Before the term of ten days be expired,
Whenas they look for answer of their loves, 100
My lord will come to merry Fressingfield,
And end their fancies and their follies both:
Till when, Peggy, be blithe and of good cheer.
_Enter a_ Post _with a letter and a bag of gold._
_Post._ Fair lovely damsel, which way leads this path?
How might I post me unto Fressingfield? 105
Which footpath leadeth to the Keeper’s lodge?
_Mar._ Your way is ready, and this path is right;
Myself do dwell hereby in Fressingfield,
And if the Keeper be the man you seek,
I am his daughter: may I know the cause? 110
_Post._ Lovely, and once beloved of my lord,—
No marvel if his eye was lodg’d so low,
When brighter beauty is not in the heavens,—
The Lincoln Earl hath sent you letters here,
And, with them, just an hundred pounds in gold. 115
Sweet, bonny wench, read them, and make reply.
_Mar._ The scrolls that Jove sent Danaë,
Wrapt in rich closures of fine burnish’d gold,
Were not more welcome than these lines to me.
Tell me, whilst that I do unrip the seals, 120
Lives Lacy well? How fares my lovely lord?
_Post._ Well, if that wealth may make men to live well.
_Mar._ (_reads_) _The blooms of the almond-tree grow in a night,
and vanish in a morn; the flies hœmeræ,[242] fair Peggy, take life
with the sun,_ (125) _and die with the dew; fancy that slippeth in
with a gaze, goeth out with a wink; and too timely[243] loves have
ever the shortest length. I write this as thy grief, and my folly,
who at Fressingfield loved that which time hath taught me to be but
mean_ (130) _dainties. Eyes are dissemblers, and fancy is but queasy;
therefore know, Margaret, I have chosen a Spanish lady to be my wife,
chief waiting-woman to the Princess Elinor; a lady fair, and no less
fair than thyself, honourable and wealthy. In_ (135) _that I forsake
thee, I leave thee to thine own liking: and for thy dowry I have sent
thee an hundred pounds; and ever assure thee of my favour, which
shall avail thee and thine much._
_Farewell. Not thine, nor his own,_ (140) _EDWARD LACY_.
Fond Ate, doomer of bad-boding fates,
That wraps proud Fortune in thy snaky locks,
Didst thou enchant my birth-day with such stars
As light’ned mischief from their infancy? 145
If heavens had vow’d, if stars had made decree,
To show on me their froward influence,
If Lacy had but lov’d, heavens, hell, and all
Could not have wrong’d the patience of my mind.
_Post._ It grieves me, damsel; but the earl is forc’d 150
To love the lady by the king’s command.
_Mar._ The wealth combin’d within the English shelves,
Europe’s commander, nor the English king,
Should not have mov’d the love of Peggy from her lord.
_Post._ What answer shall I return to my lord? 155
_Mar._ First, for thou cam’st from Lacy whom I lov’d,—
Ah, give me leave to sigh at every thought!—
Take thou, my friend, the hundred pound he sent,
For Margaret’s resolution craves no dower.
The world shall be to her as vanity; 160
Wealth, trash; love, hate; pleasure, despair:
For I will straight to stately Framlingham,
And in the abbey there be shorn a nun,
And yield my loves and liberty to God.
Fellow, I give thee this, not for the news, 165
For those be hateful unto Margaret,
But for thou ’rt Lacy’s man, once Margaret’s love.
_Post._ What I have heard, what passions I have seen,
I’ll make report of them unto the earl.
_Mar._ Say that she joys his fancies be at rest, 170
And prays that his misfortune may be hers. _Exeunt._
[SCENE XI.][244]
_Enter_ FRIAR BACON _drawing the curtains with a white stick, a book in
his hand, and a lamp lighted by him; and the_ Brazen Head, _and_ MILES
_with weapons by him._
_Bacon._ Miles, where are you?
_Miles._ Here, sir.
_Bacon._ How chance you tarry so long?
_Mil._ Think you that the watching of the Brazen Head craves no
furniture? I warrant (5) you, sir, I have so armed myself that if all
your devils come, I will not fear them an inch.
_Bacon._ Miles,
Thou know’st that I have dived into hell,
And sought the darkest palaces of fiends; 10
That with my magic spells great Belcephon
Hath left his lodge and kneeled at my cell;
The rafters of the earth rent from the poles,
And three-form’d Luna hid her silver looks,
Trembling upon her concave continent, 15
When Bacon read upon his magic book.
With seven years’ tossing necromantic charms,
Poring upon dark Hecat’s principles,
I have fram’d out a monstrous head of brass,
That, by the enchanting forces of the devil, 20
Shall tell out strange and uncouth aphorisms,
And girt fair England with a wall of brass.
Bungay and I have watch’d these threescore days,
And now our vital spirits crave some rest.
If Argus liv’d, and had his hundred eyes, 25
They could not over-watch Phobetor’s night.
Now, Miles, in thee rests Friar Bacon’s weal:
The honour and renown of all his life
Hangs in the watching of this Brazen Head;
Therefore I charge thee by the immortal God, 30
That holds the souls of men within his fist,
This night thou watch; for ere the morning-star
Sends out his glorious glister on the north,
The head will speak: then, Miles, upon thy life,
Wake me; for then by magic art I’ll work 35
To end my seven years’ task with excellence.
If that a wink but shut thy watchful eye,
Then farewell Bacon’s glory and his fame!
Draw close the curtains, Miles: now, for thy life,
Be watchful, and— _Here he falleth asleep_. 40
_Miles._ So; I thought you would talk yourself asleep anon; and ’t is
no marvel, for Bungay on the days, and he on the nights, have watched
just these ten and fifty days: now this is the night, and ’tis my
task, and no more. Now, (45) Jesus bless me, what a goodly head it
is! and a nose! you talk of _nos autem glorificare_; but here’s a
nose that I warrant may be called _nos autem populare_ for the people
of the parish. Well, I am furnished with weapons: now, (50) sir, I
will set me down by a post, and make it as good as a watchman to wake
me, if I chance to slumber. I thought, Goodman Head, I would call you
out of your _memento_.... Passion o’God, I have almost broke my pate!
Up, Miles, to (55) your task; take your brown-bill[245] in your hand;
here’s some of your master’s hobgoblins abroad.
_ With this a great noise. The_ Head _speaks._
_The Brazen Head._ Time is!
_Miles._ Time is! Why, Master Brazen-head, have you such a capital
nose, and answer (60) you with syllables, “Time is”? Is this all my
master’s cunning, to spend seven years’ study about “Time is”? Well,
sir, it may be we shall have some better orations of it anon. Well,
I’ll watch you as narrowly as ever you were (65) watched, and I’ll
play with you as the nightingale with the slow-worm; I’ll set a prick
against my breast. Now rest there, Miles. Lord have mercy upon me,
I have almost killed myself! [_A great noise._] Up, Miles; list how
(70) they rumble.
_The Brazen Head._ Time was!
_Miles._ Well. Friar Bacon, you spent your seven-years’ study well,
that can make your head speak but two words at once, “Time (75) was.”
Yea, marry, time was when my master was a wise man, but that was
before he began to make the Brazen Head. You shall lie while[246]
your arse ache, an your head speak no better. Well, I will watch, and
walk up and down, (80) and be a peripatetian and a philosopher of
Aristotle’s stamp. [_A great noise._] What, a fresh noise? Take thy
pistols in hand, Miles.
_Here the_ Head _speaks, and a lightning flashes forth, and a hand
appears that breaks down the_ Head _with a hammer._
_The Brazen Head._ Time is past!
_Miles._ Master, master, up! Hell’s broken (85) loose! Your head
speaks; and there’s such a thunder and lightning, that I warrant all
Oxford is up in arms. Out of your bed, and take a brown-bill in your
hand; the latter day is come. 90
_Bacon._ Miles, I come. O, passing warily watch’d!
Bacon will make thee next himself in love.
When spake the head?
_Miles._ When spake the head! Did not you say that he should tell
strange principles of (95) philosophy? Why, sir, it speaks but two
words at a time.
_Bacon._ Why, villain, hath it spoken oft?
_Miles._ Oft! ay, marry, hath it, thrice; but in all those three
times it hath uttered but (100) seven words.
_Bacon._ As how?
_Miles._ Marry, sir, the first time he said “Time is,” as if Fabius
Cumentator should have pronounced a sentence; [the second (105) time]
he said, “Time was”; and the third time, with thunder and lightning,
as in great choler, he said, “Time is past.”
_Bacon._ ’Tis past indeed. Ah, villain! time is past:
My life, my fame, my glory, all are past.— 110
Bacon, the turrets of thy hope are ruin’d down,
Thy seven years’ study lieth in the dust:
Thy Brazen Head lies broken through a slave
That watch’d, and would not when the head did will.—
What said the head first? 115
_Miles._ Even, sir, “Time is.”
_Bacon._ Villain, if thou hadst call’d to Bacon then,
If thou hadst watch’d, and wak’d the sleepy friar,
The Brazen Head had uttered aphorisms,
And England had been circled round with brass: 120
But proud Asmenoth, ruler of the north,
And Demogorgon, master of the fates,
Grudge that a mortal man should work so much.
Hell trembled at my deep-commanding spells,
Fiends frown’d to see a man their over-match; 125
Bacon might boast more than a man might boast.
But now the braves of Bacon hath an end,
Europe’s conceit of Bacon hath an end,
His seven years’ practice sorteth to ill end:
And, villain, sith my glory hath an end, 130
I will appoint thee to some fatal end.
Villain, avoid! get thee from Bacon’s sight!
Vagrant, go roam and range about the world,
And perish as a vagaboud on earth!
_Miles._ Why, then, sir, you forbid me your service? (135)
_Bacon._ My service, villain! with a fatal curse,
That direful plagues and mischief fall on thee.
_Miles._ ’Tis no matter, I am against you with the old proverb,—The
more the fox is cursed,[247] the better he fares. God be with you, 140
sir. I ’II take but a book in my hand, a wide-sleeved gown on my
back, and a crowned cap on my head, and see if I can want promotion.
_Bacon._ Some fiend or ghost haunt on thy weary steps,
Until they do transport thee quick to hell; 145
For Bacon shall have never merry day,
To lose the fame and honour of his head. _Exeunt._
[SCENE XII.][248]
_Enter the_ EMPEROR, _the_ KING OF CASTILE, KING HENRY, ELINOR, PRINCE
EDWARD, LACY, _and_ RALPH [SIMNELL].
_Emp._ Now, lovely prince, the prime of Albion’s wealth,
How fare the Lady Elinor and you?
What, have you courted and found Castile fit
To answer England in equivalence? 4
Will’t be a match ’twixt bonny Nell and thee?
_P. Edw._ Should Paris enter in the courts of Greece,
And not lie fettered in fair Helen’s looks?
Or Phœbus scape those piercing amorets
That Daphne glanced at his deity?
Can Edward, then, sit by a flame and freeze, 10
Whose heat puts Helen and fair Daphne down?
Now, monarchs, ask the lady if we gree.
_K. Hen._ What, madam, hath my son found grace or no?
_Elin._ Seeing, my lord, his lovely connterfeit,
And hearing how his mind and shape agreed, 15
I come not, troop’d with all this warlike train,
Doubting of love, but so affectionate
As Edward hath in England what he won in Spain.
_K. of Cast._ A match, my lord; these wantons needs must love:
Men must have wives, and women will be wed. 20
Let’s haste the day to honour up the rites.
_Ralph._ Sirrah Harry, shall Ned marry Nell?
_K. Hen._ Ay, Ralph: how then?
_Ralph._ Marry, Harry, follow my counsel: send for Friar Bacon
to marry them, for he’ll (25) so conjure him and her with his
necromancy, that they shall love together like pig and lamb whilst
they live.
_K. of Cast._ But hearest thou, Ralph, art thou content to have
Elinor to thy lady? 30
_Ralph._ Ay, so she will promise me two things.
_K. of Cast._ What’s that, Ralph?
_Ralph._ That she will never scold with Ned, nor fight with
me.—Sirrah Harry, I have put her down with a thing impossible. 35
_K. Hen._ What’s that, Ralph?
_Ralph._ Why, Harry, didst thou ever see that a woman could both hold
her tongue and her hands? No: but when egg-pies grows on apple-trees,
then will thy grey mare prove a (40) bagpiper.
_Emp._ What say the Lord of Castile and the Earl of Lincoln, that
they are in such earnest and secret talk?
_K. of Cast._ I stand, my lord, amazed at his talk, 45
How he discourseth of the constancy
Of one surnam’d, for beauty’s excellence,
The Fair Maid of merry Fressingfield.
_K. Hen._ ’Tis true, my lord, ’tis wondrous for to hear;
Her beauty passing Mars’s paramour, 50
Her virgin’s right as rich as Vesta’s was,
Lacy and Ned hath told me miracles.
_K. of Cast._ What says Lord Lacy? Shall she be his wife?
_Lacy._ Or else Lord Lacy is unfit to live.—
May it please your highness give me leave to post 55
To Fressingfield. I’ll fetch the bonny girl,
And prove, in true appearance at the court,
What I have vouched often with my tongue.
_K. Hen._ Lacy, go to the ’querry of my stable,
And take such coursers as shall fit thy turn; 60
Hie thee to Fressingfield, and bring home the lass;
And, for her fame flies through the English coast,
If it may please the Lady Elinor,
One day shall match your excellence and her.
_Elin._ We Castile ladies are not very coy; 65
Your highness may command a greater boon:
And glad were I to grace the Lincoln Earl
With being partner of his marriage-day.
_P. Edw._ Gramercy, Nell, for I do love the lord,
As he that’s second to myself in love. 70
_Ralph._ You love her?—Madam Nell, never believe him you, though he
swears he loves you.
_Elin._ Why, Ralph?
_Ralph._ Why, his love is like unto a tapster’s glass that is broken
with every touch; for (75) he loved the fair maid of Fressingfield
once out of all ho.[249]—Nay, Ned, never wink upon me; I care not, I.
_K. Hen._ Ralph tells all; you shall have a good secretary of him.— 80
But, Lacy, haste thee post to Fressingfield;
For ere thou hast fitted all things for her state,
The solemn marriage-day will be at hand.
_Lacy._ I go, my lord. _Exit._
_Emp._ How shall we pass this day, my lord? 85
_K. Hen._ To horse, my lord; the day is passing fair,
We’ll fly the partridge, or go rouse the deer.
Follow, my lords; you shall not want for sport.
_Exeunt._
[SCENE XIII.][250]
_Enter_ FRIAR BACON _with_ FRIAR BUNGAY _to his cell._
_Bun._ What means the friar that frolick’d it of late,
To sit as melancholy in his cell
As if he had neither lost nor won to-day?
_Bacon._ Ah, Bungay, my Brazen Head is spoil’d,
My glory gone, my seven years’ study lost! 5
The fame of Bacon, bruited through the world,
Shall end and perish with this deep disgrace.
_Bun._ Bacon hath built foundation of his fame
So surely on the wings of true report,
With acting strange and uncouth miracles, 10
As this cannot infringe what he deserves.
_Bacon._ Bungay, sit down, for by prospective skill
I find this day shall fall out ominous:
Some deadly act shall ’tide me ere I sleep;
But what and wherein little can I guess. 15
My mind is heavy, whatsoe’er shall hap.
_Enter two Scholars, sons to Lambert and Serlsby. Knock._
_Bacon._ Who ’s that knocks?
_Bun._ Two scholars that desire to speak with you.
_Bacon._ Bid them come in.—
Now, my youths, what would you have? 20
_First Schol._ Sir, we are Suffolk-men and neighbouring friends;
Our fathers in their countries lusty squires;
Their lands adjoin: in Cratfield mine doth dwell,
And his in Laxfield. We are college-mates,
Sworn brothers, as our fathers live as friends. 25
_Bacon._ To what end is all this?
_Second Schol._ Hearing your worship kept within your cell
A glass prospective, wherein men might see
Whatso their thoughts or hearts’ desire could wish,
We come to know how that our fathers fare. 30
_Bacon._ My glass is free for every honest man.
Sit down, and you shall see ere long, how
Or in what state your friendly fathers live.
Meanwhile, tell me your names.
_First Schol._ Mine Lambert. 35
_Second Schol._ And mine Serlsby.
_Bacon._ Bungay, I smell there will be a tragedy.
_Enter_ LAMBERT _and_ SERLSBY _with rapiers and daggers_.
_Lam._ Serlsby, thou hast kept thine hour like a man:
Thou’rt worthy of the title of a squire,
That durst, for proof of thy affection 40
And for thy mistress’ favour, prize[251] thy blood.
Thou know’st what words did pass at Fressingfield,
Such shameless braves as manhood cannot brook:
Ay, for I scorn to bear such piercing taunts,
Prepare thee, Serlsby; one of us will die. 45
_Ser._ Thou see’st I single [meet] thee [in] the field,
And what I spake, I’ll maintain with my sword.
Stand on thy guard, I cannot scold it out.
An if thou kill me, think I have a son,
That lives in Oxford in the Broadgates-hall, 50
Who will revenge his father’s blood with blood.
_Lam._ And, Serlsby, I have there a lusty boy,
That dares at weapon buckle with thy son,
And lives in Broadgates too, as well as thine.
But draw thy rapier, for we’ll have a bout. 55
_Bacon._ Now, lusty younkers, look within the glass,
And tell me if you can decern your sires.
_First Schol._ Serlsby, ’tis hard; thy father offers wrong.
To combat with my father in the field.
_Second Schol._ Lambert, thou liest, my father’s is th’ abuse, 60
And thou shalt find it, if my father harm.
_Bun._ How goes it, sirs?
_First Schol._ Our fathers are in combat hard by Fressingfield.
_Bacon._ Sit still, my friends, and see the event.
_Lam._ Why stand’st thou, Serlsby? Doubt’st thou of thy life? 65
A veney,[252] man! fair Margaret craves so much.
_Ser._ Then this for her.
_First Schol._ Ah, well thrust!
_Second Schol._ But mark the ward.
[LAMBERT _and_ SERLSBY] _fight and kill each other_.
_Lam._ O, I am slain! 70
_Ser._ And I,—Lord have mercy on me!
_First Schol._ My father slain!—Serlsby, ward that.
_Second Schol._ And so is mine!—Lambert,
I’ll quite thee well.
_The two_ Scholars _stab each other_ [_and die_].
_Bun._ O strange stratagem!
_Bacon._ See, friar, where the fathers both lie dead!— 75
Bacon, thy magic doth effect this massacre:
This glass prospective worketh many woes;
And therefore seeing these brave lusty Brutes,[253]
These friendly youths, did perish by thine art,
End all thy magic and thine art at once. 80
The poniard that did end the fatal[254] lives,
Shall break the cause efficient of their woes.
So fade the glass, and end with it the shows
That necromancy did infuse the crystal with.
_Breaks the glass._
_Bun._ What means learn’d Bacon thus to break his glass? 85
_Bacon._ I tell thee, Bungay, it repents me sore
That ever Bacon meddled in this art.
The hours I have spent in pyromantic spells,
The fearful tossing in the latest night
Of papers full of necromantic charms, 90
Conjuring and adjuring devils and fiends,
With stole and alb and strange pentagonon;
The wresting of the holy name of God,
As Soter, Eloim, and Adonai,
Alpha, Manoth, and Tetragrammaton, 95
With praying to the five-fold powers of heaven,
Are instances that Bacon must be damn’d
For using devils to countervail his God.—
Yet, Bacon, cheer thee, drown not in despair:
Sins have their salves, repentance can do much: 100
Think Mercy sits where Justice holds her seat,
And from those wounds those bloody Jews did pierce,
Which by thy magic oft did bleed afresh,
From thence for thee the dew of mercy drops,
To wash the wrath of high Jehovah’s ire, 105
And make thee as a new-born babe from sin.—
Bungay, I’ll spend the remnant of my life
In pure devotion, praying to my God
That he would save what Bacon vainly lost.
_Exeunt._
[SCENE XIV.][255]
_Enter_ MARGARET _in nun’s apparel, the_ Keeper, _her father, and
their_ Friend.
_Keeper._ Margaret, be not so headstrong in these vows:
O, bury not such beauty in a cell,
That England hath held famous for the hue!
Thy father’s hair, like to the silver blooms
That beautify the shrubs of Africa, 5
Shall fall before the dated time of death,
Thus to forgo his lovely Margaret.
_Mar._ Ah, father, when the harmony of heaven
Soundeth the measures of a lively faith,
The vain illusions of this flattering world 10
Seem odious to the thoughts of Margaret.
I loved once,—Lord Lacy was my love;
And now I hate myself for that I lov’d,
And doted more on him than on my God;
For this I scourge myself with sharp repents. 15
But now the touch of such aspiring sins
Tells me all love is lust but love of heavens;
That beauty us’d for love is vanity:
The world contains naught but alluring baits,
Pride, flattery, and inconstant thoughts. 20
To shun the pricks of death, I leave the world,
And vow to meditate on heavenly bliss,
To live in Framlingham a holy nun,
Holy and pure in conscience and in deed;
And for to wish all maids to learn of me 25
To seek heaven’s joy before earth’s vanity.
_Friend._ And will you, then, Margaret, be shorn a nun, and so leave
us all?
_Mar._ Now farewell world, the engine of all woe!
Farewell to friends and father! Welcome Christ! 30
Adieu to dainty robes! This base attire
Better befits an humble mind to God
Than all the show of rich habiliments.
Love—O love! and, with fond love, farewell
Sweet Lacy, whom I loved once so dear! 35
Ever be well, but never in my thoughts,
Lest I offend to think on Lacy’s love:
But even to that, as to the rest, farewell!
_Enter_ LACY, WARREN, _and_ ERMSBY, _booted and spurred_.
_Lacy._ Come on, my wags, we’re near the Keeper’s lodge.
Here have I oft walk’d in the watery meads, 40
And chatted with my lovely Margaret.
_War._ Sirrah Ned, is not this the Keeper?
_Lacy._ ’Tis the same.
_Erm._ The old lecher hath gotten holy mutton[256] to him: a nun, my
lord. 45
_Lacy._ Keeper, how far’st thou? Holla, man, what cheer?
How doth Peggy, thy daughter and my love?
_Keeper._ Ah, good my lord! O, woe is me for Peggy!
See where she stands clad in her nun’s attire,
Ready for to be shorn in Framlingham; 50
She leaves the world because she left your love.
O, good my lord, persuade her if you can!
_Lacy._ Why, how now, Margaret! What, a malcontent?
A nun? What holy father taught you this,
To task yourself to such a tedious life 55
As die a maid? ’T were injury to me,
To smother up such beauty in a cell.
_Mar._ Lord Lacy, thinking of thy former miss,
How fond[257] the prime of wanton years were spent
In love (O, fie upon that fond conceit, 60
Whose hap and essence hangeth in the eye!),
I leave both love and love’s content at once,
Betaking me to Him that is true love,
And leaving all the world for love of Him.
_Lacy._ Whence, Peggy, comes this metamorphosis? 65
What, shorn a nun, and I have from the court
Posted with coursers to convey thee hence
To Windsor, where our marriage shall be kept!
Thy wedding-robes are in the tailor’s hands.
Come, Peggy, leave these peremptory vows. 70
_Mar._ Did not my lord resign his interest,
And make divorce ’twixt Margaret and him?
_Lacy._ ’T was but to try sweet Peggy’s constancy.
But will fair Margaret leave her love and lord?
_Mar._ Is not heaven’s joy before earth’s fading bliss, 75
And life above sweeter than life in love?
_Lacy._ Why, then, Margaret will be shorn a nun?
_Mar._ Margaret hath made a vow which may not be revok’d.
_War._ We cannot stay, my lord; an if she be so strict,
Our leisure grants us not to woo afresh. 80
_Erms._ Choose you, fair damsel, yet the choice is yours,—
Either a solemn nunnery or the court,
God or Lord Lacy. Which contents you best,
To be a nun or else Lord Lacy’s wife?
_Lacy._ A good motion.—Peggy, your answer must be short. 85
_Mar._ The flesh is frail: my lord doth know it well,
That when he comes with his enchanting face,
Whatsoe’er betide, I cannot say him nay.
Off goes the habit of a maiden’s heart,
And, seeing fortune will, fair Framlingham, 90
And all the show of holy nuns, farewell!
Lacy for me, if he will be my lord.
_Lacy._ Peggy, thy lord, thy love, thy husband.
Trust me, by truth of knighthood, that the king
Stays for to marry matchless Elinor, 95
Until I bring thee richly to the court,
That one day may both marry her and thee.—
How say’st thou, Keeper? Art thou glad of this?
_Keep._ As if the English king had given
The park and deer of Fressingfield to me. 100
_Erm._ I pray thee, my Lord of Sussex, why art thou in a brown study?
_War._ To see the nature of women; that be they never so near God,
yet they love to die in a man’s arms. 105
_Lacy._ What have you fit for breakfast? We have hied
And posted all this night to Fressingfield.
_Mar._ Butter and cheese, and umbles of a deer,
Such as poor keepers have within their lodge.
_Lacy._ And not a bottle of wine? 110
_Mar._ We’ll find one for my lord.
_Lacy._ Come, Sussex, let us in: we shall have more,
For she speaks least, to hold her promise sure.
_Exeunt._
[SCENE XV.][258]
_Enter a_ Devil _to seek_ MILES.
_Dev._ How restless are the ghosts of hellish spirits,
When every charmer with his magic spells
Calls us from nine-fold-trenched Phlegethon,
To scud and over-scour the earth in post
Upon the speedy wings of swiftest winds! 5
Now Bacon hath rais’d me from the darkest deep,
To search about the world for Miles his man,
For Miles, and to torment his lazy bones
For careless watching of his Brazen Head.
See where he comes. O, he is mine! 10
_Enter_ MILES _with a gown and a corner-cap_.
_Miles._ A scholar, quoth you! marry, sir, I would I had been made a
bottle-maker when I was made a scholar; for I can get neither to be a
deacon, reader, nor schoolmaster, no, not the clerk of a parish. Some
call me dunce; (15) another saith, my head is as full of Latin as an
egg ’s full of oatmeal. Thus I am tormented, that the devil and Friar
Bacon haunts me.—Good Lord, here’s one of my master’s devils! I’ll
go speak to him.—What, Master Plutus, (20) how cheer you?
_Dev._ Dost thou know me?
_Miles._ Know you, sir! Why, are not you one of my master’s
devils, that were wont to come to my master, Doctor Bacon, at 25
Brazen-nose?
_Dev._ Yes, marry, am I.
_Miles._ Good Lord, Master Plutus, I have seen you a thousand times
at my master’s, and yet I had never the manners to make you 30
drink. But, sir, I am glad to see how conformable you are to the
statute.—I warrant you, he’s as yeomanly a man as you shall see:
mark you, masters, here ’s a plain honest man, without welt or
guard.[259] But I pray you, sir, (35) do you come lately from hell?
_Dev._ Ay, marry: how then?
_Miles._ Faith, ’tis a place I have desired long to see. Have you not
good tippling-houses there? May not a man have a lusty fire there,
a (40) pot of good ale, a pair[260] of cards, a swinging piece of
chalk, and a brown toast that will clap a white waistcoat[261] on a
cup of good drink?
_Dev._ All this you may have there.
_Miles._ You are for me, friend, and I am for (45) you. But I pray
you, may I not have an office there?
_Dev._ Yes, a thousand. What wouldst thou be?
_Miles._ By my troth, sir, in a place where I may profit myself. I
know hell is a hot place, (50) and men are marvellous dry, and much
drink is spent there; I would be a tapster.
_Dev._ Thou shalt.
_Miles._ There ’s nothing lets me from going with you, but that ’tis
a long journey, and (55) I have never a horse.
_Dev._ Thou shall ride on my back.
_Miles._ Now surely here’s a courteous devil, that, for to pleasure
his friend, will not stick to make a jade of himself.—But I pray 60
you, goodman friend, let me move a question to you.
_Dev._ What’s that?
_Miles._ I pray you, whether is your pace a trot or an amble? 65
_Dev._ An amble.
_Miles._ ’T is well; but take heed it be not a trot: but ’tis no
matter, I’ll prevent it.
_Dev._ What dost?
_Miles._ Marry, friend, I put on my spurs; (70) for if I find your
pace either a trot or else uneasy, I’ll put you to a false gallop;
I’ll make you feel the benefit of my spurs.
_Dev._ Get up upon my back. [MILES _mounts on the_ Devil’s _back_.]
_Miles._ O Lord, here’s even a goodly marvel, (75) when a man rides
to hell on the devil’s back! _Exeunt, roaring._
[SCENE XVI.][262]
_Enter the_ EMPEROR _with a pointless sword; next the_ KING OF CASTILE
_carrying a sword with a point_; LACY _carrying the globe_; PRINCE
EDWARD; WARREN _carrying a rod of gold with a dove on it_; ERMSBY _with
a crown and sceptre_; _the_ QUEEN; [PRINCESS ELINOR] _with the Fair
Maid of Fressingfield on her left hand_; KING HENRY; BACON.; _with
other_ Lords _attending_.
_P. Edw._ Great potentates, earth’s miracles for state,
Think that Prince Edward humbles at your feet,
And, for these favours, on his martial sword
He vows perpetual homage to yourselves,
Yielding these honours unto Elinor. 5
_K. Hen._ Gramercies, lordings; old Plantagenet,
That rules and sways the Albion diadem,
With tears discovers these conceived joys,
And vows requital, if his men-at-arms,
The wealth of England, or due houours done 10
To Elinor, may quite his favourites.
But all this while what say you to the dames
That shine like to the crystal lamps of heaven?
_Emp._ If but a third were added to these two,
They did surpass those gorgeous images 15
That gloried Ida with rich beauty’s wealth.
_Mar._ ’Tis I, my lords, who humbly on my knee
Must yield her orisons to mighty Jove
For lifting up his handmaid to this state,
Brought from her homely cottage to the court, 20
And grac’d with kings, princes, and emperors;
To whom (next to the noble Lincoln Earl)
I vow obedience, and such humble love
As may a handmaid to such mighty men.
_P. Elin._ Thou martial man that wears the Almain crown, 25
And you the western potentates of might,
The Albion princess, English Edward’s wife,
Proud that the lovely star of Fressingfield,
Fair Margaret, Countess to the Lincoln Earl, 29
Attends on Elinor,—gramercies, lord, for her,—
’Tis I give thanks for Margaret to you all,
And rest for her due bounden to yourselves.
_K. Hen._ Seeing the marriage is solémnized,
Let’s march in triumph to the royal feast.—
But why stands Friar Bacon here, so mute? 35
_Bacon._ Repentant for the follies of my youth,
That magic’s secret mysteries misled,
And joyful that this royal marriage
Portends such bliss unto this matchless realm.
_K. Hen._ Why, Bacon, 40
What strange event shall happen to this land?
Or what shall grow from Edward and his queen?
_Bacon._ I find by deep prescience of mine art,
Which once I temp’red in my secret cell,
That here where Brute did build his Troynovant, 45
From forth the royal garden of a king
Shall flourish out so rich and fair a bud[263]
Whose brightness shall deface proud Phœbus’ flower,
And over-shadow Albion with her leaves.
Till then Mars shall be master of the field, 50
But then the stormy threats of wars shall cease:
The horse shall stamp as careless of the pike,
Drums shall he turn’d to timbrels of delight;
With wealthy favours plenty shall enrich
The strand that gladded wand’ring Brute to see, 55
And peace from heaven shall harbour in these leaves
That gorgeous beautifies this matchless flower:
Apollo’s heliotropion then shall stoop,
And Venus’ hyacinth shall vail[264] her top;
Juno shall shut her gilliflowers up, 60
And Pallas’ bay shall ’bash her brightest green;
Ceres’ carnation, in consórt with those,
Shall stoop and wonder at Diana’s rose.
_K. Hen._ This prophecy is mystical.—
But, glorious commanders of Europa’s love, 65
That make fair England like that wealthy isle
Circled with Gihon and [swift][265] Euphrates,
In royalizing Henry’s Albion
With presence of your princely mightiness,—
Let’s march: the tables all are spread, 70
And viands, such as England’s wealth affords,
Are ready set to furnish out the boards.
You shall have welcome, mighty potentates:
It rests to furnish up this royal feast,
Only your hearts be frolic; for the time 75
Craves that we taste of naught but jouissance.
Thus glories England over all the west.
_Exeunt omnes._
_Omne tulit punctum qui miscuit utile dulci._
TAMBURLAINE THE GREAT
BY CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE
PART THE FIRST
[DRAMATIS PERSONAE
MYCETES, King of Persia.
COSROE, his Brother.
ORTYGIUS, }
CENEUS, }
MEANDER, } Persian Lords and Captains.
MENAPHON, }
THERIDAMAS, }
TAMBURLAINE, a Scythian Shepherd.
TECHELLES, }
USUMCASANE, } his Followers.
BAJAZETH, Emperor of the Turks.
KING OF ARABIA.
KING OF FEZ.
KING OF MOROCCO.
KING OF ARGIER (Algiers).
SOLDAN OF EGYPT.
GOVERNOR OF DAMASCUS.
AGYDAS, }
MAGNETES, } Median Lords.
CAPOLIN, an Egyptian Captain.
PHILEMUS, a Messenger.
Bassoes, Lords, Citizens, Moors, Soldiers, and Attendants.
ZENOCRATE, Daughter of the Soldan of Egypt.
ANIPPE, her Maid.
ZABINA, Wife of Bajazeth.
EBEA, her Maid.
Virgins of Damascus.]
THE PROLOGUE
From jigging veins of rhyming mother wits,
And such conceits as clownage keeps in pay,
We’ll lead you to the stately tent of war,
Where you shall hear the Scythian Tamburlaine
Threat’ning the world with high astounding terms,
And scourging kingdoms with his conquering sword.
View but his picture in this tragic glass,
And then applaud his fortunes as you please.
ACT I
SCENE I.
[_Enter_] MYCETES, COSROE, MEANDER, THERIDAMAS, ORTYGIUS, CENEUS,
[MENAPHON,] _with others._
_Myc._ Brother Cosroe, I find myself aggriev’d,
Yet insufficient to express the same,
For it requires a great and thund’ring speech:
Good brother, tell the cause unto my lords;
I know you have a better wit than I. 5
_Cos._ Unhappy Persia, that in former age
Hast been the seat of mighty conquerors,
That, in their prowess and their policies,
Have triumph’d over Afric and the bounds
Of Europe, where the sun dares scarce appear 10
For freezing meteors and congealed cold,
Now to be rul’d and governed by a man
At whose birthday Cynthia with Saturn join’d,
And Jove, the Sun, and Mercury denied
To shed [their] influence in his fickle brain! 15
Now Turks and Tartars shake their swords at thee,
Meaning to mangle all thy provinces.
_Myc._ Brother, I see your meaning well enough,
And through your planets I perceive you think
I am not wise enough to be a king; 20
But I refer me to my noblemen
That know my wit, and can be witnesses.
I might command you to be slain for this:
Meander, might I not?
_Meand._ Not for so small a fault, my sovereign lord. 25
_Myc._ I mean it not, but yet I know I might;
Yet live; yea, live, Mycetes wills it so.
Meander, thou, my faithful counsellor,
Declare the cause of my conceived grief,
Which is, God knows, about that Tamburlaine,
That, like a fox in midst of harvest time, 31
Doth prey upon my flocks of passengers;
And, as I hear, doth mean to pull my plumes:
Therefore ’tis good and meet for to be wise.
_Meand._ Oft have I heard your majesty complain 35
Of Tamburlaine, that sturdy Scythian thief,
That robs your merchants of Persepolis
Trading by land unto the Western Isles,
And in your confines with his lawless train
Daily commits incivil[266] outrages, 40
Hoping (misled by dreaming prophecies)
To reign in Asia, and with barbarous arms
To make himself the monarch of the East;
But ere he march in Asia or display
His vagrant ensign in the Persian fields, 45
Your grace hath taken order by Theridamas
Charg’d with a thousand horse, to apprehend
And bring him captive to your highness’ throne.
_Myc._ Full true thou speak’st, and like thyself, my lord,
Whom I may term a Damon for thy love: 50
Therefore ’tis best, if so it like you all,
To send my thousand horse incontinent[267]
To apprehend that paltry Scythian.
How like you this, my honourable lords?
Is it not a kingly resolution? 55
_Cos._ It cannot choose, because it comes from you.
_Myc._ Then hear thy charge, valiant Theridamas,
The chiefest captain of Mycetes’ host,
The hope of Persia, and the very legs
Whereon our State doth lean as on a staff, 60
That holds us up, and foils our neighbour foes.
Thou shalt be leader of this thousand horse,
Whose foaming pall with rage and high disdain
Have sworn the death of wicked Tamburlaine.
Go frowning forth; but come thou smiling home, 65
As did Sir Paris with the Grecian dame;
Return with speed—time passeth swift away;
Our life is frail, and we may die to-day.
_Ther._ Before the moon renew her borrowed light,
Doubt not, my lord and gracious sovereign, 70
But Tamburlaine and that Tartarian rout,
Shall either perish by our warlike hands,
Or plead for mercy at your highness’ feet.
_Myc._ Go, stout Theridamas, thy words are swords, 74
And with thy looks thou conquerest all thy foes;
I long to see thee back return from thence,
That I may view these milk-white steeds of mine
All loaden with the heads of killed men.
And from their knees e’en to their hoofs below
Besmear’d with blood that makes a dainty show. 80
_Ther._ Then now, my lord, I humbly take my leave.
_Myc._ Theridamas, farewell! ten thousand times.
_Exit_ THERIDAMAS.
Ah, Menaphon, why stay’st thou thus behind,
When other men press forward for renown?
Go, Menaphon, go into Scythia; 85
And foot by foot follow Theridamas.
_Cos._ Nay, pray you let him stay; a greater [task]
Fits Menaphon than warring with a thief.
Create him Prorex[268] of all Africa,
That he may win the Babylonians’ hearts 90
Which will revolt from Persian government,
Unless they have a wiser king than you.
_Myc._ “Unless they have a wiser king than you!”
These are his words; Meander, set them down.
_Cos._ And add this to them—that all Asia 95
Laments to see the folly of their king.
_Myc._ Well, here I swear by this my royal seat,—
_Cos._ You may do well to kiss it then.
_Myc._ Emboss’d with silk as best beseems my state,
To be reveng’d for these contemptuous words.
Oh, where is duty and allegiance now? 101
Fled to the Caspian or the Ocean main?
What shall I call thee? Brother?—No, a foe;
Monster of nature! Shame unto thy stock
That dar’st presume thy sovereign for to mock!
Meander, come: I am abus’d, Meander. 106
_Exeunt all but_ COSROE _and_ MENAPHON.
_Men._ How now, my lord? What, mated[269] and amaz’d
To hear the king thus threaten like himself!
_Cos._ Ah, Menaphon, I pass[270] not for his threats;
The plot is laid by Persian noblemen 110
And captains of the Median garrisons
To crown me Emperor of Asia;
But this it is that doth excruciate
The very substance of my vexed soul— 114
To see our neighbours that were wont to quake
And tremble at the Persian monarch’s name,
Now sit and laugh our regiment[271] to scorn;
And that which might resolve[272] me into tears,
Men from the farthest equinoctial line 119
Have swarm’d in troops into the Eastern India,
Lading their ships with gold and precious stones,
And made their spoils from all our provinces.
_Men._ This should entreat your highness to rejoice,
Since Fortune gives you opportunity
To gain the title of a conqueror 125
By curing of this maimed empery.
Afric and Europe bordering on your land,
And continent to your dominions,
How easily may you, with a mighty host,
Pass into Græcia, as did Cyrus once, 130
And cause them to withdraw their forces home,
Lest you subdue the pride of Christendom. [_Trumpet within._]
_Cos._ But, Menaphon, what means this trumpet’s sound?
_Men._ Behold, my lord, Ortygius and the rest
Bringing the crown to make you Emperor! 135
_Enter_ ORTYGIUS _and_ CENEUS _bearing a crown with others_.
_Orty._ Magnificent and mighty Prince Cosroe,
We, in the name of other Persian states[273]
And commons of this mighty monarchy,
Present thee with th’ imperial diadem.
_Cen._ The warlike soldiers and the gentlemen,
That heretofore have fill’d Persepolis 141
With Afric captains taken in the field,
Whose ransom made them march in coats of gold,
With costly jewels hanging at their ears,
And shining stones upon their lofty crests, 145
Now living idle in the walled towns,
Wanting both pay and martial discipline,
Begin in troops to threaten civil war,
And openly exclaim against the king:
Therefore, to stay all sudden mutinies, 150
We will invest your highness Emperor,
Whereat the soldiers will conceive more joy
Than did the Macedonians at the spoil
Of great Darius and his wealthy host.
_Cos._ Well, since I see the state of Persia droop 155
And languish in my brother’s government,
I willingly receive th’ imperial crown,
And vow to wear it for my country’s good,
In spite of them shall malice my estate.
_Orty._ And in assurance of desir’d success, 160
We here do crown thee monarch of the East,
Emperor of Asia and Persia;
Great Lord of Media and Armenia;
Duke of Africa and Albania,
Mesopotamia and of Parthia, 165
East India and the late-discovered isles;
Chief Lord of all the wide, vast Euxine sea,
And of the ever-raging Caspian lake.
Long live Cosroe, mighty Emperor!
_Cos._ And Jove may[274] never let me longer live
Than I may seek to gratify your love, 171
And cause the soldiers that thus honour me
To triumph over many provinces!
By whose desires of discipline in arms
I doubt not shortly but to reign sole king, 175
And with the army of Theridamas,
(Whither we presently will fly, my lords)
To rest secure against my brother’s force.
_Orty._ We knew, my lord, before we brought the crown,
Intending your investion[275] so near 180
The residence of your despised brother,
The lords would not be too exasperate
To injure or suppress your worthy title;
Or, if they would, there are in readiness
Ten thousand horse to carry you from hence,
In spite of all suspected enemies. 185
_Cos._ I know it well, my lord, and thank you all.
_Orty._ Sound up the trumpets then. God save the King! [_Trumpets
sound._] _Exeunt._
SCENE II.
[_Enter_] TAMBURLAINE _leading_ ZENOCRATE, TECHELLES, USUMCASANE,
[AGYDAS, MAGNETES] _and other_ Lords, _and_ Soldiers, _loaden with
treasure_.
_Tamb._ Come, lady, let not this appal your thoughts;
The jewels and the treasure we have ta’en
Shall be reserv’d, and you in better state,
Than if you were arriv’d in Syria,
Even in the circle of your father’s arms, 5
The mighty Soldan of Egyptia.
_Zeno._ Ah, shepherd! pity my distressed plight,
(If, as thou seemst, thou art so mean a man,)
And seek not to enrich thy followers
By lawless rapine from a silly maid, 10
Who travelling with these Median lords
To Memphis, from my uncle’s country, Media,[276]
Where all my youth I have been governed,
Have pass’d the army of the mighty Turk,
Bearing his privy signet and his hand 15
To safe conduct us thorough Africa.
_Mag._ And since we have arriv’d in Scythia,
Besides rich presents from the puissant Cham,
We have his highness’ letters to command
Aid and assistance, if we stand in need. 20
_Tamb._ But now you see these letters and commands
Are countermanded by a greater man;
And through my provinces you must expect
Letters of conduct from my mightiness,
If you intend to keep your treasure safe. 25
But, since I love to live at liberty,
As easily may you get the Soldan’s crown
As any prizes out of my precinct;
For they are friends that help to wean my state
Till men and kingdoms help to strengthen it, 30
And must maintain my life exempt from servitude.—
But, tell me, madam, is your grace betroth’d?
_Zeno._ I am—my lord—for so you do import.
_Tamb._ I am a lord, for so my deeds shall prove:
And yet a shepherd by my parentage. 35
But, lady, this fair face and heavenly hue
Must grace his bed that conquers Asia,
And means to be a terror to the world,
Measuring the limits of his empery
By east and west, as Phœbus doth his course. 40
Lie here ye weeds that I disdain to wear!
This complete armour and this curtle-axe[277]
Are adjuncts more beseeming Tamburlaine.
And, madam, whatsoever you esteem
Of this success and loss unvalued,[278] 45
Both may invest you Empress of the East;
And these that seem but silly country swains
May have the leading of so great an host,
As with their weight shall make the mountains quake,
Even as when windy exhalations 50
Fighting for passage, tilt within the earth.
_Tech._ As princely lions, when they rouse themselves,
Stretching their paws, and threat’ning herds of beasts,
So in his armour looketh Tamburlaine.
Methinks I see kings kneeling at his feet, 55
And he with frowning brows and fiery looks,
Spurning their crowns from off their captive heads.
_Usum._ And making thee and me, Techelles, kings,
That even to death will follow Tamburlaine.
_Tamb._ Nobly resolv’d, sweet friends and followers! 60
These lords, perhaps do scorn our estimates,
And think we prattle with distempered spirits;
But since they measure out deserts so mean,
That in conceit bear empires on our spears,
Affecting thoughts coequal with the clouds, 65
They shall be kept our forced followers,
Till with their eyes they view us emperors.
_Zeno._ The gods, defenders of the innocent,
Will never prosper your intended drifts,
That thus oppress poor friendless passengers. 70
Therefore at least admit us liberty,
Even as thou hop’st to be eternised,
By living Asia’s mighty Emperor.
_Agyd._ I hope our lady’s treasure and our own
May serve for ransom to our liberties. 75
Return our mules and empty camels back,
That we may travel into Syria,
Where her betrothed lord Alcidamas,
Expects th’ arrival of her highness’ person.
_Mag._ And wheresoever we repose ourselves, 80
We will report but well of Tamburlaine.
_Tamb._ Disdains Zenocrate to live with me?
Or you, my lords, to be my followers?
Think you I weigh this treasure more than you?
Not all the gold in India’s wealthy arms 85
Shall buy the meanest soldier in my train.
Zenocrate, lovelier than the love of Jove,
Brighter than is the silver Rhodope.
Fairer than whitest snow on Scythian hills,—
Thy person is more worth to Tamburlaine, 90
Than the possession of the Persian crown,
Which gracious stars have promis’d at my birth.
A hundred Tartars shall attend on thee,
Mounted on steeds swifter than Pegasus;
Thy garments shall be made of Median silk, 95
Enchas’d with precious jewels of mine own,
More rich and valurous[279] than Zenocrate’s.
With milk-white harts upon an ivory sled,
Thou shalt be drawn amidst the frozen pools,
And scale the icy mountains’ lofty tops, 100
Which with thy beauty will be soon resolv’d.
My martial prizes with five hundred men,
Won on the fifty-headed Volga’s waves,
Shall we all offer to Zenocrate,—
And then myself to fair Zenocrate. 105
_Tech._ What now!—in love?
_Tamb._ Techelles, women must be flattered:
But this is she with whom I am in love.
_Enter a_ Soldier.
_Sold._ News! news!
_Tamb._ How now, what’s the matter? 110
_Sold._ A thousand Persian horsemen are at hand,
Sent from the king to overcome us all.
_Tamb._ How now, my lords of Egypt, and Zenocrate!
How!—must your jewels be restor’d again,
And I that triumph’d so be overcome? 115
How say you, lordings,—is not this your hope?
_Agyd._ We hope yourself will willingly restore them.
_Tamb._ Such hope, such fortune, have the thousand horse.
Soft ye, my lords, and sweet Zenocrate!
You must be forced from me ere you go. 120
A thousand horsemen!—We five hundred foot!—
An odds too great for us to stand against.
But are they rich? And is their armour good?
_Sold._ Their plumed helms are wrought with beaten gold, 124
Their swords enamell’d, and about their necks
Hangs massy chains of gold, down to the waist,
In every part exceeding brave[280] and rich.
_Tamb._ Then shall we fight courageously with them?
Or look you I should play the orator?
_Tech._ No; cowards and faint-hearted runaways 130
Look for orations when the foe is near.
Our swords shall play the orator for us.
_Usum._ Come! let us meet them at the mountain foot,
And with a sudden and an hot alarum,
Drive all their horses headlong down the hill. 135
_Tech._ Come, let us march!
_Tamb._ Stay, Techelles! ask a parley first.
_The_ Soldiers _enter_.
Open the mails,[281] yet guard the treasure sure;
Lay out our golden wedges to the view, 139
That their reflections may amaze the Persians;
And look we friendly on them when they come;
But if they offer word or violence,
We’ll fight five hundred men-at-arms to one,
Before we part with our possession. 144
And ’gainst the general we will lift our swords,
And either lance his greedy thirsting throat,
Or take him prisoner, and his chain shall serve
For manacles, till he be ransom’d home.
_Tech._ I hear them come; shall we encounter them?
_Tamb._ Keep all your standings and not stir a foot, 150
Myself will bide the danger of the brunt.
_Enter_ THERIDAMAS _with others_.
_Ther._ Where is this Scythian Tamburlaine?
_Tamb._ Whom seek’st thou, Persian?—I am Tamburlaine.
_Ther._ Tamburlaine!—
A Scythian shepherd so embellished 155
With nature’s pride and richest furniture!
His looks do menace Heaven and dare the gods:
His fiery eyes are fix’d upon the earth,
As if he now devis’d some stratagem, 159
Or meant to pierce Avernus’ darksome vaults
To pull the triple-headed dog from hell.
_Tamb._ Noble and mild this Persian seems to be,
If outward habit judge the inward man.
_Tech._ His deep affections make him passionate.
_Tamb._ With what a majesty he rears his looks! 165
In thee, thou valiant man of Persia,
I see the folly of thy emperor.
Art thou but captain of a thousand horse,
That by characters graven in thy brows,
And by thy martial face and stout aspect, 170
Deserv’st to have the leading of an host!
Forsake thy king, and do but join with me,
And we will triumph over all the world.
I hold the Fates bound fast in iron chains,
And with my hand turn Fortune’s wheel about:
And sooner shall the sun fall from his sphere 176
Than Tamburlaine be slain or overcome.
Draw forth thy sword, thou mighty man-at-arms,
Intending but to raze my charmed skin,
And Jove himself will stretch his hand from Heaven 180
To ward the blow and shield me safe from harm.
See how he rains down heaps of gold in showers,
As if he meant to give my soldiers pay!
And as a sure and grounded argument,
That I shall be the monarch of the East, 185
He sends this Soldan’s daughter rich and brave,
To be my Queen and portly Emperess.
If thou wilt stay with me, renowmed man,
And lead thy thousand horse with my conduct,
Besides thy share of this Egyptian prize, 190
Those thousand horse shall sweat with martial spoil
Of conquered kingdoms and of cities sack’d.
Both we will walk upon the lofty clifts,
And Christian merchants[282] that with Russian stems
Plough up huge furrows in the Caspian sea, 195
Shall vail[283] to us, as lords of all the lake.
Both we will reign as consuls of the earth,
And mighty kings shall be our senators.
Jove sometimes masked in a shepherd’s weed,
And by those steps that he hath scal’d the Heavens 200
May we become immortal like the gods.
Join with me now in this my mean estate,
(I call it mean because, being yet obscure,
The nations far remov’d admire me not,) 204
And when my name and honour shall be spread
As far as Boreas claps his brazen wings,
Or fair Boötes sends his cheerful light,
Then shalt thou be competitor[284] with me,
And sit with Tamburlaine in all his majesty.
_Ther._ Not Hermes, prolocutor to the gods, 210
Could use persuasions more pathetical.
_Tamb._ Nor are Apollo’s oracles more true,
Than thou shalt find my vaunts substantial.
_Tech._ We are his friends, and if the Persian king
Should offer present dukedoms to our state, 215
We think it loss to make exchange for that
We are assur’d of by our friend’s success.
_Usum._ And kingdoms at the least we all expect,
Besides the honour in assured conquests,
Where kings shall crouch unto our conquering swords, 220
And hosts of soldiers stand amaz’d at us;
When with their fearful tongues they shall confess
These are the men that all the world admires.
_Ther._ What strong enchantments ’tice my yielding soul!
Are these resolved nobles[285] Scythians? 225
But shall I prove a traitor to my king?
_Tamb._ No, but the trusty friend of Tamburlaine.
_Ther._ Won with thy words, and conquered with thy looks,
I yield myself, my men, and horse to thee,
To be partaker of thy good or ill, 230
As long as life maintains Theridamas.
_Tamb._ Theridamas, my friend, take here my hand,
Which is as much as if I swore by Heaven
And call’d the gods to witness of my vow.
Thus shall my heart be still combin’d with thine
Until our bodies turn to elements, 236
And both our souls aspire celestial thrones.
Techelles and Casane, welcome him!
_Tech._ Welcome, renowmed Persian, to us all!
_Usum._ Long may Theridamas remain with us! 240
_Tamb._ These are my friends, in whom I more rejoice
Than doth the King of Persia in his crown,
And by the love of Pylades and Orestes,
Whose statues we adore in Scythia,
Thyself and them shall never part from me 245
Before I crown you kings in Asia.
Make much of them, gentle Theridamas,
And they will never leave thee till the death.
_Ther._ Nor thee nor them, thrice noble Tamburlaine,
Shall want my heart to be with gladness pierc’d
To do you honour and security. 251
_Tamb._ A thousand thanks, worthy Theridamas.
And now fair madam, and my noble lords,
If you will willingly remain with me
You shall have honours as your merits be; 255
Or else you shall be forc’d with slavery.
_Agyd._ We yield unto thee, happy Tamburlaine.
_Tamb._ For you then, madam, I am out of doubt.
_Zeno._ I must be pleas’d perforce. Wretched Zenocrate! _Exeunt._ 260
ACT II
SCENE I.
[_Enter_] COSROE, MENAPHON, ORTYGIUS, CENEUS, _with other_ Soldiers.
_Cos._ Thus far are we towards Theridamas,
And valiant Tamburlaine, the man of fame,
The man that in the forehead of his fortune
Bears figures of renown and miracle.
But tell me, that hast seen him, Menaphon, 5
What stature wields he, and what personage?
_Men._ Of stature tall, and straightly fashioned,
Like his desire, lift upwards and divine;
So large of limbs, his joints so strongly knit,
Such breadth of shoulders as might mainly bear
Old Atlas’ burden; ’twixt his manly pitch,[286] 11
A pearl, more worth than all the world, is plac’d,
Wherein by curious sovereignty of art
Are fix’d his piercing instruments of sight,
Whose fiery circles bear encompassed 15
A heaven of heavenly bodies in their spheres,
That guides his steps and actions to the throne,
Where honour sits invested royally:
Pale of complexion, wrought in him with passion,
Thirsting with sovereignty and love of arms; 20
His lofty brows in folds do figure death,
And in their smoothness amity and life;
About them hangs a knot of amber hair,
Wrapped in curls, as fierce Achilles’ was,
On which the breath of Heaven delights to play, 25
Making it dance with wanton majesty.—
His arms and fingers, long, and sinewy,[287]
Betokening valour and excess of strength—
In every part proportioned like the man
Should make the world subdu’d to Tamburlaine. 30
_Cos._ Well hast thou pourtray’d in thy terms of life
The face and personage of a wondrous man;
Nature doth strive with Fortune and his stars
To make him famous in accomplish’d worth;
And well his merits show him to be made 35
His fortune’s master and the king of men,
That could persuade at such a sudden pinch,
With reasons of his valour and his life,
A thousand sworn and overmatching foes.
Then, when our powers in points of swords are join’d 40
And clos’d in compass of the killing bullet,
Though strait the passage and the port[288] be made
That leads to palace of my brother’s life,
Proud is his fortune if we pierce it not.
And when the princely Persian diadem 45
Shall overweigh his weary witless head,
And fall like mellowed fruit with shakes of death,
In fair Persia, noble Tamburlaine
Shall be my regent and remain as king.
_Orty._ In happy hour we have set the crown 50
Upon your kingly head, that seeks our honour
In joining with the man ordain’d by Heaven,
To further every action to the best.
_Cen._ He that with shepherds and a little spoil
Durst, in disdain of wrong and tyranny, 55
Defend his freedom ’gainst a monarchy,
What will he do supported by a king,
Leading a troop of gentlemen and lords,
And stuff’d with treasure for his highest thoughts!
_Cos._ And such shall wait on worthy Tamburlaine. 60
Our army will be forty thousand strong,
When Tamburlaine and brave Theridamas
Have met us by the river Araris;
And all conjoin’d to meet the witless king,
That now is marching near to Parthia, 65
And with unwilling soldiers faintly arm’d,
To seek revenge on me and Tamburlaine,
To whom, sweet Menaphon, direct me straight.
_Men._ I will, my lord. _Exeunt._
SCENE II.
[_Enter_] MYCETES, MEANDER, _with other_ Lords _and_ Soldiers.
_Myc._ Come, my Meander, let us to this gear.
I tell you true, my heart is swoln with wrath
On this same thievish villain, Tamburlaine,
And on that false Cosroe, my traitorous brother.
Would it not grieve a king to be so abus’d 5
And have a thousand horsemen ta’en away?
And, which is worst, to have his diadem
Sought for by such scald[289] knaves as love him not?
I think it would; well then, by Heavens I swear,
Aurora shall not peep out of her doors, 10
But I will have Cosroe by the head,
And kill proud Tamburlaine with point of sword.
Tell you the rest, Meander; I have said.
_Meand._ Then having past Armenian deserts now, 14
And pitch’d our tents under the Georgian hills,
Whose tops are covered with Tartarian thieves,
That lie in ambush, waiting for a prey,
What should we do but bid them battle straight,
And rid the world of those detested troops?
Lest, if we let them linger here awhile, 20
They gather strength by power of fresh supplies.
This country swarms with vile outrageous men
That live by rapine and by lawless spoil,
Fit soldiers for the wicked Tamburlaine;
And he that could with gifts and promises 25
Inveigle him that led a thousand horse,
And make him false his faith unto his king,
Will quickly win such as are like himself.
Therefore cheer up your minds; prepare to fight;
He that can take or slaughter Tamburlaine 30
Shall rule the province of Albania:
Who brings that traitor’s head, Theridamas,
Shall have a government in Media,
Beside the spoil of him and all his train:
But if Cosroe, (as our spials[290] say, 35
And as we know) remains with Tamburlaine,
His highness’ pleasure is that he should live,
And be reclaim’d with princely lenity.
[_Enter_ a Spy.]
_A Spy._ A hundred horsemen of my company
Scouting abroad upon these champaign plains 40
Have view’d the army of the Scythians,
Which make reports it far exceeds the king’s.
_Meand._ Suppose they be in number infinite,
Yet being void of martial discipline
All running headlong after greedy spoils, 45
And more regarding gain than victory,
Like to the cruel brothers of the earth,
Sprung of the teeth of dragons venomous,
Their careless swords shall lance their fellows’ throats,
And make us triumph in their overthrow. 50
_Myc._ Was there such brethren, sweet Meander, say,
That sprung of teeth of dragons venomous?
_Meand._ So poets say, my lord.
_Myc._ And ’t is a pretty toy to be a poet.
Well, well, Meander, thou art deeply read, 55
And having thee, I have a jewel sure.
Go on, my lord, and give your charge, I say;
Thy wit will make us conquerors to-day.
_Meand._ Then, noble soldiers, to entrap these thieves,
That live confounded in disordered troops, 60
If wealth or riches may prevail with them,
We have our camels laden all with gold,
Which you that be but common soldiers
Shall fling in every corner of the field;
And while the base-born Tartars take it up, 65
You, fighting more for honour than for gold,
Shall massacre those greedy-minded slaves;
And when their scattered army is subdu’d,
And you march on their slaughtered carcases,
Share equally the gold that bought their lives, 70
And live like gentlemen in Persia.
Strike up the drum and march courageously!
Fortune herself doth sit upon our crests.
_Myc._ He tells you true, my masters: so he does.
Drums, why sound ye not, when Meander speaks? 75
_Exeunt_ [_drums sounding_].
SCENE III.
[_Enter_] COSROE, TAMBURLAINE, THERIDAMAS, TECHELLES, USUMCASANE, _and_
ORTYGIUS, _with others_.
_Cos._ Now, worthy Tamburlaine, have I repos’d
In thy approved fortunes all my hope.
What think’st thou, man, shall come of our attempts?
For even as from assured oracle,
I take thy doom for satisfaction. 5
_Tamb._ And so mistake you not a whit, my lord;
For fates and oracles [of] Heaven have sworn
To royalise the deeds of Tamburlaine,
And make them blest that share in his attempts.
And doubt you not but, if you favour me, 10
And let my fortunes and my valour sway
To some direction in your martial deeds,
The world will strive with hosts of men-at-arms,
To swarm unto the ensign I support:
The host of Xerxes, which by fame is said 15
To drink the mighty Parthian Araris,
Was but a handful to that we will have.
Our quivering lances, shaking in the air,
And bullets, like Jove’s dreadful thunderbolts,
Enroll’d in flames and fiery smouldering mists, 20
Shall threat the gods more than Cyclopian wars:
And with our sun-bright armour as we march,
We’ll chase the stars from Heaven and dim their eyes
That stand and muse at our admired arms.
_Ther._ You see, my lord, what working words he hath; 25
But when you see his actions [top][291] his speech,
Your speech will stay or so extol his worth
As I shall be commended and excus’d
For turning my poor charge to his direction.
And these his two renowmed friends, my lord, 30
Would make one thirst and strive to be retain’d
In such a great degree of amity.
_Tech._ With duty and with amity we yield
Our utmost service to the fair Cosroe.
_Cos._ Which I esteem as portion of my crown.
Usumcasane and Techelles both, 36
When she[292] that rules in Rhamnus’ golden gates,
And makes a passage for all prosperous arms,
Shall make me solely Emperor of Asia,
Then shall your meeds and valours be advanc’d
To rooms of honour and nobility. 41
_Tamb._ Then haste, Cosroe, to be king alone,
That I with these, my friends, and all my men
May triumph in our long-expected fate.
The king, your brother, is now hard at hand; 45
Meet with the fool, and rid your royal shoulders
Of such a burden as outweighs the sands
And all the craggy rocks of Caspia.
[_Enter a_ Messenger.]
_Mes._ My lord, we have discovered the enemy
Ready to charge you with a mighty army. 50
_Cos._ Come, Tamburlaine! now whet thy winged sword.
And lift thy lofty arm into the clouds,
That it may reach the King of Persia’s crown,
And set it safe on my victorious head. 54
_Tamb._ See where it is, the keenest curtle-axe
That e’er made passage thorough Persian arms.
These are the wings shall make it fly as swift
As doth the lightning or the breath of Heaven,
And kill as sure as it swiftly flies. 59
_Cos._ Thy words assure me of kind success;
Go, valiant soldier, go before and charge
The fainting army of that foolish king.
_Tamb._ Usumcasane and Techelles, come!
We are enow to scare the enemy,
And more than needs to make an emperor. 65
[_Exeunt_] _to the battle_.
[SCENE IV.]
MYCETES _comes out alone with his crown in his hand, offering to hide
it_.
_Myc._ Accurs’d be he that first invented war!
They knew not, ah, they knew not, simple men,
How those were hit by pelting cannon shot,
Stand staggering like a quivering aspen leaf
Fearing the force of Boreas’ boisterous blasts. 5
In what a lamentable case were I
If Nature had not given me wisdom’s lore!
For kings are clouts[293] that every man shoots at,
Our crown the pin[294] that thousands seek to cleave;
Therefore in policy I think it good 10
To hide it close; a goodly stratagem,
And far from any man that is a fool:
So shall I not be known; or if I be,
They cannot take away my crown from me.
Here will I hide it in this simple hole. 15
_Enter_ TAMBURLAINE.
_Tamb._ What, fearful coward, straggling from the camp,
When kings themselves are present in the field?
_Myc._ Thou liest.
_Tamb._ Base villain! darest thou give the lie?
_Myc._ Away; I am the king; go; touch me not. 20
Thou break’st the law of arms, unless thou kneel
And cry me “mercy, noble king.”
_Tamb._ Are you the witty King of Persia?
_Myc._ Ay, marry am I: have you any suit to me?
_Tamb._ I would entreat you speak but three wise words. 25
_Myc._ So I can when I see my time.
_Tamb._ Is this your crown?
_Myc._ Ay, didst thou ever see a fairer?
_Tamb._ You will not sell it, will you?
_Myc._ Such another word and I will have (30) thee executed. Come,
give it me!
_Tamb._ No; I took it prisoner.
_Myc._ You lie; I gave it you.
_Tamb._ Then ’t is mine.
_Myc._ No; I mean I let you keep it. 35
_Tamb._ Well; I mean you shall have it again.
Here; take it for a while: I lend it thee,
’Till I may see thee hemm’d with armed men;
Then shalt thou see me pull it from thy head:
Thou art no match for mighty Tamburlaine. 40
[_Exit._]
_Myc._ O gods! Is this Tamburlaine the thief?
I marvel much he stole it not away.
_Trumpets sound to the battle, and he runs in._
[SCENE V.]
[_Enter_] COSROE, TAMBURLAINE, THERIDAMAS, MENAPHON, MEANDER, ORTYGIUS,
TECHELLES, USUMCASANE, _with others_.
_Tamb._ Hold thee, Cosroe! wear two imperial crowns;
Think thee invested now as royally,
Even by the mighty hand of Tamburlaine,
As if as many kings as could encompass thee 4
With greatest pomp, had crown’d thee emperor.
_Cos._ So do I, thrice renowmed man-at-arms,
And none shall keep the crown but Tamburlaine.
Thee do I make my regent of Persia,
And general lieutenant of my armies.
Meander, you, that were our brother’s guide, 10
And chiefest counsellor in all his acts,
Since he is yielded to the stroke of war,
On your submission we with thanks excuse,
And give you equal place in our affairs.
_Meand._ Most happy Emperor, in humblest terms, 15
I vow my service to your majesty,
With utmost virtue of my faith and duty.
_Cos._ Thanks, good Meander: then, Cosroe, reign,
And govern Persia in her former pomp!
Now send embassage to thy neighbour kings, 20
And let them know the Persian king is chang’d,
From one that knew not what a king should do,
To one that can command what ’longs thereto.
And now we will to fair Persepolis,
With twenty thousand expert soldiers. 25
The lords and captains of my brother’s camp
With little slaughter take Meander’s course,
And gladly yield them to my gracious rule.
Ortygius and Menaphon, my trusty friends,
Now will I gratify your former good, 30
And grace your calling with a greater sway.
_Orty._ And as we ever aim’d at your behoof,
And sought your state all honour it deserv’d,
So will we with our powers and our lives
Endeavour to preserve and prosper it. 35
_Cos._ I will not thank thee, sweet Ortygius;
Better replies shall prove my purposes.
And now, Lord Tamburlaine, my brother’s camp
I leave to thee and to Theridamas,
To follow me to fair Persepolis. 40
Then will we march to all those Indian mines,
My witless brother to the Christians lost,
And ransom them with fame and usury.
And till thou overtake me, Tamburlaine,
(Staying to order all the scattered troops,) 45
Farewell, lord regent and his happy friends!
I long to sit upon my brother’s throne.
_Meand._ Your majesty shall shortly have your wish,
And ride in triumph through Persepolis.
_Exeunt all but_ TAMBURLAINE, TECHELLES, THERIDAMAS, _and_ USUMCASANE.
_Tamb._ “And ride in triumph through Persepolis!” 50
Is it not brave to be a king, Techelles?
Usumcasane and Theridamas,
Is it not passing brave to be a king,
“And ride in triumph through Persepolis”?
_Tech._ O, my lord, ’t is sweet and full of pomp.
_Usum._ To be a king is half to be a god. 56
_Ther._ A god is not so glorious as a king.
I think the pleasure they enjoy in Heaven,
Cannot compare with kingly joys in earth.
To wear a crown enchas’d with pearl and gold,
Whose virtues carry with it life and death; 61
To ask and have, command and be obeyed;
When looks breed love, with looks to gain the prize,—
Such power attractive shines in princes’ eyes!
_Tamb._ Why say, Theridamas, wilt thou be a king? 65
_Ther._ Nay, though I praise it, I can live without it.
_Tamb._ What says my other friends? Will you be kings?
_Tech._ I, if I could, with all my heart, my lord.
_Tamb._ Why, that ’s well said, Techelles; so would I,
And so would you, my masters, would you not?
_Usum._ What then, my lord? 71
_Tamb._ Why then, Casane, shall we wish for aught
The world affords in greatest novelty,
And rest attemptless, faint, and destitute?
Methinks we should not: I am strongly mov’d.
That if I should desire the Persian crown, 76
I could attain it with a wondrous ease.
And would not all our soldiers soon consent,
If we should aim at such a dignity?
_Ther._ I know they would with out persuasions. 80
_Tamb._ Why then, Theridamas, I’ll first assay
To get the Persian kingdom to myself;
Then thou for Parthia; they for Scythia and Media;
And, if I prosper, all shall be as sure
As if the Turk, the pope, Afric, and Greece, 85
Came creeping to us with their crowns apace.[295]
_Tech._ Then shall we send to this triumphing king,
And bid him battle for his novel crown?
_Usum._ Nay, quickly then, before his room be hot.
_Tamb._ ’T will prove a pretty jest, in faith, my friends. 90
_Ther._ A jest to charge on twenty thousand men!
I judge the purchase[296] more important far.
_Tamb._ Judge by thyself, Theridamas, not me;
For presently Techelles here shall haste
To bid him battle ere he pass too far, 95
And lose more labour than the game will quite.[297]
Then shalt thou see this Scythian Tamburlaine
Make but a jest to win the Persian crown.
Techelles, take a thousand horse with thee,
And bid him turn him back to war with us, 100
That only made him king to make us sport.
We will not steal upon him cowardly,
But give him warning and more warriors.
Haste thee, Techelles; we will follow thee.
[_Exit_ TECHELLES.]
What saith Theridamas? 105
_Ther._ Go on for me. _Exeunt._
SCENE VI.
[_Enter_] COSROE, MEANDER, ORTYGIUS, MENAPHON, _with other_ Soldiers.
_Cos._ What means this devilish shepherd to aspire
With such a giantly presumption
To cast up hills against the face of Heaven,
And dare the force of angry Jupiter?
But as he thrust them underneath the hills, 5
And press’d out fire from their burning jaws,
So will I send this monstrous slave to hell,
Where flames shall ever feed upon his soul.
_Meand._ Some powers divine, or else infernal, mix’d
Their angry seeds at his conception; 10
For he was never sprung of human race,
Since with the spirit of his fearful pride
He dare so doubtlessly resolve of rule,
And by profession be ambitious.
_Orty._ What god, or fiend, or spirit of the earth, 15
Or monster turned to a manly shape,
Or of what mould or mettle he be made,
What star or state[298] soever govern him,
Let us put on our meet encount’ring minds
And in detesting such a devilish thief, 20
In love of honour and defence of right,
Be arm’d against the hate of such a foe,
Whether from earth, or hell, or Heaven, he grow.
_Cos._ Nobly resolv’d, my good Ortygius;
And since we all have suck’d one wholesome air,
And with the same proportion of elements 25
Resolve, I hope we are resembled,
Vowing our loves to equal death and life.
Let’s cheer our soldiers to encounter him,
That grievous image of ingratitude, 30
That fiery thirster after sovereignty,
And burn him in the fury of that flame,
That none can quench but blood and empery.
Resolve, my lords and loving soldiers, now
To save your king and country from decay. 35
Then strike up, drum; and all the stars that make
The loathsome circle of my dated life.
Direct my weapon to his barbarous heart,
That thus opposeth him against the gods,
And scorns the powers that govern Persia! 40
[_Exeunt._]
[SCENE VII.]
_Enter to the battle, and after the battle enter_ COSROE, _wounded_,
TAMBURLAINE, THERIDAMAS, TECHELLES, USUMCASANE, _with others_.
_Cos._ Barbarous and bloody Tamburlaine,
Thus to deprive me of my crown and life!
Treacherous and false Theridamas,
Even at the morning of my happy state,
Scarce being seated in my royal throne, 5
To work my downfall and untimely end!
An uncouth pain torments my grieved soul,
And death arrests the organ of my voice,
Who, ent’ring at the breach thy sword hath made,
Sacks every vein and artier[299] of my heart.— 10
Bloody and insatiate Tamburlaine!
_Tamb._ The thirst of reign and sweetness of a crown
That caus’d the eldest son of heavenly Ops,
To thrust his doting father from his chair,
And place himself in the empyreal Heaven, 15
Mov’d me to manage arms against thy state.
What better precedent than mighty Jove?
Nature that fram’d us of four elements,
Warring within our breasts for regiment,[300]
Doth teach us all to have aspiring minds: 20
Our souls, whose faculties can comprehend
The wondrous architecture of the world,
And measure every wand’ring planet’s course,
Still climbing after knowledge infinite,
And always moving as the restless spheres, 25
Wills us to wear ourselves, and never rest,
Until we reach the ripest fruit of all,
That perfect bliss and sole felicity,
The sweet fruition of an earthly crown.
_Ther._ And that made me to join with Tamburlaine: 30
For he is gross and like the massy earth,
That moves not upwards, nor by princely deeds
Doth mean to soar above the highest sort.
_Tech._ And that made us the friends of Tamburlaine,
To lift our swords against the Persian king. 35
_Usum._ For as, when Jove did thrust old Saturn down,
Neptune and Dis gain’d each of them a crown,
So do we hope to reign in Asia,
If Tamburlaine be plac’d in Persia.
_Cos._ The strangest men that ever nature made! 40
I know not how to take their tyrannies.
My bloodless body waxeth chill and cold,
And with my blood my life slides through my wound;
My soul begins to take her flight to hell,
And summons all my senses to depart.— 45
The heat and moisture, which did feed each other,
For want of nourishment to feed them both,
Is dry and cold; and now doth ghastly death,
With greedy talons gripe my bleeding heart,
And like a harpy tires[301] on my life. 50
Theridamas and Tamburlaine, I die:
And fearful vengeance light upon you both!
[COSROE _dies_. TAMBURLAINE] _takes the crown and puts it on_.
_Tamb._ Not all the curses which the Furies breathe,
Shall make me leave so rich a prize as this.
Theridamas, Techelles, and the rest, 55
Who think you now is King of Persia?
_All._ Tamburlaine! Tamburlaine!
_Tamb._ Though Mars himself, the angry god of arms,
And all the earthly potentates conspire
To dispossess me of this diadem. 60
Yet will I wear it in despite of them,
As great commander of this eastern world,
If you but say that Tamburlaine shall reign.
_All._ Long live Tamburlaine and reign in Asia!
_Tamb._ So now it is more surer on my head, 65
Than if the gods had held a parliament,
And all pronounc’d me King of Persia.
[_Exeunt._]
ACT III
SCENE I.
[_Enter_] BAJAZETH, _the_ KINGS _of_ FEZ, MOROCCO, _and_ ARGIER,[302]
_with others in great pomp_.
_Baj._ Great Kings of Barbary and my portly bassoes,[303]
We hear the Tartars and the eastern thieves,
Under the conduct of one Tamburlaine,
Presume a bickering with your emperor, 4
And thinks to rouse us from our dreadful siege
Of the famous Grecian Constantinople.
You know our army is invincible;
As many circumcised Turks we have,
And warlike bands of Christians renied,[304]
As hath the ocean or the Terrene sea[305] 10
Small drops of water when the moon begins
To join in one her semicircled horns.
Yet would we not be brav’d with foreign power,
Nor raise our siege before the Grecians yield,
Or breathless lie before the city walls. 15
_K. of Fez._ Renowmed Emperor, and mighty general,
What, if you sent the bassoes of your guard
To charge him to remain in Asia,
Or else to threaten death and deadly arms
As from the mouth of mighty Bajazeth. 20
_Baj._ Hie thee, my basso, fast to Persia,
Tell him thy Lord, the Turkish Emperor,
Dread Lord of Afric, Europe, and Asia,
Great King and conqueror of Græcia,
The ocean, Terrene, and the Coal-black sea,[306] 25
The high and highest monarch of the world,
Wills and commands (for say not I entreat),
Not once to set his foot on Africa,
Or spread his colours [forth] in Græcia,
Lest he incur the fury of my wrath. 30
Tell him I am content to take a truce,
Because I hear he bears a valiant mind:
But if, presuming on his silly power,
He be so mad to manage arms with me,
Then stay thou with him; say, I bid thee so: 35
And if, before the sun have measured Heaven
With triple circuit, thou regreet us not,
We mean to take his morning’s next arise
For messenger he will not be reclaim’d,
And mean to fetch thee in despite of him. 40
_Bas._ Most great and puissant monarch of the earth,
Your basso will accomplish your behest,
And show your pleasure to the Persian,
As fits the legate of the stately Turk. _Exit._
_K. of Arg._ They say he is the King of Persia;
But, if he dare attempt to stir your siege, 46
’T were requisite he should be ten times more,
For all flesh quakes at your magnificence.
_Baj._ True, Argier; and tremble at my looks.
_K. of Mor._ The spring is hind’red by your smothering host, 50
For neither rain can fall upon the earth,
Nor sun reflex his virtuous beams thereon.
The ground is mantled with such multitudes.
_Baj._ All this is true as holy Mahomet;
And all the trees are blasted with our breaths.
_K. of Fez._ What thinks your greatness best to be achiev’d 56
In pursuit of the city’s overthrow?
_Baj._ I will the captive pioners of Argier
Cut off the water that by leaden pipes
Runs to the city from the mountain Carnon. 60
Two thousand horse shall forage up and down,
That no relief or succour come by land:
And all the sea my galleys countermand.
Then shall our footmen lie within the trench,
And with their cannons mouth’d like Orcus’ gulf, 65
Batter the walls, and we will enter in;
And thus the Grecians shall be conquered.
SCENE II.
[_Enter_] ZENOCRATE, AGYDAS, ANIPPE, _with others_.
[_Agyd._] Madam Zenocrate, may I presume
To know the cause of these unquiet fits,
That work such trouble to your wonted rest?
’T is more than pity such a heavenly face
Should by heart’s sorrow wax so wan and pale, 5
When your offensive rape by Tamburlaine,
(Which of your whole displeasures should be most,)
Hath seem’d to be digested long ago.
_Zeno._ Although it be digested long ago,
As his exceeding favours have deserv’d, 10
And might content the Queen of Heaven, as well
As it hath chang’d my first conceiv’d disdain,
Yet since a farther passion feeds my thoughts
With ceaseless and disconsolate conceits,
Which dyes my looks so lifeless as they are, 15
And might, if my extremes had full events,
Make me the ghastly counterfeit of death.
_Agyd._ Eternal heaven sooner be dissolv’d,
And all that pierceth Phœbus’ silver eye,
Before such hap fall to Zenocrate! 20
_Zeno._ Ah, life and soul, still hover in his breast
And leave my body senseless as the earth,
Or else unite you to his life and soul,
That I may live and die with Tamburlaine!
_Enter_ [_behind_] TAMBURLAINE, TECHELLES, _and others_.
_Agyd._ With Tamburlaine! Ah, fair Zenocrate, 25
Let not a man so vile and barbarous,
That holds you from your father in despite,
And keeps you from the honours of a queen,
(Being suppos’d his worthless concubine,)
Be honoured with your love but for necessity. 30
So, now the mighty Soldan hears of you,
Your highness needs not doubt but in short time
He will with Tamburlaine’s destruction
Redeem you from this deadly servitude.
_Zeno._ [Agydas,] leave to wound me with these words, 35
And speak of Tamburlaine as he deserves.
The entertainment we have had of him
Is far from villany[307] or servitude,
And might in noble minds be counted princely.
_Agyd._ How can you fancy one that looks so fierce, 40
Only dispos’d to martial stratagems?
Who, when he shall embrace you in his arms,
Will tell how many thousand men he slew;
And when you look for amorous discourse,
Will rattle forth his facts[308] of war and blood, 45
Too harsh a subject for your dainty ears.
_Zeno._ As looks the Sun through Nilus’ flowing stream,
Or when the Morning holds him in her arms,
So looks my lordly love, fair Tamburlaine;
His talk much sweeter than the Muses’ song 50
They sung for honour ’gainst Pierides;
Or when Minerva did with Neptune strive:
And higher would I rear my estimate
Than Juno, sister to the highest god,
If I were match’d with mighty Tamburlaine. 55
_Agyd._ Yet be not so inconstant in your love;
But let the young Arabian live in hope
After your rescue to enjoy his choice.
You see though first the King of Persia,
Being a shepherd, seem’d to love you much, 60
Now in his majesty he leaves those looks,
Those words of favour, and those comfortings,
And gives no more than common courtesies.
_Zeno._ Thence rise the tears that so distain my cheeks,
Fearing his love through my unworthiness.— 65
TAMBURLAINE _goes to her and takes her away lovingly by the hand,
looking wrathfully on_ AGYDAS, _and says nothing_. [_Exeunt all but_
AGYDAS.]
_Agyd._ Betray’d by fortune and suspicious love,
Threat’ned with frowning wrath and jealousy,
Surpris’d with fear of hideous revenge,
I stand aghast; but most astoniéd[309]
To see his choler shut in secret thoughts, 70
And wrapt in silence of his angry soul.
Upon his brows was portray’d ugly death;
And in his eyes the furies of his heart
That shone as comets, menacing revenge,
And casts a pale complexion on his checks. 75
As when the seaman sees the Hyades
Gather an array of Cimmerian clouds,
(Auster and Aquilon with winged steeds,
All sweating, tilt about the watery Heavens,
With shivering spears enforcing thunderclaps, 80
And from their shields strike flames of lightning,)
All fearful folds his sails and sounds the main,
Lifting his prayers to the Heavens for aid
Against the terror of the winds and waves,
So fares Agydas for the late-felt frowns, 85
That sent a tempest to my daunted thoughts,
And makes my soul divine her overthrow.
_Re-enter_ TECHELLES _with a naked dagger_.
_Tech._ See you, Agydas, how the king salutes you?
He bids you prophesy what it imports. _Exit._
_Agyd._ I prophesied before, and now I prove 90
The killing frowns of jealousy and love.
He needed not with words confirm my fear,
For words are vain where working tools present
The naked action of my threat’ned end:
It says, Agydas, thou shalt surely die, 95
And of extremities elect the least;
More honour and less pain it may procure
To die by this resolved hand of thine,
Than stay the torments he and Heaven have sworn. 99
Then haste, Agydas, and prevent the plagues
Which thy prolonged fates may draw on thee.
Go, wander, free from fear of tyrant’s rage,
Removed from the torments and the hell
Wherewith he may excruciate thy soul,
And let Agydas by Agydas die, 105
And with this stab slumber eternally.
_Stabs himself._
[_Re-enter_ TECHELLES _with_ USUMCASANE.]
_Tech._ Usumcasane, see, how right the man
Hath hit the meaning of my lord, the king.
_Usum._ Faith, and Techelles, it was manly done;
And since he was so wise and honourable, 110
Let us afford him now the bearing hence,
And crave his triple-worthy burial.
_Tech._ Agreed, Casane; we will honour him. [_Exeunt bearing out the
body._]
SCENE III.
[_Enter_] TAMBURLAINE, TECHELLES, USUMCASANE, THERIDAMAS, _a_ Basso,
ZENOCRATE, [ANIPPE,] _with others_.
_Tamb._ Basso, by this thy lord and master knows
I mean to meet him in Bithynia:
See how he comes! Tush, Turks are full of brags,
And menace more than they can well perform.
He meet me in the field, and fetch thee hence!
Alas! poor Turk! his fortune is too weak 6
To encounter with the strength of Tamburlaine.
View well my camp, and speak indifferently;
Do not my captains and my soldiers look
As if they meant to conquer Africa? 10
_Bas._ Your men are valiant, but their number few,
And cannot terrify his mighty host.
My lord, the great commander of the world,
Besides fifteen contributory kings,
Hath now in arms ten thousand Janissaries, 15
Mounted on lusty Mauritanian steeds,
Brought to the war by men of Tripoli;
Two hundred thousand footmen that have serv’d
In two set battles fought in Græcia:
And for the expedition of this war, 20
If he think good, can from his garrisons
Withdraw as many more to follow him.
_Tech._ The more he brings the greater is the spoil,
For when they perish by our warlike hands,
We mean to seat our footmen on their steeds, 25
And rifle all those stately Janisars.
_Tamb._ But will those kings accompany your lord?
_Bas._ Such as his highness please; but some must stay
To rule the provinces he late subdu’d.
_Tamb._ [_To his_ Officers.] Then fight courageously:
their crowns are yours; 30
This hand shall set them on your conquering heads,
That made me Emperor of Asia.
_Usum._ Let him bring millions infinite of men,
Unpeopling Western Africa and Greece,
Yet we assure us of the victory. 35
_Ther._ Even he that in a trice vanquish’d two kings,
More mighty than the Turkish emperor,
Shall rouse him out of Europe, and pursue
His scattered army till they yield or die.
_Tamb._ Well said, Theridamas; speak in that mood; 40
For _will_ and _shall_ best fitteth Tamburlaine,
Whose smiling stars give him assured hope
Of martial triumph ere he meet his foes.
I that am term’d the scourge and wrath of God,
The only fear and terror of the world, 45
Will first subdue the Turk, and then enlarge
Those Christian captives, which you keep as slaves,
Burdening their bodies with your heavy chains,
And feeding them with thin and slender fare;
That naked row about the Terrene sea, 50
And when they chance to breathe and rest a space,
Are punish’d with bastones[310] so grievously,
That they lie panting on the galley’s side,
And strive for life at every stroke they give.
These are the cruel pirates of Argier, 55
That damned train, the scum of Africa,
Inhabited with straggling runagates,
That make quick havoc of the Christian blood;
But, as I live, that town shall curse the time
That Tamburlaine set foot in Africa. 60
_Enter_ BAJAZETH _with his_ Bassoes, _and contributory_ KINGS [_of_
FEZ, MOROCCO, _and_ ARGIER; ZABINA _and_ EBEA].
_Baj._ Bassoes and Janissaries of my guard,
Attend upon the person of your lord,
The greatest potentate of Africa.
_Tamb._ Techelles and the rest, prepare your swords;
I mean to encounter with that Bajazeth. 65
_Baj._ Kings of Fez, Moroccus, and Argier,
He calls me Bajazeth, whom you call Lord!
Note the presumption of this Scythian slave!
I tell thee, villain, those that lead my horse
Have to their names titles of dignity, 70
And dar’st thou bluntly call me Bajazeth?
_Tamb._ And know, thou Turk, that those which lead my horse,
Shall lead thee captive thorough Africa;
And dar’st thou bluntly call me Tamburlaine?
_Baj._ By Mahomet my kinsman’s sepulchre,
And by the holy Alcoran I swear, 76
He shall be made a chaste and lustless eunuch,
And in my sarell[311] tend my concubines;
And all his captains that thus stoutly stand,
Shall draw the chariot of my emperess, 80
Whom I have brought to see their overthrow.
_Tamb._ By this my sword, that conquer’d Persia,
Thy fall shall make me famous through the world.
I will not tell thee how I’ll handle thee,
But every common soldier of my camp 85
Shall smile to see thy miserable state.
_K. of Fez._ What means the mighty Turkish emperor,
To talk with one so base as Tamburlaine?
_K. of Mor._ Ye Moors and valiant men of Barbary,
How can ye suffer these indignities? 90
_K. of Arg._ Leave words, and let them feel your lances’ points
Which glided through the bowels of the Greeks.
_Baj._ Well said, my stout contributory kings:
Your threefold army and my hugy[312] host
Shall swallow up these base-born Persians. 95
_Tech._ Puissant, renowmed, and mighty Tamburlaine,
Why stay we thus prolonging all their lives?
_Ther._ I long to see those crowns won by our swords,
That we may reign as kings of Africa.
_Usum._ What coward would not fight for such a prize? 100
_Tamb._ Fight all courageously, and be you kings;
I speak it, and my words are oracles.
_Baj._ Zabina, mother of three braver boys
Than Hercules, that in his infancy
Did pash[313] the jaws of serpents venomous; 105
Whose hands are made to gripe a warlike lance,
Their shoulders broad for complete armour fit,
Their limbs more large, and of a bigger size,
Than all the brats ysprung from Typhon’s loins;
Who, when they come unto their father’s age,
Will batter turrets with their manly fists;— 111
Sit here upon this royal chair of state,
And on thy head wear my imperial crown,
Until I bring this sturdy Tamburlaine,
And all his captains bound in captive chains. 115
_Zab._ Such good success happen to Bajazeth!
_Tamb._ Zenocrate, the loveliest maid alive,
Fairer than rocks of pearl and precious stone,
The only paragon of Tamburlaine,
Whose eyes are brighter than the lamps of Heaven 120
And speech more pleasant than sweet harmony!
That with thy looks canst clear the darkened sky,
And calm the rage of thund’ring Jupiter,
Sit down by her, adorned with my crown,
As if thou wert the Empress of the world. 125
Stir not, Zenocrate, until thou see
Me march victoriously with all my men,
Triumphing over him and these his kings,
Which I will bring as vassals to thy feet;
Till then take thou my crown, vaunt of my worth, 130
And manage words with her, as we will arms.
_Zeno._ And may my love, the King of Persia,
Return with victory and free from wound!
_Baj._ Now shalt thou feel the force of Turkish arms,
Which lately made all Europe quake for fear. 135
I have of Turks, Arabians, Moors, and Jews,
Enough to cover all Bithynia.
Let thousands die; their slaughtered carcasses
Shall serve for walls and bulwarks to the rest
And as the heads of Hydra, so my power, 140
Subdued, shall stand as mighty as before.
If they should yield their necks unto the sword,
Thy soldiers’ arms could not endure to strike
So many blows as I have heads for thee.
Thou know’st not, foolish, hardy Tamburlaine,
What ’t is to meet me in the open field, 146
That leave no ground for thee to march upon.
_Tamb._ Our conquering swords shall marshal us the way
We use to march upon the slaughtered foe, 149
Trampling their bowels with our horses’ hoofs;
Brave horses bred on the white Tartarian hills;
My camp is like to Julius Cæsar’s host,
That never fought but had the victory;
Nor in Pharsalia was there such hot war
As these, my followers, willingly would have. 155
Legions of spirits fleeting[314] in the air
Direct our bullets and our weapons’ points,
And make your[315] strokes to wound the senseless lure,[316]
And when she sees our bloody colours spread,
Then Victory begins to take her flight, 160
Resting herself upon my milk-white tent.
But come, my lords, to weapons let us fall,
The field is ours, the Turk, his wife, and all.
_Exit with his followers._
_Baj._ Come, kings and bassoes, let us glut our swords,
That thirst to drink the feeble Persians’ blood.
_Exit with his followers._
_Zab._ Base concubine, must thou be plac’d by me,
That am the empress of the mighty Turk?
_Zeno._ Disdainful Turkess and unreverend boss![317]
Call’st thou me concubine, that am betroth’d
Unto the great and mighty Tamburlaine? 170
_Zab._ To Tamburlaine, the great Tartarian thief!
_Zeno._ Thou wilt repent these lavish words of thine,
When thy great basso-master and thyself
Must plead for mercy at his kingly feet,
And sue to me to be your advocate. 175
_Zab._ And sue to thee! I tell thee, shameless girl,
Thou shalt be laundress to my waiting maid!—
How lik’st thou her, Ebea? Will she serve?
_Ebea._ Madam, she thinks, perhaps, she is too fine.
But I shall turn her into other weeds, 180
And make her dainty fingers fall to work.
_Zeno._ Hear’st thou, Anippe, how thy drudge doth talk?
And how my slave, her mistress, menaceth?
Both for their sauciness shall be employed 184
To dress the common soldiers’ meat and drink,
For we will scorn they should come near ourselves.
_Anip._ Yet sometimes let your highness send for them
To do the work my chambermaid disdains.
_They sound the battle within._[318]
_Zeno._ Ye gods and powers that govern Persia,
And made my lordly love her worthy king, 190
Now strengthen him against the Turkish Bajazeth,
And let his foes, like flocks of fearful roes
Pursu’d by hunters, fly his angry looks,
That I may see him issue conqueror!
_Zab._ Now. Mahomet, solicit God himself, 195
And make him rain down murdering shot from Heaven
To dash the Scythians’ brains, and strike them dead,
That dare to manage arms with him
That offered jewels to thy sacred shrine,
When first he warr’d against the Christians! 200
[_They sound_] _to the battle again._
_Zeno._ By this the Turks lie welt’ring in their blood,
And Tamburlaine is Lord of Africa.
_Zab._ Thou art deceiv’d.—I heard the trumpets sound
As when my emperor overthrew the Greeks,
And led them captive into Africa. 205
Straight will I use thee as thy pride deserves:
Prepare thyself to live and die my slave.
_Zeno._ If Mahomet should come from Heaven and swear
My royal lord is slain or conquered,
Yet should he not persuade me otherwise 210
But that he lives and will be conqueror.
BAJAZETH _flies and_ [TAMBURLAINE] _pursues him. The battle short, and
they enter_. BAJAZETH _is overcome_.
_Tamb._ Now, king of bassoes, who is conqueror?
_Baj._ Thou, by the fortune of this damned [foil].[319]
_Tamb._ Where are your stout contributory kings?
_Re-enter_ TECHELLES, THERIDAMAS, _and_ USUMCASANE.
_Tech._ We have their crowns, their bodies strow the field. 215
_Tamb._ Each man a crown! Why, kingly fought, i’ faith.
Deliver them into my treasury.
_Zeno._ Now let me offer to my gracions lord
His royal crown again so highly won.
_Tamb._ Nay, take the Turkish crown from her, Zenocrate, 220
And crown me Emperor of Africa.
_Zab._ No, Tamburlaine: though now thou gat the best,
Thou shalt not yet be lord of Africa.
_Ther._ Give her the crown, Turkess: you were best.
_He takes it from her, and gives it to_ ZENOCRATE.
_Zab._ Injurious villains! thieves! runagates!
How dare you thus abuse my majesty? 226
_Ther._ Here, madam, you are Empress; she is none.
_Tamb._ Not now, Theridamas; her time is past.
The pillars that have bolstered up those terms,
Are fallen in clusters at my conquering feet. 230
_Zab._ Though he be prisoner, he may be ransomed.
_Tamb._ Not all the world shall ransom Bajazeth.
_Baj._ Ah, fair Zabina! we have lost the field;
And never had the Turkish emperor
So great a foil by any foreign foe. 235
Now will the Christian miscreants be glad,
Ringing with joy their superstitious bells,
And making bonfires for my overthrow.
But, ere I die, those foul idolaters
Shall make me bonfires with their filthy bones.
For though the glory of this day be lost, 241
Afric and Greece have garrisons enough
To make me sovereign of the earth again.
_Tamb._ Those walled garrisons will I subdue,
And write myself great lord of Africa. 245
So from the East unto the furthest West
Shall Tamburlaine extend his puissant arm.
The galleys and those pilling[320] brigandines,
That yearly sail to the Venetian gulf,
And hover in the Straits for Christians’ wrack,
Shall lie at anchor in the isle Asant,[321] 251
Until the Persian fleet and men of war,
Sailing along the oriental sea,
Have fetch’d about the Indian continent,
Even from Persepolis to Mexico, 255
And thence unto the straits of Jubalter;[322]
Where they shall meet and join their force in one
Keeping in awe the bay of Portingale,[323]
And all the ocean by the British shore;
And by this means I’ll win the world at last. 260
_Baj._ Yet set a ransom on me, Tamburlaine.
_Tamb._ What, think’st thou Tamburlaine esteems thy gold?
I’ll make the kings of India, ere I die,
Offer their mines to sue for peace to me,
And dig for treasure to appease my wrath. 265
Come, bind them both, and one lead in the Turk;
The Turkess let my love’s maid lead away.
_Thy bind them._
_Baj._ Ah, villains!—dare you touch my sacred arms?
O Mahomet!—O sleepy Mahomet!
_Zab._ O cursed Mahomet, that makes us thus
The slaves to Scythians rude and barbarous! 271
_Tamb._ Come, bring them in; and for this happy conquest.
Triumph and solemnise a martial feast. _Exeunt._
ACT IV
SCENE I.
[_Enter the_] SOLDAN _of_ EGYPT, _with three or four_ LORDS, CAPOLIN,
[_and a_ Messenger].
_Sold._ Awake, ye men of Memphis! Hear the clang
Of Scythian trumpets! Hear the basilisks[324]
That, roaring, shake Damascus’ turrets down!
The rogue of Volga holds Zenocrate,
The Soldan’s daughter, for his concubine, 5
And with a troop of thieves and vagabonds,
Hath spread his colours to our high disgrace,
While you, faint-hearted, base Egyptians,
Lie slumbering on the flowery banks of Nile,
As crocodiles that unaffrighted rest, 10
While thund’ring cannons rattle on their skins.
_Mess._ Nay, mighty Soldan, did your greatness see
The frowning looks of fiery Tamburlaine,
That with his terror and imperious eyes
Commands the hearts of his associates, 15
It might amaze your royal majesty.
_Sold._ Villain, I tell thee, were that Tamburlaine
As monstrous[325] as Gorgon,[326] prince of hell,
The Soldan would not start a foot from him.
But speak, what power hath he?
_Mess._ Mighty lord, 20
Three hundred thousand men in armour clad,
Upon their prancing steeds disdainfully
With wanton paces trampling on the ground:
Five hundred thousand footmen threat’ning shot,
Shaking their swords, their spears, and iron bills,
Environing their standard round, that stood 26
As bristle-pointed as a thorny wood:
Their warlike engines and munition
Exceed the forces of their martial men.
_Sold._ Nay, could their numbers countervail the stars, 30
Or ever-drizzling drops of April showers,
Or withered leaves that Autumn shaketh down
Yet would the Soldan by his conquering power,
So scatter and consume them in his rage,
That not a man should live to rue their fall. 35
_Capo._ So might your highness, had you time to sort
Your fighting men, and raise your royal host;
But Tamburlaine, by expedition,
Advantage takes of your unreadiness. 39
_Sold._ Let him take all th’ advantages he can.
Were all the world conspir’d to fight for him,
Nay, were he devil, as he is no man,
Yet in revenge of fair Zenocrate,
Whom he detaineth in despite of us,
This arm should send him down to Erebus, 45
To shroud his shame in darkness of the night.
_Mess._ Pleaseth your mightiness to understand,
His resolution far exceedeth all.
The first day when he pitcheth down his tents,
White is their hue, and on his silver crest, 50
A snowy feather spangled white he bears,
To signify the mildness of his mind,
That, satiate with spoil, refuseth blood.
But when Aurora mounts the second time
As red as scarlet is his furniture; 55
Then must his kindled wrath be quench’d with blood,
Not sparing any that can manage arms;
But if these threats move not submission,
Black are his colours, black pavilion;
His spear, his shield, his horse, his armour, plumes, 60
And jetty feathers menace death and hell!
Without respect of sex, degree, or age,
He razeth all his foes with fire and sword.
_Sold._ Merciless villain! Peasant, ignorant
Of lawful arms or martial discipline! 65
Pillage and murder are his usual trades;
The slave usurps the glorious name of war.
See, Capolin, the fair Arabian king,
That hath been disappointed by this slave
Of my fair daughter and his princely love, 70
May have fresh warning to go war with us,
And be reveng’d for her disparagement.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE II.
[_Enter_] TAMBURLAINE, TECHELLES, THERIDAMAS, USUMCASANE, ZENOCRATE,
ANIPPE, _two_ MOORS _drawing_ BAJAZETH _in his cage, and his wife_
[ZABINA] _following him_.
_Tamb._ Bring out my footstool.
_They take him out of the cage._
_Baj._ Ye holy priests of heavenly Mahomet,
That, sacrificing, slice and cut your flesh,
Staining his altars with your purple blood;
Make Heaven to frown and every fixed star 5
To suck up poison from the moorish fens,
And pour it in this glorious[327] tyrant’s throat!
_Tamb._ The chiefest God, first mover of that sphere,
Enchas’d with thousands ever-shining lamps,
Will sooner burn the glorious frame of Heaven, 10
Than it should so conspire my otherthrow.
But, villain! thou that wishest this to me,
Fall prostrate on the low disdainful earth,
And be the footstool of great Tamburlaine,
That I may rise into my royal throne. 15
_Baj._ First shalt thou rip my bowels with thy sword,
And sacrifice my heart to death and hell,
Before I yield to such a slavery.
_Tamb._ Base villain, vassal, slave to Tamburlaine!
Unworthy to embrace or touch the ground, 20
That bears the honour of my royal weight;
Stoop, villain, stoop!—Stoop! for so he bids
That may command thee piecemeal to be torn,
Or scattered like the lofty cedar trees
Struck with the voice of thund’ring Jupiter. 25
_Baj._ Then, as I look down to the damned fiends,
Fiends look on me! and thou, dread god of hell,
With ebon sceptre strike this hateful earth,
And make it swallow both of us at once!
[TAMBURLAINE] _gets up upon him to his chair_.
_Tamb._ Now clear the triple region of the air, 30
And let the majesty of Heaven behold
Their scourge and terror tread on emperors.
Smile stars, that reign’d at my nativity,
And dim the brightness of their neighbour lamps!
Disdain to borrow light of Cynthia! 35
For I, the chiefest lamp of all the earth,
First rising in the East with mild aspect,
But fixed now in the meridian line,
Will send up fire to your turning spheres,
And cause the sun to borrow light of you. 40
My sword struck fire from his coat of steel,
Even in Bithynia, when I took this Turk;
As when a fiery exhalation,
Wrapt in the bowels of a freezing cloud
Fighting for passage, make[s] the welkin crack,
And casts a flash of lightning to the earth: 46
But ere I march to wealthy Persia,
Or leave Damascus and th’ Egyptian fields,
As was the fame of Clymene’s brain-sick son,
That almost brent the axle-tree of Heaven, 50
So shall our swords, our lances, and our shot
Fill all the air with fiery meteors:
Then, when the sky shall wax as red as blood,
It shall be said I made it red myself,
To make me think of nought but blood and war. 55
_Zab._ Unworthy king, that by thy cruelty
Unlawfully unsurp’st the Persian seat,
Dar’st thou, that never saw an emperor
Before thou met my husband in the field,
Being thy captive, thus abuse his state, 60
Keeping his kingly body in a cage,
That roofs of gold and sun-bright palaces
Should have prepar’d to entertain his grace?
And treading him beneath thy loathsome feet,
Whose feet the kings of Africa have kiss’d. 65
_Tech._ You must devise some torment worse, my lord,
To make these captives rein their lavish tongues.
_Tamb._ Zenocrate, look better to your slave.
_Zeno._ She is my handmaid’s slave, and she shall look
That these abuses flow not from her tongue: 70
Chide her, Anippe.
_Anip._ Let these be warnings for you then, my slave,
How you abuse the person of the king;
Or else I swear to have you whipt, stark-nak’d.
_Baj._ Great Tamburlaine, great in my over-throw, 75
Ambitious pride shall make thee fall as low,
For treading on the back of Bajazeth,
That should be horsed on four mighty kings.
_Tamb._ Thy names and titles and thy dignities
Are fled from Bajazeth and remain with me, 80
That will maintain ’t against a world of kings.
Put him in again.
[_They put him back into the cage._]
_Baj._ Is this a place for mighty Bajazeth?
Confusion light on him that helps thee thus!
_Tamb._ There, whiles he lives, shall Bajazeth be kept; 85
And, where I go, he thus in triumph drawn;
And thou, his wife, shalt feed him with the scraps
My servitors shall bring thee from my board;
For he that gives him other food than this
Shall sit by him and starve to death himself; 90
This is my mind and I will have it so.
Not all the kings and emperors of the earth,
If they would lay their crowns before my feet,
Shall ransom him or take him from his cage.
The ages that shall talk of Tamburlaine, 95
Even from this day to Plato’s wondrous year,
Shall talk how I have handled Bajazeth;
These Moors, that drew him from Bithynia
To fair Damascus, where we now remain,
Shall lead him with us wheresoe’er we go. 100
Techelles, and loving followers,
Now may we see Damascus’ lofty towers,
Like to the shadows of Pyramides,
That with their beauties grac’d the Memphian fields.
The golden statue[328] of their feathered bird 105
That spreads her wings upon the city walls
Shall not defend it from our battering shot.
The townsmen mask in silk and cloth of gold,
And every house is as a treasury:
The men, the treasure, and the town is ours.
_Ther._ Your tents of white now pitch’d before the gates, 111
And gentle flags of amity display’d,
I doubt not but the governor will yield,
Offering Damascus to your majesty.
_Tamb._ So shall he have his life and all the rest. 115
But if he stay until the bloody flag
Be once advanc’d on my vermilion tent,
He dies, and those that kept us out so long.
And when they see me march in black array,
With mournful streamers hanging down their heads, 120
Were in that city all the world contain’d,
Not one should scape, but perish by our swords.
_Zeno._ Yet would you have some pity for my sake,
Because it is my country’s, and my father’s.
_Tamb._ Not for the world, Zenocrate, if I’ve sworn. 125
Come; bring in the Turk. _Exeunt._
SCENE III.
[_Enter the_] SOLDAN, [_the_ KING _of_] ARABIA, CAPOLIN, _with
streaming colours and_ Soldiers.
_Sold._ Methinks we march as Meleager did,
Environed with brave Argolian knights,
To chase the savage Calydonian boar,
Or Cephalus with lusty Theban youths
Against the wolf that angry Themis sent 5
To waste and spoil the sweet Aonian fields,
A monster of five hundred thousand heads,
Compact of rapine, piracy, and spoil.
The scum of men, the hate and scourge of God,
Raves in Egyptia and annoyeth us. 10
My lord, it is the bloody Tamburlaine,
A sturdy felon and a base-bred thief,
By murder raised to the Persian crown,
That dares control us in our territories.
To tame the pride of this presumptuous beast, 15
Join your Arabians with the Soldan’s power,
Let us unite our royal bands in one,
And hasten to remove Damascus’ siege.
It is a blemish to the majesty
And high estate of mighty emperors, 20
That such a base usurping vagabond
Should brave a king, or wear a princely crown.
_K. of Arab._ Renowmed Soldan, have you lately heard
The overthrow of mighty Bajazeth
About the confines of Bithynia? 25
The slavery wherewith he persecutes
The noble Turk and his great emperess?
_Sold._ I have, and sorrow for his bad success;
But, noble lord of great Arabia,
Be so persuaded that the Soldan is 30
No more dismay’d with tidings of his fall
Than in the haven when the pilot stands
And views a stranger’s ship rent in the winds,
And shivered against a craggy rock;
Yet in compassion of his wretched state, 35
A sacred vow to Heaven and him I make,
Confirming it with Ibis’ holy name,
That Tamburlaine shall rue the day, the hour,
Wherein he wrought such ignominious wrong
Unto the hallowed person of a prince, 40
Or kept the fair Zenocrate so long
As concubine, I fear, to feed his lust.
_K. of Arab._ Let grief and fury hasten on revenge;
Let Tamburlaine for his offences feel
Such plagues as Heaven and we can pour on him. 45
I long to break my spear upon his crest,
And prove the weight of his victorious arm;
For Fame, I fear, hath been too prodigal
In sounding through the world his partial praise.
_Sold._ Capolin, hast thou survey’d our powers? 50
_Capol._ Great Emperors of Egypt and Arabia,
The number of your hosts united is
A hundred and fifty thousand horse;
Two hundred thousand foot, brave men-at-arms,
Courageous, and full of hardiness, 55
As frolic as the hunters in the chase
Of savage beasts amid the desert woods.
_K. of Arab._ My mind presageth fortunate success;
And, Tamburlaine, my spirit doth foresee
The utter ruin of thy men and thee. 60
_Sold._ Then rear your standards; let your sounding drums
Direct our soldiers to Damascus’ walls.
Now, Tamburlaine, the mighty Soldan comes,
And leads with him the great Arabian king,
To dim thy baseness and obscurity, 65
Famous for nothing but for theft and spoil;
To raze and scatter thy inglorious crew
Of Scythians and slavish Persians. _Exeunt._
SCENE IV.
_The Banquet; and to it cometh_ TAMBURLAINE, _all in scarlet,_
[ZENOCRATE,] THERIDAMAS, TECHELLES, USUMCASANE, _the_ TURK [BAJAZETH
_in his cage,_ ZABINA,] _with others._
_Tamb._ Now hang our bloody colours by Damascus,
Reflexing hues of blood upon their heads,
While they walk quivering on their city walls,
Half dead for fear before they feel my wrath;
Then let us freely banquet and carouse 5
Full bowls of wine unto the god of war
That means to fill your helmets full of gold,
And make Damascus spoils as rich to you,
As was to Jason Colchos’ golden fleece.—
And now, Bajazeth, hast thou any stomach? 10
_Baj._ Ay, such a stomach, cruel Tamburlaine, as I could willingly
feed upon thy blood-raw heart.
_Tamb._ Nay thine own is easier to come by; pluck out that, and ’t
will serve thee and thy (15) wife. Well, Zenocrate, Techelles, and the
rest, fall to your victuals.
_Baj._ Fall to, and never may your meat digest!
Ye Furies, that can mask invisible,
Dive to the bottom of Avernus’ pool, 20
And in your hands bring hellish poison up
And squeeze it in the cup of Tamburlaine!
Or, winged snakes of Lerna, cast your stings,
And leave your venoms in this tyrant’s dish!
_Zab._ And may this banquet prove as ominous
As Progne’s to th’ adulterous Thracian king, 26
That fed upon the substance of his child.
_Zeno._ My lord, how can you [tamely][329] suffer these
Outrageous curses by these slaves of yours?
_Tamb._ To let them see, divine Zenocrate, 30
I glory in the curses of my foes,
Having the power from the imperial Heaven
To turn them all upon their proper heads.
_Tech._ I pray you give them leave, madam; this speech is a goodly
refreshing to them. 35
_Ther._ But if his highness would let them be fed, it would do them
more good.
_Tamb._ Sirrah, why fall you not to? Are you so daintily brought up,
you cannot eat your own flesh? 40
_Baj._ First, legions of devils shall tear thee in pieces.
_Usum._ Villain, know’st thou to whom thou speakest?
_Tamb._ O, let him alone. Here; eat, sir; (45) take it from my
sword’s point, or I’ll thrust it to thy heart.
_Bajazeth takes it and stamps upon it._
_Ther._ He stamps it under his feet, my lord.
_Tamb._ Take it up, villain, and eat it; or I will make thee slice
the brawns of thy arms (50) into carbonadoes[330] and eat them.
_Usum._ Nay, ’twere better he kill’d his wife, and then she shall
be sure not to be starv’d. And he be provided for a month’s victual
beforehand. 55
_Tamb._ Here is my dagger: despatch her while she is fat; for if
she live but a while longer, she will fall into a consumption with
fretting, and then she will not be worth the eating.
_Ther._ Dost thou think that Mahomet will (60) suffer this?
_Tech._ ’Tis like he will when he cannot let[331] it.
_Tamb._ Go to; fall to your meat.—What, not a bit! Belike he hath
not been watered today; (65) give him some drink.
_They give Bajazeth water to drink, and he flings it on the ground._
_Tamb._ Fast, and welcome, sir, while[332] hunger make you eat. How
now, Zenocrate, doth not the Turk and his wife make a goodly show at
a banquet? 70
_Zeno._ Yes, my lord.
_Ther._ Methinks, ’tis a great deal better than a consort[333] of
music.
_Tamb._ Yet music would do well to cheer up Zenocrate. Pray thee tell
why thou art so (75) sad? If thou wilt have a song, the Turk shall
strain his voice. But why is it?
_Zeno._ My lord, to see my father’s town besieg’d,
The country wasted where myself was born,
How can it but afflict my very soul? 80
If any love remain in you, my lord,
Or if my love unto your majesty
May merit favour at your highness’ hands,
Then raise your siege from fair Damascus’ walls,
And with my father take a friendly truce. 85
_Tamb._ Zenocrate, were Egypt Jove’s own land,
Yet would I with my sword make Jove to stoop.
I will confute those blind geographers
That make a triple region in the world,
Excluding regions which I mean to trace, 90
And with this pen[334] reduce them to a map,
Calling the provinces, cities, and towns,
After my name and thine, Zenocrate.
Here at Damascus will I make the point
That shall begin the perpendicular; 95
And would’st thou have me buy thy father’s love
With such a loss?—Tell me, Zenocrate.
_Zeno._ Honour still wait on happy Tamburlaine!
Yet give me leave to plead for him, my lord.
_Tamb._ Content thyself: his person shall be safe 100
And all the friends of fair Zenocrate,
If with their lives they will be pleas’d to yield,
Or may be forc’d to make me Emperor;
For Egypt and Arabia must be mine.—
Feed, you slave! Thou may’st think thyself 105
happy to be fed from my trencher.
_Baj._ My empty stomach, full of idle heat,
Draws bloody humours from my feeble parts,
Preserving life by hasting cruel death.
My veins are pale, my sinews hard and dry, 110
My joints benumb’d: unless I eat, I die.
_Zab._ Eat, Bajazeth. Let us live in spite of them, looking[335] some
happy power will pity and enlarge[336] us.
_Tamb._ Here, Turk; wilt thou have a clean (115) trencher?
_Baj._ Ay, tyrant, and more meat.
_Tamb._ Soft, sir; you must be dieted; too much eating will make you
surfeit.
_Ther._ So it would, my lord, specially having (120) so small a walk
and so little exercise.
_Enter a second course of crowns._
_Tamb._ Theridamas, Techelles, and Casane, here are the cates you
desire to finger, are they not?
_Ther._ Ay, my lord; but none save kings must feed with these. 125
_Tech._ ’T is enough for us to see them, and for Tamburlaine only to
enjoy them.
_Tamb._ Well; here is now to the Soldan of Egypt, the King of Arabia,
and the Governor (130) of Damascus. Now take these three crowns, and
pledge me, my contributory kings. I crown you here, Theridamas, King
of Argier; Techelles, King of Fez; and Usumcasane, King of Moroccus.
How say you to this, Turk? These are (135) not your contributory
kings.
_Baj._ Nor shall they long be thine, I warrant them.
_Tamb._ Kings of Argier, Moroccus, and of Fez,
You that have march’d with happy Tamburlaine
As far as from the frozen [plage[337]]of Heaven 140
Unto the watery morning’s ruddy bower,[338]
And thence by land unto the torrid zone,
Deserve these titles I endow you with
By [valour[339]] and by magnanimity.
Your births shall be no blemish to your fame, 145
For virtue is the fount whence honour springs,
And they are worthy she investeth kings.
_Ther._ And since your highness hath so well vouchsaf’d,
If we deserve them not with higher meeds
Than erst our states and actions have retain’d 150
Take them away again and make us slaves.
_Tamb._ Well said, Theridamas; when holy fates
Shall ’stablish me in strong Egyptia,
We mean to travel to th’ antartic pole,
Conquering the people underneath our feet, 155
And be renowm’d as never emperors were.
Zenocrate, I will not crown thee yet,
Until with greater honours I be grac’d.
[_Exeunt._]
ACT V
SCENE I.
[_Enter_] _the_ GOVERNOR _of_ DAMASCUS, _with three or four_ Citizens,
_and four_ Virgins, _with branches of laurel in their hands_.
_Gov._ Still doth this man, or rather god of war,
Batter our walls and beat our turrets down;
And to resist with longer stubbornness
Or hope of rescue from the Soldan’s power,
Were but to bring our wilful overthrow, 5
And make us desperate of our threat’ned lives.
We see his tents have now been altered
With terrors to the last and cruellest hue.
His coal-black colours everywhere advanc’d
Threaten our city with a general spoil; 10
And if we should with common rites of arms
Offer our safeties to his clemency,
I fear the custom, proper to his sword,
Which he observes as parcel of his fame,
Intending so to terrify the world, 15
By any innovation or remorse
Will never be dispens’d with till our deaths.
Therefore, for these our harmless virgins’ sakes,
Whose honours and whose lives rely on him,
Let us have hope that their unspotted prayers, 20
Their blubbered cheeks, and hearty, humble moans,
Will melt his fury into some remorse,[340]
And use us like a loving conqueror.
_1 Virg._ If humble suits or imprecations,[341]
(Uttered with tears of wretchedness and blood 25
Shed from the heads and hearts of all our sex,
Some made your wives and some your children)
Might have entreated your obdurate breasts
To entertain some care of our securities
Whiles only danger beat upon our walls, 30
These more than dangerous warrants of our death
Had never been erected as they be,
Nor you depend on such weak helps as we.
_Gov._ Well, lovely virgins, think our country’s care,
Our love of honour, loath to be inthrall’d 35
To foreign powers and rough imperious yokes,
Would not with too much cowardice or fear,
(Before all hope of rescue were denied)
Submit yourselves and us to servitude.
Therefore in that your safeties and our own, 40
Your honours, liberties, and lives were weigh’d
In equal care and balance with our own,
Endure as we the malice of our stars,
The wrath of Tamburlaine, and power of wars;
Or be the means the overweighing heavens 45
Have kept to qualify[342] these hot extremes,
And bring us pardon in your cheerful looks.
_2 Virg._ Then here before the majesty of Heaven
And holy patrons of Egyptia,
With knees and hearts submissive we entreat 50
Grace to our words and pity to our looks
That this device may prove propitious,
And through the eyes and ears of Tamburlaine
Convey events of mercy to his heart;
Grant that these signs of victory we yield 55
May bind the temples of his conquering head,
To hide the folded furrows of his brows,
And shadow his displeased countenance
With happy looks of ruth and lenity.
Leave us, my lord, and loving countrymen; 60
What simple virgins may persuade, we will.
_Gov._ Farewell, sweet virgins, on whose safe return
Depends our city, liberty, and lives. _Exeunt._
SCENE II.
[_Enter_] TAMBURLAINE, _all in black and very melancholy_, TECHELLES,
THERIDAMAS, USUMCASANE, _with others_.
_Tamb._ What, are the turtles fray’d[343] out of their nests?
Alas, poor fools! must you be first shall feel
The sworn destruction of Damascus?
They knew my custom; could they not as well
Have sent ye out when first my milk-white flags, 5
Through which sweet Mercy threw her gentle beams,
Reflexing[344] them on your disdainful eyes,
As now, when fury and incensed hate
Flings slaughtering terror from my coal-black tents, 9
And tells for truth submission[345] comes too late?
_1 Virg._ Most happy King and Emperor of the earth,
Image of honour and nobility,
For whom the powers divine have made the world,
And on whose throne the holy Graces sit;
In whose sweet person is compris’d the sum 15
Of Nature’s skill and heavenly majesty;
Pity our plights! O pity poor Damascus!
Pity old age, within whose silver hairs
Honour and reverence evermore have reign’d!
Pity the marriage bed, where many a lord, 20
In prime and glory of his loving joy,
Embraceth now with tears of ruth and blood
The jealous body of his fearful wife,
Whose cheeks and hearts, so punish’d with conceit
To think thy puissant, never-stayed arm 25
Will part their bodies, and prevent their souls
From heavens of comfort yet their age might bear,
Now wax all pale and withered to the death,
As well for grief our ruthless governor
Hath thus refus’d the mercy of thy hand, 30
(Whose sceptre angels kiss and furies dread,)
As for their liberties, their loves, or lives!
O then for these, and such as we ourselves,
For us, our infants, and for all our bloods,
That never nourish’d thought against thy rule,
Pity. O pity, sacred Emperor, 36
The prostrate service of this wretched town,
And take in sign thereof this gilded wreath;
Whereto each man of rule hath given his hand,
And wish’d, as worthy subjects, happy means
To be investers of thy royal brows 41
Even with the true Egyptian diadem!
_Tamb._ Virgins, in vain ye labour to prevent
That which mine honour swears shall be perform’d.
Behold my sword! what see you at the point?
_1 Virg._ Nothing but fear and fatal steel, my lord. 46
_Tamb._ Your fearful minds are thick and misty then;
For there sits Death, there sits imperious Death
Keeping his circuit[346] by the slicing edge.
But I am pleas’d you shall not see him there;
He now is seated on my horsemen’s spears, 51
And on their points his fleshless body feeds.
Techelles, straight go charge a few of them
To charge these dames, and show my servant, Death,
Sitting in scarlet on their armed spears. 55
_Virgins._ O pity us!
_Tamb._ Away with them, I say, and show them Death.
_They take them away._
I will not spare these proud Egyptians,
Nor change my martial observations
For all the wealth of Gihon’s golden waves, 60
Or for the love of Venus, would she leave
The angry god of arms and lie with me.
They have refus’d the offer of their lives,
And know my customs are as peremptory
As wrathful planets, death, or destiny. 65
_Re-enter_ TECHELLES.
What, have your horsemen shown the virgins Death?
_Tech._ They have, my lord, and on Damascus’ walls
Have hoisted up their slaughtered carcases.
_Tamb._ A sight as baneful to their souls, I think,
As are Thessalian drugs or mithridate:[347] 70
But go, my lords, put the rest to the sword.
_Exeunt_ [_all except_ TAMBURLAINE].
Ah, fair Zenocrate! divine Zenocrate!
Fair is too foul an epithet for thee,
That in thy passion[348] for thy country’s love,
And fear to see thy kingly father’s harm, 75
With hair dishevell’d wip’st thy watery cheeks;
And, like to Flora in her morning’s pride
Shaking her silver tresses in the air,
Rain’st on the earth resolved[349] pearl in showers,
And sprinklest sapphires on thy shining face, 80
Where Beauty, mother to the Muses, sits
And comments volumes with her ivory pen,
Taking instructions from thy flowing eyes;
Eyes when that Ebena steps to Heaven,
In silence of thy solemn evening’s walk, 85
Making the mantle of the richest night,
The moon, the planets, and the meteors, light;
There angels in their crystal armours fight
A doubtful battle with my tempted thoughts
For Egypt’s freedom, and the Soldan’s life; 90
His life that so consumes Zenocrate,
Whose sorrows lay more siege unto my soul,
Than all my army to Damascus’ walls:
And neither Persia’s sovereign, nor the Turk
Troubled my senses with conceit of foil[350] 95
So much by much as doth Zenocrate.
What is beauty, saith my sufferings, then?
If all the pens that ever poets held
Had fed the feeling of their masters’ thoughts,
And every sweetness that inspir’d their hearts,
Their minds, and muses on admired themes; 101
If all the heavenly quintessence they still[351]
From their immortal flowers of poesy,
Wherein, as in a mirror, we perceive
The highest reaches of a human wit; 105
If these had made one poem’s period,
And all combin’d in beauty’s worthiness,
Yet should there hover in their restless heads
One thought, one grace, one wonder, at the least,
Which into words no virtue can digest. 110
But how unseemly is it for my sex,
My discipline of arms and chivalry,
My nature, and the terror of my name,
To harbour thoughts effeminate and faint!
Save only that in beauty’s just applause, 115
With whose instinct the soul of man is touch’d;—
And every warrior that is rapt with love
Of fame, of valour, and of victory,
Must needs have beauty beat on his conceits:
I thus conceiving and subduing both 120
That which hath stoop’d the [chiefest][352] of the gods,
Even from the fiery-spangled veil of Heaven,
To feel the lowly[353] warmth of shepherds’ flames,
And mask[354] in cottages of strowed reeds,[355]
Shall give the world to note, for all my birth,
That virtue solely is the sum of glory, 126
And fashions men with true nobility.—
Who’s within there?
_Enter two or three_ [Attendants].
Hath Bajazeth been fed to-day?
_Atten._ Ay, my lord. 130
_Tamb._ Bring him forth; and let us know if the town be ransack’d.
[_Exeunt_ Attendants.]
_Enter_ TECHELLES, THERIDAMAS, USUMCASANE, _and others_.
_Tech._ The town is ours, my lord, and fresh supply
Of conquest and of spoil is offered us.
_Tamb._ That’s well, Techelles; what’s the news? 135
_Tech._ The Soldan and the Arabian king together,
March on us with such eager violence,
As if there were no way but one with us.
_Tamb._ No more there is not, I warrant thee, Techelles.
_They bring in the Turk_ [_and_ ZABINA].
_Ther._ We know the victory is ours, my lord;
But let us save the reverend Soldan’s life, 141
For fair Zenocrate that so laments his state.
_Tamb._ That will we chiefly see unto, Theridamas,
For sweet Zenocrate, whose worthiness
Deserves a conquest over every heart. 145
And now, my footstool, if I lose the field,
You hope of liberty and restitution?
Here let him stay, my masters, from the tents,
Till we have made us ready for the field.
Pray for us, Bajazeth: we are going. 150
_Exeunt_ [_all except_ BAJAZETH _and_ ZABINA].
_Baj._ Go, never to return with victory!
Millions of men encompass thee about,
And gore thy body with as many wounds!
Sharp, forked arrows light upon thy horse!
Furies from the black Cocytus lake 155
Break up the earth, and with their firebrands
Enforce thee run upon the baneful pikes!
Volleys of shot pierce through thy charmed skin,
And every bullet dipt in poisoned drugs!
Or roaring cannons sever all thy joints, 160
Making thee mount as high as eagles soar!
_Zab._ Let all the swords and lances in the field
Stick in his breast as in their proper rooms!
At every pore let blood come dropping forth,
That ling’ring pains may massacre his heart, 165
And madness send his damned soul to hell!
_Baj._ All, fair Zabina! we may curse his power,
The heavens may frown, the earth for anger quake,
But such a star hath influence in his sword, 169
As rules the skies and countermands the gods
More than Cimmerian Styx or Destiny;
And then shall we in this detested guise,
With shame, with hunger, and with horror [stay,][356]
Griping our bowels with retorqued[357] thoughts,
And have no hope to end our ecstasies. 175
_Zab._ Then is there left no Mahomet, no God,
No Fiend, no Fortune, nor no hope of end
To our infamous, monstrous slaveries.
Gape, earth, and let the fiends infernal view
A hell as hopeless and as full of fear 180
As are the blasted banks of Erebus,
Where shaking ghosts with ever-howling groans
Hover about the ugly ferryman,
To get a passage to Elysium!
Why should we live? O, wretches, beggars, slaves! 185
Why live we, Bajazeth, and build up nests
So high within the region of the air
By living long in this oppression,
That all the world will see and laugh to scorn
The former triumphs of our mightiness 190
In this obscure infernal servitude?
_Baj._ O life, more loathsome to my vexed thoughts
Than noisome parbreak[358] of the Stygian snakes,
Which fills the nooks of hell with standing air,
Infecting all the ghosts with cureless griefs! 195
O dreary engines[359] of my loathed sight,
That sees my crown, my honour, and my name
Thrust under yoke and thraldom of a thief,
Why feed ye still on day’s accursed beams
And sink not quite into my tortur’d soul? 200
You see my wife, my queen, and emperess,
Brought up and propped by the hand of fame,
Queen of fifteen contributory queens,
Now thrown to rooms of black abjection,
Smeared with blots of basest drudgery, 205
And villainess[360] to shame, disdain, and misery.
Accursed Bajazeth, whose words of ruth,
(That would with pity cheer Zabina’s heart,
And make our souls resolve[361] in ceaseless tears;)
Sharp hunger bites upon, and gripes the root 210
From whence the issues of my thoughts do break;
O poor Zabina! O my queen! my queen!
Fetch me some water for my burning breast,
To cool and comfort me with longer date,
That in the short’ned sequel of my life 215
I may pour forth my soul into thine arms
With words of love, whose moaning intercourse
Hath hitherto been stay’d with wrath and hate
Of our expressless bann’d inflictions.
_Zab._ Sweet Bajazeth, I will prolong thy life,
As long as any blood or spark of breath 221
Can quench or cool the torments of my grief.
_She goes out._
_Baj._ Now, Bajazeth, abridge thy baneful days,
And beat thy brains out of thy conquer’d head,
Since other means are all forbidden me 225
That may be ministers of my decay.
O, highest lamp of ever-living Jove,
Accursed day! infected with my griefs,
Hide now thy stained face in endless night,
And shut the windows of the lightsome heavens! 230
Let ugly Darkness with her rusty coach,
Engirt with tempests, wrapt in pitchy clouds,
Smother the earth with never-fading mists,
And let her horses from their nostrils breathe
Rebellious winds and dreadful thunder-claps, 235
That in this terror Tamburlaine may live,
And my pin’d soul, resolv’d in liquid air,
May still excruciate his tormented thoughts!
Then let the stony dart of senseless cold
Pierce through the centre of my withered heart,
And make a passage for my loathed life! 241
_He brains himself against the cage._
_Re-enter_ ZABINA.
_Zab._ What do mine eyes behold? My husband dead!
His skull all riven in twain! His brains dash’d out,
The brains of Bajazeth, my lord and sovereign!
O Bajazeth, my husband and my lord! 245
O Bajazeth! O Turk! O Emperor!
Give him his liquor? Not I. Bring milk and fire, and my blood
I bring him again.—Tear me in pieces! Give me the sword with
a ball of wildfire upon it.—Down with him! Down with (250)
him!—Go to my child! Away! Away! Away! Ah, save that infant!
save him, save him!—I, even I, speak to her.—The sun was down;
streamers white, red, black, here, here, here!—Fling the meat in
his face—Tamburlaine, Tamburlaine!—Let the soldiers be (256)
buried.—Hell! Death! Tamburlaine! Hell!—Make ready my coach, my
chair, my jewels. I come! I come! I come!
_She runs against the cage and brains herself._
[_Enter_] ZENOCRATE _with_ ANIPPE.
_Zeno._ Wretched Zenocrate! that liv’st to see
Damascus’ walls dy’d with Egyptians’ blood, 261
Thy father’s subjects and thy countrymen;
Thy streets strow’d with dissevered joints of men
And wounded bodies gasping yet for life:
But most accurst, to see the sun-bright troop 265
Of heavenly virgins and unspotted maids,
(Whose looks might make the angry god of arms
To break his sword and mildly treat of love)
On horsemen’s lances to be hoisted up
And guiltlessly endure a cruel death: 270
For every fell and stout Tartarian steed,
That stampt on others with their thund’ring hoofs,
When all their riders charg’d their quivering spears,
Began to check the ground and rein themselves,
Gazing upon the beauty of their looks. 275
Ah Tamburlaine! wert thou the cause of this
That term’st Zenocrate thy dearest love?
Whose lives were dearer to Zenocrate
Than her own life, or aught save thine own love.
But see another bloody spectacle! 280
Ah, wretched eyes, the enemies of my heart,
How are ye glutted with these grievous objects,
And tell my soul more tales of bleeding ruth!
See, see, Anippe, if they breathe or no.
_Anippe._ No breath, nor sense, nor motion in them both; 285
Ah, madam! this their slavery hath enforc’d,
And ruthless cruelty of Tamburlaine.
_Zeno._ Earth, cast up fountains from thy entrails,
And wet thy cheeks for their untimely deaths!
Shake with their weight in sign of fear and grief! 290
Blush, Heaven, that gave them houour at their birth
And let them die a death so barbarous!
Those that are proud of fickle empery
And place their chiefest good in earthly pomp,
Behold the Turk and his great Emperess! 295
Ah, Tamburlaine! my love! sweet Tamburlaine!
That fight’st for sceptres and for slippery crowns,
Behold the Turk and his great Emperess!
Thou, that in conduct of thy happy stars
Sleep’st every night with conquests on thy brows, 300
And yet would’st shun the wavering turns of war,
In fear and feeling of the like distress
Behold the Turk and his great Emperess!
Ah, mighty Jove and holy Mahomet,
Pardon my love!—O, pardon his contempt 305
Of earthly fortune and respect of pity,
And let not conquest, ruthlessly pursu’d,
Be equally against his life incens’d
In this great Turk and hapless Emperess!
And pardon me that was not mov’d with ruth
To see them live so long in misery! 311
Ah, what may chance to thee, Zenocrate?
_Anippe._ Madam, content yourself, and be resolv’d
Your love hath Fortune so at his command,
That she shall stay and turn her wheel no more,
As long as life maintains his mighty arm 316
That fights for honour to adorn your head.
_Enter_ [PHILEMUS,] _a_ Messenger.
_Zeno._ What other heavy news now brings Philemus?
_Phil._ Madam, your father, and the Arabian king,
The first affecter of your excellence, 320
Comes now, as Turnus ’gainst Æneas did,
Armed with lance into the Egyptian fields,
Ready for battle ’gainst my lord, the king.
_Zeno._ Now shame and duty, love, and fear presents
A thousand sorrows to my martyred soul. 325
Whom should I wish the fatal victory
When my poor pleasures are divided thus
And rack’d by duty from my cursed heart?
My father and my first-betrothed love
Must fight against my life and present love; 330
Wherein the change I use condemns my faith,
And makes my deeds infamous through the world:
But as the gods, to end the Troyans’ toil,
Prevented Turnus of Lavinia
And fatally enrich’d Æneas’ love, 335
So, for a final issue to my griefs,
To pacify my country and my love
Must Tamburlaine by their resistless powers
With virtue of a gentle victory
Conclude a league of honour to my hope; 340
Then, as the Powers divine have pre-ordain’d,
With happy safety of my father’s life
Send like defence of fair Arabia.
_They sound to the battle_ [_within_]: and_ TAMBURLAINE _enjoys the
victory. After,_ [_the_ KING _of_] ARABIA _enters wounded_.
_K. of Arab._ What cursed power guides the murdering hands
Of this infamous tyrant’s soldiers 345
That no escape may save their enemies,
Nor fortune keep themselves from victory?
Lie down, Arabia, wounded to the death,
And let Zenocrate’s fair eyes behold
That, as for her thou bear’st these wretched arms, 350
Even so for her thou diest in these arms,
Leaving thy blood for witness of thy love.
_Zeno._ Too dear a witness for such love, my lord,
Behold Zenocrate! the cursed object,
Whose fortunes never mastered her griefs; 355
Behold her wounded, in conceit, for thee,
As much as thy fair body is for me.
_K. of Arab._ Then shall I die with full, contented heart,
Having beheld divine Zenocrate,
Whose sight with joy would take away my life
As now it bringeth sweetness to my wound, 361
If I had not been wounded as I am.
Ah! that the deadly pangs I suffer now,
Would lend an hour’s licence to my tongue,
To make discourse of some sweet accidents 365
Have chanc’d thy merits in this worthless bondage;
And that I might be privy to the state
Of thy deserv’d contentment, and thy love;
But, making now a virtue of thy sight
To drive all sorrow from my fainting soul, 370
Since death denies me farther cause of joy,
Depriv’d of care, my heart with comfort dies,
Since thy desired hand shall close mine eyes.
[_He dies._]
_Re-enter_ TAMBURLAINE, _leading the_ SOLDAN, TECHELLES, THERIDAMAS,
USUMCASANE, _with others_.
_Tamb._ Come, happy father of Zenocrate,
A title higher than thy Soldan’s name; 375
Though my right hand have thus enthralled thee,
Thy princely daughter here shall set thee free;
She that hath calm’d the fury of my sword,
Which had ere this been bath’d in streams of blood
As vast and deep as Euphrates or Nile. 380
_Zeno._ O sight thrice welcome to my joyful soul,
To see the king, my father, issue safe
From dangerous battle of my conquering love!
_Sold._ Well met, my only dear Zenocrate, 384
Though with the loss of Egypt and my crown.
_Tamb._ ’T was I, my lord, that got the victory,
And therefore grieve not at your overthrow,
Since I shall render all into your hands,
And add more strength to your dominions
Than ever yet confirm’d th’ Egyptian crown.
The god of war resigns his room to me, 391
Meaning to make me general of the world.
Jove, viewing me in arms, looks pale and wan,
Fearing my power should pull him from his throne.
Where’er I come the Fatal Sisters sweat, 395
And grisly Death, by running to and fro,
To do their ceaseless homage to my sword;
And here in Afric, where it seldom rains,
Since I arriv’d with my triumphant host,
Have swelling clouds, drawn from wide-gasping wounds, 400
Been oft resolv’d in bloody purple showers,
A meteor that might terrify the earth,
And make it quake at every drop it drinks.
Millions of souls sit on the banks of Styx,
Waiting the back return of Charon’s boat; 405
Hell and Elysium swarm with ghosts of men,
That I have sent from sundry foughten fields,
To spread my fame through hell and up to Heaven.
And see, my lord, a sight of strange import, 409
Emperors and kings lie breathless at my feet.
The Turk and his great Empress, as it seems,
Left to themselves while we were at the fight,
Have desperately despatch’d their slavish lives;
With them Arabia, too, hath left his life;
All sights of power to grace my victory: 415
And such are objects fit for Tamburlaine;
Wherein, as in a mirror, may be seen
His honour, that consists in shedding blood,
When men presume to manage arms with him.
_Sold._ Mighty hath God and Mahomet made thy hand, 420
Renowmed Tamburlaine! to whom all kings
Of force must yield their crowns and emperies;
And I am pleas’d with this my overthrow,
If, as beseems a person of thy state,
Thou hast with honour us’d Zenocrate. 425
_Tamb._ Her state and person wants no pomp, you see;
And for all blot of foul inchastity
I record Heaven her heavenly self is clear.
Then let me find no further time to grace 429
Her princely temples with the Persian crown.
But here these kings that on my fortunes wait,
And have been crown’d for proved worthiness,
Even by this hand that shall establish them,
Shall now, adjoining all their hands with mine,
Invest her here my Queen of Persia. 435
What saith the noble Soldan and Zenocrate!
_Sold._ I yield with thanks and protestations
Of endless honour to thee for her love.
_Tamb._ Then doubt I not but fair Zenocrate
Will soon consent to satisfy us both. 440
_Zeno._ Else should I much forget myself, my lord.
_Ther._ Then let us set the crown upon her head,
That long hath ling’red for so high a seat.
_Tech._ My hand is ready to perform the deed;
For now her marriage-time shall work us rest.
_Usum._ And here’s the crown, my lord; help set it on. 446
_Tamb._ Then sit thou down, divine Zenocrate;
And here we crown thee Queen of Persia,
And all the kingdoms and dominions
That late the power of Tamburlaine subdu’d.
As Juno, when the giants were suppress’d, 451
That darted mountains at her brother Jove,
So looks my love, shadowing in her brows
Triumphs and trophies for my victories;
Or as Latona’s daughters, bent to arms, 455
Adding more courage to my conquering mind.
To gratify the sweet Zenocrate,
Egyptians, Moors, and men of Asia,
From Barbary unto the western India,
Shall pay a yearly tribute to thy sire; 460
And from the bounds of Afric to the banks
Of Ganges shall his mighty arm extend.
And now, my lords and loving followers,
That purchas’d kingdoms by your martial deeds,
Cast off your armour, put on scarlet robes, 465
Mount up your royal places of estate,
Environed with troops of noblemen,
And there make laws to rule your provinces.
Hang up your weapons on Alcides’ post,
For Tamburlaine takes truce with all the world.
Thy first-betrothed love, Arabia, 471
Shall we with honour, as beseems, entomb,
With this great Turk and his fair Emperess.
Then, after all these solemn exequies,
We will our[362] rites of marriage solemnise. 475
[_Exeunt._]
THE TRAGICAL HISTORY OF DR. FAUSTUS
BY CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE
[DRAMATIS PERSONAE
THE POPE.
CARDINAL OF LORRAIN.
EMPEROR OF GERMANY.
DUKE OF VANHOLT.
FAUSTUS.
VALDES and CORNELIUS, Friends to FAUSTUS.
WAGNER, Servant to FAUSTUS.
Clown.
ROBIN.
RALPH.
Vintner.
Horse-Courser.
Knight.
Old Man.
Scholars, Friars, and Attendants.
DUCHESS OF VANHOLT.
LUCIFER.
BELZEBUB.
MEPHISTOPHILIS.
Good Angel.
Evil Angel.
The Seven Deadly Sins.
Devils.
Spirits in the shape of ALEXANDER THE GREAT, of his Paramour, and of
HELEN OF TROY.
CHORUS.]
_Enter_ CHORUS
_Chorus._ Not marching now in fields of Thrasimene,
Where Mars did mate[363] the Carthaginians;
Nor sporting in the dalliance of love,
In courts of kings where state is overturn’d;
Nor in the pomp of proud audacious deeds, 5
Intends our Muse to vaunt his heavenly verse:
Only this, gentlemen,—we must perform
The form of Faustus’ fortunes, good or bad.
To patient judgments we appeal our plaud,[364]
And speak for Faustus in his infancy. 10
Now is he born, his parents base of stock,
In Germany, within a town call’d Rhodes;[365]
Of riper years to Wittenberg he went,
Whereas his kinsmen chiefly brought him up.
So soon he profits in divinity, 15
The fruitful plot of scholarism grac’d,[366]
That shortly he was grac’d with doctor’s name,
Excelling all whose sweet delight disputes
In heavenly matters of theology;
Till swollen with cunning,[367] of a self-conceit, 20
His waxen wings[368] did mount above his reach,
And, melting, Heavens conspir’d his overthrow;
For, falling to a devilish exercise,
And glutted [now] with learning’s golden gifts,
He surfeits upon cursed necromancy. 25
Nothing so sweet as magic is to him,
Which he prefers before his chiefest bliss.
And this the man that in his study sits! _Exit._
[SCENE I.]
_Enter_ FAUSTUS _in his Study_
_Faust._ Settle my studies, Faustus, and begin
To sound the depth of that thou wilt profess[369];
Having commenc’d, be a divine in show.
Yet level[370] and at the end of every art,
And live and die in Aristotle’s works. 5
Sweet Analytics,[371] ’tis thou hast ravish’d me,
_Bene disserere est finis logices_.
Is to dispute well logic’s chiefest end?
Affords this art no greater miracle?
Then read no more, thou hast attain’d the end;
A greater subject fitteth Faustus’ wit. 11
Bid ὂν καὶ μὴ ὄν[372] farewell; Galen come,
Seeing _Ubi desinit Philosophus, ibi incipit Medicus_;[373]
Be a physician, Faustus, heap up gold,
And be eternis’d for some wondrous cure. 15
_Summum bonum medicinæ sanitas_,[374]
“The end of physic is our body’s health.”
Why, Faustus, hast thou not attain’d that end?
Is not thy common talk sound Aphorisms?[375]
Are not thy bills[376] hung up as monuments, 20
Whereby whole cities have escap’d the plague,
And thousand desperate maladies been eas’d?
Yet art thou still but Faustus and a man.
Wouldst thou make men to live eternally,
Or, being dead, raise them to life again? 25
Then this profession were to be esteem’d.
Physic, farewell.—Where is Justinian?
[_Reads._]
_Si una eademque res legatur duobus, alter rem, alter valorem rei,
&c._[377]
A pretty case of paltry legacies! [_Reads._]
_Exhæreditare filium non potest pater nisi, &c._[378] 30
Such is the subject of the Institute[379]
And universal Body of the Law.[380]
His[381] study fits a mercenary drudge,
Who aims at nothing but external trash;
Too servile and illiberal for me. 35
When all is done, divinity is best;
Jerome’s Bible,[382] Faustus, view it well.
[_Reads._]
_Stipendium peccati mors est._ Ha! _Stipendium, &c.
“The reward of sin is death.”_ That’s hard.
[_Reads._]
_Si peccasse negamus, fallimur, et nulla est in nobis veritas._ 40
“If we say that we have no sin we deceive ourselves, and there’s no
truth in us.” Why then, belike we must sin and so consequently die.
Ay, we must die an everlasting death.
What doctrine call you this, _Che sera sera_, 45
“What will be shall be?” Divinity, adieu!
These metaphysics of magicians
And necromantic books are heavenly;
Lines, circles, scenes, letters, and characters, 49
Ay, these are those that Faustus most desires.
O what a world of profit and delight,
Of power, of honour, of omnipotence
Is promis’d to the studious artisan!
All things that move between the quiet poles
Shall be at my command. Emperors and kings
Are but obeyed in their several provinces, 56
Nor can they raise the wind or rend the clouds;
But his dominion that exceeds[383] in this
Stretcheth as far as doth the mind of man.
A sound magician is a mighty god: 60
Here, Faustus, try thy[384] brains to gain a deity.
Wagner!
_Enter_ WAGNER.
Commend me to my dearest friends,
The German Valdes and Cornelius;
Request them earnestly to visit me.
_Wag._ I will, sir. _Exit._ 65
_Faust._ Their conference will be a greater help to me
Than all my labours, plod I ne’er so fast.
_Enter_ GOOD ANGEL _and_ EVIL ANGEL.
_G. Ang._ O Faustus! lay that damned book aside,
And gaze not upon it lest it tempt thy soul,
And heap God’s heavy wrath upon thy head. 70
Read, read the Scriptures: that is blasphemy.
_E. Ang._ Go forward, Faustus, in that famous art,
Wherein all Nature’s treasure is contain’d:
Be thou on earth as Jove is in the sky,
Lord and commander of these elements. 75
_Exeunt_ [Angels.]
_Faust._ How am I glutted with conceit[385] of this!
Shall I make spirits fetch me what I please,
Resolve me of all ambiguities,
Perform what desperate enterprise I will?
I’ll have them fly to India for gold, 80
Ransack the ocean for orient pearl,
And search all corners of the new-found world
For pleasant fruits and princely delicates;
I’ll have them read me strange philosophy
And tell the secrets of all foreign kings; 85
I’ll have them wall all Germany with brass,
And make swift Rhine circle fair Wittenberg;
I’ll have them fill the public schools with [silk],[386]
Wherewith the students shall be bravely clad;
I’ll levy soldiers with the coin they bring, 90
And chase the Prince of Parma from our land,[387]
And reign sole king of all the provinces;
Yea, stranger engines for the brunt of war
Than was the fiery keel[388] at Antwerp’s bridge,
I’ll make my servile spirits to invent. 95
Come, German Valdes and Cornelius,
And make me blest with your sage conference.
_Enter_ VALDES _and_ CORNELIUS.[389]
Valdes, sweet Valdes, and Cornelius,
Know that your words have won me at the last
To practise magic and concealed arts: 100
Yet not your words only, but mine own fantasy,
That will receive no object, for my head
But ruminates on necromantic skill.
Philosophy is odious and obscure,
Both law and physic are for petty wits; 105
Divinity is basest of the three,
Unpleasant, harsh, contemptible, and vile:
’Tis magic, magic, that hath ravish’d me.
Then, gentle friends, aid me in this attempt;
And I that have with concise syllogisms 110
Gravell’d the pastors of the German church,
And made the flow’ring pride of Wittenberg
Swarm to my problems, as the infernal spirits
On sweet Musæus,[390] when he came to hell,
Will be as cunning as Agrippa was, 115
Whose shadows made all Europe honour him.
_Vald._ Faustus, these books, thy wit, and our experience
Shall make all nations to canónise us.
As Indian Moors[391] obey their Spanish lords,
So shall the subjects[392] of every element 120
Be always serviceable to us three;
Like lions shall they guard us when we please;
Like Almain rutters[393] with their horsemen’s staves,
Or Lapland giants, trotting by our sides;
Sometimes like women or unwedded maids, 125
Shadowing more beauty in their airy brows
Than have the white breasts of the queen of love:
From Venice shall they drag huge argosies,
And from America the golden fleece
That yearly stuffs old Philip’s treasury; 130
If learned Faustus will be resolute.
_Faust._ Valdes, as resolute am I in this
As thou to live; therefore object it not.
_Corn._ The miracles that magic will perform
Will make thee vow to study nothing else. 135
He that is grounded in astrology,
Enrich’d with tongues, well seen[394] in minerals,
Hath all the principles magic doth require.
Then doubt not, Faustus, but to be renowm’d,
And more frequented for this mystery 140
Than heretofore the Delphian Oracle.
The spirits tell me they can dry the sea,
And fetch the treasure of all foreign wracks,
Ay, all the wealth that our forefathers hid
Within the massy entrails of the earth; 145
Then tell me, Faustus, what shall we three want?
_Faust._ Nothing, Cornelius! O this cheers my soul!
Come show me some demonstrations magical,
That I may conjure in some lusty grove,
And have these joys in full possession. 150
_Vald._ Then haste thee to some solitary grove,
And bear wise Bacon’s[395] and Albanus’s[396] works,
The Hebrew Psalter and New Testament;
And whatsoever else is requisite 154
We will inform thee ere our conference cease.
_Corn._ Valdes, first let him know the words of art;
And then, all other ceremonies learn’d,
Faustus may try his cunning by himself.
_Vald._ First I’ll instruct thee in the rudiments,
And then wilt thou be perfecter than I. 160
_Faust._ Then come and dine with me, and after meat,
We’ll canvass every quiddity[397] thereof;
For ere I sleep I’ll try what I can do:
This night I’ll conjure though I die therefore.
_Exeunt._
[SCENE II.][398]
_Enter two_ SCHOLARS.
_1 Schol._ I wonder what’s become of Faustus that was wont to make
our schools ring with _sic probo_?[399]
_2 Schol._ That shall we know, for see here comes his boy. 5
_Enter_ WAGNER.
_1 Schol._ How now, sirrah! Where’s thy master?
_Wag._ God in heaven knows!
_2 Schol._ Why, dost not thou know?
_Wag._ Yes, I know. But that follows not. 10
_1 Schol._ Go to, sirrah! Leave your jesting, and tell us where he is.
_Wag._ That follows not necessary by force of argument, that you,
being licentiate, should stand upon ’t: therefore, acknowledge your 15
error and be attentive.
_2 Schol._ Why, didst thou not say thou knew’st?
_Wag._ Have you any witness on ’t?
_1 Schol._ Yes, sirrah, I heard you. 20
_Wag._ Ask my fellow if I be a thief.
_2 Schol._ Well, you will not tell us?
_Wag._ Yes, sir, I will tell you; yet if you were not dunces,
you would never ask me such a question; for is not he _corpus
naturale_?[400] and is not that _mobile_? Then wherefore should 26
you ask me such a question? But that I am by nature phlegmatic, slow
to wrath, and prone to lechery (to love, I would say), it were not
for you to come within forty foot of the place (30) of execution,
although I do not doubt to see you both hang’d the next sessions.
Thus having triumph’d over you, I will set my countenance like a
precisian,[401] and begin to speak thus:—Truly, my dear brethren,
my master is within at dinner, with Valdes and Cornelius, as this 36
wine, if it could speak, would inform your worships; and so the
Lord bless you, preserve you, and keep you, my dear brethren, my dear
brethren. _Exit._ 40
_1 Schol._ Nay, then, I fear he has fallen into that damned Art, for
which they two are infamous through the world.
_2 Schol._ Were he a stranger, and not allied to me, yet should I
grieve for him. But come, let us go and inform the Rector, and see if
he (46) by his grave counsel can reclaim him.
_1 Schol._ O, I fear me nothing can reclaim him.
_2 Schol._ Yet let us try what we can do. 50
_Exeunt._
[SCENE III.][402]
_Enter_ FAUSTUS _to conjure_.
_Faust._ Now that the gloomy shadow of the earth
Longing to view Orion’s drizzling look,
Leaps from th’ antarctic world unto the sky,
And dims the welkin with her pitchy breath,
Faustus, begin thine incantations, 5
And try if devils will obey thy hest,
Seeing thou hast pray’d and sacrific’d to them.
Within this circle is Jehovah’s name,
Forward and backward anagrammatis’d,
The breviated names of holy saints, 10
Figures of every adjunct[403] to the Heavens,
And characters of signs and erring stars,[404]
By which the spirits are enforc’d to rise:
Then fear not, Faustus, but be resolute,
And try the uttermost magic can perform. 15
_Sint mihi Dei Acherontis propitii! Valeat numen triplex Jehovae!
Ignei, aerii, aquatani spiritus, salvete! Orientis princeps Belzebub,
inferni ardentis monarcha, et Demogorgon, propitiamus vos, ut
appareat et surgat Mephistophilis. (20) Quid tu moraris? Per Jehovam,
Gehennam, et consecratum aquam quam nunc spargo, signumque crucis
quod nunc facio, et per vota nostra, ipse nunc surgat nobis dicatus
Mephistophilis!_[405] 25
_Enter_ [MEPHISTOPHILIS] _a_ Devil.
I charge thee to return and change thy shape;
Thou art too ugly to attend on me.
Go, and return an old Franciscan friar;
That holy shape becomes a devil best.
_Exit Devil._
I see there’s virtue in my heavenly words; 30
Who would not be proficient in this art?
How pliant is this Mephistophilis,
Full of obedience and humility!
Such is the force of magic and my spells.
[Now,] Faustus, thou art conjuror laureate, 35
Thou canst command great Mephistophilis:
_Quin regis Mephistophilis fratris imagine_.[406]
_Re-enter_ MEPHISTOPHILIS [_like a Franciscan Friar_].
_Meph._ Now, Faustus, what would’st thou have me do?
_Faust._ I charge thee wait upon me whilst I live,
To do whatever Faustus shall command, 40
Be it to make the moon drop from her sphere,
Or the ocean to overwhelm the world.
_Meph._ I am a servant to great Lucifer,
And may not follow thee without his leave;
No more than he commands must we perform. 45
_Faust._ Did he not charge thee to appear to me?
_Meph._ No, I came hither of mine own accord.
_Faust._ Did not my conjuring speeches raise thee? Speak:
_Meph._ That was the cause, but yet _per accidens_;
For when we hear one rack[407] the name of God,
Abjure the Scriptures and his Saviour Christ, 51
We fly in hope to get his glorious soul;
Nor will we come, unless he use such means
Whereby he is in danger to be damn’d:
Therefore the shortest cut for conjuring 55
Is stoutly to abjure the Trinity,
And pray devoutly to the Prince of Hell.
_Faust._ So Faustus hath
Already done; and holds this principle,
There is no chief but only Belzebub, 60
To whom Faustus doth dedicate himself.
This word “damnation” terrifies not him,
For he confounds hell in Elysium;[408]
His ghost be with the old philosophers!
But, leaving these vain trifles of men’s souls, 65
Tell me what is that Lucifer thy lord?
_Meph._ Arch-regent and commander of all spirits.
_Faust._ Was not that Lucifer an angel once?
_Meph._ Yes, Faustus, and most dearly lov’d of God.
_Faust._ How comes it then that he is Prince of devils? 70
_Meph._ O, by aspiring pride and insolence;
For which God threw him from the face of Heaven.
_Faust._ And what are you that you live with Lucifer?
_Meph._ Unhappy spirits that fell with Lucifer,
Conspir’d against our God with Lucifer, 75
And are for ever damn’d with Lucifer.
_Faust._ Where are you damn’d?
_Meph._ In hell.
_Faust._ How comes it then that thou art out of hell?
_Meph._ Why this is hell, nor am I out of it. 80
Think’st thou that I who saw the face of God,
And tasted the eternal joys of Heaven,
Am not tormented with ten thousand hells,
In being depriv’d of everlasting bliss?
O Faustus! leave these frivolous demands, 85
Which strike a terror to my fainting soul.
_Faust._ What, is great Mephistophilis so passionate[409]
For being depriv’d of the joys of Heaven?
Learn thou of Faustus manly fortitude,
And scorn those joys thou never shalt possess.
Go bear these tidings to great Lucifer: 91
Seeing Faustus hath incurr’d eternal death
By desperate thoughts against Jove’s deity,
Say he surrenders up to him his soul,
So he will spare him four and twenty years, 95
Letting him live in all voluptuousness;
Having thee ever to attend on me;
To give me whatsoever I shall ask,
To tell me whatsoever I demand,
To slay mine enemies, and aid my friends, 100
And always be obedient to my will.
Go and return to mighty Lucifer,
And meet me in my study at midnight,
And then resolve[410] me of thy master’s mind.
_Meph._ I will, Faustus. _Exit._ 105
_Faust._ Had I as many souls as there be stars,
I’d give them all for Mephistophilis.
By him I’ll be great Emperor of the world,
And make a bridge through the moving air,
To pass the ocean with a band of men; 110
I’ll join the hills that bind the Afric shore,
And make that [country] continent to Spain,
And both contributory to my crown.
The Emperor shall not live but by my leave,
Nor any potentate of Germany. 115
Now that I have obtain’d what I desire,
I’ll live in speculation[411] of this art
Till Mephistophilis return again. _Exit._
[SCENE IV.][412]
_Enter_ WAGNER and the CLOWN.
_Wag._ Sirrah, boy, come hither.
_Clown._ How, boy! Swowns, boy! I hope you have seen many boys with
such pickadevaunts[413] as I have. Boy, quotha!
_Wag._ Tell me, sirrah, hast thou any comings in? 6
_Clown._ Ay, and goings out too. You may see else.
_Wag._ Alas, poor slave! See how poverty jesteth in his nakedness!
The villain is bare and (10) out of service, and so hungry that I
know he would give his soul to the devil for a shoulder of mutton,
though it were blood-raw.
_Clown._ How? My soul to the Devil for a shoulder of mutton, though
’twere blood-raw! (15) Not so, good friend. By ’r Lady, I had need
have it well roasted and good sauce to it, if I pay so dear.
_Wag._ Well, wilt thou serve me, and I’ll make thee go like _Qui mihi
discipulus_?[414] 20
_Clown._ How, in verse?
_Wag._ No, sirrah; in beaten silk and stavesacre.[415]
_Clown._ How, how. Knave’s acre![416] Ay, I thought that was all the
land his father left (25) him. Do you hear? I would be sorry to rob
you of your living.
_Wag._ Sirrah, I say in stavesacre.
_Clown._ Oho! Oho! Stavesacre! Why, then, belike if I were your man I
should be full of vermin. 31
_Wag._ So thou shalt, whether thou beest with me or no. But, sirrah,
leave your jesting, and bind yourself presently unto me for seven
years, or I’ll turn all the lice about thee into familiars, and they
shall tear thee in pieces. 36
_Clown._ Do you hear, sir? You may save that labour, they are too
familiar with me already. Swowns! they are as bold with my flesh as
if they had paid for [their] meat and (40) drink.
_Wag._ Well, do you hear, sirrah? Hold, take these guilders. [_Gives
money._]
_Clown._ Gridirons! what be they?
_Wag._ Why, French crowns. 45
_Clown._ Mass, but for the name of French crowns, a man were as good
have as many English counters. And what should I do with these?
_Wag._ Why, now, sirrah, thou art at an (50) hour’s warning,
whensoever and wheresoever the Devil shall fetch thee.
_Clown._ No, no. Here, take your gridirons again.
_Wag._ Truly I’ll none of them. 55
_Clown._ Truly but you shall.
_Wag._ Bear witness I gave them him.
_Clown._ Bear witness I give them you again.
_Wag._ Well, I will cause two devils presently to fetch thee
away—Baliol and Belcher. 60
_Clown._ Let your Baliol and your Belcher come here, and I’ll knock
them, they were never so knockt since they were devils. Say I should
kill one of them, what would folks say? “Do you see yonder tall
fellow in the round (65) slop?[417]—he has kill’d the devil.” So I
should be call’d Kill-devil all the parish over.
_Enter two_ DEVILS: _the_ CLOWN _runs up and down crying_.
_Wag._ Baliol and Belcher! Spirits, away! _Exeunt_ Devils.
_Clown._ What, are they gone? A vengeance on them, they have vile
long nails! There (70) was a he-devil, and a she-devil! I’ll tell you
how you shall know them: all he-devils has horns, and all she-devils
has clifts and cloven feet.
_Wag._ Well, sirrah, follow me.
_Clown._ But, do you hear—if I should serve you, would you teach me
to raise up Banios (76) and Belcheos?
_Wag._ I will teach thee to turn thyself to anything; to a dog, or a
cat, or a mouse, or a rat, or anything. 80
_Clown._ How! a Christian fellow to a dog or a cat, a mouse or a rat!
No, no, sir. If you turn me into anything, let it be in the likeness
of a little pretty frisky flea, that I may be here and there and
everywhere. Oh, I’ll tickle (85) the pretty wenches’ plackets; I’ll
be amongst them, i’ faith.
_Wag._ Well, sirrah, come.
_Clown._ But, do you hear, Wagner?
_Wag._ How!—Baliol and Belcher! 90
_Clown._ O Lord! I pray, sir, let Banio and Belcher go sleep.
_Wag._ Villain—call me Master Wagner, and let thy left eye be
diametarily[418] fixt upon my right heel, with _quasi vestigias
nostras insistere_.[419] _Exit._
_Clown._ God forgive me, he speaks Dutch (95) fustian. Well, I’ll
follow him, I’ll serve him, that’s flat. _Exit._
[SCENE V.]
_Enter_ FAUSTUS _in his study_.
_Faust._ Now, Faustus, must
Thou needs be damn’d, and canst thou not be sav’d:
What boots it then to think of God or Heaven?
Away with such vain fancies, and despair:
Despair in God, and trust in Belzebub, 5
Now go not backward: no, Faustus, be resolute.
Why waverest thou? O, something soundeth in mine ears
“Abjure this magic, turn to God again!”
Ay, and Faustus will turn to God again.
To God?—He loves thee not— 10
The God thou serv’st is thine own appetite,
Wherein is fix’d the love of Belzebub;
To him I’ll build an altar and a church,
And offer lukewarm blood of new-born babes.
_Enter_ GOOD ANGEL and EVIL [ANGEL]
_G. Ang._ Sweet Faustus, leave that execrable art. 15
_Faust._ Contrition, prayer, repentance! What of them?
_G. Ang._ O, they are means to bring thee unto Heaven.
_E. Ang._ Rather illusions, fruits of lunacy,
That makes men foolish that do trust them most.
_G. Ang._ Sweet Faustus, think of Heaven, and heavenly things. 20
_E. Ang._ No, Faustus, think of honour and of wealth.
_Exeunt_ [ANGELS.]
_Faust._ Of wealth!
Why, the signiory of Emden[420] shall be mine.
When Mephistophilis shall stand by me,
What God can hurt thee, Faustus? Thou art safe; 25
Cast no more doubts. Come, Mephistophilis,
And bring glad tidings from great Lucifer;—
Is’t not midnight? Come, Mephistophilis;
_Veni, veni, Mephistophile!_
_Enter_ MEPHISTOPHILIS.
Now tell me, what says Lucifer thy lord? 30
_Meph._ That I shall wait on Faustus whilst he lives,
So he will buy my service with his soul.
_Faust._ Already Faustus hath hazarded that for thee.
_Meph._ But, Faustus, thou must bequeath it solemnly,
And write a deed of gift with thine own blood,
For that security craves great Lucifer. 36
If thou deny it, I will back to hell.
_Faust._ Stay, Mephistophilis! and tell me what good
Will my soul do thy lord.
_Meph._ Enlarge his kingdom.
_Faust._ Is that the reason why he tempts us thus? 40
_Meph. Solamen miseris socios habuisse doloris._[421]
_Faust._ Why, have you any pain that torture others?
_Meph._ As great as have the human souls of men.
But tell me, Faustus, shall I have thy soul?
And I will be thy slave, and wait on thee, 45
And give thee more than thou hast wit to ask.
_Faust._ Ay, Mephistophilis, I give it thee.
_Meph._ Then Faustus, stab thine arm courageously.
And bind thy soul that at some certain day
Great Lucifer may claim it as his own; 50
And then be thou as great as Lucifer.
_Faust._ [_stabbing his arm._] Lo, Mephistophilis, for love of thee,
I cut mine arm, and with my proper blood
Assure my soul to be great Lucifer’s,
Chief lord and regent of perpetual night! 55
View here the blood that trickles from mine arm,
And let it be propitious for my wish.
_Meph._ But, Faustus, thou must
Write it in manner of a deed of gift.
_Faust._ Ay, so I will. [_Writes._] But, Mephistophilis, 60
My blood congeals, and I can write no more.
_Meph._ I’ll fetch thee fire to dissolve it straight. _Exit._
_Faust._ What might the staying of my blood portend?
Is it unwilling I should write this bill?
Why streams it not that I may write afresh? 65
_Faustus gives to thee his soul._ Ah, there it stay’d.
Why should’st thou not? Is not thy soul thine own?
Then write again, _Faustus gives to thee his soul_.
_Re-enter_ MEPHISTOPHILIS _with a chafer of coals._
_Meph._ Here’s fire. Come, Faustus, set it on.
_Faust._ So now the blood begins to clear again; 70
Now will I make an end immediately. [_Writes._]
_Meph._ O what will not I do to obtain his soul. [_Aside._]
_Faust. Consummatum est_:[422] this bill is ended,
And Faustus hath bequeath’d his soul to Lucifer—
But what is this inscription on mine arm? 75
_Homo, fuge!_[423] Whither should I fly?
If unto God, he’ll throw me down to hell.
My senses are deceiv’d; here ’s nothing writ:—
I see it plain; here in this place is writ
_Homo, fuge!_ Yet shall not Faustus fly. 80
_Meph._ I’ll fetch him somewhat to delight his mind. _Exit._
_Re-enter_ [MEPHISTOPHILIS] _with_ Devils, _giving crowns and rich
apparel to_ FAUSTUS, _and dance, and then depart_.
_Faust._ Speak, Mephistophilis, what means this show?
_Meph._ Nothing, Faustus, but to delight thy mind withal,
And to show thee what magic can perform.
_Faust._ But may I raise up spirits when I please? (85)
_Meph._ Ay, Faustus, and do greater things than these.
_Faust._ Then there’s enough for a thousand souls.
Here, Mephistophilis, receive this scroll,
A deed of gift of body and of soul:
But yet conditionally that thou perform 90
All articles prescrib’d between us both.
_Meph._ Faustus, I swear by hell and Lucifer
To effect all promises between us made.
_Faust._ Then hear me read them: _On these conditions following.
First, that Faustus may (95) be a spirit in form and substance.
Secondly, that Mephistophilis shall be his servant, and at his
command. Thirdly, that Mephistophilis shall do for him and bring him
whatsoever [he desires]. Fourthly, that he shall be in his chamber or
(100) house invisible. Lastly, that he shall appear to the said John
Faustus, at all times, in what form or shape soever he pleases. I,
John Faustus, of Wittenberg, Doctor, by these presents do give both
body and soul to Lucifer, Prince of the East, (105) and his minister,
Mephistophilis; and furthermore grant unto them, that twenty-four
years being expired, the articles above written inviolate, full
power to fetch or carry the said John Faustus, body and soul, flesh,
blood, or goods, into their (110) habitation wheresoever. By me, John
Faustus._
_Meph._ Speak, Faustus, do you deliver this as your deed?
_Faust._ Ay, take it, and the Devil give thee good on’t.
_Meph._ Now, Faustus, ask what thou wilt. 114
_Faust._ First will I question with thee about hell.
Tell me where is the place that men call hell?
_Meph._ Under the heavens.
_Faust._ Ay, but whereabout?
_Meph._ Within the bowels of these elements,
Where we are tortur’d and remain for ever; 120
Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscrib’d
In one self place; for where we are is hell,
And where hell is there must we ever be:
And, to conclude, when all the world dissolves,
And every creature shall be purified, 125
All places shall be hell that is not Heaven.
_Faust._ Come, I think hell’s a fable.
_Meph._ Ay, think so still, till experience change thy mind.
_Faust._ Why, think’st thou then that Faustus shall be damn’d? 129
_Meph._ Ay, of necessity, for here’s the scroll
Wherein thou hast given thy soul to Lucifer.
_Faust._ Ay, and body too; but what of that?
Think’st thou that Faustus is so fond[424] to imagine
That, after this life, there is any pain?
Tush; these are trifles, and mere old-wives’ tales. 135
_Meph._ But, Faustus, I am an instance to prove the contrary,
For I am damned, and am now in hell!
_Faust._ How! now in hell!
Nay, an this be hell, I’ll willingly be damn’d here;
What? walking, disputing, &c.? 140
But, leaving off this, let me have a wife,
The fairest maid in Germany;
For I am wanton and lascivious,
And cannot live without a wife.
_Meph._ How—a wife? 145
I prithee, Faustus, talk not of a wife.
_Faust._ Nay, sweet Mephistophilis, fetch me one, for I will have one.
_Meph._ Well—thou wilt have one. Sit there till I come:
I’ll fetch thee a wife in the Devil’s name.
[_Exit._]
_Re-enter_ MEPHISTOPHILIS _with a_ Devil _dressed like a woman, with
fireworks_.
_Meph._ Tell [me,] Faustus, how dost thou like thy wife? 150
_Faust._ A plague on her for a hot whore!
_Meph._ Tut, Faustus,
Marriage is but a ceremonial toy;
And if thou lovest me, think no more of it.
I’ll cull thee out the fairest courtesans, 155
And bring them every morning to thy bed;
She whom thine eye shall like, thy heart shall have,
Be she as chaste as was Penelope,
As wise as Saba,[425] or as beautiful
As was bright Lucifer before his fall. 160
Here, take this book, peruse it thoroughly:
[_Gives a book._]
The iterating[426] of these lines brings gold;
The framing of this circle on the ground
Brings whirlwinds, tempests, thunder and lightning;
Pronounce this thrice devoutly to thyself, 165
And men in armour shall appear to thee,
Ready to execute what thou desir’st.
_Faust._ Thanks, Mephistophilis; yet fain would I have a book wherein
I might behold all spells and incantations, that I might raise 170
up spirits when I please.
_Meph._ Here they are, in this book. _Turns to them._
_Faust._ Now would I have a book where I might see all characters and
planets of the heavens, that I might know their motions and 175
dispositions.
_Meph._ Here they are too. _Turns to them._
_Faust._ Nay, let me have one book more,— and then I have
done,—wherein I might see all plants, herbs, and trees that grow
upon (180) the earth.
_Meph._ Here they be.
_Faust._ O, thou art deceived.
_Meph._ Tut, I warrant thee. _Turns to them._ [_Exeunt._]
[SCENE VI.[427]
_Enter_ FAUSTUS _and_ MEPHISTOPHILIS.]
_Faust._ When I behold the heavens, then I repent,
And curse thee, wicked Mephistophilis,
Because thou hast depriv’d me of those joys.
_Meph._ Why, Faustus,
Thinkest thou Heaven is such a glorious thing? 5
I tell thee ’t is not half so fair as thou,
Or any man that breathes on earth.
_Faust._ How provest thou that?
_Meph._ ’T was made for man, therefore is man more excellent.
_Faust._ If it were made for man, ’t was made for me; 10
I will renounce this magic and repent.
_Enter_ GOOD ANGEL _and_ EVIL ANGEL.
_G. Ang._ Faustus, repent; yet God will pity thee.
_E. Ang._ Thou art a spirit; God cannot pity thee.
_Faust._ Who buzzeth in mine ears I am a spirit?
Be I a devil, yet God may pity me; 15
Ay, God will pity me if I repent.
_E. Ang._ Ay, but Faustus never shall repent. _Exeunt_ [ANGELS.]
_Faust._ My heart’s so hard’ned I cannot repent.
Scarce can I name salvation, faith, or heaven,
But fearful echoes thunder in mine ears 20
“Faustus, thou art damn’d!” Then swords and knives,
Poison, gun, halters, and envenom’d steel
Are laid before me to despatch myself,
And long ere this I should have slain myself,
Had not sweet pleasure conquer’d deep despair.
Have I not made blind Homer sing to me 25
Of Alexander’s love and Œnon’s death?
And hath not he that built the walls of Thebes
With ravishing sound of his melodious harp,
Made music with my Mephistophilis? 30
Why should I die then, or basely despair?
I am resolv’d: Faustus shall ne’er repent.
Come, Mephistophilis, let us dispute again,
And argue of divine astrology.
Tell me, are there many heavens above the moon? 35
Are all celestial bodies but one globe,
As is the substance of this centric earth?
_Meph._ As are the elements, such are the spheres
Mutually folded in each other’s orb,
And, Faustus, 40
All jointly move upon one axletree
Whose terminine is term’d the world’s wide pole;
Nor are the names of Saturn, Mars, or Jupiter
Feign’d, but are erring stars.
_Faust._ But tell me, have they all one motion, both _situ et
tempore_?[428] 46
_Meph._ All jointly move from east to west in twenty-four hours upon
the poles of the world; but differ in their motion upon the poles of
the zodiac. 50
_Faust._ Tush!
These slender trifles Wagner can decide;
Hath Mephistophilis no greater skill?
Who knows not the double motion of the planets?
The first is finish’d in a natural day; 55
The second thus: as Saturn in thirty years; Jupiter in twelve;
Mars in four; the Sun, Venus, and Mercury in a year; the moon in
twenty-eight days. Tush, these are freshmen’s suppositions. But tell
me, hath every sphere a dominion or _intelligentia_? 61
_Meph._ Ay.
_Faust._ How many heavens, or spheres, are there?
_Meph._ Nine: the seven planets, the firmament, and the empyreal
heaven. 66
_Faust._ Well, resolve me in this question: Why have we not
conjunctions, oppositions, aspects, eclipses, all at one time, but in
some years we have more, in some less? 70
_Meph. Per inæqualem motum respecta totius._[429]
_Faust._ Well, I am answered. Tell me who made the world.
_Meph._ I will not.
_Faust._ Sweet Mephistophilis, tell me.
_Meph._ Move me not, for I will not tell thee.
_Faust._ Villain, have I not bound thee to tell me anything? 76
_Meph._ Ay, that is not against our kingdom; but this is.
Think thou on hell, Faustus, for thou art damn’d.
_Faust._ Think, Faustus, upon God that made the world.
_Meph._ Remember this. 80
_Faust._ Ay, go, accursed spirit, to ugly hell. ’T is thou hast
damn’d distressed Faustus’ soul. Is’t not too late?
_Re-enter_ GOOD ANGEL _and_ EVIL ANGEL.
_E. Ang._ Too late.
_G. Ang._ Never too late, if Faustus can repent.
_E. Ang._ If thou repent, devils shall tear thee in pieces. 86
_G. Ang._ Repent, and they shall never raze thy skin. _Exeunt_
[ANGELS.]
_Faust._ Ah, Christ, my Saviour,
Seek to save distressed Faustus’ soul.
_Enter_ LUCIFER, BELZEBUB, _and_ MEPHISTOPHILIS.
_Luc._ Christ cannot save thy soul, for he is just; 90
There’s none but I have interest in the same.
_Faust._ O, who art thou that look’st so terrible?
_Luc._ I am Lucifer,
And this is my companion-prince in hell.
_Faust._ O Faustus! they are come to fetch away thy soul! 95
_Luc._ We come to tell thee thou dost injure us;
Thou talk’st of Christ contrary to thy promise;
Thou should’st not think of God: think of the Devil,
And of his dam, too.
_Faust._ Nor will I henceforth: pardon me in this, 100
And Faustus vows never to look to Heaven,
Never to name God, or to pray to him,
To burn his Scriptures, slay his ministers,
And make my spirits pull his churches down.
_Luc._ Do so, and we will highly gratify thee. Faustus, we are come
from hell to show thee (106) some pastime. Sit down, and thou shalt
see all the Seven Deadly Sins appear in their proper shapes.
_Faust._ That sight will be pleasing unto me,
As Paradise was to Adam the first day 111
Of his creation.
_Luc._ Talk not of Paradise nor creation, but mark this show: talk of
the Devil, and nothing else.—Come away! 115
_Enter the_ SEVEN DEADLY SINS.
Now, Faustus, examine them of their several names and dispositions.
_Faust._ What art thou—the first?
_Pride._ I am Pride. I disdain to have any parents. I am like
to Ovid’s flea: I can (120) creep into every corner of a wench;
sometimes, like a periwig, I sit upon her brow; or like a fan of
feathers, I kiss her lips; indeed I do—what do I not? But, fie, what
a scent is here! I’ll not speak another word, except the (125) ground
were perfum’d, and covered with cloth of arras.
_Faust._ What art thou—the second?
_Covet._ I am Covetousness, begotten of an old churl in an old
leathern bag; and might I (130) have my wish I would desire that this
house and all the people in it were turn’d to gold, that I might lock
you up in my good chest. O, my sweet gold!
_Faust._ What art thou—the third? 135
_Wrath._ I am Wrath. I had neither father nor mother: I leapt out of
a lion’s mouth when I was scarce half an hour old; and ever since
I have run up and down the world with this case[430] of rapiers
wounding myself when I (140) had nobody to fight withal. I was born
in hell; and look to it, for some of you shall be my father.
_Faust._ What art thou—the fourth?
_Envy._ I am Envy, begotten of a chimney (145) sweeper and an
oyster-wife. I cannot read, and therefore wish all books were burnt.
I am lean with seeing others eat. O that there would come a famine
through all the world, that all might die, and I live alone! then
thou (150) should’st see how fat I would be. But must thou sit and I
stand! Come down with a vengeance!
_Faust._ Away, envious rascal! What art thou—the fifth?
_Glut._ Who, I, sir? I am Gluttony. My (155) parents are all dead,
and the devil a penny they have left me, but a bare pension, and
that is thirty meals a day and ten bevers[431]—a small trifle to
suffice nature. O, I come of a royal parentage! My grandfather
was a Gammon (160) of Bacon, my grandmother a Hogshead of
Claret-wine, my godfathers were these, Peter Pickleherring, and
Martin Martlemas-beef.[432] O, but my godmother, she was a jolly
gentlewoman, and well beloved in every good town and (165) city; her
name was Mistress Margery March-beer. Now, Faustus, thou hast heard
all my progeny, wilt thou bid me to supper?
_Faust._ No, I’ll see thee hanged: thou wilt eat up all
my victuals. 170
_Glut._ Then the Devil choke thee!
_Faust._ Choke thyself, glutton! Who art thou—the sixth?
_Sloth._ I am Sloth. I was begotten on a sunny bank, where I have
lain ever since; and (175) you have done me great injury to bring me
from thence: let me be carried thither again by Gluttony and Lechery.
I’ll not speak another word for a king’s ransom.
_Faust._ What are you, Mistress Minx, the seventh and last? 180
_Lech._ Who, I, sir? I am one that loves an inch of raw mutton better
than an ell of fried stockfish; and the first letter of my name
begins with Lechery.
_Luc._ Away to hell, to hell! (_Exeunt the_ SINS.) Now, Faustus, how
dost thou like this? 186
_Faust._ O, this feeds my soul!
_Luc._ Tut, Faustus, in hell is all manner of delight.
_Faust._ O might I see hell, and return again.
How happy were I then! 190
_Luc._ Thou shalt; I will send for thee at midnight.
In meantime take this book; peruse it throughly,
And thou shalt turn thyself into what shape thou wilt.
_Faust._ Great thanks, mighty Lucifer!
This will I keep as chary as my life. 195
_Luc._ Farewell, Faustus, and think on the Devil.
_Faust._ Farewell, great Lucifer! Come, Mephistophilis.
_Exeunt omnes._
_Enter_ WAGNER.[433]
_Wagner._ Learned Faustus,
To know the secrets of astronomy,
Graven in the book of Jove’s high firmament,
Did mount himself to scale Olympus’ top, 200
Being seated in a chariot burning bright,
Drawn by the strength of yoky dragons’ necks.
He now is gone to prove cosmography,
And, as I guess, will first arrive at Rome, 205
To see the Pope and manner of his court,
And take some part of holy Peter’s feast,
That to this day is highly solemnis’d. _Exit._
[SCENE VII.][434]
_Enter_ FAUSTUS _and_ MEPHISTOPHILIS.
_Faust._ Having now, my good Mephistophilis,
Past with delight the stately town of Trier,[435]
Environ’d round with airy mountain-tops,
With walls of flint, and deep entrenched lakes,
Not to be won by any conquering prince; 5
From Paris next, coasting the realm of France,
We saw the river Maine fall into Rhine,
Whose banks are set with groves of fruitful vines;
Then up to Naples, rich Campania,
Whose buildings fair and gorgeous to the eye, 10
The streets straight forth, and pav’d with finest brick,
Quarter the town in four equivalents.
There saw we learned Maro’s[436] golden tomb,
The way he cut, an English mile in length,
Thorough a rock of stone in one night’s space; 15
From thence to Venice, Padua, and the rest,
In one of which a sumptuous temple stands,
That threats the stars with her aspiring top,
Thus hitherto has Faustus spent his time:
But tell me, now, what resting-place is this? 20
Hast thou, as erst I did command,
Conducted me within the walls of Rome?
_Meph._ Faustus, I have; and because we
will not be unprovided, I have taken up[437] his
Holiness’ privy-chamber for our use. 25
_Faust._ I hope his Holiness will bid us welcome.
_Meph._ Tut, ’tis no matter, man, we’ll be
bold with his good cheer.
And now, my Faustus, that thou may’st perceive
What Rome containeth to delight thee with, 30
Know that this city stands upon seven hills
That underprop the groundwork of the same.
[Just through the midst runs flowing Tiber’s stream,
With winding banks that cut it in two parts:]
Over the which four stately bridges lean, 35
That make safe passage to each part of Rome:
Upon the bridge call’d Ponto Angelo
Erected is a castle passing strong,
Within whose walls such store of ordnance are,
And double cannons, fram’d of carved brass, 40
As match the days within one cómplete year;
Besides the gates and high pyramides,
Which Julius Cæsar brought from Africa.
_Faust._ Now by the kingdoms of infernal rule,
Of Styx, of Acheron, and the fiery Lake 45
Of ever-burning Phlegethon, I swear
That I do long to see the monuments
And situation of bright-splendent Rome:
Come therefore, let’s away.
_Meph._ Nay, Faustus, stay; I know you’d fain see the Pope, 50
And take some part of holy Peter’s feast,
Where thou shalt see a troop of bald-pate friars,
Whose _summum bonum_ is in belly-cheer.
_Faust._ Well, I’m content to compass then some sport,
And by their folly make us merriment. 55
Then charm me, [Mephistophilis,] that I
May be invisible, to do what I please
Unseen of any whilst I stay in Rome. [MEPHISTOPHILIS _charms him._]
_Meph._ So, Faustus, now 59
Do what thou wilt, thou shalt not be discern’d.
_Sound a sennet.[438] Enter the_ POPE _and the_ CARDINAL _of_ LORRAIN
_to the banquet, with_ FRIARS _attending._
_Pope._ My Lord of Lorrain, wilt please you draw near?
_Faust._ Fall to, and the devil choke you an[439] you spare!
_Pope._ How now! Who’s that which spake?—Friars, look about.
_1 Friar._ Here’s nobody, if it like your Holiness. 64
_Pope._ My lord, here is a dainty dish was sent me from the Bishop of
Milan.
_Faust._ I thank you, sir. _Snatches it._
_Pope._ How now! Who’s that which snatch’d the meat from me? Will no
man look? My (69) Lord, this dish was sent me from the Cardinal of
Florence.
_Faust._ You say true; I’ll ha’t. [_Snatches it._]
_Pope._ What, again! My lord, I’ll drink to your Grace.
_Faust._ I’ll pledge your Grace. [_Snatches the cup._] 75
_C. of Lor._ My lord, it may be some ghost newly crept out of
purgatory, come to beg a pardon of your Holiness.
_Pope._ It may be so. Friars, prepare a dirge to lay the fury of
this ghost. Once again, my (80) lord, fall to. _The_ POPE _crosseth
himself._
_Faust._ What, are you crossing of yourself?
Well, use that trick no more I would advise you.
[_The_ POPE] _crosses_ [_himself_] _again._
Well, there’s the second time. Aware the third.
I give you fair warning. 85
[_The_ POPE] _crosses_ [_himself_] _again, and_ FAUSTUS _hits him a
box of the ear; and they all run away._
Come on, Mephistophilis, what shall we do?
_Meph._ Nay, I know not. We shall be curs’d with bell, book, and
candle.
_Faust._ How! bell, book, and candle,—candle, book, and bell,
Forward and backward to curse Faustus to hell!
Anon you shall hear a hog grunt, a calf bleat, and an ass bray, 90
Because it is Saint Peter’s holiday.
_Re-enter all the_ FRIARS _to sing the Dirge._
_1 Friar._ Come, brethren, let’s about our business with good
devotion.
_They sing:_
Cursed be he that stole away his Holiness’ meat from the table!
_Maledicat Dominus!_[440]
Cursed be he that struck his Holiness a blow on the face!
_Maledicat Dominus!_ 95
Cursed be he that took Friar Sandelo a blow on the pate!
_Maledicat Dominus!_
Cursed be he that disturbeth our holy dirge!
_Maledicat Dominus!_
Cursed be he that took away his Holiness’ wine!
_Maledicat Dominus! Et omnes sancti![441] Amen!_
[MEPHISTOPHILIS _and_ FAUSTUS] _beat the_ FRIARS, _and fling fireworks
among them: and so exeunt._
_Enter_ CHORUS.
_Chorus._ When Faustus had with pleasure ta’en the view
Of rarest things, and royal courts of kings, 100
He stay’d his course, and so returned home;
Where such as bear his absence but with grief,
I mean his friends, and near’st companions,
Did gratulate his safety with kind words,
And in their conference of what befell, 105
Touching his journey through the world and air,
They put forth questions of Astrology,
Which Faustus answer’d with such learned skill,
As they admir’d and wond’red at his wit.
Now is his fame spread forth in every land; 110
Amongst the rest the Emperor is one,
Carolus the Fifth, at whose palace now
Faustus is feasted ’mongst his noblemen.
What there he did in trial of his art, 114
I leave untold—your eyes shall see perform’d.
_Exit._
[SCENE VIII.][442]
_Enter_ ROBIN _the Ostler with a book in his hand_.
_Robin._ O, this is admirable! here I ha’ stolen one of Dr. Faustus,
conjuring books, and i’ faith I mean to search some circles for my
own use. Now will I make all the maidens in our parish dance at my
pleasure, stark naked (5) before me; and so by that means I shall see
more than e’er I felt or saw yet.
_Enter_ RALPH _calling Robin_.
_Ralph._ Robin, prithee come away; there’s a gentleman tarries to
have his horse, and he would have his things rubb’d and made clean. 10
He keeps such a chafing with my mistress about it; and she has
sent me to look thee out. Prithee come away.
_Robin._ Keep out, keep out, or else you are blown up; you are
dismemb’red, Ralph: keep (15) out, for I am about a roaring piece of
work.
_Ralph._ Come, what dost thou with that same book? Thou canst not
read.
_Robin._ Yes, my master and mistress shall find that I can read, he
for his forehead, she (20) for her private study; she’s born to bear
with me, or else my art fails.
_Ralph._ Why, Robin, what book is that?
_Robin._ What book! Why, the most intolerable book for conjuring that
e’er was invented by any brimstone devil. 25
_Ralph._ Canst thou conjure with it?
_Robin._ I can do all these things easily with it: first, I can make
thee drunk with ippocras[443] at any tavern in Europe for nothing;
that’s one of my conjuring works. 31
_Ralph._ Our Master Parson says that’s nothing.
_Robin._ True, Ralph; and more, Ralph, if them hast any mind to Nan
Spit, our kitchenmaid, then turn her and wind her to thy own use 35
as often as thou wilt, and at midnight.
_Ralph._ O brave Robin, shall I have Nan Spit, and to mine own use?
On that condition I’ll feed thy devil with horsebread as long as he
lives, of free cost. 40
_Robin._ No more, sweet Ralph: let’s go and make clean our boots,
which lie foul upon our hands, and then to our conjuring in the
Devil’s name. _Exeunt._
[SCENE IX.][444]
_Enter_ ROBIN _and_ RALPH _with a silver goblet_.
_Robin._ Come, Ralph, did not I tell thee we were for ever made
by this Doctor Faustus’ book? _Ecce signum,_ here’s a simple
purchase[445] for horsekeepers; our horses shall eat no hay as long
as this lasts. 5
_Enter the_ VINTNER.
_Ralph._ But, Robin, here comes the vintner.
_Robin._ Hush! I’ll gull him supernaturally. Drawer, I hope all is
paid: God be with you. Come, _Ralph._
_Vint._ Soft, sir; a word with you. I must (10) yet have a goblet
paid from you, ere you go.
_Robin._ I, a goblet, Ralph; I, a goblet! I scorn you, and you are
but a[446] &c. I, a goblet! search me.
_Vint._ I mean so, sir, with your favour. [_Searches him._] 15
_Robin._ How say you now?
_Vint._ I must say somewhat to your fellow. You, sir!
_Ralph._ Me, sir! me, sir! search your fill. [VINTNER _searches
him_.] Now, sir, you may be ashamed to burden honest men with a
matter (21) of truth.
_Vint._ Well, t’ one of you hath this goblet about you.
_Robin._ [_Aside._] You lie, drawer, ’tis afore (25) me.—Sirrah you,
I’ll teach ye to impeach honest men; stand by;—I’ll scour you for
a goblet!—stand aside you had best. I charge you in the name of
Belzebub. Look to the goblet, Ralph. [_Aside to_ RALPH.] 30
_Vint._ What mean you, sirrah?
_Robin._ I’ll tell you what I mean. _Reads_ [_from a book._]
_Sanctobulorum, Periphrasticon_—Nay, I’ll tickle you, vintner.
Look to the goblet, Ralph. [_Aside to_ RALPH.] (35) _Polypragmos
Belseborams framanto pacostiphos tostu, Mephistophilis, &c._
[_Reads._]
_Enter_ MEPHISTOPHILIS, _sets squibs at their backs,_ [_and then
exit_]. _They run about_.
_Vint. O nomine Domini!_[447] what meanest thou, Robin? Thou hast no
goblet.
_Ralph. Peccatum peccatorum!_[448] Here’s (40) thy goblet, good
vintner.
[_Gives the goblet to_ VINTNER, _who exit_.]
_Robin. Misericordia pro nobis!_[449] What shall I do? Good Devil,
forgive me now, and I’ll never rob thy library more.
_Re-enter to them_ MEPHISTOPHILIS.
_Meph._ Monarch of hell, under whose black survey 45
Great potentates do kneel with awful fear,
Upon whose altars thousand souls do lie,
How am I vexed with these villains’ charms?
From Constantinople am I hither come
Only for pleasure of these damned slaves. 50
_Robin._ How from Constantinople? You have had a great journey.
Will you take sixpence in your purse to pay for your supper, and
begone?
_Meph._ Well, villains, for your presumption, (55) I transform thee
into an ape, and thee into a dog; and so begone. _Exit._
_Robin._ How, into an ape? That’s brave! I’ll have fine sport with
the boys. I’ll get nuts and apples enow. 60
_Ralph._ And I must be a dog.
_Robin._ I’ faith thy head will never be out of the pottage pot.
_Exeunt._
[SCENE X.][450]
_Enter_ EMPEROR, FAUSTUS, _and a_ KNIGHT _with attendants_.
_Emp._ Master Doctor Faustus, I have heard strange report of thy
knowledge in the black art, how that none in my empire nor in the
whole world can compare with thee for the rare effects of magic; they
say thou hast a familiar (5) spirit, by whom thou canst accomplish
what thou list. This, therefore, is my request, that thou let me see
some proof of thy skill, that mine eyes may be witnesses to confirm
what mine ears have heard reported; and here I (10) swear to thee by
the honour of mine imperial crown, that, whatever thou doest, thou
shalt be no ways prejudiced or endamaged.
_Knight._ I’faith he looks much like a conjuror. _Aside._ 15
_Faust._ My gracious sovereign, though I must confess myself
far inferior to the report men have published, and nothing
answerable[451] to the honour of your imperial majesty, yet for that
love and duty binds me thereunto, I am content (20) to do whatsoever
your majesty shall command me.
_Emp._ Then, Doctor Faustus, mark what I shall say.
As I was sometime solitary set
Within my closet, sundry thoughts arose 25
About the honour of mine ancestors,
How they had won by prowess such exploits,
Got such riches, subdued so many kingdoms,
As we that do succeed, or they that shall
Hereafter possess our throne, shall 30
(I fear me) ne’er attain to that degree
Of high renown and great authority;
Amongst which kings is Alexander the Great,
Chief spectacle of the world’s pre-eminence,
The bright shining of whose glorious acts 35
Lightens the world with his[452] reflecting beams,
As, when I heard but motion[453] made of him,
It grieves my soul I never saw the man.
If, therefore, thou by cunning of thine art 40
Canst raise this man from hollow vaults below,
Where lies entomb’d this famous conqueror,
And bring with him his beauteous paramour,
Both in their right shapes, gesture, and attire
They us’d to wear during their time of life,
Thou shalt both satisfy my just desire, 45
And give me cause to praise thee whilst I live.
_Faust._ My gracious lord, I am ready to accomplish your request so
far forth as by art, and power of my Spirit, I am able to perform. 50
_Knight._ I’ faith that’s just nothing at all. _Aside._
_Faust._ But, if it like your Grace, it is not in my ability to
present before your eyes the true substantial bodies of those two
deceased princes, which long since are consumed to dust. 55
_Knight._ Ay, marry. Master Doctor, now there’s a sign of grace in
you, when you will confess the truth. _Aside._
_Faust._ But such spirits as can lively resemble Alexander and his
paramour shall appear before your Grace in that manner that they best
(61) liv’d in, in their most flourishing estate; which I doubt not
shall sufficiently content your imperial majesty.
_Emp._ Go to, Master Doctor, let me see them presently. 66
_Knight._ Do you hear, Master Doctor? You bring Alexander and his
paramour before the Emperor!
_Faust._ How then, sir? 70
_Knight._ I’ faith that’s as true as Diana turn’d me to a stag!
_Faust._ No, sir, but when Actæon died, he left the horns for you.
Mephistophilis, begone. _Exit_ MEPHISTOPHILIS. 75
_Knight._ Nay, an you go to conjuring, I’ll begone. _Exit._
_Faust._ I’ll meet with you anon for interrupting me so. Here they
are, my gracious lord. 80
_Re-enter_ MEPHISTOPHILIS _with_ [SPIRITS _in the shape of_] ALEXANDER
_and his_ PARAMOUR.
_Emp._ Master Doctor, I heard this lady while she liv’d had a wart or
mole in her neck: how shall I know whether it be so or no?
_Faust._ Your Highness may boldly go and see.
_Exeunt_ [SPIRITS.]
_Emp._ Sure these are no spirits, but the (85) true substantial
bodies of those two deceased princes.
_Faust._ Will’t please your Highness now to send for the knight that
was so pleasant with me here of late? 90
_Emp._ One of you call him forth.
[_Exit_ Attendant.]
_Re-enter the_ KNIGHT _with a pair of horns on his head_.
How now, sir knight! why I had thought thou had’st been a bachelor,
but now I see thou hast a wife, that not only gives thee horns, but
makes thee wear them. Feel on thy head. 95
_Knight._ Thou damned wretch and execrable dog,
Bred in the concave of some monstrous rock,
How darest thou thus abuse a gentleman?
Villain, I say, undo what thou hast done!
_Faust._ O, not so fast, sir; there’s no haste; (100) but, good, are
you rememb’red how you crossed me in my conference with the Emperor?
I think I have met with you for it.
_Emp._ Good Master Doctor, at my entreaty release him; he hath done
penance sufficient. 105
_Faust._ My gracious lord, not so much for the injury he off’red
me here in your presence, as to delight you with some mirth, hath
Faustus worthily requited this injurious knight; (109) which, being
all I desire, I am content to release him of his horns: and, sir
knight, hereafter speak well of scholars. Mephistophilis, transform
him straight. [MEPHISTOPHILIS _removes the horns_.] Now, my good
lord, having done my duty I humbly take my leave. 115
_Emp._ Farewell, Master Doctor; yet, ere you go, Expect from me a
bounteous reward. _Exeunt._
[SCENE XI.][454]
[_Enter_ FAUSTUS _and_ MEPHISTOPHILIS.]
_Faust._ Now, Mephistophilis, the restless course
That Time doth run with calm and silent foot,
Short’ning my days and thread of vital life,
Calls for the payment of my latest years;
Therefore, sweet Mephistophilis, let us 5
Make haste to Wittenberg.
_Meph._ What, will you go on horseback or on foot?
_Faust._ Nay, till I’m past this fair and pleasant green,
I’ll walk on foot.
_Enter a_ HORSE-COURSER.
_Horse-C._ I have been all this day seeking (10) one Master Fustian:
mass, see where he is! God save you. Master Doctor!
_Faust._ What, horse-courser! You are well met.
_Horse-C._ Do you hear, sir? I have brought (15) you forty dollars
for your horse.
_Faust._ I cannot sell him so: if thou likest him for fifty, take him.
_Horse-C._ Alas, sir, I have no more.—I pray you speak for me. 20
_Meph._ I pray you let him have him, he is an honest fellow, and he
has a great charge, neither wife nor child.
_Faust._ Well, come, give me your money. [HORSE-COURSER _gives_
FAUSTUS _the money_.] (25) My boy will deliver him to you. But I must
tell you one thing before you have him; ride him not into the water
at any hand.
_Horse-C._ Why, sir, will he not drink of all waters? 30
_Faust._ O yes, he will drink of all waters, but ride him not into
the water: ride him over hedge or ditch, or where thou wilt, but not
into the water.
_Horse-C._ Well, sir.—Now I am made man (35) forever. I’ll not leave
my horse for forty. If he had but the quality of hey-ding-ding,
hey-ding-ding, I’d make a brave living on him: he has a buttock as
slick as an eel. [_Aside._] Well, God b’ wi’ ye, sir, your boy will
deliver him me: but (40) hark ye, sir; if my horse be sick or ill at
ease, if I bring his water to you, you’ll tell me what it is?
_Exit_ HORSE-COURSER.
_Faust._ Away, you villain; what, dost think
I am a horse-doctor?
What art thou, Faustus, but a man condemn’d to die? 45
Thy fatal time doth draw to final end;
Despair doth drive distrust unto my thoughts:
Confound these passions with a quiet sleep:
Tush, Christ did call the thief upon the cross;
Then rest thee, Faustus, quiet in conceit. 50
_Sleeps in his chair._
_Re-enter_ HORSE-COURSER, _all wet, crying_.
_Horse-C._ Alas, alas! Doctor Fustian, quotha? Mass, Doctor
Lopus[455] was never such a doctor. Has given me a purgation has
purg ’d me of forty dollars; I shall never see them more. But yet,
like an ass as I was, I would not be ruled (55) by him, for he bade
me I should ride him into no water. Now I, thinking my horse had
had some rare quality that he would not have had me known of, I,
like a venturous youth, rid him into the deep pond at the town’s
end. I was (60) no sooner in the middle of the pond, but my horse
vanish’d away, and I sat upon a bottle of hay, never so near drowning
in my life. But I’ll seek out my Doctor, and have my forty dollars
again, or I’ll make it the dearest horse!—O, (65) yonder is his
snipper-snapper.—Do you hear? You hey-pass,[456] where’s your master?
_Meph._ Why, sir, what would you? You cannot speak with him.
_Horse-C._ But I will speak with him. 70
_Meph._ Why, he’s fast asleep. Come some other time.
_Horse-C._ I’ll speak with him now, or I’ll break his glass windows
about his ears.
_Meph._ I tell thee he has not slept this (75) eight nights.
_Horse-C._ An he have not slept this eight weeks, I’ll speak with him.
_Meph._ See where he is, fast asleep. 79
_Horse-C._ Ay, this is he. God save you, Master Doctor! Master
Doctor. Master Doctor Fustian!—Forty dollars, forty dollars for a
bottle of hay!
_Meph._ Why, thou seest he hears thee not.
_Horse-C._ So ho, ho!—so ho, ho! (_Hollas in (85) his ear._) No,
will you not wake? I’ll make you wake ere I go. (_Pulls_ FAUSTUS _by
the leg, and pulls it away_.) Alas, I am undone! What shall I do?
_Faust._ O my leg, my leg! Help, Mephistophilis! (90) call the
officers. My leg, my leg!
_Meph._ Come, villain, to the constable.
_Horse-C._ O lord, sir, let me go, and I’ll give you forty dollars
more.
_Meph._ Where be they? 95
_Horse-C._ I have none about me. Come to my ostry[457] and I’ll give
them you.
_Meph._ Begone quickly.
HORSE-COURSER _runs away_.
_Faust._ What, is he gone? Farewell he! (99) Faustus has his leg
again, and the horse-courser, I take it, a bottle of hay for his
labour. Well, this trick shall cost him forty dollars more.
_Enter_ WAGNER.
How now, Wagner, what’s the news with thee?
_Wag._ Sir, the Duke of Vanholt doth earnestly (105) entreat your
company.
_Faust._ The Duke of Vanholt! an honourable gentleman, to whom I must
be no niggard of my cunning. Come, Mephistophilis, let’s away to him.
_Exeunt._ 110
[SCENE XII.][458]
_Enter the_ DUKE [_of_ VANHOLT], _the_ DUCHESS, [FAUSTUS, _and_
MEPHISTOPHILIS.]
_Duke._ Believe me, Master Doctor, this merriment hath much pleased
me.
_Faust._ My gracious lord, I am glad it contents you so well.—But
it may be, madam, you take no delight in this. I have heard that
great-bellied (5) women do long for some dainties or other. What is
it, madam? Tell me, and you shall have it.
_Duchess._ Thanks, good Master Doctor; and for I see your courteous
intent to pleasure (10) me, I will not hide from you the thing my
heart desires; and were it now summer, as it is January and the dead
time of the winter, I would desire no better meat than a dish of ripe
grapes.
_Faust._ Alas, madam, that’s nothing! (15) Mephistophilis, begone.
(_Exit_ MEPHISTOPHILIS.) Were it a greater thing than this, so it
would content you, you should have it.
_Re-enter_ MEPHISTOPHILIS _with the grapes._
Here they be, madam; wilt please you taste on them? 20
_Duke._ Believe me, Master Doctor, this makes me wonder above the
rest, that being in the dead time of winter, and in the month of
January, how you should come by these grapes.
_Faust._ If it like your Grace, the year is (25) divided into two
circles over the whole world, that, when it is here winter with us,
in the contrary circle it is summer with them, as in India, Saba, and
farther countries in the East; and by means of a swift spirit that
I have, (30) I had them brought hither, as ye see.—How do you like
them, madam; be they good?
_Duchess._ Believe me. Master Doctor, they be the best grapes that I
e’er tasted in my life before. 35
_Faust._ I am glad they content you so, madam.
_Duke._ Come, madam, let us in, where you must well reward this
learned man for the great kindness he hath show’d to you.
_Duchess._ And so I will, my lord; and (40) whilst I live, rest
beholding for this courtesy.
_Faust._ I humbly thank your Grace.
_Duke._ Come, Master Doctor, follow us and receive your reward.
_Exeunt._
[SCENE XIII.][459]
_Enter_ WAGNER, _solus._
_Wag._ I think my master means to die shortly,
For he hath given to me all his goods;
And yet, methinks, if that death were near,
He would not banquet and carouse and swill
Amongst the students, as even now he doth, 5
Who are at supper with such belly-cheer
As Wagner ne’er beheld in all his life.
See where they come! Belike the feast is ended.
_Enter_ FAUSTUS, _with two or three_ SCHOLARS [_and_ MEPHISTOPHILIS.]
_1 Schol._ Master Doctor Faustus, since our conference about fair
Ladies, which was the (10) beautifullest in all the world, we have
determined with ourselves that Helen of Greece was the admirablest
lady that ever lived, therefore, Master Doctor, if you will do us
that favour, as to let us see that peerless dame of Greece, (15) whom
all the world admires for majesty, we should think ourselves much
beholding unto you.
_Faust._ Gentlemen,
For that I know your friendship is unfeigned,
And Faustus’ custom is not to deny 20
The just requests of those that wish him well,
You shall behold that peerless dame of Greece,
No otherways for pomp and majesty
Than when Sir Paris cross’d the seas with her,
And brought the spoils to rich Dardania. 25
Be silent, then, for danger is in words.
_Music sounds, and_ HELEN _passeth over the stage._
_2 Schol._ Too simple is my wit to tell her praise,
Whom all the world admires for majesty.
_3 Schol._ No marvel though the angry Greeks pursu’d
With ten years’ war the rape of such a queen, 30
Whose heavenly beauty passeth all compare.
_1 Schol._ Since we have seen the pride of Nature’s works,
And only paragon of excellence,
_Enter an_ OLD MAN.
Let us depart; and for this glorious deed
Happy and blest be Faustus evermore. 35
_Faustus._ Gentlemen, farewell—the same I wish to you. _Exeunt_
SCHOLARS [_and_ WAGNER].
_Old Man._ Ah, Doctor Faustus, that I might prevail
To guide thy steps unto the way of life,
By which sweet path thou may’st attain the goal
That shall conduct thee to celestial rest! 40
Break heart, drop blood, and mingle it with tears,
Tears falling from repentant heaviness
Of thy most vile and loathsome filthiness,
The stench whereof corrupts the inward soul
With such flagitious crimes of heinous sins 45
As no commiseration may expel,
But mercy, Faustus, of thy Saviour sweet,
Whose blond alone must wash away thy guilt.
_Faust._ Where art thou, Faustus? Wretch,
what hast thou done?
Damn’d art thou, Faustus, damn’d; despair and die! 50
Hell calls for right, and with a roaring voice
Says “Faustus! come! thine hour is [almost] come!”
And Faustus [now] will come to do thee right.
MEPHISTOPHILIS _gives him a dagger._
_Old Man._ Ah stay, good Faustus, stay thy desperate steps!
I see an angel hovers o’er thy head, 55
And, with a vial full of precious grace,
Offers to pour the same into thy soul:
Then call for mercy, and avoid despair.
_Faust._ Ah, my sweet friend, I feel
Thy words do comfort my distressed soul. 60
Leave me a while to ponder on my sins.
_Old Man._ I go, sweet Faustus, but with heavy cheer,
Fearing the ruin of thy hopeless soul. [_Exit._]
_Faust._ Accursed Faustus, where is mercy now?
I do repent; and yet I do despair; 65
Hell strives with grace for conquest in my breast:
What shall I do to shun the snares of death?
_Meph._ Thou traitor, Faustus, I arrest thy soul
For disobedience to my sovereign lord;
Revolt, or I’ll in piecemeal tear thy flesh. 70
_Faust._ Sweet Mephistophilis, entreat thy lord
To pardon my unjust presumption,
And with my blood again I will confirm
My former vow I made to Lucifer.
_Meph._ Do it now then quickly, with unfeigned heart, 75
Lest danger do attend thy drift.
[FAUSTUS _stabs his arm and writes on a paper with his blood._]
_Faust._ Torment, sweet friend, that base and crooked age,[460]
That durst dissuade me from my Lucifer,
With greatest torments that our hell affords.
_Meph._ His faith is great, I cannot touch his soul; 80
But what I may afflict his body with
I will attempt, which is but little worth.
_Faust._ One thing, good servant, let me crave of thee,
To glut the longing of my heart’s desire,—
That I might have unto my paramour 85
That heavenly Helen, which I saw of late,
Whose sweet embracings may extinguish clean
These thoughts that do dissuade me from my vow,
And keep mine oath I made to Lucifer.
_Meph._ Faustus, this or what else thou shalt desire 90
Shall be perform’d in twinkling of an eye.
_Re-enter_ HELEN.
_Faust._ Was this the face that launch’d a thousand ships,
And burnt the topless[461] towers of Ilium?
Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss. [_Kisses her._]
Her lips suck[462] forth my soul; see where it flies!— 95
Come, Helen, come, give me my soul again.
Here will I dwell, for Heaven be in these lips,
And all is dross that is not Helena.
_Enter_ OLD MAN.
I will be Paris, and for love of thee,
Instead of Troy, shall Wittenberg be sack’d; 100
And I will combat with weak Menelaus,
And wear thy colours on my plumed crest;
Yea, I will wound Achilles in the heel,
And then return to Helen for a kiss.
Oh, thou art fairer than the evening air 105
Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars;
Brighter art thou than flaming Jupiter
When he appear’d to hapless Semele:
More lovely than the monarch of the sky
In wanton Arethusa’s azur’d arms: 110
And none but thou shalt be my paramour. _Exeunt._
_Old Man._ Accursed Faustus, miserable man,
That from thy soul exclud’st the grace of Heaven,
And fly’st the throne of his tribunal seat!
_Enter_ DEVILS.
Satan begins to sift me with his pride: 115
As in this furnace God shall try my faith,
My faith, vile hell, shall triumph over thee.
Ambitious friends I see how the heavens smiles
At your repulse, and laughs your state to scorn!
Hence, hell! for hence I fly unto my God. _Exeunt._ 120
[SCENE XIV.][463]
_Enter_ FAUSTUS _with the_ SCHOLARS.
_Faust._ Ah, gentlemen!
_1 Schol._ What ails Faustus?
_Faust._ Ah, my sweet chamber-fellow, had I lived with thee, then had
I lived still! but now I die eternally. Look, comes he not, comes he
not? 5
_2 Schol._ What means Faustus?
_3 Schol._ Belike he is grown into some sickness by being over
solitary.
_1 Schol._ If it be so, we’ll have physicians to (10) cure him. ’T is
but a surfeit. Never fear, man.
_Faust._ A surfeit of deadly sin that hath damn’d both body and soul.
_2 Schol._ Yet, Faustus, look up to Heaven; remember God’s mercies
are infinite. 15
_Faust._ But Faustus’ offences can never be pardoned: the serpent
that tempted Eve may be sav’d, but not Faustus. Ah, gentlemen, hear
me with patience, and tremble not at my speeches! Though my heart
pants and quivers (20) to remember that I have been a student here
these thirty years, oh, would I had never seen Wittenberg, never read
book! And what wonders I have done, all Germany can witness, yea,
the world; for which Faustus hath lost both (25) Germany and the
world, yea Heaven itself, Heaven, the seat of God, the throne of the
blessed, the kingdom of joy; and must remain in hell for ever, hell,
ah, hell, for ever! Sweet friends! what shall become of Faustus being
in hell for ever? 31
_3 Schol._ Yet, Faustus, call on God.
_Faust._ On God, whom Faustus hath abjur’d! on God, whom Faustus hath
blasphemed! Ah, my God, I would weep, but the Devil draws (35) in my
tears. Gush forth blood instead of tears! Yea, life and soul! Oh, he
stays my tongue! I would lift up my hands, but see, they hold them,
they hold them!
_All._ Who, Faustus? 40
_Faust._ Lucifer and Mephistophilis. Ah, gentlemen, I gave them my
soul for my cunning!
_All._ God forbid!
_Faust._ God forbade it indeed; but Faustus (45) hath done it. For
vain pleasure of twenty-four years hath Faustus lost eternal joy
and felicity. I writ them a bill with mine own blood: the date is
expired; the time will come, and he will fetch me. 50
_1 Schol._ Why did not Faustus tell us of this before, that divines
might have prayed for thee?
_Faust._ Oft have I thought to have done so; but the Devil threat’ned
to tear me in pieces if I nam’d God; to fetch both body and soul if
I (55) once gave ear to divinity: and now ’t is too late. Gentlemen,
away! lest you perish with me.
_2 Schol._ Oh, what shall we do to save Faustus?
_Faust._ Talk not of me, but save yourselves, and depart. 60
_3 Schol._ God will strengthen me. I will stay with Faustus.
_1 Schol._ Tempt not God, sweet friend; but let us into the next
room, and there pray for him.
_Faust._ Ay, pray for me, pray for me! and (65) what noise soever ye
hear, come not unto me, for nothing can rescue me.
_2 Schol._ Pray thou, and we will pray that God may have mercy upon
thee.
_Faust._ Gentlemen, farewell! If I live till (70) morning I’ll visit
you: if not—Faustus is gone to hell.
_All._ Faustus, farewell!
_Exeunt_ SCHOLARS. _The clock strikes eleven._
_Faust._ Ah, Faustus,
Now hast thou but one bare hour to live, 75
And then thou must be damn’d perpetually!
Stand still, you ever-moving spheres of Heaven,
That time may cease, and midnight never come;
Fair Nature’s eye, rise, rise again and make
Perpetual day; or let this hour be but 80
A year, a month, a week, a natural day,
That Faustus may repent and save his soul!
_O lente, lente, currite noctis equi!_[464]
The stars move still,[465] time runs, the clock will strike,
The Devil will come, and Faustus must be damn’d. 85
O, I’ll leap up to my God! Who pulls me down?
See, see where Christ’s blood streams in the firmament!
One drop would save my soul—half a drop: ah, my Christ!
Ah, rend not my heart for naming of my Christ! 89
Yet will I call on him: O spare me, Lucifer!—
Where is it now? ’T is gone; and see where God
Stretcheth out his arm, and bends his ireful brows!
Mountain and hills come, come and fall on me,
And hide me from the heavy wrath of God!
No! no! 95
Then will I headlong run into the earth;
Earth gape! O no, it will not harbour me!
You stars that reign’d at my nativity,
Whose influence hath allotted death and hell,
Now draw up Faustus like a foggy mist 100
Into the entrails of yon labouring clouds,
That when they vomit forth into the air,
My limbs may issue from their smoky mouths,
So that my soul may but ascend to Heaven.
_The watch strikes_ [_the half hour_].
Ah, half the hour is past! ’T will all be past anon! 105
O God!
If thou wilt not have mercy on my soul,
Yet for Christ’s sake whose blood hath ransom’d me,
Impose some end to my incessant pain;
Let Faustus live in hell a thousand years— 110
A hundred thousand, and at last be sav’d!
O, no end is limited to damned souls!
Why wert thou not a creature wanting soul?
Or why is this immortal that thou hast?
Ah, Pythagoras’ metempsychosis! were that true, 115
This soul should fly from me, and I be chang’d
Unto some brutish beast! All beasts are happy,
For, when they die,
Their souls are soon dissolv’d in elements; 119
But mine must live, still to be plagu’d in hell.
Curst be the parents that engend’red me!
No, Faustus: curse thyself: curse Lucifer
That hath depriv’d thee of the joys of Heaven.
_The clock striketh twelve._
O, it strikes, it strikes! Now, body, turn to air,
Or Lucifer will bear thee quick to hell. 125
_Thunder and lightning._
O soul, be chang’d into little water-drops,
And fall into the ocean—ne’er be found.
My God! my God! look not so fierce on me!
_Enter_ DEVILS.
Adders and serpents, let me breathe awhile!
Ugly hell, gape not! come not, Lucifer! 130
I’ll burn my books!—Ah Mephistophilis!
_Exeunt_ [DEVILS _with_ FAUSTUS.]
_Enter_ CHORUS.
[_Cho._] Cut is the branch that might have grown full straight,
And burned is Apollo’s laurel bough,
That sometimes grew within this learned man.
Faustus is gone; regard his hellish fall, 135
Whose fiendful fortune may exhort the wise
Only to wonder at unlawful things,
Whose deepness doth entice such forward wits
To practise more than heavenly power permits.
[_Exit._]
_Terminat hora diem, terminat author opus._ 140
THE JEW OF MALTA
BY CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE
[DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
BARABAS, a wealthy Jew.
FERNEZE, Governor of Malta.
DON LODOWICK, his Son.
SELIM CALYMATH, Son of the Grand Seignior.
MARTIN DEL BOSCO, Vice-Admiral of Spain.
DON MATHIAS, a Gentleman.
ITHAMORE, slave of Barabas.
JACOMO, }
BARNARDINE, } Friars.
PILIA-BORSA, a Bully.
Two Merchants.
Three Jews.
Knights, Bassoes, Officers, Reader, Guard, Messengers, Slaves, and
Carpenters.
KATHERINE, mother of MATHIAS.
ABIGAIL, Daughter of BARABAS.
BELLAMIRA, a Courtesan.
Abbess.
Two Nuns.
MACHIAVEL, Speaker of the Prologue.
Scene.—_Malta_.]
[THE PROLOGUE.]
MACHIAVEL.
Albeit the world think Machiavel is dead,
Yet was his soul but flown beyond the Alps,
And, now the Guise[466] is dead, is come from France
To view this land and frolic with his friends.
To some perhaps my name is odious, 5
But such as love me guard me from their tongues;
And let them know that I am Machiavel,
And weigh not men, and therefore not men’s words.
Admir’d I am of those that hate me most.
Though some speak openly against my books, 10
Yet will they read me, and thereby attain
To Peter’s chair; and when they cast me off,
Are poison’d by my climbing followers.
I count religion but a childish toy,
And hold there is no sin but ignorance. 15
“Birds of the air will tell of murders past!”
I am asham’d to hear such fooleries.
Many will talk of title to a crown:
What right had Cæsar to the empery?[467]
Might first made kings, and laws were then most sure 20
When, like the Draco’s, they were writ in blood.
Hence comes it that a strong-built citadel
Commands much more than letters can import;
Which maxim had [but] Phalaris observ’d,
He had never bellowed, in a brazen bull, 25
Of great ones’ envy. O’ the poor petty wights
Let me be envi’d and not pitied!
But whither am I bound? I come not, I,
To read a lecture here in Britain,
But to present the tragedy of a Jew, 30
Who smiles to see how full his bags are cramm’d,
Which money was not got without my means.
I crave but this—grace him as he deserves,
And let him not be entertain’d the worse
Because he favours me. [_Exit._] 35
[ACT I
SCENE I.]
_Enter_ BARABAS _in his counting-house, with heaps of gold before him_.
_Bar._ So that of thus much that return was made:
And of the third part of the Persian ships,
There was the venture summ’d and satisfied.
As for those Samnites,[468] and the men of Uz,
That bought my Spanish oils and wines of Greece, 5
Here have I purs’d their paltry silverlings.
Fie, what a trouble ’t is to count this trash!
Well fare the Arabians, who so richly pay
The things they traffic for with wedge of gold.
Whereof a man may easily in a day 10
Tell[469] that which may maintain him all his life.
The needy groom that never fing’red groat,
Would make a miracle of thus much coin;
But he whose steel-barr’d coffers are cramm’d full,
And all his lifetime hath been tired, 15
Wearying his fingers’ ends with telling it,
Would in his age be loth to labour so,
And for a pound to sweat himself to death.
Give me the merchants of the Indian mines,
That trade in metal of the purest mould; 20
The wealthy Moor, that in the eastern rocks
Without control can pick his riches up,
And in his house heap pearl like pebble-stones,
Receive them free, and sell them by the weight;
Bags of fiery opals, sapphires, amethysts, 25
Jacinths, hard topaz, grass-green emeralds,
Beauteous rubies, sparkling diamonds,
And seld-seen[470] costly stones of so great price
As one of them indifferently rated,
And of a carat of this quantity, 30
May serve in peril of calamity
To ransom great kings from captivity.
This is the ware wherein consists my wealth;
And thus methinks should men of judgment frame
Their means of traffic from the vulgar trade, 35
And as their wealth increaseth, so inclose
Infinite riches in a little room.
But now how stands the wind?
Into what corner peers my halcyon’s bill?[471]
Ha! to the east? Yes. See, how stands the vanes? 40
East and by south: why, then, I hope my ships
I sent for Egypt and the bordering isles
Are gotten up by Nilus’ winding banks;
Mine argosy from Alexandria,
Loaden with spice and silks, now under sail, 45
Are smoothly gliding down by Candy shore
To Malta, through our Mediterranean sea.
But who comes here? How now?
_Enter a_ Merchant.
_Merch._ Barabas, thy ships are safe.
Riding in Malta-road: and all the merchants 50
With other merchandise are safe arriv’d,
And have sent me to know whether yourself
Will come and custom[472] them.
_Bar._ The ships are safe thou say’st, and richly fraught?
_Merch._ They are.
_Bar._ Why then go bid them come ashore,
And bring with them their bills of entry. 56
I hope our credit in the custom-house
Will serve as well as I were present there.
Go send ’em threescore camels, thirty mules,
And twenty waggons to bring up the ware. 60
But art thou master in a ship of mine,
And is thy credit not enough for that?
_Merch._ The very custom barely comes to more
Than many merchants of the town are worth,
And therefore far exceeds my credit, sir. 65
_Bar._ Go tell ’em the Jew of Malta sent thee, man:
Tush! who amongst ’em knows not Barabas?
_Merch._ I go.
_Bar._ So then, there’s somewhat come.
Sirrah, which of my ships art thou master of?
_Merch._ Of the _Speranza_, sir.
_Bar._ And saw’st thou not
Mine argosy at Alexandria? 71
Thou could’st not come from Egypt, or by Caire,
But at the entry there into the sea,
Where Nilus pays his tribute to the main,
Thou needs must sail by Alexandria. 75
_Merch._ I neither saw them, nor inquir’d of them:
But this we heard some of our seamen say,
They wond’red how you durst with so much wealth
Trust such a crazed vessel, and so far.
_Bar._ Tush, they are wise! I know her and her strength. 80
[But] go, go thou thy ways, discharge thy ship,
And bid my factor bring his loading in.
[_Exit_ Merch.]
And yet I wonder at this argosy.
_Enter a second_ Merchant.
_2 Merch._ Thine argosy from Alexandria,
Know, Barabas, doth ride in Malta-road, 85
Laden with riches, and exceeding store
Of Persian silks, of gold, and orient pearl.
_Bar._ How chance you came not with those other ships
That sail’d by Egypt?
_2 Merch._ Sir, we saw ’em not.
_Bar._ Belike they coasted round by Candy shore 90
About their oils, or other businesses.
But ’t was ill done of you to come so far
Without the aid or conduct of their ships.
_2 Merch._ Sir, we were wafted by a Spanish fleet,
That never left us till within a league, 95
That had the galleys of the Turk in chase.
_Bar._ O! they were going up to Sicily.—
Well, go,
And bid the merchants and my men despatch
And come ashore, and see the fraught discharg’d. 100
_2 Merch._ I go. _Exit._
_Bar._ Thus trowls our fortune in by land and sea,
And thus are we on every side enrich’d.
These are blessings promis’d to the Jews,
And herein was old Abram’s happiness. 105
What more may Heaven do for earthly man
Than thus to pour out plenty in their laps,
Ripping the bowels of the earth for them,
Making the sea their servant,[473] and the winds
To drive their substance with successful blasts?
Who hateth me but for my happiness? 111
Or who is honour’d now but for his wealth?
Rather had I, a Jew, be hated thus,
Than pitied in a Christian poverty;
For I can see no fruits in all their faith, 115
But malice, falsehood, and excessive pride,
Which methinks fits not their profession.
Haply some hapless man hath conscience,
And for his conscience lives in beggary.
They say we are a scatter’d nation: 120
I cannot tell, but we have scambled[474] up
More wealth by far than those that brag of faith.
There ’s Kirriah Jairim, the great Jew of Greece,
Obed in Bairseth, Nones in Portugal,
Myself in Malta, some in Italy, 125
Many in France, and wealthy every one;
Ay, wealthier far than any Christian.
I must confess we come not to be kings;
That’s not our fault: alas, our number’s few,
And crowns come either by succession, 130
Or urg’d by force; and nothing violent
Oft have I heard tell, can be permanent.
Give us a peaceful rule, make Christians kings,
That thirst so much for principality.
I have no charge,[475] nor many children, 135
But one sole daughter, whom I hold as dear
As Agamemnon did his Iphigen;
And all I have is hers. But who comes here?
_Enter three_ Jews.[476]
_1 Jew._ Tush, tell not me; ’t was done of policy.
_2 Jew._ Come, therefore, let us go to Barabas, 140
For he can counsel best in these affairs;
And here he comes.
_Bar._ Why, how now, countrymen!
Why flock you thus to me in multitudes?
What accident’s betided to the Jews?
_1 Jew._ A fleet of warlike galleys, Barabas, 145
Are come from Turkey, and lie in our road;
And they this day sit in the council-house
To entertain them and their embassy.
_Bar._ Why, let ’em come, so they come not to war;
Or let ’em war, so we be conquerors:— 150
Nay, let ’em combat, conquer, and kill all!
So they spare me, my daughter, and my wealth. _Aside._
_1 Jew._ Were it for confirmation of a league,
They would not come in warlike manner thus.
_2 Jew._ I fear their coming will afflict us all.
_Bar._ Fond[477] men! what dream you of their multitudes? 156
What need they treat of peace that are in league?
The Turks and those of Malta are in league.
Tut, tut, there is some other matter in ’t.
_1 Jew._ Why, Barabas, they come for peace or war. 160
_Bar._ Haply for neither, but to pass along
Towards Venice by the Adriatic Sea;
With[478] whom they have attempted many times,
But never could effect their stratagem.
_3 Jew._ And very wisely said. It may be so.
_2 Jew._ But there’s a meeting in the senate-house, 166
And all the Jews in Malta must be there.
_Bar._ Hum; all the Jews in Malta must be there?
Ay, like enough. Why, then, let every man
Provide him, and be there for fashion-sake, 170
If anything shall there concern our state,
Assure yourselves I’ll look—unto myself. _Aside._
_1 Jew._ I know you will. Well, brethren, let us go.
_2 Jew._ Let’s take our leaves. Farewell, good Barabas.
_Bar._ Do so. Farewell, Zaareth; farewell, Temainte.
[_Exeunt_ Jews.] 175
And, Barabas, now search this secret out;
Summon thy senses, call thy wits together:
These silly men mistake the matter clean.
Long to the Turk did Malta contribute;
Which tribute, all in policy, I fear, 180
The Turks have let increase to such a sum
As all the wealth of Malta cannot pay;
And now by that advantage thinks, belike,
To seize upon the town: ay, that he seeks.
Howe’er the world go, I’ll make sure for one,
And seek in time to intercept the worst, 185
Warily guarding that which I ha’ got.
_Ego mihimet sum semper proximus._[479]
Why, let ’em enter, let ’em take the town. [_Exit._]
[SCENE II.][480]
_Enter_ [FERNEZE,] _Governor of Malta,_ Knights, [_and_ Officers;] _met
by_ Bassoes _of the Turk_; CALYMATH.
_Fern._ Now, Bassoes,[481] what demand you at our hands?
_1 Bas._ Know, Knights of Malta, that we came from Rhodes,
From Cyprus, Candy, and those other Isles
That lie betwixt the Mediterranean seas.
_Fern._ What ’s Cyprus, Candy, and those other Isles 5
To us or Malta? What at our hands demand ye?
_Cal._ The ten years’ tribute that remains unpaid.
_Fern._ Alas! my lord, the sum is over-great.
I hope your highness will consider us.
_Cal._ I wish, grave governor, ’t were in my power 10
To favour you, but ’t is my father’s cause,
Wherein I may not, nay, I dare not dally.
_Fern._ Then give us leave, great Selim Calymath.
[_Consults apart with the_ Knights.]
_Cal._ Stand all aside, and let the knights determine,
And send to keep our galleys under sail, 15
For happily[482] we shall not tarry here.—
Now, governor, how are you resolv’d?
_Fern._ Thus: since your hard conditions are such
That you will needs have ten years’ tribute past,
We may have time to make collection 20
Amongst the inhabitants of Malta for ’t.
_1 Bas._ That’s more than is in our commission.
_Cal._ What, Callipine! a little courtesy.
Let ’s know their time, perhaps it is not long;
And ’t is more kingly to obtain by peace 25
Than to enforce conditions by constraint.
What respite ask you, governors?
_Fern._ But a month.
_Cal._ We grant a month, but see you keep your promise.
Now launch our galleys back again to sea,
Where we’ll attend[483] the respite you have ta’en,
And for the money send our messenger. 31
Farewell, great governor and brave Knights of Malta.
_Fern._ And all good fortune wait on Calymath!
_Exeunt_ [CALYMATH _and_ Bassoes.]
Go one and call those Jews of Malta hither:
Were they not summon’d to appear to-day? 35
_Off._ They were, my lord, and here they come.
_Enter_ BARABAS _and three_ Jews.
_1 Knight._ Have you determined what to say to them?
_Fern._ Yes, give me leave:—and, Hebrews, now come near.
From the Emperor of Turkey is arriv’d
Great Selim Calymath, his highness’ son, 40
To levy of us ten years’ tribute past,
Now then, here know that it concerneth us—
_Bar._ Then, good my lord, to keep your quiet still,
Your lordship shall do well to let them have it.
_Fern._ Soft, Barabas, there’s more longs to ’t than so. 45
To what this ten years’ tribute will amount,
That we have cast,[484] but cannot compass it
By reason of the wars that robb’d our store;
And therefore are we to request your aid.
_Bar._ Alas, my lord, we are no soldiers; 50
And what’s our aid against so great a prince?
_1 Knight._ Tut, Jew, we know thou art no soldier;
Thou art a merchant and a monied man,
And ’t is thy money, Barabas, we seek. 54
_Bar._ How, my lord! my money?
_Fern._ Thine and the rest.
For, to be short, amongst you ’t must be had.
_1 Jew._ Alas, my lord, the most of us are poor.
_Fern._ Then let the rich increase your portions.
_Bar._ Are strangers with your tribute to be tax’d?
_2 Knight._ Have strangers leave with us to get their wealth? 60
Then let them with us contribute.
_Bar._ How! Equally?
_Fern._ No, Jew, like infidels.
For through our sufferance of your hateful lives,
Who stand accursed in the sight of Heaven,
These taxes and afflictions are befall’n, 65
And therefore thus we are determined.
Read there the articles of our decrees.
_Reader._ “First, the tribute-money of the
Turks shall all be levied amongst the Jews, and
each of them to pay one half of his estate.” 70
_Bar._ How, half his estate? I hope you mean not mine. [_Aside._]
_Fern._ Read on.
_Reader._ “Secondly, he that denies[485] to pay shall straight become
a Christian.”
_Bar._ How, a Christian? Hum, what’s here to do? [_Aside._] 75
_Reader._ “Lastly, he that denies this shall absolutely lose all he
has.”
_All three Jews._ O my lord, we will give half.
_Bar._ O earth-mettl’d villains, and no Hebrews born!
And will you basely thus submit yourselves 80
To leave your goods to their arbitrament?
_Fern._ Why, Barabas, wilt thou be christened?
_Bar._ No, governor, I will be no convertite.[486]
_Fern._ Then pay thy half.
_Bar._ Why, know you what you did by this device? 85
Half of my substance is a city’s wealth.
Governor, it was not got so easily;
Nor will I part so slightly therewithal.
_Fern._ Sir, half is the penalty of our decree,
Either pay that, or we will seize on all. 90
_Bar. Corpo di Dio!_ stay! you shall have half;
Let me be us’d but as my brethren are.
_Fern._ No, Jew, thou hast denied the articles,
And now it cannot be recall’d.
[_Exeunt_ Officers, _on a sign from_ FERNEZE.]
_Bar._ Will you then steal my goods? 95
Is theft the ground of your religion?
_Fern._ No, Jew, we take particularly thine
To save the ruin of a multitude;
And better one want for the common good
Than many perish for a private man. 100
Yet, Barabas, we will not banish thee,
But here in Malta, where thou gott’st thy wealth,
Live still; and, if thou canst, get more.
_Bar._ Christians, what or how can I multiply?
Of naught is nothing made. 105
_1 Knight._ From naught at first thou cam’st to little wealth,
From little unto more, from more to most.
If your first curse fall heavy on thy head,
And make thee poor and scorn’d of all the world,
’T is not our fault, but thy inherent sin. 110
_Bar._ What, bring you Scripture to your wrongs?
Preach me not out of my possessions.
Some Jews are wicked, as all Christians are;
But say the tribe that I descended of
Were all in general cast away for sin, 115
Shall I be tried by their transgression?
The man that dealeth righteously shall live;
And which of you can charge me otherwise?
_Fern._ Out, wretched Barabas!
Sham’st thou not thus to justify thyself, 120
As if we knew not thy profession?
If thou rely upon thy righteousness,
Be patient and thy riches will increase.
Excess of wealth is cause of covetousness:
And covetousness, O, ’tis a monstrous sin. 125
_Bar._ Ay, but theft is worse. Tush! take not from me then,
For that is theft; and if you rob me thus,
I must be forc’d to steal and compass more.
_1 Knight._ Grave governor, list not to his exclaims.
Convert his mansion to a nunnery; 130
_Re-enter_ Officers.
His house will harbour many holy nuns.
_Fern._ It shall be so. Now, officers, have you done?
_Off._ Ay, my lord, we have seiz’d upon the goods
And wares of Barabas, which being valued,
Amount to more than all the wealth in Malta. 135
And of the other we have seized half.
[_Fern._] Then we’ll take order for the residue.
_Bar._ Well then, my lord, say, are you satisfied?
You have my goods, my money, and my wealth,
My ships, my store, and all that I enjoy’d; 140
And, having all, you can request no more;
Unless your unrelenting flinty hearts
Suppress all pity in your stony breasts,
And now shall move you to bereave my life.
_Fern._ No, Barabas, to stain our hands with blood 145
Is far from us and our profession.
_Bar._ Why, I esteem the injury far less
To take the lives of miserable men
Than be the causers of their misery.
You have my wealth, the labour of my life, 150
The comfort of mine age, my children’s hope,
And therefore ne’er distinguish of the wrong.
_Fern._ Content thee, Barabas, thou hast naught but right.
_Bar._ Your extreme right does me exceeding wrong:
But take it to you, i’ the devil’s name. 155
_Fern._ Come, let us in, and gather of these goods
The money for this tribute of the Turk.
_1 Knight._ ’Tis necessary that be look’d unto;
For if we break our day, we break the league,
And that will prove but simple[487] policy. 160
_Exeunt_ [_all except_ BARABAS _and the_ Jews.]
_Bar._ Ay, policy! that’s their profession,
And not simplicity, as they suggest.
The plagues of Egypt, and the curse of Heaven,
Earth’s barrenness, and all men’s hatred
Inflict upon them, thou great _Primus Motor_! 165
And here upon my knees, striking the earth,
I ban their souls to everlasting pains
And extreme tortures of the fiery deep,
That thus have dealt with me in my distress.
_1 Jew._ O yet be patient, gentle Barabas. 170
_Bar._ O silly brethren, born to see this day,
Why stand you thus unmov’d with my laments?
Why weep you not to think upon my wrongs?
Why pine not I, and die in this distress?
_1 Jew._ Why, Barabas, as hardly can we brook 175
The cruel handling of ourselves in this;
Thou seest they have taken half our goods.
_Bar._ Why did you yield to their extortion?
You were a multitude, and I but one;
And of me only have they taken all. 180
_1 Jew._ Yet, Brother Barabas, remember Job.
_Bar._ What tell you me of Job? I wot his wealth
Was written thus: he had seven thousand sheep,
Three thousand camels, and two hundred yoke
Of labouring oxen, and five hundred 185
She-asses: but for every one of those,
Had they been valued at indifferent rate,
I had at home, and in mine argosy,
And other ships that came from Egypt last,
As much as would have bought his beasts and him, 190
And yet have kept enough to live upon:
So that not he, but I may curse the day,
Thy fatal birth-day, forlorn Barabas;
And henceforth wish for an eternal night, 194
That clouds of darkness may inclose my flesh,
And hide these extreme sorrows from mine eyes:
For only I have toil’d to inherit here
The months of vanity and loss of time,
And painful nights, have been appointed me.[488]
_2 Jew._ Good Barabas, be patient. 200
_Bar._ Ay;
Pray, leave me in my patience. You that
Were ne’er possess’d of wealth, are pleas’d with want;
But give him liberty at least to mourn,
That in a field amidst his enemies 205
Doth see his soldiers slain, himself disarm’d,
And knows no means of his recovery.
Ay, let me sorrow for this sudden chance;
’Tis in the trouble of my spirit I speak;
Great injuries are not so soon forgot. 210
_1 Jew._ Come, let us leave him; in his ireful mood
Our words will but increase his ecstasy.[489]
_2 Jew._ On, then; but trust me ’t is a misery
To see a man in such affliction.—
Farewell, Barabas! _Exeunt_ [_the three_ Jews.]
_Bar._ Ay, fare you well. 215
See the simplicity of these base slaves,
Who, for the villains have no wit themselves,
Think me to be a senseless lump of clay
That will with every water wash to dirt.
No, Barabas is born to better chance, 220
And fram’d of finer mould than common men,
That measure naught but by the present time.
A reaching thought will search his deepest wits,
And cast[490] with cunning for the time to come:
For evils are apt to happen every day.— 225
_Enter_ ABIGAIL.[491]
But wither wends my beauteous Abigail?
O! what has made my lovely daughter sad?
What, woman! moan not for a little loss:
Thy father has enough in store for thee.
_Abig._ Not for myself, but aged Barabas; 230
Father, for thee lamenteth Abigail.
But I will learn to leave these fruitless tears,
And, urg’d thereto with my afflictions,
With fierce exclaims run to the senate-house,
And in the senate reprehend them all, 235
And rend their hearts with tearing of my hair,
Till they reduce[492] the wrongs done to my father.
_Bar._ No, Abigail, things past recovery
Are hardly cur’d with exclamations.
Be silent, daughter, sufferance breeds ease, 240
And time may yield us an occasion
Which on the sudden cannot serve the turn.
Besides, my girl, think me not all so fond[493]
As negligently to forego so much
Without provision for thyself and me: 245
Ten thousand portagues,[494] besides great pearls,
Rich costly jewels, and stones infinite,
Fearing the worst of this before it fell,
I closely hid.
_Abig._ Where, father?
_Bar._ In my house, my girl.
_Abig._ Then shall they ne’er be seen of Barabas: 250
For they have seiz’d upon thy house and wares.
_Bar._ But they will give me leave once more, I trow,
To go into my house.
_Abig._ That may they not:
For there I left the governor placing nuns,
Displacing me; and of thy house they mean 255
To make a nunnery, where none but their own sect[495]
Must enter in; men generally barr’d.
_Bar._ My gold! my gold! and all my wealth is gone!
You partial heavens, have I deserv’d this plague?
What, will you thus oppose me, luckless stars, 260
To make me desperate in my poverty?
And knowing me impatient in distress,
Think me so mad as I will hang myself,
That I may vanish o’er the earth in air,
And leave no memory that e’er I was? 265
No, I will live; nor loathe I this my life:
And, since you leave me in the ocean thus
To sink or swim, and put me to my shifts,
I’ll rouse my senses and awake myself. 269
Daughter, I have it! Thou perceiv’st the plight
Wherein these Christians have oppressed me.
Be rul’d by me, for in extremity
We ought to make bar of no policy.
_Abig._ Father, whate’er it be to injure them
That have so manifestly wronged us, 275
What will not Abigail attempt?
_Bar._ Why, so;
Then thus, thou told’st me they have turn’d my house
Into a nunnery, and some nuns are there?
_Abig._ I did.
_Bar._ Then, Abigail, there must my girl
Entreat the abbess to be entertain’d. 280
_Abig._ How, as a nun?
_Bar._ Ay, daughter, for religion
Hides many mischiefs from suspicion.
_Abig._ Ay, but, father, they will suspect me there.
_Bar._ Let ’em suspect; but be thou so precise
As they may think it done of holiness. 285
Entreat ’em fair, and give them friendly speech,
And seem to them as if thy sins were great,
Till thou has gotten to be entertain’d.
_Abig._ Thus, father, shall I much dissemble.
_Bar._ Tush!
As good dissemble that thou never mean’st, 290
As first mean truth and then dissemble it.
A counterfeit profession is better
Than unseen hypocrisy.
_Abig._ Well, father, say [that] I be entertain’d.
What then shall follow?
_Bar._ This shall follow then:
There have I hid, close underneath the plank 296
That runs along the upper-chamber floor,
The gold and jewels which I kept for thee.
But here they come; be cunning, Abigail.
_Abig._ Then, father, go with me.
_Bar._ No, Abigail, in this
It is not necessary I be seen; 301
For I will seem offended with thee for ’t.
Be close,[496] my girl, for this must fetch my gold.
[_They retire._]
_Enter_ Friars [JACOMO _and_ BARNARDINE, Abbess,] _and a_ Nun.
_F. Jac._ Sisters, 304
We now are almost at the new-made nunnery.
_Abb._ The better; for we love not to be seen.
’T is thirty winters long since some of us
Did stray so far amongst the multitude.
_F. Jac._ But, madam, this house
And waters[497] of this new-made nunnery 310
Will much delight you.
_Abb._ It may be so; but who comes here?
[ABIGAIL _comes forward._]
_Abig._ Grave abbess, and you, happy virgins’ guide,
Pity the state of a distressed maid.
_Abb._ What art thou, daughter? 315
_Abig._ The hopeless daughter of a hapless Jew,
The Jew of Malta, wretched Barabas;
Sometimes the owner of a goodly house,
Which they have now turn’d to a nunnery.
_Abb._ Well, daughter, say, what is thy suit with us? 320
_Abig._ Fearing the afflictions which my father feels
Proceed from sin, or want of faith in us,
I ’d pass away my life in penitence,
And be a novice in your nunnery,
To make atonement for my labouring soul. 325
_F. Jac._ No doubt, brother, but this proceedeth of the spirit.
_F. Barn._ Ay, and a moving spirit too, brother; but come,
Let us entreat she may be entertain’d.
_Abb._ Well, daughter, we admit you for a nun. 329
_Abig._ First let me as a novice learn to frame
My solitary life to your strait laws,
And let me lodge where I was wont to lie.
I do not doubt, by your divine precepts
And mine own industry, but to profit much.
_Bar._ As much, I hope, as all I hid is worth.
_Aside._
_Abb._ Come, daughter, follow us. 336
_Bar._ [_coming forward._] Why, how now, Abigail, what makest thou
Amongst these hateful Christians?
_F. Jac._ Hinder her not, thou man of little faith, 339
For she has mortified herself.
_Bar._ How! mortified?
_F. Jac._ And is admitted to the sisterhood.
_Bar._ Child of perdition, and thy father’s shame!
What wilt thou do among these hateful fiends?
I charge thee on my blessing that thou leave
These devils, and their damned heresy. 345
_Abig._ Father, give me— [_She goes to him._]
_Bar._ (_Whispers to her._) Nay, back, Abigail,—
And think upon the jewels and the gold;
The board is marked thus that covers it.—
Away, accursed, from thy father’s sight.
_F. Jac._ Barabas, although thou art in misbelief, 350
And wilt not see thine own afflictions,
Yet let thy daughter be no longer blind.
_Bar._ Blind friar, I reck not thy persuasions,—
(The board is marked thus + that covers it.)
[_Aside to_ ABIGAIL _in a whisper_.]
For I had rather die than see her thus. 355
Wilt thou forsake me too in my distress,
Seduced daughter? (Go, forget not!) _Aside._
Becomes it Jews to be so credulous?—
(To-morrow early I’ll be at the door.) _Aside._
No, come not at me; if thou wilt be damn’d,
Forget me, see me not, and so be gone.— 361
(Farewell, remember to-morrow morning.)— _Aside._
Out, out, thou wretch!
[_Exeunt, on one side_ BARABAS, _on the other side_ Friars, Abbess,
NUN, _and_ ABIGAIL; _as they are going out_,]
_Enter_ MATHIAS.
_Math._ Who’s this? Fair Abigail, the rich Jew’s daughter,
Become a nun! Her father’s sudden fall 365
Has humbled her and brought her down to this.
Tut, she were fitter for a tale of love,
Than to be tired out with orisons;
And better would she far become a bed,
Embraced in a friendly lover’s arms, 370
Than rise at midnight to a solemn mass.
_Enter_ LODOWICK.
_Lod._ Why, how now, Don Mathias! in a dump?
_Math._ Believe me, noble Lodowick, I have seen
The strangest sight, in my opinion,
That ever I beheld.
_Lod._ What was ’t I pritbee? 375
_Math._ A fair young maid, scarce fourteen years of age,
The sweetest flower in Cytherea’s field,
Cropt from the pleasures of the fruitful earth,
And strangely metamorphos’d [to a] nun.
_Lod._ But say, what was she?
_Math._ Why, the rich Jew’s daughter.
_Lod._ What, Barabas, whose goods were lately seiz’d? 381
Is she so fair?
_Math._ And matchless beautiful,
As, had you seen her, ’t would have mov’d your heart,
Though countermin’d with walls of brass, to love,
Or at the least to pity. 385
_Lod._ And if she be so fair as you report,
’T were time well spent to go and visit her.
How say you, shall we?
_Math._ I must and will, sir; there ’s no remedy.
_Lod._ And so will I too, or it shall go hard.
Farewell, Mathias.
_Math._ Farewell, Lodowick. 391
_Exeunt_ [_severally_.]
ACT II
[SCENE I.][498]
_Enter_ BARABAS _with a light_.
_Bar._ Thus, like the sad presaging raven, that tolls
The sick man’s passport in her hollow beak,
And in the shadow of the silent night
Doth shake contagion from her sable wings,
Vex’d and tormented runs poor Barabas 5
With fatal curses towards these Christians.
The incertain pleasures of swift-footed Time
Have ta’en their flight, and left me in despair;
And of my former riches rests no more
But bare remembrance, like a soldier’s scar, 10
That has no further comfort for his maim.
O thou, that with a fiery pillar led’st
The sons of Israel through the dismal shades,
Light Abraham’s offspring, and direct the hand
Of Abigail this night; or let the day 15
Turn to eternal darkness after this!
No sleep can fasten on my watchful eyes,
Nor quiet enter my distemper’d thoughts,
Till I have answer of my Abigail.
_Enter_ ABIGAIL, _above_.
_Abig._ Now have I happily espi’d a time 20
To search the plank my father did appoint;
And here behold, unseen, where I have found
The gold, the pearls, and jewels, which he hid.
_Bar._ Now I remember those old women’s words, 24
Who in my wealth[499] would tell me winter’s tales,
And speak of spirits and ghosts that glide by night
About the place where treasure hath been hid:
And now methinks that I am one of those;
For whilst I live, here lives my soul’s sole hope,
And, when I die, here shall my spirit walk. 30
_Abig._ Now that my father’s fortune were so good
As but to be about this happy place!
’T is not so happy: yet when we parted last,
He said he would attend me in the morn.
Then, gentle sleep, where’er his body rests, 35
Give charge to Morpheus that he may dream
A golden dream, and of the sudden walk,[500]
Come and receive the treasure I have found.
_Bar. Bueno para todos mi ganado no era._[501]
As good go on as sit so sadly thus. 40
But stay, what star shines yonder in the east?
The loadstar of my life, if Abigail.
Who’s there?
_Abig._ Who’s that?
_Bar._ Peace, Abigail, ’t is I.
_Abig._ Then, father, here receive thy happiness.
_Bar._ Hast thou ’t? _She throws down bags._
_Abig._ Here, hast thou ’t? There’s more, and
more, and more. 45
_Bar._ O my girl,
My gold, my fortune, my felicity!
Strength to my soul, death to mine enemy!
Welcome the first beginner of my bliss! 50
O Abigail, Abigail, that I had thee here too!
Then my desires were fully satisfied:
But I will practise thy enlargement thence.
O girl! O gold! O beauty! O my bliss!
_Hugs his bags._
_Abig._ Father, it draweth towards midnight now, 55
And ’bout this time the nuns begin to wake;
To shun suspicion, therefore, let us part.
_Bar._ Farewell, my joy, and by my fingers take
A kiss from him that sends it from his soul.
[_Exit_ ABIGAIL, _above_.]
Now Phœbus ope the eyelids of the day, 60
And for the raven wake the morning lark,
That I may hover with her in the air;
Singing o’er these, as she does o’er her young,
_Hermoso placer de los dineros._[502] _Exit._
[SCENE II.][503]
_Enter_ Governor [FERNEZE], DEL BOSCO, _and_ Knights.
_Fern._ Now, captain, tell us whither thou art bound?
Whence is thy ship that anchors in our road?
And why thou cam’st ashore without our leave?
_Bosc._ Governor of Malta, hither am I bound;
My Ship, _The Flying Dragon_, is of Spain, 5
And so am I: del Bosco is my name;
Vice-admiral unto the Catholic King.
_1 Knight._ ’T is true, my lord, therefore entreat him well.
_Bosc._ Our fraught[504] is Grecians, Turks, and Afric Moors.
For late upon the coast of Corsica, 10
Because we vail’d[505] not to the [Turkish][506] fleet,
Their creeping galleys had us in the chase:
But suddenly the wind began to rise,
And then we luff’d and tack’d[507] and fought at ease:
Some have we fir’d, and many have we sunk; 15
But one amongst the rest became our prize.
The captain’s slain, the rest remain our slaves,
Of whom we would make sale in Malta here.
_Fern._ Martin del Bosco, I have heard of thee:
Welcome to Malta, and to all of us; 20
But to admit a sale of these thy Turks
We may not, nay, we dare not give consent
By reason of a tributary league.
_1 Knight._ Del Bosco, as thou lov’st and honour’st us,
Persuade our governor against the Turk; 25
This truce we have is but in hope of gold,
And with that sum he craves might we wage war.
_Bosc._ Will Knights of Malta be in league with Turks,
And buy it basely too for sums of gold?
My lord, remember that, to Europe’s shame, 30
The Christian Isle of Rhodes, from whence you came,
Was lately lost, and you were stated[508] here
To be at deadly enmity with Turks.
_Fern._ Captain, we know it, but our force is small.
_Bosc._ What is the sum that Calymath requires? 35
_Fern._ A hundred thousand crowns.
_Bosc._ My lord and king hath title to this isle,
And he means quickly to expel you hence;
Therefore be rul’d by me, and keep the gold.
I’ll write unto his majesty for aid, 40
And not depart until I see you free.
_Fern._ On this condition shall thy Turks be sold.
Go, officers, and set them straight in show.
[_Exeunt_ Officers.]
Bosco, thou shalt be Malta’s general;
We and our warlike Knights will follow thee 45
Against these barbarous misbelieving Turks.
_Bosc._ So shall you imitate those you succeed:
For when their hideous force environ’d Rhodes,
Small though the number was that kept the town,
They fought it out, and not a man surviv’d 50
To bring the hapless news to Christendom.
_Fern._ So will we fight it out. Come, let’s away!
Proud daring Calymath, instead of gold,
We ’ll send thee bullets wrapt in smoke and fire.
Claim tribute where thou wilt, we are resolv’d,
Honour is bought with blood and not with gold. 56
_Exeunt._
[SCENE III.][509]
_Enter_ Officers _with_ [ITHAMORE _and other_] Slaves.
_1 Off._ This is the market-place, here let ’em stand:
Fear not their sale, for they ’ll be quickly bought.
_2 Off._ Every one’s price is written on his back,
And so much must they yield or not be sold.
_1 Off._ Here comes the Jew; had not his goods been seiz’d, 5
He ’d give us present money for them all.
_Enter_ BARABAS.
_Bar._ In spite of these swine-eating Christians,—
Unchosen nation, never circumcis’d,
Such as (poor villains!) were ne’er thought upon,
Till Titus and Vespasian conquer’d us,— 10
Am I become as wealthy as I was.
They hop’d my daughter would ha’ been a nun;
But she ’s at home, and I have bought a house
As great and fair as is the governor’s;
And there in spite of Malta will I dwell, 15
Having Ferneze’s hand, whose heart I ’ll have;
Ay, and his son’s too, or it shall go hard.
I am not of the tribe of Levi, I,
That can so soon forget an injury. 19
We Jews can fawn like spaniels when we please;
And when we grin we bite, yet are our looks
As innocent and harmless as a lamb’s.
I learn’d in Florence how to kiss my hand,
Heave up my shoulders when they call me dog,
And duck as low as any barefoot friar; 25
Hoping to see them starve upon a stall,
Or else be gather’d for in our synagogue,
That, when the offering-basin comes to me,
Even for charity I may spit into ’t.
Here comes Don Lodowick, the governor’s son,
One that I love for his good father’s sake. 31
_Enter_ LODOWICK.
_Lod._ I hear the wealthy Jew walked this way.
I’ll seek him out, and so insinuate,
That I may have a sight of Abigail;
For Don Mathias tells me she is fair. 35
_Bar._ [_Aside._] Now will I show myself
To have more of the serpent than the dove;
This is—more knave than fool.
_Lod._ Yond’ walks the Jew; now for fair Abigail.
_Bar._ [_Aside._] Ay, ay, no doubt but she’s at your command. 40
_Lod._ Barabas, thou know’st I am the governor’s son.
_Bar._ I would you were his father, too, sir:
That ’s all the harm I wish you. [_Aside._] The slave looks
Like a hog’s-cheek new singed.
_Lod._ Whither walk’st thou, Barabas? 45
_Bar._ No further: ’t is a custom held with us,
That when we speak with Gentiles like to you,
We turn into the air to purge ourselves:
For unto us the promise doth belong.
_Lod._ Well, Barabas, canst help me to a diamond? 50
_Bar._ O, sir, your father had my diamonds.
Yet I have one left that will serve your turn:—
I mean my daughter: but ere he shall have her
I ’ll sacrifice her on a pile of wood.
I ha’ the poison of the city for him, 55
And the white leprosy. _Aside._
_Lod._ What sparkle does it give without a foil?[510]
_Bar._ The diamond that I talk of ne’er was foil’d:—[511]
[_Aside._] But when he touches it, it will be foil’d:—
Lord Lodowick, it sparkles bright and fair. 60
_Lod._ Is it square or pointed, pray let me know.
_Bar._ Pointed it is, good sir—but not for you. _Aside._
_Lod._ I like it much the better.
_Bar._ So do I too.
_Lod._ How shows it by night?
_Bar._ Outshines Cynthia’s rays:
—You ’ll like it better far o’ nights than days.
_Aside._ 65
_Lod._ And what ’s the price?
_Bar._ [_Aside._] Your life an if you have it.—O my lord,
We will not jar about the price; come to my house
And I will give ’t your honour—with a vengeance. _Aside._
_Lod._ No, Barabas, I will deserve it first. 70
_Bar._ Good sir,
Your father has deserv’d it at my hands,
Who, of mere charity and Christian ruth,
To bring me to religious purity,
And as it were in catechising sort, 75
To make me mindful of my mortal sins,
Against my will, and whether I would or no,
Seiz’d all I had, and thrust me out o’ doors,
And made my house a place for nuns most chaste.
_Lod._ No doubt your soul shall reap the fruit of it. 80
_Bar._ Ay, but, my lord, the harvest is far off.
And yet I know the prayers of those nuns
And holy friars, having money for their pains,
Are wondrous;—and indeed do no man good—_Aside._
And seeing they are not idle, but still doing, 85
’Tis likely they in time may reap some fruit,
I mean in fulness of perfection.
_Lod._ Good Barabas, glance[512] not at our holy nuns.
_Bar._ No, but I do it through a burning zeal,—
Hoping ere long to set the house afire; 90
For though they do a while increase and multiply
I ’ll have a saying to that nunnery.—_Aside._
As for the diamond, sir, I told you of,
Come home and there ’s no price shall make us part,
Even for your honourable father’s sake.— 95
It shall go hard but I will see your death.—_Aside._
But now I must be gone to by a slave.
_Lod._ And, Barabas, I ’ll bear thee company.
_Bar._ Come then—here ’s the market-place.
What ’s the price of this slave? Two hundred crowns! 100
Do the Turks weigh so much?
_1 Off._ Sir, that ’s his price.
_Bar._ What, can he steal that you demand so much?
Belike he has some new trick for a purse;
And if he has, he is worth three hundred plates,[513]
So that, being bought, the town-seal might be got 105
To keep him for his lifetime from the gallows.
The sessions day is critical to thieves,
And few or none ’scape but by being purg’d.
_Lod._ Rat’st thou this Moor but at two hundred plates?
_1 Off._ No more, my lord. 110
_Bar._ Why should this Turk be dearer than that Moor?
_1 Off._ Because he is young and has more qualities.
_Bar._ What, hast thou the philosopher’s stone? An thou hast, break
my head with it, I ’ll forgive thee. 115
_Slave._ No, sir; I can cut and shave.
_Bar._ Let me see, sirrah, are you not an old shaver?
_Slave._ Alas, sir! I am a very youth.
_Bar._ A youth? I ’ll buy you, and marry (120) you to Lady Vanity, if
you do well.
_Slave._ I will serve you, sir.
_Bar._ Some wicked trick or other. It may be, under colour of
shaving, thou ’lt cut my throat for my goods. Tell me, hast thou thy
health well? 126
_Slave._ Ay, passing well.
_Bar._ So much the worse; I must have one that ’s sickly, an ’t
be but for sparing victuals: ’t is not a stone of beef a day will
maintain (130) you in these chops; let me see one that ’s somewhat
leaner.
_1 Off._ Here ’s a leaner, how like you him?
_Bar._ Where wast thou born?
_Itha._ In Thrace; brought up in Arabia. 135
_Bar._ So much the better, thou art for my turn.
An hundred crowns? I ’ll have him; there ’s the coin. [_Gives money._]
_1 Off._ Then mark him, sir, and take him hence.
_Bar._ Ay, mark him, you were best, for this is he
That by my help shall do much villainy. [_Aside._] 140
My lord, farewell. Come, sirrah, you are mine.
As for the diamond, it shall be yours;
I pray, sir, be no stranger at my house,
All that I have shall be at your command.
_Enter_ MATHIAS _and his_ Mother [KATHERINE]
_Math._ What makes the Jew and Lodowick so private? 145
I fear me ’t is about fair Abigail. [_Aside._]
_Bar._ Yonder comes Don Mathias, let us stay;[514] [_Exit_ LODOWICK.]
He loves my daughter, and she holds him dear:
But I have sworn to frustrate both their hopes,
And be reveng’d upon the governor. 150
_Kath._ This Moor is comeliest, is he not? Speak, son.
_Math._ No, this is the better, mother; view this well.
_Bar._ Seem not to know me here before your mother,
Lest she mistrust the match that is in hand.
When you have brought her home, come to my house; 155
Think of me as thy father; son, farewell.
_Math._ But wherefore talk’d Don Lodowick with you?
_Bar._ Tush! man, we talk’d of diamonds, not of Abigail.
_Kath._ Tell me, Mathias, is not that the Jew?
_Bar._ As for the comment on the Maccabees,
I have it, sir, and ’t is at your command. 161
_Math._ Yes, madam, and my talk with him was
About the borrowing of a book or two.
_Kath._ Converse not with him, he ’s cast off from heaven.
Thou hast thy crowns, fellow; come, let ’s away. 165
_Math._ Sirrah, Jew, remember the book.
_Bar._ Marry will I, sir. _Exeunt_ [MATHIAS _and his_ Mother].
_Off._ Come, I have made
A reasonable market; let ’s away. [_Exeunt_ Officers _with_ Slaves.]
_Bar._ Now let me know thy name, and therewithal
Thy birth, condition, and profession. 170
_Itha._ Faith, sir, my birth is but mean; my name ’s
Ithamore; my profession what you please.
_Bar._ Hast thou no trade? Then listen to my words,
And I will teach [thee] that shall stick by thee:
First be thou void of these affections, 175
Compassion, love, vain hope, and heartless fear;
Be mov’d at nothing, see thou pity none,
But to thyself smile when the Christians moan.
_Itha._ O, brave! Master, I worship your nose[515] for this.
_Bar._ As for myself, I walk abroad o’ nights
And kill sick people groaning under walls; 181
Sometimes I go about and poison wells;
And now and then, to cherish Christian thieves,
I am content to lose some of my crowns,
That I may, walking in my gallery, 185
See ’em go pinion’d along by my door.
Being young, I studied physic, and began
To practise first upon the Italian;
There I enrich’d the priests with burials,
And always kept the sextons’ arms in ure[516] 190
With digging graves and ringing dead men’s knells:
And after that was I an engineer,
And in the wars ’twixt France and Germany,
Under pretence of helping Charles the Fifth,
Slew friend and enemy with my stratagems. 195
Then after that was I an usurer,
And with extorting, cozening, forfeiting,
And tricks belonging unto brokery,
I fill’d the jails with bankrupts in a year,
And with young orphans planted hospitals, 200
And every moon made some or other mad,
And now and then one hang himself for grief,
Pinning upon his breast a long great scroll
How I with interest tormented him.
But mark how I am blest for plaguing them;
I have as much coin as will buy the town. 206
But tell me now, how hast thou spent thy time?
_Itha._ ’Faith, master,
In setting Christian villages on fire,
Chaining of eunuchs, binding galley-slaves, 210
One time I was an ostler in an inn,
And in the night-time secretly would I steal
To travellers’ chambers, and there cut their throats.
Once at Jerusalem, where the pilgrims kneel’d,
I strowed powder on the marble stones, 215
And therewithal their knees would rankle so,
That I have laugh’d a-good[517] to see the cripples
Go limping home to Christendom on stilts.
_Bar._ Why this is something. Make account of me
As of thy fellow, we are villains both; 220
Both circumcised, we hate Christians both.
Be true and secret, thou shalt want no gold.
But stand aside, here comes Don Lodowick.
_Enter_ LODOWICK.
_Lod._ O Barabas, well met;
Where is the diamond you told me of? 225
_Bar._ I have it for you, sir; please you walk in with me.
What ho, Abigail! open the door, I say.
_Enter_ ABIGAIL [_with letters_].
_Abig._ In good time, father; here are letters come
From Ormus, and the post stays here within.
_Bar._ Give me the letters.—Daughter, do you hear, 230
Entertain Lodowick the governor’s son
With all the courtesy you can afford;
Provided that you keep your maidenhead.
Use him as if he were a Philistine,
Dissemble, swear, protest, vow love to him, 235
He is not of the seed of Abraham.—_Aside._
I am a little busy, sir, pray pardon me.
Abigail, bid him welcome for my sake.
_Abig._ For your sake and his own he’s welcome hither.
_Bar._ Daughter, a word more; kiss him; speak him fair, 240
And like a cunning Jew so cast about,
That ye be both made sure[518] ere you come out.
[_Aside._]
_Abig._ O father! Don Mathias is my love.
_Bar._ I know it: yet I say, make love to him;
Do, it is requisite it should be so—[_Aside._]
Nay, on my life, it is my factor’s hand— 246
But go you in, I ’ll think upon the account.
[_Exeunt_ ABIGAIL _and_ LODOWICK _into the house_.]
The account is made, for Lodowick—dies.
My factor sends me word a merchant ’s fled
That owes me for a hundred tun of wine. 250
I weigh it thus much [_snapping his fingers_]; I have wealth enough.
For now by this has he kiss’d Abigail;
And she vows love to him, and he to her.
As sure as Heaven rain’d manna for the Jews,
So sure shall he and Don Mathias die: 255
His father was my chiefest enemy.
_Enter_ MATHIAS.
Whither goes Don Mathias? Stay awhile.
_Math._ Whither, but to my fair love Abigail?
_Bar._ Thou know’st, and Heaven can witness it is true,
That I intend my daughter shall be thine. 260
_Math._ Ay, Barabas, or else thou wrong’st me much.
_Bar._ O, Heaven forbid I should have such a thought.
Pardon me though I weep: the governor’s son
Will, whether I will or no, have Abigail:
He sends her letters, bracelets, jewels, rings.
_Math._ Does she receive them? 266
_Bar._ She? No, Mathias, no, but sends them back.
And when he comes, she locks herself up fast;
Yet through the keyhole will he talk to her,
While she runs to the window looking out, 270
When you should come and hale him from the door.
_Math._ O treacherous Lodowick!
_Bar._ Even now as I came home, he slipt me in,
And I am sure he is with Abigail.
_Math._ I ’ll rouse him thence. 275
_Bar._ Not for all Malta, therefore sheathe your sword.
If you love me, no quarrels in my house;
But steal you in, and seem to see him not;
I ’ll give him such a warning ere he goes
As he shall have small hopes of Abigail. 280
Away, for here they come.
_Re-enter_ LODOWICK _and_ ABIGAIL.
_Math._ What, hand in hand! I cannot suffer this.
_Bar._ Mathias, as thou lov’st me, not a word.
_Math._ Well, let it pass, another time shall serve.
_Exit_ [_into the house_.]
_Lod._ Barabas, is not that the widow’s son?
_Bar._ Ay, and take heed, for he hath sworn your death. 286
_Lod._ My death? What, is the base-born peasant mad?
_Bar._ No, no, but happily he stands in fear
Of that which you, I think, ne’er dream upon,
My daughter here, a paltry silly girl. 290
_Lod._ Why, loves she Don Mathias?
_Bar._ Doth she not with her smiling answer you?
_Abig._ [_Aside._] He has my heart; I smile against my will.
_Lod._ Barabas, thou know’st I’ve lov’d thy daughter long.
_Bar._ And so has she done you, even from a child. 285
_Lod._ And now I can no longer hold my mind.
_Bar._ Nor I the affection that I bear to you.
_Lod._ This is thy diamond, tell me shall I have it?
_Bar._ Win it, and wear it, it is yet unfoil’d.[519]
O! but I know your lordship would disdain 300
To marry with the daughter of a Jew;
And yet I ’ll give her many a golden cross[520]
With Christian posies round about the ring.
_Lod._ ’T is not thy wealth, but her that I esteem.
Yet crave I thy consent. 305
_Bar._ And mine you have, yet let me talk to her.—
This offspring of Cain, this Jebusite,
That never tasted of the Passover,
Nor e’er shall see the land of Canaan,
Nor our Messias that is yet to come; 310
This gentle maggot, Lodowick, I mean,
Must be deluded. Let him have thy hand,
But keep thy heart till Don Mathias comes.
_Aside._
_Abig._ What, shall I be betroth’d to Lodowick?
_Bar._ It ’s no sin to deceive a Christian; 315
For they themselves hold it a principle,
Faith is not to be held with heretics;
But all are heretics that are not Jews;
This follows well, and therefore, daughter, fear not.—[_Aside._]
I have entreated her, and she will grant. 320
_Lod._ Then, gentle Abigail, plight thy faith to me.
_Abig._ I cannot choose, seeing my father bids.
Nothing but death shall part my love and me.
_Lod._ Now have I that for which my soul hath long’d. 324
_Bar._ So have not I, but yet I hope I shall. _Aside._
_Abig._ [_Aside._] O wretched Abigail, what hast thou done?
_Lod._ Why on the sudden is your colour chang’d?
_Abig._ I know not, but farewell, I must be gone.
_Bar._ Stay her, but let her not speak one word more.
_Lod._ Mute o’ the sudden! Here ’s a sudden change. 330
_Bar._ O, muse not at it, ’t is the Hebrews’ guise,
That maidens new betroth’d should weep awhile.
Trouble her not; sweet Lodowick, depart:
She is thy wife, and thou shalt be mine heir.
_Lod._ O, is ’t the custom? Then I am resolv’d:[521] 335
But rather let the brightsome heavens be dim,
And nature’s beauty choke with stifling clouds,
Than my fair Abigail should frown on me.—
There comes the villain, now I ’ll be reveng’d.
_Re-enter_ MATHIAS.
_Bar._ Be quiet, Lodowick, it is enough 340
That I have made thee sure[522] to Abigail.
_Lod._ Well, let him go. _Exit._
_Bar._ Well, but for me, as you went in at doors
You had been stabb’d, but not a word on ’t now;
Here must no speeches pass, nor swords be drawn. 345
_Math._ Suffer me, Barabas, but to follow him.
_Bar._ No; so shall I, if any hurt be done,
Be made an accessory of your deeds.
Revenge it on him when you meet him next.
_Math._ For this I ’ll have his heart. 350
_Bar._ Do so; lo, here I give thee Abigail.
_Math._ What greater gift can poor Mathias have?
Shall Lodowick rob me of so fair a love?
My life is not so dear as Abigail.
_Bar._ My heart misgives me, that, to cross your love, 355
He ’s with your mother; therefore after him.
_Math._ What, is he gone unto my mother?
_Bar._ Nay, if you will, stay till she comes herself.
_Math._ I cannot stay; for if my mother come,
She ’ll die with grief. 360
_Exit._
_Abig._ I cannot take my leave of him for tears.
Father, why have you thus incens’d them both?
_Bar._ What’s that to thee?
_Abig._ I’ll make ’em friends again.
_Bar._ You’ll make ’em friends! Are there not Jews enow 364
In Malta, but thou must dote upon a Christian?
_Abig._ I will have Don Mathias; he is my love.
_Bar._ Yes, you shall have him.—Go, put her in.
_Itha._ Ay, I’ll put her in. [_Puts_ ABIGAIL _in_.]
_Bar._ Now tell me, Ithamore, how lik’st thou this?
_Itha._ Faith, master, I think by this 370
You purchase both their lives; is it not so?
_Bar._ True; and it shall be cunningly perform’d.
_Itha._ O master, that I might have a hand in this.
_Bar._ Ay, so thou shalt, ’t is thou must do the deed.
Take this, and bear it to Mathias straight, [_Gives a letter._] 375
And tell him that it comes from Lodowick.
_Itha._ ’T is poison’d, is it not?
_Bar._ No, no, and yet it might be done that way.
It is a challenge feign’d from Lodowick. 379
_Itha._ Fear not; I will so set his heart afire,
That he shall verily think it comes from him.
_Bar._ I cannot choose but like thy readiness:
Yet be not rash, but do it cunningly.
_Itha._ As I behave myself in this, employ me hereafter.
_Bar._ Away then. _Exit_ ITHAMORE.
So, now will I go in to Lodowick, 386
And, like a cunning spirit, feign some lie,
Till I have set ’em both at enmity. _Exit._
ACT III
[SCENE I.][523]
_Enter_ [BELLAMIRA,] _a Courtesan_.
_Bell._ Since this town was besieg’d, my gain grows cold.
The time has been that, but for one bare night,
A hundred ducats have been freely given:
But now against my will I must be chaste;
And yet I know my beauty doth not fail. 5
From Venice merchants, and from Padua
Were wont to come rare-witted gentlemen,
Scholars I mean, learned and liberal;
And now, save Pilia-Borsa, comes there none,
And he is very seldom from my house; 10
And here he comes.
_Enter_ PILIA-BORSA.
_Pilia._ Hold thee, wench, there’s something for thee to spend.
[_Shews a bag of silver._]
_Bell._ ’T is silver. I disdain it.
_Pilia._ Ay, but the Jew has gold, 15
And I will have it, or it shall go hard.
_Court._ Tell me, how cam’st thou by this?
_Pilia._ Faith, walking the back-lanes, through the gardens, I
chanc’d to cast mine eye up to the Jew’s counting-house, where I
saw some (20) bags of money, and in the night I clamber’d up with
my hooks, and, as I was taking my choice, I heard a rumbling in the
house; so I took only this, and run my way. But here’s the Jew’s man. 25
_Enter_ ITHAMORE.
_Bell._ Hide the bag.
_Pilia._ Look not towards him, let’s away. Zoons, what a looking thou
keep’st; thou’lt betray ’s anon.
[_Exeunt_ BELLAMIRA _and_ PILIA-BORSA.]
_Itha._ O the sweetest face that ever I beheld! I know she is a
courtesan by her attire. Now (30) would I give a hundred of the Jew’s
crowns that I had such a concubine.
Well, I have deliver’d the challenge in such sort,
As meet they will, and fighting die; brave sport! _Exit._
[SCENE II.][524]
_Enter_ MATHIAS.
_Math._ This is the place; now Abigail shall see
Whether Mathias holds her dear or no.
_Enter_ LODOWICK.
_Math._ [_reading_].[525] What, dares the villain write in such base
terms?
_Lod._ I did it; and revenge it if thou dar’st. _They fight._
_Enter_ BARABAS, _above_ [_on a balcony_].
_Bar._ O! bravely fought; and yet they thrust not home. 5
Now, Lodovico! now, Mathias! So——[_Both fall._]
So now they have show’d themselves to be tall[526] fellows.
[_Cries_] _within_. Part ’em, part ’em.
_Bar._ Ay, part ’em now they are dead. Farewell, farewell. _Exit._
_Enter_ FERNEZE. KATHERINE [_and_ Attendants].
_Fern._ What sight is this!—my Lodowick slain? 10
These arms of mine shall be thy sepulchre.
_Kath._ Who is this? My son Mathias slain!
_Fern._ O Lodowick! had’st thou perish’d by the Turk,
Wretched Ferneze might have veng’d thy death.
_Kath._ Thy son slew mine, and I’ll revenge his death. 15
_Fern._ Look. Katherine, look!—thy son gave mine these wounds.
_Kath._ O leave to grieve me, I am griev’d enough.
_Fern._ O! that my sighs could turn to lively breath;
And these my tears to blood, that he might live.
_Kath._ Who made them enemies? 20
_Fern._ I know not, and that grieves me most of all.
_Kath._ My son lov’d thine.
_Fern._ And so did Lodowick him.
_Kath._ Lend me that weapon that did kill my son,
And it shall murder me.
_Fern._ Nay, madam, stay; that weapon was my son’s, 25
And on that rather should Ferneze die.
_Kath._ Hold, let’s inquire the causers of their deaths,
That we may venge their blood upon their heads.
_Fern._ Then take them up, and let them be interr’d
Within one sacred monument of stone; 30
Upon which altar I will offer up
My daily sacrifice of sighs and tears.
And with my prayers pierce impartial heavens,
Till they [reveal] the causers of our smarts,
Which forc’d their hands divide united hearts.
Come, Katherina, our losses equal are; 35
Then of true grief let us take equal share.
_Exeunt_ [_with the bodies_].
[SCENE III.][527]
_Enter_ ITHAMORE.
_Itha._ Why, was there ever seen such villany,
So neatly plotted, and so well perform’d?
Both held in hand, and flatly both beguil’d?
_Enter_ ABIGAIL.
_Abig._ Why, how now, Ithamore, why laugh’st thou so?
_Itha._ O mistress, ha! ha! ha! 5
_Abig._ Why, what ail’st thou?
_Itha._ O my master!
_Abig._ Ha!
_Itha._ O mistress! I have the bravest, gravest, secret, subtle,
bottle-nos’d knave to my master, that ever gentleman had. 11
_Abig._ Say, knave, why rail’st upon my father thus?
_Itha._ O, my master has the bravest policy.
_Abig._ Wherein?
_Itha._ Why, know you not?
_Abig._ Why, no. 16
_Itha._ Know you not of Mathias’ and Don Lodowick’s disaster?
_Abig._ No, what was it?
_Itha._ Why, the devil invented a challenge, (20) my master writ it,
and I carried it, first to Lodowick, and imprimis to Mathias.
And then they met, [and,] as the story says,
In doleful wise they ended both their days.
_Abig._ And was my father furtherer of their deaths? 25
_Itha._ Am I Ithamore?
_Abig._ Yes.
_Itha._ So sure did your father write, and I carry the challenge.
_Abig._ Well, Ithamore, let me request thee this: 30
Go to the new-made nunnery, and inquire
For any of the friars of Saint Jacques,
And say, I pray them come and speak with me.
_Itha._ I pray, mistress, will you answer me but one question? 35
_Abig._ Well, sirrah, what is’t?
_Itha._ A very feeling one: have not the nuns fine sport with the
friars now and then?
_Abig._ Go to, sirrah sauce, is this your question? Get ye gone. 40
_Itha._ I will, forsooth, mistress. _Exit._
_Abig._ Hard-hearted father, unkind Barabas!
Was this the pursuit[528] of thy policy!
To make me show them favour severally, 44
That by my favour they should both be slain?
Admit thou lov’dst not Lodowick for his sire,[529]
Yet Don Mathias ne’er offended thee:
But thou wert set upon extreme revenge,
Because the [sire][530] dispossess’d thee once,
And could’st not venge it, but upon his son, 50
Nor on his son, but by Mathias’ means;
Nor on Mathias, but by murdering me.
But I perceive there is no love on earth,
Pity in Jews, nor piety in Turks. 54
But here comes cursed Ithamore, with the friar.
_Enter_ ITHAMORE _and_ Friar [JACOMO].
_F. Jac. Virgo, salve._
_Itha._ When! duck you!
_Abig._ Welcome, grave friar; Ithamore, begone. _Exit_ ITHAMORE].
Know, holy sir, I am bold to solicit thee.
_F. Jac._ Wherein? 60
_Abig._ To get me be admitted for a nun.
_F. Jac._ Why, Abigail, it is not yet long since
That I did labour thy admission,
And then thou did’st not like that holy life.
_Abig._ Then were my thoughts so frail and unconfirm’d, 65
And I was chain’d to follies of the world:
But now experience, purchased with grief,
Has made me see the difference of things.
My sinful soul, alas, hath pac’d too long
The fatal labyrinth of misbelief, 70
Far from the Sun[531] that gives eternal life.
_F. Jac._ Who taught thee this?
_Abig._ The abbess of the house.
Whose zealous admonition I embrace:
O, therefore, Jacomo, let me be one,
Although unworthy, of that sisterhood. 75
_F. Jac._ Abigail, I will, but see thou change no more.
For that will be most heavy to thy soul.
_Abig._ That was my father’s fault.
_F. Jac._ Thy father’s! how?
_Abig._ Nay, you shall pardon me. [_Aside._] O Barabas,
Though thou deservest hardly at my hands, 80
Yet never shall these lips bewray[532] thy life.
_F. Jac._ Come, shall we go?
_Abig._ My duty waits on you.
_Exeunt._
[SCENE IV.][533]
_Enter_ BARABAS, _reading a letter_.
_Bar._ What, Abigail become a nun again!
False and unkind[534]; what, hast thou lost thy father?
And all unknown, and unconstrain’d of me,
Art thou again got to the nunnery?
Now here she writes, and wills me to repent. 5
Repentance! _Spurca!_ what pretendeth[535] this?
I fear she knows—’t is so—of my device
In Don Mathias’ and Lodovico’s deaths.
If so, ’t is time that it be seen into;
For she that varies from me in belief 10
Gives great presumption that she loves me not;
Or loving, doth dislike of something done.
But who comes here?
[_Enter_ ITHAMORE.]
O Ithamore, come near;
Come near, my love; come near, thy master’s life.
My trusty servant, nay, my second [self]:[536] 15
For I have now no hope but even in thee,
And on that hope my happiness is built.
When saw’st thou Abigail?
_Itha._ To-day.
_Bar._ With whom?
_Itha._ A friar.
_Bar._ A friar! false villain, he hath done the deed. 20
_Itha._ How, sir?
_Bar._ Why, made mine Abigail a nun.
_Itha._ That’s no lie, for she sent me for him.
_Bar._ O unhappy day!
False, credulous, inconstant Abigail!
But let ’em go: and, Ithamore, from hence 25
Ne’er shall she grieve me more with her disgrace;
Ne’er shall she live to inherit aught of mine,
Be blest of me, nor come within my gates,
But perish underneath my bitter curse,
Like Cain by Adam for his brother’s death. 30
_Itha._ O master!
_Bar._ Ithamore, entreat not for her, I am mov’d,
And she is hateful to my soul and me:
And ’less[537] thou yield to this that I entreat,
I cannot think but that thou hat’st my life. 35
_Itha._ Who, I, master? Why, I’ll run to some rock,
And throw myself headlong into the sea;
Why, I’ll do anything for your sweet sake.
_Bar._ O trusty Ithamore, no servant, but my friend,
I here adopt thee for mine only heir, 40
All that I have is thine when I am dead,
And whilst I live use half; spend as myself.
Here take my keys,—I’ll give ’em thee anon.
Go buy thee garments; but thou shalt not want:
Only know this, that thus thou art to do: 45
But first go fetch me in the pot of rice
That for our supper stands upon the fire.
_Itha._ [_Aside._] I hold my head my master’s hungry.—I go, sir.
_Exit._
_Bar._ Thus every villain ambles after wealth,
Although he ne’er be richer than in hope. 50
But, hush ’t!
_Re-enter_ ITHAMORE _with the pot_.
_Itha._ Here ’t is, master.
_Bar._ Well said, Ithamore.
What, hast thou brought the ladle with thee too?
_Itha._ Yes, sir, the proverb says he that eats with the devil had
need of a long spoon. I have brought you a ladle. 55
_Bar._ Very well, Ithamore, then now be secret;
And for thy sake, whom I so dearly love,
Now shalt thou see the death of Abigail,
That thou may’st freely live to be my heir.
_Itha._ Why, master, will you poison her (60) with a mess of rice
porridge? That will preserve life, make her round and plump, and
batten[538] more than you are aware.
_Bar._ Ay, but, Ithamore, seest thou this?
It is a precious powder that I bought 65
Of an Italian in Ancona once,
Whose operation is to bind, infect,
And poison deeply, yet not appear
In forty hours after it is ta’en.
_Itha._ How, master? 70
_Bar._ Thus, Ithamore.
This even they use in Malta here,—’t is called
Saint Jacques’ Even,—and then I say they use
To send their alms unto the nunneries.
Among the rest bear this, and set it there; 75
There’s a dark entry where they take it in,
Where they must neither see the messenger,
Nor make inquiry who hath sent it them.
_Itha._ How so?
_Bar._ Belike there is some ceremony in ’t. 80
There, Ithamore, must thou go place this pot!
Stay, let me spice it first.
_Itha._ Pray do, and let me help you, master. Pray let me taste first.
_Bar._ Prythee do [ITHAMORE _tastes_]. What say’st thou now? 85
_Itha._ Troth, master, I’m loth such a pot of pottage should be spoil’d.
_Bar._ Peace, Ithamore, ’t is better so than spar’d.
Assure thyself thou shalt have broth by the eye,[539]
My purse, my coffer, and myself is thine. 90
_Itha._ Well, master, I go.
_Bar._ Stay, first let me stir it, Ithamore.
As fatal be it to her as the draught
Of which great Alexander drunk and died:
And with her let it work like Borgia’s wine, 95
Whereof his sire, the Pope, was poisoned.
In few,[540] the blood of Hydra, Lerna’s bane,
The juice of hebon,[541] and Cocytus’ breath,
And all the poisons of the Stygian pool
Break from the fiery kingdom; and in this 100
Vomit your venom and invenom her
That like a fiend hath left her father thus.
_Itha._ [_Aside._] What a blessing has he given ’t! Was ever pot of
rice porridge so sauc’d!—What shall I do with it? 105
_Bar._ O, my sweet Ithamore, go set it down,
And come again so soon as thou hast done,
For I have other business for thee.
_Itha._ Here ’s a drench to poison a whole stable of Flanders mares.
I’ll carry ’t to the nuns (110) with a powder.
_Bar._ And the horse pestilence to boot; away!
_Itha._ I am gone.
Pay me my wages, for my work is done. _Exit._
_Bar._ I’ll pay thee with a vengeance, Ithamore. _Exit._ 115
[SCENE V.][542]
_Enter_ FERNEZE, DEL BOSCO, Knights, _and_ Basso.
_Fern._ Welcome, great basso; how fares Calymath?
What wind drives you thus into Malta-road?
_Bas._ The wind that bloweth all the world besides,—
Desire of gold.
_Fern._ Desire of gold, great sir?
That’s to be gotten in the Western Ind: 5
In Malta are no golden minerals.
_Bas._ To you of Malta thus saith Calymath:
The time you took for respite is at hand,
For the performance of your promise pass’d,
And for the tribute-money I am sent. 10
_Fern._ Basso, in brief, shalt have no tribute here,
Nor shall the heathens live upon our spoil.
First will we raze the city walls ourselves,
Lay waste the island, hew the temples down,
And, shipping off our goods to Sicily, 15
Open an entrance for the wasteful sea,
Whose billows beating the resistless banks,
Shall overflow it with their refluence.
_Bas._ Well, Governor, since thou hast broke the league
By flat denial of the promis’d tribute, 20
Talk not of razing down your city walls.
You shall not need trouble yourselves so far,
For Selim Calymath shall come himself,
And with brass bullets batter down your towers,
And turn proud Malta to a wilderness 25
For these intolerable wrongs of yours;
And so farewell.
_Fern._ Farewell. [_Exit_ Basso.]
And now, you men of Malta, look about,
And let’s provide to welcome Calymath. 30
Close your portcullis, charge your basilisks,[543]
And as you profitably take up arms,
So now courageously encounter them;
For by this answer, broken is the league,
And naught is to be look’d for now but wars, 35
And naught to us more welcome is than wars.
_Exeunt._
[SCENE VI.][544]
_Enter_ Friar [JACOMO] _and_ Friar [BARNARDINE].
_F._ [_Jac._] O, brother, brother, all the nuns are sick,
And physic will not help them; they must die.
_F._ [_Barn._] The abbess sent for me to be confess’d:
O, what a sad confession will there be!
_F. Jac._ And so did fair Maria send for me. 5
I’ll to her lodging; hereabouts she lies. _Exit._
_Enter_ ABIGAIL.
_F. Barn._ What, all dead, save only Abigail?
_Abig._ And I shall die too, for I feel death coming.
Where is the friar that convers’d with me? 9
_F. Barn._ O, he is gone to see the other nuns.
_Abig._ I sent for him, but seeing you are come,
Be you my ghostly father: and first know,
That in this house I liv’d religiously,
Chaste, and devout, much sorrowing for my sins;
But ere I came—— 15
_F. Barn._ What then?
_Abig._ I did offend high Heaven so grievously,
As I am almost desperate for my sins;
And one offence torments me more than all.
You knew Mathias and Don Lodowick? 20
_F. Barn._ Yes, what of them?
_Abig._ My father did contract me to ’em both:
First to Don Lodowick; him I never lov’d;
Mathias was the man that I held dear,
And for his sake did I become a nun. 25
_F. Barn._ So, say how was their end?
_Abig._ Both jealous of my love, envied[545] each other,
And by my father’s practice,[546] which is there
Set down at large, the gallants were both slain.
[_Gives a written paper._]
_F. Barn._ O monstrous villainy! 30
_Abig._ To work my peace, this I confess to thee;
Reveal it not, for then my father dies.
_F. Barn._ Know that confession must not be reveal’d,
The canon law forbids it, and the priest
That makes it known, being degraded first, 35
Shall be condemn’d, and then sent to the fire.
_Abig._ So I have heard; pray, therefore keep it close.[547]
Death seizeth on my heart: ah, gentle friar,
Convert my father that he may be sav’d,
And witness that I die a Christian. [_Dies._] 40
_F. Barn._ Ay, and a virgin too; that grieves me most.
But I must to the Jew and exclaim on him,
And make him stand in fear of me.
_Re-enter_ Friar [JACOMO].
_F. Jac._ O brother, all the nuns are dead, let’s bury them.
_F. Barn._ First help to bury this, then go with me 45
And help me to exclaim against the Jew.
_F. Jac._ Why, what has he done?
_F. Barn._ A thing that makes me tremble to unfold.
_F. Jac._ What, has he crucified a child?
_F. Barn._ No, but a worse thing, ’t was told me in shrift, 50
Thou know’st ’tis death an if it be reveal’d.
Come, let’s away. _Exeunt._
ACT IV
[SCENE I.][548]
_Enter_ BARABAS _and_ ITHAMORE. _Bells within._
_Bar._ There is no music to[549] a Christian’s knell:
How sweet the bells ring now the nuns are dead,
That sound at other times like tinker’s pans!
I was afraid the poison had not wrought;
Or, though it wrought, it would have done no good, 5
For every year they swell, and yet they live;
Now all are dead, not one remains alive.
_Itha._ That’s brave, master, but think you it will not be known?
_Bar._ How can it, if we two be secret? 10
_Itha._ For my part fear you not.
_Bar._ I’d cut thy throat if I did.
_Itha._ And reason too.
But here’s a royal monastery hard by;
Good master, let me poison all the monks. 15
_Bar._ Thou shalt not need, for now the nuns are dead
They’ll die with grief.
_Itha._ Do you not sorrow for your daughter’s death?
_Bar._ No, but I grieve because she liv’d so long.
An Hebrew born, and would become a Christian! 20
_Cazzo,[550] diabolo._
_Enter_ Friar JACOMO _and_ Friar BARNARDINE.
_Itha._ Look, look, master, here come two religious caterpillars.
_Bar._ I smelt ’em ere they came. 24
_Itha._ God-a-mercy, nose! Come, let’s begone.
_F. Barn._ Stay, wicked Jew, repent, I say, and stay.
_F. Jac._ Thou hast offended, therefore must be damn’d.
_Bar._ I fear they know we sent the poison’d broth.
_Itha._ And so do I, master; therefore speak ’em fair.
_F. Barn._ Barabas, thou hast—— 30
_F. Jac._ Ay, that thou hast——
_Bar._ True, I have money, what though I have?
_F. Barn._ Thou art a——
_F. Jac._ Ay, that thou art, a——
_Bar._ What needs all this? I know I am a Jew.
_F. Barn._ Thy daughter—— 36
_F. Jac._ Ay, thy daughter——
_Bar._ O speak not of her! then I die with grief.
_F. Barn._ Remember that——
_F. Jac._ Ay, remember that—— 40
_Bar._ I must needs say that I have been a great usurer.
_F. Barn._ Thou hast committed——
_Bar._ Fornification—but that was in another country; and besides,
the wench is dead.
_F. Barn._ Ay, but, Barabas, 45
Remember Mathias and Don Lodowick.
_Bar._ Why, what of them?
_F. Barn._ I will not say that by a forg’d challenge they met.
_Bar._ [_Aside._] She has confest, and we are both undone,—
My bosom inmates!——but I must dissemble.—_Aside._
O holy friars, the burden of my sins 51
Lie heavy on my soul; then pray you tell me,
Is’t not too late now to turn Christian?
I have been zealous in the Jewish faith,
Hard-hearted to the poor, a covetous wretch, 55
That would for lucre’s sake have sold my soul.
A hundred for a hundred I have ta’en;
And now for store of wealth may I compare
With all the Jews of Malta; but what is wealth?
I am a Jew, and therefore am I lost. 60
Would penance serve [to atone][551] for this my sin,
I could afford to whip myself to death——
_Itha._ And so could I; but penance will not serve.
_Bar._ To fast, to pray, and wear a shirt of hair,
And on my knees creep to Jerusalem. 65
Cellars of wine, and sollars[552] full of wheat,
Warehouses stuff’d with spices and with drugs,
Whole chests of gold, in bullion, and in coin,
Besides I know not how much weight in pearl,
Orient and round, have I within my house; 70
At Alexandria, merchandise unsold:
But yesterday two ships went from this town,
Their voyage will be worth ten thousand crowns.
In Florence, Venice, Antwerp, London, Seville,
Frankfort, Lubeck, Moscow, and where not, 75
Have I debts owing; and in most of these,
Great sums of money lying in the banco;
All this I’ll give to some religious house
So I may be baptiz’d, and live therein.
_F. Jac._ O good Barabas, come to our house.
_F. Barn._ O no, good Barabas, come to our house; 81
And, Barabas, you know——
_Bar._ I know that I have highly sinn’d.
You shall convert me, you shall have all my wealth.
_F. Jac._ O Barabas, their laws are strict. 85
_Bar._ I know they are, and I will be with you.
_F. Barn._ They wear no shirts, and they go barefoot too.
_Bar._ Then ’t is not for me; and I am resolv’d
You shall confess me, and have all my goods.
_F. Jac._ Good Barabas, come to me. 90
_Bar._ You see I answer him, and yet he stays;
Rid him away, and go you home with me.
_F. Jac._ I’ll be with you to-night.
_Bar._ Come to my house at one o’clock this night.
_F. Jac._ You hear your answer, and you may be gone. 95
_F. Barn._ Why, go, get you away.
_F. Jac._ I will not go for thee.
_F. Barn._ Not! then I’ll make thee, [rogue].[553]
_F. Jac._ How, dost call me rogue? _They fight._
_Itha._ Part ’em, master, part ’em. 100
[_Bar._] This is mere frailty, brethren; be content.
Friar Barnardine, go you with Ithamore:
You know my mind, let me alone with him.
[_Aside to_ F. BARNARDINE.]
_F. Jac._ Why does he go to thy house? Let him be gone.
_Bar._ I’ll give him something and so stop his mouth. 105
_Exit_ [ITHAMORE _with_ Friar BARNARDINE]
I never heard of any man but he
Malign’d the order of the Jacobins:
But do you think that I believe his words?
Why, brother, you converted Abigail;
And I am bound in charity to requite it, 110
And so I will. O Jacomo, fail not, but come.
_F. Jac._ But, Barabas, who shall be your godfathers?
For presently you shall be shriv’d.
_Bar._ Marry, the Turk[554] shall be one of my godfathers,
But not a word to any of your covent.[555] 115
_F. Jac._ I warrant thee, Barabas. _Exit._
_Bar._ So, now the fear is past, and I am safe,
For he that shriv’d her is within my house;
What if I murder’d him ere Jacomo comes?
Now I have such a plot for both their lives 120
As never Jew nor Christian knew the like:
One turn’d my daughter, therefore he shall die;
The other knows enough to have my life,
Therefore ’tis not requisite he should live.
But are not both these wise men to suppose 125
That I will leave my house, my goods, and all,
To fast and be well whipt? I’ll none of that.
Now, Friar Barnardine, I come to you,
I’ll feast you, lodge you, give you fair words,
And after that, I and my trusty Turk— 130
No more, but so: it must and shall be done.
[_Exit._]
[SCENE II.][556]
_Enter_ [BARABAS _and_] ITHAMORE.
_Bar._ Ithamore, tell me, is the friar asleep?
_Itha._ Yes; and I know not what the reason is.
Do what I can he will not strip himself,
Nor go to bed, but sleeps in his own clothes.
I fear me he mistrusts what we intend. 5
_Bar._ No, ’t is an order which the friars use.
Yet, if he knew our meanings, could he scape?
_Itha._ No, none can hear him, cry he ne’er so loud.
_Bar._ Why, true, therefore did I place him there.
The other chambers open towards the street. 10
_Itha._ You loiter, master; wherefore stay we thus?
O how I long to see him shake his heels.
_Bar._ Come on, sirrah.
Off with your girdle, make a handsome noose.
[ITHAMORE _takes off his girdle and ties a noose in it_.]
Friar, awake! 15
[_They put the noose round the_ Friar’s _neck_.]
_F. Barn._ What, do you mean to strangle me?
_Itha._ Yes, ’cause you use to confess.
_Bar._ Blame not us but the proverb, “Confess and be hanged.” Pull hard!
_F. Barn._ What, will you [have][557] my life? 20
_Bar._ Pull hard, I say.—You would have had my goods.
_Itha._ Ay, and our lives too, therefore pull amain.
[_They strangle him._]
’T is neatly done, sir, here ’s no print at all.
_Bar._ Then is it as it should be; take him up.
_Itha._ Nay, master, be rul’d by me a little, (25) [_Stands the body
upright against the wall and puts a staff in its hand._] So, let him
lean upon his staff. Excellent! he stands as if he were begging of
bacon.[558]
_Bar._ Who would not think but that this friar liv’d? 30
What time o’ night is’t now, sweet Ithamore?
_Itha._ Towards one.
_Bar._ Then will not Jacomo be long from hence. [_Exeunt._]
[SCENE III.][559]
_Enter_ Friar JACOMO.
_F. Jac._ This is the hour wherein I shall proceed;[560]
O happy hour wherein I shall convert
An infidel, and bring his gold into
Our treasury!
But soft, is not this Barnardine? It is; 5
And, understanding I should come this way,
Stands here a purpose, meaning me some wrong,
And intercept my going to the Jew.—
Barnardine!
Wilt thou not speak? Thou think’st I see thee not; 10
Away, I ’d wish thee, and let me go by.
No, wilt thou not? Nay, then, I’ll force my way;
And see, a staff stands ready for the purpose:
As thou lik’st that, stop me another time.
[_Takes the staff and] strikes the body, which falls down._
_Enter_ BARABAS [_and_ ITHAMORE].
_Bar._ Why, how now, Jacomo, what hast thou done? (15)
_F. Jac._ Why, stricken him that would have struck at me.
_Bar._ Who is it? Barnardine! Now out, alas, he’s slain!
_Itha._ Ay, master, he’s slain; look how his brains drop out ou ’s
nose. 19
_F. Jac._ Good sirs, I have done’t, but nobody knows it but you two;
I may escape.
_Bar._ So might my man and I hang with you for company.
_Itha._ No, let us bear him to the magistrates.
_F. Jac._ Good Barabas, let me go. 25
_Bar._ No, pardon me; the law must have its course.
I must be forc’d to give in evidence,
That being importun’d by this Barnardine
To be a Christian, I shut him out,
And there he sat. Now I, to keep my word, 30
And give my goods and substance to your house,
Was up thus early; with intent to go
Unto your friary, because you stay’d.[561]
_Itha._ Fie upon ’em, master; will you turn Christian when holy
friars turn devils and (35) murder one another?
_Bar._ No, for this example I’ll remain a Jew:
Heaven bless me! What, a friar a murderer!
When shall you see a Jew commit the like?
_Itha._ Why, a Turk could ha’ done no more. (40)
_Bar._ To-morrow is the sessions; you shall to it.
Come, Ithamore, let’s help to take him hence.
_F. Jac._ Villains, I am a sacred person; touch me not.
_Bar._ The law shall touch you, we’ll but lead you, we.
’Las, I could weep at your calamity! 45
Take in the staff too, for that must be shown:
Law wills that each particular be known.
_Exeunt._
[SCENE IV.][562]
_Enter_ COURTESAN [BELLAMIRA] _and_ PILIA-BORSA.
_Bell._ Pilia-Borsa, did’st thou meet with Ithamore?
_Pilia._ I did.
_Bell._ And did’st thou deliver my letter?
_Pilia._ I did.
_Bell._ And what think’st thou? Will he come? 5
_Pilia._ I think so, and yet I cannot tell; for at the reading of the
letter he look’d like a man of another world.
_Bell._ Why so?
_Pilia._ That such a base slave as he should (10) be saluted by such
a tall[563] man as I am, from such a beautiful dame as you.
_Bell._ And what said he?
_Pilia._ Not a wise word, only gave me a nod, as who should say, “Is
it even so?” and so I (15) left him, being driven to a non-plus at
the critical aspect of my terrible countenance.
_Bell._ And where didst meet him?
_Pilia._ Upon mine own freehold, within forty feet of the gallows,
conning his neck-verse, (20) I take it, looking of[564] a friar’s
execution, whom I saluted with an old hempen proverb, _Hodie tibi,
cras mihi_, and so I left him to the mercy of the hangman: but the
exercise[565] being done, see where he comes. 25
_Enter_ ITHAMORE.
_Itha._ I never knew a man take his death so patiently as this friar.
He was ready to leap off ere the halter was about his neck; and
when the hangman had put on his hempen tippet, he made such haste
to his prayers, as if he had (30) had another cure to serve. Well,
go whither he will, I’ll be none of his followers in haste: and,
now I think on ’t, going to the execution, a fellow met me with a
muschatoes[566] like a raven’s wing, and a dagger with a hilt like a
(35) warming-pan, and he gave me a letter from one Madam Bellamira,
saluting me in such sort as if he had meant to make clean my boots
with his lips; the effect was, that I should come to her house. I
wonder what the reason is; it (40) may be she sees more in me than I
can find in myself: for she writes further, that she loves me ever
since she saw me, and who would not requite such love? Here’s her
house, and here she comes, and now would I were gone; I am (45) not
worthy to look upon her.
_Pilia._ This is the gentleman you writ to.
_Itha._ [_Aside._] Gentleman! he flouts me; what gentry can be in a
poor Turk of tenpence? I’ll be gone. 50
_Bell._ Is’t not a sweet-fac’d youth, Pilia?
_Itha._ [_Aside._] Again, “sweet youth!”—Did not you, sir, bring the
sweet youth a letter?
_Pilia._ I did, sir, and from this gentlewoman, who, as myself, and
the rest of the family, (55) stand or fall at your service.
_Bell._ Though woman’s modesty should hale me back,
I can withhold no longer; welcome, sweet love.
_Itha._ [_Aside._] Now am I clean, or rather foully, out of the way. 60
_Bell._ Whither so soon?
_Itha._ [_Aside._] I’ll go steal some money from my master to make me
handsome.—Pray pardon me, I must go and see a ship discharg’d.
_Bell._ Canst thou be so unkind to leave me thus? 65
_Pilia._ An ye did but know how she loves you, sir.
_Itha._ Nay, I care not how much she loves me—Sweet Bellamira, would
I had my master’s wealth for thy sake!
_Pilia._ And you can have it, sir, an if you please. 70
_Itha._ If ’twere above ground, I could and would have it; but he
hides and buries it up, as partridges do their eggs, under the earth.
_Pilia._ And is’t not possible to find it out?
_Itha._ By no means possible. 75
_Bell._ [_Aside to_ PILIA-BORSA.] What shall we do with this base
villain then?
_Pilia._ [_Aside to her._] Let me alone; do but you speak him fair.
But, [sir,] you know some secrets of the Jew,
Which, if they were reveal’d, would do him harm. 79
_Itha._ Ay, and such as—Go to, no more! I’ll make him send me half
he has, and glad he scapes so too. Pen and ink! I’ll write unto him;
we’ll have money straight.
_Pilia._ Send for a hundred crowns at least.
[ITHAMORE] _writes._
_Itha._ Ten hundred thousand crowns. “Master Barabas.” 85
_Pilia._ Write not so submissively, but threat’ning him.
_Itha._ [_writing._] “Sirrah, Barabas, send me a hundred crowns.”
_Pilia._ Put in two hundred at least.
_Itha._ [_writing._] “I charge thee send me three hundred by this
bearer, and this shall be (90) your warrant: if you do not—no more,
but so.”
_Pilia._ Tell him you will confess.
_Itha._ [_writing._] “Otherwise I’ll confess all.”—Vanish, and
return in a twinkle.
_Pilia._ Let me alone; I’ll use him in his kind. 95
[_Exit_ PILIA-BORSA _with the letter_.]
_Itha._ Hang him, Jew!
_Bell._ Now, gentle Ithamore, lie in my lap.—
Where are my maids? Provide a running[567] banquet;
Send to the merchant, bid him bring me silks,
Shall Ithamore, my love, go in such rags? 100
_Itha._ And bid the jeweller come hither too.
_Bell._ I have no husband, sweet; I’ll marry thee.
_Itha._ Content: but we will leave this paltry land,
And sail from hence to Greece, to lovely Greece.
I’ll be thy Jason, thou my golden fleece; 105
Where painted carpets o’er the meads are hurl’d,
And Bacchus’ vineyards overspread the world;
Where woods and forests go in goodly green,
I’ll be Adonis, thou shalt be Love’s Queen.
The meads, the orchards, and the primrose-lanes, 110
Instead of sedge and reed, bear sugar-canes;
Thou in those groves, by Dis above,
Shalt live with me and be my love.
_Bell._ Whither will I not go with gentle Ithamore?
_Re-enter_ PILIA-BORSA.
_Itha._ How now! hast thou the gold? 115
_Pilia._ Yes.
_Itha._ But came it freely? Did the cow give down her milk freely?
_Pilia._ At reading of the letter, he star’d and stamp’d and turn’d
aside. I took him by (120) the beard, and look’d upon him thus; told
him he were best to send it; then he hugg’d and embrac’d me.
_Itha._ Rather for fear than love.
_Pilia._ Then, like a Jew, he laugh’d and (125) jeer’d, and told me
he lov’d me for your sake, and said what a faithful servant you had
been.
_Itha._ The more villain he to keep me thus. Here’s goodly ’parel, is
there not? 129
_Pilia._ To conclude, he gave me ten crowns.
[_Gives the money to_ ITHAMORE.]
_Itha._ But ten? I’ll not leave him worth a grey groat. Give me a
ream[568] of paper; we’ll have a kingdom of gold for ’t.
_Pilia._ Write for five hundred crowns. 134
_Itha._ [_writing._] “Sirrah, Jew, as you love your life send me five
hundred crowns, and give the bearer one hundred.” Tell him I must
have ’t.
_Pilia._ I warrant your worship shall have ’t.
_Itha._ And if he ask why I demand so much, tell him I scorn to write
a line under a hundred crowns. 141
_Pilia._ You’d make a rich poet, sir. I am gone. _Exit._
_Itha._ Take thou the money; spend it for my sake.
_Bell._ ’T is not thy money, but thyself I weigh;
Thus Bellamira esteems of gold. 145
[_Throws it aside._]
But thus of thee. _Kisses him._
_Itha._ That kiss again! she runs division[569] of my lips.
What an eye she casts on me! It twinkles like a star.
_Bell._ Come, my dear love, let’s in and sleep together. 149
_Itha._ O, that ten thousand nights were put in one, that we might
sleep seven years together afore we wake!
_Bell._ Come, amorous wag, first banquet, and then sleep. _Exeunt._
[SCENE V.][570]
_Enter_ BARABAS, _reading a letter_.
_Bar._ “Barabas, send me three hundred crowns.—”
Plain Barabas! O, that wicked courtesan!
He was not wont to call me Barabas.
“Or else I will confess:” ay, there it goes:
But, if I get him, coupe de gorge for that. 5
He sent a shaggy totter’d[571] staring slave,
That when he speaks draws out his grisly beard,
And winds it twice or thrice about his ear;
Whose face has been a grindstone for men’s swords;
His hands are hack’d, some fingers cut quite off; 10
Who, when he speaks, grunts like a hog, and looks
Like one that is employ’d in catzerie[572]
And crossbiting.[573]—such a rogue
As is the husband to a hundred whores:
And I by him must send three hundred crowns!
Well, my hope is, he will not stay there still; 15
And when he comes,—O, that he were but here!
_Enter_ PILIA-BORSA.
_Pilia._ Jew, I must ha’ more gold.
_Bar._ Why, want’st thou any of thy tale?[574]
_Pilia._ No; but three hundred will not serve his turn. 21
_Bar._ Not serve his turn, sir?
_Pilia._ No, sir; and, therefore, I must have five hundred more.
_Bar._ I’ll rather—— 25
_Pilia._ O good words, sir, and send it you were hest! See, there’s
his letter. [_Gives letter._]
_Bar._ Might he not as well come as send? Pray bid him come and fetch
it; what he writes for you, ye shall have straight. 30
_Pilia._ Ay, and the rest too, or else——
_Bar._ [_Aside._] I must make this villain away.—Please you dine
with me, sir;—and you shall be most heartily poison’d. _Aside._
_Pilia._ No, God-a-mercy. Shall I have these crowns? 35
_Bar._ I cannot do it. I have lost my keys.
_Pilia._ O, if that be all, I can pick ope your locks.
_Bar._ Or climb up to my counting-house window: you know my meaning.
_Pilia._ I know enough, and therefore talk not to me of your
counting-house. The gold! or (41) know, Jew, it is in my power to
hang thee.
_Bar._ [_Aside._] I am betray’d.—
’T is not five hundred crowns that I esteem,
I am not mov’d at that: this angers me, 45
That he, who knows I love him as myself,
Should write in this imperious vein. Why, sir,
You know I have no child, and unto whom
Should I leave all but unto Ithamore?
_Pilia._ Here’s many words, but no crowns. The crowns! 50
_Bar._ Commend me to him, sir, most humbly,
And unto your good mistress, as unknown.
_Pilia._ Speak, shall I have ’em, sir?
_Bar._ Sir, here they are.—[_Gives money._]
O, that I should part with so much gold!—
Here, take ’em, fellow, with as good a will——
[_Aside_], As I would see thee hang’d.—O, love stops my breath: 56
Never lov’d man servant as I do Ithamore!
_Pilia._ I know it, sir.
_Bar._ Pray, when, sir, shall I see you at my house?
_Pilia._ Soon enough, to your cost, sir. Fare you well. _Exit._ 60
_Bar._ Nay, to thine own cost, villain, if thou com’st!
Was ever Jew tormented as I am?
To have a shag-rag knave to come,—
Three hundred crowns,—and then five hundred crowns!
Well, I must seek a means to rid ’em all, 65
And presently: for in his villany
He will tell all he knows, and I shall die for’t.
I have it:
I will in some disguise go see the slave, 69
And how the villain revels with my gold. _Exit._
[SCENE VI.][575]
_Enter_ Courtezan [BELLAMIRA,] ITHAMORE, _and_ PILIA-BORSA.
_Bell._ I’ll pledge thee, love, and therefore drink it off.
_Itha._ Say’st thou me so? Have at it; and, do you hear? [_Whispers._]
_Bell._ Go to, it shall be so.
_Itha._ Of that condition I will drink it up. Here’s to thee!
_Bell._ Nay, I’ll have all or none. 5
_Itha._ There, if thou lov’st me, do not leave a drop.
_Bell._ Love thee! fill me three glasses.
_Itha._ Three and fifty dozen, I’ll pledge thee.
_Pilia._ Knavely spoke, and like a knight-at-arms.
_Itha._ Hey, _Rivo Castiliano_![576] a man’s a man!
_Bell._ Now to the Jew. 11
_Itha._ Ha! to the Jew, and send me money he were best.
_Pilia._ What would ’st thou do if he should send thee none?
_Itha._ Do nothing; but I know what I know; he’s a murderer. 15
_Bell._ I had not thought he had been so brave a man.
_Itha._ You knew Mathias and the governor’s son; he and I killed ’em
both, and yet never touch’d ’em.
_Pilia._ O, bravely done. 20
_Itha._ I carried the broth that poison’d the nuns; and he and I,
snickle hand too fast,[577] strangled a friar.
_Bell._ You two alone?
_Itha._ We two; and ’t was never known, nor never shall be for me. 25
_Pilia._ [_Aside to_ BELLAMIRA.] This shall with me unto the governor.
_Bell._ [_Aside to_ PILIA-BORSA.] And fit it should: but first let’s
ha’ more gold,—Come, gentle Ithamore, lie in my lap.
_Itha._ Love me little, love me long. Let music rumble 30
Whilst I in thy incony[578] lap do tumble.
_Enter_ BARABAs, _with a lute, disguis’d_.
_Bell._ A French musician! Come, let’s hear your skill.
_Bar._ Must tuna my lute for sound, twang, twang, first.
_Itha._ Wilt drink, Frenchman? Here’s to (35) thee with a——Pox on
this drunken hiccup!
_Bar._ Gramercy, monsieur.
_Bell._ Prythee, Pilia-Borsa, bid the fiddler give me the posy in his
hat there.
_Pilia._ Sirrah, you must give my mistress your posy. 41
_Bar. À votre commandement, madame._
_Bell._ How sweet, my Ithamore, the flowers smell!
_Itha._ Like thy breath, sweetheart; no violet like ’em. 45
_Pilia._ Foh! methinks they stink like a hollyhock.
_Bar._ [_Aside._] So, now I am reveng’d upon ’em all.
The scent thereof was death; I poison’d it.
_Itha._ Play, fiddler, or I’ll cut your cat’s guts into chitterlings. 51
_Bar. Pardonnez moi_, be no in tune yet; so now, now all be in.
_Itha._ Give him a crown, and fill me out more wine.
_Pilia._ There’s two crowns for thee; play. 55
_Bar._ (_Aside._) How liberally the villain gives me mine own gold!
[_Plays._]
_Pilia._ Methinks he fingers very well.
_Bar._ (_Aside._) So did you when you stole my gold. 60
_Pilia._ How swift he runs!
_Bar._ (_Aside._) You run swifter when you threw my gold out of my
window.
_Bell._ Musician, hast been in Malta long?
_Bar._ Two, three, four month, madame. 65
_Itha._ Dost not know a Jew, one Barabas?
_Bar._ Very mush; monsieur, you no be his man?
_Pilia._ His man?
_Itha._ I scorn the peasant; tell him so. 70
_Bar._ [_Aside._] He knows it already.
_Itha._ ’Tis a strange thing of that Jew, he lives upon pickled
grasshoppers and sauc’d mushrooms.
_Bar._ (_Aside._) What a slave’s this? The governor feeds not as I
do. 76
_Itha._ He never put on clean shirt since he was circumcis’d.
_Bar._ (_Aside._) O rascal! I change myself twice a day. 80
_Itha._ The hat he wears, Judas left under the elder when he hang’d
himself.[579]
_Bar._ (_Aside._) ’T was sent me for a present from the great Cham.
_Pilia._ A musty[580] slave he is;—Whither now, fiddler? 86
_Bar. Pardonnez moi, monsieur_, me be no well. _Exit._
_Pilia._ Farewell, fiddler! One letter more to the Jew.
_Bell._ Prythee, sweet love, one more, and write it sharp. 90
_Itha._ No, I’ll send by word of mouth now.—Bid him deliver thee a
thousand crowns, by the same token, that the nuns lov’d rice, that
Friar Barnardine slept in his own clothes; any of ’em will do it. 95
_Pilia._ Let me alone to urge it, now I know the meaning.
_Itha._ The meaning has a meaning. Come let’s in.
To undo a Jew is charity, and not sin. _Exeunt._
ACT V
[SCENE I.][581]
_Enter_ FERNEZE, Knights, DEL BOSCO, [_and_ Officers].
_Fern._ Now, gentlemen, betake you to your arms,
And see that Malta be well fortifi’d;
And it behoves you to be resolute;
For Calymath, having hover’d here so long,
Will win the town, or die before the walls. 5
_1 Knight._ And die he shall, for we will never yield.
_Enter_ COURTESAN [BELLAMIRA] _and_ PILIA-BORSA.
_Bell._ O, bring us to the governor.
_Fern._ Away with her! she is a courtesan.
_Bell._ Whate’er I am, yet, governor, hear me speak; 9
I bring thee news by whom thy son was slain:
Mathias did it not; it was the Jew.
_Pilia._ Who, besides the slaughter of these gentlemen,
Poison’d his own daughter and the nuns,
Strangled a friar and I know not what 14
Mischief beside.
_Fern._ Had we but proof of this——
_Bell._ Strong proof, my lord; his man ’s now at my lodging,
That was his agent; he’ll confess it all.
_Fern._ Go fetch him straight [_Exeunt_ Officers].
I always fear’d that Jew.
_Enter_ [Officers _with_] BARABAS _and_ ITHAMORE.
_Bar._ I’ll go alone; dogs! do not hale me thus.
_Itha._ Nor me neither, I cannot outrun you, constable:—O my belly! 21
_Bar._ [_Aside._] One dram of powder more had made all sure.
What a damn’d slave was I!
_Fern._ Make fires, heat irons, let the rack be fetch’d.
_1 Knight._ Nay, stay, my lord; ’t may be he will confess. 25
_Bar._ Confess! what mean you, lords? Who should confess?
_Fern._ Thou and thy Turk; ’t was you that slew my son.
_Itha._ Guilty, my lord, I confess. Your son and Mathias were both
contracted unto Abigail; he forg’d a counterfeit challenge. 30
_Bar._ Who carried that challenge?
_Itha._ I carried it, I confess; but who writ it? Marry, even he that
strangled Barnardine, poison’d the nuns and his own daughter.
_Fern._ Away with him! his sight is death to me. 35
_Bar._ For what, you men of Malta? Hear me speak:
She is a courtesan, and he a thief,
And he my bondman. Let me have law,
For none of this can prejudice my life.
_Fern._ Once more, away with him; you shall have law. 40
_Bar._ [_Aside._] Devils, do your worst! I’ll live in spite of you.—
As these have spoke, so be it to their souls!—
[_Aside._] I hope the poison’d flowers will work anon.
_Exeunt_ [Officers _with_ BARABAS _and_ ITHAMORE, BELLAMIRA _and_
PILIA-BORSA].
_Enter_ [KATHERINE.][582]
_Kath._ Was my Mathias murder’d by the Jew?
Ferneze, ’t was thy son that murder’d him. 45
_Fern._ Be patient, gentle madam, it was he;
He forg’d the daring challenge made them fight.
_Kath._ Where is the Jew? Where is that murderer?
_Fern._ In prison till the law has pass’d on him.
_Re-enter_ [First] Officer.
_1 Off._ My lord, the courtesan and her man are dead: 50
So is the Turk and Barabas the Jew.
_Fern._ Dead!
_1 Off._ Dead, my lord, and here they bring his body.
_Bosco._ This sudden death of his is very strange.
_Fern._ Wonder not at it, sir, the Heavens are just; 55
Their deaths were like their lives, then think not of ’em.
Since they are dead, let them be buried;
For the Jew’s body, throw that o’er the walls.
To be a prey for vultures and wild beasts.—
So now away, and fortify the town. _Exeunt._ 60
[SCENE II.]
[BARABAS _discovered rising._][583]
_Bar._ What, all alone? Well fare, sleepy drink.
I’ll be reveng’d on this accursed town:
For by my means Calymath shall enter in.
I’ll help to slay their children and their wives,
To fire the churches, pull their houses down, 5
Take my goods too, and seize upon my lands.
I hope to see the governor a slave,
And, rowing in a galley, whipt to death.
_Enter_ CALYMATH, Bassoes, _and_ Turks.
_Caly._ Whom have we there, a spy?
_Bar._ Yes, my good lord, one that can spy a place 10
Where you may enter, and surprise the town:
My name is Barabas: I am a Jew.
_Caly._ Art thou that Jew whose goods we heard were sold
For tribute-money?
_Bar._ The very same, my lord:
And since that time they have hir’d a slave, my man, 15
To accuse me of a thousand villanies:
I was imprison’d, but escap’d their hands.
_Caly._ Did’st break prison?
_Bar._ No, no;
I drank of poppy and cold mandrake juice; 20
And being asleep, belike they thought me dead,
And threw me o’er the walls: so, or how else,
The Jew is here, and rests at your command.
_Caly._ ’T was bravely done: but tell me, Barabas, 24
Canst thou, as thou report’st, make Malta ours?
_Bar._ Fear not, my lord, for here against the sluice[584]
The rock is hollow, and of purpose digg’d
To make a passage for the running streams
And common channels of the city.
Now, whilst you give assault unto the walls, 30
I’ll lead five hundred soldiers through the vault,
And rise with them i’ th’ middle of the town,
Open the gates for you to enter in;
And by this means the city is your own. 34
_Caly._ If this be true, I’ll make thee governor.
_Bar._ And if it be not true, then let me die.
_Caly._ Thou’st doom’d thyself. Assault it presently.[585] _Exeunt._
[SCENE III.][586]
_Alarums. Enter_ [CALYMATH, Bassoes,] Turks, _and_ BARABAS, _with_
FERNEZE _and_ Knights _prisoners_.
_Caly._ Now vail[587] your pride, you captive Christians,
And kneel for mercy to your conquering foe.
Now where ’s the hope you had of haughty Spain?
Ferneze, speak, had it not been much better 4
To keep[588] thy promise than be thus surpris’d?
_Fern._ What should I say? We are captives and must yield.
_Caly._ Ay, villains, you must yield, and under Turkish yokes
Shall groaning bear the burden of our ire;
And, Barabas, as erst we promis’d thee,
For thy desert we make thee governor; 10
Use them at thy discretion.
_Bar._ Thanks, my lord.
_Fern._ O fatal day, to fall into the hands
Of such a traitor and unhallowed Jew!
What greater misery could Heaven inflict?
_Caly._ ’T is our command: and, Barabas, we give 15
To guard thy person these our Janizaries:
Entreat them well, as we have used thee.
And now, brave bassoes, come, we’ll walk about
The ruin’d town, and see the wrack we made:— 19
Farewell, brave Jew—farewell, great Barabas!
_Exeunt_ [CALYMATH _and_ Bassoes].
_Bar._ May all good fortune follow Calymath!
And now, as entrance to our safety,
To prison with the governor and these
Captains, his consorts and confederates.
_Fern._ O villain! Heaven will be reveng’d on thee. 25
_Exeunt_ [Turks, _with_ FERNEZE _and_ Knights.]
_Bar._ Away! no more; let him not trouble me.[589]
Thus hast thou gotten, by thy policy,
No simple place, no small authority.
I now am governor of Malta; true,—
But Malta hates me, and, in hating me, 30
My life ’s in danger, and what boots it thee,
Poor Barabas, to be the governor,
Whenas thy life shall be at their command?
No, Barabas, this must be look’d into;
And since by wrong thou got’st authority, 35
Maintain it bravely by firm policy,
At least unprofitably lose it not:
For he that liveth in authority,
And neither gets him friends, nor fills his bags,
Lives like the ass, that Aesop speaketh of, 40
That labours with a load of bread and wine,
And leaves it off to snap on thistle-tops:
But Barabas will be more circumspect.
Begin betimes; occasion’s bald behind;
Slip not thine opportunity, for fear too late 45
Thou seek’st for much, but canst not compass it.—
Within here!
_Enter_ FERNEZE, _with a Guard_.
_Fern._ My lord?
_Bar._ Ay, “lord;” thus slaves will learn.
Now, governor;—stand by there, wait within. [_Exeunt_ Guard.]
This is the reason that I sent for thee:
Thou seest thy life and Malta’s happiness 50
Are at my arbitrement; and Barabas
At his discretion may dispose of both;
Now tell me, governor, and plainly too,
What think’st thou shall become of it and thee?
_Fern._ This, Barabas; since things are in thy power, 55
I see no reason but of Malta’s wrack,
Nor hope of thee but extreme cruelty;
Nor fear I death, nor will I flatter thee.
_Bar._ Governor, good words; be not so furious.
’T is not thy life which can avail me aught; 60
Yet you do live, and live for me you shall:
And, as for Malta’s ruin, think you not
’T were slender policy for Barabas
To dispossess himself of such a place?
For sith, as once you said, ’t is in[590] this isle, 65
In Malta here, that I have got my goods,
And in this city still have had success,
And now at length am grown your governor,
Yourselves shall see it shall not be forgot:
For, as a friend not known but in distress, 70
I ’ll rear up Malta, now remediless.
_Fern._ Will Barabas recover Malta’s loss?
Will Barabas be good to Christians?
_Bar._ What wilt thou give me, governor, to procure
A dissolution of the slavish bands 75
Wherein the Turk hath yok’d your land and you?
What will you give me if I render you
The life of Calymath, surprise his men,
And in an outhouse of the city shut
His soldiers, till I have consum’d ’em all with fire? 80
What will you give him that procureth this?
_Fern._ Do but bring this to pass which thou pretendest,
Deal truly with us as thou intimatest,
And I will send amongst the citizens,
And by my letters privately procure 85
Great sums of money for thy recompense:
Nay more, do this, and live thou governor still.
_Bar._ Nay, do thou this, Ferneze, and be free;
Governor, I enlarge thee; live with me,
Go walk about the city, see thy friends: 90
Tush, send not letters to ’em, go thyself,
And let me see what money thou canst make.
Here is my hand that I ’ll set Malta free:
And thus we cast it: to a solemn feast
I will invite young Selim Calymath, 95
Where be thou present only to perform
One stratagem that I ’ll impart to thee,
Wherein no danger shall betide thy life,
And I will warrant Malta free for ever. 99
_Fern._ Here is my hand; believe me, Barabas,
I will be there, and do as thou desirest.
When is the time?
_Bar._ Governor, presently:
For Calymath, when he hath view’d the town,
Will take his leave and sail toward Ottoman.
_Fern._ Then will I, Barabas, about his coin, 105
And bring it with me to thee in the evening.
_Bar._ Do so, but fail not; now farewell, Ferneze!—[_Exit_ FERNEZE.]
And thus far roundly goes the business:
Thus loving neither, will I live with both,
Making a profit of my policy; 110
And he from whom my most advantage comes
Shall be my friend.
This is the life we Jews are us’d to lead;
And reason too, for Christians do the like.
Well, now about effecting this device; 115
First to surprise great Selim’s soldiers,
And then to make provision for the feast,
That at one instant all things may be done.
My policy detests prevention:
To what event my secret purpose drives, 120
I know; and they shall witness with their lives. _Exit._
[SCENE IV.][591]
_Enter_ CALYMATH _and_ Bassoes.
_Caly._ Thus have we view’d the city, seen the sack
And caus’d the ruins to be new-repair’d.
Which with our bombards’[592] shot and basilisk
We rent in sunder at our entry:
And now I see the situation, 5
And how secure this conquer’d island stands
Environ’d with the Mediterranean Sea,
Strong-countermin’d with other petty isles;
And, toward Calabria, back’d by Sicily,
Where Syracusian Dionysius reign’d, 10
Two lofty turrets that command the town.
I wonder how it could be conquer’d thus.
_Enter a_ Messenger.
_Mess._ From Barabas, Malta’s governor, I bring
A message unto mighty Calymath;
Hearing his sovereign was bound for sea, 15
To sail to Turkey, to great Ottoman,
He humbly would entreat your majesty
To come and see his homely citadel,
And banquet with him ere thou leav’st the isle.
_Caly._ To banquet with him in his citadel? 20
I fear me, messenger, to feast my train
Within a town of war so lately pillag’d
Will be too costly and too troublesome:
Yet would I gladly visit Barabas,
For well has Barabas deserv’d of us. 25
_Mess._ Selim, for that, thus saith the governor,
That he hath in his store a pearl so big,
So precious, and withal so orient,
As, be it valued but indifferently,
The price thereof will serve to entertain 30
Selim and all his soldiers for a month;
Therefore he humbly would entreat your highness
Not to depart till he has feasted you.
_Caly._ I cannot feast my men in Malta-walls,
Except he place his tables in the streets. 35
_Mess._ Know, Selim, that there is a monastery
Which standeth as an outhouse to the town:
There will he banquet them; but thee at home,
With all thy bassoes and brave followers.
_Caly._ Well, tell the governor we grant his suit, 40
We’ll in this summer evening feast with him.
_Mess._ I shall, my lord. _Exit._
_Caly._ And now, bold bassoes, let us to our tents,
And meditate how we may grace us best
To solemnize our governor’s great feast. _Exeunt._ 45
[SCENE V.][593]
_Enter_ FERNEZE, Knights, _and_ DEL BOSCO.
_Fern._ In this, my countrymen, be rul’d by me,
Have special care that no man sally forth
Till you shall hear a culverin discharg’d
By him that bears the linstock, kindled thus;
Then issue out and come to rescue me, 5
For happily I shall be in distress,
Or you released of this servitude.
_1 Knight._ Rather than thus to live as Turkish thralls,
What will we not adventure?
_Fern._ On then, begone.
_Knights._ Farewell, grave governor! (10) [_Exeunt on one side_
Knights _and_ DEL BOSCO; _on the other_ FERNEZE.]
[SCENE VI.][594]
_Enter, above,_ [BARABAS,] _with a hammer, very busy;_ [_and_
Carpenters].
_Bar._ How stands the cords? How hang these hinges? Fast?
Are all the cranes and pulleys sure?
_1 Carp._ All fast.
_Bar._ Leave nothing loose, all levell’d to my mind.
Why now I see that you have art indeed.
There, carpenters, divide that gold amongst you: [_Gives money._] 5
Go swill in bowls of sack and muscadine!
Down to the cellar, taste of all my wines.
_1 Carp._ We shall, my lord, and thank you. _Exeunt_ [Carpenters].
_Bar._ And, if you like them, drink your fill and die:
For so I live, perish may all the world! 10
Now, Selim Calymath, return me word
That thou wilt come, and I am satisfied.
_Enter_ Messenger.
Now, sirrah, what, will he come?
_Mess._ He will; and has commanded all his men
To come ashore, and march through Malta streets, 15
That thou may’st feast them in thy citadel.
_Bar._ Then now are all things as my wish would have ’em,
There wanteth nothing but the governor’s pelf,
And see, he brings it.
_Enter_ FERNEZE.
Now, governor, the sum.
_Fern._ With free consent, a hundred thousand pounds. 20
_Bar._ Pounds, say’st thou, governor? Well, since it is no more,
I’ll satisfy myself with that; nay, keep it still,
For if I keep not promise, trust not me,
And, governor, now partake my policy:
First, for his army; they are sent before, 25
Enter’d the monastery, and underneath
In several places are field-pieces pitch’d,
Bombards, whole barrels full of gunpowder
That on the sudden shall dissever it,
And batter all the stones about their ears, 30
Whence none can possibly escape alive.
Now as for Calymath and his consorts
Here have I made a dainty gallery,
The floor whereof, this cable being cut,
Doth fall asunder; so that it doth sink 35
Into a deep pit past recovery.
Here, hold that knife [_throws down a knife_], and
when thou seest he comes,
And with his bassoes shall be blithely set,
A warning-piece shall be shot off from the tower,
To give thee knowledge when to cut the cord 40
And fire the house; say, will not this be brave?
_Fern._ O excellent! here, hold thee, Barabas,
I trust thy word, take what I promis’d thee.
_Bar._ No, governor, I’ll satisfy thee first,
Thou shalt not live in doubt of anything. 45
Stand close,[595] for here they come [FERNEZE _retires_].
Why, is not this
A kingly kind of trade to purchase towns
By treachery and sell ’em by deceit?
Now tell me, worldlings, underneath the sun
If greater falsehood ever has been done? 50
_Enter_ CALYMATH _and_ Bassoes.
_Caly._ Come, my companion bassoes; see, I pray,
How busy Barabas is there above
To entertain us in his gallery;
Let us salute him. Save thee, Barabas!
_Bar._ Welcome, great Calymath! 55
_Fern._ [_Aside._] How the slave jeers at him.
_Bar._ Will’t please thee, mighty Selim Calymath,
To ascend our homely stairs?
_Caly._ Ay, Barabas;—
Come bassoes, attend.[596]
_Fern._ [_coming forward._] Stay, Calymath! 60
For I will show thee greater courtesy
Than Barabas would have afforded thee.
_Knight_ [_within._] Sound a charge there!
_A charge_ [_sounded within._ FERNEZE] _cuts the cord:_ [_the floor of
the gallery gives way, and_ BARABAS _falls into_] _a caldron._
[_Enter_ DEL BOSCO _and_ Knights.]
_Caly._ How now! what means this?
_Bar._ Help, help me! Christians, help! 65
_Fern._ See, Calymath, this was devis’d for thee!
_Caly._ Treason! treason! bassoes, fly!
_Fern._ No, Selim, do not fly;
See his end first, and fly then if thou canst. 69
_Bar._ O help me, Selim! help me, Christians! Governor, why stand you
all so pitiless?
_Fern._ Should I in pity of thy plaints or thee,
Accursed Barabas, base Jew, relent?
No, thus I’ll see thy treachery repaid,
But wish thou hadst behav’d thee otherwise. 75
_Bar._ You will not help me, then?
_Fern._ No, villain, no.
_Bar._ And, villains, know you cannot help me now.—
Then, Barabas, breathe forth thy latest [hate,][597]
And in the fury of thy torments strive
To end thy life with resolution. 80
Know, governor, ’t was I that slew thy son;
I fram’d the challenge that did make them meet.
Know, Calymath, I aim’d thy overthrow,
And had I but escap’d this stratagem,
I would have brought confusion on you all, 85
Damn’d Christians, dogs, and Turkish infidels!
But now begins the extremity of heat
To pinch me with intolerable pangs.
Die, life! fly, soul! tongue, curse thy fill, and die! [_Dies._]
_Caly._ Tell me, you Christians, what doth this portend? 90
_Fern._ This train he laid to have entrapp’d thy life.
Now, Selim, note the unhallowed deeds of Jews:
Thus he determin’d to have handled thee,
But I have rather chose to save thy life.
_Caly._ Was this the banquet he prepared for us? 95
Let’s hence, lest further mischief be pretended.[598]
_Fern._ Nay, Selim, stay; for since we have thee here,
We will not let thee part so suddenly:
Besides, if we should let thee go, all’s one.
For with thy galleys could’st thou not get hence, 100
Without fresh men to rig and furnish them.
_Caly._ Tush, governor, take thou no care for that,
My men are all aboard,
And do attend my coming there by this.
_Fern._ Why heard’s thou not the trumpet sound a charge? 105
_Caly._ Yes, what of that?
_Fern._ Why then the house was fir’d,
Blown up, and all thy soldiers massacred.
_Caly._ O monstrous treason!
_Fern._ A Jew’s courtesy:
For he that did by treason work our fall,
By treason hath delivered thee to us. 110
Know, therefore, till thy father hath made good
The ruins done to Malta and to us,
Thou canst not part; for Malta shall be freed,
Or Selim ne’er return to Ottoman.
_Caly._ Nay, rather, Christians, let me go to Turkey, 115
In person there to mediate[599] your peace;
To keep me here will naught advantage you.
_Fern._ Content thee, Calymath, here thou must stay,
And live in Malta prisoner; for come all the world
To rescue thee, so will we guard us now, 120
As sooner shall they drink the ocean dry
Than conquer Malta, or endanger us.
So march away, and let due praise be given
Neither to Fate nor Fortune, but to Heaven.
[_Exeunt._]
THE TROUBLESOME REIGN AND LAMENTABLE DEATH OF EDWARD THE SECOND
BY CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE.
[DRAMATIS PERSONAE
KING EDWARD THE SECOND.
PRINCE EDWARD, his Son, afterwards King Edward the Third.
EARL OF KENT, Brother to King Edward the Second.
GAVESTON.
ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY.
BISHOP OF COVENTRY.
BISHOP OF WINCHESTER.
WARWICK.
LANCASTER.
PEMBROKE.
ARUNDEL.
LEICESTER.
BERKELEY.
MORTIMER, the elder.
MORTIMER, the younger, his Nephew.
SPENCER, the elder.
SPENCER, the younger, his Son.
BALDOCK.
BEAUMONT.
TRUSSEL.
GURNEY.
MATREVIS.
LIGHTBORN.
SIR JOHN OF HAINAULT.
LEVUNE.
RICE AP HOWELL.
Abbot, Monks, Herald, Lords, Poor Men, JAMES, Mower, Champion,
Messengers, Soldiers, and Attendants.
QUEEN ISABELLA, Wife to King Edward the Second.
Niece to King Edward the Second, daughter to the Duke of Gloucester.
Ladies.]
[ACT I]
[SCENE I.][600]
_Enter_ GAVESTON, _reading on a letter that was brought him from the
King_.
_Gaveston._ “My father is deceas’d! Come, Gaveston,
And share the kingdom with thy dearest friend.”
Ah! words that make me surfeit with delight!
What greater bliss can hap to Gaveston
Than live and be the favourite of a king! 5
Sweet prince, I come; these, these thy amorous lines
Might have enforc’d me to have swum from France,
And, like Leander, gasp’d upon the sand,
So thou would’st smile, and take me in thine arms.
The sight of London to my exil’d eyes 10
Is as Elysium to a new-come soul;
Not that I love the city, or the men,
But that it harbours him I hold so dear—
The king, upon whose bosom let me die,[601]
And with the world be still at enmity. 15
What need the arctic people love starlight,
To whom the sun shines both by day and night?
Farewell base stooping to the lordly peers!
My knee shall bow to none but to the king.
As for the multitude, that are but sparks 20
Rak’d up in embers of their poverty;—
_Tanti._[602] I’ll fawn first on the wind
That glanceth at my lips, and flyeth away.
_Enter three_ Poor Men.
But how now, what are these?
_Poor Men._ Such as desire your worship’s service. 25
_Gav._ What canst thou do?
_1 P. Man._ I can ride.
_Gav._ But I have no horses.—What art thou?
_2 P. Man._ A traveller.
_Gav._ Let me see: thou would’st do well 30
To wait at my trencher and tell me lies at dinner time;
And as I like your discoursing, I’ll have you.—
And what art thou?
_3 P. Man._ A soldier that hath serv’d against the Scot.
_Gav._ Why, there are hospitals for such as you. 35
I have no war, and therefore, sir, begone.
_3 P. Man._ Farewell, and perish by a soldier’s hand,
That would’st reward them with an hospital.
_Gav._ Ay, ay, these words of his move me as much
As if a goose should play the porpentine, 40
And dart her plumes, thinking to pierce my breast.
But yet it is no pain to speak men fair;
I’ll flatter these, and make them live in hope.—[_Aside._]
You know that I came lately out of France,
And yet I have not view’d my lord the king; 45
If I speed well, I’ll entertain you all.
_All._ We thank your worship.
_Gav._ I have some business: leave me to myself.
_All._ We will wait here about the court.
_Exeunt._
_Gav._ Do.—These are not men for me: 50
I must have wanton poets, pleasant wits,
Musicians, that with touching of a string
May draw the pliant king which way I please.
Music and poetry is his delight;
Therefore I’ll have Italian masks by night, 55
Sweet speeches, comedies, and pleasing shows;
And in the day, when he shall walk abroad,
Like sylvan nymphs my pages shall be clad;
My men, like satyrs grazing on the lawns,
Shall with their goat-feet dance an antic hay.[603]
Sometime a lovely boy in Dian’s shape, 61
With hair that gilds the water as it glides,
Crownets of pearl about his naked arms,
And in his sportful hands an olive tree,
To hide those parts which men delight to see, 65
Shall bathe him in a spring; and there hard by,
One like Actaeon peeping through the grove
Shall by the angry goddess be transform’d,
And running in the likeness of an hart
By yelping hounds pull ’d down, and seem to die;— 70
Such things as these best please his majesty,
My lord.—Here comes the king, and the nobles
From the parliament. I’ll stand aside.
[_Retires._]
_Enter_ KING [EDWARD], LANCASTER, _the_ Elder MORTIMER, Young MORTIMER;
EDMUND, EARL _of_ KENT; GUY, EARL _of_ WARWICK, _and_ [Attendants].
_K. Edw._ Lancaster!
_Lan._ My lord. 75
_Gav._ That Earl of Lancaster do I abhor. [_Aside._]
_K. Edw._ Will you not grant me this?—In spite of them
I’ll have my will; and these two Mortimers,
That cross me thus, shall know I am displeas’d. [_Aside._]
_E. Mor._ If you love us, my lord, hate Gaveston. 80
_Gav._ That villain Mortimer! I’ll be his death. [_Aside._]
_Y. Mor._ Mine uncle here, this earl, and I myself
Were sworn to your father at his death,
That he should ne’er return into the realm;
And know, my lord, ere I will break my oath,
This sword of mine, that should offend your foes, 86
Shall sleep within the scabbard at thy need,
And underneath thy banners march who will,
For Mortimer will hang his armour up.
_Gav. Mort Dieu!_ [_Aside._]
_K. Edw._ Well, Mortimer, I’ll make thee rue these words. 91
Beseems it thee to contradict thy king?
Frown’st thou thereat, aspiring Lancaster?
The sword shall plane the furrows of thy brows,
And hew these knees that now are grown so stiff. 95
I will have Gaveston; and you shall know
What danger ’t is to stand against your king.
_Gav._ Well done, Ned! [_Aside._]
_Lan._ My lord, why do you thus incense your peers,
That naturally would love and honour you 100
But for that base and obscure Gaveston?
Four earldoms have I, besides Lancaster—
Derby, Salisbury, Lincoln, Leicester,—
These will I sell, to give my soldiers pay,
Ere Gaveston shall stay within the realm; 105
Therefore, if he be come, expel him straight.
_Kent._ Barons and earls, your pride hath made me mute;
But now I’ll speak, and to the proof, I hope.
I do remember, in my father’s days,
Lord Percy of the north, being highly mov’d,
Braved Moubery[604] in presence of the king; 111
For which, had not his highness lov’d him well,
He should have lost his head; but with his look
The undaunted spirit of Percy was appeas’d,
And Moubery and he were reconcil’d: 115
Yet dare you brave the king unto his face?—
Brother, revenge it, and let these their heads
Preach upon poles, for trespass of their tongues.
_War._ O, our heads!
_K. Edw._ Ay, yours; and therefore I would wish you grant— 120
_War._ Bridle thy anger, gentle Mortimer.
_Y. Mor._ I cannot, nor I will not; I must speak.—
Cousin, our hands I hope shall fence our heads,
And strike off his that makes you threaten us. 124
Come, uncle, let us leave the brain-sick king,
And henceforth parle with our naked swords.
_E. Mor._ Wiltshire hath men enough to save our heads.
_War._ All Warwickshire will love him for my sake.[605]
_Lan._ And northward Gaveston hath many friends.—
Adieu, my lord; and either change your mind, 130
Or look to see the throne, where you should sit,
To float in blood; and at thy wanton head,
The glozing[606] head of thy base minion thrown.
_Exeunt_ [_all except_ KING EDWARD, KENT, GAVESTON, _and_ Attendants].
_K. Edw._ I cannot brook these haughty menaces.
Am I a king, and must be overrul’d?— 135
Brother, display my ensigns in the field;
I’ll bandy[607] with the barons and the earls,
And either die or live with Gaveston.
_Gav._ I can no longer keep me from my lord. [_Comes forward._]
_K. Edw._ What, Gaveston! welcome!—Kiss not my hand— 140
Embrace me, Gaveston, as I do thee.
Why should’st thou kneel? Know’st thou not who I am?
Thy friend, thyself, another Gaveston!
Not Hylas was more mourn’d of Hercules,
Than thou hast been of me since thy exile. 145
_Gav._ And since I went from hence, no soul in hell
Hath felt more torment than poor Gaveston.
_K. Edw._ I know it.—Brother, welcome home my friend.
Now let the treacherous Mortimers conspire,
And that high-minded Earl of Lancaster: 150
I have my wish, in that I joy thy sight;
And sooner shall the sea o’erwhelm my land,
Than bear the ship that shall transport thee hence.
I here create thee Lord High Chamberlain,
Chief Secretary to the state and me, 155
Earl of Cornwall, King and Lord of Man.
_Gav._ My lord, these titles far exceed my worth.
_Kent._ Brother, the least of these may well suffice
For one of greater birth than Gaveston.
_K. Edw._ Cease, brother, for I cannot brook these words. 160
Thy worth, sweet friend, is far above my gifts.
Therefore, to equal it, receive my heart.
If for these dignities thou be envíed,
I’ll give thee more; for, but to honour thee,
Is Edward pleas’d with kingly regiment.[608] 165
Fear’st[609] thou thy person? Thou Shalt have a guard.
Wantest thou gold? Go to my treasury.
Wouldst thou be lov’d and fear’d? Receive my seal;
Save or condemn, and in our name command
Whatso thy mind effects, or fancy likes. 170
_Gav._ It shall suffice me to enjoy your love,
Which whiles I have, I think myself as great
As Caesar riding in the Roman street,
With captive kings at his triumphant car.
_Enter the_ BISHOP OF COVENTRY.
_K. Edw._ Whither goes my lord of Coventry so fast? 175
_B. of Cov._ To celebrate your father’s exequies.
But is that wicked Gaveston return’d?
_K. Edw._ Ay, priest, and lives to be reveng’d on thee.
That wert the only cause of his exile.
_Gav._ ’T is true; and but for reverence of these robes, 180
Thou should’st not plod one foot beyond this place.
_B. of Cov._ I did no more than I was bound to do;
And, Gaveston, unless thou be reclaim’d,
As then I did incense the parliament,
So will I now, and thou shalt back to France.
_Gav._ Saving your reverence, you must pardon me. 186
_K. Edw._ Throw off his golden mitre, rend his stole.
And in the channel[610] christen him anew.
_Kent._ Ah, brother, lay not violent hands on him!
For he’ll complain unto the see of Rome. 190
_Gav._ Let him complain unto the see of hell;
I’ll be reveng’d on him for my exile.
_K. Edw._ No, spare his life, but seize upon his goods.
Be thou lord bishop and receive his rents,
And make him serve thee as thy chaplain. 195
I give him thee—here, use him as thou wilt.
_Gav._ He shall to prison, and there die in bolts.
_K. Edw._ Ay, to the Tower, the Fleet, or where thou wilt.
_B. of Cov._ For this offence, be thou accurst of God!
_K. Edw._ Who ’s there? Convey this priest to the Tower. 200
_B. of Cov._ True, true.[611]
_K. Edw._ But in the meantime, Gaveston, away,
And take possession of his house and goods.
Come, follow me, and thou shalt have my guard
To see it done, and bring thee safe again. 205
_Gav._ What should a priest do with so fair a house?
A prison may best beseem his holiness.
[_Exeunt._]
[SCENE II.][612]
_Enter_ [_on one side_] _both the_ MORTIMERS; [_on the other_,] WARWICK
_and_ LANCASTER.
_War._ ’Tis true, the bishop is in the Tower,
And goods and body given to Gaveston.
_Lan._ What! will they tyrannise upon the church?
Ah, wicked king! accursed Gaveston!
This ground, which is corrupted with their steps, 5
Shall be their timeless[613] sepulchre or mine.
_Y. Mor._ Well, let that peevish Frenchman guard him sure;
Unless his breast be sword-proof he shall die.
_E. Mor._ How now! why droops the Earl of Lancaster?
_Y. Mor._ Wherefore is Guy of Warwick discontent? 10
_Lan._ That villain Gaveston is made an earl.
_E. Mor._ An earl!
_War._ Ay, and besides Lord Chamberlain of the realm.
And Secretary too, and Lord of Man.
_E. Mor._ We may not, nor we will not suffer this. 15
_Y. Mor._ Why post we not from hence to levy men?
_Lan._ “My Lord of Cornwall” now at every word!
And happy is the man whom he vouchsafes,
For vailing of his bonnet,[614] one good look.
Thus, arm in arm, the king and he doth march:
Nay more, the guard upon his lordship waits; 21
And all the court begins to flatter him.
_War._ Thus leaning on the shoulder of the king,
He nods and scorns and smiles at those that pass.
_E. Mor._ Doth no man take exceptions at the slave? 25
_Lan._ All stomach[615] him, but none dare speak a word.
_Y. Mor._ Ah, that bewrays[616] their baseness, Lancaster!
Were all the earls and barons of my mind,
We’ll hale him from the bosom of the king,
And at the court-gate hang the peasant up, 30
Who, swoln with venom of ambitious pride,
Will be the ruin of the realm and us.
_Enter the_ [ARCH]BISHOP _of_ CANTERBURY [_and an_ Attendant.]
_War._ Here comes my lord of Canterbury’s grace.
_Lan._ His countenance bewrays he is displeas’d.
_A. of Cant._ First were his sacred garments rent and torn, 25
Then laid they violent hands upon him; next
Himself imprisoned, and his goods asseiz’d:
This certify the Pope;—away, take horse,
[_Exit Attend._]
_Lan._ My lord, will you take arms against the king?
_A. of Cant._ What need I? God himself is up in arms, 40
When violence is offered to the church.
_Y. Mor._ Then will you join with us, that be his peers,
To banish or behead that Gaveston?
_A. of Cant._ What else, my lords? for it concerns me near;
The bishopric of Coventry is his. 45
_Enter_ QUEEN [ISABELLA].
_Y. Mor._ Madam, whither walks your majesty so fast?
_Q. Isab._ Unto the forest, gentle Mortimer,
To live in grief and baleful discontent;
For now my lord the king regards me not,
But dotes upon the love of Gaveston. 50
He claps his cheeks, and hangs about his neck,
Smiles in his face, and whispers in his ears;
And when I come he frowns, as who should say,
“Go whither thou wilt, seeing I have Gaveston.”
_E. Mor._ Is it not strange that he is thus bewitch’d? 55
_Y. Mor._ Madam, return unto the court again.
That sly inveigling Frenchman we’ll exile,
Or lose our lives; and yet, ere that day come,
The king shall lose his crown; for we have power,
And courage too, to be reveng’d at full. 60
_Q. Isab._ But yet lift not your swords against the king.
_Lan._ No; but we will lift Gaveston from hence.
_War._ And war must be the means, or he’ll stay still.
_Q. Isab._ Then let him stay; for rather than my lord
Shall be oppress’d by civil mutinies, 65
I will endure a melancholy life,
And let him frolic with his minion.
_A. of Cant._ My lords, to ease all this, but hear me speak:—
We and the rest, that are his counsellors,
Will meet, and with a general consent 70
Confirm him banishment with our hands and seals.
_Lan._ What we confirm the king will frustrate.
_Y. Mor._ Then may we lawfully revolt from him.
_War._ But say, my lord, where shall this meeting be?
_A. of Cant._ At the New Temple. 75
_Y. Mor._ Content.
_A. of Cant._ And, in the meantime, I’ll entreat you all
To cross to Lambeth, and there stay with me.
_Lan._ Come then, let’s away.
_Y. Mor._ Madam, farewell! 80
_Q. Isab._ Farewell, sweet Mortimer, and, for my sake,
Forbear to levy arms against the king.
_Y. Mor._ Ay, if words will serve; if not, I must. [_Exeunt._]
[SCENE III.][617]
_Enter_ GAVESTON _and_ KENT.
_Gav._ Edmund, the mighty Prince of Lancaster,
That hath more earldoms than an ass can bear,
And both the Mortimers, two goodly men,
With Guy of Warwick, that redoubted knight,
Are gone toward Lambeth—there let them remain! [_Exeunt._] 5
[SCENE IV.][618]
_Enter_ Nobles [LANCASTER, WARWICK, PEMBROKE, _the_ Elder MORTIMER,
Young MORTIMER, _the_ ARCHBISHOP _of_ CANTERBURY _and_ Attendants].
_Lan._ Here is the form of Gaveston’s exile:
May it please your lordship to subscribe your name.
_A. of Cant._ Give me the paper.
[_He subscribes, as do the others after him._]
_Lan._ Quick, quick, my lord; I long to write my name.
_War._ But I long more to see him banish’d hence. 5
_Y. Mor._ The name of Mortimer shall fright the king,
Unless he be declin’d from that base peasant.
_Enter_ KING [EDWARD,] GAVESTON, [_and_ KENT].
_K. Edw._ What, are you mov’d that Gaveston sits here?
It is our pleasure; we will have it so.
_Lan._ Your grace doth well to place him by your side, 10
For nowhere else the new earl is so safe.
_E. Mor._ What man of noble birth can brook this sight?
_Quam male conveniunt!_[619]
See what a scornful look the peasant casts!
_Pem._ Can kingly lions fawn on creeping ants? 15
_War._ Ignoble vassal, that like Phaeton
Aspir’st unto the guidance of the sun!
_Y. Mor._ Their downfall is at hand, their forces down;
We will not thus be fac’d and over-peer’d.
_K. Edw._ Lay hands on that traitor Mortimer!
_E. Mor._ Lay hands on that traitor Gaveston! 21
_Kent._ Is this the duty that you owe your king?
_War._ We know our duties—let him know his peers.
_K. Edw._ Whither will you bear him? Stay, or ye shall die.
_E. Mor._ We are no traitors; therefore threaten not. 25
_Gav._ No, threaten not, my lord, but pay them home!
Were I a king—
_Y. Mor._ Thou villain, wherefore talk’st thou of a king,
That hardly art a gentleman by birth?
_K. Edw._ Were he a peasant, being my minion, 30
I’ll make the proudest of you stoop to him.
_Lan._ My lord, you may not thus disparage us.—
Away, I say, with hateful Gaveston!
_E. Mor._ And with the Earl of Kent that favours him.
[Attendants _remove_ KENT _and_ GAVESTON.]
_K. Edw._ Nay, then, lay violent hands upon your king. 35
Here, Mortimer, sit thou in Edward’s throne;
Warwick and Lancaster, wear you my crown.
Was ever king thus over-rul’d as I?
_Lan._ Learn then to rule us better, and the realm.
_Y. Mor._ What we have done, our heart-blood shall maintain. 40
_War._ Think you that we can brook this upstart pride?
_K. Edw._ Anger and wrathful fury stops my speech.
_A. of Cant._ Why are you mov’d? Be patient, my lord,
And see what we your counsellors have done.
_Y. Mor._ My lords, now let us all be resolute, 45
And either have our wills, or lose our lives.
_K. Edw._ Meet you for this, proud overdaring peers?
Ere my sweet Gaveston shall part from me,
This isle shall fleet[620] upon the ocean,
And wander to the unfrequented Inde. 50
_A. of Cant._ You know that I am legate to the Pope.
On your allegiance to the see of Rome,
Subscribe, as we have done, to his exile.
_Y. Mor._ Curse him, if he refuse; and then may we
Depose him and elect another king. 55
_K. Edw._ Ay, there it goes! but yet I will not yield.
Curse me, depose me, do the worst you can.
_Lan._ Then linger not, my lord, but do it straight.
_A. of Cant._ Remember how the bishop was abus’d! 59
Either banish him that was the cause thereof,
Or I will presently discharge these lords
Of duty and allegiance due to thee.
_K. Edw._ [_Aside._] It boots me not to threat; I must speak fair.—
The legate of the Pope will be obey’d.
My lord, you shall be Chancellor of the realm;
Thou, Lancaster, High Admiral of our fleet; 66
Young Mortimer and his uncle shall be earls;
And you, Lord Warwick, President of the North;
And thou, of Wales. If this content you not,
Make several kingdoms of this monarchy, 70
And share it equally amongst you all,
So I may have some nook or corner left,
To frolic with my dearest Gaveston.
_A. of Cant._ Nothing shall alter us, we are resolv’d.
_Lan._ Come, come, subscribe. 75
_Y. Mor._ Why should you love him whom the world hates so?
_K. Edw._ Because he loves me more than all the world.
Ah, none but rude and savage-minded men
Would seek the ruin of my Gaveston;
You that be noble-born should pity him. 80
_War._ You that are princely-born should shake him off.
For shame subscribe, and let the lown[621] depart.
_E. Mor._ Urge him, my lord.
_A. of Cant._ Are you content to banish him the realm?
_K. Edw._ I see I must, and therefore am content. 85
Instead of ink, I’ll write it with my tears.
[_Subscribes._]
_Y. Mor._ The king is love-sick for his minion.
_K. Edw._ ’T is done; and now, accursed hand, fall off!
_Lan._ Give it me; I’ll have it publish’d in the streets.
_Y. Mor._ I’ll see him presently despatch’d away. 90
_A. of Cant._ Now is my heart at ease.
_War._ And so is mine.
_Pem._ This will be good news to the common sort.
_E. Mor._ Be it or no, he shall not linger here.
_Exeunt all except_ KING EDWARD.
_K. Edw._ How fast they run to banish him I love!
They would not stir, were it to do me good. 95
Why should a king be subject to a priest?
Proud Rome! that hatchest such imperial grooms,
For these thy superstitious taper-lights,
Wherewith thy antichristian churches blaze,
I’ll fire thy crazed buildings, and enforce 100
The papal towers to kiss the lowly ground!
With slaughtered priests make Tiber’s channel swell,
And banks rais’d higher with their sepulchres!
As for the peers, that back the clergy thus,
If I be king, not one of them shall live. 105
_Re-enter_ GAVESTON.
_Gav._ My lord, I hear it whispered everywhere,
That I am banish’d, and must fly the land.
_K. Edw._ ’T is true, sweet Gaveston—O! were it false!
The legate of the Pope will have it so,
And thou must hence, or I shall be depos’d. 110
But I will reign to be reveng’d of them;
And therefore, sweet friend, take it patiently.
Live where thou wilt, I’ll send thee gold enough;
And long thou shalt not stay, or if thou dost, 114
I’ll come to thee; my love shall ne’er decline.
_Gav._ Is all my hope turn’d to this hell of grief?
_K. Edw._ Rend not my heart with thy too piercing words:
Thou from this land, I from myself am banish’d.
_Gav._ To go from hence grieves not poor Gaveston;
But to forsake you, in whose gracious looks 120
The blessedness of Gaveston remains,
For nowhere else seeks he felicity.
_K. Edw._ And only this torments my wretched soul
That, whether I will or no, thou must depart.
Be governor of Ireland in my stead, 125
And there abide till fortune call thee home.
Here take my picture, and let me wear thine;
[_They exchange pictures._]
O, might I keep thee here as I do this,
Happy were I! but now most miserable! 129
_Gav._ ’Tis something to be pitied of a king.
_K. Edw._ Thou shalt not hence—I’ll hide thee, Gaveston.
_Gav._ I shall be found, and then ’t will grieve me more.
_K. Edw._ Kind words and mutual talk makes our grief greater;
Therefore, with dumb embracement, let us part.—
Stay, Gaveston, I cannot leave thee thus. 135
_Gav._ For every look, my lord[622] drops down a tear.
Seeing I must go, do not renew my sorrow.
_K. Edw._ The time is little that thou hast to stay,
And, therefore, give me leave to look my fill.
But come, sweet friend, I’ll bear thee on thy way. 140
_Gav._ The peers will frown.
_K. Edw._ I pass[623] not for their anger.—Come let’s go;
O that we might as well return as go.
_Enter_ EDMUND _and_ QUEEN ISABELLA.
_Q. Isab._ Whither goes my lord?
_K. Edw._ Fawn not on me, French strumpet! Get thee gone! 145
_Q. Isab._ On whom but on my husband should I fawn?
_Gav._ On Mortimer! with whom, ungentle queen—
I say no more. Judge you the rest, my lord.
_Q. Isab._ In saying this, thou wrong’st me, Gaveston. 149
Is’t not enough that thou corrupt’st my lord,
And art a bawd to his affections.
But thou must call mine honour thus in question?
_Gav._ I mean not so; your grace must pardon me.
_K. Edw._ Thou art too familiar with that Mortimer,
And by thy means is Gaveston exil’d; 155
But I would wish thee reconcile the lords,
Or thou shalt ne’er be reconcil’d to me.
_Q. Isab._ Your highness knows it lies not in my power.
_K. Edw._ Away then! touch me not.—Come, Gaveston.
_Q. Isab._ Villain! ’t is thou that robb’st me of my lord. 160
_Gav._ Madam, ’t is you that rob me of my lord.
_K. Edw._ Speak not unto her; let her droop and pine.
_Q. Isab._ Wherein, my lord, have I deserv’d these words?
Witness the tears that Isabella sheds,
Witness this heart, that, sighing for thee, breaks, 165
How dear my lord is to poor Isabel.
_K. Edw._ And witness Heaven how dear thou art to me!
There weep; for till my Gaveston be repeal’d.
Assure thyself thou com’st not in my sight.
_Exeunt_ EDWARD _and_ GAVESTON.
_Q. Isab._ O miserable and distressed queen!
Would, when I left sweet France and was embark’d, 171
That charming Circes, walking on the waves,
Had chang’d my shape, or at the marriage-day
The cup of Hymen had been full of poison,
Or with those arms that twin’d about my neck
I had been stifled, and not liv’d to see 176
The king my lord thus to abandon me!
Like frantic Juno will I fill the earth
With ghastly murmur of my sighs and cries;
For never doted Jove on Ganymede 180
So much as he on cursed Gaveston.
But that will more exasperate his wrath;
I must entreat him, I must speak him fair,
And be a means to call home Gaveston.
And yet he’ll ever dote on Gaveston; 185
And so am I for ever miserable.
_Re-enter_ Nobles [LANCASTER, WARWICK, PEMBROKE, _the_ Elder MORTIMER,
_and_ Young MORTIMER] _to the_ Queen.
_Lan._ Look where the sister of the King of France
Sits wringing of her hands, and beats her breast!
_War._ The king, I fear, hath ill-entreated her.
_Pem._ Hard is the heart that injures such a saint. 190
_Y. Mor._ I know ’t is ’long of Gaveston she weeps.
_E. Mor._ Why? He is gone.
_Y. Mor._ Madam, how fares your grace?
_Q. Isab._ Ah, Mortimer! now breaks the king’s hate forth,
And he confesseth that he loves me not.
_Y. Mor._ Cry quittance, madam, then; and love not him. 195
_Q. Isab._ No, rather will I die a thousand deaths!
And yet I love in vain;—he’ll ne’er love me.
_Lan._ Fear ye not, madam; now his minion’s gone,
His wanton humour will be quickly left. 199
_Q. Isab._ O never, Lancaster! I am enjoin’d
To sue upon you all for his repeal;
This wills my lord, and this must I perform,
Or else be banish’d from his highness’ presence.
_Lan._ For his repeal? Madam, he comes not back,
Unless the sea cast up his shipwrack’d body. 205
_War._ And to behold so sweet a sight as that,
There’s none here but would run his horse to death.
_Y. Mor._ But, madam, would you have us call him home?
_Q. Isab._ Ay. Mortimer, for till he be restor’d,
The angry king hath banish’d me the court; 210
And, therefore, as thou lov’st and tend’rest me,
Be thou my advocate unto these peers.
_Y. Mor._ What! would you have me plead for Gaveston?
_E. Mor._ Plead for him he that will, I am resolv’d.
_Lan._ And so am I, my lord. Dissuade the queen. 215
_Q. Isab._ O Lancaster! let him dissuade the king,
For ’t is against my will he should return.
_War._ Then speak not for him, let the peasant go.
_Q. Isab._ ’T is for myself I speak, and not for him.
_Pem._ No speaking will prevail, and therefore cease. 220
_Y. Mor._ Fair queen, forbear to angle for the fish
Which, being caught, strikes him that takes it dead;
I mean that vile torpedo, Gaveston,
That now, I hope, floats on the Irish seas.
_Q. Isab._ Sweet Mortimer, sit down by me awhile, 225
And I will tell thee reasons of such weight
As thou wilt soon subscribe to his repeal.
_Y. Mor._ It is impossible; but speak your mind.
_Q. Isab._ Then thus,—but none shall hear it but ourselves.
[_Talks to_ Young MORTIMER _apart_.]
_Lan._ My lords, albeit the queen win Mortimer, 230
Will you be resolute, and hold with me?
_E. Mor._ Not I, against my nephew.
_Pem._ Fear not, the queen’s words cannot alter him.
_War._ No? Do but mark how earnestly she pleads!
_Lan._ And see how coldly his looks make denial! 235
_War._ She smiles; now for my life his mind is chang’d!
_Lan._ I’ll rather lose his friendship, I, than grant.
_Y. Mor._ Well, of necessity it must be so.
My lords, that I abhor base Gaveston,
I hope your honours make no question, 240
And therefore, though I plead for his repeal,
’T is not for his sake, but for our avail;
Nay for the realm’s behoof, and for the king’s.
_Lan._ Fie, Mortimer, dishonour not thyself!
Can this be true, ’t was good to banish him? 245
And is this true,[624] to call him home again?
Such reasons make white black, and dark night day.
_Y. Mor._ My lord of Lancaster, mark the respect.[625]
_Lan._ In no respect can contraries be true.
_Q. Isab._ Yet, good my lord, hear what he can allege. 250
_War._ All that he speaks is nothing; we are resolv’d.
_Y. Mor._ Do you not wish that Gaveston were dead?
_Pem._ I would he were!
_Y. Mor._ Why, then, my lord, give me but leave to speak.
_E. Mor._ But, nephew, do not play the sophister. 255
_Y. Mor._ This which I urge is of a burning zeal
To mend the king, and do our country good.
Know you not Gaveston hath store of gold,
Which may in Ireland purchase him such friends
As he will front the mightiest of us all? 260
And whereas he shall live and be belov’d,
’T is hard for us to work his overthrow.
_War._ Mark you but that, my lord of Lancaster.
_Y. Mor._ But were he here, detested as he is,
How easily might some base slave be suborn’d
To greet his lordship with a poniard, 266
And none so much as blame the murderer,
But rather praise him for that brave attempt,
And in the chronicle enrol his name
For purging of the realm of such a plague! 270
_Pem._ He saith true.
_Lan._ Ay, but how chance this was not done before?
_Y. Mor._ Because, my lords, it was not thought upon.
Nay, more, when he shall know it lies in us
To banish him, and then to call him home, 275
’T will make him vail[626] the top-flag of his pride,
And fear to offend the meanest nobleman.
_E. Mor._ But bow if he do not, nephew?
_Y. Mor._ Then may we with some colour[627] rise in arms;
For howsoever we have borne it out, 280
’T is treason to be up against the king.
So we shall have the people of our side,
Which for his father’s sake lean to the king,
But cannot brook a night-grown mushroom,
Such a one as my lord of Cornwall is, 285
Should bear us down of the nobility.
And when the commons and the nobles join,
’Tis not the king can buckler Gaveston;
We’ll pull him from the strongest hold he hath.
My lords, if to perform this I be slack, 290
Think me as base a groom as Gaveston.
_Lan._ On that condition, Lancaster will grant.
_War._ And so will Pembroke and I.
_E. Mor._ And I. 294
_Y. Mor._ In this I count me highly gratified,
And Mortimer will rest at your command.
_Q. Isab._ And when this favour Isabel forgets,
Then let her live abandon’d and forlorn.—
But see, in happy time, my lord the king,
Having brought the Earl of Cornwall on his way, 300
Is new return’d. This news will glad him much,
Yet not so much as me. I love him more
Than he can Gaveston; would he lov’d me
But half so much, then were I treble-blest.
_Re-enter_ KING EDWARD, _mourning_.
_K. Edw._ He’s gone, and for his absence thus I mourn. 305
Did never sorrow go so near my heart
As doth the want of my sweet Gaveston;
And could my crown’s revenue bring him back,
I would freely give it to his enemies,
And think I gain’d, having bought so dear a friend. 310
_Q. Isab._ Hark! how he harps upon his minion.
_K. Edw._ My heart is as an anvil unto sorrow,
Which beats upon it like the Cyclops’ hammers,
And with the noise turns up my giddy brain,
And makes me frantic for my Gaveston. 315
Ah! had some bloodless Fury rose from hell,
And with my kingly sceptre struck me dead,
When I was forc’d to leave my Gaveston!
_Lan. Diablo!_ What passions call you these?
_Q. Isab._ My gracious lord, I come to bring you news. 320
_K. Edw._ That you have parley’d with your Mortimer!
_Q. Isab._ That Gaveston, my lord, shall be repeal’d.
_K. Edw._ Repeal’d! The news is too sweet to be true?
_Q. Isab._ But will you love me, if you find it so?
_K. Edw._ If it be so, what will not Edward do? 325
_Q. Isab._ For Gaveston, but not for Isabel.
_K. Edw._ For thee, fair queen, if thou lov’st Gaveston,
I’ll hang a golden tongue about thy neck,
Seeing thou hast pleaded with so good success. 329
_Q. Isab._ No other jewels hang about my neck
Than these, my lord; nor let me have more wealth
Than I may fetch from this rich treasury.
O how a kiss revives poor Isabel!
_K. Edw._ Once more receive my hand; and let this be
A second marriage ’twixt thyself and me. 335
_Q. Isab._ And may it prove more happy than the first!
My gentle lord, bespeak these nobles fair,
That wait attendance for a gracious look,
And on their knees salute your majesty.
_K. Edw._ Courageous Lancaster, embrace thy king! 340
And, as gross vapours perish by the sun,
Even so let hatred with thy sovereign’s smile.
Live thou with me as my companion.
_Lan._ This salutation overjoys my heart.
_K. Edw._ Warwick shall be my chiefest counsellor: 345
These silver hairs will more adorn my court
Than gaudy silks, or rich embroidery.
Chide me, sweet Warwick, if I go astray.
_War._ Slay me, my lord, when I offend your grace.
_K. Edw._ In solemn triumphs, and in public shows, 350
Pembroke shall bear the sword before the king.
_Pem._ And with this sword Pembroke will fight for you.
_K. Edw._ But wherefore walks young Mortimer aside?
Be thou commander of our royal fleet;
Or, if that lofty office like thee not, 355
I make thee here Lord Marshal of the realm.
_Y. Mor._ My lord, I’ll marshal so your enemies,
As England shall be quiet, and you safe.
_K. Edw._ And as for you, Lord Mortimer of Chirke, 360
Whose great achievements in our foreign war
Deserves no common place nor mean reward,
Be you the general of the levied troops,
That now are ready to assail the Scots.
_E. Mor._ In this your grace hath highly honoured me,
For with my nature war doth best agree. 365
_Q. Isab._ Now is the King of England rich and strong,
Having the love of his renowned peers.
_K. Edw._ Ay, Isabel, ne’er was my heart so light.
Clerk of the crown, direct our warrant forth
For Gaveston to Ireland:
[_Enter_ BEAUMONT _with warrant._]
Beaumont, fly 370
As fast as Iris or Jove’s Mercury.
_Beau._ It shall be done, my gracious lord.
[_Exit._]
_K. Edw._ Lord Mortimer, we leave you to your charge.
Now let us in, and feast it royally. 374
Against our friend the Earl of Cornwall comes,
We’ll have a general tilt and tournament;
And then his marriage shall be solemnis’d.
For wot you not that I have made him sure[628]
Unto our cousin, the Earl of Gloucester’s heir?
_Lan._ Such news we hear, my lord. 380
_K. Edw._ That day, if not for him, yet for my sake,
Who in the triumph will be challenger,
Spare for no cost; we will requit your love.
_War._ In this, or aught, your highness shall command us.
_K. Edw._ Thanks, gentle Warwick: come, let’s in and revel. 385
_Exeunt all except the_ MORTIMERS.
_E. Mor._ Nephew, I must to Scotland; thou stayest here.
Leave now t’ oppose thyself against the king.
Thou seest by nature he is mild and calm,
And seeing his mind so dotes on Gaveston,
Let him without controlment have his will, 390
The mightiest kings have had their minions:
Great Alexander loved Hephestion;
The conquering Hercules[629] for Hylas wept;
And for Patroclus stern Achilles droopt:
And not kings only, but the wisest men: 395
The Roman Tully lov’d Octavius;
Grave Socrates, wild Alcibiades.
Then let his grace, whose youth is flexible,
And promiseth as much as we can wish,
Freely enjoy that vain, light-headed earl; 400
For riper years will wean him from such toys.
_Y. Mor._ Uncle, his wanton humour grieves not me;
But this I scorn, that one so basely born
Should by his sovereign’s favour grow so pert,
And riot it with the treasure of the realm. 405
While soldiers mutiny for want of pay,
He wears a lord’s revenue on his back,
And Midas-like, he jets[630] it in the court,
With base outlandish cullions[631] at his heels, 409
Whose proud fantastic liveries make such show
As if that Proteus, god of shapes, appear’d.
I have not seen a dapper Jack so brisk;
He wears a short Italian hooded cloak
Larded with pearl, and, in his Tuscan cap,
A jewel of more value than the crown. 415
While others walk below, the king and he
From out a window laugh at such as we,
And flout our train, and jest at our attire.
Uncle, ’tis this that makes me impatient.
_E. Mor._ But, nephew, now you see the king is chang’d. 420
_Y. Mor._ Then so am I, and live to do him service:
But whiles I have a sword, a hand, a heart,
I will not yield to any such upstart.
You know my mind; come, uncle, let ’s away.
_Exeunt._
[ACT II]
[SCENE I.][632]
_Enter_ [Young] SPENCER _and_ BALDOCK.
_Bald._ Spencer, seeing that our lord th’ Earl of Gloucester’s dead,
Which of the nobles dost thou mean to serve?
_Y. Spen._ Not Mortimer, nor any of his side,
Because the king and he are enemies.
Baldock, learn this of me, a factious lord 5
Shall hardly do himself good, much less us;
But he that hath the favour of a king,
May with one word advance us while we live.
The liberal Earl of Cornwall is the man 9
On whose good fortune Spencer’s hope depends.
_Bald._ What, mean you then to be his follower?
_Y. Spen._ No, his companion; for he loves me well,
And would have once preferr’d me to the king.[633]
_Bald._ But he is banish’d; there’s small hope of him.
_Y. Spen._ Ay, for a while; but, Baldock, mark the end. 15
A friend of mine told me in secrecy
That he’s repeal’d, and sent for back again;
And even now a post came from the court
With letters to our lady from the king;
And as she read she smil’d, which makes me think 20
It is about her lover Gaveston.
_Bald._ ’Tis like enough; for since he was exil’d
She neither walks abroad, nor comes in sight.
But I had thought the match had been broke off, 24
And that his banishment had chang’d her mind.
_Y. Spen._ Our lady’s first love is not wavering;
My life for thine, she will have Gaveston.
_Bald._ Then hope I by her means to be preferr’d,
Having read unto her since she was a child.
_Y. Spen._ Then, Baldock, you must cast the scholar off, 30
And learn to court it like a gentleman.
’T is not a black coat and a little band,
A velvet-cap’d coat, fac’d before with serge,
And smelling to a nosegay all the day,
Or holding of a napkin in your hand, 35
Or saying a long grace at a table’s end,
Or making low legs[634] to a nobleman,
Or looking downward with your eyelids close,
And saying, “Truly, an’t may please your honour,”
Can get you any favour with great men; 40
You must be proud, bold, pleasant, resolute,
And now and then stab, as occasion serves.
_Bald._ Spencer, thou know’st I hate such formal toys,
And use them but of mere hypocrisy.
Mine old lord whiles he liv’d was so precise, 45
That he would take exceptions at my buttons,
And being like pin’s heads, blame me for the bigness;
Which made me curate-like in mine attire,
Though inwardly licentious enough
And apt for any kind of villainy. 50
I am none of these common pedants, I,
That cannot speak without _propterea quod_.[635]
_Y. Spen._ But one of those that saith _quandoquidem_,[636]
And hath a special gift to form a verb.
_Bald._ Leave off this jesting, here my lady comes. 55
_Enter the Lady_ [KING EDWARD’S Niece.]
_Niece._ The grief for his exile was not so much
As is the joy of his returning home.
This letter came from my sweet Gaveston:—
What need’st thou, love, thus to excuse thyself?
I know thou couldst not come and visit me. 60
[_Reads._] “I will not long be from thee, though I die.”
This argues the entire love of my lord;
[_Reads._] “When I forsake thee, death seize on my heart:”
But stay thee here where Gaveston shall sleep.
[_Puts the letter into her bosom._]
Now to the letter of my lord the king.— 65
He wills me to repair unto the court,
And meet my Gaveston. Why do I stay,
Seeing that he talks thus of my marriage-day?
Who’s there? Baldock!
See that my coach be ready, I must hence. 70
_Bald._ It shall be done, madam.
_Niece._ And meet me at the park-pale presently.
_Exit_ BALDOCK.
Spencer, stay you and bear me company,
For I have joyful news to tell thee of.
My lord of Cornwall is a-coming over, 75
And will be at the court as soon as we.
_Y. Spen._ I knew the king would have him home again.
_Niece._ If all things sort[637] out as I hope they will,
Thy service, Spencer, shall be thought upon.
_Y. Spen._ I humbly thank your ladyship. 80
_Niece._ Come, lead the way; I long till I am there. [_Exeunt._]
[SCENE II.][638]
_Enter_ KING EDWARD, QUEEN ISABELLA, KENT, LANCASTER, Young MORTIMER,
WARWICK, PEMBROKE, _and_ Attendants.
_K. Edw._ The wind is good, I wonder why he stays;
I fear me he is wrack’d upon the sea.
_Q. Isab._ Look, Lancaster, how passionate[639] he is,
And still his mind runs on his minion!
_Lan._ My lord,— 5
_K. Edw._ How now! what news? Is Gaveston arriv’d?
_Y. Mor._ Nothing but Gaveston!—What means your grace?
You have matters of more weight to think upon;
The King of France sets foot in Normandy.
_K. Edw._ A trifle! we’ll expel him when we please. 10
But tell me, Mortimer, what’s thy device
Against the stately triumph we decreed?
_Y. Mor._ A homely one, my lord, not worth the telling.
_K. Edw._ Pray thee let me know it.
_Y. Mor._ But, seeing you are so desirous, thus it is: 15
A lofty cedar-tree, fair flourishing,
On whose top-branches kingly eagles perch,
And by the bark a canker[640] creeps me up,
And gets into the highest bough of all:
The motto, _Aeque tandem_.[641] 20
_K. Edw._ And what is yours, my lord of Lancaster?
_Lan._ My lord, mine’s more obscure than Mortimer’s.
Pliny reports there is a flying fish
Which all the other fishes deadly hate,
And therefore, being pursued, it takes the air:
No sooner is it up, but there’s a fowl 26
That seizeth it; this fish, my lord, I bear:
The motto this: _Undique mors est_.[642]
_K. Edw._ Proud Mortimer! ungentle Lancaster!
Is this the love you bear your sovereign? 30
Is this the fruit your reconcilement bears?
Can you in words make show of amity,
And in your shields display your rancorous minds!
What call you this but private libelling
Against the Earl of Cornwall and my brother?
_Q. Isab._ Sweet husband, be content, they all love you. 36
_K. Edw._ They love me not that hate my Gaveston.
I am that cedar, shake me not too much;
And you the eagles; soar ye ne’er so high,
I have the jesses[643] that will pull you down; 40
And _Aeque tandem_ shall that canker cry
Unto the proudest peer of Britainy.
Though thou compar’st him to a flying fish,
And threatenest death whether he rise or fall,
’T is not the hugest monster of the sea, 45
Nor foulest harpy that shall swallow him.
_Y. Mor._ If in his absence thus he favours him,
What will he do whenas he shall be present?
_Lan._ That shall we see; look where his lordship comes.
_Enter_ GAVESTON.
_K. Edw._ My Gaveston! 50
Welcome to Tynemouth! Welcome to thy friend!
Thy absence made me droop and pine away;
For, as the lovers of fair Danae,
When she was lock’d up in a brazen tower,
Desir’d her more, and wax’d outrageous, 55
So did it fare[644] with me; and now thy sight
Is sweeter far than was thy parting hence
Bitter and irksome to my sobbing heart.
_Gav._ Sweet lord and king, your speech preventeth[645] mine,
Yet have I words left to express my joy: 60
The shepherd nipt with biting winter’s rage
Frolics not more to see the painted spring,
Than I do to behold your majesty.
_K. Edw._ Will none of you salute my Gaveston?
_Lan._ Salute him? yes. Welcome, Lord Chamberlain! 65
_Y. Mor._ Welcome is the good Earl of Cornwall!
_War._ Welcome, Lord Governor of the Isle of Man!
_Pem._ Welcome, Master Secretary!
_Kent._ Brother, do you hear them?
_K. Edw._ Still will these earls and barons use me thus. 70
_Gav._ My lord, I cannot brook these injuries.
_Q. Isab._ [_Aside._] Aye me, poor soul, when these begin to jar.
_K. Edw._ Return it to their throats, I’ll be thy warrant.
_Gav._ Base, leaden earls, that glory in your birth,
Go sit at home and eat your tenants’ beef; 75
And come not here to scoff at Gaveston,
Whose mounting thoughts did never creep so low
As to bestow a look on such as you.
_Lan._ Yet I disdain not to do this for you.
[_Draws his sword and offers to stab_ GAVESTON.]
_K. Edw._ Treason! treason! where’s the traitor? 80
_Pem._ Here! here!
_K. Edw._ Convey hence Gaveston; they’ll murder him.
_Gav._ The life of thee shall salve this foul disgrace.
_Y. Mor._ Villain! thy life, unless I miss mine aim.
[_Wounds_ GAVESTON.]
_Q. Isab._ Ah! furious Mortimer, what hast thou done? 85
_Y. Mor._ No more than I would answer, were he slain.
[_Exit_ GAVESTON _with_ Attendants.]
_K. Edw._ Yes, more than thou canst answer, though he live.
Dear shall you both abye[646] this riotous deed.
Out of my presence! Come not near the court.
_Y. Mor._ I’ll not be barr’d the court for Gaveston. 90
_Lan._ We’ll hale him by the ears unto the block.
_K. Edw._ Look to your own heads; his is sure enough.
_War._ Look to your own crown, if you back him thus.
_Kent._ Warwick, these words do ill beseem thy years.
_K. Edw._ Nay, all of them conspire to cross me thus; 95
But if I live, I’ll tread upon their heads
That think with high looks thus to tread me down.
Come, Edmund, let’s away and levy men,
’T is war that must abate these barons’ pride.
_Exeunt_ KING [EDWARD, QUEEN ISABELLA and KENT].
_War._ Let’s to our castles, for the king is mov’d. 100
_Y. Mor._ Mov’d may he be, and perish in his wrath!
_Lan._ Cousin, it is no dealing with him now,
He means to make us stoop by force of arms;
And therefore let us jointly here protest,
To persecute that Gaveston to the death. 105
_Y. Mor._ By heaven, the abject villain shall not live!
_War._ I’ll have his blood, or die in seeking it.
_Pem._ The like oath Pembroke takes.
_Lan._ And so doth Lancaster.
Now send our heralds to defy the king; 110
And make the people swear to put him down.
_Enter a_ Messenger.[647]
_Y. Mor._ Letters! From whence?
_Mess._ From Scotland, my lord.
[_Giving letters to_ MORTIMER.]
_Lan._ Why, how now, cousin, how fares all our friends?
_Y. Mor._ My uncle’s taken prisoner by the Scots. 115
_Lan._ We’ll have him ransom’d, man; be of good cheer.
_Y. Mor._ They rate his ransom at five thousand pound.
Who should defray the money but the king,
Seeing he is taken prisoner in his wars?
I’ll to the king. 120
_Lan._ Do, cousin, and I’ll bear thee company.
_War._ Meantime, my lord of Pembroke and myself
Will to Newcastle here, and gather head.[648]
_Y. Mor._ About it then, and we will follow you.
_Lan._ Be resolute and full of secrecy: 125
_War._ I warrant you. [_Exit with_ PEMBROKE.]
_Y. Mor._ Cousin, and if he will not ransom him,
I’ll thunder such a peal into his ears,
As never subject did unto his king.
_Lan._ Content, I’ll bear my part—Holla! who’s there? 130
[_Enter_ Guard.]
_Y. Mor._ Ay, marry, such a guard as this doth well.
_Lan._ Lead on the way.
_Guard._ Whither will your lordships?
_Y. Mor._ Whither else but to the king. 134
_Guard._ His highness is dispos’d to be alone.
_Lan._ Why, so he may, but we will speak to him.
_Guard._ You may not in, my lord.
_Y. Mor._ May we not?
[_Enter_ KING EDWARD _and_ KENT.]
_K. Edw._ How now!
What noise is this? Who have we there?
Is’t you? [_Going._] 140
_Y. Mor._ Nay, stay, my lord, I come to bring you news;
Mine uncle’s taken prisoner by the Scots.
_K. Edw._ Then ransom him.
_Lan._ ’T was in your wars; you should ransom him.
_Y. Mor._ And you shall ransom him, or else— 145
_Kent._ What! Mortimer, you will not threaten him?
_K. Edw._ Quiet yourself, you shall have the broad seal,
To gather for him thoroughout the realm.
_Lan._ Your minion Gaveston hath taught you this.
_Y. Mor._ My lord, the family of the Mortimers 150
Are not so poor, but, would they sell their land,
’T would levy men enough to anger you.
We never beg, but use such prayers as these.
_K. Edw._ Shall I still be haunted thus?
_Y. Mor._ Nay, now you’re here alone, I’ll speak my mind. 155
_Lan._ And so will I, and then, my lord, farewell.
_Y. Mor._ The idle triumphs, masques, lascivious shows,
And prodigal gifts bestow’d on Gaveston,
Have drawn thy treasury dry, and made thee weak;
The murmuring commons, overstretched, [break].[649] 160
_Lan._ Look for rebellion, look to be depos’d.
Thy garrisons are beaten out of France,
And, lame and poor, lie groaning at the gates,
The wild O’Neill, with swarms of Irish kerns,[650]
Lives uncontroll’d within the English pale. 165
Unto the walls of York the Scots made road,
And unresisted drave away rich spoils.
_Y. Mor._ The haughty Dane commands the narrow seas,
While in the harbour ride thy ships unrigg’d.
_Lan._ What foreign prince sends thee ambassadors? 170
_Y. Mor._ Who loves thee, but a sort[651] of flatterers?
_Lan._ Thy gentle queen, sole sister to Valois,
Complains that thou hast left her all forlorn.
_Y. Mor._ Thy court is naked, being bereft of those 174
That make a king seem glorious to the world;
I mean the peers, whom thou should’st dearly love.
Libels are cast again thee in the street;
Ballads and rhymes made of thy overthrow.
_Lan._ The Northern borderers seeing their houses burnt,
Their wives and children slain, run up and down, 180
Cursing the name of thee and Gaveston.
_Y. Mor._ When wert thou in the field with banner spread,
But once? and then thy soldiers marcht like players,
With garish robes, not armour; and thyself,
Bedaub’d with gold, rode laughing at the rest,
Nodding and shaking of thy spangled crest, 186
Where women’s favours hung like labels down.
_Lan._ And therefore came it, that the fleering[652] Scots,
To England’s high disgrace, have made this jig;
“Maids of England, sore may you mourn,— 190
For your lemans[653] you have lost at Bannocksbourn,—[654]
With a heave and a ho!
What weeneth the King of England,
So soon to have won Scotland?—
With a rombelow” 195
_Y. Mor._ Wigmore[655] shall fly, to set my uncle free.
_Lan._ And when ’t is gone, our swords shall purchase more.
If ye be mov’d, revenge it as you can;
Look next to see us with our ensigns spread.
_Exit_ [_with_ Young MORTIMER].
_K. Edw._ My swelling heart for very anger breaks! 200
How oft have I been baited by these peers,
And dare not be reveng’d, for their power is great!
Yet, shall the crowing of these cockerels
Affright a lion? Edward, unfold thy paws,
And let their lives’ blood slake thy fury’s hunger. 205
If I be cruel and grow tyrannous,
Now let them thank themselves, and rue too late.
_Kent._ My lord. I see your love to Gaveston
Will be the ruin of the realm and you,
For now the wrathful nobles threaten wars, 210
And therefore, brother, banish him for ever.
_K. Edw._ Art thou an enemy to my Gaveston?
_Kent._ Ay, and it grieves me that I favoured him.
_K. Edw._ Traitor, begone! whine thou with Mortimer. 214
_Kent._ So will I, rather than with Gaveston.
_K. Edw._ Out of my sight, and trouble me no more!
_Kent._ No marvel though thou scorn thy noble peers,
When I thy brother am rejected thus.
_K. Edw._ Away! _Exit_ KENT.
Poor Gaveston, that has no friend but me, 220
Do what they can, we’ll live in Tynemouth here,
And, so I walk with him about the walls,
What care I though the earls begirt us round?—
Here comes she that is cause of all these jars.
_Enter_ QUEEN ISABELLA _with_ [KING EDWARD’S Niece, _two_] Ladies,
[GAVESTON,] BALDOCK _and_ Young SPENCER.
_Q. Isab._ My lord, ’tis thought the earls are up in arms. 225
_K. Edw._ Ay, and ’tis likewise thought you favour ’em.
_Q. Isab._ Thus do you still suspect me without cause?
_Niece._ Sweet uncle! speak more kindly to the queen.
_Gav._ My lord, dissemble with her, speak her fair.
_K. Edw._ Pardon me, sweet, I forgot myself. 230
_Q. Isab._ Your pardon is quickly got of Isabel.
_K. Edw._ The younger Mortimer is grown so brave,
That to my face he threatens civil wars.
_Gav._ Why do you not commit him to the Tower?
_K. Edw._ I dare not, for the people love him well. 235
_Gav._ Why, then we’ll have him privily made away.
_K. Edw._ Would Lancaster and he had both carous’d
A bowl of poison to each other’s health!
But let them go, and tell me what are these?
_Niece._ Two of my father’s servants whilst he liv’d,— 240
Mayst please your grace to entertain them now.
_K. Edw._ Tell me, where wast thou born?
What is thine arms?
_Bald._ My name is Baldock, and my gentry
I fetcht from Oxford, not from heraldry.
_K. Edw._ The fitter art thou, Baldock, for my turn. 245
Wait on me, and I’ll see thou shalt not want.
_Bald._ I humbly thank your majesty.
_K. Edw._ Knowest thou him, Gaveston?
_Gav._ Ay, my lord;
His name is Spencer, he is well allied;
For my sake, let him wait upon your grace; 250
Scarce shall you find a man of more desert.
_K. Edw._ Then, Spencer, wait upon me; for his sake
I’ll grace thee with a higher style ere long.
_Y. Spen._ No greater titles happen unto me,
Than to be favoured of your majesty. 255
_K. Edw._ Cousin, this day shall be your marriage-feast.
And, Gaveston, think that I love thee well
To wed thee to our niece, the only heir
Unto the Earl of Gloucester late deceas’d.
_Gav._ I know, my lord, many will stomach[656] me, 260
But I respect neither their love nor hate.
_K. Edw._ The headstrong barons shall not limit me:
He that I list to favour shall be great.
Come, let’s away; and when the marriage ends,
Have at the rebels, and their ’complices! 265
_Exeunt._
[SCENE III.][657]
_Enter_ KENT, LANCASTER, Young MORTIMER, WARWICK, PEMBROKE, [_and
others_].
_Kent._ My lords, of love to this our native land
I come to join with you and leave the king;
And in your quarrel and the realm’s behoof
Will be the first that shall adventure life.
_Lan._ I fear me, you are sent of policy, 5
To undermine us with a show of love.
_War._ He is your brother, therefore have we cause
To cast[658] the worst, and doubt of your revolt.
_Kent._ Mine honour shall be hostage of my truth;
If that will not suffice, farewell, my lords. 10
_Y. Mor._ Stay, Edmund; never was Plantagenet
False to his word, and therefore trust we thee.
_Pem._ But what’s the reason you should leave him now?
_Kent._ I have inform’d the Earl of Lancaster.
_Lan._ And it sufficeth. Now, my lords, know this, 15
That Gaveston is secretly arriv’d,
And here in Tynemouth frolics with the king.
Let us with these our followers scale the walls,
And suddenly surprise them unawares. 19
_Y. Mor._ I’ll give the onset.
_War._ And I’ll follow thee.
_Y. Mor._ This tottered[659] ensign of my ancestors,
Which swept the desert shore of that dead sea
Whereof we got the name of Mortimer,
Will I advance upon these castle-walls.
Drums, strike alarum, raise them from their sport, 25
And ring aloud the knell of Gaveston!
_Lan._ None be so hardy as to touch the king;
But neither spare you Gaveston nor his friends.
_Exeunt._
[SCENE IV.][660]
_Enter_ KING EDWARD _and_ Young SPENCER.
_K. Edw._ O tell me, Spencer, where is Gaveston?
_Spen._ I fear he is slain, my gracious lord.
_K. Edw._ No, here he comes; now let them spoil and kill.
[_Enter_ QUEEN ISABELLA, KING EDWARD’S Niece, GAVESTON, _and Nobles_.]
Fly, fly, my lords, the earls have got the hold;
Take shipping and away to Scarborough; 5
Spencer and I will post away by land.
_Gav._ O stay, my lord, they will not injure you.
_K. Edw._ I will not trust them; Gaveston, away!
_Gav._ Farewell, my lord.
_K. Edw._ Lady, farewell. 10
_Niece._ Farewell, sweet uncle, till we meet again.
_K. Edw._ Farewell, sweet Gaveston; and farewell, niece.
_Q. Isab._ No farewell to poor Isabel thy queen?
_K. Edw._ Yes, yes, for Mortimer, your lover’s sake.
_Exeunt all but_ QUEEN ISABELLA.
_Q. Isab._ Heavens can witness I love none but you! 15
From my embracements thus he breaks away.
O that mine arms could close this isle about,
That I might pull him to me where I would!
Or that these tears that drizzle from mine eyes
Had power to mollify his stony heart, 20
That when I had him we might never part.
_Enter_ the Barons, [LANCASTER, WARWICK, Young MORTIMER, _and others_].
_Alarums._
_Lan._ I wonder how he scap’d!
_Y. Mor._ Who’s this? The queen!
_Q. Isab._ Ay, Mortimer, the miserable queen.
Whose pining heart her inward sighs have blasted,
And body with continual mourning wasted. 25
These hands are tir’d with haling of my lord
From Gaveston, from wicked Gaveston,
And all in vain; for, when I speak him fair,
He turns away, and smiles upon his minion.
_Y. Mor._ Cease to lament, and tell us where’s the king? 30
_Q. Isab._ What would you with the king?
Is’t him you seek?
_Lan._ No, madam, but that cursed Gaveston.
Far be it from the thought of Lancaster
To offer violence to his sovereign.
We would but rid the realm of Gaveston: 35
Tell us where he remains, and he shall die.
_Q. Isab._ He ’s gone by water unto Scarborough;
Pursue him quickly, and he cannot scape;
The king hath left him, and his train is small.
_War._ Foreslow[661] no time, sweet Lancaster; let’s march. 40
_Y. Mor._ How comes it that the king and he is parted?
_Q. Isab._ That thus your army, going several ways,
Might be of lesser force; and with the power
That he intendeth presently to raise,
Be easily suppress’d; therefore be gone. 45
_Y. Mor._ Here in the river rides a Flemish hoy;[662]
Let’s all aboard, and follow him amain.
_Lan._ The wind that bears him hence will fill our sails.
Come, come aboard, ’t is but an hour’s sailing.
_Y. Mor._ Madam, stay you within this castle here. 50
_Q. Isab._ No, Mortimer, I’ll to my lord the king.
_Y. Mor._ Nay, rather sail with us to Scarborough.
_Q. Isab._ You know the king is so suspicious,
As if he hear I have but talk’d with you,
Mine honour will be call’d in question; 55
And therefore, gentle Mortimer, be gone.
_Y. Mor._ Madam, I cannot stay to answer you,
But think of Mortimer as he deserves.
[_Exeunt all except_ QUEEN ISABELLA.]
_Q. Isab._ So well hast thou deserv’d sweet Mortimer,
As Isabel could live with thee for ever! 60
In vain I look for love at Edward’s hand,
Whose eyes are fix’d on none but Gaveston;
Yet once more I’ll importune him with prayers.
If he be strange and not regard my words,
My son and I will over into France, 65
And to the king my brother there complain,
How Gaveston hath robb’d me of his love:
But yet I hope my sorrows will have end,
And Gaveston this blessed day be slain. _Exit._
[SCENE V.][663]
_Enter_ GAVESTON, _pursued_.
_Gav._ Yet, lusty lords, I have escap’d your hands,
Your threats, your ’larums, and your hot pursuits;
And though divorced from King Edward’s eyes,
Yet liveth Pierce of Gaveston unsurpris’d,[664]
Breathing, in hope (_malgrado_[665] all your beards, 5
That muster rebels thus against your king),
To see his royal sovereign once again.
_Enter_ the Nobles, [WARWICK, LANCASTER, PEMBROKE, Young MORTIMER,
Soldiers, JAMES, _and other_ Attendants of PEMBROKE].
_War._ Upon him, soldiers, take away his weapons.
_Y. Mor._ Thou proud disturber of thy country’s peace,
Corrupter of thy king, cause of these broils, 10
Base flatterer, yield! and were it not for shame,
Shame and dishonour to a soldier’s name,
Upon my weapon’s point here shouldst thou fall,
And welter in thy gore.
_Lan._ Monster of men!
That, like the Greekish strumpet,[666] train’d[667] to arms 15
And bloody wars so many valiant knights;
Look for no other fortune, wretch, than death!
King Edward is not here to buckler thee.
_War._ Lancaster, why talk’st thou to the slave? 19
Go, soldiers, take him hence, for, by my sword,
His head shall off. Gaveston, short warning
Shall serve thy turn; it is our country’s cause
That here severely we will execute
Upon thy person. Hang him at a bough. 24
_Gav._ My lord!—
_War._ Soldiers, have him away;—
But for thou wert the favourite of a king,
Thou shalt have so much honour at our hands—
_Gav._ I thank you all, my lords: then I perceive,
That heading is one, and hanging is the other,
And death is all. 30
_Enter Earl of_ ARUNDEL.
_Lan._ How now, my lord of Arundel?
_Arun._ My lords, King Edward greets you all by me.
_War._ Arundel, say your message.
_Arun._ His majesty,
Hearing that you had taken Gaveston,
Entreateth you by me, yet but he may 35
See him before he dies; for why, he says,
And sends you word, he knows that die he shall;
And if you gratify his grace so far,
He will be mindful of the courtesy. 39
_War._ How now?
_Gav._ Renowmed Edward, how thy name
Revives poor Gaveston!
_War._ No, it needeth not;
Arundel, we will gratify the king
In other matters; he must pardon us in this.
Soldiers, away with him!
_Gav._ Why, my lord of Warwick,
Will not these delays beget my hopes? 45
I know it, lords, it is this life you aim at,
Yet grant King Edward this.
_Y. Mor._ Shalt thou appoint
What we shall grant? Soldiers, away with him!
Thus we’ll gratify the king:
We’ll send his head by thee; let him bestow 50
His tears on that, for that is all he gets
Of Gaveston, or else his senseless trunk.
_Lan._ Not so, my lords, lest he bestow more cost
In burying him than he hath ever earn’d.
_Arun._ My lords, it is his majesty’s request, 55
And in the honour of a king he swears,
He will but talk with him, and send him back.
_War._ When? can you tell? Arundel, no; we wot
He that the care of his realm remits,
And drives his nobles to these exigents[668] 60
For Gaveston, will, if he sees[669] him once,
Violate any promises to possess him.
_Arun._ Then if you will not trust his grace in keep,
My lords, I will be pledge for his return. 64
_Y. Mor._ ’T is honourable in thee to offer this;
But for we know thou art a noble gentleman,
We will not wrong thee so, to make away
A true man for a thief.
_Gav._ How mean’st thou, Mortimer? That is over-base.
_Y. Mor._ Away, base groom, robber of king’s renown! 70
Question with thy companions and thy mates.
_Pem._ My Lord Mortimer, and you, my lords, each one,
To gratify the king’s request therein,
Touching the sending of this Gaveston,
Because his majesty so earnestly 75
Desires to see the man before his death,
I will upon mine honour undertake
To carry him, and bring him back again;
Provided this, that you my lord of Arundel 79
Will join with me.
_War._ Pembroke, what wilt thou do?
Cause yet more bloodshed? Is it not enough
That we have taken him, but must we now
Leave him on “had I wist,”[670] and let him go?
_Pem._ My lords, I will not over-woo your honours,
But if you dare trust Pembroke with the prisoner, 85
Upon mine oath, I will return him back.
_Arun._ My lord of Lancaster, what say you in this?
_Lan._ Why, I say, let him go on Pembroke’s word.
_Pem._ And you, Lord Mortimer? 89
_Y. Mor._ How say you, my lord of Warwick?
_War._ Nay, do your pleasures, I know how ’t will prove.
_Pem._ Then give him me.
_Gav._ Sweet sovereign, yet I come
To see thee ere I die.
_War._ Yet not perhaps,
If Warwick’s wit and policy prevail. [_Aside._]
_Y. Mor._ My lord of Pembroke, we deliver him you; 95
Return him on your honour. Sound, away!
_Exeunt all except_ PEMBROKE, ARUNDEL, GAVESTON, [JAMES, _and other_]
Attendants of PEMBROKE.
_Pem._ My lord [Arundel,] you shall go with me.
My house is not far hence; out of the way
A little, but our men shall go along.
We that have pretty wenches to our wives, 100
Sir, must not come so near and baulk their lips.
_Arun._ ’T is very kindly spoke, my lord of Pembroke;
Your honour hath an adamant of power
To draw a prince.
_Pem._ So, my lord. Come hither, James:
I do commit this Gaveston to thee, 105
Be thou this night his keeper; in the morning
We will discharge thee of thy charge. Be gone.
_Gav._ Unhappy Gaveston, whither goest thou now?
_Exit with_ [JAMES _and the other_] Attendants.
_Horse-boy._ My lord, we’ll quickly be at Cobham. _Exeunt._
[ACT III]
[SCENE I.][671]
_Enter_ GAVESTON _mourning_, [JAMES _and other_] Attendants _of_ PEMBROKE.
_Gav._ O treacherous Warwick! thus to wrong thy friend.
_James._ I see it is your life these arms pursue.
_Gav._ Weaponless must I fall, and die in bands?
O! must this day be period of my life?
Centre of all my bliss! An ye be men, 5
Speed to the king.
_Enter_ WARWICK _and his company_.
_War._ My lord of Pembroke’s men,
Strive you no longer—I will have that Gaveston.
_James._ Your lordship does dishonour to yourself,
And wrong our lord, your honourable friend.
_War._ No, James, it is my country’s cause I follow. 10
Go, take the villain; soldiers, come away.
We’ll make quick work. Commend me to your master,
My friend, and tell him that I watch’d it well.
Come, let thy shadow[672] parley with King Edward.
_Gav._ Treacherous earl, shall I not see the king? 15
_War._ The king of Heaven, perhaps; no other king.
Away! _Exeunt_ WARWICK _and his men with_ GAVESTON.
_James._ Come, fellows, it booted not for us to strive.
We will in haste go certify our lord. _Exeunt._
[SCENE II.][673]
_Enter_ KING EDWARD _and_ [Young] SPENCER, [BALDOCK, _and_ Nobles _of
the_ KING’S _side, and_ Soldiers] _with drums and fifes_.
_K. Edw._ I long to hear an answer from the barons
Touching my friend, my dearest Gaveston.
Ah! Spencer, not the riches of my realm
Can ransom him! Ah, he is mark’d to die!
I know the malice of the younger Mortimer, 5
Warwick I know is rough, and Lancaster
Inexorable, and I shall never see
My lovely Pierce, my Gaveston again!
The barons overbear me with their pride.
_Y. Spen._ Were I King Edward, England’s sovereign, 10
Son to the lovely Eleanor of Spain,
Great Edward Longshanks’ issue, would I bear
These braves, this rage, and suffer uncontroll’d
These barons thus to beard me in my land,
In mine own realm? My lord, pardon my speech: 15
Did you retain your father’s magnanimity,
Did you regard the honour of your name,
You would not suffer thus your majesty
Be counterbuff’d of[674] your nobility.
Strike off their heads, and let them preach on poles! 20
No doubt, such lessons they will teach the rest,
As by their preachments they will profit much,
And learn obedience to their lawful king.
_K. Edw._ Yea, gentle Spencer, we have been too mild,
Too kind to them; but now have drawn our sword, 25
And if they send me not my Gaveston,
We’ll steel it[675] on their crest, and poll their tops.
_Bald._ This haught[676] resolve becomes your majesty,
Not to be tied to their affection,
As though your highness were a schoolboy still,
And must be aw’d and govern’d like a child. 31
_Enter the_ Elder SPENCER, _with his truncheon and_ Soldiers.
_E. Spen._ Long live my sovereign, the noble Edward,
In peace triumphant, fortunate in wars!
_K. Edw._ Welcome, old man, com’st thou in Edward’s aid?
Then tell thy prince of whence, and what thou art. 35
_E. Spen._ Lo, with a band of bowmen and of pikes,
Brown bills and targeteers, four hundred strong,
Sworn to defend King Edward’s royal right,
I come in person to your majesty,
Spencer, the father of Hugh Spencer there, 40
Bound to your highness everlastingly,
For favour done, in him, unto us all.
_K. Edw._ Thy father, Spencer?
_Y. Spen._ True, an it like your grace,
That pours, in lieu of all your goodness shown,
His life, my lord, before your princely feet. 45
_K. Edw._ Welcome ten thousand times, old man, again.
Spencer, this love, this kindness to thy king,
Argues thy noble mind and disposition.
Spencer, I here create thee Earl of Wiltshire,
And daily will enrich thee with our favour, 50
That, as the sunshine, shall reflect o’er thee.
Beside, the more to manifest our love,
Because we hear Lord Bruce doth sell his land,
And that the Mortimers are in hand[677] withal,
Thou shalt have crowns of us t’ outbid the barons: 55
And, Spencer, spare them not, but lay it on.
Soldiers, a largess, and thrice welcome all!
_Y. Spen._ My lord, here comes the queen.
_Enter_ QUEEN [ISABELLA,] _and her son_ [PRINCE EDWARD,] _and_ LEVUNE,
a Frenchman.
_K. Edw._ Madam, what news?
_Q. Isab._ News of dishonour, lord, and discontent. 60
Our friend Levune, faithful and full of trust,
Informeth us, by letters and by words,
That Lord Valois our brother, King of France,
Because your highness hath been slack in homage,
Hath seized Normandy into his hands. 65
These be the letters, this the messenger.
_K. Edw._ Welcome, Levune. Tush, Sib, if this be all
Valois and I will soon be friends again.—
But to my Gaveston; shall I never see,
Never behold thee now?—Madam in this matter, 70
We will employ you and your little son;
You shall go parley with the king of France.—
Boy, see you bear you bravely to the king,
And do your message with a majesty.
_P. Edw._ Commit not to my youth things of more weight 75
Than fits a prince so young as I to bear,
And fear not, lord and father, Heaven’s great beams
On Atlas’ shoulder shall not lie more safe,
Than shall your charge committed to my trust.
_Q. Isab._ Ah, boy! this towardness makes thy mother fear 80
Thou art not mark’d to many days on earth.
_K. Edw._ Madam, we will that you with speed be shipp’d,
And this our son; Levune shall follow you
With all the haste we can despatch him hence.
Choose of our lords to bear you company, 85
And go in peace; leave us in wars at home.
_Q. Isab._ Unnatural wars, where subjects brave their king;
God end them once! My lords, I take my leave,
To make my preparation for France. [_Exit with_ PRINCE EDWARD.]
_Enter_ [ARUNDEL].[678]
_K. Edw._ What, Lord [Arundel,] dost thou come alone? 90
_Arun._ Yea, my good lord, for Gaveston is dead.
_K. Edw._ Ah, traitors! have they put my friend to death?
Tell me, Arundel, died he ere thou cam’st.
Or didst thou see my friend to take his death?
_Arun._ Neither, my lord; for as he was surprised, 95
Begirt with weapons and with enemies round,
I did your highness’ message to them all;
Demanding him of them, entreating rather,
And said, upon the honour of my name,
That I would undertake to carry him 100
Unto your highness, and to bring him back.
_K. Edw._ And tell me, would the rebels deny me that?
_Y. Spen._ Proud recreants!
_K. Edw._ Yea, Spencer, traitors all.
_Arun._ I found them at the first inexorable;
The Earl of Warwick would not bide the hearing, 105
Mortimer hardly; Pembroke and Lancaster
Spake least: and when they flatly had denied,
Refusing to receive me pledge for him,
The Earl of Pembroke mildly thus bespake;
“My lords, because our sovereign sends for him, 110
And promiseth he shall be safe return’d,
I will this undertake, to have him hence,
And see him re-delivered to your hands.”
_K. Edw._ Well, and how fortunes [it] that he came not?
_Y. Spen._ Some treason, or some villainy, was cause. 115
_Arun._ The Earl of Warwick seiz’d him on his way;
For being delivered unto Pembroke’s men,
Their lord rode home thinking his prisoner safe;
But ere he came, Warwick in ambush lay,
And bare him to his death; and in a trench 120
Strake off his head, and march’d unto the camp.
_Y. Spen._ A bloody part, flatly ’gainst law of arms!
_K. Edw._ O shall I speak, or shall I sigh and die!
_Y. Spen._ My lord, refer your vengeance to the sword
Upon these barons; hearten up your men; 125
Let them not unreveng’d murder your friends!
Advance your standard, Edward, in the field,
And march to fire them from their starting holes.
_K. Edw._ (kneeling.) By earth, the common mother of us all,
By Heaven, and all the moving orbs thereof, 130
By this right hand, and by my father’s sword,
And all the honours ’longing to my crown,
I will have heads and lives for him, as many
As I have manors, castles, towns, and towers!—[_Rises._]
Treacherous Warwick! traitorous Mortimer! 135
If I be England’s king, in lakes of gore
Your headless trunks, your bodies will I trail,
That you may drink your fill, and quaff in blood,
And stain my royal standard with the same,
That so my bloody colours may suggest 140
Remembrance of revenge immortally
On your accursed traitorous progeny.
You villains, that have slain my Gaveston!
And in this place of honour and of trust,
Spencer, sweet Spencer, I adopt thee here: 145
And merely of our love we do create thee
Earl of Gloucester, and Lord Chamberlain,
Despite of times, despite of enemies.
_Y. Spen._ My lord, here’s a messenger from the barons,
Desires access unto your majesty. 150
_K. Edw._ Admit him near.
_Enter the_ Herald _from the Barons with his coat of arms._
_Her._ Long live King Edward, England’s lawful lord!
_K. Edw._ So wish not they, I wis, that sent thee hither.
Thou com’st from Mortimer and his ’complices,
A ranker rout of rebels never was. 155
Well, say thy message.
_Her._ The barons up in arms, by me salute
Your highness with long life and happiness;
And bid me say, as plainer to your grace,
That if without effusion of blood 160
You will this grief have ease and remedy,
That from your princely person you remove
This Spencer, as a putrifying branch,
That deads the royal vine, whose golden leaves
Empale your princely head, your diadem, 165
Whose brightness such pernicious upstarts dim,
Say they; and lovingly advise your grace,
To cherish virtue and nobility,
And have old servitors in high esteem,
And shake off smooth dissembling flatterers. 170
This granted, they, their honours, and their lives,
Are to your highness vow’d and consecrate.
_Y. Spen._ Ah, traitors! will they still display their pride?
_K. Edw._ Away, tarry no answer, but be gone!
Rebels, will they appoint their sovereign 175
His sports, his pleasures, and his company?
Yet, ere thou go, see how I do divorce
_Embraces_ SPENCER.
Spencer from me.—Now get thee to thy lords,
And tell them I will come to chastise them
For murdering Gaveston; hie thee, get thee gone! 180
Edward with fire and sword follows at thy heels.
[_Exit_ Herald.]
My lords, perceive you how these rebels swell?
Soldiers, good hearts, defend your sovereign’s right,
For now, even now, we march to make them stoop.
Away! _Exeunt. Alarums, excursions, a great fight, and a retreat
[sounded, within]._
[SCENE III.][679]
_Re-enter_ KING EDWARD, _the_ Elder SPENCER, Young SPENCER, _and_
Noblemen _of the_ KING’S _side_.
_K. Edw._ Why do we sound retreat? Upon them, lords!
This day I shall pour vengeance with my sword
On those proud rebels that are up in arms
And do confront and countermand their king.
_Y. Spen._ I doubt it not, my lord, right will prevail. 5
_E. Spen._ ’Tis not amiss, my liege, for either part
To breathe awhile; our men, with sweat and dust
All chokt well near, begin to faint for heat;
And this retire refresheth horse and man.
_Y. Spen._ Here come the rebels. 10
_Enter the_ Barons, Young MORTIMER, LANCASTER, WARWICK, PEMBROKE, _and
others_.
_Y. Mor._ Look, Lancaster, yonder is Edward
Among his flatterers.
_Lan._ And there let him be
Till he pay dearly for their company.
_War._ And shall, or Warwick’s sword shall smite in vain.
_K. Edw._ What, rebels, do you shrink and sound retreat? 15
_Y. Mor._ No, Edward, no; thy flatterers faint and fly.
_Lan._ Thou’d best betimes forsake them, and their trains,[680]
For they’ll betray thee, traitors as they are.
_Y. Spen._ Traitor on thy face, rebellious Lancaster!
_Pem._ Away, base upstart, brav’st thou nobles thus? 20
_E. Spen._ A noble attempt and honourable deed,
Is it not, trow ye, to assemble aid,
And levy arms against your lawful king!
_K. Edw._ For which ere long their heads shall satisfy,
T’ appease the wrath of their offended king. 25
_Y. Mor._ Then, Edward, thou wilt fight it to the last,
And rather bathe thy sword in subjects’ blood,
Than banish that pernicious company?
_K. Edw._ Ay, traitors all, rather than thus be brav’d,
Make England’s civil towns huge heaps of stones, 30
And ploughs to go about our palace-gates.
_War._ A desperate and unnatural resolution!
Alarum! to the fight!
St. George for England, and the barons’ right!
_K. Edw._ Saint George for England, and King Edward’s right! 35
[_Alarums. Exeunt the two parties severally._]
[SCENE IV.][681]
_Enter_ KING EDWARD [_and his followers_,] _with the_ Barons [_and_
KENT], _captives_.
_K. Edw._ Now, lusty lords, now, not by chance of war,
But justice of the quarrel and the cause.
Vail’d[682] is your pride; methinks you hang the heads,
But we’ll advance[683] them, traitors. Now’t is time
To be aveng’d on you for all your braves, 5
And for the murder of my dearest friend,
To whom right well you knew our soul was knit,
Good Pierce of Gaveston, my sweet favourite.
Ah, rebels! recreants! you made him away.
_Kent._ Brother, in regard of thee, and of thy land, 10
Did they remove that flatterer from thy throne.
_K. Edw._ So, sir, you have spoke; away, avoid our presence!
[_Exit_ KENT.]
Accursed wretches, was’t in regard of us,
When we had sent our messenger to request
He might be spar’d to come to speak with us,
And Pembroke undertook for his return, 15
That thou, proud Warwick, watch’d the prisoner,
Poor Pierce, and headed him ’gainst law of arms?
For which thy head shall overlook the rest,
As much as thou in rage outwent’st the rest. 20
_War._ Tyrant, I scorn thy threats and menaces;
It is but temporal that thou canst inflict.
_Lan._ The worst is death, and better die to live
Than live in infamy under such a king.
_K. Edw._ Away with them, my lord of Winchester! 25
These lusty leaders, Warwick and Lancaster,
I charge you roundly—off with both their heads!
Away!
_War._ Farewell, vain world!
_Lan._ Sweet Mortimer, farewell.
_Y. Mor._ England, unkind to thy nobility, 30
Groan for this grief, behold how thou art maim’d!
_K. Edw._ Go take that haughty Mortimer to the Tower,
There see him safe bestow’d; and for the rest,
Do speedy execution on them all.
Begone! 35
_Y. Mor._ What, Mortimer! can ragged stony walls
Immure thy virtue that aspires to Heaven?
No, Edward, England’s scourge, it may not be;
Mortimer’s hope surmounts his fortune far.
[_The captive_ Barons _are led off_.]
_K. Edw._ Sound drums and trumpets! March with me, my friends, 40
Edward this day hath crown’d him king anew.
_Exeunt all except_ Young SPENCER, LEVUNE, _and_ BALDOCK.
_Y. Spen._ Levune, the trust that we repose in thee,
Begets the quiet of King Edward’s land.
Therefore begone in haste, and with advice
Bestow that treasure on the lords of France, 45
That, therewith all enchanted, like the guard
That suffered Jove to pass in showers of gold
To Danaë, all aid may be denied
To Isabel, the queen, that now in France
Makes friends, to cross the seas with her young son, 50
And step into his father’s regiment.[684]
_Levune._ That’s it these barons and the subtle queen
Long levell’d at.
_Bal._ Yea, but, Levune, thou seest
These barons lay their heads on blocks together;
What they intend, the hangman frustrates clean. 55
_Levune._ Have you no doubt, my lords, I’ll clap so close
Among the lords of France with England’s gold,
That Isabel shall make her plaints in vain,
And France shall be obdurate with her tears.
_Y. Spen._ Then make for France amain; Levune, away! 60
Proclaim King Edward’s wars and victories.
_Exeunt._
[ACT IV]
[SCENE I.][685]
_Enter_ KENT.
_Kent._ Fair blows the wind for France; blow gentle gale,
Till Edmund be arriv’d for England’s good!
Nature, yield to my country’s cause in this.
A brother? No, a butcher of thy friends!
Proud Edward, dost thou banish me thy presence? 5
But I’ll to France, and cheer the wronged queen,
And certify what Edward’s looseness is.
Unnatural king! to slaughter noblemen
And cherish flatterers! Mortimer, I stay 9
Thy sweet escape: stand gracious, gloomy night,
To his device.
_Enter_ Young MORTIMER, _disguised_.
_Y. Mor._ Holla! who walketh there?
Is ’t you, my lord?
_Kent._ Mortimer, ’tis I;
But hath thy potion wrought so happily?
_Y. Mor._ It hath, my Lord; the warders all asleep,
I thank them, gave me leave to pass in peace. 15
But hath your grace got shipping unto France?
_Kent._ Fear it not. _Exeunt._
[SCENE II.][686]
_Enter_ QUEEN [ISABELLA] _and her son_ [PRINCE EDWARD].
_Q. Isab._ Ah, boy! our friends do fail us all in France.
The lords are cruel, and the king unkind;
What shall we do?
_P. Edw._ Madam, return to England,
And please my father well, and then a fig
For all my uncle’s friendship here in France. 5
I warrant you, I’ll win his highness quickly;
’A loves me better than a thousand Spencers.
_Q. Isab._ Ah, boy, thou art deceiv’d, at least in this,
To think that we can yet be tun’d together;
No, no, we jar too far. Unkind Valois! 10
Unhappy Isabel! when France rejects,
Whither, oh! whither dost thou bend thy steps?
_Enter_ SIR JOHN _of_ HAINAULT.
_Sir J._ Madam, what cheer?
_Q. Isab._ Ah! good Sir John of Hainault,
Never so cheerless, nor so far distrest.
_Sir J._ I hear, sweet lady, of the king’s unkindness; 15
But droop not, madam; noble minds contemn
Despair. Will your grace with me to Hainault,
And there stay time’s advantage with your son?
How say you, my lord, will you go with your friends,
And share of[687] all our fortunes equally? 20
_P. Edw._ So pleaseth the queen, my mother, me it likes.
The King of England, nor the court of France,
Shall have me from my gracious mother’s side,
Till I be strong enough to break a staff; 24
And then have at the proudest Spencer’s head.
_Sir J._ Well said, my lord.
_Q. Isab._ O, my sweet heart, how do I moan thy wrongs,
Yet triumph in the hope of thee, my joy!
Ah, sweet Sir John! even to the utmost verge
Of Europe, or the shore of Tanais, 30
Will we with thee to Hainault—so we will:—
The marquis is a noble gentleman;
His grace, I dare presume, will welcome me.
But who are these?
_Enter_ KENT _and_ Young MORTIMER.
_Kent._ Madam, long may you live,
Much happier than your friends in England do!
_Q. Isab._ Lord Edmund and Lord Mortimer alive! 35
Welcome to France! The news was here, my lord,
That you were dead, or very near your death.
_Y. Mor._ Lady, the last was truest of the twain;
But Mortimer, reserv’d for better hap, 40
Hath shaken off the thraldom of the Tower,
And lives t’ advance your standard, good my lord.
_P. Edw._ How mean you? An[688] the king, my father, lives?
No, my Lord Mortimer, not I, I trow.
_Q. Isab._ Not, son! why not? I would it were no worse. 45
But, gentle lords, friendless we are in France.
_Y. Mor._ Monsieur le Grand, a noble friend of yours,
Told us, at our arrival, all the news:
How hard the nobles, how unkind the king
Hath show’d himself; but, madam, right makes room 50
Where weapons want; and, though a many friends
Are made away, away, as Warwick, Lancaster,
And others of our party and faction;
Yet have we friends, assure your grace, in England
Would cast up caps, and clap their hands for joy, 55
To see us there, appointed[689] for our foes.
_Kent._ Would all were well, and Edward well reclaim’d,
For England’s honour, peace, and quietness.
_Y. Mor._ But by the sword, my lord, ’t must be deserv’d;[690]
The king will ne’er forsake his flatterers. 60
_Sir J._ My lord of England, sith th’ ungentle king
Of France refuseth to give aid of arms
To this distressed queen his sister here,
Go you with her to Hainault. Doubt ye not, 64
We will find comfort, money, men, and friends
Ere long, to bid the English king a base.[691]
How say, young prince? What think you of the match?
_P. Edw._ I think King Edward will outrun us all.
_Q. Isab._ Nay, son, not so; and you must not discourage
Your friends, that are so forward in your aid. 70
_Kent._ Sir John of Hainault, pardon us, I pray;
These comforts that you give our woful queen
Bind us in kindness all at your command.
_Q. Isab._ Yea, gentle brother; and the God of heaven
Prosper your happy motion, good Sir John. 75
_Y. Mor._ This noble gentleman, forward in arms,
Was born, I see, to be our anchor-hold.
Sir John of Hainault, be it thy renown,
That England’s queen and nobles in distress,
Have been by thee restor’d and comforted. 80
_Sir J._ Madam, along, and you my lords, with me,
That England’s peers may Hainault’s welcome see. [_Exeunt._]
[SCENE III.][692]
_Enter_ KING [EDWARD,] ARUNDEL, _the_ Elder _and_ Younger SPENCER,
_with others_.
_K. Edw._ Thus after many threats of wrathful war,
Triumpheth England’s Edward with his friends;
And triumph, Edward, with his friends uncontroll’d!
My lord of Gloucester, do you hear the news?
_Y. Spen._ What news, my lord? 5
_K. Edw._ Why, man, they say there is great execution
Done through the realm; my lord of Arundel,
You have the note, have you not?
_Arun._ From the Lieutenant of the Tower, my lord.
_K. Edw._ I pray let us see it. [_Takes the note._]
What have we there? 10
Read it, Spencer.
[_Hands the note to_] Young SPENCER [_who_] _reads the names_.
Why, so; they bark’d apace a month ago:
Now, on my life, they’ll neither bark nor bite.
Now, sirs, the news from France? Gloucester, I trow
The lords of France love England’s gold so well
As Isabella gets no aid from thence. 16
What now remains? Have you proclaim’d, my lord,
Reward for them can bring in Mortimer?
_Y. Spen._ My lord, we have; and if he be in England,
’A will be had ere long, I doubt it not. 20
_K. Edw._ If, dost thou say? Spencer, as true as death,
He is in England’s ground; our portmasters
Are not so careless of their king’s command.
_Enter_ a Post.
How now, what news with thee? From whence come these?
_Post._ Letters, my lord, and tidings forth of France;— 25
To you, my lord of Gloucester, from Levune.
[_Gives letters to_ Young SPENCER]
_K. Edw._ Read.
_Y. Spen._ (_reads_).
“My duty to your honour premised, &c, I have, according to
instructions in that behalf, dealt with the King of France his lords,
and (30) effected that the queen, all discontented and discomforted,
is gone: whither, if you ask, with Sir John of Hainault, brother to
the marquis, into Flanders. With them are gone Lord Edmund, and the
Lord Mortimer, having in their (35) company divers of your nation,
and others; and, as constant report goeth, they intend to give King
Edward battle in England, sooner than he can look for them. This is
all the news of import. 40
Your honour’s in all service, LEVUNE.”
_K. Edw._ Ah, villains! hath that Mortimer escap’d?
With him is Edmund gone associate?
And will Sir John of Hainault lead the round?
Welcome, a’ God’s name, madam, and your son;
England shall welcome you and all your rout. 46
Gallop apace, bright Phoebus, through the sky,
And dusky night, in rusty iron car,
Between you both shorten the time, I pray,
That I may see that most desired day 50
When we may meet these traitors in the field.
Ah, nothing grieves me but my little boy
Is thus misled to countenance their ills.
Come, friends, to Bristow,[693] there to make us strong;
And, winds, as equal be to bring them in, 55
As you injurious were to bear them forth!
[_Exeunt._]
[SCENE IV.][694]
_Enter_ QUEEN [ISABELLA], _her son_, [PRINCE EDWARD,] KENT, Young
MORTIMER, _and_ SIR JOHN [_of_ HAINAULT].
_Q. Isab._ Now, lords, our loving friends and countrymen,
Welcome to England all, with prosperous winds!
Our kindest friends in Belgia have we left,
To cope with friends at home; a heavy case
When force to force is knit, and sword and glaive 5
In civil broils make kin and countrymen
Slaughter themselves in others, and their sides
With their own weapons gor’d! But what’s the help?
Misgoverned kings are cause of all this wrack;
And, Edward, thou art one among them all, 10
Whose looseness hath betray’d thy land to spoil,
Who made the channels overflow with blood.
Of thine own people patron shouldst thou be,
But thou— 14
_Y. Mor._ Nay, madam, if you be a warrior.
You must not grow so passionate in speeches.
Lords,
Sith that we are by sufferance of Heaven
Arriv’d and armed in this prince’s right,
Here for our country’s cause swear we to him 20
All homage, fealty, and forwardness;
And for the open wrongs and injuries
Edward hath done to us, his queen and land,
We come in arms to wreak it with the sword;
That England’s queen in peace may repossess
Her dignities and honours; and withal 26
We may remove these flatterers from the king,
That havocs England’s wealth and treasury.
_Sir J._ Sound trumpets, my lord, and forward let us march.
Edward will think we come to flatter him. 30
_Kent._ I would he never had been flattered more. [_Exeunt._]
[SCENE V.][695]
_Enter_ KING EDWARD, BALDOCK, _and_ Young SPENCER, _flying about the
stage_.
_Y. Spen._ Fly, fly, my lord! the queen is over-strong;
Her friends do multiply, and yours do fail.
Shape we our course to Ireland, there to breathe.
_K. Edw._ What! was I born to fly and run away,
And leave the Mortimers conquerors behind? 5
Give me my horse, and let’s reinforce our troops:
And in this bed of honour die with fame.
_Bald._ O no, my lord, this princely resolution
Fits not the time; away! we are pursu’d.
[_Exeunt._]
_Enter_ KENT, _with sword and target_.
_Kent._ This way he fled, but I am come too late. 10
Edward, alas! my heart relents for thee.
Proud traitor, Mortimer, why dost thou chase
Thy lawful king, thy sovereign, with thy sword?
Vile wretch! and why hast thou, of all unkind,
Borne arms against thy brother and thy king?
Rain showers of vengeance on my cursed head,
Thou God, to whom in justice it belongs 17
To punish this unnatural revolt!
Edward, this Mortimer aims at thy life!
O fly him, then! But, Edmund, calm this rage,
Dissemble, or thou diest; for Mortimer 21
And Isabel do kiss, while they conspire;
And yet she bears a face of love forsooth.
Fie on that love that hatcheth death and hate!
Edmund, away! Bristow to Longshanks’ blood
Is false. Be not found single for suspect;[696] 26
Proud Mortimer pries near unto thy walks.
_Enter_ QUEEN [ISABELLA,] PRINCE [EDWARD,] Young MORTIMER, _and_ SIR
JOHN _of_ HAINAULT.
_Q. Isab_. Successful battle gives the God of kings
To them that fight in right and fear his wrath.
Since then successfully we have prevailed, 30
Thanked be Heaven’s great architect, and you.
Ere farther we proceed, my noble lords,
We here create our well-beloved son,
Of love and care unto his royal person,
Lord Warden of the realm, and sith the fates 35
Have made his father so unfortunate,
Deal you, my lords, in this, my loving lords,
As to your wisdoms fittest seems in all.
_Kent._ Madam, without offence, if I may ask,
How will you deal with Edward in his fall? 40
_P. Edw._ Tell me, good uncle, what Edward do you mean?
_Kent._ Nephew, your father; I dare not call him king.
_Y. Mor._ My lord of Kent, what needs these questions?
’T is not in her controlment, nor in ours,
But as the realm and parliament shall please, 45
So shall your brother be disposed of.—
I like not this relenting mood in Edmund.
Madam, ’tis good to look to him betimes.
[_Aside to the_ QUEEN.]
_Q. Isab._ My lord, the Mayor of Bristol knows our mind.
_Y. Mor._ Yea, madam, and they scape not easily 50
That fled the field.
_Q. Isab._ Baldock is with the king,
A goodly chancellor, is he not, my lord?
_Sir J._ So are the Spencers, the father and the son.
_Kent._ This Edward is the ruin of the realm.
_Enter_ RICE AP HOWELL _and the_ Mayor of Bristol, _with the_ Elder
SPENCER [_prisoner, and_ Attendants].
_Rice._ God save Queen Isabel, and her princely son! 55
Madam, the mayor and citizens of Bristol,
In sign of love and duty to this presence,
Present by me this traitor to the state,
Spencer, the father to that wanton Spencer,
That, like the lawless Catiline of Rome, 60
Revelled in England’s wealth and treasury.
_Q. Isab._ We thank you all.
_Y. Mor._ Your loving care in this
Deserveth princely favours and rewards.
But where’s the king and the other Spencer fled?
_Rice._ Spencer the son, created Earl of Gloucester, 65
Is with that smooth-tongu’d scholar Baldock gone
And shipt but late for Ireland with the king.
_Y. Mor._ [_Aside._] Some whirlwind fetch them back or sink them all!—
They shall be started thence, I doubt it not.
_P. Edw._ Shall I not see the king my father yet? 70
_Kent._ [_Aside._] Unhappy’s Edward, chas’d from England’s bounds.
_Sir J._ Madam, what resteth, why stand you in a muse?
_Q. Isab._ I rue my lord’s ill-fortune; but alas!
Care of my country call’d me to this war.
_Y. Mor._ Madam, have done with care and sad complaint; 75
Your king hath wrong’d your country and himself,
And we must seek to right it as we may.
Meanwhile, have hence this rebel to the block.
Your lordship cannot privilege your head.
_E. Spen._ Rebel is he that fights against his prince; 80
So fought not they that fought in Edward’s right.
_Y. Mor._ Take him away, he prates.
[_Exeunt_ Attendants _with the_ Elder SPENCER.]
You, Rice ap Howell,
Shall do good service to her majesty,
Being of countenance in your country here,
To follow these rebellious runagates. 85
We in meanwhile, madam, must take advice
How Baldock, Spencer, and their complices
May in their fall be followed to their end.
_Exeunt._
[SCENE VI.][697]
_Enter the_ Abbot, Monks, [KING] EDWARD, Young SPENCER, _and_ BALDOCK
[_the three latter disguised_].
_Abbot._ Have you no doubt, my lord; have you no fear;
As silent and as careful we will be,
To keep your royal person safe with us,
Free from suspect and fell invasion
Of such as have your majesty in chase, 5
Yourself, and those your chosen company,
As danger of this stormy time requires.
_K. Edw._ Father, thy face should harbour no deceit.
O! hadst thou ever been a king, thy heart,
Pierced deeply with sense of my distress, 10
Could not but take compassion of my state.
Stately and proud, in riches and in train,
Whilom I was, powerful, and full of pomp:
But what is he whom rule and empery
Have not in life or death made miserable? 15
Come, Spencer; come, Baldock, come, sit down by me;
Make trial now of that philosophy,
That in our famous nurseries of arts
Thou suck’dst from Plato and from Aristotle.
Father, this life contemplative is Heaven. 20
O that I might this life in quiet lead!
But we, alas! are chas’d; and you, my friends,
Your lives and my dishonour they pursue.
Yet, gentle monks, for treasure, gold, nor fee,
Do you betray us and our company. 25
_Monks._ Your grace may sit secure, if none but we
Do wot of your abode.
_Y. Spen._ Not one alive; but shrewdly I suspect
A gloomy fellow in a mead below,
’A gave a long look after us, my lord; 30
And all the land I know is up in arms,
Arms that pursue our lives with deadly hate.
_Bald._ We were embark’d for Ireland, wretched we!
With awkward winds and [with] sore tempests driven
To fall on shore, and here to pine in fear 35
Of Mortimer and his confederates.
_K. Edw._ Mortimer! who talks of Mortimer?
Who wounds me with the name of Mortimer,
That bloody man? Good father, on thy lap
Lay I this head, laden with mickle care. 40
O might I never open these eyes again!
Never again lift up this drooping head!
O never more lift up this dying heart!
_Y. Spen._ Look up, my lord.—Baldock, this drowsiness
Betides no good; here even we are betray’d. 45
_Enter, with Welsh hooks._ RICE AP HOWELL, _a_ Mower, _and_ LEICESTER.
_Mow._ Upon my life, these be the men ye seek.
_Rice._ Fellow, enough.—My lord, I pray be short,
A fair commission warrants what we do.
_Leices._ The queen’s commission, urged by Mortimer;
What cannot gallant Mortimer with the queen?
Alas! see where he sits, and hopes unseen 51
T’ escape their hands that seek to reave his life.
Too true it is, _Quem dies vidit veniens superbum,
Hunc dies vidit fugiens jacentem_.[698]
But, Leicester, leave to grow so passionate. 55
Spencer and Baldock, by no other names,
I do arrest you of high treason here.
Stand not on titles, but obey th’ arrest;
’T is in the name of Isabel the queen.
My lord, why droop you thus? 60
_K. Edw._ O day, the last of all my bliss on earth!
Centre of all misfortune! O my stars,
Why do you lour unkindly on a king?
Comes Leicester, then, in Isabella’s name
To take my life, my company from me? 65
Here, man, rip up this panting breast of mine,
And take my heart in rescue of my friends!
_Rice._ Away with them!
_Y. Spen._ It may become thee yet
To let us take our farewell of his grace.
_Abbot._ My heart with pity earns[699] to see this sight,— 70
[_Aside._] A king to bear these words and proud commands.
_K. Edw._ Spencer, ah, sweet Spencer, thus then must we part?
_Y. Spen._ We must, my lord, so will the angry Heavens.
_K. Edw._ Nay, so will hell and cruel Mortimer;
The gentle Heavens have not to do in this. 75
_Bald._ My lord, it is in vain to grieve or storm.
Here humbly of your grace we take our leaves;
Our lots are cast; I fear me, so is thine.
_K. Edw._ In Heaven we may, in earth ne’er shall we meet: 79
And, Leicester, say, what shall become of us?
_Leices._ Your majesty must go to Killingworth.[700]
_K. Edw._ Must! it is somewhat hard, when kings _must_ go.
_Leices._ Here is a litter ready for your grace,
That waits your pleasure, and the day grows old.
_Rice._ As good be gone, as stay and be benighted. 85
_K. Edw._ A litter hast thou? Lay me in a hearse,
And to the gates of hell convey me hence;
Let Pluto’s bells ring out my fatal knell,
And hags howl for my death at Charon’s shore,
For friends hath Edward none but these and these, 90
And these must die under a tyrant’s sword.
_Rice._ My lord, be going; care not for these,
For we shall see them shorter by the heads.
_K. Edw._ Well, that shall be, shall be: part we must! 94
Sweet Spencer, gentle Baldock, part we must!
Hence feigned weeds! unfeigned are my woes:
[_Throws off his disguise._]
Father, farewell! Leicester, thou stay’st for me,
And go I must. Life, farewell, with my friends.
_Exeunt_ EDWARD _and_ LEICESTER.
_Y. Spen._ O! is he gone? Is noble Edward gone?
Parted from hence, never to see us more? 100
Rent, sphere of Heaven! and, fire, forsake thy orb!
Earth, melt to air! gone is my sovereign,
Gone, gone, alas! never to make return.
_Bald._ Spencer, I see our souls are fleeted hence;
We are depriv’d the sunshine of our life: 105
Make for a new life, man; throw up thy eyes,
And heart, and hand to Heaven’s immortal throne;
Pay nature’s debt with cheerful countenance;
Reduce we all our lessons unto this: 109
To die, sweet Spencer, therefore live we all;
Spencer, all live to die, and rise to fall.
_Rice._ Come, come, keep these preachments till you come to the place
appointed. You, and such as you are, have made wise work in England.
Will your lordships away? 115
_Mow._ Your lordship, I trust, will remember me?
_Rice._ Remember thee, fellow! what else?
Follow me to the town. [_Exeunt._]
[ACT V]
[SCENE I.][701]
_Enter_ KING [EDWARD,] LEICESTER, _the_ BISHOP [_of_ WINCHESTER] _for
the crown_ [_and_ TRUSSEL].
_Leices._ Be patient, good my lord, cease to lament;
Imagine Killingworth Castle were your court,
And that you lay for pleasure here a space,
Not of compulsion or necessity.
_K. Edw._ Leicester, if gentle words might comfort me, 5
Thy speeches long ago had eas’d my sorrows;
For kind and loving hast thou always been.
The griefs of private men are soon allay’d,
But not of kings. The forest deer, being struck,
Runs to an herb that closeth up the wounds; 10
But, when the imperial lion’s flesh is gor’d,
He rends and tears it with his wrathful paw,
[And] highly scorning that the lowly earth
Should drink his blood, mounts up into the air.
And so it fares with me, whose dauntless mind
The ambitious Mortimer would seek to curb, 15
And that unnatural queen, false Isabel,
That thus hath pent and mew’d me in a prison;
For such outrageous passions cloy my soul,
As with the wings of rancour and disdain 20
Full often am I soaring up to Heaven,
To plain me to the gods against them both.
But when I call to mind I am a king,
Methinks I should revenge me of my wrongs,
That Mortimer and Isabel have done. 25
But what are kings, when regiment[702] is gone,
But perfect shadows in a sunshine day?
My nobles rule, I bear the name of king;
I wear the crown, but am controll’d by them,
By Mortimer, and my unconstant queen, 30
Who spots my nuptial bed with infamy;
Whilst I am lodg’d within this cave of care,
Where sorrow at my elbow still attends,
To company my heart with sad laments,
That bleeds within me for this strange exchange. 35
But tell me, must I now resign my crown,
To make usurping Mortimer a king?
_B. of Win._ Your grace mistakes; it is for England’s good,
And princely Edward’s right we crave the crown.
_K. Edw._ No, ’t is for Mortimer, not Edward’s head: 40
For he’s a lamb, encompassed by wolves,
Which in a moment will abridge his life.
But if proud Mortimer do wear this crown,
Heavens turn it to a blaze of quenchless fire!
Or like the snaky wreath of Tisiphon, 45
Engirt the temples of his hateful head;
So shall not England’s vine be perished,
But Edward’s name survives, though Edward dies.
_Leices._ My lord, why waste you thus the time away?
They stay your answer; will you yield your crown? 50
_K. Edw._ Ah, Leicester, weigh how hardly I can brook
To lose my crown and kingdom without cause;
To give ambitious Mortimer my right,
That like a mountain overwhelms my bliss, 54
In which extreme my mind here murdered is.
But what the heavens appoint, I must obey!
Here, take my crown; the life of Edward too;
[_Taking off the crown._]
Two kings in England cannot reign at once.
But stay awhile, let me be king till night,
That I may gaze upon this glittering crown; 60
So shall my eyes receive their last content,
My head, the latest honour due to it,
And jointly both yield up their wished right.
Continue ever thou celestial sun;
Let never silent night possess this clime: 65
Stand still you watches of the element;
All times and seasons, rest you at a stay,
That Edward may be still fair England’s king!
But day’s bright beam doth vanish fast away,
And needs I must resign my wished crown. 70
Inhuman creatures! nurs’d with tiger’s milk!
Why gape you for your sovereign’s overthrow!
My diadem I mean, and guiltless life.
See, monsters, see, I’ll wear my crown again!
[_He puts on the crown._]
What, fear you not the fury of your king? 75
But, hapless Edward, thou art fondly[703] led;
They pass[704] not for thy frowns as late they did,
But seek to make a new-elected king;
Which fills my mind with strange despairing thoughts,
Which thoughts are martyred with endless torments, 80
And in this torment comfort find I none,
But that I feel the crown upon my head;
And therefore let me wear it yet awhile.
_Trus._ My lord, the parliament must have present news,
And therefore say, will you resign or no? 85
_The_ KING _rageth_.
_K. Edw._ I’ll not resign, but whilst I live [be king.][705]
Traitors, be gone and join with Mortimer!
Elect, conspire, install, do what you will:—
Their blood and yours shall seal these treacheries!
_B. of Win._ This answer we’ll return, and so farewell.
[_Going with_ TRUSSEL.] 90
_Leices._ Call them again, my lord, and speak them fair;
For if they go, the prince shall lose his right.
_K. Edw._ Call thou them back, I have no power to speak.
_Leices._ My lord, the king is willing to resign.
_B. of Win._ If he be not, let him choose. 95
_K. Edw._ O would I might, but heavens and earth conspire
To make me miserable! Here receive my crown;
Receive it? No, these innocent hands of mine
Shall not be guilty of so foul a crime.
He of you all that most desires my blood, 100
And will be call’d the murderer of a king,
Take it. What, are you mov’d? Pity you me?
Then send for unrelenting Mortimer,
And Isabel, whose eyes, being turn’d to steel,
Will sooner sparkle fire than shed a tear. 105
Yet stay, for rather than I’ll look on them,
Here, here! [_Gives the crown._]
Now, sweet God of Heaven,
Make me despise this transitory pomp,
And sit for aye enthronized in Heaven!
Come, death, and with thy fingers close my eyes, 110
Or if I live, let me forget myself.
_B. of Win._ My lord—
_K. Edw._ Call me not lord; away—out of my sight!
Ah, pardon me: grief makes me lunatic!
Let not that Mortimer protect my son; 115
More safety is there in a tiger’s jaws,
Than his embracements. Bear this to the queen,
Wet with my tears, and dried again with sighs;
[_Gives a handkerchief._]
If with the sight thereof she be not mov’d,
Return it back and dip it in my blood. 120
Commend me to my son, and bid him rule
Better than I. Yet how have I transgress’d,
Unless it be with too much clemency?
_Trus._ And thus most humbly do we take our leave. 124
_K. Edw._ Farewell;
[_Exeunt the_ BISHOP _of_ WINCHESTER _and_ TRUSSEL.]
I know the next news that they bring
Will be my death; and welcome shall it be;
To wretched men, death is felicity.
_Enter_ BERKELEY,[706] [_who gives a paper to_ LEICESTER].
_Leices._ Another post! what news brings he?
_K. Edw._ Such news as I expect—come, Berkeley, come,
And tell thy message to my naked breast. 130
_Berk._ My lord, think not a thought so villainous
Can harbour in a man of noble birth.
To do your highness service and devoir,
And save you from your foes, Berkeley would die.
_Leices._ My lord, the council of the queen commands 135
That I resign my charge.
_K. Edw._ And who must keep me now? Must you, my lord?
_Berk._ Ay, my most gracious lord; so ’t is decreed.
_K. Edw._ [_taking the paper._] By Mortimer, whose
name is written here! 139
Well may I rend his name that rends my heart! [_Tears it._]
This poor revenge has something eas’d my mind.
So may his limbs be torn, as is this paper!
Hear me, immortal Jove, and grant it too!
_Berk._ Your grace must hence with me to Berkeley straight.
_K. Edw._ Whither you will; all places are alike, 145
And every earth is fit for burial.
_Leices._ Favour him, my lord, as much as lieth in you.
_Berk._ Even so betide my soul as I use him.
_K. Edw._ Mine enemy hath pitied my estate,
And that’s the cause that I am now remov’d.
_Berk._ And thinks your grace that Berkeley will be cruel? 151
_K. Edw._ I know not; but of this am I assured,
That death ends all, and I can die but once.
Leicester, farewell!
_Leices._ Not yet, my lord; I’ll bear you on your way. _Exeunt._ 155
[SCENE II.][707]
_Enter_ QUEEN ISABELLA _and_ Young MORTIMER.
_Y. Mor._ Fair Isabel, now have we our desire;
The proud corrupters of the light-brain’d king
Have done their homage to the lofty gallows,
And he himself lies in captivity.
Be rul’d by me, and we will rule the realm. 5
In any case take heed of childish fear,
For now we hold an old wolf by the ears,
That, if he slip, will seize upon us both,
And gripe the sorer, being gript himself.
Think therefore, madam, that imports us much
To erect[708] your son with all the speed we may, 11
And that I be protector over him;
For our behoof will bear the greater sway
Whenas a king’s name shall be under writ.
_Q. Isab._ Sweet Mortimer, the life of Isabel,
Be thou persuaded that I love thee well, 16
And therefore, so the prince my son be safe,
Whom I esteem as dear as these mine eyes,
Conclude against his father what thou wilt,
And I myself will willingly subscribe. 20
_Y. Mar._ First would I hear news that he were depos’d,
And then let me alone to handle him.
_Enter_ Messenger.
Letters! from whence?
_Mess._ From Killingworth, my lord.
_Q. Isab._ How fares my lord the king?
_Mess._ In health, madam, but full of pensiveness, 24
_Q. Isab._ Alas, poor soul, would I could ease his grief!
[_Enter the_ BISHOP _of_ WINCHESTER _with the crown._]
Thanks, gentle Winchester. [_To the_ Messenger.]
Sirrah, be gone. [_Exit_ Messenger.]
_B. of Win._ The king hath willingly resign’d his crown.
_Q. Isab._ O happy news! send for the prince, my son.
_B. of Win._ Further, or this letter was seal’d,
Lord Berkeley came, 30
So that he now is gone from Killingworth;
And we have heard that Edmund laid a plot
To set his brother free; no more but so.
The lord of Berkeley is so pitiful
As Leicester that had charge of him before. 35
_Q. Isab._ Then let some other be his guardian.
_Y. Mor._ Let me alone, here is the privy seal.
[_Exit the_ BISHOP _of_ WINCHESTER.]
Who’s there?—Call hither Gurney and Matrevis.
[_To Attendants within._]
To dash the heavy-headed Edmund’s drift, 39
Berkeley shall be discharg’d, the king remov’d,
And none but we shall know where he lieth.
_Q. Isab._ But, Mortimer, as long as he survives,
What safety rests for us, or for my son?
_Y. Mor._ Speak, shall he presently be despatch’d and die?
_Q. Isab._ I would he were, so ’t were not by my means. 45
_Enter_ MATREVIS _and_ GURNEY.
_Y. Mor._ Enough.—
Matrevis, write a letter presently
Unto the lord of Berkeley from ourself
That he resign the king to thee and Gurney; 49
And when ’t is done, we will subscribe our name.
_Mat._ It shall be done, my lord.
_Y. Mor._ Gurney.
_Gur._ My lord.
_Y. Mor._ As thou intend’st to rise by Mortimer,
Who now makes Fortune’s wheel turn as he please,
Seek all the means thou canst to make him droop, 54
And neither give him kind word nor good look.
_Gur._ I warrant you, my lord.
_Y. Mor._ And this above the rest: because we hear
That Edmund casts[709] to work his liberty,
Remove him still from place to place by night,
Till at the last he come to Killingworth, 60
And then from thence to Berkeley back again;
And by the way, to make him fret the more,
Speak curstly to him, and in any case
Let no man comfort him; if he chance to weep,
But amplify his grief with bitter words. 65
_Mat._ Fear not, my lord, we’ll do as you command.
_Y. Mor._ So now away; post thitherwards amain.
_Q. Isab._ Whither goes this letter? To my lord the king?
Commend me humbly to his majesty,
And tell him that I labour all in vain 70
To ease his grief, and work his liberty;
And bear him this as witness of my love. [_Gives a ring._]
_Mat._ I will, madam. _Exit with_ GURNEY.
_Enter_ PRINCE [EDWARD,] _and_ KENT _talking with him_.
_Y. Mor._ Finely dissembled. Do so still, sweet queen.
Here comes the young prince with the Earl of Kent. 75
_Q. Isab._ Something he whispers in his childish ears.
_Y. Mor._ If he have such access unto the prince,
Our plots and stratagems will soon be dash’d.
_Q. Isab._ Use Edmund friendly, as if all were well.
_Y. Mor._ How fares my honourable lord of Kent? 80
_Kent._ In health, sweet Mortimer. How fares your grace?
_Q. Isab._ Well, if my lord your brother were enlarg’d.
_Kent._ I hear of late he hath depos’d himself.
_Q. Isab._ The more my grief.
_Y. Mor._ And mine.
_Kent._ [_Aside._] Ah, they do dissemble!
_Q. Isab._ Sweet son, come hither, I must talk with thee. 85
_Y. Mor._ You being his uncle, and the next of blood,
Do look, to be protector o’er the prince.
_Kent._ Not I, my lord; who should protect the son,
But she that gave him life? I mean the queen.
_P. Edw._ Mother, persuade me not to wear the crown: 90
Let him be king—I am too young to reign.
_Q. Isab._ But be content, seeing ’t is his highness’ pleasure.
_P. Edw._ Let me but see him first, and then I will.
_Kent._ Ay, do, sweet nephew.
_Q. Isab._ Brother, you know it is impossible.
_P. Edw._ Why, is he dead? 95
_Q. Isab._ No, God forbid!
_Kent._ I would those words proceeded from your heart.
_Y. Mor._ Inconstant Edmund, dost thou favour him,
That wast the cause of his imprisonment? 100
_Kent._ The more cause have I now to make amends.
_Y. Mor._ [_Aside to Q. Isab._] I tell thee, ’tis not meet that one
so false
Should come about the person of a prince.—
My lord, he hath betray’d the king his brother,
And therefore trust him not. 105
_P. Edw._ But he repents, and sorrows for it now.
_Q. Isab._ Come, son, and go with this gentle lord and me.
_P. Edw._ With you I will, but not with Mortimer.
_Y. Mor._ Why, youngling, ’sdain’st thou so of Mortimer?
Then I will carry thee by force away. 110
_P. Edw._ Help, uncle Kent! Mortimer will wrong me.
_Q. Isab._ Brother Edmund, strive not; we are his friends;
Isabel is nearer than the Earl of Kent.
_Kent._ Sister, Edward is my charge, redeem him.
_Q. Isab._ Edward is my son, and I will keep him. 115
_Kent._ Mortimer shall know that he hath wrong’d me!—
[_Aside._] Hence will I haste to Killingworth Castle,
And rescue aged Edward from his foes.
To be reveng’d on Mortimer and thee.
_Exeunt_ [_on one side_ QUEEN ISABELLA, PRINCE EDWARD, _and_ Young
MORTIMER; _on the other_ KENT.]
[SCENE III.][710]
_Enter_ MATREVIS _and_ GURNEY [_and_ Soldiers,] _with_ KING [EDWARD].
_Mat._ My lord, be not pensive, we are your friends;
Men are ordain’d to live in misery.
Therefore come,—dalliance dangereth our lives.
_K. Edw._ Friends, whither must unhappy Edward go?
Will hateful Mortimer appoint no rest? 5
Must I be vexed like the nightly bird,
Whose sight is loathsome to all winged fowls?
When will the fury of his mind assuage?
When will his heart be satisfied with blood?
If mine will serve, unbowel straight, this breast,
And give my heart to Isabel and him; 11
It is the chiefest mark they level[711] at.
_Gur._ Not so my liege, the queen hath given this charge
To keep your grace in safety;
Your passions make your dolours to increase.
_K. Edw._ This usage makes my misery to increase. 16
But can my air of life continue long
When all my senses are annoy’d with stench?
Within a dungeon England’s king is kept,
Where I am starv’d for want of sustenance. 20
My daily diet is heart-breaking sobs,
That almost rents the closet of my heart.
Thus lives old Edward not reliev’d by any,
And so must die, though pitied by many.
O, water, gentle friends, to cool my thirst, 25
And clear my body from foul excrements!
_Mat._ Here’s channel[712] water, as our charge is given.
Sit down, for we’ll be barbers to your grace.
_K. Edw._ Traitors, away! What, will you murder me,
Or choke your sovereign with puddle water? 30
_Gur._ No; but wash your face, and shave away your beard,
Lest you be known and so be rescued.
_Mat._ Why strive you thus? Your labour is in vain!
_K. Edw._ The wren may strive against the lion’s strength,
But all in vain: so vainly do I strive 35
To seek for mercy at a tyrant’s hand.
_They wash him with puddle water, and shave his beard away._
Immortal powers! that knows the painful cares
That wait upon my poor distressed soul,
O level all your looks upon these daring men,
That wrongs their liege and sovereign, England’s king! 40
O Gaveston, ’t is for thee I am wrong’d,
For me, both thou and both the Spencers died!
And for your sakes a thousand wrongs I’ll take.
The Spencers’ ghosts, wherever they remain, 44
Wish well to mine; then tush, for them I’ll die.
_Mat._ ’Twixt theirs and yours shall be no enmity.
Come, come away; now put the torches out,
We’ll enter in by darkness to Killingworth.
_Enter_ KENT.
_Gur._ How now, who comes there?
_Mat._ Guard the king sure: it is the Earl of Kent. 50
_K. Edw._ O gentle brother, help to rescue me!
_Mat._ Keep them asunder; thrust in the king.
_Kent._ Soldiers, let me but talk to him one word.
_Gur._ Lay hands upon the earl for this assault.
_Kent._ Lay down your weapons, traitors! Yield the king! 55
_Mat._ Edmund, yield thou thyself, or thou shalt die.
_Kent._ Base villains, wherefore do you gripe me thus?
_Gur._ Bind him and so convey him to the court.
_Kent._ Where is the court but here? Here is the king;
And I will visit him; why stay you me? 60
_Mat._ The court is where Lord Mortimer remains;
Thither shall your honour go; and so farewell.
_Exeunt_ MATREVIS _and_ GURNEY, _with_ KING EDWARD.
_Kent._ O miserable is that commonweal,
Where lords keep courts, and kings are lockt in prison!
_Sol._ Wherefore stay we? On, sirs, to the court! 65
_Kent._ Ay, lead me whither you will, even to my death,
Seeing that my brother cannot be releas’d. _Exeunt._
[SCENE IV.][713]
_Enter_ Young MORTIMER, _alone_.
_Y. Mor._ The king must die, or Mortimer goes down;
The commons now begin to pity him.
Yet he that is the cause of Edward’s death,
Is sure to pay for it when his son’s of age;
And therefore will I do it cunningly. 5
This letter, written by a friend of ours,
Contains his death, yet bids them save his life. [_Reads._]
“_Edwardum occidere nolite timere, bonum est:_
Fear not to kill the king, ’tis good he die.”
But read it thus, and that’s another sense: 10
“_Edwardum occidere nolite, timere bonum est:_
Kill not the king, ’tis good to fear the worst.”
Unpointed as it is, thus shall it go,
That, being dead, if it chance to be found,
Matrevis and the rest may bear the blame, 15
And we be quit that caus’d it to be done.
Within this room is lock’d the messenger
That shall convey it, and perform the rest;
And by a secret token that he bears,
Shall he be murdered when the deed is done.—
Lightborn, come forth! 21
[_Enter_ LIGHTBORN.]
Art thou as resolute as thou wast?
_Light._ What else, my lord? And far more resolute.
_Y. Mor._ And hast thou cast[714] how to accomplish it?
_Light._ Ay, ay, and none shall know which way he died. 25
_Y. Mor._ But at his looks, Lightborn, thou wilt relent.
_Light._ Relent! ha, ha! I use much to relent.
_Y. Mor._ Well, do it bravely, and be secret.
_Light._ You shall not need to give instructions;
’Tis not the first time I have kill’d a man. 30
I learn’d in Naples how to poison flowers;
To strangle with a lawn[715] thrust through the throat;
To pierce the windpipe with a needle’s point;
Or whilst one is asleep, to take a quill
And blow a little powder in his ears; 35
Or open his mouth and pour quicksilver down.
And yet I have a braver way than these.
_Y. Mor._ What’s that?
_Light._ Nay, you shall pardon me; none shall know my tricks.
_Y. Mor._ I care not how it is, so it be not spied. 40
Deliver this to Gurney and Matrevis. [_Gives letter._]
At every ten mile end thou hast a horse.
Take this; [_Gives money_] away! and never see me more.
_Light._ No?
_Y. Mor._ No; 45
Unless thou bring me news of Edward’s death.
_Light._ That will I quickly do. Farewell, my lord. [_Exit._]
_Y. Mor._ The prince I rule, the queen do I command,
And with a lowly congé to the ground,
The proudest lords salute me as I pass; 50
I seal, I cancel, I do what I will.
Fear’d am I more than lov’d;—let me be fear’d,
And when I frown, make all the court look pale.
I view the prince with Aristarchus’ eyes,
Whose looks were as a breeching to a boy. 55
They thrust upon me the protectorship,
And sue to me for that that I desire.
While at the council-table, grave enough,
And not unlike a bashful puritan,
First I complain of imbecility, 60
Saying it is _onus quam gravissimum_,[716]
Till being interrupted by my friends,
_Suscepi_ that _provinciam_[717] as they term it;
And to conclude, I am Protector now.
Now is all sure: the queen and Mortimer 65
Shall rule the realm, the king; and none rule us.
Mine enemies will I plague, my friends advance;
And what I list command who dare control?
_Major sum quam cui possit fortuna nocere._[718]
And that this be the coronation-day, 70
It pleaseth me, and Isabel the queen.
[_Trumpets within._]
The trumpets sound, I must go take my place.
_Enter the young_ KING, QUEEN [ISABELLA,] _the_ ARCHBISHOP [_of_
CANTERBURY,] Champion _and_ Nobles.
_A. of Cant._ Long live King Edward, by the grace of God
King of England and Lord of Ireland!
_Cham._ If any Christian, Heathen, Turk, or Jew, 75
Dares but affirm that Edward’s not true king,
And will avouch his saying with the sword,
I am the champion that will combat him.
_Y. Mor._ None comes, sound trumpets.
[_Trumpets sound._]
_K. Edw. Third._ Champion, here’s to thee.
[_Gives a purse._]
_Q. Isab._ Lord Mortimer, now take him to your charge. 80
_Enter_ Soldiers, _with_ KENT _prisoner_.
_Y. Mor._ What traitor have we there with blades and bills?
_Sol._ Edmund, the Earl of Kent.
_K. Edw. Third._ What hath he done?
_Sol._ ’A would have taken the king away perforce,
As we were bringing him to Killingworth.
_Y. Mor._ Did you attempt this rescue, Edmund? Speak. 85
_Kent._ Mortimer, I did; he is our king,
And thou compell’st this prince to wear the crown.
_Y. Mor._ Strike off his head! he shall have martial law.
_Kent._ Strike off my head! Base traitor, I defy thee!
_K. Edw. Third._ My lord, he is my uncle, and shall live. 90
_Y. Mor._ My lord, he is your enemy, and shall die.
_Kent._ Stay, villains!
_K. Edw. Third._ Sweet mother, if I cannot pardon him,
Entreat my Lord Protector for his life.
_Q. Isab._ Son, be content; I dare not speak a word. 95
_K. Edw. Third._ Nor I, and yet methinks I should command;
But, seeing I cannot, I’ll entreat for him—
My lord, if you will let my uncle live,
I will requite it when I come to age.
_Y. Mor._ ’T is for your highness’ good, and for the realm’s.— 100
How often shall I bid you bear him hence?
_Kent._ Art thou king? Must I die at thy command?
_Y. Mor._ At our command—Once more away with him.
_Kent._ Let me but stay and speak; I will not go.
Either my brother or his son is king, 105
And none of both them thirst for Edmund’s blood:
And therefore, soldiers, whither will you hale me?
Soldiers _hale_ KENT _away, and carry him to be beheaded_.
_K. Edw. Third._ What safety may I look for at his hands,
If that my uncle shall be murdered thus?
_Q. Isab._ Fear not, sweet boy, I’ll guard thee from thy foes; 110
Had Edmund liv’d, he would have sought thy death.
Come, son, we’ll ride a-hunting in the park.
_K. Edw. Third._ And shall my uncle Edmund ride with us?
_Q. Isab._ He is a traitor; think not on him; come. _Exeunt._
[SCENE V.][719]
_Enter_ MATREVIS _and_ GURNEY.
_Mat._ Gurney, I wonder the king dies not,
Being in a vault up to the knees in water,
To which the channels of the castle run,
From whence a damp continually ariseth,
That were enough to poison any man, 5
Much more a king brought up so tenderly.
_Gur._ And so do I, Matrevis: yesternight
I opened but the door to throw him meat,
And I was almost stifled with the savour.
_Mat._ He hath a body able to endure 10
More than we can inflict: and therefore now
Let us assail his mind another while.
_Gur._ Send for him out thence, and I will anger him.
_Mat._ But stay, who’s this?
_Enter_ LIGHTBORN.
_Light._ My Lord Protector greets you. [_Gives letter._]
_Gur._ What’s here? I know not how to construe it. 15
_Mat._ Gurney, it was left unpointed for the nonce;[720]
“_Edwardum occidere nolite timere_,”
That’s his meaning.
_Light._ Know ye this token? I must have the king. [_Gives token._]
_Mat._ Ay, stay awhile, thou shalt have answer straight.— 20
[_Aside._] This villain’s sent to make away the king.
_Gur._ [_Aside._] I thought as much.
_Mat._ [_Aside._] And when the murder’s done,
See how he must be handled for his labour.
_Pereat iste!_[721] Let him have the king.— 24
What else? Here is the keys, this is the lake,[722]
Do as you are commanded by my lord.
_Light._ I know what I must do. Get you away.
Yet be not far off, I shall need your help;
See that in the next room I have a fire,
And get me a spit, and let it be red-hot. 30
_Mat._ Very well.
_Gur._ Need you anything besides?
_Light._ What else? A table and a feather-bed.
_Gur._ That’s all?
_Light._ Ay, ay; so, when I call you, bring it in.
_Mat._ Fear not thou that. 35
_Gur._ Here’s a light, to go into the dungeon.
[_Gives a light; and then exit with_ MATREVIS.]
_Light._ So now
Must I about this gear;[723] ne’er was there any
So finely handled as this king shall be. 39
For, here’s a place indeed, with all my heart!
_K. Edw._ Who’s there? What light is that?
Wherefore com’st thou?
_Light._ To comfort you, and bring you joyful news.
_K. Edw._ Small comfort finds poor Edward in thy looks.
Villain, I know thou com’st to murder me. 44
_Light._ To murder you, my most gracious lord!
Far is it from my heart to do you harm.
The queen sent me to see how you were used,
For she relents at this your misery:
And what eyes can refrain from shedding tears,
To see a king in this most piteous state? 50
_K. Edw._ Weep’st thou already? List awhile to me
And then thy heart, were it as Gurney’s is,
Or as Matrevis’, hewn from the Caucasus,
Yet will it melt, ere I have done my tale. 54
This dungeon where they keep me is the sink
Wherein the filth of all the castle falls.
_Light._ O villains!
_K. Edw._ And there in mire and puddle have I stood
This ten days’ space; and, lest that I should sleep.
One plays continually upon a drum. 60
They give me bread and water, being a king;
So that, for want of sleep and sustenance,
My mind’s distempered, and my body’s numb’d,
And whether I have limbs or no I know not. 64
O, would my blood dropp’d out from every vein,
As doth this water from my tattered robes.
Tell Isabel, the queen, I look’d not thus,
When for her sake I ran at tilt in France,
And there unhors’d the Duke of Cleremont.
_Light._ O speak no more, my lord! this breaks my heart. 70
Lie on this bed, and rest yourself awhile.
_K. Edw._ These looks of thine can harbour nought but death:
I see my tragedy written in thy brows.
Yet stay awhile; forbear thy bloody hand,
And let me see the stroke before it comes, 75
That even then when I shall lose my life,
My mind may be more steadfast on my God.
_Light._ What means your highness to mistrust me thus?
_K. Edw._ What mean’st thou to dissemble with me thus?
_Light._ These hands were never stain’d with innocent blood, 80
Nor shall they now be tainted with a king’s.
_K. Edw._ Forgive my thought for having such a thought.
One jewel have I left; receive thou this. [_Giving jewel._]
Still fear I, and I know not what’s the cause,
But every joint shakes as I give it thee. 85
O, if thou harbour’st murder in thy heart,
Let this gift change thy mind, and save thy soul!
Know that I am a king: O, at that name
I feel a hell of grief! Where is my crown?
Gone, gone! and do I remain alive? 90
_Light._ You’re overwatch’d,[724] my lord; lie down and rest.
_K. Edw._ But that grief keeps me waking, I should sleep;
For not these ten days have these eye-lids clos’d.
Now as I speak they fall, and yet with fear
Open again. O wherefore sitt’st thou here? 95
_Light._ If you mistrust me, I’ll begone, my lord.
_K. Edw._ No, no, for if thou mean’st to murder me,
Thou wilt return again, and therefore stay.
_Light._ He sleeps.
_K. Edw._ [_waking._] O let me not die yet!
Stay, O stay a while! 100
_Light._ How now, my lord?
_K. Edw._ Something still buzzeth in mine ears,
And tells me if I sleep I never wake;
This fear is that which makes me tremble thus.
And therefore tell me, wherefore art thou come?
_Light._ To rid thee of thy life.—Matrevis, come! 106
[_Enter_ MATREVIS _and_ GURNEY.]
_K. Edw._ I am too weak and feeble to resist:—
Assist me, sweet God, and receive my soul!
_Light._ Run for the table.
_K. Edw._ O spare me, or despatch me in a trice.
[MATREVIS _brings in a table_.] 110
_Light._ So, lay the table down, and stamp on it,
But not too hard, lest that you bruise his body.
[KING EDWARD _is murdered_.]
_Mat._ I fear me that this cry will raise the town,
And therefore, let us take horse and away. 114
_Light._ Tell me, sirs, was it not bravely done?
_Gur._ Excellent well: take this for thy reward.
GURNEY _stabs_ LIGHTBORN [_who dies_].
Come, let us cast the body in the moat,
And bear the king’s to Mortimer our lord:
Away! _Exeunt_ [_with the bodies_].
[SCENE VI.][725]
_Enter_ Young MORTIMER _and_ MATREVIS.
_Y. Mor._ Is’t done, Matrevis, and the murderer dead?
_Mat._ Ay, my good lord; I would it were undone!
_Y. Mor._ Matrevis, if thou now growest penitent
I’ll be thy ghostly father; therefore choose,
Whether thou wilt be secret in this, 5
Or else die by the hand of Mortimer.
_Mat._ Gurney, my lord, is fled, and will, I fear,
Betray us both, therefore let me fly.
_Y. Mor._ Fly to the savages!
_Mat._ I humbly thank your honour. [_Exit._] 10
_Y. Mor._ As for myself, I stand as Jove’s huge tree,
And others are but shrubs compar’d to me.
All tremble at my name, and I fear none;
Let’s see who dare impeach me for his death!
_Enter_ QUEEN ISABELLA.
_Q. Isab._ Ah, Mortimer, the king my son hath news 15
His father’s dead, and we have murdered him!
_Y. Mor._ What if he have? The king is yet a child.
_Q. Isab._ Ay, but he tears his hair, and wrings his hands,
And vows to be reveng’d upon us both.
Into the council-chamber he is gone, 20
To crave the aid and succour of his peers.
Ay me! see here he comes, and they with him.
Now, Mortimer, begins our tragedy.
Enter KING [EDWARD THE THIRD], LORDS [_and_ Attendants].
_1 Lord._ Fear not, my lord, know that you are a king.
_K. Edw. Third._ Villain!— 25
_Y. Mor._ How now, my lord!
_K. Edw. Third._ Think not that I am frighted with thy words!
My father’s murdered through thy treachery;
And thou shalt die, and on his mournful hearse
Thy hateful and accursed head shall lie, 30
To witness to the world, that by thy means
His kingly body was too soon interr’d.
_Q. Isab._ Weep not, sweet son!
_K. Edw. Third._ Forbid me not to weep, he was my father;
And, had you lov’d him half so well as I, 35
You could not bear his death thus patiently.
But you, I fear, conspir’d with Mortimer.
_1 Lord._ Why speak you not unto my lord the king?
_Y. Mor._ Because I think scorn to be accused.
Who is the man dares say I murdered him? 40
_K. Edw. Third._ Traitor! in me my loving father speaks,
And plainly saith, ’t was thou that murd’redst him.
_Y. Mor._ But has your grace no other proof than this?
_E. Edw. Third._ Yes, if this be the hand of Mortimer.
[_Shewing letter._]
_Y. Mor._ [_Aside._] False Gurney hath betray’d me and himself. 45
_Q. Isab._ [_Aside._] I fear’d as much; murder cannot be hid.
_Y. Mor._ It is my hand; what gather you by this?
_K. Edw. Third._ That thither thou didst send a murderer.
_Y. Mor._ What murderer? Bring forth the man I sent.
_K. Edw. Third._ Ah, Mortimer, thou knowest that he is slain; 50
And so shalt thou be too.—Why stays he here?
Bring him unto a hurdle, drag him forth;
Hang him, I say, and set his quarters up;
But bring his head back presently to me.
_Q. Isab._ For my sake, sweet son, pity Mortimer! 55
_Y. Mor._ Madam, entreat not, I will rather die,
Than sue for life unto a paltry boy.
_K. Edw. Third._ Hence with the traitor! with the murderer!
_Y. Mor._ Base Fortune, now I see, that in thy wheel
There is a point, to which when men aspire, 60
They tumble headlong down: that point I touch’d,
And, seeing there was no place to mount up higher,
Why should I grieve at my declining fall?—
Farewell, fair queen; weep not for Mortimer,
That scorns the world, and, as a traveller, 65
Goes to discover countries yet unknown.
_K. Edw. Third._ What! suffer you the traitor to delay?
[Young MORTIMER _is taken away by_ 1 Lord _and_ Attendants.]
_Q. Isab._ As thou receivedst thy life from me,
Spill not the blood of gentle Mortimer!
_K. Edw. Third._ This argues that you spilt my father’s blood, 70
Else would you not entreat for Mortimer.
_Q. Isab._ I spill his blood? No!
_K. Edw. Third._ Ay, madam, you; for so the rumour runs.
_Q. Isab._ That rumour is untrue; for loving thee,
Is this report rais’d on poor Isabel. 75
_K. Edw. Third._ I do not think her so unnatural.
_2 Lord._ My lord, I fear me it will prove too true.
_K. Edw. Third._ Mother, you are suspected for his death,
And therefore we commit you to the Tower
Till farther trial may be made thereof; 80
If you be guilty, though I be your son,
Think not to find me slack or pitiful.
_Q. Isab._ Nay, to my death, for too long have I liv’d
Whenas my son thinks to abridge my days.
_K. Edw. Third._ Away with her, her words enforce these tears, 85
And I shall pity her if she speak again.
_Q. Isab._ Shall I not mourn for my beloved lord,
And with the rest accompany him to his grave?
_2 Lord._ Thus, madam, ’t is the king’s will you shall hence.
_Q. Isab._ He hath forgotten me; stay, I am his mother. 90
_2 Lord._ That boots not; therefore, gentle madam, go.
_Q. Isab._ Then come, sweet death, and rid me of this grief. [_Exit._]
[_Re-enter_ 1 Lord, _with the head of_ Young MORTIMER].
_1 Lord._ My lord, here is the head of Mortimer.
_K. Edw. Third._ Go fetch my father’s hearse,
where it shall lie;
And bring my funeral robes.
[_Exeunt_ Attendants.]
Accursed head, 95
Could I have rul’d thee then, as I do now,
Thou had’st not hatch’d this monstrous treachery!—
Here comes the hearse; help me to mourn, my lords.
[_Re-enter_ Attendants _with the hearse and funeral robes_.]
Sweet father, here unto thy murdered ghost
I offer up this wicked traitor’s head; 100
And let these tears, distilling from mine eyes,
Be witness of my grief and innocency.
[_Exeunt._]
THE SPANISH TRAGEDY OR HIERONIMO IS MAD AGAIN
BY THOMAS KYD
[DRAMATIS PERSONAE
Ghost of Andrea, a Spanish nobleman, }
Revenge, } Chorus.
KING OF SPAIN.
DON CYPRIAN, DUKE OF CASTILE, his brother.
LORENZO, the Duke’s son.
BEL-IMPERIA, Lorenzo’s sister.
VICEROY OF PORTUGAL.
BALTHAZAR, his son.
DON PEDRO, the Viceroy’s brother.
HIERONIMO, Marshal of Spain.
ISABELLA, his wife.
HORATIO, their son.
Spanish General.
Deputy.
DON BAZULTO, an old man.
Three Citizens.
Portuguese Ambassador.
ALEXANDRO, }
VILLUPPO, } Portuguese Noblemen.
Two Portuguese.
PEDRINGANO, Bel-imperia’s servant.
CHRISTOPHIL, Bel-imperia’s custodian.
Lorenzo’s Page.
SERBERINE, Balthazar’s servant.
Isabella’s Maid.
Messenger.
Hangman.
SOLIMAN, Sultan of Turkey (Balthazar), }
ERASTUS, Knight of Rhodes (Lorenzo), } In
THE BASHAW (Hieronimo), } Hieronimo’s
PERSEDA, (Bel-imperia), } Play.
Three Kings and three Knights in the first Dumb-show.
Hymen and two torch-bearers in the second.
BAZARDO, a Painter, } In the additions to
PEDRO and JAQUES, Hieronimo’s servants, } the play.
Army, Royal Suites, Noblemen, Halberdiers, Officers,
Three Watchmen, Servants, etc.]
ACT I
[SCENE I: INDUCTION.]
_Enter the_ GHOST OF ANDREA, _and with him_ REVENGE.
_Ghost._ When this eternal substance of my soul
Did live imprison’d in my wanton flesh,
Each in their function serving other’s need,
I was a courtier in the Spanish court.
My name was Don Andrea; my descent, 5
Though not ignoble, yet inferior far
To gracious fortunes of my tender youth:
For there in prime and pride of all my years,
By duteous service and deserving love,
In secret I possess’d a worthy dame, 10
Which hight sweet Bel-imperia by name.
But in the harvest of my summer joys
Death’s winter nipp’d the blossoms of my bliss,
Forcing divorce betwixt my love and me.
For in the late conflict with Portingale 15
My valour drew me into danger’s mouth
Till life to death made passage through my wounds.
When I was slain, my soul descended straight
To pass the flowing stream of Acheron;
But churlish Charon, only boatman there, 20
Said that, my rites of burial not perform’d,
I might not sit amongst his passengers.
Ere Sol had slept three nights in Thetis’ lap,
And slak’d his smoking chariot in her flood,
By Don Horatio, our knight marshal’s son, 25
My funerals and obsequies were done.
Then was the ferryman of hell content
To pass me over to the slimy strand,
That leads to fell Avernus’ ugly waves.
There, pleasing Cerberus with honey’d speech, 30
I pass’d the perils of the foremost porch,
Not far from hence, amidst ten thousand souls,
Sat Minos, Aeacus, and Rhadamanth;
To whom no sooner ’gan I make approach,
To crave a passport for my wand’ring ghost, 35
But Minos, in graven leaves of lottery,
Drew forth the manner of my life and death.
“This knight,” quoth he, “both liv’d and died in love;
And for his love tried fortune of the wars;
And by war’s fortune lost both love and life.” 40
“Why then,” said Aeacus, “convey him hence,
To walk with lovers in our fields of love,
And spend the course of everlasting time
Under green myrtle-trees and cypress shades.”
“No, no,” said Rhadamanth, “it were not well, 45
With loving souls to place a martialist.
He died in war, and must to martial fields,
Where wounded Hector lives in lasting pain,
And Achilles’ Myrmidons do scour the plain.”
Then Minos, mildest censor of the three, 50
Made this device to end the difference:
“Send him,” quoth he, “to our infernal king,
To doom him as best seems his majesty.”
To this effect my passport straight was drawn.
In keeping on my way to Pluto’s court, 55
Through dreadful shades of ever-glooming night,
I saw more sights than thousand tongues can tell,
Or pens can write, or mortal hearts can think.
Three ways there were: that on the right-hand side
Was ready way unto the ’foresaid fields, 60
Where lovers live and bloody martialists;
But either sort contain’d within his bounds.
The left-hand path, declining fearfully,
Was ready downfall to the deepest hell,
Where bloody Furies shakes their whips of steel, 65
And poor Ixion turns an endless wheel;
Where usurers are chok’d with melting gold,
And wantons are embrac’d with ugly snakes,
And murderers groan with never-killing wounds,
And perjur’d wights scalded in boiling lead, 70
And all foul sins with torments overwhelm’d.
’Twixt these two ways I trod the middle path,
Which brought me to the fair Elysian green,
In midst whereof there stands a stately tower,
The walls of brass, the gates of adamant. 75
Here finding Pluto with his Proserpine,
I show’d my passport, humbled on my knee;
Whereat fair Proserpine began to smile,
And begg’d that only she might give my doom.
Pluto was pleas’d, and seal’d it with a kiss. 80
Forthwith, Revenge, she rounded[726] thee in th’ ear,
And bade thee lead me through the gates of horn,[727]
Where dreams have passage in the silent night.
No sooner had she spoke, but we were here—
I wot not how—in twinkling of an eye. 85
_Revenge._ Then know, Andrea, that thou art arriv’d
Where thou shalt see the author of thy death,
Don Balthazar, the prince of Portingale,
Depriv’d of life by Bel-imperia.
Here sit we down to see the mystery, 90
And serve for Chorus in this tragedy.
[SCENE II.][728]
_Enter_ SPANISH KING, GENERAL, CASTILE, _and_ HIERONIMO.
_King._ Now say, lord General, how fares our camp?
_Gen._ All well, my sovereign liege, except some few
That are deceas’d by fortune of the war.
_King._ But what portends thy cheerful countenance,
And posting to our presence thus in haste? 5
Speak, man, hath fortune given us victory?
_Gen._ Victory, my liege, and that with little loss.
_King._ Our Portingals will pay us tribute then?
_Gen._ Tribute and wonted homage therewithal.
_King._ Then bless’d be heaven and guider of the heavens, 10
From whose fair influence such justice flows.
_Cast. O multum dilecte Deo, tibi militat aether,
Et conjuratae curvato poplite gentes
Succumbunt: recti soror est victoria juris._[729]
_King._ Thanks to my loving brother of Castile. 15
But, General, unfold in brief discourse
Your form of battle and your war’s success,
That, adding all the pleasure of thy news
Unto the height of former happiness,
With deeper wage and greater dignity 20
We may reward thy blissful chivalry.
_Gen._ Where Spain and Portingale do jointly knit
Their frontiers, leaning on each other’s bound,
There met our armies in their proud array;
Both furnish’d well, both full of hope and fear, 25
Both menacing alike with daring shows,
Both vaunting sundry colours of device,
Both cheerly sounding trumpets, drums, and fifes,
Both raising dreadful clamours to the sky,
That valleys, hills, and rivers made rebound, 30
And heav’n itself was frighted with the sound.
Our battles both were pitch’d in squadron form,
Each corner strongly fenc’d with wings of shot;
But ere we join’d and came to push of pike,
I brought a squadron of our readiest shot 35
From out our rearward to begin the fight:
They brought another wing t’ encounter us.
Meanwhile, our ordnance play’d on either side,
And captains strove to have their valours tried.
Don Pedro, their chief horsemen’s colonel, 40
Did with his cornet[730] bravely make attempt
To break the order of our battle ranks:
But Don Rogero, worthy man of war,
March’d forth against him with our musketeers,
And stopp’d the malice of his fell approach. 45
While they maintain hot skirmish to and fro,
Both battles join, and fall to handy-blows,
Their violent shot resembling th’ ocean’s rage,
When, roaring loud, and with a swelling tide,
It beats upon the rampiers of huge rocks, 50
And gapes to swallow neighbour-bounding lands.
Now, while Bellona rageth here and there,
Thick storms of bullets ran like winter’s hail,
And shivered lances dark the troubled air.
_Pede pes et cuspide cuspis;_ 55
_Arma sonant armis, vir petiturque viro._[731]
On every side drop captains to the ground,
And soldiers, some ill-maim’d, some slain outright:
Here falls a body sund’red from his head,
There legs and arms lie bleeding on the grass, 60
Mingled with weapons and unbowell’d steeds,
That scattering overspread the purple plain.
In all this turmoil, three long hours and more,
The victory to neither part inclin’d;
Till Don Andrea, with his brave lanciers, 65
In their main battle made so great a breach,
That, half dismay’d, the multitude retir’d:
But Balthazar, the Portingals’ young prince,
Brought rescue, and encourag’d them to stay.
Here-hence the fight was eagerly renew’d, 70
And in that conflict was Andrea slain:
Brave man at arms, but weak to Balthazar.
Yet while the prince, insulting over him,
Breath’d out proud vaunts, sounding to our reproach,
Friendship and hardy valour join’d in one 75
Prick’d forth Horatio, our knight marshal’s son,
To challenge forth that prince in single fight.
Not long between these twain the fight endur’d,
But straight the prince was beaten from his horse,
And forc’d to yield him prisoner to his foe. 80
When he was taken, all the rest they fled,
And our carbines pursu’d them to the death,
Till, Phoebus waving[732] to the western deep,
Our trumpeters were charg’d to sound retreat.
_King._ Thanks, good lord General, for these good news; 85
And for some argument of more to come,
Take this and wear it for thy sovereign’s sake.
_Gives him his chain._
But tell me now, hast thou confirm’d a peace?
_Gen._ No peace, my liege, but peace conditional,
That if with homage tribute be well paid, 90
The fury of your forces will be stay’d:
And to this peace their viceroy hath subscrib’d,
_Gives the King a paper._
And made a solemn vow that, during life,
His tribute shall be truly paid to Spain.
_King._ These words, these deeds, become thy person well. 95
But now, knight marshal, frolic with thy king,
For ’tis thy son that wins this battle’s prize.
_Hier._ Long may he live to serve my sovereign liege,
And soon decay, unless he serve my liege.
_King._ Nor thou, nor he, shall die without reward.
_A tucket[733] afar off._ 100
What means this warning of this trumpet’s sound?
_Gen._ This tells me that your grace’s men of war,
Such as war’s fortune hath reserv’d from death,
Come marching on towards your royal seat,
To show themselves before your majesty; 105
For so I gave in charge at my depart.
Whereby by demonstration shall appear
That all, except three hundred or few more,
Are safe return’d, and by their foes enrich’d.
_The_ Army _enters_; BALTHAZAR, _between_ LORENZO _and_ HORATIO,
_captive_.
_King._ A gladsome sight! I long to see them here.
_They enter and pass by._ 110
Was that the warlike prince of Portingale,
That by our nephew was in triumph led?
_Gen._ It was, my liege, the prince of Portingale.
_King._ But what was he that on the other side
Held him by th’ arm, as partner of the prize? 115
_Hier._ That was my son, my gracious sovereign;
Of whom though from his tender infancy
My loving thoughts did never hope but well,
He never pleas’d his father’s eyes till now,
Nor fill’d my heart with over-cloying joys. 120
_King._ Go, let them march once more about these walls,
That, staying them, we may confer and talk
With our brave prisoner and his double guard.
[_Exit a messenger._]
Hieronimo, it greatly pleaseth us
That in our victory thou have a share, 125
By virtue of thy worthy son’s exploit.
_Enter again._
Bring hither the young prince of Portingale:
The rest march on; but, ere they be dismiss’d,
We will bestow on every soldier
Two ducats and on every leader ten, 130
That they may know our largess welcomes them.
_Exeunt all but_ [_the_ KING], BALTHAZAR, LORENZO _and_ HORATIO.
Welcome, Don Balthazar! welcome, nephew!
And then, Horatio, thou art welcome too.
Young prince, although thy father’s hard misdeeds,
In keeping back the tribute that he owes, 135
Deserve but evil measure at our hands,
Yet shalt thou know that Spain is honourable.
_Bal._ The trespass that my father made in peace
Is now controll’d[734] by fortune of the wars;
And cards once dealt, it boots not ask why so. 140
His men are slain, a weakening to his realm;
His colours seiz’d, a blot unto his name,
His son distress’d, a cor’sive[735] to his heart:
These punishments may clear his late offence.
_King._ Ay, Balthazar, if he observe this truce, 145
Our peace will grow the stronger for these wars.
Meanwhile live thou, though not in liberty,
Yet free from bearing any servile yoke;
For in our hearing thy deserts were great,
And in our sight thyself art gracious. 150
_Bal._ And I shall study to deserve this grace.
_King._ But tell me—for their holding makes me doubt—
To which of these twain art thou prisoner?
_Lor._ To me, my liege.
_Hor._ To me, my sovereign.
_Lor._ This hand first took his courser by the reins. 155
_Hor._ But first my lance did put him from his horse.
_Lor._ I seiz’d his weapon, and enjoy’d it first.
_Hor._ But first I forc’d him lay his weapons down.
_King._ Let go his arm, upon our privilege.
_They let him go._
Say, worthy prince, to whether did’st thou yield? 160
_Bal._ To him in courtesy, to this perforce.
He spake me fair, this other gave me strokes;
He promis’d life, this other threat’ned death;
He won my love, this other conquer’d me,
And, truth to say, I yield myself to both. 165
_Hier._ But that I know your grace for just and wise,
And might seem partial in this difference,
Enforc’d by nature and by law of arms
My tongue should plead for young Horatio’s right.
He hunted well that was a lion’s death, 170
Not he that in a garment wore his skin;
So hares may pull dead lions by the beard.
_King._ Content thee, marshal, thou shalt have no wrong;
And, for thy sake, thy son shall want no right.
Will both abide the censure of my doom? 175
_Lor._ I crave no better than your grace awards.
_Hor._ Nor I, although I sit beside my right.
_King._ Then by my judgment, thus your strife shall end:
You both deserve, and both shall have reward.
Nephew, thou took’st his weapon and his horse: 180
His weapons and his horse are thy reward.
Horatio, thou didst force him first to yield:
His ransom therefore is thy valour’s fee;
Appoint the sum, as you shall both agree.
But, nephew, thou shalt have the prince in guard, 185
For thine estate best fitteth such a guest:
Horatio’s house were small for all his train.
Yet, in regard thy substance passeth his,
And that just guerdon may befall desert,
To him we yield the armour of the prince. 190
How likes Don Balthazar of this device?
_Bal._ Right well, my liege, if this proviso were,
That Don Horatio bear us company,
Whom I admire and love for chivalry.
_King._ Horatio, leave him not that loves thee so.— 195
Now let us hence to see our soldiers paid,
And feast our prisoner as our friendly guest. _Exeunt._
[SCENE III.][736]
_Enter_ VICEROY, ALEXANDRO, VILLUPPO.
_Vic._ Is our ambassador despatch’d for Spain?
_Alex._ Two days, my liege, are past since his depart.
_Vic._ And tribute-payment gone along with him?
_Alex._ Ay, my good lord. 4
_Vic._ Then rest we here awhile in our unrest,
And feed our sorrows with some inward sighs,
For deepest cares break never into tears.
But wherefore sit I in a regal throne?
This better fits a wretch’s endless moan.
_Falls to the ground._
Yet this is higher than my fortunes reach, 10
And therefore better than my state deserves.
Ay, ay, this earth, image of melancholy,
Seeks him whom fates adjudge to misery.
Here let me lie; now am I at the lowest.
_Qui jacet in terra, non habet unde cadat. 15
In me consumpsit vires fortuna nocendo;
Nil superest ut jam possit obesse magis._[737]
Yes, Fortune may bereave me of my crown:
Here, take it now;—let Fortune do her worst,
She will not rob me of this sable weed. 20
O no, she envies none but pleasant things.
Such is the folly of despiteful chance!
Fortune is blind, and sees not my deserts;
So is she deaf, and hears not my laments;
And could she hear, yet is she wilful-mad, 25
And therefore will not pity my distress.
Suppose that she could pity me, what then?
What help can be expected at her hands
Whose foot [is] standing on a rolling stone,
And mind more mutable than fickle winds? 30
Why wail I, then, where’s hope of no redress?
O yes, complaining makes my grief seem less.
My late ambition hath distain’d my faith;
My breach of faith occasion’d bloody wars;
Those bloody wars have spent my treasury;[738] 35
And with my treasury[738] my people’s blood;
And with their blood, my joy and best belov’d,
My best belov’d, my sweet and only son.
O, wherefore went I not to war myself?
The cause was mine; I might have died for both. 40
My years were mellow, his but young and green;
My death were natural, but his was forc’d.
_Alex._ No doubt, my liege, but still the prince survives.
_Vic._ Survives! Ay, where?
_Alex._ In Spain, a prisoner by mischance of war. 45
_Vic._ Then they have slain him for his father’s fault.
_Alex._ That were a breach to common law of arms.
_Vic._ They reck no laws that meditate revenge.
_Alex._ His ransom’s worth will stay from foul revenge.
_Vic._ No; if he liv’d, the news would soon be here. 50
_Alex._ Nay, evil news fly faster still than good.
_Vic._ Tell me no more of news, for he is dead.
_Vil._ My sovereign, pardon the author of ill news,
And I’ll bewray[739] the fortune of thy son.
_Vic._ Speak on, I’ll guerdon thee, whate’er it be. 55
Mine ear is ready to receive ill news;
My heart grown hard ’gainst mischief’s battery.
Stand up, I say, and tell thy tale at large.
_Vil._ Then hear that truth which these mine eyes have seen.
When both the armies were in battle join’d, 60
Don Balthazar, amidst the thickest troops,
To win renown did wondrous feats of arms.
Amongst the rest, I saw him, hand to hand,
In single fight with their lord-general;
Till Alexandro, that here counterfeits 65
Under the colour of a duteous friend,
Discharg’d his pistol at the prince’s back
As though he would have slain their general:
But therewithal Don Balthazar fell down;
And when he fell, then we began to fly: 70
But, had he liv’d, the day had sure been ours.
_Alex._ O wicked forgery! O traitorous miscreant!
_Vic._ Hold thou thy peace! But now, Villuppo, say,
Where then became[740] the carcase of my son?
_Vil._ I saw them drag it to the Spanish tents.
_Vic._ Ay, ay, my nightly dreams have told me this.— 76
Thou false, unkind, unthankful, traitorous beast,
Wherein had Balthazar offended thee,
That thou shouldst thus betray him to our foes?
Was’t Spanish gold that bleared so thine eyes 80
That thou couldst see no part of our deserts?
Perchance, because thou art Terceira’s[741] lord,
Thou hadst some hope to wear this diadem,
If first my son and then myself were slain;
But thy ambitious thought shall break thy neck. 85
Ay, this was it that made thee spill his blood;
_Takes the crown and puts it on again._
But I’ll now wear it till thy blood be spilt.
_Alex._ Vouchsafe, dread sovereign, to hear me speak.
_Vic._ Away with him! His sight is second hell.
Keep him till we determine of his death: 90
[_They take him out._][742]
If Balthazar be dead, he shall not live.
Villuppo, follow us for thy reward. _Exit Viceroy._
_Vil._ Thus have I with an envious, forged tale
Deceiv’d the king, betray’d mine enemy,
And hope for guerdon of my villany. _Exit._ 95
[SCENE IV.][743]
_Enter_ HORATIO _and_ BEL-IMPERIA.
_Bel._ Signior Horatio, this is the place and hour,
Wherein I must entreat thee to relate
The circumstance of Don Andrea’s death,
Who, living, was my garland’s sweetest flower,
And in his death hath buried my delights. 5
_Hor._ For love of him and service to yourself,
I nill[744] refuse this heavy doleful charge;
Yet tears and sighs, I fear, will hinder me.
When both our armies were enjoin’d in fight,
Your worthy chevalier amidst the thick’st, 10
For glorious cause still aiming at the fairest,
Was at the last by young Don Balthazar
Encount’red hand to hand. Their fight was long,
Their hearts were great, their clamours menacing,
Their strength alike, their strokes both dangerous, 15
But wrathful Nemesis, that wicked power,
Envying at Andrea’s praise and worth,
Cut short his life, to end his praise and worth.
She, she herself, disguis’d in armour’s mask—
As Pallas was before proud Pergamus— 20
Brought in a fresh supply of halberdiers,
Which paunch’d[745] his horse, and ding’d[746] him to the ground.
Then young Don Balthazar with ruthless rage,
Taking advantage of his foe’s distress,
Did finish what his halberdiers begun, 25
And left not, till Andrea’s life was done.
Then, though too late, incens’d with just remorse,[747]
I with my band set forth against the prince,
And brought him prisoner from his halberdiers.
_Bel._ Would thou hadst slain him that so slew my love! 30
But then was Don Andrea’s carcase lost?
_Hor._ No, that was it for which I chiefly strove,
Nor stepp’d I back till I recover’d him.
I took him up, and wound him in mine arms;
And wielding[748] him unto my private tent, 35
There laid him down, and dew’d him with my tears,
And sigh’d and sorrowed as became a friend.
But neither friendly sorrow, sighs, nor tears
Could win pale Death from his usurped right.
Yet this I did, and less I could not do: 40
I saw him honoured with due funeral.
This scarf I pluck’d from off his lifeless arm,
And wear it in remembrance of my friend.
_Bel._ I know the scarf: would he had kept it still!
For had he liv’d, he would have kept it still, 45
And worn it for his Bel-imperia’s sake;
For ’t was my favour at his last depart.
But now wear thou it both for him and me;
For after him thou hast deserv’d it best.
But for thy kindness in his life and death, 50
Be sure, while Bel-imperia’s life endures,
She will be Don Horatio’s thankful friend.
_Hor._ And, madam, Don Horatio will not slack
Humbly to serve fair Bel-imperia.
But now, if your good liking stand thereto, 55
I’ll crave your pardon to go seek the prince;
For so the duke, your father, gave me charge.
_Bel._ Ay, go, Horatio, leave me here alone;
For solitude best fits my cheerless mood. _Exit_ HORATIO.
Yet what avails to wail Andrea’s death, 60
From whence Horatio proves my second love?
Had he not lov’d Andrea as he did,
He could not sit in Bel-imperia’s thoughts.
But how can love find harbour in my breast
Till I revenge the death of my belov’d? 65
Yes, second love shall further my revenge!
I’ll love Horatio, my Andrea’s friend,
The more to spite the prince that wrought his end;
And where Don Balthazar, that slew my love,
Himself now pleads for favour at my hands, 70
He shall, in rigour of my just disdain,
Reap long repentance for his murderous deed.
For what was’t else but murderous cowardice,
So many to oppress one valiant knight,
Without respect of honour in the fight? 75
And here he comes that murd’red my delight.
_Enter_ LORENZO _and_ BALTHAZAR.
_Lor._ Sister, what means this melancholy walk?
_Bel._ That for a while I wish no company.
_Lor._ But here the prince is come to visit you.
_Bel._ That argues that he lives in liberty. 80
_Bal._ No, madam, but in pleasing servitude.
_Bel._ Your prison then, belike, is your conceit.
_Bal._ Ay, by conceit my freedom is enthrall’d.
_Bel._ Then with conceit enlarge yourself again.
_Bal._ What, if conceit have laid my heart to gage? 85
_Bel._ Pay that you borrowed, and recover it.
_Bal._ I die, if it return from whence it lies.
_Bel._ A heartless man, and live? A miracle!
_Bal._ Ay, lady, love can work such miracles.
_Lor._ Tush, tush, my lord! let go these ambages,[749] 90
And in plain terms acquaint her with your love.
_Bel._ What boots complaint, when there’s no remedy?
_Bal._ Yes, to your gracious self must I complain,
In whose fair answer lies my remedy,
On whose perfection all my thoughts attend, 95
On whose aspect mine eyes find beauty’s bower,
In whose translucent breast my heart is lodg’d.
_Bel._ Alas, my lord, these are but words of course.[750]
And but devis’d[751] to drive me from this place.
_She, in going in, lets fall her glove, which_ HORATIO, _coming out,
takes up_.
_Hor._ Madam, your glove. 100
_Bel._ Thanks, good Horatio; take it for thy pains.
_Bal._ Signior Horatio stoop’d in happy time!
_Hor._ I reap’d more grace than I deserv’d or hop’d.
_Lor._ My lord, be not dismay’d for what is past;
You know that women oft are humorous.[752] 105
These clouds will overblow with little wind;
Let me alone, I’ll scatter them myself.
Meanwhile, let us devise to spend the time
In some delightful sports and revelling.
_Hor._ The king, my lords, is coming hither straight, 110
To feast the Portingal ambassador;
Things were in readiness before I came.
_Bal._ Then here it fits us to attend the king,
To welcome hither our ambassador, 114
And learn my father and my country’s health.
[SCENE V.][753]
_Enter the Banquet_, _Trumpets_, _the_ KING, _and_ Ambassador.
_King._ See, lord Ambassador, how Spain entreats
Their prisoner Balthazar, thy viceroy’s son.
We pleasure more in kindness than in wars.
_Amb._ Sad is our king, and Portingale laments,
Supposing that Don Balthazar is slain. 5
_Bal._ So am I!—slain by beauty’s tyranny.
You see, my lord, how Balthazar is slain:
I frolic with the Duke of Castile’s son,
Wrapp’d every hour in pleasures of the court,
And grac’d with favours of his majesty. 10
_King._ Put off your greetings, till our feast be done;
Now come and sit with us, and taste our cheer.
_Sit to the banquet._
Sit down, young prince, you are our second guest;
Brother, sit down; and, nephew, take your place.
Signior Horatio, wait thou upon our cup; 15
For well thou hast deserved to be honoured.
Now, lordings, fall to; Spain is Portugal,
And Portugal is Spain: we both are friends;
Tribute is paid, and we enjoy our right.
But where is old Hieronimo, our marshal? 20
He promis’d us, in honour of our guest,
To grace our banquet with some pompous[754] jest.
_Enter_ HIERONIMO, _with a drum, three knights, each his scutcheon;
then he fetches three kings; they take their crowns and them captive._
Hieronimo, this masque contents mine eye,
Although I sound not well the mystery.
_Hier._ The first arm’d knight, that hung his scutcheon up, 25
_He takes the scutcheon and gives it to the_ KING.
Was English Robert, Earl of Gloucester,
Who, when King Stephen bore sway in Albion,
Arriv’d with five and twenty thousand men
In Portingale, and by success of war
Enforc’d the king, then but a Saracen, 30
To bear the yoke of the English monarchy.
_King._ My lord of Portingale, by this you see
That which may comfort both your king and you,
And make your late discomfort seem the less.
But say, Hieronimo, what was the next? 35
_Hier._ The second knight, that hung his scutcheon up,
_He doth as he did before._
Was Edmund, Earl of Kent in Albion,
When English Richard wore the diadem.
He came likewise, and razed Lisbon walls,
And took the King of Portingale in fight; 40
For which and other such-like service done
He after was created Duke of York.
_King._ This is another special argument,
That Portingale may deign to bear our yoke,
When it by little England hath been yok’d. 45
But now, Hieronimo, what were the last?
_Hier._ The third and last, not least, in our account,
_Doing as before._
Was, as the rest, a valiant Englishman,
Brave John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster,
As by his scutcheon plainly may appear. 50
He with a puissant army came to Spain,
And took our King of Castile prisoner.
_Amb._ This is an argument for our viceroy
That Spain may not insult for her success,
Since English warriors likewise conquered Spain, 55
And made them bow their knees to Albion.
_King._ Hieronimo, I drink to thee for this device,
Which hath pleas’d both the ambassador and me:
Pledge me, Hieronimo, if thou love the king.
_Takes the cup of Horatio._
My lord, I fear we sit but over-long, 60
Unless our dainties were more delicate;
But welcome are you to the best we have.
Now let us in, that you may be despatch’d:
I think our council is already set. _Exeunt omnes._
[CHORUS.]
_Andrea._ Come we for this from depth of underground, 65
To see him feast that gave me my death’s wound?
These pleasant sights are sorrow to my soul:
Nothing but league, and love, and banqueting?
_Revenge._ Be still, Andrea; ere we go from hence,
I’ll turn their friendship into fell despite, 70
Their love to mortal hate, their day to night,
Their hope into despair, their peace to war,
Their joys to pain, their bliss to misery.
ACT II
[SCENE I.][755]
_Enter_ LORENZO _and_ BALTHAZAR.
_Lor._ My lord, though Bel-imperia seem thus coy,
Let reason hold you in your wonted joy.
In time the savage bull sustains the yoke,[756]
In time all haggard[757] hawks will stoop to lure,
In time small wedges cleave the hardest oak, 5
In time the flint is pierc’d with softest shower,
And she in time will fall from her disdain,
And rue the sufferance of your friendly pain.
_Bal._ No, she is wilder, and more hard withal,
Than beast, or bird, or tree, or stony wall. 10
But wherefore blot I Bel-imperia’s name?
It is my fault, not she, that merits blame.
My feature is not to content her sight,
My words are rude and work her no delight.
The lines I send her are but harsh and ill, 15
Such as do drop from Pan and Marsyas’ quill.
My presents are not of sufficient cost,
And being worthless, all my labour’s lost.
Yet might she love me for my valiancy:
Ay, but that’s sland’red by captivity. 20
Yet might she love me to content her sire:
Ay, but her reason masters his desire.
Yet might she love me as her brother’s friend:
Ay, but her hopes aim at some other end.
Yet might she love me to uprear her state: 25
Ay, but perhaps she hopes some nobler mate.
Yet might she love me as her beauty’s thrall:
Ay, but I fear she cannot love at all.
_Lor._ My lord, for my sake leave this ecstasy,
And doubt not but we’ll find some remedy. 30
Some cause there is that lets you not be lov’d;
First that must needs be known, and then remov’d.
What, if my sister love some other knight?
_Bal._ My summer’s day will turn to winter’s night.
_Lor._ I have already found a stratagem 35
To sound the bottom of this doubtful theme.
My lord, for once you shall be rul’d by me;
Hinder me not, whate’er you hear or see.
By force or fair means will I cast about
To find the truth of all this question out. 40
Ho, Pedringano!
_Ped._ _Signior!_
_Lor._ _Vien qui presto._
_Enter_ PEDRINGANO.
_Ped._ Hath your lordship any service to command me?
_Lor._ Ay, Pedringano, service of import;
And—not to spend the time in trifling words—
Thus stands the case: it is not long, thou know’st, 45
Since I did shield thee from my father’s wrath,
For thy conveyance[758] in Andrea’s love,
For which thou wert adjudg’d to punishment.
I stood betwixt thee and thy punishment,
And since, thou knowest how I have favoured thee. 50
Now to these favours will I add reward,
Not with fair words, but store of golden coin,
And lands and living join’d with dignities,
If thou but satisfy my just demand. 54
Tell truth, and have me for thy lasting friend.
_Ped._ Whate’er it be your lordship shall demand,
My bounden duty bids me tell the truth,
If case[759] it lie in me to tell the truth.
_Lor._ Then, Pedringano, this is my demand:
Whom loves my sister Bel-imperia? 60
For she reposeth all her trust in thee.
Speak, man, and gain both friendship and reward:
I mean, whom loves she in Andrea’s place?
_Ped._ Alas, my lord, since Don Andrea’s death
I have no credit with her as before, 65
And therefore know not, if she love or no.
_Lor._ Nay, if thou dally, then I am thy foe,
_Draws his sword._
And fear shall force what friendship cannot win.
Thy death shall bury what thy life conceals;
Thou diest for more esteeming her than me. 70
_Ped._ O, stay, my lord!
_Lor._ Yet speak the truth, and I will guerdon thee,
And shield thee from whatever can ensue,
And will conceal whate’er proceeds from thee.
But if thou dally once again, thou diest. 75
_Ped._ If madam Bel-imperia be in love——
_Lor._ What, villain! Ifs and ands?
_Offers to kill him._
_Ped._ O, stay, my lord! She loves Horatio.
BALTHAZAR _starts back._
_Lor._ What, Don Horatio, our knight marshal’s son?
_Ped._ Even him, my lord. 80
_Lor._ Now say but how know’st thou he is her love,
And thou shalt find me kind and liberal.
Stand up, I say, and fearless tell the truth.
_Ped._ She sent him letters, which myself perus’d,
Full-fraught with lines and arguments of love,
Preferring him before Prince Balthazar. 85
_Lor._ Swear on this cross[760] that what thou say’st is true,
And that thou wilt conceal what thou hast told.
_Ped._ I swear to both, by him that made us all.
_Lor._ In hope thine oath is true, here’s thy reward; 90
But if I prove thee perjur’d and unjust,
This very sword whereon thou took’st thine oath
Shall be the worker of thy tragedy.
_Ped._ What I have said is true, and shall—for me—
Be still conceal’d from Bel-imperia. 95
Besides, your honour’s liberality
Deserves my duteous service, even till death.
_Lor._ Let this be all that thou shalt do for me:
Be watchful when and where these lovers meet,
And give me notice in some secret sort. 100
_Ped._ I will, my lord.
_Lor._ Then shalt thou find that I am liberal.
Thou know’st that I can more advance thy state
Than she; be therefore wise, and fail me not.
Go and attend her, as thy custom is, 105
Lest absence make her think thou dost amiss.
_Exit_ PEDRINGANO.
Why so: _tam armis quam ingenio:_
Where words prevail not, violence prevails;
But gold doth more than either of them both.
How likes Prince Balthazar this stratagem? 110
_Bal._ Both well and ill; it makes me glad and sad:
Glad, that I know the hinderer of my love;
Sad, that I fear she hates me whom I love:
Glad, that I know on whom to be reveng’d;
Sad, that she’ll fly me, if I take revenge. 115
Yet must I take revenge, or die myself,
For love resisted grows impatient.
I think Horatio be my destin’d plague:
First, in his hand he brandished a sword,
And with that sword he fiercely waged war, 120
And in that war he gave me dangerous wounds,
And by those wounds he forced me to yield,
And by my yielding I became his slave.
Now in his mouth he carries pleasing words,
Which pleasing words do harbour sweet conceits, 125
Which sweet conceits are lim’d with sly deceits,
Which sly deceits smooth Bel-imperia’s ears,
And through her ears dive down into her heart,
And in her heart set him, where I should stand.
Thus hath he ta’en my body by his force, 130
And now by sleight would captivate my soul;
But in his fall I’ll tempt the destinies,
And either lose my life, or win my love.
_Lor._ Let’s go, my lord; your staying stays revenge.
Do you but follow me, and gain your love: 135
Her favour must be won by his remove. _Exeunt._
[SCENE II.][761]
_Enter_ HORATIO _and_ BEL-IMPERIA.
_Hor._ Now, madam, since by favour of your love
Our hidden smoke is turn’d to open flame,
And that with looks and words we feed our thought
(Two chief contents, where more cannot be had);
Thus, in the midst of love’s fair blandishments,
Why show you sign of inward languishments. 6
PEDRINGANO _showeth all to the_ PRINCE _and_ LORENZO, _placing them in
secret._
_Bel._ My heart, sweet friend, is like a ship at sea:
She wisheth port, where, riding all at ease,
She may repair what stormy times have worn,
And leaning on the shore, may sing with joy 10
That pleasure follows pain, and bliss annoy.
Possession of thy love is th’ only port,
Wherein my heart, with fears and hopes long toss’d,
Each hour doth wish and long to make resort,
There to repair the joys that it hath lost, 15
And, sitting safe, to sing in Cupid’s choir
That sweetest bliss is crown of love’s desire.
BALTHAZAR _and_ LORENZO _above_.
_Bal._ O sleep, mine eyes, see not my love profan’d;
Be deaf, my ears, hear not my discontent;
Die, heart; another joys what thou deserv’st. 20
_Lor._ Watch still, mine eyes, to see this love disjoin’d;
Hear still, mine ears, to hear them both lament;
Live, heart, to joy at fond Horatio’s fall.
_Bel._ Why stands Horatio speechless all this while? 24
_Hor._ The less I speak, the more I meditate.
_Bel._ But whereon dost thou chiefly meditate?
_Hor._ On dangers past, and pleasures to ensue.
_Bal._ On pleasures past, and dangers to ensue.
_Bel._ What dangers and what pleasures dost thou mean?
_Hor._ Dangers of war, and pleasures of our love. 30
_Lor._ Dangers of death, but pleasures none at all.
_Bel._ Let dangers go, thy war shall be with me:
But such a war as breaks no bond of peace.
Speak thou fair words, I’ll cross them with fair words;
Send thou sweet looks, I’ll meet them with sweet looks; 35
Write loving lines, I’ll answer loving lines;
Give me a kiss, I’ll countercheck thy kiss:
Be this our warring peace, or peaceful war.
_Hor._ But, gracious madam, then appoint the field,
Where trial of this war shall first be made. 40
_Bal._ Ambitious villain, how his boldness grows!
_Bel._ Then be thy father’s pleasant bower the field,
Where first we vow’d a mutual amity:
The court were dangerous, that place is safe.
Our hour shall be, when Vesper ’gins to rise, 45
That summons home distressful travellers.[762]
There none shall hear us but the harmless birds;
Haply the gentle nightingale
Shall carol us asleep, ere we be ware,
And, singing with the prickle at her breast, 50
Tell our delight and mirthful dalliance.
Till then each hour will seem a year and more.
_Hor._ But, honey-sweet and honourable love,
Return we now into your father’s sight;
Dangerous suspicion waits on our delight. 55
_Lor._ Ay, danger mixed with jealous[763] despite
Shall send thy soul into eternal night. _Exeunt._
[SCENE III.][764]
_Enter_ KING OF SPAIN, PORTINGALE AMBASSADOR, DON CYPRIAN, _etc._
_King._ Brother of Castile, to the prince’s love
What says your daughter Bel-imperia?
_Cyp._ Although she coy it,[765] as becomes her kind,
And yet dissemble that she loves the prince,
I doubt not, I, but she will stoop in time. 5
And were she froward, which she will not be,
Yet herein shall she follow my advice,
Which is to love him, or forgo my love.
_King._ Then, lord Ambassador of Portingale,
Advise thy king to make this marriage up, 10
For strengthening of our late-confirmed league;
I know no better means to make us friends.
Her dowry shall be large and liberal:
Besides that she is daughter and half-heir
Unto our brother here, Don Cyprian, 15
And shall enjoy the moiety of his land,
I’ll grace her marriage with an uncle’s gift,
And this it is, in case the match go forward:
The tribute which you pay, shall be releas’d;
And if by Balthazar she have a son, 20
He shall enjoy the kingdom after us.
_Amb._ I’ll make the motion to my sovereign liege,
And work it, if my counsel may prevail.
_King._ Do so, my lord, and if he give consent,
I hope his presence here will honour us, 25
In celebration of the nuptial day;
And let himself determine of the time.
_Amb._ Will’t please your grace command me aught beside?
_King._ Commend me to the king, and so farewell.
But where’s Prince Balthazar to take his leave?
_Amb._ That is perform’d already, my good lord. 31
_King._ Amongst the rest of what you have in charge,
The prince’s ransom must not be forgot:
That’s none of mine, but his that took him prisoner;
And well his forwardness deserves reward. 35
It was Horatio, our knight marshal’s son.
_Amb._ Between us there’s a price already pitch’d,
And shall be sent with all convenient speed.
_King._ Then once again farewell, my lord.
_Amb._ Farewell, my lord of Castile, and the rest. _Exit._ 40
_King._ Now, brother, you must take some little pains
To win fair Bel-imperia from her will.
Young virgins must be ruled by their friends.
The prince is amiable, and loves her well;
If she neglect him and forgo his love, 45
She both will wrong her own estate and ours.
Therefore, whiles I do entertain the prince
With greatest pleasure that our court affords,
Endeavour you to win your daughter’s thought:
If she give back,[766] all this will come to naught. 50
_Exeunt._
[SCENE IV.][767]
_Enter_ HORATIO, BEL-IMPERIA, _and_ PEDRINGANO.
_Hor._ Now that the night begins with sable wings
To overcloud the brightness of the sun,
And that in darkness pleasures may be done:
Come, Bel-imperia, let us to the bower,
And there in safety pass a pleasant hour. 5
_Bel._ I follow thee, my love, and will not back,
Although my fainting heart controls[768] my soul.
_Hor._ Why, make you doubt of Pedringano’s faith?
_Bel._ No, he is as trusty as my second self.—
Go, Pedringano, watch without the gate, 10
And let us know if any make approach.
_Ped._ [_Aside._] Instead of watching, I’ll deserve more gold
By fetching Don Lorenzo to this match.
_Exit_ PEDRINGANO.
_Hor._ What means thy love?
_Bel._ I know not what myself;
And yet my heart foretells me some mischance.
_Hor._ Sweet, say not so; fair fortune is our friend, 15
And heavens have shut up day to pleasure us.
The stars, thou see’st, hold back their twinkling shine,
And Luna hides herself to pleasure us.
_Bel._ Thou hast prevail’d; I’ll conquer my misdoubt, 20
And in thy love and counsel drown my fear.
I fear no more; love now is all my thoughts.
Why sit we not? for pleasure asketh ease.
_Hor._ The more thou sitt’st within these leafy bowers,
The more will Flora deck it with her flowers. 25
_Bel._ Ay, but if Flora spy Horatio here,
Her jealous eye will think I sit too near.
_Hor._ Hark, madam, how the birds record[769] by night,
For joy that Bel-imperia sits in sight.
_Bel._ No, Cupid counterfeits the nightingale, 30
To frame sweet music to Horatio’s tale.
_Hor._ If Cupid sing, then Venus is not far:
Ay, thou art Venus, or some fairer star.
_Bel._ If I be Venus, thou must needs be Mars;
And where Mars reigneth, there must needs be wars. 35
_Hor._ Then thus begin our wars: put forth thy hand,
That it may combat with my ruder hand.
_Bel._ Set forth thy foot to try the push of mine.
_Hor._ But first my looks shall combat against thine.
_Bel._ Then ward thyself: I dart this kiss at thee. 40
_Hor._ Thus I retort the dart thou threw’st at me.
_Bel._ Nay, then to gain the glory of the field,
My twining arms shall yoke and make thee yield.
_Hor._ Nay, then my arms are large and strong withal:
Thus elms by vines are compass’d, till they fall. 45
_Bel._ O, let me go; for in my troubled eyes
Now may’st thou read that life in passion dies.
_Hor._ O, stay a while, and I will die with thee;
So shalt thou yield, and yet have conquer’d me.
_Bel._ Who’s there? Pedringano? We are betray’d! 50
_Enter_ LORENZO, BALTHAZAR, SERBERINE, PEDRINGANO, _disguised_.
_Lor._ My lord, away with her, take her aside.—
O, sir, forbear: your valour is already tried.
Quickly despatch, my masters.
_They hang him in the arbour._
_Hor._ What, will you murder me?
_Lor._ Ay, thus, and thus: these are the fruits of love.
_They stab him._
_Bel._ O, save his life, and let me die for him!
O, save him, brother: save him, Balthazar: 56
I lov’d Horatio; but he lov’d not me.
_Bal._ But Balthazar loves Bel-imperia.
_Lor._ Although his life were still ambitious, proud,
Yet is he at the highest now he is dead. 60
_Bel._ Murder! murder! Help, Hieronimo, help!
_Lor._ Come, stop her mouth; away with her.
_Exeunt._
_Enter_ HIERONIMO _in his shirt, etc._
_Hier._ What outcries pluck me from my naked bed,
And chill my throbbing heart with trembling fear,
Which never danger yet could daunt before?
Who calls Hieronimo? Speak, here I am. 66
I did not slumber; therefore ’t was no dream.
No, no, it was some woman cried for help,
And here within this garden did she cry,
And in this garden mast I rescue her.— 70
But stay, what murd’rous spectacle is this?
A man hang’d up and all the murderers gone!
And in my bower, to lay the guilt on me!
This place was made for pleasure, not for death.
_He cuts him down._
Those garments that he wears I oft have seen— 75
Alas, it is Horatio, my sweet son!
O no, but he that whilom was my son!
O, was it thou that call’dst me from my bed?
O speak, if any spark of life remain:
I am thy father; who hath slain my son? 80
What savage monster, not of human kind,
Hath here been glutted with thy harmless blood,
And left thy bloody corpse dishonoured here,
For me, amidst these dark and deathful shades,
To drown thee with an ocean of my tears? 85
O heavens, why made you night to cover sin?
By day this deed of darkness had not been.
O earth, why didst thou not in time devour
The vild[770] profaner of this sacred hower?
O poor Horatio, what hadst thou misdone, 90
To leese[771] thy life, ere life was new begun?
O wicked butcher, whatsoe’er thou wert,
How could thou strangle virtue and desert?
Ay me most wretched, that have lost my joy,
In leesing my Horatio, my sweet boy! 95
_Enter_ ISABELLA.
_Isab._ My husband’s absence makes my heart to throb:—
Hieronimo!
_Hier._ Here, Isabella, help me to lament;
For sighs are stopp’d, and all my tears are spent.
_Isab._ What world of grief! my son Horatio!
O, where’s the author of this endless woe? 101
_Hier._ To know the author were some ease of grief,
For in revenge my heart would find relief.
_Isab._ Then is he gone? and is my son gone too?
O, gush out, tears, fountains and floods of tears; 105
Blow, sighs, and raise an everlasting storm;
For outrage fits our cursed wretchedness.
[[772]_Ay me, Hieronimo, sweet husband, speak!_
Hier. _He supp’d with us to-night, frolic and merry.
And said he would go visit Balthazar 110
At the duke’s palace: there the prince doth lodge.
He had no custom to stay out so late:
He may be in his chamber; some go see.
Roderigo, ho!_
_Enter_ PEDRO _and_ JAQUES.
Isab. _Ay me, he raves!—Sweet Hieronimo!_ 115
Hier. _True, all Spain takes note of it.
Besides, he is so generally belov’d;
His majesty the other day did grace him
With waiting on his cup: these be favours,
Which do assure me he cannot be short-liv’d._ 120
Isab. _Sweet Hieronimo!_
Hier. _I wonder how this fellow got his clothes!—
Sirrah, sirrah, I’ll know the truth of all.
Jaques, run to the Duke of Castile’s presently,
And bid my son Horatio to come home: 125
I and his mother have had strange dreams to-night.
Do ye hear me, sir!_
Jaques. _Ay, sir._
Hier. _Well, sir, be gone.
Pedro, come hither: know’st thou who this is?_
Ped. _Too well, sir._
Hier. _Too well! Who, who is it? Peace, Isabella!
Nay, blush not, man._
Ped. _It is my lord Horatio._ 131
Hier. _Ha, ha, St. James! but this doth make me laugh,
That there are more deluded than myself._
Ped. _Deluded?_
Hier. _Ay:
I would have sworn myself, within this hour, 135
That this had been my son Horatio:
His garments are so like.
Ha! are they not great persuasions?_
Isab. _O, would to God it were not so!_
Hier. _Were not, Isabella? Dost thou dream it is?
Can thy soft bosom entertain a thought 141
That such a black deed of mischief should be done
On one so pure and spotless as our son?
Away, I am ashamed._
Isab. _Dear Hieronimo,
Cast a more serious eye upon thy grief: 145
Weak apprehension gives but weak belief._
Hier. _It was a man, sure, that was hang’d up here;
A youth, as I remember: I cut him down.
If it should prove my son now after all—
Say you? say you?—Light! lend me a taper;
Let me look again.—O God! 151
Confusion, mischief, torment, death and hell,
Drop all your stings at once in my cold bosom,
That now is stiff with horror: kill me quickly!
Be gracious to me, thou infective[773] night. 155
And drop this deed of murder down on me;
Gird in my waste of grief with thy large darkness.
And let me not survive to see the light
May put me in the mind I had a son._
Isab. _O sweet Horatio! O my dearest son!_ 160
Hier. _How strangely had I lost my way to grief!_]
Sweet, lovely rose, ill-pluckt before thy time,
Fair, worthy son, not conquer’d, but betray’d,
I’ll kiss thee now, for words with tears are stay’d.
_Isab._ And I’ll close up the glasses of his sight,
For once these eyes were only my delight. 166
_Hier._ See’st thou this handkercher besmear’d with blood?
It shall not from me, till I take revenge.
See’st thou those wounds that yet are bleeding fresh?
I’ll not entomb them, till I have reveng’d. 170
Then will I joy amidst my discontent;
Till then my sorrow never shall be spent.
_Isab._ The heavens are just; murder cannot be hid:
Time is the author both of truth and right,
And time will bring this treachery to light. 175
_Hier._ Meanwhile, good Isabella, cease thy plaints.
Or, at the least, dissemble them awhile:
So shall we sooner find the practice out,
And learn by whom all this was brought about.
Come, Isabel, now let us take him up, 180
_They take him up._
And bear him in from out this cursed place.
I’ll say his dirge; singing fits not this case.
_O aliquis mihi quas pulchrum ver educal herbas._
Hieronimo sets his breast unto his sword.
_Misceat, et nostro detur medicina dolori;
Aut, si qui faciunt annorum oblivia, succos 185
Praebeat: ipse metam magnum quaecunque per orbem
Gramina Sol pulchras effert in luminis oras;
Ipse bibam quicquid meditatur saga veneni,
Quicquid et herbarum vi caeca nenia nectit
Omnia perpetiar, lethum quoque, dum semel omnis
Noster in extincto moriatur pectore sensus.— 191
Ergo tuos oculos nunquam, mea vita, videbo,
Et tua perpetuus sepelivit lumina somnus?
Emoriar tecum: sic, juvat ire sub umbras.—
At tamen absistam properato cedere letho, 195
Ne mortem vindicta tuam tam nulla sequatur._[774]
Here he throws it from him and bears the body away.
[CHORUS.]
_Andrea._ Brought’st thou me hither to increase my pain?
I look’d that Balthazar should have been slain;
But ’t is my friend Horatio that is slain,
And they abuse fair Bel-imperia, 200
On whom I doted more than all the world,
Because she lov’d me more than all the world.
_Revenge._ Thou talk’st of harvest, when the corn is green:
The end is crown of every work well done;
The sickle comes not, till the corn be ripe, 205
Be still; and ere I lead thee from this place,
I’ll show thee Balthazar in heavy case.
ACT III
[SCENE I.][775]
_Enter_ VICEROY OF PORTINGALE, Nobles, ALEXANDRO, VILLUPPO.
_Vic._ Infortunate condition of kings.
Seated amidst so many helpless doubts!
First we are plac’d upon extremest height,
And oft supplanted with exceeding hate,
But ever subject to the wheel of chance; 5
And at our highest never joy we so
As we both doubt and dread our overthrow.
So striveth not the waves with sundry winds
As Fortune toileth in the affairs of kings,
That would be fear’d, yet fear to be belov’d, 10
Sith fear or love to kings is flattery.
For instance, lordings, look upon your king,
By hate deprived of his dearest son,
The only hope of our successive line.
_Nob._ I had not thought that Alexandro’s heart 15
Had been envenom’d with such extreme hate;
But now I see that words have several works,
And there’s no credit in the countenance.
_Vil._ No; for, my lord, had you beheld the train[776]
That feigned love had colour’d in his looks, 20
When he in camp consorted[777] Balthazar,
Far more inconstant had you thought the sun,
That hourly coasts[778] the centre of the earth,
Than Alexandro’s purpose to the prince.
_Vic._ No more, Villuppo, thou hast said enough, 25
And with thy words thou slay’st our wounded thoughts.
Nor shall I longer dally with the world,
Procrastinating Alexandro’s death.
Go some of you, and fetch the traitor forth,
That, as he is condemned, he may die. 30
_Enter_ ALEXANDRO _with a_ Nobleman _and halberts_.
_Nob._ In such extremes will nought but patience serve.
_Alex._ But in extremes what patience shall I use?
Nor discontents it me to leave the world,
With whom there nothing can prevail but wrong.
_Nob._ Yet hope the best.
_Alex._ ’T is heaven is my hope. 35
As for the earth, it is too much infect
To yield me hope of any of her mould.
_Vic._ Why linger ye? Bring forth that daring fiend.
And let him die for his accursed deed.
_Alex._ Not that I fear the extremity of death
(For nobles cannot stoop to servile fear) 41
Do I, O king, thus discontented live.
But this, O this, torments my labouring soul,
That thus I die suspected of a sin
Whereof, as heav’ns have known my secret thoughts, 45
So am I free from this suggestion.
_Vic._ No more, I say! to the tortures! When?[779]
Bind him, and burn his body in those flames.
_They bind him to a stake._
That shall prefigure those unquenched fires
Of Phlegethon, prepared for his soul. 50
_Alex._ My guiltless death will be aveng’d on thee,
On thee, Villuppo, that hath malic’d[780] thus,
Or for thy meed hast falsely me accus’d.
_Vil._ Nay, Alexandro, if thou menace me,
I’ll lend a hand to send thee to the lake 55
Where those thy words shall perish with thy works,
Injurious traitor! monstrous homicide!
_Enter_ AMBASSADOR.
_Amb._ Stay, hold a while;
And here—with pardon of his majesty—
Lay hands upon Villuppo.
_Vic._ Ambassador, 60
What news hath urg’d this sudden entrance?
_Amb._ Know, sovereign lord, that Balthazar
doth live.
_Vic._ What say’st thou? Liveth Balthazar our son?
_Amb._ Your highness’ son, Lord Balthazar, doth live;
And, well entreated in the court of Spain, 65
Humbly commends him to your majesty.
These eyes beheld; and these my followers,
With these, the letters of the king’s commends,
_Gives him letters._
Are happy witnesses of his highness’ health.
_The King looks on the letters, and proceeds._
_Vic._ “Thy son doth live, your tribute is receiv’d; 70
Thy peace is made, and we are satisfied.
The rest resolve upon as things propos’d
For both our honours and thy benefit.”
_Amb._ These are his highness’ farther articles.
_He gives him more letters._
_Vic._ Accursed wretch, to intimate these ills 75
Against the life and reputation
Of noble Alexandro! Come, my lord, unbind him.—
Let him unbind thee, that is bound to death.
To make a quital[781] for thy discontent.
_They unbind him._
_Alex._ Dread lord, in kindness[782] you could do no less 80
Upon report of such a damned fact;
But thus we see our innocence hath sav’d
The hopeless life which thou, Villuppo, sought
By thy suggestions to have massacred.
_Vic._ Say, false Villuppo, wherefore didst thou thus 85
Falsely betray Lord Alexandro’s life?
Him whom thou know’st that no unkindness else
But even the slaughter of our dearest son
Could once have mov’d us to have misconceiv’d.
_Alex._ Say, treacherous Villuppo, tell the king: 90
Wherein[783] hath Alexandro us’d thee ill?
_Vil._ Rent with remembrance of so foul a deed,
My guilty soul submits me to thy doom;
For not for Alexandro’s injuries,
But for reward and hope to be preferr’d, 95
Thus have I shamelessly hazarded his life.
_Vic._ Which, villain, shall be ransom’d with thy death;
And not so mean[784] a torment as we here
Devis’d for him who, thou said’st, slew our son,
But with the bitt’rest torments and extremes 100
That may be yet invented for thine end.
ALEXANDRO _seems to entreat_.
Entreat me not; go, take the traitor hence:
_Exit_ VILLUPPO.
And, Alexandro, let us honour thee
With public notice of thy loyalty.—
To end those things articulated here 105
By our great lord, the mighty King of Spain,
We with our council will deliberate.
Come, Alexandro, keep us company. _Exeunt._
[SCENE II.][785]
_Enter_ HIERONIMO.
_Hier._ O eyes! no eyes, but fountains fraught with tears;
O life! no life, but lively form of death;
O world! no world, but mass of public wrongs,
Confus’d and fill’d with murder and misdeeds!
O sacred heav’ns! if this unhallowed deed, 5
If this inhuman and barbarous attempt,
If this incomparable murder thus
Of mine, but now no more my son,
Shall unreveal’d and unrevenged pass,
How should we term your dealings to be just, 10
If you unjustly deal with those that in your justice trust?
The night, sad secretary to my moans,
With direful visions wake my vexed soul,
And with the wounds of my distressful son
Solicit me for notice of his death. 15
The ugly fiends do sally forth of hell,
And frame my steps to unfrequented paths,
And fear my heart with fierce inflamed thoughts.
The cloudy day my discontents records,
Early begins to register my dreams, 20
And drive me forth to seek the murderer.
Eyes, life, world, heav’ns, hell, night, and day,
See, search, shew, send some man, some mean, that may—
_A letter falleth._
What’s here? a letter? Tush! it is not so!—
A letter written to Hieronimo! _Red ink._ 25
“For want of ink, receive this bloody writ.
Me hath my hapless brother hid from thee;
Revenge thyself on Balthazar and him:
For these were they that murdered thy son.
Hieronimo, revenge Horatio’s death, 30
And better fare than Bel-imperia doth.”
What means this unexpected miracle?
My son slain by Lorenzo and the prince!
What cause had they Horatio to malign?
Or what might move thee, Bel-imperia, 35
To accuse thy brother, had he been the mean?
Hieronimo, beware!—thou art betray’d,
And to entrap thy life this train is laid.
Advise thee therefore, be not credulous:
This is devised to endanger thee, 40
That thou, by this, Lorenzo shouldst accuse;
And he, for thy dishonour done, should draw
Thy life in question and thy name in hate.
Dear was the life of my beloved son,
And of his death behoves me be reveng’d; 45
Then hazard not thine own, Hieronimo,
But live t’ effect thy resolution.
I therefore will by circumstances[786] try,
What I can gather to confirm this writ;
And, heark’ning near the Duke of Castile’s house, 50
Close, if I can, with Bel-imperia,
To listen more, but nothing to bewray.
_Enter_ PEDRINGANO.
Now, Pedringano!
_Ped._ Now, Hieronimo!
_Hier._ Where ’s thy lady?
_Ped._ I know not; here ’s my lord.
_Enter_ LORENZO.
_Lor._ How now, who’s this? Hieronimo?
_Hier._ My lord.
_Ped._ He asketh for my lady Bel-imperia. 56
_Lor._ What to do, Hieronimo? The duke, my father, hath
Upon some disgrace awhile remov’d her hence;
But, if it be ought I may inform her of,
Tell me, Hieronimo, and I’ll let her know it. 60
_Hier._ Nay, nay, my lord, I thank you; it shall not need.
I had a suit unto her, but too late,
And her disgrace makes me unfortunate.
_Lor._ Why so, Hieronimo? Use me.
_Hier._ O no, lord, I dare not; it must not be. 65
I humbly thank your lordship.
[787][Hier. _Who? You, my lord?
I reserve your favour for a greater honour;
This is a very toy, my lord, a toy._
Lor. _All’s one, Hieronimo, acquaint me with it_.
Hier. _I’ faith, my lord, it is an idle thing; 70
I must confess I ha’ been too slack, too tardy,
Too remiss unto your honour._
Lor. _How now, Hieronimo?_
Hier. _In troth, my lord, it is a thing of nothing:
The murder of a son, or so——
A thing of nothing, my lord!_]
_Lor._ Why then, farewell. 75
_Hier._ My grief no heart, my thoughts no tongue can tell. _Exit._
_Lor._ Come hither, Pedringano, see’st thou this?
_Ped._ My lord, I see it, and suspect it too.
_Lor._ This is that damned villain Serberine
That hath, I fear, reveal’d Horatio’s death. 80
_Ped._ My lord, he could not, ’t was so lately done;
And since he hath not left my company.
_Lor._ Admit he have not, his condition’s such,
As fear or flattering words may make him false.
I know his humour, and therewith repent 85
That e’er I us’d him in this enterprise.
But, Pedringano, to prevent the worst,
And ’cause I know thee secret as my soul,
Here, for thy further satisfaction, take thou this,
_Gives him more gold._
And hearken to me—thus it is devis’d: 90
This night thou must (and, prithee, so resolve),
Meet Serberine at Saint Luigi’s Park—
Thou know’st ’t is here hard by behind the house;
There take thy stand, and see thou strike him sure,
For die he must, if we do mean to live. 95
_Ped._ But how shall Serberine be there, my lord?
_Lor._ Let me alone; I ’ll send to him to meet
The prince and me, where thou must do this deed.
_Ped._ It shall be done, my lord, it shall be done;
And I ’ll go arm myself to meet him there. 100
_Lor._ When things shall alter, as I hope they will,
Then shalt thou mount for this; thou know’st my mind.
_Exit_ PEDRINGANO.
_Che le Ieron_![788]
_Enter_ PAGE.
_Page._ My lord?
_Lor._ Go, sirrah,
To Serberine, and bid him forthwith meet
The prince and me at Saint Luigi’s Park, 105
Behind the house; this evening, boy!
_Page._ I go, my lord.
_Lor._ But, sirrah, let the hour be eight o’clock:
Bid him not fail.
_Page._ I fly, my lord. _Exit._
_Lor._ Now to confirm the complot thou hast cast
Of all these practices, I ’ll spread the watch, 110
Upon precise commandment from the king,
Strongly to guard the place where Pedringano
This night shall murder hapless Serberine.
Thus must we work that will avoid distrust;
Thus must we practise to prevent mishap, 115
And thus one ill another must expulse.
This sly enquiry of Hieronimo
For Bel-imperia breeds suspicion,
And this suspicion bodes a further ill.
As for myself, I know my secret fault, 120
And so do they; but I have dealt for them:
They that for coin their souls endangered,
To save my life, for coin shall venture theirs;
And better it ’s that base companions[789] die
Than by their life to hazard our good haps. 125
Nor shall they live, for me to fear their faith:
I ’ll trust myself, myself shall be my friend;
For die they shall,—
Slaves are ordained to no other end. _Exit._
[SCENE III.][790]
_Enter_ PEDRINGANO, _with a pistol_.
_Ped._ Now, Pedringano, bid thy pistol hold,
And hold on, Fortune! once more favour me;
Give but success to mine attempting spirit,
And let me shift for taking of mine aim.
Here is the gold: this is the gold propos’d; 5
It is no dream that I adventure for,
But Pedringano is possess’d thereof.
And he that would not strain his conscience
For him that thus his liberal purse hath stretch’d,
Unworthy such a favour, may he fail, 10
And, wishing, want when such as I prevail.
As for the fear of apprehension,
I know, if need should be, my noble lord
Will stand between me and ensuing harms;
Besides, this place is free from all suspect: 15
Here therefore will I stay and take my stand.
_Enter the_ Watch.
_1 Watch._ I wonder much to what intent it is
That we are thus expressly charg’d to watch.
_2 Watch._ ’T is by commandment in the king’s own name.
_3 Watch._ But we were never wont to watch and ward 20
So near the duke his brother’s house before.
_2 Watch._ Content yourself, stand close, there ’s somewhat in ’t.
_Enter_ SERBERINE.
_Ser._ Here, Serberine, attend and stay thy pace;
For here did Don Lorenzo’s page appoint
That thou by his command shouldst meet with him. 25
How fit a place—if one were so dispos’d—
Methinks this corner is to close with one.
_Ped._ Here comes the bird that I must seize upon.
Now, Pedringano, or never, play the man!
_Ser._ I wonder that his lordship stays so long, 30
Or wherefore should he send for me so late?
_Ped._ For this, Serberine!—and thou shalt ha ’t.
_Shoots the dag._[791]
So, there he lies; my promise is perform’d.
_The_ Watch.
_1 Watch._ Hark, gentlemen, this is a pistol shot.
_2 Watch._ And here ’s one slain;—stay the murderer. 35
_Ped._ Now by the sorrows of the souls in hell.
_He strives with the_ Watch.
Who first lays hand on me, I ’ll be his priest.[792]
_3 Watch._ Sirrah, confess, and therein play the priest,
Why hast thou thus unkindly kill’d the man?
_Ped._ Why? Because he walk’d abroad so late. 40
_3 Watch._ Come, sir, you had been better kept your bed,
Than have committed this misdeed so late.
_2 Watch._ Come, to the marshal’s with the murderer!
_1 Watch._ On to Hieronimo’s! help me here
To bring the murd’red body with us too. 45
_Ped._ Hieronimo? Carry me before whom you will.
Whate’er he be, I’ll answer him and you;
And do your worst, for I defy you all. _Exeunt._
[SCENE IV.][793]
_Enter_ LORENZO _and_ BALTHAZAR.
_Bal._ How now, my lord, what makes you rise so soon?
_Lor._ Fear of preventing our mishaps too late.
_Bal._ What mischief is it that we not mistrust?
_Lor._ Our greatest ills we least mistrust, my lord,
And inexpected harms do hurt us most. 5
_Bal._ Why, tell me, Don Lorenzo, tell me, man,
If ought concerns our honour and your own.
_Lor._ Nor you, nor me, my lord, but both in one;
For I suspect—and the presumption’s great—
That by those base confederates in our fault 10
Touching the death of Don Horatio,
We are betray’d to old Hieronimo.
_Bal._ Betray’d, Lorenzo? Tush! it cannot be.
_Lor._ A guilty conscience, urged with the thought
Of former evils, easily cannot err. 15
I am persuaded—and dissuade me not—
That all ’s revealed to Hieronimo.
And therefore know that I have cast it thus:—
_Enter_ Page.
But here’s the page. How now? what news with thee?
_Page._ My lord, Serberine is slain.
_Bal._ Who? Serberine, my man? 20
_Page._ Your highness’ man, my lord.
_Lor._ Speak, page, who murdered him?
_Page._ He that is apprehended for the fact.[794]
_Lor._ Who?
_Page._ Pedringano.
_Bal._ Is Serberine slain, that lov’d his lord so well?
Injurious villain, murderer of his friend! 25
_Lor._ Hath Pedringano murdered Serberine?
My lord, let me entreat you to take the pains
To exasperate and hasten his revenge
With your complaints unto my lord the king.
This their dissension breed a greater doubt. 30
_Bal._ Assure thee, Don Lorenzo, he shall die,
Or else his highness hardly shall deny.[795]
Meanwhile I’ll haste the marshal-sessions,
For die he shall for this his damned deed.
_Exit_ BALTHAZAR.
_Lor._ Why so, this fits our former policy, 35
And thus experience bids the wise to deal.
I lay the plot; he prosecutes the point:
I set the trap; he breaks the worthless twigs,
And sees not that wherewith the bird was lim’d.[796]
Thus hopeful men, that mean to hold their own, 40
Must look like fowlers to their dearest friends.
He runs to kill whom I have holp[797] to catch,
And no man knows it was my reaching fetch.[798]
’T is hard to trust unto a multitude,
Or any one, in mine opinion, 45
When men themselves their secrets will reveal.
_Enter a_ Messenger _with a letter._
Boy!
_Page._ My lord.
_Lor._ What’s he?
_Mes._ I have a letter to your lordship.
_Lor._ From whence?
_Mes._ From Pedringano that’s imprison’d.
_Lor._ So he is in prison then?
_Mes._ Ay, my good lord. 50
_Lor._ What would he with us?—He writes us here,
To stand good lord, and help him in distress.—
Tell him I have his letters, know his mind;
And what we may, let him assure him of.
Fellow, begone; my boy shall follow thee. 55
_Exit_ Messenger.
This works like wax; yet once more try thy wits.
Boy, go, convey this purse to Pedringano;
Thou know’st the prison, closely[799] give it him,
And be advis’d that none be there about.
Bid him be merry still, but secret; 60
And though the marshal-sessions be to-day,
Bid him not doubt of his delivery.
Tell him his pardon is already sign’d,
And thereon bid him boldly be resolv’d:
For, were he ready to be turned off—[800] 65
As ’t is my will the uttermost be tried—
Thou with his pardon shalt attend him still.
Show him this box, tell him his pardon ’s in ’t;
But open ’t not, an if thou lov’st thy life,
But let him wisely keep his hopes unknown. 70
He shall not want while Don Lorenzo lives.
Away!
_Page._ I go, my lord, I run.
_Lor._ But, sirrah, see that this be cleanly[801] done.
_Exit_ Page.
Now stands our fortune on a tickle point,
And now or never ends Lorenzo’s doubts. 75
One only thing is uneffected yet,
And that’s to see the executioner.
But to what end? I list not trust the air
With utterance of our pretence[802] therein,
For fear the privy whisp’ring of the wind 80
Convey our words amongst unfriendly ears,
That lie too open to advantages.
_E quel che voglio io, nessun lo sa;
Intendo io: quel mi basterà._ _Exit._
[Scene V.][803]
_Enter_ Boy _with the box_.
_Boy._ My master hath forbidden me to look in this box; and, by my
troth, ’t is likely, if he had not warned me, I should not have had
so much idle time; for we men’s-kind in our minority are like women
in their uncertainty: (5) that they are most forbidden, they will
soonest attempt: so I now.——By my bare honesty, here’s nothing but
the bare empty box! Were it not sin against secrecy, I would say it
were a piece of gentlemanlike knavery. I must go (10) to Pedringano,
and tell him his pardon is in this box; nay, I would have sworn it,
had I not seen the contrary. I cannot choose but smile to think how
the villain will flout the gallows, scorn the audience, and descant
on the (15) hangman, and all presuming of his pardon from hence. Will
’t not be an odd jest for me to stand and grace every jest he makes,
pointing my finger at this box, as who would say, “Mock on, here’s
thy warrant.” Is ’t not a scurvy jest (20) that a man should jest
himself to death? Alas! poor Pedringano, I am in a sort sorry for
thee; but if I should be hanged with thee, I cannot weep. _Exit._
[SCENE VI.][804]
_Enter_ HIERONIMO _and the_ Deputy.
_Hier._ Thus must we toil in other men’s extremes,
That know not how to remedy our own;
And do them justice, when unjustly we,
For all our wrongs, can compass no redress.
But shall I never live to see the day, 5
That I may come, by justice of the heavens,
To know the cause that may my cares allay?
This toils my body, this consumeth age,
That only I to all men just must be,
And neither gods nor men be just to me. 10
_Dep._ Worthy Hieronimo, your office asks
A care to punish such as do transgress.
_Hier._ So is ’t my duty to regard his death
Who, when he liv’d, deserv’d my dearest blood.
But come, for that we came for: let’s begin, 15
For here lies that which bids me to be gone.
_Enter_ Officers, Boy, _and_ PEDRINGANO, _with a letter in his hand,
bound._
_Dep._ Bring forth the prisoner, for the court is set.
_Ped._ Gramercy, boy, but it was time to come;
For I had written to my lord anew
A nearer matter that concerneth him, 20
For fear his lordship had forgotten me.
But sith he hath rememb’red me so well—
Come, come, come on, when shall we to this gear?[805]
_Hier._ Stand forth, thou monster, murderer of men.
And here, for satisfaction of the world, 25
Confess thy folly, and repent thy fault;
For there’s thy place of execution.
_Ped._ This is short work. Well, to your marshalship
First I confess—nor fear I death therefore—
I am the man, ’t was I slew Serberine. 30
But, sir, then you think this shall be the place,
Where we shall satisfy you for this gear?
_Dep._ Ay, Pedringano.
_Ped._ Now I think not so.
_Hier._ Peace, impudent; for thou shalt find it so; 34
For blood with blood shall, while I sit as judge,
Be satisfied, and the law discharg’d.
And though myself cannot receive the like,
Yet will I see that others have their right.
Despatch: the fault’s approved[806] and confess’d,
And by our law he is condemn’d to die. 40
_Hangm._ Come on, sir, are you ready?
_Ped._ To do what, my fine, officious knave?
_Hangm._ To go to this gear.
_Ped._ O sir, you are too forward: thou wouldst fain furnish me with
a halter, to (45) disfurnish me of my habit.[807] So I should go out
of this gear, my raiment, into that gear, the rope. But, hangman, now
I spy your knavery, I’ll not change without boot,[808] that’s flat.
_Hangm._ Come, sir. 50
_Ped._ So, then, I must up?
_Hangm._ No remedy.
_Ped._ Yes, but there shall be for my coming down.
_Hangm._ Indeed, here’s a remedy for that. 55
_Ped._ How? Be turn’d off?
_Hangm._ Ay, truly. Come, are you ready? I pray, sir, despatch; the
day goes away.
_Ped._ What, do you hang by the hour? If you do, I may chance to
break your old custom. (61)
_Hangm._ Faith, you have reason; for I am like to break your young
neck.
_Ped._ Dost thou mock me, hangman? Pray God, I be not preserved to
break your knave’s pate for this. (66)
_Hangm._ Alas, sir! you are a foot too low to reach it, and I hope
you will never grow so high while I am in the office.
_Ped._ Sirrah, dost see yonder boy with (70) the box in his hand?
_Hangm._ What, he that points to it with his finger?
_Ped._ Ay, that companion.
_Hangm._ I know him not; but what of (75) him?
_Ped._ Dost thou think to live till his old doublet will make thee a
new truss?
_Hangm._ Ay, and many a fair year after, to truss up many an honester
man than either thou or he. 81
_Ped._ What hath he in his box, as thou think’st?
_Hangm._ Faith, I cannot tell, nor I care not greatly; methinks you
should rather hearken to your soul’s health. 85
_Ped._ Why, sirrah, hangman, I take it that that is good for the body
is likewise good for the soul: and it may be, in that box is balm
for both. 90
_Hangm._ Well, thou art even the merriest piece of man’s flesh that
e’er groan’d at my office door!
_Ped._ Is your roguery become an office with a knave’s name? 95
_Hangm._ Ay, and that shall all they witness that see you seal it
with a thief’s name.
_Ped._ I prithee, request this good company to pray with me.
_Hangm._ Ay, marry, sir, this is a good motion. My masters, you see
here’s a good fellow. 101
_Ped._ Nay, nay, now I remember me, let them alone till some other
time; for now I have no great need.
_Hier._ I have not seen a wretch so impudent.
O monstrous times, where murder’s set so light, 106
And where the soul, that should be shrin’d in heaven,
Solely delights in interdicted things,
Still wand’ring in the thorny passages,
That intercepts itself of[809] happiness. 110
Murder! O bloody monster! God forbid
A fault so foul should ’scape unpunished.
Despatch, and see this execution done!—
This makes me to remember thee, my son. _Exit_ HIERONIMO.
_Ped._ Nay, soft, no haste. 115
_Dep._ Why, wherefore stay you? Have you hope of life?
_Ped._ Why, ay!
_Hangm._ As how?
_Ped._ Why, rascal, by my pardon from the king.
_Hangm._ Stand you on that? Then you shall off with this.
_He turns him off._
_Dep._ So, executioner;—convey him hence;
But let his body be unburied: 121
Let not the earth be choked or infect
With that which heav’n contemns, and men neglect. _Exeunt._
[SCENE VII.][810]
_Enter_ HIERONIMO.
_Hier._ Where shall I run to breathe abroad my woes,
My woes, whose weight hath wearied the earth?
Or mine exclaims, that have surcharg’d the air
With ceaseless plaints for my deceased son?
The blust’ring winds, conspiring with my words, 5
At my lament have mov’d the leafless trees,
Disrob’d the meadows of their flow’red green,
Made mountains marsh with spring-tides of my tears,
And broken through the brazen gates of hell.
Yet still tormented is my tortured soul 10
With broken sighs and restless passions,
That, winged, mount; and, hovering in the air,
Beat at the windows of the brightest heavens,
Soliciting for justice and revenge:
But they are plac’d in those empyreal[811] heights, 15
Where, countermur’d[812] with walls of diamond,
I find the place impregnable; and they
Resist my woes, and give my words no way.
_Enter_ Hangman _with a letter._
_Hangm._ O lord, sir! God bless you, sir! the man, sir, Petergade,
sir, he that was so full (20) of merry conceits—
_Hier._ Well, what of him?
_Hangm._ O lord, sir, he went the wrong way; the fellow had a fair
commission to the contrary. Sir, here is his passport; I pray you,
sir, we (25) have done him wrong.
_Hier._ I warrant thee, give it me.
_Hangm._ You will stand between the gallows and me?
_Hier._ Ay, ay.
_Hangm._ I thank your lord worship. 30
_Exit_ Hangman.
_Hier._ And yet, though somewhat nearer me concerns,
I will, to ease the grief that I sustain,
Take truce with sorrow while I read on this.
“My lord, I write,[813] as mine extremes requir’d,
That you would labour my delivery: 35
If you neglect, my life is desperate,
And in my death I shall reveal the troth.
You know, my lord, I slew him for your sake,
And was confed’rate with the prince and you;
Won by rewards and hopeful promises, 40
I holp to murder Don Horatio too.”—
Holp he to murder mine Horatio?
And actors in th’ accursed tragedy
Wast thou, Lorenzo, Balthazar and thou,
Of whom my son, my son deserv’d so well? 45
What have I heard, what have mine eyes beheld?
O sacred heavens, may it come to pass
That such a monstrous and detested deed,
So closely smother’d, and so long conceal’d,
Shall thus by this be venged or reveal’d? 50
Now see I what I durst not then suspect,
That Bel-imperia’s letter was not feign’d.
Nor feigned she, though falsely they have wrong’d
Both her, myself, Horatio, and themselves.
Now may I make compare ’twixt hers and this,
Of every accident I ne’er could find 55
Till now, and now I feelingly perceive
They did what heav’n unpunish’d would not leave.
O false Lorenzo! are these thy flattering looks?
Is this the honour that thou didst my son? 60
And Balthazar—bane to thy soul and me!—
Was this the ransom he reserv’d thee for?
Woe to the cause of these constrained wars!
Woe to thy baseness and captivity,
Woe to thy birth, thy body, and thy soul, 65
Thy cursed father, and thy conquer’d self!
And bann’d with bitter execrations be
The day and place where he did pity thee!
But wherefore waste I mine unfruitful words,
When nought but blood will satisfy my woes? 70
I will go plain me to my lord the king,
And cry aloud for justice through the court,
Wearing the flints with these my withered feet;
And either purchase justice by entreats,
Or tire them all with my revenging threats. 75
_Exit._
[SCENE VIII.][814]
_Enter_ ISABELLA _and her_ Maid.
_Isab._ So that you say this herb will purge the eye,
And this, the head?—
Ah!—but none of them will purge the heart!
No, there ’s no medicine left for my disease,
Nor any physic to recure the dead. 5
_She runs lunatic._
Horatio! O, where ’s Horatio?
_Maid._ Good madam, affright not thus yourself
With outrage[815] for your son Horatio:
He sleeps in quiet in the Elysian fields.
_Isab._ Why, did I not give you gowns and goodly things, 10
Bought you a whistle and a whipstalk too,
To be revenged on their villanies?
_Maid._ Madam, these humours do torment my soul.
_Isab._ My soul—poor soul, thou talk’st[816] of things
Thou know’st not what—my soul hath silver wings, 15
That mounts me up unto the highest heavens;
To heaven? Ay, there sits my Horatio,
Back’d with a troop of fiery Cherubins,
Dancing about his newly healed wounds, 19
Singing sweet hymns and chanting heav’nly notes,
Rare harmony to greet his innocence,
That died, ay died, a mirror in our days.
But say, where shall I find the men, the murderers,
That slew Horatio? Whither shall I run
To find them out that murdered my son? 25
_Exeunt._
[SCENE IX.][817]
BEL-IMPERIA _at a window._
_Bel._ What means this outrage that is off’red me?
Why am I thus sequest’red from the court?
No notice! Shall I not know the cause
Of these my secret and suspicious ills?
Accursed brother, unkind murderer, 5
Why bend’st[818] thou thus thy mind to martyr me?
Hieronimo, why writ I of thy wrongs,
Or why art thou so slack in thy revenge?
Andrea, O Andrea! that thou saw’st
Me for thy friend Horatio handled thus, 10
And him for me thus causeless murdered!—
Well, force perforce, I must constrain myself
To patience, and apply me[819] to the time,
Till heaven, as I have hop’d, shall set me free.
_Enter_ CHRISTOPHIL.
_Chris._ Come, madam Bel-imperia, this may not be. _Exeunt._ 15
[SCENE X.][820]
_Enter_ LORENZO, BALTHAZAR, _and the_ Page.
_Lor._ Boy, talk no further; thus far things go well.
Thou art assur’d that thou sawest him dead?
_Page._ Or else, my lord, I live not.
_Lor._ That’s enough.
As for his resolution in his end,
Leave that to him with whom he sojourns now. 5
Here, take my ring and give it Christophil,
And bid him let my sister be enlarg’d,
And bring her hither straight.— _Exit_ Page.
This that I did was for a policy,
To smooth and keep the murder secret, 10
Which, as a nine-days’ wonder, being o’erblown,
My gentle sister will I now enlarge.
_Bal._ And time, Lorenzo: for my lord the duke,
You heard, enquired for her yester-night.
_Lor._ Why, and my lord, I hope you heard me say 15
Sufficient reason why she kept away;
But that’s all one. My lord, you love her?
_Bal._ Ay.
_Lor._ Then in your love beware; deal cunningly:
Salve all suspicions, only soothe[821] me up;
And if she hap to stand on terms[822] with us— 20
As for her sweetheart and concealment so—
Jest with her gently: under feigned jest
Are things conceal’d that else would breed unrest.
But here she comes.
_Enter_ BEL-IMPERIA.
Now, sister,—
_Bel._ Sister? No!
Thou art no brother, but an enemy; 25
Else wouldst thou not have us’d thy sister so:
First, to affright me with thy weapons drawn,
And with extremes abuse my company;[823]
And then to hurry me, like whirlwind’s rage,
Amidst a crew of thy confederates, 30
And clap me up where none might come at me,
Nor I at any to reveal my wrongs.
What madding fury did possess thy wits?
Or wherein is ’t that I offended thee?
_Lor._ Advise you better, Bel-imperia, 35
For I have done you no disparagement;
Unless, by more discretion than deserv’d,
I sought to save your honour and mine own.
_Bel._ Mine honour? Why, Lorenzo, wherein is’t
That I neglect my reputation so, 40
As you, or any, need to rescue it?
_Lor._ His highness and my father were resolv’d
To come confer with old Hieronimo
Concerning certain matters of estate
That by the viceroy was determined. 45
_Bel._ And wherein was mine honour touch’d in that?
_Bal._ Have patience, Bel-imperia; hear the rest.
_Lor._ Me, next in sight, as messenger they sent
To give him notice that they were so nigh:
Now when I came, consorted with the prince, 50
And unexpected in an arbour there
Found Bel-imperia with Horatio—
_Bel._ How then?
_Lor._ Why, then, remembering that old disgrace,
Which you for Don Andrea had endur’d, 55
And now were likely longer to sustain,
By being found so meanly accompanied,
Thought rather—for I knew no readier mean—
To thrust Horatio forth my father’s way.
_Bal._ And carry you obscurely somewhere else, 60
Lest that his highness should have found you there.
_Bel._ Ev’n so, my lord? And you are witness
That this is true which he entreateth of?
You, gentle brother, forg’d this for my sake,
And you, my lord, were made his instrument?
A work of worth, worthy the noting too! 66
But what’s the cause that you conceal’d me since?
_Lor._ Your melancholy, sister, since the news
Of your first favourite Don Andrea’s death,
My father’s old wrath hath exasperate. 70
_Bal._ And better was’t for you, being in disgrace,
To absent yourself, and give his fury place.
_Bel._ But why had I no notice of his ire?
_Lor._ That were to add more fuel to your fire,
Who burnt like Aetna for Andrea’s loss. 75
_Bel._ Hath not my father then enquir’d for me?
_Lor._ Sister, he hath, and thus excus’d I thee.
_He whispereth in her ear._
But Bel-imperia, see the gentle prince;
Look on thy love, behold young Balthazar,
Whose passions by thy presence are increas’d; 80
And in whose melancholy thou may’st see
Thy hate, his love; thy flight, his following thee.
_Bel._ Brother, you are become an orator—
I know not, I, by what experience—
Too politic for me, past all compare, 85
Since last I saw you; but content yourself:
The prince is meditating higher things.
_Bal._ ’T is of thy beauty, then, that conquers kings;
Of those thy tresses, Ariadne’s twines,
Wherewith my liberty thou hast surpris’d; 90
Of that thine ivory front, my sorrow’s map,
Wherein I see no haven to rest my hope.
_Bel._ To love and fear, and both at once, my lord,
In my conceit, are things of more import
Than women’s wits are to be busied with. 95
_Bal._ ’T is I that love.
_Bel._ Whom?
_Bal._ Bel-imperia.
_Bel._ But I that fear.
_Bal._ Whom?
_Bel._ Bel-imperia.
_Lor._ Fear yourself?
_Bel._ Ay, brother.
_Lor._ How?
_Bel._ As those
That what they love are loth and fear to lose.
_Bal._ Then, fair, let Balthazar your keeper be. 100
_Bel._ No, Balthazar doth fear as well as we:
_Et[824] tremulo metui pavidum junxere timorem—
Est[825] vanum stolidae proditionis opus._
_Lor._ Nay, and you argue things so cunningly,
We’ll go continue this discourse at court. 105
_Bal._ Led by the loadstar of her heavenly looks,
Wends poor oppressed Balthazar,
As o’er the mountains walks the wanderer,
Incertain to effect his pilgrimage. _Exeunt._
[SCENE XI.][826]
_Enter two_ PORTINGALES, _and_ HIERONIMO _meets them._
_1 Port._ By your leave, sir.
Hier. [827][_’T is neither as you think, nor as you think,
Nor as you think: you’re wide all.
These slippers are not mine, they were my son Horatio’s.
My son? and what’s a son? A thing begot 5
Within a pair of minutes—thereabout;
A lump bred up in darkness, and doth serve
To ballace[828] these light creatures we call women:
And, at nine months’ end, creeps forth to light.
What is there yet in a son, 10
To make a father dote, rave, or run mad?
Being born, it pouts, cries, and breeds teeth.
What is there yet in a son? He must be fed,
Be taught to go, and speak. Ay, or yet
Why might not a man love a calf as well? 15
Or melt in passion o’er a frisking kid,
As for a son? Methinks, a young bacon,
Or a fine little smooth horse colt,
Should move a man as much as doth a son:
For one of these, in very little time, 20
Will grow to some good use, whereas a son,
The more he grows in stature and in years,
The more unsquar’d, unbevell’d,[829] he appears,
Reckons his parents among the rank of fools,
Strikes care upon their heads with his mad riots, 25
Makes them look old before they meet with age.
This is a son!—And what a loss were this,
Consider’d truly?—O, but my Horatio
Grew out of reach of these insatiate humours:
He lov’d his loving parents: 30
He was my comfort, and his mother’s joy,
The very arm that did hold up our house:
Our hopes were stored up in him,
None but a damned murderer could hate him.
He had not seen the back of nineteen year, 35
When his strong arm unhors’d
The proud Prince Balthazar, and his great mind,
Too full of honour, took him unto[830] mercy.
That valiant, but ignoble Portingale!
Well, heaven is heaven still! 40
And there is Nemesis, and Furies,
And things call’d whips,
And they sometimes do meet with murderers:
They do not always scape, that is some comfort.
Ay, ay, ay: and then time steals on, 45
And steals, and steals, till violence leaps forth
Like thunder wrapt in a ball of fire,
And so doth bring confusion to them all._]
Good leave have you: nay, I pray you go,
For I’ll leave you, if you can leave me so. 50
_2 Port._ Pray you, which is the next way to my lord the duke’s?
_Hier._ The next way from me.
_1 Port._ To his house, we mean.
_Hier._ O, hard by: ’t is yon house that you see.
_2 Port._ You could not tell us if his son were there?
_Hier._ Who, my Lord Lorenzo?
_1 Port._ Ay, sir.
_He goeth in at one door and comes out at another._
_Hier._ O, forbear!
For other talk for us far fitter were. 56
But if you be importunate to know
The way to him, and where to find him out,
Then list to me, and I’ll resolve your doubt.
There is a path upon your left-hand side 60
That leadeth from a guilty conscience
Unto a forest of distrust and fear—
A darksome place, and dangerous to pass:
There shall you meet with melancholy thoughts,
Whose haleful humours if you but uphold, 65
It will conduct you to despair and death—
Whose rocky cliffs when you have once beheld,
Within a hugy dale of lasting night,
That, kindled with the world’s iniquities,
Doth cast up filthy and detested fumes:— 70
Not far from thence, where murderers have built
A habitation for their cursed souls,
There, in a brazen cauldron, fix’d by Jove,
In his fell wrath, upon a sulphur flame,
Yourselves shall find Lorenzo bathing him 75
In boiling lead and blood of innocents.
_1 Port._ Ha, ha, ha!
_Hier._ Ha, ha, ha! Why, ha, ha, ha! Farewell, good ha, ha, ha!
_Exit._
_2 Port._ Doubtless this man is passing lunatic,
Or imperfection of his age doth make him dote.
Come, let ’s away to seek my lord the duke. 81
_Exeunt._
[SCENE XII.][831]
_Enter_ HIERONIMO, _with a poniard in one hand and a rope in the other_.
_Hier._ Now, sir, perhaps I come and see the king;
The king sees me, and fain would hear my suit:
Why, is not this a strange and seld-seen[832] thing,
That standers-by with toys should strike me mute?
Go to, I see their shifts, and say no more. 5
Hieronimo, ’t is time for thee to trudge.
Down by the dale that flows with purple gore
Standeth a fiery tower; there sits a judge
Upon a seat of steel and molten brass,
And ’twixt his teeth he holds a fire-brand, 10
That leads unto the lake where hell doth stand.
Away, Hieronimo! to him be gone;
He’ll do thee justice for Horatio’s death.
Turn down this path: thou shalt be with him straight;
Or this, and then thou need’st not take thy breath: 15
This way or that way?——Soft and fair, not so:
For if I hang or kill myself, let’s know
Who will revenge Horatio’s murder then?
No, no! fie, no! pardon me, I’ll none of that.
_He flings away the dagger and halter._
This way I’ll take, and this way comes the king: 20
_He takes them up again._
And here I’ll have a fling at him, that’s flat;
And, Balthazar, I’ll be with thee to bring,[833]
And thee, Lorenzo! Here’s the king—nay, stay;
And here, ay here—there goes the hare away.[834]
_Enter_ KING, AMBASSADOR, CASTILE, _and_ LORENZO.
_King._ Now show, ambassador, what our viceroy saith: 25
Hath he receiv’d the articles we sent?
_Hier._ Justice, O justice to Hieronimo.
_Lor._ Back! see’st thou not the king is busy?
_Hier._ O, is he so?
_King._ Who is he that interrupts our business?
_Hier._ Not I. [_Aside._] Hieronimo, beware! go by, go by! 30
_Amb._ Renowned King, he hath receiv’d and read
Thy kingly proffers, and thy promis’d league;
And, as a man extremely over-joy’d
To hear his son so princely entertain’d,
Whose death he had so solemnly bewail’d, 35
This for thy further satisfaction
And kingly love he kindly lets thee know:
First, for the marriage of his princely son
With Bel-imperia, thy beloved niece,
The news are more delightful to his soul, 40
Than myrrh or incense to the offended heavens.
In person, therefore, will he come himself,
To see the marriage rites solemnized,
And, in the presence of the court of Spain,
To knit a sure inexplicable[835] band 45
Of kingly love and everlasting league
Betwixt the crowns of Spain and Portingal.
There will he give his crown to Balthazar,
And make a queen of Bel-imperia.
_King._ Brother, how like you this our viceroy’s love? 50
_Cast._ No doubt, my lord, it is an argument
Of honourable care to keep his friend,
And wondrous zeal to Balthazar his son;
Nor am I least indebted to his grace,
That bends his liking to my daughter thus. 55
_Amb._ Now last, dread lord, here hath his highness sent
(Although he send not that his son return)
His ransom due to Don Horatio.
_Hier._ Horatio! who calls Horatio?
_King._ And well rememb’red: thank his majesty. 60
Here, see it given to Horatio.
_Hier._ Justice, O, justice, justice, gentle king!
_King._ Who is that? Hieronimo?
_Hier._ Justice, O, justice! O my son, my son!
My son, whom naught can ransom or redeem!
_Lor._ Hieronimo, you are not well-advis’d. 65
_Hier._ Away, Lorenzo, hinder me no more;
For thou hast made me bankrupt of my bliss.
Give me my son! you shall not ransom him!
Away! I’ll rip the bowels of the earth, 70
_He diggeth with his dagger._
And ferry over to th’ Elysian plains,
And bring my son to show his deadly wounds.
Stand from about me!
I’ll make a pickaxe of my poniard,
And here surrender up my marshalship; 75
For I’ll go marshal up the fiends in hell,
To be avenged on you all for this.
_King._ What means this outrage?
Will none of you restrain his fury?
_Hier._ Nay, soft and fair! you shall not need to strive. 80
Needs must he go that the devils drive. _Exit._
_King._ What accident hath happ’d Hieronimo?
I have not seen him to demean him so.
_Lor._ My gracious lord, he is with extreme pride,
Conceiv’d of young Horatio his son 85
And covetous of having to himself
The ransom of the young prince Balthazar,
Distract, and in a manner lunatic.
_King._ Believe me, nephew, we are sorry for ’t:
This is the love that fathers bear their sons. 90
But, gentle brother, go give to him this gold,
The prince’s ransom; let him have his due.
For what he hath, Horatio shall not want;
Haply Hieronimo hath need thereof.
_Lor._ But if he be thus helplessly distract, 95
’T is requisite his office be resign’d,
And giv’n to one of more discretion.
_King._ We shall increase his melancholy so.
’T is best that we see further in it first,
Till when, ourself will execute[836] the place. 100
And, brother, now bring in the ambassador,
That he may be a witness of the match
’Twixt Balthazar and Bel-imperia,
And that we may prefix a certain time,
Wherein the marriage shall be solemniz’d, 105
That we may have thy lord, the viceroy, here.
_Amb._ Therein your highness highly shall content
His majesty, that longs to hear from hence.
_King._ On, then, and hear you, lord ambassador—— _Exeunt._
[SCENE XIIa.][837]
[838][Enter JAQUES and PEDRO.
Jaq. _I wonder, Pedro, why our master thus
At midnight sends us with our torches light,
When man, and bird, and beast, are all at rest,
Save those that watch for rape and bloody murder._
Ped. _O Jaques, know thou that our matter’s mind 5
Is much distraught, since his Horatio died,
And—now his aged years should sleep in rest,
His heart in quiet—like a desperate man,
Grows lunatic and childish for his son.
Sometimes, as he doth at his table sit, 10
He speaks as if Horatio stood by him;
Then starting in a rage, falls on the earth,
Cries out, “Horatio, where is my Horatio?”
So that with extreme grief and cutting sorrow
There is not left in him one inch of man: 15
See, where he comes._
Enter HIERONIMO.
Hier. _I pry through every crevice of each wall,
Look on each tree, and search through every brake,
Beat at the bushes, stamp our grandam earth,
Dive in the water, and stare up to heaven, 20
Yet cannot I behold my son Horatio—
How now, who’s there? Spirits, spirits?_
Ped. _We are your servants that attend you, sir._
Hier. _What make you with your torches in the dark?_
Ped. _You bid us light them, and attend you here._
Hier. _No, no, you are deceiv’d! not I;—you are deceiv’d! 25
Was I so mad to bid you light your torches now?
Light me your torches at the mid of noon,
When-as the sun-god rides in all his glory;
Light me your torches then._
Ped. _Then we burn[839] daylight._
Hier. _Let it be burnt; Night is a murderous slut, 31
That would not have her treasons to be seen;
And yonder pale-fac’d Hecate there, the moon,
Doth give consent to that is done in darkness;
And all those stars that gaze upon her face, 35
Are aglets[840] on her sleeve, pins on her train;
And those that should be powerful and divine,
Do sleep in darkness when they most should shine._
Ped. _Provoke them not, fair sir, with tempting words:
The heav’ns are gracious, and your miseries 40
And sorrow makes you speak you know not what._
Hier. _Villain, thou liest! and thou dost nought
But tell me I am mad. Thou liest, I am not mad!
I know thee to be Pedro, and he Jaques. 44
I’ll prove it to thee: and were I mad, how could I?
Where was she that same night when my Horatio
Was murd’red? She should have shone: search thou the book.
Had the moon shone, in my boy’s face there was a kind of grace,
That I know—nay, I do know—had the murderer seen him, 49
His weapon would have fall’n and cut the earth,
Had he been fram’d of naught but blood and death.
Alack! when mischief doth it knows not what,
What shall we say to mischief?_
Enter ISABELLA.
Isab. _Dear Hieronimo, come in a-doors;
O, seek not means so to increase thy sorrow._ 55
Hier. _Indeed, Isabella, we do nothing here;
I do not cry: ask Pedro, and ask Jaques;
Not I indeed; we are very merry, very merry._
Isab. _How? be merry here, be merry here?
Is not this the place, and this the very tree, 60
Where my Horatio died, where he was murdered?_
Hier. _Was—do not say what: let her weep it out.
This was the tree: I set it of a kernel:
And when our hot Spain could not let it grow,
But that the infant and the human sap 65
Began to wither, duly twice a morning
Would I be sprinkling it with fountain-water.
At last it grew and grew, and bore and bore,
Till at the length
It grew a gallows, and did bear our son; 70
It bore thy fruit and mine—O wicked, wicked plant!_
One knocks within at the door.
_See, who knocks there._
Ped. _It is a painter, sir._
Hier. _Bid him come in, and paint some comfort,
For surely there’s none lives but painted comfort.
Let him come in!—One knows not what may chance: 75
God’s will that I should set this tree!—but even so
Masters ungrateful servants rear from nought,
And then they hate them that did bring them up._
Enter the Painter.
Paint. _God bless you, sir._ 79
Hier. _Wherefore? Why, thou scornful villain?
How, where, or by what means should I be bless’d?_
Isab. _What wouldst thou have, good fellow?_
Paint. _Justice, madam._
Hier. _O ambitious beggar!
Wouldst thou have that that lives not in the world?
Why, all the undelved mines cannot buy 85
An ounce of justice!
’T is a jewel so inestimable. I tell thee,
God hath engross’d all justice in his hands,
And there is none but what comes from him._
Paint. _O, then I see
That God must right me for my murd’red son._ 90
Hier. _How, was thy son murdered?_
Paint. _Ay, sir; no man did hold a son so dear._
Hier. _What, not as thine? That’s a lie,
As massy as the earth. I had a son
Whose least unvalued hair did weigh 95
A thousand of thy sons: and he was murdered._
Paint. _Alas, sir. I had no more but he._
Hier. _Nor I, nor I: but this same one of mine
Was worth a legion. But all is one.
Pedro, Jaques, go in a-doors; Isabella, go, 100
And this good fellow here and I
Will range this hideous orchard up and down,
Like to two lions reaved of their young.
Go in a-doors, I say._
[Exeunt. The painter and he sits down.
_Come, let’s talk wisely now.
Was thy son murdered?_
Paint. _Ay, sir._
Hier. _So was mine, 105
How dost take it? Art thou not sometimes mad?
Is there no tricks[841] that comes before thine eyes?_
Paint. _O Lord, yes, sir._
Hier. _Art a painter? Canst paint me a tear, or a wound, a groan, or
a sigh? Canst paint me such (110) a tree[842] as this?_
Paint. _Sir, I am sure you have heard of my painting: my name’s
Bazardo._
Hier. _Bazardo! Afore God, an excellent fellow. Look you, sir, do
you see? I’d have you paint me (115) [for] my gallery, in your
oil-colours matted,[843] and draw me five years younger than I
am—do ye see, sir, let five years go: let them go like the marshal
of Spain—my wife Isabella standing by me, with a speaking look to
my son Horatio, which should (120) intend to this or some such-like
purpose: “God bless thee, my sweet son,” and my hand leaning upon his
head, thus, sir: do you see? May it be done?_
Paint. _Very well, sir._
Hier. _Nay, I pray, mark me, sir. Then, sir, (125) would I have you
paint me this tree, this very tree. Canst paint a doleful cry?_
Paint. _Seemingly, sir._
Hier. _Nay, it should cry; but all is one. Well, sir, paint me a
youth run through and through (130) with villains’ swords, hanging
upon this tree. Canst thou draw a murderer?_
Paint. _I’ll warrant you, sir: I have the pattern of the most
notorious villains that ever lived in all Spain._ (135)
Hier. _O, let them be worse, worse: stretch thine art, and let their
beards be of Judas his own colour: and let their eye-brows jutty
over: in any case observe that. Then, sir, after some violent noise,
bring me forth in my shirt, and my gown under (140) mine arm, with my
torch in my hand, and my sword reared up, thus:—and with these words:
“What noise is this? Who calls Hieronimo?”
May it be done?_
Paint. _Yea, sir._ 145
Hier. _Well, sir; then bring me forth, bring me through alley and
alley, still with a distracted countenance going along, and let my
hair heave up my night-cap. Let the clouds scowl, make the moon dark,
the stars extinct, the winds blowing, the bells (150) tolling, the
owls shrieking, the toads croaking, the minutes jarring,[844] and the
clock striking twelve. And then at last, sir, starting, behold a man
hanging, and tottering and tottering, as you know the wind will wave
a man, and I with a trice to cut him (155) down. And looking upon him
by the advantage of my torch, find it to be my son Horatio. There you
may [show] a passion, there you may show a passion! Draw me like old
Priam of Troy, crying, “The house is a-fire, the house is a-fire, as
(160) the torch over my[845] head!” Make me curse, make me rave, make
me cry, make me mad, make me well again, make me curse hell, invocate
heaven, and in the end leave me in a trance—and so forth._
Paint. _And is this the end?_ 165
Hier. _O no, there is no end; the end is death and madness! As I am
never better than when I am mad: then methinks I am a brave fellow,
then I do wonders; but reason abuseth me, and there’s the torment,
there’s the hell. At the last, sir, bring me to (170) one of the
murderers: were he as strong as Hector, thus would I tear and drag
him up and down._
He beats the painter in, then comes out again, with a book in his
hand.]
[SCENE XIII.][846]
_Enter_ HIERONIMO, _with a book in his hand._
[_Hier._] _Vindicta mihi!_
Ay, heaven will be reveng’d of every ill;
Nor will they suffer murder unrepaid.
Then stay, Hieronimo, attend their will:
For mortal men may not appoint their time! 5
“_Per scelus semper tutum est sceleribus iter._”
Strike, and strike home, where wrong is off’red thee;
For evils unto ills conductors be,
And death’s the worst of resolution.
For he that thinks with patience to contend 10
To quiet life, his life shall easily end.—
“_Fata si miseros juvant, habes salutem:
Fata si vitam negant, habes sepulchrum_”:
If destiny thy miseries do ease,
Then hast thou health, and happy shalt thou be;
If destiny deny thee life, Hieronimo, 16
Yet shalt thou be assured of a tomb;
If neither, yet let this thy comfort be:
Heaven covereth him that hath no burial.
And to conclude, I will revenge his death! 20
But how? Not as the vulgar wits of men,
With open, but inevitable ills,[847]
As by a secret, yet a certain mean,
Which under kindship[848] will be cloaked best.
Wise men will take their opportunity, 25
Closely and safely fitting things to time,
But in extremes advantage hath no time;
And therefore all times fit not for revenge.
Thus therefore will I rest me in unrest,
Dissembling quiet in unquietness, 30
Not seeming that I know their villanies,
That my simplicity may make them think
That ignorantly I will let all slip;
For ignorance, I wot, and well they know,
_Remedium malorum iners est._[849] 35
Nor ought avails it me to menace them,
Who, as a wintry storm upon a plain,
Will bear me down with their nobility.
No, no, Hieronimo, thou must enjoin
Thine eyes to observation, and thy tongue 40
To milder speeches than thy spirit affords,
Thy heart to patience, and thy hands to rest,
Thy cap to courtesy, and thy knee to bow,
Till to revenge thou know when, where, and how. _A noise within._
How now, what noise? What coil[850] is that you keep? 45
[_Enter a_ Servant.]
_Serv._ Here are a sort[851] of poor petitioners,
That are importunate, and it shall please you, sir,
That you should plead their cases to the king.
_Hier._ That I should plead their several actions?
Why, let them enter, and let me see them. 50
_Enter_ three Citizens _and an_ Old Man.
_1 Cit._ So, I tell you this: for learning and for law,
There is not any advocate in Spain
That can prevail, or will take half the pain
That he will, in pursuit of equity.
_Hier._ Come near, you men, that thus importune me.— 55
[_Aside._] Now must I bear a face of gravity;
For thus I us’d, before my marshalship,
To plead in causes as corregidor.[852]—
Come on, sirs, what’s the matter?
_2 Cit._ Sir, an action.
_Hier._ Of battery?
_1 Cit._ Mine of debt.
_Hier._ Give place.
_2 Cit._ No, sir, mine is an action of the case.[853]
_3 Cit._ Mine an _ejectione firmae_[854] by a lease. 62
_Hier._ Content you, sirs; are you determined
That I should plead your several actions?
_1 Cit._ Ay, sir, and here ’s my declaration. 65
_2 Cit._ And here’s my band.
_3 Cit._ And here’s my lease.
_They give him papers._
_Hier._ But wherefore stands yon silly man so mute,
With mournful eyes and hands to heaven uprear’d?
Come hither, father, let me know thy cause.
_Senex._ O worthy sir, my cause, but slightly known, 70
May move the hearts of warlike Myrmidons,
And melt the Corsic rocks with ruthful tears.
_Hier._ Say, father, tell me, what’s thy suit?
_Senex._ No, sir, could my woes
Give way unto my most distressful words,
Then should I not in paper, as you see, 76
With ink bewray what blood began in me.
_Hier._ What’s here? “The humble supplication
Of Don Bazulto for his murd’red son.”
_Senex._ Ay, sir.
_Hier._ No, sir, it was my murd’red son:
O my son, my son, O my son Horatio! 80
But mine, or thine. Bazulto, be content.
Here, take my handkercher and wipe thine eyes,
Whiles wretched I in thy mishaps may see
The lively portrait of my dying self.
_He draweth out a bloody napkin._
O no, not this; Horatio, this was thine; 85
And when I dy’d it in thy dearest blood,
This was a token ’twixt thy soul and me,
That of thy death revenged I should be.
But here, take this, and this—what, my purse?—
Ay, this, and that, and all of them are thine;
For all as one are our extremities. 91
_1 Cit._ O, see the kindness of Hieronimo!
_2 Cit._ This gentleness shows him a gentleman.
_Hier._ See, see, O see thy shame, Hieronimo!
See here a loving father to his son! 95
Behold the sorrows and the sad laments,
That he delivereth for his son’s decease!
If love’s effects so strive[855] in lesser things,
If love enforce such moods in meaner wits,
If love express such power in poor estates, 100
Hieronimo, as when[856] a raging sea,
Toss’d with the wind and tide, o’erturneth[857] then
The upper billows, course of waves to keep,
Whilst lesser waters labour in the deep,
Then sham’st thou not, Hieronimo, to neglect
The sweet revenge of thy Horatio? 105
Though on this earth justice will not be found,
I ’ll down to hell, and in this passion
Knock at the dismal gates of Pluto’s court,
Getting by force, as once Alcides did, 110
A troop of Furies and tormenting hags
To torture Don Lorenzo and the rest.
Yet lest the triple-headed porter should
Deny my passage to the slimy strand,
The Thracian poet thou shalt counterfeit. 115
Come on, old father, be my Orpheus,
And if thou canst[858] no notes upon the harp,
Then sound the burden of thy sore heart’s grief,
Till we do gain that Proserpine may grant
Revenge on them that murdered my son. 120
Then will I rent and tear them, thus and thus,
Shivering their limbs in pieces with my teeth.
_Tears the papers._
_1 Cit._ O sir, my declaration!
_Exit Hieronimo, and they after._
_2 Cit._ Save my bond!
_Enter_ HIERONIMO.
_2 Cit._ Save my bond!
_3 Cit._ Alas, my lease! it cost me ten pound,
And you, my lord, have torn the same. 125
_Hier._ That cannot be, I gave it never a wound.
Show me one drop of blood fall from the same!
How is it possible I should slay it then?
Tush, no; run after, catch me if you can. 130
_Exeunt all but the_ Old Man. BAZULTO _remains till_ HIERONIMO
_enters again, who staring him in the face, speaks_.
_Hier._ And art thou come, Horatio, from the depth,
To ask for justice in this upper earth,
To tell thy father thou art unreveng’d,
To wring more tears from Isabella’s eyes,
Whose lights are dimm’d with over-long laments? 135
Go back, my son, complain to Aeacus,
For here ’s no justice; gentle boy, begone,
For justice is exiled from the earth:
Hieronimo will bear thee company.
Thy mother cries on righteous Rhadamanth 140
For just revenge against the murderers.
_Senex._ Alas, my lord, whence springs this troubled speech?
_Hier._ But let me look on my Horatio.
Sweet boy, how art thou chang’d in death’s black shade!
Had Proserpine no pity on thy youth, 145
But suffered thy fair crimson-colour’d spring
With withered winter to be blasted thus?
Horatio, thou art older than thy father.
Ah, ruthless fate,[859] that favour thus transforms!
_Baz._ Ah, my good lord, I am not your young son. 150
_Hier._ What, not my son? Thou then a Fury art,
Sent from the empty kingdom of black night
To summon me to make appearance
Before grim Minos and just Rhadamanth,
To plague Hieronimo that is remiss, 155
And seeks not vengeance for Horatio’s death.
_Baz._ I am a grieved man, and not a ghost,
That came for justice for my murdered son.
_Hier._ Ay, now I know thee, now thou nam’st thy son.
Thou art the lively image of my grief; 160
Within thy face my sorrows I may see.
Thy eyes are gumm’d with tears, thy cheeks are wan,
Thy forehead troubled, and thy mutt’ring lips
Murmur sad words abruptly broken off.
By force of windy sighs thy spirit breathes; 165
And all this sorrow riseth for thy son:
And selfsame sorrow feel I for my son.
Come in, old man, thou shalt to Isabel.
Lean on my arm: I thee, thou me, shalt stay,
And thou, and I, and she will sing a song, 170
Three parts in one, but all of discords fram’d—:
Talk not of chords, but let us now be gone,
For with a cord Horatio was slain. _Exeunt._
[SCENE XIV.][860]
_Enter_ KING OF SPAIN, _the_ DUKE, VICEROY, _and_ LORENZO, BALTHAZAR,
DON PEDRO, _and_ BEL-IMPERIA.
_King._ Go, brother, it is the Duke of Castile’s cause;
Salute the Viceroy in our name.
_Cast._ I go.
_Vic._ Go forth, Don Pedro, for thy nephew’s sake,
And greet the Duke of Castile.
_Ped._ It shall be so.
_King._ And now to meet these Portuguese: 5
For as we now are, so sometimes were these,
Kings and commanders of the western Indies.
Welcome, brave Viceroy, to the court of Spain,
And welcome all his honourable train!
’T is not unknown to us for why you come, 10
Or have so kingly cross’d the seas:
Sufficeth it, in this we note the troth
And more than common love you lend to us.
So is it that mine honourable niece
(For it beseems us now that it be known) 15
Already is betroth’d to Balthazar:
And by appointment and our condescent[861]
To-morrow are they to be married.
To this intent we entertain thyself,
Thy followers, their pleasure, and our peace. 20
Speak, men of Portingal, shall it be so?
If ay, say so; if not, say flatly no.
_Vic._ Renowmed King, I come not, as thou think’st,
With doubtful followers, unresolved men,
But such as have upon thine articles 25
Confirm’d thy motion, and contented me.
Know, sovereign, I come to solemnize
The marriage of thy beloved niece,
Fair Bel-imperia, with my Balthazar,—
With thee, my son; whom sith I live to see, 30
Here take my crown, I give it her and thee;
And let me live a solitary life,
In ceaseless prayers,
To think how strangely heaven hath thee preserv’d.
_King._ See, brother, see, how nature strives in him! 35
Come, worthy Viceroy, and accompany
Thy friend with thine extremities;[862]
A place more private fits this princely mood.
_Vic._ Or here, or where your highness thinks it good.
_Exeunt all but_ CASTILE _and_ LORENZO.
_Cast._ Nay, stay, Lorenzo, let me talk with you. 40
See’st thou this entertainment of these kings?
_Lor._ I do, my lord, and joy to see the same.
_Cast._ And know’st thou why this meeting is?
_Lor._ For her, my lord, whom Balthazar doth love,
And to confirm their promised marriage. 45
_Cast._ She is thy sister?
_Lor._ Who, Bel-imperia? Ay,
My gracious lord, and this is the day,
That I have long’d so happily to see.
_Cast._ Thou wouldst be loth that any fault of thine
Should intercept her in her happiness? 50
_Lor._ Heavens will not let Lorenzo err so much.
_Cast._ Why then, Lorenzo, listen to my words:
It is suspected, and reported too,
That thou, Lorenzo, wrong’st Hieronimo,
And in his suite towards his majesty 55
Still keep’st him back, and seek’st to cross his suit.
_Lor._ That I, my lord——?
_Cast._ I tell thee, son, myself have heard it said,
When (to my sorrow) I have been ashamed
To answer for thee, though thou art my son. 60
Lorenzo, know’st thou not the common love
And kindness that Hieronimo hath won
By his deserts within the court of Spain?
Or see’st thou not the king my brother’s care
In his behalf, and to procure his health? 65
Lorenzo, shouldst thou thwart his passions,
And he exclaim against thee to the king,
What honour were ’t in this assembly,
Or what a scandal were ’t among the kings
To hear Hieronimo exclaim on thee? 70
Tell me—and look thou tell me truly too—
Whence grows the ground of this report in court?
_Lor._ My lord, it lies not in Lorenzo’s power
To stop the vulgar, liberal of their tongues.
A small advantage makes a water-breach, 75
And no man lives that long contenteth all.
_Cast._ Myself have seen thee busy to keep back
Him and his supplications from the king.
_Lor._ Yourself, my lord, hath seen his passions,
That ill beseem’d the presence of a king: 80
And, for I pitied him in his distress,
I held him thence with kind and courteous words
As free from malice to Hieronimo
As to my soul, my lord.
_Cast._ Hieronimo, my son, mistakes thee then.
_Lor._ My gracious father, believe me, so he doth. 86
But what’s a silly man, distract in mind
To think upon the murder of his son?
Alas! how easy is it for him to err!
But for his satisfaction and the world’s, 90
’T were good, my lord, that Hieronimo and I
Were reconcil’d, if he misconster me.
_Cast._ Lorenzo, thou hast said; it shall be so.
Go one of you, and call Hieronimo.
_Enter_ BALTHAZAR _and_ BEL-IMPERIA.
_Bal._ Come, Bel-imperia, Balthazar’s content,
My sorrow’s ease and sovereign of my bliss, 96
Sith heaven hath ordain’d thee to be mine:
Disperse those clouds and melancholy looks,
And clear them up with those thy sun-bright eyes,
Wherein my hope and heaven’s fair beauty lies.
_Bel._ My looks, my lord, are fitting for my love, 101
Which, new-begun, can show no brighter yet.
_Bal._ New-kindled flames should burn as morning sun.
_Bel._ But not too fast, lest heat and all be done.
I see my lord my father.
_Bal._ Truce, my love; 105
I will go salute him.
_Cast._ Welcome, Balthazar,
Welcome, brave prince, the pledge of Castile’s peace!
And welcome, Bel-imperia!—How now, girl?
Why com’st thou sadly to salute us thus?
Content thyself, for I am satisfied: 110
It is not now as when Andrea liv’d;
We have forgotten and forgiven that,
And thou art graced with a happier love.
But, Balthazar, here comes Hieronimo;
I’ll have a word with him. 115
_Enter_ HIERONIMO _and a_ Servant.
_Hier._ And where’s the duke?
_Serv._ Yonder.
_Hier._ Even so.—
What new device have they devised, trow?[863]
_Pocas palabras!_[864] mild as the lamb!
Is ’t I will be reveng’d? No, I am not the man.
_Cast._ Welcome, Hieronimo. 130
_Lor._ Welcome, Hieronimo.
_Bal._ Welcome, Hieronimo.
_Hier._ My lords, I thank you for Horatio.
_Cast._ Hieronimo, the reason that I sent
To speak with you, is this.
_Hier._ What, so short? 125
Then I’ll be gone, I thank you for ’t.
_Cast._ Nay, stay, Hieronimo!—go call him, son.
_Lor._ Hieronimo, my father craves a word with you.
_Hier._ With me, sir? Why, my lord, I thought you had done.
_Lor._ No; [_Aside_] would he had!
_Cast._ Hieronimo, I hear
You find yourself aggrieved at my son, 131
Because you have not access unto the king;
And say ’t is he that intercepts your suits.
_Hier._ Why, is not this a miserable thing, my lord?
_Cast._ Hieronimo, I hope you have no cause,
And would be loth that one of your deserts 136
Should once have reason to suspect my son,
Considering how I think of you myself.
_Hier._ Your son Lorenzo! Whom, my noble lord?
The hope of Spain, mine honourable friend? 140
Grant me the combat of them, if they dare:
_Draws out his sword._
I’ll meet him face to face, to tell me so!
These be the scandalous reports of such
As love not me, and hate my lord too much.
Should I suspect Lorenzo would prevent 145
Or cross my suit, that lov’d my son so well?
My lord, I am asham’d it should be said.
_Lor._ Hieronimo, I never gave you cause.
_Hier._ My good lord, I know you did not.
_Cast._ There then pause;
And for the satisfaction of the world, 150
Hieronimo, frequent my homely house,
The Duke of Castile, Cyprian’s ancient seat;
And when thou wilt, use me, my son, and it:
But here, before Prince Balthazar and me,
Embrace each other, and be perfect friends. 155
_Hier._ Ay, marry, my lord, and shall.
Friends, quoth he? See, I’ll be friends with you all:
Especially with you, my lovely lord;
For divers causes it is fit for us
That we be friends: the world’s suspicious, 160
And men may think what we imagine not.
_Bal._ Why, this is friendly done, Hieronimo.
_Lor._ And that I hope old grudges are forgot.
_Hier._ What else? It were a shame it should not be so.
_Cast._ Come on, Hieronimo, at my request; 165
Let us entreat your company to-day. _Exeunt._
_Hier._ Your lordship’s to command.—Pah! keep your way:
_Chi mi fa più carezze che non suole,
Tradito mi ha, o tradir mi vuole._ [_Exit._
[CHORUS.]
_Enter_ GHOST _and_ REVENGE.
_Ghost._ Awake, Erichtho! Cerberus, awake!
Solicit Pluto, gentle Proserpine! 171
To combat, Acheron and Erebus!
For ne’er, by Styx and Phlegethon in hell,[865]
Nor ferried Charon to the fiery lakes
Such fearful sights, as poor Andrea sees.[866] 175
Revenge, awake!
_Revenge._ Awake? For why?
_Ghost._ Awake, Revenge; for thou art ill-advis’d
To sleep away what thou art warn’d to watch!
_Revenge._ Content thyself, and do not trouble me.
_Ghost._ Awake, Revenge, if love—as love hath had— 180
Have yet the power or prevalence in hell!
Hieronimo with Lorenzo is join’d in league,
And intercepts our passage to revenge.
Awake, Revenge, or we are woe-begone!
_Revenge._ Thus worldlings ground what they
have dream’d upon.[867] 185
Content thyself, Andrea: though I sleep,
Yet is my mood soliciting their souls.
Sufficeth thee that poor Hieronimo
Cannot forget his son Horatio.
Nor dies Revenge, although he sleep awhile;
For in unquiet, quietness is feign’d, 191
And slumb’ring is a common worldly wile.
Behold, Andrea, for an instance, how
Revenge hath slept, and then imagine thou,
What ’t is to be subject to destiny. 195
_Enter a Dumb-Show._
_Ghost._ Awake, Revenge; reveal this mystery.
_Revenge._ Lo! the two first the nuptial torches bore
As brightly burning as the mid-day’s sun;
But after them doth Hymen hie as fast,
Clothed in sable and a saffron robe, 200
And blows them out, and quencheth them with blood,
As discontent that things continue so.
_Ghost._ Sufficeth me; thy meaning’s understood,
And thanks to thee and those infernal powers
That will not tolerate a lover’s woe. 205
Rest thee, for I will sit to see the rest.
_Revenge._ Then argue not, for thou hast thy request. _Exeunt._
ACT IV
[SCENE I.][868]
_Enter_ BEL-IMPERIA _and_ HIERONIMO.
_Bel._ Is this the love thou bear’st Horatio?
Is this the kindness that thou counterfeits?
Are these the fruits of thine incessant tears?
Hieronimo, are these thy passions,
Thy protestations and thy deep laments, 5
That thou wert wont to weary men withal?
O unkind father! O deceitful world!
With what excuses canst thou show thyself[869]
From this dishonour and the hate of men,
Thus to neglect the loss and life of him 10
Whom both my letters and thine own belief
Assures thee to be causeless slaughtered?
Hieronimo, for shame, Hieronimo,
Be not a history to after-times
Of such ingratitude unto thy son. 15
Unhappy mothers of such children then!
But monstrous fathers to forget so soon
The death of those whom they with care and cost
Have tend’red so, thus careless should be lost.
Myself, a stranger in respect of thee, 20
So lov’d his life, as still I wish their deaths.
Nor shall his death be unreveng’d by me,
Although I bear it out for fashion’s sake;
For here I swear, in sight of heaven and earth,
Shouldst thou neglect the love thou shouldst retain, 25
And give it over and devise no more,
Myself should send their hateful souls to hell
That wrought his downfall with extremest death.
_Hier._ But may it be that Bel-imperia
Vows such revenge as she hath deign’d to say? 30
Why, then I see that heaven applies our drift,[870]
And all the saints do sit soliciting
For vengeance on those cursed murderers.
Madam, ’t is true, and now I find it so,
I found a letter, written in your name, 35
And in that letter, how Horatio died.
Pardon, O pardon, Bel-imperia,
My fear and care in not believing it;
Nor think I thoughtless think upon a mean
To let his death be unreveng’d at full, 40
And here I vow—so you but give consent,
And will conceal my resolution—
I will ere long determine of their deaths
That causeless thus have murdered my son.
_Bel._ Hieronimo, I will consent, conceal, 45
And ought that may effect for thine avail,
Join with thee to revenge Horatio’s death.
_Hier._ On, then; [and] whatsoever I devise,
Let me entreat you, grace my practices,
For-why[871] the plot’s already in mine head. 50
Here they are.
_Enter_ BALTHAZAR _and_ LORENZO.
_Bal._ How now, Hieronimo?
What, courting Bel-imperia?
_Hier._ Ay, my lord;
Such courting as, I promise you,
She hath my heart, but you, my lord, have hers.
_Lor._ But now, Hieronimo, or never, 55
We are to entreat your help.
_Hier._ My help?
Why, my good lords, assure yourselves of me;
For you have giv’n me cause,—ay, by my faith have you!
_Bal._ It pleas’d you, at the entertainment of the ambassador,
To grace the king so much as with a show. 60
Now, were your study so well furnished,
As, for the passing of the first night’s sport,
To entertain my father with the like,
Or any such-like pleasing motion,
Assure yourself, it would content them well. 65
_Hier._ Is this all?
_Bal._ Ay, this is all.
_Hier._ Why then, I’ll fit you; say no more.
When I was young, I gave my mind
And plied myself to fruitless poetry;
Which though it profit the professor naught, 70
Yet is it passing pleasing to the world.
_Lor._ And how for that?
_Hier._ Marry, my good lord, thus:—
And yet methinks, you are too quick with us—
When in Toledo there I studied,
It was my chance to write a tragedy, 75
See here, my lords— _He shows them a book._
Which, long forgot, I found this other day.
Now would your lordships favour me so much
As but to grace me with your acting it—
I mean each one of you to play a part— 80
Assure you it will prove most passing strange,
And wondrous plausible[872] to that assembly.
_Bal._ What, would you have us play a tragedy?
_Hier._ Why, Nero thought it no disparagement,
And kings and emperors have ta’en delight 85
To make experience of their wits in plays.
_Lor._ Nay, be not angry, good Hieronimo;
The prince but ask’d a question.
_Bal._ In faith, Hieronimo, an you be in earnest,
I’ll make one.
_Lor._ And I another. 90
_Hier._ Now, my good lord, could you entreat
Your sister Bel-imperia to make one?
For what’s a play without a woman in it?
_Bel._ Little entreaty shall serve me, Hieronimo;
For I must needs be employed in your play. 95
_Hier._ Why, this is well. I tell you, lordings.
It was determined to have been acted
By gentlemen and scholars too,
Such as could tell what to speak.
_Bal._ And now
It shall be play’d by princes and courtiers, 100
Such as can tell how to speak:
If, as it is our country manner,
You will but let us know the argument.
_Hier._ That shall I roundly. The chronicles of Spain
Record this written of a knight of Rhodes: 105
He was betroth’d, and wedded at the length,
To one Perseda, an Italian dame,
Whose beauty ravish’d all that her beheld.
Especially the soul of Soliman,
Who at the marriage was the chiefest guest. 110
By sundry means sought Soliman to win
Perseda’s love, and could not gain the same.
Then ’gan he break his passions to a friend,
One of his bashaws,[873] whom he held full dear.
Her had this bashaw long solicited, 115
And saw she was not otherwise to be won,
But by her husband’s death, this knight of Rhodes,
Whom presently by treachery he slew.
She, stirr’d with an exceeding hate therefore,
As cause of this slew Soliman, 120
And, to escape the bashaw’s tyranny,
Did stab herself: and this the tragedy.
_Lor._ O excellent!
_Bel._ But say, Hieronimo,
What then became of him that was the bashaw?
_Hier._ Marry, thus: mov’d with remorse of his misdeeds, 125
Ran to a mountain-top, and hung himself.
_Bal._ But which of us is to perform that part?
_Hier._ O, that will I, my lords; make no doubt of it.
I’ll play the murderer, I warrant you;
For I already have conceited that. 130
_Bal._ And what shall I?
_Hier._ Great Soliman, the Turkish emperor.
_Lor._ And I?
_Hier._ Erastus, the knight of Rhodes.
_Bel._ And I?
_Hier._ Perseda, chaste and resolute.
And here, my lords, are several abstracts drawn, 135
For each of you to note your parts,
And act it, as occasion ’s off’red you.
You must provide a Turkish cap,
A black mustachio and a falchion;
_Gives a paper to_ BALTHAZAR.
You with a cross, like to a knight of Rhodes; 140
_Gives another to_ LORENZO.
And, madam, you must attire yourself
_He giveth_ BEL-IMPERIA _another_.
Like Phoebe, Flora, or the huntress [Dian],[874]
Which to your discretion shall seem best.
And as for me, my lords, I’ll look to one,
And, with the ransom that the viceroy sent, 145
So furnish and perform this tragedy,
As all the world shall say, Hieronimo
Was liberal in gracing of it so.
_Bal._ Hieronimo, methinks a comedy were better.
_Hier._ A comedy? 150
Fie! comedies are fit for common wits;
But to present a kingly troop withal,
Give me a stately-written tragedy;
_Tragoedia cothurnata_, fitting kings,
Containing matter, and not common things. 155
My lords, all this must be performed,
As fitting for the first night’s revelling,
The Italian tragedians were so sharp of wit.
That in one hour’s meditation
They would perform anything in action. 160
_Lor._ And well it may; for I have seen the like
In Paris ’mongst the French tragedians.
_Hier._ In Paris? mass! and well remembered!
There ’s one thing more that rests for us to do.
_Bal._ What’s that, Hieronimo? Forget not anything. 165
_Hier._ Each one of us
Must act his part in unknown languages,
That it may breed the more variety:
As you, my lord, in Latin, I in Greek,
You in Italian; and for because I know 170
That Bel-imperia hath practised the French,
In courtly French shall all her phrases be.
_Bel._ You mean to try my cunning then, Hieronimo?
_Bal._ But this will be a mere confusion
And hardly shall we all be understood. 175
_Hier._ It must be so; for the conclusion
Shall prove the invention[875] and all was good:
And I myself in an oration,
And with a strange and wondrous show besides,
That I will have there behind a curtain, 180
Assure yourself, shall make the matter known;
And all shall be concluded in one scene,
For there ’s no pleasure ta’en in tediousness.
_Bal._ How like you this?
_Lor._ Why, thus my lord:
We must resolve to soothe his humours up. 185
_Bal._ On then, Hieronimo; farewell till soon.
_Hier._ You’ll ply this gear?
_Lor._ I warrant you.
_Exeunt all but_ HIERONIMO.
_Hier._ Why so:
Now shall I see the fall of Babylon,
Wrought by the heavens in this confusion.
And if the world like not this tragedy, 190
Hard is the hap of old Hieronimo. _Exit._
[SCENE II.][876]
_Enter_ ISABELLA _with a weapon_.
_Isab._ Tell me no more!—O monstrous homicides!
Since neither piety or pity moves
The king to justice or compassion,
I will revenge myself upon this place,
Where thus they murdered my beloved son. 5
_She cuts down the arbour._
Down with these branches and these loathsome boughs
Of this unfortunate and fatal pine!
Down with them, Isabella; rent them up.
And burn the roots from whence the rest is sprung!
I will not leave a root, a stalk, a tree, 10
A bough, a branch, a blossom, nor a leaf,
No, not an herb within this garden-plot,—
Accursed complot[877] of my misery!
Fruitless for ever may this garden be,
Barren the earth, and blissless whosoever 15
Imagines not to keep it unmanur’d![878]
An eastern wind, commix’d with noisome airs,
Shall blast the plants and the young saplings;
The earth with serpents shall be pestered,
And passengers, for fear to be infect, 20
Shall stand aloof, and, looking at it, tell:
“There, murd’red, died the son of Isabel.”
Ay, here he died, and here I him embrace:
See, where his ghost solicits with his wounds
Revenge on her that should revenge his death. 25
Hieronimo, make haste to see thy son;
For sorrow and despair hath cited me
To hear Horatio plead with Rhadamanth.
Make haste, Hieronimo, to hold excus’d[879]
Thy negligence in pursuit of their deaths 30
Whose hateful wrath bereav’d him of his breath.
Ah, nay, thou dost delay their deaths,
Forgives the murderers of thy noble son,
And none but I bestir me—to no end!
And as I curse this tree from further fruit, 35
So shall my womb be cursed for his sake;
And with this weapon will I wound the breast,
The hapless breast, that gave Horatio suck.
_She stabs herself._
[SCENE III.][880]
_Enter_ HIERONIMO; _he knocks up the curtain. Enter the_ DUKE of
CASTILE.
_Cast._ How now, Hieronimo, where’s your fellows,
That you take all this pain?
_Hier._ O sir, it is for the author’s credit,
To look that all things may go well.
But, good my lord, let me entreat your grace, 5
To give the king the copy of the play:
This is the argument of what we show.
_Cast._ I will, Hieronimo.
_Hier._ One thing more, my good lord.
_Cast._ What’s that?
_Hier._ Let me entreat your grace 10
That, when the train are pass’d into the gallery,
You would vouchsafe to throw me down the key.
_Cast._ I will, Hieronimo. _Exit_ CASTILE.
_Hier._ What, are you ready, Balthazar?
Bring a chair and a cushion for the king. 15
_Enter_ BALTHAZAR, _with a chair_.
Well done, Balthazar! hang up the title:
Our scene is Rhodes. What, is your beard on?
_Bal._ Half on; the other is in my hand.
_Hier._ Despatch for shame; are you so long?
_Exit_ BALTHAZAR.
Bethink thyself, Hieronimo, 20
Recall thy wits, recount thy former wrongs
Thou hast receiv’d by murder of thy son,
And lastly, not least! how Isabel,
Once his mother and thy dearest wife,
All woe-begone for him, hath slain herself. 25
Behoves thee then, Hieronimo, to be reveng’d!
The plot is laid of dire revenge:
On, then, Hieronimo, pursue revenge;
For nothing wants but acting of revenge!
_Exit Hieronimo._
[SCENE IV.][881]
_Enter_ Spanish KING, VICEROY, _the_ DUKE OF CASTILE, _and their train_
[_to the gallery_].[882]
_King._ Now, Viceroy, shall we see the tragedy
Of Soliman, the Turkish emperor,
Perform’d of pleasure by your son the prince,
My nephew Don Lorenzo, and my niece. 4
_Vic._ Who? Bel-imperia?
_King._ Ay, and Hieronimo, our marshal,
At whose request they deign to do ’t themselves.
These be our pastimes in the court of Spain.
Here, brother, you shall be the bookkeeper:
This is the argument of that they show.
_He giveth him a book._
_Gentlemen, this play of Hieronimo, in sundry (10) languages, was
thought good to be set down in English, more largely, for the easier
understanding to every public reader._
Enter BALTHAZAR, BEL-IMPERIA, _and_ HIERONIMO.
Bal. _Bashaw, that Rhodes is ours, yield heavens the honour,
And holy Mahomet, our sacred prophet! 15
And be thou grac’d with every excellence
That Soliman can give, or thou desire.
But thy desert in conquering Rhodes is less
Than in reserving this fair Christian nymph,
Perseda, blissful lamp of excellence, 20
Whose eyes compel, like powerful adamant,
The warlike heart of Soliman to wait._
_King._ See, Viceroy, that is Balthazar, your son,
That represents the emperor Soliman:
How well he acts his amorous passion! 25
_Vic._ Ay, Bel-imperia hath taught him that.
_Cast._ That’s because his mind runs all on Bel-imperia.
Hier. _Whatever joy earth yields, betide your majesty._
Bal. _Earth yields no joy without Perseda’s love._
Hier. _Let then Perseda on your grace attend._ 30
Bal. _She shall not wait on me, but I on her:
Drawn by the influence of her lights, I yield.
But let my friend, the Rhodian knight, come forth.
Erasto, dearer than my life to me,
That he may see Perseda, my belov’d._ 35
_Enter_ ERASTO.
_King._ Here comes Lorenzo: look upon the plot,
And tell me, brother, what part plays he?
Bel. _Ah, my Erasto, welcome to Perseda._
Lor. _Thrice happy is Erasto that thou liv’st;
Rhodes’ loss is nothing to Erasto’s joy; 40
Sith his Perseda lives, his life survives._
Bal. _Ah, bashaw, here is love between Erasto
And fair Perseda, sovereign of my soul._
Hier. _Remove Erasto, mighty Soliman,
And then Perseda will be quickly won._ 45
Bal. _Erasto is my friend; and while he lives,
Perseda never will remove her love._
Hier. _Let not Erasto live to grieve great Soliman._
Bal. _Dear is Erasto in our princely eye._
Hier. _But if he be your rival, let him die._ 50
Bal. _Why, let him die!—so love commandeth me.
Yet grieve I that Erasto should so die._
Hier. _Erasto, Soliman saluleth thee,
And lets thee wit by me his highness’ will,
Which is, thou shouldst be thus employ’d._
Stabs him.
Bel. _Ay me!
Erasto! See, Soliman, Erasto’s slain!_ 56
Bal. _Yet liveth Soliman to comfort thee.
Fair queen of beauty, let not favour die,
But with a gracious eye behold his grief
That with Perseda’s beauty is increas’d, 60
If by Perseda his grief be not releas’d._
Bel. _Tyrant, desist soliciting vain suits;
Relentless are mine ears to thy laments,
As thy butcher is pitiless and base,
Which seiz’d on my Erasto, harmless knight. 65
Yet by thy power thou thinkest to command,
And to thy power Perseda doth obey;
But, were she able, thus she would revenge
Thy treacheries on thee, ignoble prince:_
Stabs him.
_And on herself she would be thus reveng’d._ 70
Stabs herself.
_King._ Well said!—Old marshal, this was bravely done!
_Hier._ But Bel-imperia plays Perseda well!
_Vic._ Were this in earnest, Bel-imperia,
You would be better to my son than so. 74
_King._ But now what follows for Hieronimo?
_Hier._ Marry, this follows for Hieronimo:
Here break we off our sundry languages,
And thus conclude I in our vulgar tongue.
Haply you think—but bootless are your thoughts—
That this is fabulously counterfeit, 80
And that we do as all tragedians do,—
To die to-day, for fashioning our scene,
The death of Ajax or some Roman peer,
And in a minute starting up again,
Revive to please to-morrow’s audience. 85
No, princes; know I am Hieronimo,
The hopeless father of a hapless son,
Whose tongue is tun’d to tell his latest tale,
Not to excuse gross errors in the play. 89
I see, your looks urge instance of these words;
Behold the reason urging me to this!
_Shows his dead son._
See here my show, look on this spectacle!
Here lay my hope, and here my hope hath end;
Here lay my heart, and here my heart was slain;
Here lay my treasure, here my treasure lost; 95
Here lay my bliss, and here my bliss bereft:
But hope, heart, treasure, joy, and bliss,
All fled, fail’d, died, yea, all decay’d with this.
From forth these wounds came breath that gave me life;
They murd’red me that made these fatal marks. 100
The cause was love, whence grew this mortal hate;
The hate, Lorenzo and young Balthazar;
The love, my son to Bel-imperia.
But night, the coverer of accursed crimes,
With pitchy silence hush’d these traitors’ harms, 105
And lent them leave, for they had sorted[883] leisure
To take advantage in my garden-plot
Upon my son, my dear Horatio.
There merciless they butcher’d up my boy, 109
In black, dark night, to pale, dim, cruel death.
He shrieks: I heard—and yet, methinks, I hear—
His dismal outcry echo in the air.
With soonest speed I hasted to the noise,
Where hanging on a tree I found my son,
Through-girt[884] with wounds, and slaught’red as you see. 115
And griev’d I, think you, at this spectacle?
Speak, Portuguese, whose loss resembles mine:
If thou canst weep upon thy Balthazar,
’T is like I wail’d for my Horatio.
And you, my lord, whose reconciled son 120
March’d in a net, and thought himself unseen,
And rated me for brainsick lunacy,
With “God amend that mad Hieronimo!”—
How can you brook our play’s catastrophe?
And here behold this bloody handkercher, 125
Which at Horatio’s death I weeping dipp’d
Within the river of his bleeding wounds:
It as propitious, see, I have reserved,
And never hath it left my bloody heart,
Soliciting remembrance of my vow 130
With these, O, these accursed murderers:
Which now perform’d, my heart is satisfied.
And to this end the bashaw I became
That might revenge me on Lorenzo’s life,
Who therefore was appointed to the part, 135
And was to represent the knight of Rhodes,
That I might kill him more conveniently.
So, Viceroy, was this Balthazar, thy son,
That Soliman which Bel-imperia,
In person of Perseda, murdered; 140
Solely appointed to that tragic part
That she might slay him that offended her.
Poor Bel-imperia miss’d her part in this:
For though the story saith she should have died,
Yet I of kindness, and of care to her, 145
Did otherwise determine of her end;
But love of him whom they did hate too much
Did urge her resolution to be such.
And, princes, now behold Hieronimo,
Author and actor in this tragedy, 150
Bearing his latest fortune in his fist;
And will as resolute conclude his part,
As any of the actors gone before.
And, gentles, thus I end my play;
Urge no more words: I have no more to say. 155
_He runs to hang himself._
_King._ O hearken, Viceroy! Hold, Hieronimo!
Brother, my nephew and thy son are slain!
_Vic._ We are betray’d; my Balthazar is slain!
Break ope the doors; run, save Hieronimo.
_They break in and hold Hieronimo._
Hieronimo, do but inform the king of these events; 160
Upon mine honour, thou shalt have no harm.
_Hier._ Viceroy, I will not trust thee with my life,
Which I this day have offered to my son.
Accursed wretch! 164
Why stay’st thou him that was resolv’d to die?
_King._ Speak, traitor! damned, bloody murderer, speak!
For now I have thee, I will make thee speak.
Why hast thou done this undeserving deed?
_Vic._ Why hast thou murdered my Balthazar?
_Cast._ Why hast thou butchered both my children thus? 170
_Hier._ O, good words!
As dear to me was my Horatio
As yours, or yours, or yours, my lord, to you.
My guiltless son was by Lorenzo slain,
And by Lorenzo and that Balthazar 175
Am I at last revenged thoroughly,
Upon whose souls may heavens be yet aveng’d
With greater far than these afflictions.
_Cast._ But who were thy confederates in this?
_Vic._ That was thy daughter Bel-imperia; 180
For by her hand my Balthazar was slain:
I saw her stab him.
_King._ Why speak’st thou not?
_Hier._ What lesser liberty can kings afford
Than harmless silence? Then afford it me.
Sufficeth, I may not, nor I will not tell thee. 185
_King._ Fetch forth the tortures: traitor as thou art,
I’ll make thee tell.
_Hier._ Indeed,
Thou may’st torment me as his wretched son
Hath done in murd’ring my Horatio;
But never shalt thou force me to reveal 190
The thing which I have vow’d inviolate.
And therefore, in despite of all thy threats,
Pleas’d with their deaths, and eas’d with their revenge,
First take my tongue, and afterwards my heart.
_He bites out his tongue._
[[885]Hier. _But are you sure they are dead?_
Cast. _Ay, slave,[886] too sure._
Hier. _What, and yours too?_ 195
Vic. _Ay, all are dead: not one of them survive._
Hier. _Nay, then I care not; come, and we shall be friends:
Let us lay our heads together:
See, here’s a goodly noose wilt hold them all._ 200
Vic. _O damned devil, how secure[887] he is!_
Hier. _Secure? Why, dost thou wonder at it?
I tell thee, Viceroy, this day I have seen revenge,
And in that sight am grown a prouder monarch,
Than ever sat under the crown of Spain. 205
Had I as many lives as there be stars,
As many heavens to go to, as those lives,
I’d give them all, ay, and my soul to boot,
But I would see thee ride in this red pool._
Cast. _But who were thy confederates in this?_ 210
Vic. _That was thy daughter Bel-imperia;
For by her hand my Balthazar was slain:
I saw her stab him._
Hier. _O, good words!
As dear to me was my Horatio, 215
As yours, or yours, or yours, my lord, to you.
My guiltless son was by Lorenzo slain,
And by Lorenzo and that Balthazar
Am I at last revenged thoroughly,
Upon whose souls may heavens be yet avenged 220
With greater far than these afflictions.
Methinks, since I grew inward with revenge,
I cannot look with scorn enough on death._
King. _What, dost thou mock us, slave?—Bring tortures forth._ 224
Hier. _Do, do, do: and meantime I’ll torture you.
You had a son, as I take it; and your son
Should ha’ been married to your daughter:
Ha, was it not so?—You had a son too,
He was my liege’s nephew: he was proud
And politic; had he liv’d, he might ha’ come 230
To wear the crown of Spain, I think ’t was so:—
’T was I that kill’d him: look you, this same hand.
’T was it that stabb’d his heart—do ye see? this hand—
For one Horatio, if you ever knew him: a youth,
One that they hang’d up in his father’s garden: 235
One that did force your valiant son to yield,
While your more valiant son did take him prisoner._
Vic. _Be deaf, my senses: I can hear no more._
King. _Fall, heaven, and cover us with thy sad ruins._ 239
Cast. _Roll all the world within thy pitchy cloud._
Hier. _Now do I applaud what I have acted._
Nunc iners cadat[888] manus!
_Now to express the rupture of my part,—
First take my tongue, and afterward my heart._]
_King._ O monstrous resolution of a wretch! 245
See, Viceroy, he hath bitten forth his tongue,
Rather than to reveal what we requir’d.
_Cast._ Yet can he write.
_King._ And if in this he satisfy us not,
We will devise th’ extremest kind of death 250
That ever was invented for a wretch.
_Then he makes signs for a knife to mend his pen._
_Cast._ O, he would have a knife to mend his pen.
_Vic._ Here, and advise thee that thou write the troth.—
Look to my brother! save Hieronimo!
_He with a knife stabs the_ DUKE _and himself._
_King._ What age hath ever heard such monstrous deeds? 255
My brother, and the whole succeeding hope
That Spain expected after my decease!
Go, bear his body hence, that we may mourn
The loss of our beloved brother’s death,
That he may be entomb’d whate’er befall. 260
I am the next, the nearest, last of all.
_Vic._ And thou, Don Pedro, do the like for us:
Take up our hapless son, untimely slain;
Set me with him, and he with woeful me,
Upon the main-mast of a ship unmann’d, 265
And let the wind and tide haul me along
To Scylla’s barking and untamed gulf,
Or to the loathsome pool of Acheron,
To weep my want for my sweet Balthazar:
Spain hath no refuge for a Portingale. 270
_The trumpets sound a dead march; the_ KING OF SPAIN _mourning after
his brother’s body, and the_ KING OF PORTINGAL _bearing the body of his
son_.
[CHORUS.]
_Enter_ GHOST _and_ REVENGE.
_Ghost._ Ay, now my hopes have end in their effects,
When blood and sorrow finish my desires:
Horatio murdered in his father’s bower;
Vild Serberine by Pedringano slain;
False Pedringano hang’d by quaint device; 5
Fair Isabella by herself misdone;
Prince Balthazar by Bel-imperia stabb’d;
The Duke of Castile and his wicked son
Both done to death by old Hieronimo;
My Bel-imperia fall’n as Dido fell, 10
And good Hieronimo slain by himself:
Ay, these were spectacles to please my soul!
Now will I beg at lovely Proserpine
That, by the virtue of her princely doom,
I may consort[889] my friends in pleasing sort, 15
And on my foes work just and sharp revenge.
I’ll lead my friend Horatio through those fields,
Where never-dying wars are still inur’d;[890]
I’ll lead fair Isabella to that train,
Where pity weeps, but never feeleth pain; 20
I’ll lead my Bel-imperia to those joys,
That vestal virgins and fair queens possess;
I’ll lead Hieronimo where Orpheus plays,
Adding sweet pleasure to eternal days. 24
But say, Revenge, for thou must help, or none,
Against the rest how shall my hate be shown?
_Rev._ This hand shall hale them down to deepest hell,
Where none but Furies, bugs,[891] and tortures dwell.
_Ghost._ Then, sweet Revenge, do this at my request:
Let me be judge, and doom them to unrest. 30
Let loose poor Tityus from the vulture’s gripe,
And let Don Cyprian supply his room;
Place Don Lorenzo on Ixion’s wheel,
And let the lover’s endless pains surcease 34
(Juno forgets old wrath, and grants him ease);
Hang Balthazar about Chimaera’s neck,
And let him there bewail his bloody love,
Repining at our joys that are above;
Let Serberine go roll the fatal stone,
And take from Sisyphus his endless moan; 40
False Pedringano, for his treachery,
Let him be dragg’d through boiling Acheron,
And there live, dying still in endless flames,
Blaspheming gods and all their holy names.
_Rev._ Then haste we down to meet thy friends and foes: 45
To place thy friends in ease, the rest in woes;
For here though death hath end their misery,
I’ll there begin their endless tragedy. _Exeunt._
BUSSY D’AMBOIS
BY GEORGE CHAPMAN
[DRAMATIS PERSONAE
HENRY III., King of France.
Monsieur, his brother.
The DUKE OF GUISE.
MONTSURRY, a Count.
BUSSY D’AMBOIS.
BARRISOR, }
L’ANOU, } Courtiers; enemies of D’Ambois.
PYRRHOT, }
BRISAC, }
MELYNELL, } Courtiers; friends of D’Ambois.
FRIAR COMOLET.
MAFFE, steward to Monsieur.
NUNTIUS.
Murderers.
BEHEMOTH, }
CARTOPHYLAX, } Spirits.
UMBRA of FRIAR.
ELENOR, Duchess of Guise.
TAMYRA, Countess of Montsurry.
BEAUPRE, niece to Elenor.
PERO, maid to Tamyra.
CHARLOTTE, maid to Beaupre.
PYRA, a court lady.
ANNABELLE, maid to Elenor.
Lords, Ladies, Pages, &c.
SCENE.—_Paris_.]
PROLOGUE
Not out of confidence that none but we[892]
Are able to present this tragedy,
Not out of envy at the grace of late
It did receive, nor yet to derogate
From their deserts who[893] give out boldly that 5
They move with equal feet on the same flat;
Neither for all nor any of such ends
We offer it, gracious and noble friends,
To your review; we, far from emulation
And (charitably judge) from imitation, 10
With this work entertain you, a piece known
And still believ’d in Court to be our own.
To quit our claim, doubting our right or merit,
Would argue in us poverty of spirit
Which we must not subscribe to. Field[894] is gone, 15
Whose action first did give it name, and one[895]
Who came the nearest to him, is denied
By his gray beard to show the height and pride
Of D’Ambois’ youth and bravery; yet to hold
Our title still a-foot, and not grow cold 20
By giving it o’er, a third man[896] with his best
Of care and pains defends our interest;
As Richard[897] he was lik’d, nor do we fear
In personating D’Ambois he’ll appear
To faint, or go less, so[898] your free consent, 25
As heretofore, give him encouragement.
ACT I
SCENE I.[899]
_Enter_ BUSSY D’AMBOIS, _poor_.
_Bu._ Fortune, not Reason, rules the state of things,
Reward goes backwards, Honour on his head;
Who is not poor, is monstrous; only need
Gives form and worth to every human seed.
As cedars beaten with continual storms, 5
So great men flourish; and do imitate
Unskilful statuaries, who suppose,
In forming a Colossus, if they make him
Straddle enough, strut, and look big, and gape,
Their work is goodly: so men merely great 10
In their affected gravity of voice,
Sourness of countenance, manners’ cruelty,
Authority, wealth, and all the spawn of fortune,
Think they bear all the kingdom’s worth before them;
Yet differ not from those colossic statues, 15
Which, with heroic forms without o’erspread,
Within are nought but mortar, flint, and lead.
Man is a torch borne in the wind; a dream
But of a shadow, summ’d with all his substance;
And as great seamen, using all their wealth 20
And skills in Neptune’s deep invisible paths,
In tall ships richly built and ribb’d with brass,
To put a girdle round about the world,
When they have done it (coming near their haven)
Are glad to give a warning-piece,[900] and call 25
A poor, staid fisherman, that never past
His country’s sight, to waft and guide them in:
So when we wander furthest through the waves
Of glassy Glory, and the gulfs of State, 29
Topt with all titles, spreading all our reaches,
As if each private arm would sphere the earth,
We must to Virtue for her guide resort,
Or we shall shipwrack in our safest port.
_Procumbit._
[_Enter_] Monsieur, _with two_ Pages.
[_Mo._] There is no second place in numerous state[901]
That holds more than a cipher; in a king 35
All places are contain’d. His word and looks
Are like the flashes and the bolts of Jove;
His deeds inimitable, like the sea 38
That shuts still as it opes, and leaves no tracts
Nor prints of precedent for mean men’s facts:[902]
There’s but a thread betwixt me and a crown:
I would not wish it cut, unless by nature;
Yet to prepare me for that possible fortune,
’Tis good to get resolved spirits about me.
I follow’d D’Ambois to this green retreat; 45
A man of spirit beyond the reach of fear,
Who (discontent with his neglected worth)
Neglects the light, and loves obscure abodes;
But he is young and haughty, apt to take
Fire at advancement, to bear state and flourish; 50
In his rise therefore shall my bounties shine.
None loathes the world so much, nor loves to scoff it,
But gold and grace will make him surfeit of it.
What, D’Ambois?
_Bu._ He, sir.
_Mo._ Turn’d to earth, alive?
Up, man; the sun shines on thee.
_Bu._ Let it shine:
I am no mote to play in ’t, as great men are. 56
_Mo._ Call’st thou men great in state, motes in the sun?
They say so that would have thee freeze in shades,
They (like the gross Sicilian gourmandist)
Empty their noses in the cates[903] they love, 60
That none may eat but they. Do thou but bring
Light to the banquet Fortune sets before thee,
And thou wilt loathe lean darkness like thy death.
Who would believe thy mettle could let sloth
Rust and consume it? If Themistocles 65
Had liv’d obscur’d thus in th’ Athenian State,
Xerxes had made both him and it his slaves.
If brave Camillus had lurkt so in Rome,
He had not five times been Dictator there,
Nor four times triumpht. If Epaminondas 70
(Who liv’d twice twenty years obscur’d in Thebes)
Had liv’d so still, he had been still unnam’d,
And paid his country nor himself their right;
But putting forth his strength, he rescu’d both
From imminent ruin; and, like burnisht steel, 75
After long-use he shin’d; for as the light
Not only serves to show, but render us
Mutually profitable; so our lives
In acts exemplary, not only win
Ourselves good names, but do to others give 80
Matter for virtuous deeds, by which we live.
_Bu._ What would you wish me?
_Mo._ Leave the troubled streams,
And live, as thrivers do, at the well-head.
_Bu._ At the well-head? Alas, what should I do
With that enchanted glass? See devils there?
Or, like a strumpet, learn to set my looks 86
In an eternal brake,[904] or practise juggling,
To keep my face still fast, my heart still loose;
Or bear (like dame’s schoolmistresses their riddles)
Two tongues, and be good only for a shift;[905] 90
Flatter great lords, to put them still in mind
Why they were made lords; or please humorous[906] ladies
With a good carriage, tell them idle tales
To make their physic work; spend a man’s life
In sights and visitations, that will make 95
His eyes as hollow as his mistress’ heart:
To do none good, but those that have no need;
To gain being forward, though you break for haste
All the commandments ere you break your fast;
But believe backwards, make your period 100
And creed’s last article, “I believe in God ”;
And (hearing villanies preacht) t’unfold their art,
Learn to commit them: ’tis a great man’s part.
Shall I learn this there?
_Mo._ No, thou need’st not learn,
Thou hast the theory; now go there and practise. 105
_Bu._ Ay, in a threadbare suit; when men come there,
They must have high naps,[907] and go from thence bare:
A man may drown the parts[908] of ten rich men
In one poor suit; brave barks[909] and outward gloss
Attract Court loves, be in parts ne’er so gross.
_Mo._ Thou shalt have gloss enough, and all things fit 111
T’enchase in all show thy long-smothered spirit:
Be rul’d by me then. The old Scythians
Painted blind Fortune’s powerful hands with wings,
To show her gifts come swift and suddenly, 115
Which, if her favourite be not swift to take,
He loses them for ever. Then be wise:
Stay but awhile here, and I’ll send to thee.
_Exit_ Monsieur _with_ Pages.
_Bu._ What will he send? Some crowns? It is to sow them 119
Upon my spirit, and make them spring a crown
Worth millions of the seed-crowns he will send.
Like to disparking[910] noble husbandmen,
He’ll put his plow into me, plow me up.
But his unsweating thrift is policy,
And learning-hating policy is ignorant 125
To fit his seed-land soil; a smooth plain ground
Will never nourish any politic seed.
I am for honest actions, not for great:
If I may bring up a new fashion,
And rise in Court for virtue, speed his plow! 130
The King hath known me long as well as he,
Yet could my fortune never fit the length
Of both their understandings till this hour.
There is a deep nick in Time’s restless wheel
For each man’s good, when which nick comes, it strikes; 135
As rhetoric yet works not persuasion,
But only is a mean to make it work,
So no man riseth by his real merit,
But when it cries “clink” in his raiser’s spirit,
Many will say, that cannot rise at all, 140
Man’s first hour’s rise is first step to his fall.
I’ll venture that; men that fall low must die,
As well as men cast headlong from the sky.
_Enter_ MAFFE.
_Ma._ Humour of princes! Is this wretch endu’d
With any merit worth a thousand crowns? 145
Will my lord have me be so ill a steward
Of his revenue, to dispose a sum
So great with so small cause as shows in him?
I must examine this. Is your name D’Ambois?
_Bu._ Sir?
_Ma._ Is your name D’Ambois?
_Bu._ Who have we here? 150
Serve you the Monsieur?
_Ma._ How?
_Bu._ Serve you the Monsieur?
_Ma._ Sir, y’are very hot. I do serve the Monsieur;
But in such place as gives me the command
Of all his other servants. And because
His grace’s pleasure is to give your good 155
His pass[911] through my command, methinks you might
Use me with more respect.
_Bu._ Cry you mercy![912]
Now you have opened my dull eyes, I see you,
And would be glad to see the good you speak of.
What might I call your name?
_Ma._ Monsieur Maffe.
_Bu._ Monsieur Maffe? Then, good Monsieur Maffe, 161
Pray let me know you better.
_Ma._ Pray do so,
That you may use me better. For yourself,
By your no better outside, I would judge you
To be some poet; have you given my lord 165
Some pamphlet?
_Bu._ Pamphlet?
_Ma._ Pamphlet, sir, I say.
_Bu._ Did your great master’s goodness leave the good
That is to pass your charge to my poor use,
To your discretion?
_Ma._ Though he did not, sir,
I hope ’tis no rude office to ask reason 170
How that his grace gives me in charge, goes from me?
_Bu._ That’s very perfect, sir.
_Ma._ Why, very good, sir;
I pray then give me leave; if for no pamphlet,
May I not know what other merit in you, 174
Makes his compunction willing to relieve you?
_Bu._ No merit in the world, sir.
_Ma._ That is strange.
Y’are a poor soldier, are you?
_Bu._ That I am, sir.
_Ma._ And have commanded?
_Bu._ Ay, and gone without, sir.
_Ma._ [_Aside._] I see the man; a hundred crowns will make him 179
Swagger and drink healths to his grace’s bounty,
And swear he could not be more bountiful;
So there’s nine hundred crowns sav’d.—Here, tall soldier,
His grace hath sent you a whole hundred crowns.
_Bu._ A hundred, sir? Nay, do his highness right;
I know his hand is larger, and perhaps 185
I may deserve more than my outside shows.
I am a scholar, as I am a soldier,
And I can poetise; and (being well encourag’d)
May sing his fame for giving; yours for delivering 189
(Like a most faithful steward) what he gives.
_Ma._ What shall your subject be?
_Bu._ I care not much
If to his bounteous grace I sing the praise
Of fair great noses, and to you of long ones.
What qualities have you, sir, beside your chain[913]
And velvet jacket?[913] Can your worship dance?
_Ma._ A pleasant fellow, faith; it seems my lord 196
Will have him for his jester; and by ’r lady,
Such men are now no fools; ’tis a knight’s place.
If I (to save his grace some crowns) should urge him
T’ abate his bounty, I should not be heard; 200
I would to heaven I were an errant ass,
For then I should be sure to have the ears
Of these great men, where now their jesters have them.
’Tis good to please him, yet I’ll take no notice
Of his preferment, but in policy 205
Will still be grave and serious, lest he think
I fear his wooden dagger.[914] Here, sir Ambo!
_Bu._ How, Ambo, sir?
_Ma._ Ay, is not your name Ambo?
_Bu._ You call’d me lately D’Ambois; has your worship
So short a head?
_Ma._ I cry thee mercy, D’Ambois.
A thousand crowns I bring you from my lord.
If you be thrifty, and play the good husband, you may make 212
This a good standing living: ’tis a bounty
His highness might perhaps have bestow’d better.
_Bu._ Go, y’are a rascal; hence, away, you rogue! 215
_Ma._ What mean you, sir?
_Bu._ Hence! prate no more!
Or, by thy villain’s blood, thou prat’st thy last!
A barbarous groom grudge at his master’s bounty!
But since I know he would as much abhor 210
His hind should argue what he gives his friend,
Take that, sir, for your aptness to dispute.
[_Strikes him._] _Exit._
_Ma._ These crowns are set in blood; blood be their fruit. _Exit._
[Scene II.][915]
[_Enter_] HENRY, GUISE, MONTSURRY, ELENOR, TAMYRA, BEAUPRE, PERO,
CHARLOTTE, PYRA, ANNABELLE.
_He._ Duchess of Guise, your grace is much enricht
In the attendance of that English virgin,
That will initiate her prime of youth
(Dispos’d to Court conditions) under the hand
Of your preferr’d instructions and command, 5
Rather than any in the English Court,
Whose ladies are not matcht in Christendom
For graceful and confirm’d behaviours;
More than the Court, where they are bred, is equall’d.
_Gu._ I like not their Court fashion; it is too crestfall’n 10
In all observance, making demigods
Of their great nobles; and of their old queen,
An ever-young and most immortal goddess.
_Mo._ No question she’s the rarest queen in Europe.
_Gu._ But what’s that to her immortality? 15
_He._ Assure you, cousin Guise, so great a courtier,
So full of majesty and royal parts,
No queen in Christendom may vaunt herself.
Her Court approves it, that’s a Court indeed,
Not mixt with clowneries us’d in common houses, 20
But, as Courts should be, th’ abstracts of their kingdoms,
In all the beauty, state, and worth they hold;
So is hers, amply, and by her inform’d.
The world is not contracted in a man
With more proportion and expression, 25
Than in her Court, her kingdom. Our French Court
Is a mere mirror of confusion to it:
The king and subject, lord and every slave,
Dance a continual hay;[916] our rooms of state
Kept like our stables; no place more observ’d
Than a rude market-place: and though our custom 31
Keep this assur’d confusion from our eyes,
’Tis ne’er the less essentially unsightly,
Which they would soon see, would they change their form 34
To this of ours, and then compare them both;
Which we must not affect,[917] because in kingdoms
Where the king’s change doth breed the subject’s terror,
Pure innovation is more gross than error.
_Mo._ No question we shall see them imitate
(Though afar off) the fashions of our Courts, 40
As they have ever ap’d us in attire.
Never were men so weary of their skins,
And apt to leap out of themselves as they;
Who, when they travel[918] to bring forth rare men,
Come home, delivered of a fine French suit. 45
Their brains lie with their tailors, and get babies
For their most complete issue; he’s sole heir
To all the moral virtues that first greets
The light with a new fashion, which becomes them
Like apes, disfigur’d with the attires of men. 50
_He._ No question they much wrong their real worth
In affectation of outlandish scum;
But they have faults, and we more; they foolish-proud
To jet[919] in others’ plumes so haughtily;
We proud, that they are proud of foolery, 55
Holding our worths more complete for their vaunts.
_Enter_ Monsieur, D’AMBOIS.
_Mo._ Come, mine own sweetheart, I will enter thee.—
Sir, I have brought a gentleman to Court,
And pray you would vouchsafe to do him grace.
_He._ D’Ambois, I think?
_Bu._ That’s still my name, my lord, 60
Though I be something altered in attire.
_He._ We like your alteration, and must tell you
We have expected th’ offer of your service;
For we (in fear to make mild virtue proud)
Use not to seek her out in any man. 65
_Bu._ Nor doth she use to seek out any man:
He that will win must woo her; [she’s not shameless.][920]
_Mo._ I urg’d her modesty in him, my lord,
And gave her those rites that he says she merits.
_He._ If you have woo’d and won, then, brother, wear him. 70
_Mo._ Th’ art mine, sweetheart. See, here’s the Guise’s Duchess,
The Countess of Montsurreau, Beaupre.
Come, I’ll enseam[921] thee. Ladies, y’are too many
To be in council; I have here a friend
That I would gladly enter in your graces. 75
_Bu._ Save you, ladies.
_Du._ If you enter him in our graces, my lord, methinks by his blunt
behaviour he should come out of himself.
_Ta._ Has he never been courtier, my lord? 80
_Mo._ Never, my lady.
_Be._ And why did the toy take him in th’ head now?
_Bu._ ’Tis leap-year, lady, and therefore very good to enter a
courtier. 85
_He._ Mark, Duchess of Guise, there is one is not bashful.
_Du._ No, my lord, he is much guilty of the bold extremity.
_Ta._ The man’s a courtier at first sight.
_Bu._ I can sing pricksong,[922] lady, at first sight; and why not be
a courtier as suddenly? 90
_Be._ Here’s a courtier rotten before he be ripe.
_Bu._ Think me not impudent, lady; I am yet no courtier; I desire to
be one, and would gladly take entrance, madam, under your princely
colours. 95
_Enter_ BARRISOR, L’ANOU, PYRRHOT.
_Du._ Soft, sir, you must rise by degrees, first being the
servant[923] of some common lady, or knight’s wife; then a little
higher to a lord’s wife; next a little higher to a countess; yet a
little higher to a duchess, and then turn the ladder. 101
_Bu._ Do you allow a man, then, four mistresses when the greatest
mistress is allowed but three servants?
_Du._ Where find you that statute, sir? 105
_Bu._ Why, be judged by the groom-porters.[924]
_Du._ The groom-porters?
_Bu._ Ay, madam; must not they judge of all gamings i’ th’ Court?
_Du._ You talk like a gamester. 110
_Gu._ Sir, know you me?
_Bu._ My lord?
_Gu._ I know not you. Whom do you serve?
_Bu._ Serve, my lord?
_Gu._ Go to, companion,[925] your courtship’s too saucy. 116
_Bu._ [_Aside._] Saucy! Companion! ’Tis the Guise, but yet those
terms might have been spared of the guiserd.[926] Companion! He’s
jealous, by this light. Are you blind of that side, duke? I’ll to her
again for that.—Forth, (121) princely mistress, for the honour of
courtship. Another riddle!
_Gu._ Cease your courtship, or by heaven I’ll cut your throat. 125
_Bu._ Cut my throat? Cut a whetstone, young Accius Naevius.[927] Do
as much with your tongue, as he did with a razor. Cut my throat!
_Ba._ What new-come gallant have we here, that dares mate[928] the
Guise thus? 130
_L’A._ ’Sfoot, ’tis D’Ambois. The duke mistakes him, on my life, for
some knight of the new edition.[929]
_Bu._ Cut my throat! I would the king fear’d thy cutting of his
throat no more than I fear thy cutting of mine. 136
_Gu._ I’ll do’t, by this hand.
_Bu._ That hand dares not do’t. Y’ave cut too many throats already,
Guise; and robb’d the realm of many thousand souls, more precious
than thine own.—Come madam, talk on. (141) ’Sfoot, can you not talk?
Talk on, I say; another riddle.
_Py._ Here’s some strange distemper.
_Ba._ Here’s a sudden transmigration with D’Ambois,—out of the
knight’s ward[930] into the duchess’ bed.
_L’A._ See what a metamorphosis a brave suit can work. 149
_Py._ ’Slight, step to the Guise and discover him.
_Ba._ By no means; let the new suit work, we’ll see the issue.
_Gu._ Leave your courting. 154
_Bu._ I will not.—I say, mistress, and I will stand unto it, that
if a woman may have three servants, a man may have three-score
mistresses.
_Gu._ Sirrah, I’ll have you whipt out of the Court for this
insolence. 160
_Bu._ Whipt? Such another syllable out a th’ presence, if thou
dar’st, for thy dukedom.
_Gu._ Remember, poltroon.
_Mo._ Pray thee, forbear. 164
_Bu._ Passion of death! Were not the king here, he should strow the
chamber like a rush.
_Mo._ But leave courting his wife, then.
_Bu._ I will not. I’ll court her in despite of him. Not court her!
Come, madam, talk on, fear me nothing. [_To_ Guise.] Well may’st thou
drive thy master from the Court, but never (171) D’Ambois.
_Mo._ His great heart will not down; ’tis like the sea,
That partly by his own internal heat,
Partly the stars’ daily and nightly motion, 175
Their heat and light, and partly of the place,
The divers frames, but chiefly by the moon,
Bristled with surges, never will be won
(No, not when th’ hearts of all those powers are burst)
To make retreat into his settled home, 180
Till he be crown’d with his own quiet foam.
_He._ You have the mate.[931] Another?
_Gu._ No more. _Flourish short._
_Exit_ GUISE, _after him the_ King, Monsieur _whispering_.
_Ba._ Why, here’s the lion, scar’d with the throat of a dunghill
cock, a fellow that has (185) newly shak’d off his shackles; now does
he crow for that victory.
_L’A._ ’Tis one of the best jigs that ever was acted. 189
_Py._ Whom does the Guise suppose him to be, trow?
_L’A._ Out of doubt, some new denizen’d lord, and thinks that suit
newly drawn out a’ th’ mercer’s books. 194
_Ba._ I have heard of a fellow, that by a fixt imagination looking
upon a bull-baiting, had a visible pair of horns grew out of his
forehead; and I believe this gallant, overjoyed with the conceit of
Monsieur’s cast[932] suit, imagines himself to be the Monsieur. 200
_L’A._ And why not; as well as the ass, stalking in the lion’s
case,[933] bare himself like a lion, braying all the huger beasts out
of the forest?
_Py._ Peace, he looks this way. 204
_Ba._ Marry, let him look, sir. What will you say now if the Guise be
gone to fetch a blanket[934] for him?
_L’A._ Faith, I believe it for his honour sake.
_Py._ But, if D’Ambois carry it clean?[935]
_Exeunt_ Ladies.
_Ba._ True, when he curvets in the blanket.
_Py._ Ay, marry, sir. 211
_L’A._ ’Sfoot, see how he stares on ’s.
_Ba._ Lord bless us, let’s away.
_Bu._ Now, sir, take your full view; how does the object please ye? 215
_Ba._ If you ask my opinion, sir, I think your suit sits as well as
if ’t had been made for you.
_Bu._ So, sir, and was that the subject of your ridiculous jollity?
_L’A._ What’s that to you, sir? 220
_Bu._ Sir, I have observ’d all your fleerings;[936] and resolve
yourselves ye shall give a strict account for’t.
_Enter_ BRISAC, MELYNELL.
_Ba._ Oh, miraculous jealousy![937] Do you think yourself such a
singular subject for laughter (225) that none can fall into the
matter of our merriment but you?
_L’A._ This jealousy of yours, sir, confesses some close defect in
yourself, that we never dream’d of. 230
_Py._ We held discourse of a perfum’d ass, that being disguis’d in a
lion’s case, imagin’d himself a lion. I hope that toucht not you.
_Bu._ So, sir; your descants[938] do marvellous well fit this ground.
We shall meet where (235) your buffoonly laughters will cost ye the
best blood in your bodies.
_Ba._ For life’s sake let’s be gone; he’ll kill ’s outright else.
_Bu._ Go, at your pleasures, I’ll be your ghost to haunt you; an ye
sleep an ’t, hang me. 241
_L’A._ Go, go, sir; court your mistress.
_Py._ And be advis’d; we shall have odds against you.
_Bu._ Tush! valour stands not in number; I’ll maintain it, that one
man may beat three (246) boys.
_Br._ Nay, you shall have no odds of him in number, sir; he’s a
gentleman as good as the proudest of you, and ye shall not wrong him.
_Ba._ Not, sir? 251
_Me._ Not, sir: though he be not so rich, he’s a better man than the
best of you; and I will not endure it.
_L’A._ Not you, sir? 255
_Br._ No, sir, not I.
_Bu._ I should thank you for this kindness, if I thought these
perfum’d musk-cats (being out of this privilege) durst but once mew
at us.
_Ba._ Does your confident spirit doubt that, sir? Follow us
and try. 261
_L’A._ Come, sir, we’ll lead you a dance.
_Exeunt._
ACT II
SCENE I.[939]
[_Enter_] HENRY, GUISE, MONTSURRY, _and_ Attendants.
_He._ This desperate quarrel sprung out of their envies
To D’Ambois’ sudden bravery,[940] and great spirit.
_Gu._ Neither is worth their envy.
_He._ Less than either
Will make the gall of envy overflow.
She feeds on outcast entrails like a kite; 5
In which foul heap, if any ill lies hid,
She sticks her beak into it, shakes it up,
And hurls it all abroad, that all may view it.
Corruption is her nutriment; but touch her
With any precious ointment, and you kill her.
Where she finds any filth in men, she feasts, 11
And with her black throat bruits it through the world
(Being sound and healthful). But if she but taste
The slenderest pittance of commended virtue,
She surfeits on it, and is like a fly 15
That passes all the body’s soundest parts,
And dwells upon the gores; or if her squint eye
Have power to find none there, she forges some.
She makes that crooked ever which is straight;
Calls valour giddiness, justice tyranny; 20
A wise man may shun her, she not herself;
Whithersoever she flies from her harms,
She bears her foes still claspt in her own arms:
And therefore, Cousin Guise, let us avoid her.
_Enter_ Nuntius.
_Nu._ What Atlas or Olympus lifts his head 25
So far past covert, that with air enough
My words may be inform’d, and from their height
I may be seen, and heard through all the world?
A tale so worthy, and so fraught with wonder
Sticks in my jaws, and labours with event. 30
_He._ Comest thou from D’Ambois?
_Nu._ From him, and the rest,
His friends and enemies; whose stern fight I saw,
And heard their words before and in the fray.
_He._ Relate at large what thou hast seen and heard.
_Nu._ I saw fierce D’Ambois and his two brave friends 35
Enter the field, and at their heels their foes;
Which were the famous soldiers, Barrisor,
L’Anou, and Pyrrhot, great in deeds of arms:
All which arriv’d at the evenest piece of earth
The field afforded, the three challengers 40
Turn’d head, drew all their rapiers, and stood rankt:
When face to face the three defendants met them,
Alike prepar’d, and resolute alike.
Like bonfires of contributory wood
Every man’s look show’d, fed with either’s spirit; 45
As one had been a mirror to another,
Like forms of life and death, each took from other;
And so were life and death mixt at their heights,
That you could see no fear of death, for life,
Nor love of life, for death; but in their brows 50
Pyrrho’s opinion in great letters shone:
That life and death in all respects are one.
_He._ Past there no sort of words at their encounter?
_Nu._ As Hector, ’twixt the hosts of Greece and Troy, 54
(When Paris and the Spartan king should end
The nine years’ war) held up his brazen lance
For signal that both hosts should cease from arms,
And hear him speak: so Barrisor advis’d,[941]
Advanc’d his naked rapier ’twixt both sides,
Ript[942] up the quarrel, and compar’d six lives 60
Then laid in balance with six idle words;
Offer’d remission and contrition too;
Or else that he and D’Ambois might conclude
The others’ dangers. D’Ambois lik’d the last;
But Barrisor’s friends (being equally engag’d 65
In the main quarrel) never would expose
His life alone to that they all deserv’d.
And, for the other offer of remission,
D’Ambois (that like a laurel put in fire
Sparkl’d and spit) did much more than scorn 70
That his wrong should incense him so like chaff
To go so soon out; and like lighted paper
Approve his spirit at once both fire and ashes.
So drew they lots and in them fates appointed
That Barrisor should fight with fiery D’Ambois; 75
Pyrrhot with Melynell; with Brisac L’Anou:
And then like flame and powder they commixt,
So spritely, that I wisht they had been spirits,
That the ne’er-shutting wounds, they needs must open,
Might as they open’d shut, and never kill. 80
But D’Ambois’ sword (that light’ned as it flew)
Shot like a pointed comet at the face
Of manly Barrisor; and there it stuck.
Thrice pluckt he[943] at it, and thrice drew on thrusts,
From him[944] that of himself was free as fire: 85
Who[944] thrust still as he[943] pluckt, yet (past belief)
He[943] with his subtle eye, hand, body, scapt.
At last, the deadly hitten point tugg’d off,
On fell his yet undaunted foe so fiercely
That (only made more horrid with his wound) 90
Great D’Ambois shrunk, and gave a little ground;
But soon return’d, redoubled[945] in his danger,
And at the heart of Barrisor seal’d his anger.
Then, as in Arden I have seen an oak
Long shook with tempests, and his lofty top 95
Bent to his root, which being at length made loose
Even groaning with his weight) he ’gan to nod
This way and that, as loth his curled brows
(Which he had oft wrapt in the sky with storms) 99
Should stoop: and yet, his radical fibres burst,
Storm-like he fell, and hid the fear-cold earth;
So fell stout Barrisor, that had stood the shocks
Of ten set battles in your highness’ war,
’Gainst the sole soldier of the world, Navarre.
_Gu._ Oh, piteous and horrid murder!
[_Mont._] Such a life
Methinks had metal in it to survive 105
An age of men.
_He._ Such often soonest end.
Thy felt report calls on, we long to know
On what events the other have arriv’d.
_Nu._ Sorrow and fury, like two opposite fumes
Met in the upper region of a cloud, 111
At the report made by this worthy’s fall,
Brake from the earth, and with them rose Revenge,
Ent’ring with fresh powers his two noble friends;
And under that odds fell surcharged[946] Brisac, 115
The friend of D’Ambois, before fierce L’Anou;
Which D’Ambois seeing, as I once did see,
In my young travels through Armenia,
An angry unicorn in his full career
Charge with too swift a foot a jeweller 120
That watcht him for the treasure of his brow,[947]
And, ere he could get shelter of a tree,
Nail him with his rich antler to the earth;
So D’Ambois ran upon reveng’d L’Anou,
Who eying th’ eager point borne in his face, 125
And giving back, fell back, and in his fall
His foe’s uncurbed sword stopt in his heart;
By which time all the life-strings of the tw’ other
Were cut, and both fell as their spirits flew
Upwards; and still hunt honour at the view: 130
And now, of all the six, sole D’Ambois stood
Untoucht, save only with the others’ blood.
_He._ All slain outright?
_Nu._ All slain outright but he,
Who kneeling in the warm life of his friends,
(All freckled with the blood his rapier rain’d) 135
He kist their pale cheeks, and bade both farewell;
And see the bravest man the French earth bears! [_Exit_ Nuntius.]
_Enter_ Monsieur D’AMBOIS _bare_.[948]
_Bu._ Now is the time; y’are princely vow’d my friend;
Perform it princely, and obtain my pardon.
_Mo._ Else heaven forgive not me! Come on, brave friend!— 140
If ever nature held herself her own,
When the great trial of a king and subject
Met in one blood, both from one belly springing;
Now prove her virtue and her greatness one,
Or make the t’ one the greater with t’ other, 145
(As true kings should) and for your brother’s love,
(Which is a special species of true virtue)
Do that you could not do, not being a king.
_He._ Brother, I know your suit; these wilful murders
Are ever past our pardon.
_Mo._ Manly slaughter 150
Should never bear th’ account of wilful murder;
It being a spice[949] of justice, where with life
Offending past law,[950] equal life is laid
In equal balance, to scourge that offence
By law of reputation, which to men 155
Exceeds all positive law, and what that[951] leaves
To true men’s valours (not prefixing rights
Of satisfaction, suited to their wrongs)
A free man’s eminence may supply and take.
_He._ This would make every man that thinks him wrong’d 160
Or is offended, or in wrong or right,
Lay on this violence, and all vaunt themselves
Law-menders and suppliers,[952] though mere butchers;
Should this fact[953] (though of justice[954]) be forgiven?
_Mo._ Oh, no, my lord; it would make cowards fear 165
To touch the reputatious of true men
When only they are left to imp[955] the law.
Justice will soon distinguish murderous minds
From just revengers. Had my friend been slain,
(His enemy surviving) he should die, 170
Since he had added to a murder’d fame
(Which was in his intent) a murdered man,
And this had worthily been wilful murder;
But my friend only sav’d his fame’s dear life,
Which is above life, taking th’ under value, 175
Which in the wrong it did, was forfeit to him;
And in this fact only preserves a man
In his uprightness; worthy to survive
Millions of such as murder men alive.
_He._ Well, brother, rise, and raise your friend withal 180
From death to life; and D’Ambois, let your life
(Refin’d, by passing through this merited death)
Be purg’d from more such foul pollution;
Nor on your scape nor valour more presuming
To be again so daring.
_Bu._ My lord, 185
I loathe as much a deed of unjust death
As law itself doth; and to tyrannize,
Because I have a little spirit to dare
And power to do, as to be tyranniz’d.
This is a grace that (on my knees redoubled[956]),
I crave to double this, my short life’s gift; 191
And shall your royal bounty centuple,
That I may so make good what Law and nature
Have given me for my good; since I am free,
(Offending no just law), let no law make 195
By any wrong it does, my life her slave:
When I am wrong’d, and that law fails to right me,
Let me be king myself (as man was made),
And do a justice that exceeds the law;
If my wrong pass the power of single valour 200
To right and expiate, then be you my king,
And do a right, exceeding law and nature.
Who to himself is law, no law doth need,
Offends no law, and is a king indeed.
_He._ Enjoy what thou entreat’st; we give but ours. 205
_Bu._ What you have given, my lord, is ever yours.
_Exit_ Rex _cum_ [MONTSURRY.]
_Gu. Mort dieu!_ who would have pardon’d such a murder? _Exit._
_Mo._ Now vanish horrors into Court attractions,
For which let this balm make thee fresh and fair.
And now forth with thy service to the duchess, 210
As my long love will to Montsurry’s countess. _Exit._
_Bu._ To whom my love hath long been vow’d in heart,
Although in hand for show I held the duchess.
And now through blood and vengeance, deeds of height
And hard to be achiev’d, ’tis fit I make 215
Attempt of her perfection. I need fear
No check in his rivality,[957] since her virtues
Are so renown’d, and he of all dames hated. _Exit._
[SCENE II.][958]
MONTSURRY, TAMYRA, BEAUPRE, PERO, CHARLOTTE, PYRA.
_Mont._ He will have pardon, sure.
_Ta._ ’T were pity, else:
For though his great spirit something overflow,
All faults are atill borne that from greatness grow;
But such a sudden courtier saw I never.
_Be._ He was too sudden, which indeed was rudeness. 5
_Ta._ True, for it argued his no due conceit[959]
Both of the place and greatness of the persons,
Nor of our sex: all which (we all being strangers
To his encounter) should have made more manners 9
Deserve more welcome.
_Mont._ All this fault is found
Because he lov’d the duchess and left you.
_Ta._ Alas, love give her joy; I am so far
From envy of her honour, that I swear,
Had he encounter’d me with such proud slight,
I would have put that project[960] face of his 15
To a more test than did her duchesship.
_Be._ Why (by your leave, my lord) I ’ll speak it here,
Although she be my aunt, she scarce was modest,
When she percerv’d the duke her husband take
Those late exceptions to her servant’s courtship, 20
To entertain him.
_Ta._ Ay, and stand him still,
Letting her husband give her servant place.
Though he did manly, she should be a woman.
_Enter_ GUISE.
[_Gu._] D’Ambois is pardon’d! Where’s a king? Where law?
See how it runs, much like a turbulent sea, 25
Here high and glorious as it did contend
To wash the heavens and make the stars more pure,
And here so low, it leaves the mud of hell
To every common view; come, Count Montsurry, 29
We must consult of this.
_Ta._ Stay not, sweet lord.
_Mont._ Be pleas’d, I ’ll straight return. _Exit cum_ GUISE.
_Ta._ Would that would please me!
_Be._ I ’ll leave you, madam, to your passions;
I see there ’s change of weather in your looks. _Exit cum suis._
_Ta._ I cannot cloak it; but, as when a fume,
Hot, dry, and gross, within the womb of earth
Or in her superficies begot, 36
When extreme cold hath struck it to her heart,
The more it is comprest, the more it rageth;
Exceeds his prison’s strength that should contain it,
And then it tosseth temples in the air, 40
All bars made engines to his insolent fury;
So, of a sudden, my licentious fancy
Riots within me: not my name and house
Nor my religion, to this hour observ’d,
Can stand above it. I must utter that 45
That will in parting break more strings in me
Than death when life parts; and that holy man
That, from my cradle, counsell’d for my soul,
I now must make an agent for my blood.[961] 49
_Enter_ MONSIEUR.
_Mo._ Yet, is my mistress gracious?
_Ta._ Yet unanswered?
_Mo._ Pray thee regard thine own good, if not mine,
And cheer my love for that; you do not know
What you may be by me, nor what without me;
I may have power t’ advance and pull down any.
_Ta._ That ’s not my study. One way I am sure 55
You shall not pull down me; my husband’s height
Is crown to all my hopes; and his retiring
To any mean state, shall be my aspiring;
My honour ’s in mine own hands, spite of kings.
_Mo._ Honour, what ’s that? Your second maidenhead: 60
And what is that? A word. The word is gone,
The thing remains: the rose is pluckt, the stalk
Abides; an easy loss where no lack’s found.
Believe it, there ’s as small lack in the loss
As there is pain i’ th’ losing; archers ever 65
Have two strings to a bow; and shall great Cupid
(Archer of archers both in men and women,)
Be worse provided than a common archer?
A husband and a friend all wise wives have.
_Ta._ Wise wives they are that on such strings depend, 70
With a firm husband joining a loose friend!
_Mo._ Still you stand on your husband, so do all
The common sex of you, when y’ are encounter’d
With one ye cannot fancy. All men know 74
You live in Court, here, by your own election,
Frequenting all our common sports and triumphs,
All the most youthful company of men:
And wherefore do you this? To please your husband?
’T is gross and fulsome: if your husband’s pleasure
Be all your object, and you aim at honour 80
In living close to him, get you from Court;
You may have him at home; these common put-offs
For common women serve: “My honour! Husband!”
Dames maritorious[962] ne’er were meritorious.
Speak plain, and say, “I do not like you, sir, 85
Y’ are an ill-favour’d fellow in my eye;”
And I am answer’d.
_Ta._ Then, I pray, be answer’d:
For in good faith, my lord, I do not like you
In that sort[963] you like.
_Mo._ Then have at you, here!
Take (with a politic hand) this rope of pearl, 90
And though you be not amorous, yet be wise:
Take me for wisdom; he that you can love
Is ne’er the further from you.
_Ta._ Now it comes
So ill prepar’d, that I may take a poison,
Under a medicine as good cheap as it; 95
I will not have it were it worth the world.
_Mo._ Horror of death; could I but please your eye,
You would give me the like, ere you would lose me.
“Honour and husband!”
_Ta._ By this light, my lord,
Y’ are a vile fellow, and I ’ll tell the king 100
Your occupation of dishonouring ladies
And of his Court. A lady cannot live
As she was born, and with that sort of pleasure
That fits her state, but she must be defam’d
With an infamous lord’s detraction. 105
Who would endure the Court if these attempts
Of open and profest lust must be borne?
Who ’s there? Come on, dame; you are at your book
When men are at your mistress; have I taught you
Any such waiting-woman’s quality? 110
_Mo._ Farewell, good “husband.” _Exit_ Monsieur.
_Mont._ Farewell, wicked lord.
_Enter_ MONTSURRY.
_Mont._ Was not the Monsieur here?
_Ta._ Yes, to good purpose;
And your cause is as good to seek him too,
And haunt his company.
_Mont._ Why, what ’s the matter?
_Ta._ Matter of death, were I some husbands’ wife. 115
I cannot live at quiet in my chamber,
For opportunities[964] almost to rapes
Offer’d me by him.
_Mont._ Pray thee bear with him.
Thou know’st he is a bachelor and a courtier,
Ay, and a prince; and their prerogatives 120
Are to their laws, as to their pardons are
Their reservations, after Parliaments—
One quits another; form gives all their essence.
That prince doth high in virtue’s reckoning stand
That will entreat a vice, and not command. 125
So far bear with him; should another man
Trust to his privilege, he should trust to death.
Take comfort, then, my comfort, nay, triumph
And crown thyself, thou part’st with victory;[965]
My presence is so only dear to thee 130
That other men’s appear worse than they be.
For this night yet, bear with my forced absence;
Thou know’st my business; and with how much weight.
My vow hath charg’d it.
_Ta._ True, my lord, and never
My fruitless love shall let[966] your serious honour;
Yet, sweet lord, do not stay; you know my soul 136
Is so long time without me, and I dead,
As you are absent.
_Mont._ By this kiss, receive
My soul for hostage, till I see my love.
_Ta._ The morn shall let me see you.
_Mont._ With the sun
I ’ll visit thy more comfortable[967] beauties. 141
_Ta._ This is my comfort, that the sun hath left
The whole world’s beauty ere my sun leaves me.
_Mont._ ’T is late night now indeed; farewell, my light. _Exit._
_Ta._ Farewell, my light and life;—but not in him, 145
In mine own dark love and light bent to another.
Alas that in the wane[968] of our affections
We should supply it with a full dissembling,
In which each youngest maid is grown a mother;
Frailty is fruitful, one sin gets another. 150
Our loves like sparkles are that brightest shine
When they go out, most vice shows most divine.—
Go, maid, to bed; lend me your book, I pray;
Not like yourself for form; I ’ll this night trouble
None of your services. Make sure the doors, 155
And call your other fellows to their rest.
_Pe._ I will,—[_Aside._] yet I will watch to know why you watch.
_Exit._
_Ta._ Now all ye peaceful regents of the night,
Silently-gliding exhalations,
Languishing winds, and murmuring falls of waters, 160
Sadness of heart and ominous secureness,
Enchantments, dead sleeps, all the friends of rest,
That ever wrought upon the life of man,
Extend your utmost strengths; and this charm’d hour 164
Fix like the centre;[969] make the violent wheels
Of Time and Fortune stand; and great Existence
(The Maker’s treasury) now not seem to be,
To all but my approaching friends and me.
They come, alas, they come! Fear, fear and hope
Of one thing, at one instant fight in me; 170
I love what most I loathe, and cannot live
Unless I compass that which holds my death;
For life ’s mere death, loving one that loathes me,
And he I love will loath me, when he sees
I fly my sex, my virtue, my renown, 175
To run so madly on a man unknown.
_The vault opens._
See, see, a vault is opening that was never
Known to my lord and husband, nor to any
But him that brings the man I love, and me.
How shall I look on him? How shall I live,
And not consume in blushes? I will in, 181
And cast myself off,[970] as I ne’er had been.[971] _Exit._
_Ascendit_ Friar _and_ D’AMBOIS.
_Fr._ Come, worthiest son, I am past measure glad,
That you (whose worth I have approv’d so long)
Should be the object of her fearful love; 185
Since both your wit and spirit can adapt
Their full force to supply her utmost weakness.
You know her worths and virtues, for report
Of all that know is to a man a knowledge: 189
You know besides, that our affections’ storm,
Rais’d in our blood, no reason can reform.
Though she seek then their satisfaction
(Which she must needs, or rest unsatisfied)
Your judgment will esteem her peace thus wrought, 194
Nothing less dear than if yourself had sought;
And (with another colour, which my art
Shall teach you to lay on) yourself must seem
The only agent, and the first orb move[972]
In this our set and cunning world of love.
_Bu._ Give me the colour, my most honour’d father, 200
And trust my cunning then to lay it on.
_Fr._ ’T is this, good son; Lord Barrisor (whom you slew)
Did love her dearly, and with all fit means
Hath urg’d his acceptation, of all which
She keeps one letter written in his blood. 205
You must say thus, then, that you heard from me
How much herself was toucht in conscience
With a report (which is in truth disperst)
That your main quarrel grew about her love,
Lord Barrisor imagining your courtship 210
Of the great Guise’s Duchess in the presence,
Was by you made to his elected mistress;
And so made me your mean now to resolve her,
Choosing (by my direction) this night’s depth
For the more clear avoiding of all note 215
Of your presumed presence: and with this
(To clear her hands of such a lover’s blood)
She will so kindly thank and entertain you,
Methinks I see how, ay, and ten to one,
Show you the confirmation in his blood, 220
Lest you should think report and she did feign,
That you shall so have circumstantial means
To come to the direct, which must be used:
For the direct is crooked; love comes flying;
The height of love is still won with denying. 225
_Bu._ Thanks, honour’d father.
_Fr._ She must never know
That you know anything of any love
Sustain’d on her part: for, learn this of me,
In anything a woman does alone,
If she dissemble, she thinks ’tis not done; 230
If not dissemble,[973] nor a little chide,
Give her her wish, she is not satisfi’d;
To have a man think that she never seeks,
Does her more good than to have all she likes:
This frailty sticks in them beyond their sex,
Which to reform, reason is too perplex: 236
Urge reason to them, it will do no good;
Humour (that is the chariot of our food
In everybody) must in them be fed,
To carry their affections by it bred. 240
Stand close.
_Enter_ TAMYRA _with a book_.
_Ta._ Alas, I fear my strangeness will retire him.
If he go back, I die; I must prevent it,
And cheer his onset with my sight at least,
And that’s the most; though every step he takes 245
Goes to my heart. I ’ll rather die than seem
Not to be strange to that I most esteem.
_Fr._ Madam.
_Ta._ Ah!
_Fr._ You will pardon me, I hope,
That so beyond your expectation,
And at a time for visitants so unfit, 250
I (with my noble friend here) visit you.
You know that my access at any time
Hath ever been admitted; and that friend
That my care will presume to bring with me
Shall have all circumstance of worth in him 255
To merit as free welcome as myself.
_Ta._ Oh, father! but at this suspicious hour
You know how apt best men are to suspect us,
In any cause that makes suspicious shadow
No greater than the shadow of a hair: 260
And y’ are to blame. What though my lord and husband
Lie forth to-night, and, since I cannot sleep
When he is absent, I sit up to-night;
Though all the doors are sure, and all our servants
As sure bound with their sleeps; yet there is One 265
That wakes above, whose eye no sleep can bind.
He sees through doors, and darkness, and our thoughts;
And therefore as we should avoid with fear
To think amiss ourselves before his search,
So should we be as curious to shun 270
All cause that other think not ill of us.
_Bu._ Madam, ’t is far from that; I only heard
By this my honour’d father, that your conscience
Made some deep scruple with a false report
That Barrisor’s blood should something touch your honour, 275
Since he imagin’d I was courting you,
When I was bold to change words with the duchess,
And therefore made his quarrel; his long love
And service, as I hear, being deeply vowed 279
To your perfections, which my ready presence,
Presum’d on with my father at this season
For the more care of your so curious[974] honour,
Can well resolve[975] your conscience, is most false.
_Ta._ And is it therefore that you come, good sir? 284
Then crave I now your pardon and my father’s,
And swear your presence does me so much good,
That all I have it hinds to your requital.
Indeed, sir, ’t is most true that a report
Is spread, alleging that his love to me
Was reason of your quarrel, and because 290
You shall not think I feign it for my glory
That he importun’d me for his court service,[976]
I ’ll show you his own hand, set down in blood
To that vain purpose. Good sir, then come in.
Father, I thank you now a thousand-fold. 295
_Exit_ TAMYRA _and_ D’AMBOIS.
_Fr._ May it be worth it to you, honour’d daughter.
_Descendit_ Friar.
ACT III
SCENE I.[977]
_Enter_ D’AMBOIS, TAMYRA, _with a chain of pearl_.
_Bu._ Sweet mistress, cease! Your conscience is too nice,[978]
And bites too hotly of the Puritan spice.
_Ta._ Oh, my dear servant,[979] in thy close embraces,
I have set open all the doors of danger
To my encompast honour, and my life. 5
Before I was secure against death and hell,
But now am subject to the heartless fear
Of every shadow and of every breath,
And would change firmness with an aspen leaf;
So confident a spotless conscience is, 10
So weak a guilty. Oh, the dangerous siege
Sin lays about us, and the tyranny
He exercises when he hath expugn’d![980]
Like to the horror of a winter’s thunder,
Mixt with a gushing storm, that suffer nothing
To stir abroad on earth but their own rages, 16
Is sin, when it hath gathered head above us:
No roof, no shelter can secure us so,
But he will drown our cheeks in fear or woe.
_Bu._ Sin is a coward, madam, and insults 20
But on our weakness, in his truest valour;[981]
And so our ignorance tames us, that we let
His shadows fright us: and like empty clouds,
In which our faulty apprehensions forge
The forms of dragons, lions, elephants, 25
When they hold no proportion, the sly charms
Of the witch, Policy, makes him like a monster
Kept only to show men for servile money.
That false hag often paints him in her cloth
Ten times more monstrous than he is in troth. 30
In three of us, the secret of our meeting
Is only guarded, and three friends as one
Have ever been esteem’d: as our three powers
That in our one soul are as one united:
Why should we fear then? For myself I swear 35
Sooner shall torture be the sire to pleasure,
And health be grievous to one long time sick,
Than the dear jewel of your fame in me
Be made an outcast to your infamy;
Nor shall my value (sacred to your virtues) 40
Only give free course to it, from myself:
But make it fly out of the mouths of kings
In golden vapours and with awful wings.
_Ta._ It rests[982] as all kings’ seals were set in thee.
Now let us call my father, whom I swear 45
I could extremely chide, but that I fear
To make him so suspicious of my love
Of which, sweet servant, do not let him know
For all the world.
_Bu._ Alas! he will not think it. 49
_Ta._ Come, then—ho! Father, ope, and take your friend.
_Ascendit_ Friar.
_Fr._ Now, honour’d daughter, is your doubt resolv’d?
_Ta._ Ay, father, but you went away too soon.
_Fr._ Too soon?
_Ta._ Indeed you did, you should have stayed;
Had not your worthy friend been of your bringing,
And that contains all laws to temper me, 55
Not all the fearful danger that besieged us,
Had aw’d my throat from exclamation.
_Fr._ I know your serious disposition well.
Come, son, the morn comes on.
_Bu._ Now, honour’d mistress,
Till farther service call, all bliss supply you. 60
_Ta._ And you this chain of pearl, and my love only.
_Descendit_ Friar _and_ D’AMBOIS.
It is not I, but urgent destiny,
That (as great statesmen for their general end
In politic justice, make poor men offend)
Enforceth my offence to make it just. 65
What shall weak dames do, when th’ whole work of nature
Hath a strong finger in each one of us?
Needs must that sweep away the silly cobweb
Of our still-undone labours; that lays still
Our powers to it: as to the line, the stone, 70
Not to the stone, the line should be oppos’d;[983]
We cannot keep our constant course in virtue:
What is alike at all parts? Every day
Differs from other: every hour and minute,
Ay, every thought in our false clock of life 75
Ofttimes inverts the whole circumference:
We must be sometimes one, sometimes another.
Our bodies are but thick clonds to our souls,
Through which they cannot shine when they desire:
When all the stars, and even the sun himself, 80
Must stay the vapours’ times that he exhales
Before he can make good his beams to us;
Oh, how can we, that are but motes to him,
Wand’ring at random in his ordered rays,
Disperse our passions’ fumes, with our weak labours, 85
That are more thick and black than all earth’s vapours?
_Enter_ MONTSURRY.
_Mont._ Good day, my love; what, up and ready[984] too!
_Ta._ Both, my dear lord; not all this night made I
Myself unready, or could sleep a wink.
_Mont._ Alas! what troubled my true love, my peace, 90
From being at peace within her better self?
Or how could sleep forbear to seize thine eyes
When he might challenge them as his just prize?
_Ta._ I am in no power earthly, but in yours;
To what end should I go to bed, my lord, 95
That wholly mist the comfort of my bed?
Or how should sleep possess my faculties,
Wanting the proper closer of mine eyes?
_Mont._ Then will I never more sleep night from thee.
All mine own business, all the king’s affairs, 100
Shall take the day to serve them; every night
I’ll ever dedicate to thy delight.
_Ta._ Nay, good my lord, esteem not my desires
Such doters on their humours that my judgment
Cannot subdue them to your worthier pleasure;
A wife’s pleas’d husband must her object be 106
In all her acts, not her sooth’d fantasy.
_Mont._ Then come, my love, now pay those rites to sleep
Thy fair eyes owe him; shall we now to bed?
_Ta._ Oh, no, my lord; your holy friar says 110
All couplings in the day that touch the bed
Adulterous are, even in the married;
Whose grave and worthy doctrine, well I know,
Your faith in him will liberally allow.[985] 114
_Mont._ He’s a most learned and religious man;
Come to the presence then, and see great D’Ambois
(Fortune’s proud mushroom shot up in a night)
Stand like an Atlas under our King’s arm;
Which greatness[986] with him Monsieur now envies
As bitterly and deadly as the Guise. 120
_Ta._ What, he that was but yesterday his maker,
His raiser and preserver?
_Mont._ Even the same.
Each natural agent works but to this end,
To render that it works on like itself;
Which since the Monsieur in his act on D’Ambois 125
Cannot to his ambitious end effect,
But that, quite opposite, the King hath power
In his love borne to D’Ambois, to convert
The point of Monsieur’s aim on his own breast,
He turns his outward love to inward hate. 130
A prince’s love is like the lightning’s fume,
Which no man can embrace, but must consume. _Exeunt._
[SCENE II.][987]
_Enter_ HENRY, D’AMBOIS, Monsieur, GUISE, Duchess, ANNABELLE,
CHARLOTTE, Attendants.
_He._ Speak home, my Bussy; thy impartial words
Are like brave falcons that dare truss[988] a fowl
Much greater than themselves; flatterers are kites
That check at[989] sparrows; thou shalt be my eagle,
And bear my thunder underneath thy wings;
Truth’s words like jewels hang in th’ ears of kings. 6
_Bu._ Would I might live to see no Jews hang there
Instead of jewels; sycophants, I mean,
Who use truth like the devil, his true foe,
Cast by the angel to the pit of fears, 10
And bound in chains; truth seldom decks kings’ ears.
Slave Flattery (like a rippier’s[990] legs roll’d up
In boots of hay ropes) with kings’ soothed guts
Swaddl’d and strappl’d,[991] now lives only free.
Oh, ’tis a subtle knave; how like the plague 15
Unfelt he strikes into the brain of man,
And rageth in his entrails, when he can,
Worse than the poison of a red-hair’d man![992]
_He._ Fly at him and his brood; I cast thee off,
And once more give thee surname of mine eagle. 20
_Bu._ I’ll make you sport enough, then; let me have
My lucerns[993] too, or dogs inur’d to hunt
Beasts of most rapine, but to put them up,[994]
And if I truss not, let me not be trusted.
Show me a great man by the people’s voice, 25
Which is the voice of God that by his greatness
Bombasts[995] his private roofs with public riches;
That affects royalty, rising from a clapdish;[996]
That rules so much more by[997] his suffering king,
That he makes kings of his subordinate slaves: 30
Himself and them graduate like woodmongers,
Piling a stack of billets from the earth,
Raising each other into steeples’ heights;
Let him convey this on the turning props
Of Protean law, and, his own counsel keeping,
Keep all upright; let me but hawk at him, 35
I’ll play the vulture, and so thump his liver,
That, like a huge unlading Argosy,
He shall confess all, and you then may hang him.
Show me a clergyman, that is in voice 40
A lark of heaven, in heart a mole of earth;
That hath good living, and a wicked life;
A temperate look, and a luxurious gut;
Turning the rents of his superfluous cures
Into your pheasants and your partridges; 45
Venting their quintessence as men read Hebrew;[998]
Let me but hawk at him, and, like the other,
He shall confess all, and you then may hang him.
Show me a lawyer that turns sacred law
(The equal rend’rer of each man his own, 50
The scourge of rapine and extortion,
The sanctuary and impregnable defence
Of retir’d learning and besieged virtue)
Into a harpy, that eats all but’s own,
Into the damned sins it punisheth; 55
Into the synagogue of thieves and atheists,
Blood into gold, and justice into lust;
Let me but hawk at him, as at the rest,
He shall confess all, and you then may hang him.
_Enter_ MONTSURRY, TAMYRA, _and_ PERO.
_Gu._ Where will you find such game as you would hawk at? 60
_Bu._ I’ll hawk about your house for one of them.
_Gu._ Come, y’ are a glorious[999] ruffian, and run proud
Of the King’s headlong graces. Hold your breath,
Or, by that poison’d vapour, not the King
Shall back your murderous valour against me.
_Bu._ I would the King would make his presence free 66
But for one bout betwixt us: by the reverence
Due to the sacred space ’twixt kings and subjects,
Here would I make thee cast that popular purple,
In which thy proud soul sits and braves thy sovereign. 70
_Mo._ Peace, peace, I pray thee peace.
_Bu._ Let him peace first
That made the first war.
_Mo._ He’s the better man.
_Bu._ And therefore may do worst?
_Mo._ He has more titles.
_Bu._ So Hydra had more heads.
_Mo._ He’s greater known.
_Bu._ His greatness is the people’s; mine’s mine own. 75
_Mo._ He’s nobler[1000] born.
_Bu._ He is not, I am noble;
And noblesse in his blood hath no gradation,
But in his merit.
_Gu._ Th’ art not nobly born,
But bastard to the Cardinal of Ambois.
_Bu._ Thou liest, proud Guiserd. Let me fly, my lord. 80
_He._ Not in my face, my eagle; violence flies
The sanctuaries of a prince’s eyes.
_Bu._ Still shall we chide and foam upon this bit?
Is the Guise only great in faction?
Stands he not by himself? Proves he th’ opinion 85
That men’s souls are without them? Be a duke,
And lead me to the field.
_Gu._ Come, follow me.
_He._ Stay them! Stay, D’Ambois. Cousin Guise, I wonder
Your honour’d disposition brooks so ill
A man so good, that only would uphold 90
Man in his native noblesse, from whose fall
All our dimensions rise; that in himself
(Without the outward patches of our frailty,
Riches and honour) knows he comprehends
Worth with the greatest. Kings had never borne 95
Such boundless empire over other men,
Had all maintain’d the spirit and state of D’Ambois;
Nor had the full impartial hand of nature
That all things gave in her original[1001] 99
Without these definite terms of mine and thine,
Been turn’d unjustly to the hand of Fortune,
Had all preserv’d her in her prime, like D’Ambois.
No envy, no disjunction had dissolv’d,
Or pluck’d one stick out of the golden faggot
In which the world of Saturn[1002] bound our lives,
Had all been held together with the nerves, 106
The genius, and th’ ingenious[1003] soul of D’Ambois.
Let my hand therefore be the Hermean rod[1004]
To part and reconcile, and so conserve you,
As my combin’d embracers and supporters. 110
_Bu._ ’Tis our king’s motion, and we shall not seem
To worst eyes womanish, though we change thus soon
Never so great grudge for his greater pleasure.
_Gu._ I seal to that; and, so the manly freedom
That you so much profess, hereafter prove not 115
A bold and glorious license to deprave,[1005]
To me his hand shall hold the Hermean virtue
His grace affects, in which submissive sign
On this his sacred right hand I lay mine.
_Bu._ ’Tis well, my lord, and so your worthy greatness 120
Decline not to the greater insolence,
Nor make you think it a prerogative
To rack men’s freedoms with the ruder wrongs;
My hand (stuck full of laurel, in true sign
’Tis wholly dedicate to righteous peace) 125
In all submission kisseth th’ other side.
_He._ Thanks to ye both; and kindly I invite ye
Both to a banquet, where we’ll sacrifice
Full cups to confirmation of your loves; 129
At which, fair ladies, I entreat your presence;
And hope you, madam, will take one carouse
For reconcilement of your lord and servant.
_Du._ If I should fail, my lord, some other lady
Would be found there to do that for my servant.
_Mo._ Any of these here?
_Du._ Nay, I know not that.
_Bu._ Think your thoughts like my mistress’, honour’d lady? 135
_Ta._ I think not on you, sir; y’ are one I know not.
_Bu._ Cry you mercy, madam.
_Mont._ Oh, sir, has she met you?
_Exeunt_ HENRY, D’AMBOIS, Ladies.
_Mo._ What had my bounty drunk when it rais’d him?
_Gu._ Y’ave stuck us up a very worthy flag, 140
That takes more wind than we with all our sails.
_Mo._ Oh, so he spreads and flourishes.
_Gu._ He must down;
Upstarts should never perch too near a crown.
_Mo._ ’Tis true, my lord; and as this doting hand, 144
Even out of earth, like Juno, struck this giant,
So Jove’s great ordinance shall be here impli’d
To strike him under th’ Etna of his pride;
To which work lend your hands, and let us cast[1006]
Where we may set snares for his ranging greatness. 149
I think it best, amongst our greatest women;
For there is no such trap to catch an upstart
As a loose downfall; for you know their falls
Are th’ ends of all men’s rising. If great men
And wise make scapes[1007] to please advantage[1008]
’Tis with a woman: women that worst may 155
Still hold men’s candles;[1009] they direct and know
All things amiss in all men; and their women[1010]
All things amiss in them; through whose charm’d mouths,
We may see all the close scapes[1011] of the Court.
When the most royal beast of chase, the hart,
(Being old and cunning in his lairs and haunts)
Can never be discovered to the bow, 162
The piece,[1012] or hound; yet where, behind some quitch,[1013]
He breaks his gall, and rutteth with his hind,
The place is markt, and by his venery 165
He still is taken. Shall we then attempt
The chiefest mean to that discovery here,
And court our greatest ladies’ chiefest women
With shows of love and liberal promises? 169
’Tis but our breath. If something given in hand
Sharpens their hopes of more, ’t will be well ventur’d.
_Gu._ No doubt of that; and ’tis the cunning’st point
Of your devis’d investigation.
_Mo._ I have broken
The ice to it already with the woman
Of your chaste lady, and conceive good hope 175
I shall wade thorough to some wished shore
At our next meeting.
_Mont._ Nay, there’s small hope there.
_Gu._ Take say[1014] of her, my lord, she comes most fitly.
_Mo._ Starting back?
_Enter_ CHARLOTTE, ANNABELLE, PERO.
_Gu._ Y’are engag’d, indeed. 180
_An._ Nay, pray, my lord, forbear.
_Mont._ What, skittish, servant?
_An._ No, my lord, I am not so fit for your service.
_Ch._ Pray pardon me now, my lord; my lady excepts me. 186
_Gu._ I’ll satisfy her expectation, as far as an uncle may.
_Mo._ Well said; a spirit of courtship of all hands. Now mine own
Pero, hast thou rememb’red (190) me for the discovery I entreated
thee make of thy mistress? Speak boldly, and be sure of all things I
have sworn to thee.
_Pe._ Building on that assurance, my lord, I may speak; and much the
rather, because (195) my lady hath not trusted me with that I can
tell you; for now I cannot be said to betray her.
_Mo._ That’s all one, so we reach our objects. Forth, I beseech thee.
_Pe._ To tell you truth, my lord, I have made a strange discovery.
(201)
_Mo._ Excellent, Pero, thou reviv’st me. May I sink quick to
perdition if my tongue discover[1015] it.
_Pe._ ’Tis thus, then: this last night, my lord lay forth, and I
watching my lady’s sitting (206) up, stole up at midnight from my
pallet; and (having before made a hole both through the wall and
arras to her inmost chamber) I saw D’Ambois and herself reading a
letter. 210
_Mo._ D’Ambois?
_Pe._ Even he, my lord.
_Mo._ Dost thou not dream, wench?
_Pe._ I swear he is the man.
_Mo._ The devil he is, and thy lady his (216) dam! Why, this was
the happiest shot that ever flew! The just plague of hypocrisy
levell’d it. Oh, the infinite regions betwixt a woman’s tongue and
her heart! Is this our goddess of (219) chastity? I thought I could
not be so slighted if she had not her fraught besides, and therefore
plotted this with her woman, never dreaming of D’Ambois. Dear Pero,
I will advance thee for ever; but tell me now,—God’s precious, it
transforms me with admiration[1016]— (225) sweet Pero, whom should
she trust with this conveyance? Or, all the doors being made sure,
how should his conveyance be made?
_Pe._ Nay, my lord, that amazes[1017] me; I cannot by any study so
much as guess at it. 230
_Mo._ Well, let’s favour our apprehensions with forbearing that
a little; for if my heart were not hoopt with adamant, the
conceit[1018] of this would have burst it. But hark thee. _Whispers._
[_Ch._ I swear to you grace, all that I can (235) conjecture touching
my lady your niece, is a strong affection she bears to the English
Mylor.
_Gu._ All, quod you? ’Tis enough, I assure you, but tell me.][1019]
_Mont._ I pray thee, resolve me: the duke (240) will never imagine
that I am busy about ’s wife: hath D’Ambois any privy access to her?
_An._ No, my lord; D’Ambois neglects her, as she takes it, and is
therefore suspicious that either your lady, or the Lady Beaupre 245
hath closely[1020] entertain’d him.
_Mont._ By ’r lady, a likely suspicion, and very near the life, [if
she marks it,][1021] especially of my wife.
_Mo._ Come, we’ll disguise all with seeming (250) only to have
courted.—–Away, dry palm[1022] sh’as a liver as dry as a biscuit; a
man may go a whole voyage with her, and get nothing but tempests from
her windpipe.
_Gu._ Here’s one, I think, has swallowed a (255) porcupine, she casts
pricks from her tongue so.
_Mont._ And here’s a peacock seems to have devour’d one of the Alps
she has so swelling a spirit, and is so cold of her kindness. 259
_Ch._ We are no windfalls, my lord; ye must gather us with the ladder
of matrimony, or we’ll hang till we be rotten.
_Mo._ Indeed, that’s the way to make ye right openarses.[1023] But,
alas! ye have no portions fit for such husbands as we wish you. 265
_Pe._ Portions, my lord? Yes, and such portions as your principality
cannot purchase.
_Mo._ What, woman? what are those portions?
_Pe._ Riddle my riddle, my lord.
_Mo._ Ay, marry, wench, I think thy portion (270) is a right
riddle, a man shall never find it out. But let’s hear it.
_Pe._ You shall, my lord.
_What’s that, that being most rare’s most cheap?
That when you sow, you never reap? 275
That when it grows most, most you thin[1024] it?
And still you lose it when you win it;
That when ’tis commonest, ’tis dearest,
And when ’tis farthest off, ’tis nearest?_
_Mo._ Is this your great portion? 280
_Pe._ Even this, my lord.
_Mo._ Believe me, I cannot riddle it.
_Pe._ No, my lord: ’tis my chastity, which you shall neither riddle
nor fiddle.
_Mo._ Your chastity? Let me begin with the (285) end of it; how is a
woman’s chastity nearest a man when ’tis furthest off?
_Pe._ Why, my lord, when you cannot get it, it goes to th’ heart on
you: and that, I think, comes most near you: and I am sure it 290
shall be far enough off. And so we leave you to our mercies. _Exeunt_
Women.
_Mo._ Farewell, riddle.
_Gu._ Farewell, medlar.
_Mont._ Farewell, winter plum. 295
_Mo._ Now, my lords, what fruit of our inquisition? Feel you nothing
budding yet? Speak, good my Lord Montsurry.
_Mont._ Nothing but this: D’Ambois is thought negligent in observing
the duchess, and (300) therefore she is suspicious that your niece or
my wife closely entertains him.
_Mo._ Your wife, my lord? Think you that possible?
_Mont._ Alas, I know she flies him like her last hour. 306
_Mo._ Her last hour? Why, that comes upon her the more she flies it.
Does D’Ambois so, think you?
_Mont._ That’s not worth the answering. ’Tis miraculous to think
with what monsters (311) women’s imaginations engross them when
they are once enamour’d, and what wonders they will work for their
satisfaction. They will make sheep valiant, a lion fearful. 315
_Mo._ [_Aside._] And an ass confident.—Well, my lord, more will come
forth shortly; get you to the banquet.
_Gu._ Come, my lord; I have the blind side of one of them.
_Exit_ GUISE _cum_ MONTSURRY. 320
_Mo._ Oh, the unsounded sea of women’s bloods,
That when ’tis calmest, is most dangerous;
Not any wrinkle creaming in their faces
When in their hearts are Scylla and Charybdis,
Which still are hid in dark and standing fogs, 325
Where never day shines, nothing never grows
But weeds and poisons, that no statesman knows,
Nor Cerberus ever saw the damned nooks
Hid with the veils of women’s virtuous looks.
[1025]But what a cloud of sulphur have I drawn 330
Up to my bosom in this dangerous secret!
Which if my haste with any spark should light,
Ere D’Ambois were engag’d in some sure plot,
I were blown up; he would be sure my death.
Would I had never known it, for before 335
I shall persuade th’ importance to Montsurry,
And make him with some studied stratagem
Train D’Ambois to his wreak, his maid may tell it,
Or I (out of my fiery thirst to play
With the fell tiger, up in darkness tied, 340
And give it some light) make it quite break loose.
I fear it, afore heaven, and will not see
D’Ambois again, till I have told Montsurry
And set a snare with him to free my fears:
Who’s there?
_Enter_ MAFFE.
_Ma._ My lord?
_Mo._ Go call the Count Montsurry,
And make the doors fast; I will speak with none 346
Till he come to me.
_Ma._ Well, my lord. _Exiturus._
_Mo._ Or else
Send you some other, and see all the doors
Made safe yourself, I pray; haste, fly about it.
_Ma._ You’ll speak with none but with the Count Montsurry? 351
_Mo._ With none but he, except it be the Guise.
_Ma._ See even by this, there’s one exception more!
Your grace must be more firm in the command,
Or else shall I as weakly execute. 355
The Guise shall speak with you?
_Mo._ He shall, I say.
_Ma._ And Count Montsurry?
_Mo._ Ay, and Count Montsurry.
_Ma._ Your grace must pardon me, that I am bold
To urge the clear and full sense of your pleasure;
Which whensoever I have known, I hope 360
Your grace will say, I hit it to a hair.
_Mo._ You have.
_Ma._ I hope so, or I would be glad—
_Mo._ I pray thee get thee gone, thou art so tedious
In the strict form of all thy services
That I had better have one negligent. 365
You hit my pleasure well, when D’Ambois hit you;
Did you not, think you?
_Ma._ D’Ambois? Why, my lord—
_Mo._ I pray thee talk no more, but shut the doors:
Do what I charge thee.
_Ma._ I will, my lord, and yet
I would be glad the wrong I had of D’Ambois—
_Mo._ Precious! then it is a fate that plagues me 371
In this man’s foolery; I may be murdered
While he stands on protection of his folly.
Avaunt about thy charge.
_Ma._ I go, my lord.—
I had my head broke in his faithful service; 375
I had no suit the more, nor any thanks,
And yet my teeth must still be hit with D’Ambois:
D’Ambois, my lord, shall know—
_Mo._ The devil and D’Ambois! _Exit_ MAFFE.
How am I tortur’d with this trusty fool!
Never was any curious in his place 380
To do things justly, but he was an ass;
We cannot find one trusty that is witty,[1026]
And therefore bear their disproportion.
Grant thou, great star and angel of my life,
A sure lease of it but for some few days, 385
That I may clear my bosom of the snake
I cherisht there, and I will then defy
All check to it but Nature’s, and her altars
Shall crack with vessels crown’d with every liquor
Drawn from her highest and most bloody humours. 390
I fear him strangely, his advanced valour
Is like a spirit rais’d without a circle,
Endangering him that ignorantly rais’d him,
And for whose fury he hath learnt no limit.
_Enter_ MAFFE _hastily_.
_Ma._ I cannot help it: what should I do more? 395
As I was gathering a fit guard to make
My passage to the doors, and the doors sure,
The man of blood is enter’d.
_Mo._ Rage of death!
If I had told the secret, and he knew it,
Thus had I been endanger’d.
_Enter_ D’AMBOIS.
My sweet heart!
How now, what leap’st thou at?
_Bu._ O royal object!
_Mo._ Thou dream’st, awake; object in th’ empty air? 402
_Bu._ Worthy the brows of Titan, worth his chair.
_Mo._ Pray thee, what mean’st thou?
_Bu._ See you not a crown
Impale the forehead of the great King Monsieur? 405
_Mo._ Oh, fie upon thee!
_Bu._ Prince, that is the subject
Of all these your retir’d and sole discourses.
_Mo._ Wilt thou not leave that wrongful supposition?
_Bu._ Why wrongful, to suppose the doubtless right
To the succession worth the thinking on? 410
_Mo._ Well, leave these jests. How I am overjoyed
With thy wish’d presence, and how fit thou com’st,
For of mine honour I was sending for thee.
_Bu._ To what end?
_Mo._ Only for thy company,
Which I have still in thought; but that’s no payment 415
On thy part made with personal appearance.
Thy absence so long suffered, oftentimes
Put me in some little doubt thou dost not love me.
Wilt thou do one thing therefore now sincerely?
_Bu._ Ay, anything, but killing of the King.
_Mo._ Still in that discord, and ill-taken note?
How most unseasonable thou play’st the cuckoo, 422
In this thy fall of friendship!
_Bu._ Then do not doubt,
That there is any act within my nerves
But killing of the King, that is not yours. 425
_Mo._ I will not, then; to prove which by my love
Shown to thy virtues, and by all fruits else
Already sprung from that still-flourishing tree,
With whatsoever may hereafter spring,
I charge thee utter (even with all the freedom
Both of thy noble nature and thy friendship) 431
The full and plain state of me in thy thoughts.
_Bu._ What, utter plainly what I think of you?
_Mo._ Plain as truth.
_Bu._ Why, this swims quite against the stream of greatness; 435
Great men would rather hear their flatteries,
And if they be not made fools, are not wise.
_Mo._ I am no such great fool, and therefore charge thee
Even from the root of thy free heart, display me.
_Bu._ Since you affect[1027] it in such serious terms,
If yourself first will tell me what you think 441
As freely and as heartily of me,
I’ll be as open in my thoughts of you.
_Mo._ A bargain, of mine honour; and make this,
That prove we in our full dissection 445
Never so foul, live still the sounder friends.
_Bu._ What else, sir? Come, pay me home; I’ll bide it bravely.
_Mo._ I will swear. I think thee then a man
That dares as much as a wild horse or tiger;
As headstrong and as bloody; and to feed 450
The ravenous wolf of thy most cannibal valour,
(Rather than not employ it) thou wouldst turn
Hackster[1028] to any whore, slave to a Jew
Or English usurer, to force possessions
(And cut men’s throats) of mortgaged estates;
Or thou wouldst ’tire thee like a tinker’s strumpet, 456
And murder market-folks, quarrel with sheep,
And run as mad as Ajax; serve a butcher,
Do anything but killing of the King;
That in thy valour th’art like other naturals[1029]
That have strange gifts in nature, but no soul 461
Diffus’d quite through, to make them of a piece,
But stop at humours that are more absurd,
Childish and villanous than that hackster, whore,
Slave, cut-throat, tinker’s bitch, compar’d before; 465
And in those humours wouldst envy, betray,
Slander, blaspheme, change each hour a religion;
Do anything but killing of the King:
That in thy valour (which is still the dung-hill,
To which hath reference all filth in thy house)
Th’art more ridiculous and vain-glorious 471
Than any mountebank, and impudent
Than any painted bawd; which, not to soothe
And glorify thee like a Jupiter Hammon,
Thou eat’st thy heart in vinegar; and thy gall
Turns all thy blood to poison, which is cause 476
Of that toad-pool that stands in thy complexion,
And makes thee with a cold and earthy moisture,
(Which is the dam of putrefaction)
As plague to thy damn’d pride, rot as thou liv’st; 480
To study calumnies and treacheries;
To thy friends’ slaughters like a screech-owl sing,
And do all mischiefs—but to kill the King.
_Bu._ So! have you said?
_Mo._ How think’st thou? Do I flatter?
Speak I not like a trusty friend to thee? 485
_Bu._ That ever any man was blest withal.
So here’s for me. I think you are (at worst)
No devil, since y’are like to be no king;
Of which, with any friend of yours, I’ll lay
This poor stillado[1030] here, ’gainst all the stars,
Ay, and ’gainst all your treacheries, which are more; 491
That you did never good, but to do ill;
But ill of all sorts, free and for itself:
That (like a murdering piece, making lanes in armies,
The first man of a rank, the whole rank falling)
If you have wrong’d one man, you are so far 495
From making him amends that all his race,
Friends, and associates, fall into your chase:
That y’are for perjuries the very prince
Of all intelligencers;[1031] and your voice 500
Is like an eastern wind, that where it flies
Knits nets of caterpillars, with which you catch
The prime of all the fruits the kingdom yields.
That your political head is the curst fount
Of all the violence, rapine, cruelty, 505
Tyranny, and atheism flowing through the realm.
That y’ave a tongue so scandalous, ’t will cut
The purest crystal; and a breath that will
Kill to[1032] that wall a spider. You will jest
With God, and your soul to the devil tender 510
For lust; kiss horror, and with death engender.
That your foul body is a Lernean fen
Of all the maladies breeding in all men;
That you are utterly without a soul; 514
And, for your life, the thread of that was spun
When Clotho slept, and let her breathing rock[1033]
Fall in the dirt; and Lachesis still draws it,
Dipping her twisting fingers in a bowl
Defil’d, and crown’d with virtue’s forced soul.
And lastly (which I must for gratitude 520
Ever remember) that of all my height
And dearest life, you are the only spring,
Only in royal hope to kill the king.
_Mo._ Why, now I see thou lov’st me. Come to the banquet. _Exeunt._
ACT IV
SCENE I.[1034]
[_Enter_] HENRY, Monsieur, _with a letter_; GUISE, MONTSURRY, BUSSY,
ELENOR, TAMYRA, BEAUPRE, PERO, CHARLOTTE, ANNABELLE, PYRA, _with four_
Pages.
_He._ Ladies, ye have not done our banquet right,
Nor lookt upon it with those cheerful rays
That lately turn’d your breaths to floods of gold;
Your looks, methinks, are not drawn out with thoughts
So clear and free as heretofore, but foul, 5
As if the thick complexions of men
Govern’d within them.
_Bu._ ’Tis not like, my lord,
That men in women rule, but contrary;
For as the moon (of all things God created)
Not only is the most appropriate image 10
Or glass to show them how they wax and wane,
But in her height and motion likewise bears
Imperial influences that command
In all their powers, and make them wax and wane; 14
So women, that (of all things made of nothing)
Are the most perfect idols of the moon,
Or still-unwean’d sweet moon-calves with white faces,
Not only are patterns of change to men,
But as the tender moonshine of their beauties
Clears or is cloudy, make men glad or sad; 20
So then they rule in men, not men in them.
_Mo._ But here the moons are chang’d, (as the King notes)
And either men rule in them, or some power
Beyond their voluntary faculty,
For nothing can recover their lost faces. 25
_Mont._ None can be always one: our griefs and joys
Hold several sceptres in us, and have times
For their divided empires: which grief now, in them
Doth prove as proper to his diadem.
_Bu._ And grief’s a natural sickness of the blood, 30
That time to part asks, as his coming had;
Only slight fools griev’d suddenly are glad.
A man may say t’ a dead man, “Be reviv’d,”
As well as to one sorrowful, “Be not griev’d,”
And therefore, princely mistress,[1035] in all wars 35
Against these base foes that insult on weakness,
And still fight hous’d behind the shield of Nature,
Of privilege, law, treachery, or beastly need,
Your servant[1036] cannot help; authority here
Goes with corruption: something like some states, 40
That back worst men: valour to them must creep
That, to themselves left, would fear him asleep.
_Du._ Ye all take that for granted that doth rest
Yet to be prov’d; we all are as we were,
As merry and as free in thought as ever. 45
_Gu._ And why then can ye not disclose your thoughts?
_Ta._ Methinks the man hath answer’d for us well.
_Mo._ The man? Why, madam, d’ ye not know his name?
_Ta._ Man is a name of honour for a king: 49
Additions[1037] take away from each chief thing:
The school of modesty not to learn learns dames:
They sit in high forms[1038] there, that know men’s names.
_Mo._ [_to_ BUSSY.] Hark! sweetheart, here’s a bar set to your valour;
It cannot enter here; no, not to notice 54
Of what your name is. Your great eagle’s beak
(Should you fly at her) had as good encounter
An Albion cliff, as her more craggy liver.[1039]
_Bu._ I’ll not attempt her, sir; her sight and name
(By which I only know her) doth deter me. 59
_He._ So do they all men else.
_Mo._ You would say so
If you knew all.
_Ta._ Knew all, my lord? What mean you?
_Mo._ All that I know, madam.
_Ta._ That you know? Speak it.
_Mo._ No, ’tis enough. I feel it.
_He._ But, methinks
Her courtship is more pure than heretofore; 64
True courtiers should be modest, but not nice;[1040]
Bold, but not impudent; pleasure love, not vice.
_Mo._ Sweetheart! come hither, what if one should make
Horns at Montsurry? Would it not strike him jealous
Through all the proofs of his chaste lady’s virtues?
_Bu._ If he be wise, not. 70
_Mo._ What? Not if I should name the gardener
That I would have him think hath grafted him?
_Bu._ So the large licence that your greatness uses
To jest at all men may be taught indeed
To make a difference of the grounds you play on, 75
Both in the men you scandal, and the matter.
_Mo._ As how? as how?
_Bu._ Perhaps led with a train,
Where you may have your nose made less and slit,
Your eyes thrust out.
_Mo._ Peace, peace, I pray thee peace. 79
Who dares do that? The brother of his king?
_Bu._ Were your king brother in you; all your powers
(Stretcht in the arms of great men and their bawds),
Set close down by you; all your stormy laws
Spouted with lawyers’ mouths, and gushing blood
Like to so many torrents; all your glories 85
Making you terrible, like enchanted flames
Fed with bare cockscombs[1041] and with crooked hams;[1041]
All your prerogatives, your shames, and tortures;
All daring heaven, and opening hell about you;— 89
Were I the man ye wrong’d so and provok’d,
Though ne’er so much beneath you, like a box-tree
I would out of the roughness of my root
Ram hardness, in my lowness, and like death
Mounted on earthquakes, I would trot through all
Honours and horrors, thorough foul and fair, 95
And from your whole strength toss you into the air.
_Mo._ Go, th’art a devil; such another spirit
Could not be ’still’d from all th’ Armenian dragons.
O my love’s glory! Heir to all I have,
(That’s all I can say, and that all I swear) 100
If thou outlive me, as I know thou must,
Or else hath nature no proportion’d end
To her great labours; she hath breath’d a mind
Into thy entrails, of desert to swell
Into another great Augustus Cæsar; 105
Organs and faculties fitted to her greatness;
And should that perish like a common spirit,
Nature’s a courtier and regards no merit.
_He._ Here’s nought but whispering with us; like a calm
Before a tempest, when the silent air 110
Lays her soft ear close to the earth to hearken
For that she fears steals on to ravish her;
Some fate doth join our ears to hear it coming.
Come, my brave eagle, let’s to covert fly;
I see almighty Aether in the smoke 115
Of all his clouds descending; and the sky
Hid in the dim ostents[1042] of tragedy.
_Exit_ HENRY _with_ D’AMBOIS _and_ Ladies.
_Gu._ Now stir the humour, and begin the brawl.
_Mont._ The King and D’Ambois now are grown all one. 119
_Mo._ Nay, they are two,[1043] my lord.
_Mont._ How’s that?
_Mo._ No more.
_Mont._ I must have more, my lord.
_Mo._ What, more than two?
_Mont._ How monstrous is this!
_Mo._ Why?
_Mont._ You make me horns.
_Mo._ Not I; it is a work without my power,
Married men’s ensigns are not made with fingers;
Of divine fabric they are, not men’s hands. 125
Your wife, you know, is a mere[1044] Cynthia,
And she must fashion horns out of her nature.
_Mont._ But doth she—dare you charge her?
Speak, false prince.
_Mo._ I must not speak, my lord; but if you’ll use
The learning of a nobleman, and read, 130
Here’s something to those points; soft, you must pawn[1045]
Your honour having read it to return it.
_Mont._ Not I. I pawn my honour for a paper!
_Mo._ You must not buy it under.
_Exeunt_ GUISE _and_ Monsieur.
_Mont._ Keep it then,
And keep fire in your bosom.
_Ta._ What says he?
_Mont._ You must make good the rest.
_Ta._ How fares my lord?
Takes my love anything to heart he says? 137
_Mont._ Come y’ are a——
_Ta._ What, my lord?
_Mont._ The plague of Herod
Feast in his rotten entrails.
_Ta._ Will you wreak
Your anger’s just cause given by him, on me?
_Mont._ By him?
_Ta._ By him, my lord. I have admir’d[1046]
You could all this time be at concord with him,
That still hath play’d such discords on your honour. 143
_Mont._ Perhaps ’tis with some proud string of my wife’s.
_Ta._ How’s that, my lord?
_Mont._ Your tongue will still admire, 145
Till my head be the miracle of the world.
_Ta._ Oh, woe is me! _She seems to swound._
_Pe._ What does your lordship mean?
Madam, be comforted; my lord but tries you.
Madam! Help, good my lord, are you not mov’d?
Do your set looks print in your words your thoughts? 150
Sweet lord, clear up those eyes,
Unbend that masking forehead; whence is it
You rush upon her with these Irish wars,
More full of sound than hurt? But it is enough;
You have shot home, your words are in her heart; 155
She has not liv’d to bear a trial now.
_Mont._ Look up, my love, and by this kiss receive
My soul amongst the spirits for supply
To thine, chas’d with my fury.
_Ta._ Oh, my lord,
I have too long liv’d to hear this from you. 160
_Mont._ ’T was from my troubled blood, and not from me.
I know not how I fare; a sudden night
Flows through my entrails, and a headlong chaos
Murmurs within me, which I must digest,
And not drown her in my confusions, 165
That was my life’s joy, being best inform’d.
Sweet, you must needs forgive me, that my love
(Like to a fire disdaining his suppression)
Rag’d being discourag’d; my whole heart is wounded 170
When any least thought in you is but toucht,
And shall be till I know your former merits;
Your name and memory altogether crave
In just oblivion their eternal grave;
And then you must hear from me, there’s no mean
In any passion I shall feel for you. 176
Love is a razor, cleansing being well us’d,
But fetcheth blood still being the least abus’d.
To tell you briefly all: the man that left me
When you appear’d, did turn me worse than woman,
And stabb’d me to the heart thus, with his fingers.[1047] 180
_Ta._ Oh, happy woman! Comes my stain from him,
It is my beauty, and that innocence proves
That slew Chimaera, rescued Peleus
From all the savage beasts in Pelion;
And rais’d the chaste Athenian prince[1048] from hell; 185
All suffering with me, they for women’s lusts,
I for a man’s, that the Augean stable
Of his foul sin would empty in my lap.
How his guilt shunn’d me, sacred innocence
That where thou fear’st, art dreadful![1049] and his face 190
Turn’d in flight from thee, that had thee in chase!
Come, bring me to him; I will tell the serpent
Even to his venom’d teeth (from whose curst seed
A pitcht field starts up ’twixt my lord and me)
That his throat lies, and he shall curse his fingers, 195
For being so govern’d by his filthy soul.
_Mont._ I know not if himself will vaunt t’ have been
The princely author of the slavish sin,
Or any other; he would have resolv’d[1050] me
Had you not come; not by his word, but writing,
Would I have sworn to give it him again, 201
And pawn’d mine honour to him for a paper.
_Ta._ See how he flies me still; ’tis a foul heart
That fears his own hand. Good my lord, make haste
To see the dangerous paper; papers hold
Oft-times the forms and copies of our souls, 206
And, though the world despise them, are the prizes
Of all our honours; make your honour then
A hostage for it, and with it confer
My nearest woman here, in all she knows; 210
Who (if the sun or Cerberus could have seen
Any stain in me) might as well as they;
And, Pero, here I charge thee by my love,
And all proofs of it (which I might call bounties),
By all that thou hast seen seem good in me, 215
And all the ill which thou shouldst spit from thee,
By pity of the wound this touch hath given me,
Not as thy mistress now, but a poor woman,
To death given over, rid me of my pains, 219
Pour on thy powder; clear thy breast of me;
My lord is only here; here speak thy worst,
Thy best will do me mischief. If thou spar’st me,
Never shine good thought on thy memory!
Resolve, my lord, and leave me desperate.
_Pe._ My lord! My lord hath play’d a prodigal’s part, 225
To break his stock for nothing; and an insolent,
To cut a gordian when he could not loose it.
What violence is this, to put true fire
To a false train? to blow up long-crown’d peace
With sudden outrage, and believe a man 230
Sworn to the shame of women, ’gainst a woman,
Born to their honours? But I will to him.
_Ta._ No, I will write (for I shall never more
Meet with the fugitive) where I will defy him,
Were he ten times the brother of my king. 235
To him, my lord, and I’ll to cursing him. _Exeunt._
[SCENE II.][1051]
_Enter_ D’AMBOIS _and_ Friar.
_Bu._ I am suspicious, my most honour’d father,
By some of Monsieur’s cunning passages,
That his still ranging and contentious nostrils,
To scent the haunts of mischief have so us’d
The vicious virtue of his busy sense, 5
That he trails hotly of him, and will rouse him,
Driving him all enrag’d and foaming, on us;
And therefore have entreated your deep skill
In the command of good aerial spirits,
To assume these magic rites, and call up one 10
To know if any have reveal’d unto him
Anything touching my dear love and me.
_Fr._ Good son, you have amaz’d me but to make
The least doubt of it, it concerns so nearly
The faith and reverence of my name and order.
Yet will I justify, upon my soul, 15
All I have done.
If any spirit i’ the earth or air
Can give you the resolve,[1052] do not despair.
_Music._ TAMYRA _enters with_ PERO, _her maid, bearing a letter._
_Ta._ Away, deliver it: _Exit_ PERO.
O may my lines
Fill’d with the poison of a woman’s hate 21
When he shall open them, shrink up his curst eyes
With torturous darkness, such as stands in hell,
Stuck full of inward horrors, never lighted;
With which are all things to be fear’d, affrighted; 25
[Father!
_Ascendit_ BUSSY _with_ Friar.][1053]
_Bu._ How is it with my honour’d mistress?
_Ta._ O servant, help, and save me from the gripes
Of shame and infamy. Our love is known:
Your Monsieur hath a paper where is writ
Some secret tokens that decipher it. 30
_Bu._ What cold dull northern brain, what fool but he
Durst take into his Epimethean breast
A box of such plagues as the danger yields
Incurr’d in this discovery? He had better
Ventur’d his breast in the consuming reach 35
Of the hot surfeits cast out of the clouds,
Or stood the bullets that (to wreak the sky)
The Cyclops ram in Jove’s artillery.
_Fr._ We soon will take the darkness from his face
That did that deed of darkness; we will know 40
What now the Monsieur and your husband do;
What is contain’d within the secret paper
Offer’d by Monsieur, and your love’s events:
To which ends, honour’d daughter, at your motion,
I have put on these exorcising rites, 45
And, by my power of learned holiness
Vouchsaft me from above, I will command
Our resolution[1054] of a raised spirit.
_Ta._ Good father, raise him in some beauteous form
That with least terror I may brook his sight. 50
_Fr._ Stand sure together, then, whate’er ye see,
And stir not, as ye tender all our lives.
_He puts on his robes._
_Occidentalium legionum spiritualium imperator (magnus ille Behemoth)
veni, veni, comitatus cum Asaroth locotenente invicto Adjurote per
Stygis (55) inscrutabilia arcana, per ipsos irremeabiles anfractus
Averni: adesto o Behemoth, tu cui pervia sunt Magnatum scrinia; veni,
per Noctis & tenebrarum abdita profundissima; per labentia sidera,
per ipsos motus horarum furtivos, Hecatesque altum dentium. 60
Appare in forma spiritali, lucente, splendida & amabili._
[_Thunder. Ascendit_ Behemoth _with_ Cartophylax _and other spirits_.]
_Beh._ What would the holy Friar?
_Fr._ I would see
What now the Monsieur and Montsurry do;
And see the secret paper that the Monsieur 65
Offer’d to Count Montsurry, longing much
To know on what events the secret loves
Of these two honour’d persons shall arrive.
_Beh._ Why call’dst thou me to this accursed light
To these light purposes? I am emperor 70
Of that inscrutable darkness where are hid
All deepest truths, and secrets never seen,
All which I know; and command legions
Of knowing spirits that can do more than these.
Any of this my guard that circle me 75
In these blue fires, and out of whose dim fumes
Vast murmurs use to break, and from their sounds
Articulate voices, can do ten parts more
Than open such slight truths as you require.
_Fr._ From the last night’s black depth I call’d up one 80
Of the inferior ablest ministers,
And he could not resolve me. Send one then
Out of thine own command, to fetch the paper
That Monsieur hath to show to Count Montsurry.
_Beh._ I will. Cartophylax, thou that properly
Hast in thy power all papers so inscrib’d, 86
Glide through all bars to it and fetch that paper.
_Cartoph._ I will. _A torch removes._
_Fr._ Till he returns, great prince of darkness,
Tell me if Monsieur and the Count Montsurry
Are yet encounter’d?
_Beh._ Both them and the Guise
Are now together.
_Fr._ Show us all their persons, 91
And represent the place, with all their actions.
_Beh._ The spirit will straight return; and then I’ll show thee.
See, he is come; why brought’st thou not the paper?
_Cartoph._ He hath prevented me, and got a spirit
Rais’d by another, great in our command, 96
To take the guard of it before I came.
_Beh._ This is your slackness, not t’ invoke our powers
When first your acts set forth to their effects;
Yet shall you see it and themselves. Behold
They come here, and the Earl now holds the paper. 101
_Enter_ Monsieur, GUISE, MONTSURRY, _with a paper_.
_Bu._ May we not hear them?
_Fr._ No, be still and see.
_Bu._ I will go fetch the paper.
_Fr._ Do not stir;
There’s too much distance and too many locks
’Twixt you and them, how near soe’er they seem,
For any man to interrupt their secrets. 106
_Ta._ O honour’d spirit, fly into the fancy
Of my offended lord, and do not let him
Believe what there the wicked man hath written.
_Beh._ Persuasion hath already enter’d him 110
Beyond reflection; peace till their departure!
_Mo._[1055] There is a glass of ink[1056] where you may see
How to make ready black-fac’d tragedy.
You now discern, I hope, through all her paintings,
Her gasping wrinkles, and fame’s sepulchres. 115
_Gu._ Think you he feigns, my lord? What hold you now?
Do we malign your wife, or honour you?
_Mo._ What, stricken dumb! Nay fie, lord, be not daunted;
Your case is common; were it ne’er so rare,
Bear it as rarely. Now to laugh were manly. 120
A worthy man should imitate the weather
That sings in tempests, and being clear is silent.
_Gu._ Go home, my lord, and force your wife to write
Such loving lines to D’Ambois as she us’d
When she desir’d his presence.
_Mo._ Do, my lord, 125
And make her name her conceal’d messenger,
That close and most inennerable[1057] pander,
That passeth all our studies to exquire;[1058]
By whom convey the letter to her love:
And so you shall be sure to have him come 130
Within the thirsty reach of your revenge;
Before which, lodge an ambush in her chamber
Behind the arrras, of your stoutest men
All close[1059] and soundly arm’d; and let them share
A spirit amongst them that would serve a thousand. 135
_Enter_ PERO _with a letter_.
_Gu._ Yet stay a little; see, she sends for you.
_Mo._ Poor, loving lady; she’ll make all good yet,
Think you not so, my lord?
MONTSURRY _stabs_ PERO _and exit_.
_Gu._ Alas, poor soul!
_Mo._ That was cruelly done, i’ faith.
_Pe._ ’T was nobly done.
And I forgive his lordship from my soul. 140
_Mo._ Then much good do’t thee, Pero! Hast a letter?
_Pe._ I hope it rather be a bitter volume
Of worthy curses for your perjury.
_Gu._ To you, my lord.
_Mo._ To me? Now, out upon her.
_Gu._ Let me see, my lord. 145
_Mo._ You shall presently. How fares my Pero?
_Enter_ Servant.
Who’s there? Take in this maid, sh’as caught a clap,
And fetch my surgeon to her. Come, my lord,
We’ll now peruse our letter.
_Exeunt_ Monsieur, GUISE. _Lead her out._
_Pe._ Furies rise
Out of the black lines, and torment his soul. 150
_Ta._ Hath my lord slain my woman?
_Beh._ No, she lives.
_Fr._ What shall become of us?
_Beh._ All I can say,
Being call’d thus late is brief, and darkly this:
If D’Ambois’ mistress dye not her[1060] white hand
In her forc’d blood, he shall remain untoucht:
So, father, shall yourself, but by yourself. 156
To make this augury plainer: when the voice
Of D’Ambois shall invoke me, I will rise,
Shining in greater light: and show him all
That will betide ye all. Meantime be wise,
And curb his valour with your policies. 161
_Descendit cum suis._
_Bu._ Will he appear to me when I invoke him?
_Fr._ He will, be sure.
_Bu._ It must be shortly then:
For his dark words have tied my thoughts on knots,
Till he dissolve, and free them.
_Ta._ In meantime, 165
Dear servant, till your powerful voice revoke[1061] him,
Be sure to use the policy he advis’d;
Lest fury in your too quick knowledge taken
Of our abuse, and your defence of me,
Accuse me more than any enemy; 170
And, father, you must on my lord impose
Your holiest charges, and the Church’s power
To temper his hot spirit and disperse
The cruelty and the blood I know his hand
Will shower upon our heads, if you put not 175
Your finger to the storm, and hold it up,
As my dear servant here must do with Monsieur.
_Bu._ I ’ll soothe his plots, and strow my hate with smiles,
Till all at once the close mines of my heart
Rise at full date, and rush into his blood. 180
I ’ll bind his arm in silk, and rub his flesh,
To make the vein swell, that his soul may gush
Into some kennel, where it longs to lie,
And policy shall be flankt[1062] with policy.
Yet shall the feeling centre where we meet 185
Groan with the weight of my approaching feet;
I ’ll make th’ inspired thresholds of his court
Sweat with the weather of my horrid steps,
Before I enter; yet will I appear
Like calm security before a ruin. 190
A politician must, like lightning, melt
The very marrow, and not taint the skin:
His ways must not be seen; the superficies
Of the green centre[1063] must not taste his feet,
When hell is plow’d up with his wounding tracts;
And all his harvest reapt by hellish facts. 196
_Exeunt._
ACT V
SCENE I.[1064]
MONTSURRY _bare, unbraced, pulling_ TAMYRA _in by the hair;_ Friar.
_One bearing light, a standish[1065] and paper, which sets a table._
_Ta._ Oh, help me, father.
_Fr._ Impious earl, forbear.
Take violent hand from her, or by mine order
The King shall force thee.
_Mont._ ’T is not violent;
Come you not willingly?
_Ta._ Yes, good my lord.
_Fr._ My lord, remember that your soul must seek 5
Her peace, as well as your revengeful blood.
You ever to this hour have prov’d yourself
A noble, zealous, and obedient son,
T’ our holy mother; be not an apostate.
Your wife’s offence serves not, were it the worst 10
You can imagine, without greater proofs,
To sever your eternal bonds and hearts;
Much less to touch her with a bloody hand;
Nor is it manly, much less husbandly,
To expiate any frailty in your wife 15
With churlish strokes or beastly odds of strength.
The stony birth of clouds[1066] will touch no laurel,
Nor any sleeper; your wife is your laurel,
And sweetest sleeper; do not touch her then;
Be not more rude than the wild seed of vapour, 20
To her that is more gentle than that rude;
In whom kind nature suffer’d one offence
But to set off her other excellence.
_Mont._ Good father, leave us; interrupt no more
The course I must run for mine honour sake. 25
Rely on my love to her, which her fault
Cannot extinguish. Will she but disclose
Who was the secret minister of her love,
And through what maze he serv’d it, we are friends.
_Fr._ It is a damn’d work to pursue those secrets 30
That would ope more sin, and prove springs of slaughter;
Nor is ’t a path for Christian feet to tread,
But out of all way to the health of souls,
A sin impossible to be forgiven;
Which he that dares commit—— 35
_Mont._ Good father, cease your terrors;
Tempt not a man distracted; I am apt
To outrages that I shall ever rue;
I will not pass the verge that bounds a Christian,
Nor break the limits of a man nor husband. 40
_Fr._ Then Heaven inspire you both with thoughts and deeds
Worthy his high respect, and your own souls.
_Ta._ Father!
_Fr._ I warrant thee, my dearest daughter,
He will not touch thee; think’st thou him a pagan?
His honour and his soul lies for thy safety. 45
_Exit._
_Mont._ Who shall remove the mountain from my breast?
Stand [in][1067] the opening furnace of my thoughts,
And set fit outcries for a soul in hell?
MONTSURRY _turns a key._
For now it nothing fits my woes to speak
But thunder, or to take into my throat 50
The trump of heaven, with whose determinate[1068] blast
The winds shall burst, and the devouring seas
Be drunk up in his sounds; that my hot woes
(Vented enough) I might convert to vapour,
Ascending from my infamy unseen; 55
Shorten the world, preventing[1069] the last breath
That kills the living and regenerates death.[1070]
_Ta._ My lord, my fault (as you may censure[1071] it
With too strong arguments) is past your pardon:
But how the circumstances may excuse me 60
Heaven knows, and your more temperate mind hereafter
May let my penitent miseries make you know.
_Mont._ Hereafter? ’T is a suppos’d infinite,
That from this point will rise eternally.
Fame grows in going; in the scapes[1072] of virtue 60
Excuses damn her: they be fires in cities
Enrag’d with those winds that less lights extinguish.
Come, syren, sing, and dash against my rocks
Thy ruffian galley, rigg’d with quench for lust;
Sing, and put all the nets into thy voice 70
With which thou drew’st into thy strumpet’s lap
The spawn of Venus; and in which ye danc’d;
That, in thy lap’s stead, I may dig his tomb,
And quit his manhood with a woman’s sleight,
Who never is deceiv’d in her deceit. 75
Sing (that is, write), and then take from mine eyes
The mists that hide the most inscrutable pander
That ever lapt up[1073] an adulterous vomit,
That I may see the devil, and survive
To be a devil, and then learn to wive; 80
That I may hang him, and then cut him down,
Then cut him up, and with my soul’s beams search
The cranks and caverns of his brain, and study
The errant wilderness of a woman’s face;
Where men cannot get out, for[1074] all the comets 85
That have been lighted at it; though they know
That adders lie a-sunning in their smiles,
That basilisks drink their poison from their eyes,
And no way there to coast out to their hearts;
Yet still they wander there, and are not stay’d 90
Till they be fetter’d, nor secure before
All cares devour them; nor in human consort
Till they embrace within their wife’s two breasts
All Pelion and Cythaeron with their beasts. 94
Why write you not?
_Ta._ O good my lord, forbear
In wreak[1075] of great faults, to engender greater,
And make my love’s corruption generate murder.
_Mont._ It follows needfully as child and parent;
The chain-shot of thy lust is yet aloft,
And it must murder; ’tis thine own dear twin: 100
No man can add height to a woman’s sin.
Vice never doth her just hate so provoke,
As when she rageth under virtue’s cloak.
Write! for it must be—by this ruthless steel,
By this impartial torture, and the death 105
Thy tyrannies have invented in my entrails,
To quicken life in dying, and hold up
The spirits in fainting, teaching to preserve,
Torments in ashes, that will ever last. 109
Speak! Will you write?
_Ta._ Sweet lord, enjoin my sin
Some other penance than what makes it worse;
Hide in some gloomy dungeon my loath’d face,
And let condemned murderers let me down
(Stopping their noses) my abhorred food:
Hang me in chains, and let me eat these arms
That have offended; bind me face to face 116
To some dead woman, taken from the cart
Of execution, till death and time
In grains of dust dissolve me; I’ll endure;
Or any torture that your wrath’s invention 120
Can fright all pity from the world withal;
But to betray a friend with show of friendship,
That is too common for the rare revenge
Your rage affecteth. Here then are my breasts,
Last night your pillows; here my wretched arms, 125
As late the wished confines of your life;
Now break them as you please, and all the bounds
Of manhood, noblesse, and religion.
_Mont._ Where all these have been broken, they are kept,
In doing their justice there with any show 130
Of the like cruel cruelty; thine arms have lost
Their privilege in lust, and in their torture
Thus they must pay it. _Stabs her._
_Ta._ O Lord!
_Mont._ Till thou writest,
I’ll write in wounds (my wrong’s fit characters)
Thy right of sufferance. Write.
_Ta._ Oh, kill me, kill me; 135
Dear husband, be not crueller than death.
You have beheld some Gorgon; feel, oh, feel
How you are turn’d to stone. With my heart-blood
Dissolve yourself again, or you will grow
Into the image of all tyranny. 140
_Mont._ As thou art of adultery; I will ever
Prove thee my parallel, being most a monster;
Thus I express thee yet. _Stabs her again._
_Ta._ And yet I live.
_Mont._ Ay, for thy monstrous idol is not done yet;
This tool hath wrought enough; now, torture, use 145
_Enter_ Servants.
This other engine[1076] on th’ habituate powers
Of her thrice-damn’d and whorish fortitude.
Use the most madding pains in her that ever
Thy venoms soak’d through, making most of death;
That she may weigh her wrongs with them, and then 150
Stand vengeance on thy steepest rock, a victor.
_Ta._ Oh, who is turn’d into my lord and husband?
Husband! My lord! None but my lord and husband!
Heaven, I ask thee remission of my sins,
Not of my pains; husband, oh, help me, husband! 155
_Ascendit_ Friar _with a sword drawn._
_Fr._ What rape of honour and religion—
Oh, wrack of nature! _Falls and dies._
_Ta._ Poor man; oh, my father.
Father, look up; oh, let me down, my lord,
And I will write.
_Mont._ Author of prodigies!
What new flame breaks out of the firmament, 160
That turns up counsels never known before?
Now is it true, earth moves, and heaven stands still;
Even heaven itself must see and suffer ill.
The too huge bias of the world hath sway’d
Her back part upwards, and with that she braves 165
This hemisphere, that long her mouth hath mockt;
The gravity of her religious face,
(Now grown too weighty with her sacrilege,
And here discern’d sophisticate enough)
Turns to th’ antipodes; and all the forms 170
That her illusions have imprest in her,
Have eaten through her back; and now all see,
How she is riveted with hypocrisy.
Was this the way? Was he the mean betwixt you?
_Ta._ He was, he was, kind worthy man, he was. 175
_Mont._ Write, write a word or two.
_Ta._ I will, I will.
I’ll write, but with my blood, that he may see
These lines come from my wounds, and not from me. _Writes._
_Mont._ Well might he die for thought; methinks the frame
And shaken joints of the whole world should crack 180
To see her parts so disproportionate;
And that his[1077] general beauty cannot stand
Without these stains in the particular man.
Why wander I so far? Here, here was she
That was a whole world without spot to me,
Though now a world of spots. Oh, what a lightning 185
Is man’s delight in women! What a bubble
He builds his state, fame, life on, when he marries!
Since all earth’s pleasures are so short and small,
The way t’ enjoy it, is t’ abjure it all. 190
Enough! I must be messenger myself,
Disguis’d like this strange creature. In, I’ll after,
To see what guilty light gives this cave eyes,
And to the world sing new impieties.
_He puts the_ Friar _in the vault and follows. She wraps herself in the
arras. Exeunt_ [_servants_].
[SCENE II.][1078]
_Enter_ Monsieur _and_ GUISE.
_Mo._ Now shall we see that Nature hath no end
In her great works responsive to their worths,
That she, that makes so many eyes and souls
To see and foresee, is stark blind herself;
And as illiterate men say Latin prayers 5
By rote of heart and daily iteration,
Not knowing what they say,[1079] so Nature lays
A deal of stuff together, and by use,
Or by the mere necessity of matter,
Ends such a work, fills it, or leaves it empty 10
Of strength or virtue, error or clear truth,
Not knowing what she does; but usually
Gives that which she calls merit to a man,
And belief must arrive[1080] him on huge riches,
Honour, and happiness, that effects his ruin; 15
Even as in ships of war, whose lasts[1081] of powder
Are laid, men think,[1082] to make them last, and guard them,
When a disorder’d spark, that powder taking,
Blows up with sudden violence and horror
Ships that kept empty; had sail’d long, with terror.[1083] 20
_Gu._ He that observes, but like a worldly man,
That which doth oft succeed, and by th’ events
Values the worth of things, will think it true
That Nature works at random, just with you;
But with as much proportion she may make 25
A thing that from the feet up to the throat
Hath all the wondrous fabric man should have,
And leave it headless, for a perfect man,
As give a full man valour, virtue, learning,
Without an end more excellent than those, 30
On whom she no such worthy part bestows.
_Mo._ Yet shall you see it here; here will be one
Young, learned, valiant, virtuous, and full mann’d;
One on whom Nature spent so rich a hand
That with an ominous eye she wept to see 35
So much consum’d her virtuous treasury.[1084]
Yet, as the winds sing through a hollow tree,
And (since it lets them pass through) lets it stand;
But a tree solid (since it gives no way
To their wild rage) they rend up by the root; 40
So this whole man,
(That will not wind with every crooked way,
Trod by the servile world) shall reel and fall
Before the frantic puffs of blind-born chance,
That pipes through empty men, and makes them dance. 45
Not so the sea raves on the Lybian sands,
Tumbling her billows in each other’s neck;
Not so the surges of the Euxine sea
(Near to the frosty pole, where free Boötes
From those dark deep waves turns his radiant team) 50
Swell, being enrag’d even from their inmost drop,
As Fortune swings about the restless state
Of virtue, now thrown into all men’s hate.
_Enter_ MONTSURRY _disguis’d with the_ Murderers.
Away, my lord, you are perfectly disguis’d, 54
Leave us to lodge your ambush.
_Mont._ Speed me, vengeance. _Exit._
_Mo._ Resolve, my masters, you shall meet with one
Will try what proofs your privy coats[1085] are made on;
When he is ent’red, and you hear us stamp,
Approach, and make all sure.
_Murd._ We will, my lord. _Exeunt._
[SCENE III.][1086]
D’AMBOIS _with two_ Pages _with tapers_.
_Bu._ Sit up to-night, and watch; I’ll speak with none
But the old Friar, who bring to me.
_Pa._ We will, sir. _Exeunt._
_Bu._ What violent heat is this? Methinks the fire
Of twenty lives doth on a sudden flash
Through all my faculties; the air goes high 5
In this close chamber, and the frighted earth _Thunder._
Trembles, and shrinks beneath me; the whole house
Nods with his shaken burthen.
_Enter_ Umbra Friar.
Bless me, heaven!
_Um._ Note what I want, dear son, and be forewarn’d;
O there are bloody deeds past and to come. 10
I cannot stay; a fate doth ravish me;
I’ll meet thee in the chamber of thy love. _Exit._
_Bu._ What dismal change is here; the good old Friar
Is murder’d; being made known to serve my love; 14
And now his restless spirit would forewarn me
Of some plot dangerous and imminent.
Note what he wants? He wants his upper weed,
He wants his life and body; which of these
Should be the want he means, and may supply me 19
With any fit forewarning? This strange vision
(Together with the dark prediction
Us’d by the Prince of Darkness that was rais’d
By this embodied shadow) stir my thoughts
With reminiscion[1087] of the spirit’s promise,
Who told me that by any invocation 25
I should have power to raise him, though it wanted
The powerful words and decent rights of art.
Never had my set brain such need of spirit
T’ instruct and cheer it; now, then, I will claim
Performance of his free and gentle vow 30
T’ appear in greater light, and make more plain
His rugged oracle. I long to know
How my dear mistress fares, and be inform’d
What hand she now holds on the troubled blood
Of her incensed lord. Methought the spirit 35
(When he had utter’d his perplext presage)
Threw his chang’d countenance headlong into clouds,
His forehead bent, as it would hide his face,
He knockt his chin against his dark’ned breast,
And struck a churlish silence through his powers. 40
Terror of darkness! O, thou king of flames!
That with thy music-footed horse dost strike
The clear light out of crystal on dark earth,
And hurl’st instructive fire about the world, 44
Wake, wake the drowsy and enchanted night,
That sleeps with dead eyes in this heavy riddle!
Or thou great prince of shades, where never sun
Sticks his far-darted beams, whose eyes are made
To shine in darkness, and see ever best
Where men are blindest, open now the heart 50
Of thy abashed oracle, that, for fear
Of some ill it includes, would fain lie hid,
And rise thou with it in thy greater light.
_Thunders. Surgit Spiritus cum suis._
_Beh._ Thus to observe my vow of apparition
In greater light, and explicate thy fate, 55
I come; and tell thee that if thou obey
The summons that thy mistress next will send thee,
Her hand shall be thy death.
_Bu._ When will she send?
_Beh._ Soon as I set again, where late I rose. 59
_Bu._ Is the old Friar slain?
_Beh._ No, and yet lives not.
_Bu._ Died he a natural death?
_Beh._ He did.
_Bu._ Who then
Will my dear mistress send?
_Beh._ I must not tell thee.
_Bu._ Who lets[1088] thee?
_Beh._ Fate.
_Bu._ Who are fate’s ministers?
_Beh._ The Guise and Monsieur.
_Bu._ A fit pair of shears
To cut the threads of kings and kingly spirits,
And consorts fit to sound forth harmony, 65
Set to the falls of kingdoms: shall the hand
Of my kind mistress kill me?
_Beh._ If thou yield
To her next summons, y’are fair-warn’d: farewell! _Thunders. Exit._
_Bu._ I must fare well, however, though I die,
My death consenting[1089] with his augury. 71
Should not my powers obey when she commands,
My motion must be rebel to my will,
My will to life: if, when I have obey’d,
Her hand should so reward me, they must arm it, 75
Bind me or force it: or, I lay my life,
She rather would convert it many times
On her own bosom, even to many deaths;
But were there danger of such violence,
I know ’tis far from her intent to send; 80
And who she should send is as far from thought,
Since he is dead, whose only mean she us’d. _Knocks._
Who’s there! Look to the door, and let him in,
Though politic Monsieur or the violent Guise.
_Enter_ MONTSURRY, _like the_ Friar, _with a letter written in blood_.
_Mont._ Hail to my worthy son.
_Bu._ Oh, lying spirit![1090]
To say the Friar was dead; I’ll now believe 86
Nothing of all his forg’d predictions.
My kind and honour’d father, well reviv’d,
I have been frighted with your death and mine,
And told my mistress’ hand should be my death
If I obey’d this summons.
_Mont._ I believ’d 91
Your love had been much clearer than to give
Any such doubt a thought, for she is clear,
And having freed her husband’s jealousy
(Of which her much abus’d hand here is witness)
She prays, for urgent cause, your instant presence. 96
_Bu._ Why, then your prince of spirits may be call’d
The prince of liars.
_Mont._ Holy Writ so calls him.
_Bu._ What, writ in blood?
_Mont._ Ay, ’tis the ink of lovers.
_Bu._ O, ’tis a sacred witness of her love. 100
So much elixir of her blood as this
Dropt in the lightest dame, would make her firm
As heat to fire; and, like to all the signs,[1091]
Commands the life confin’d in all my veins.
O, how it multiplies my blood with spirit, 105
And makes me apt t’ encounter death and hell.
But come, kind father, you fetch me to heaven,
And to that end your holy weed was given. _Exeunt._
[SCENE IV.][1092]
_Thunder. Intrat_ Umbra Friar, _and discovers_ TAMYRA.
_Um._ Up with these stupid thoughts, still loved daughter,
And strike away this heartless trance of anguish.
Be like the sun, and labour in eclipses;
Look to the end of woes: oh, can you sit
Mustering the horrors of your servant’s slaughter 5
Before your contemplation, and not study[1093]
How to prevent it? Watch when he shall rise,
And with a sudden outcry of his murder,
Blow[1094] his retreat before he be revenged.
_Ta._ O father, have my dumb woes wak’d your death? 10
When will our human griefs be at their height?
Man is a tree that hath no top in cares,
No root in comforts; all his power to live
Is given to no end, but t’ have power to grieve.
_Um._ It is the misery of our creation. 15
Your true friend,
Led by your husband, shadowed in my weed,
Now enters the dark vault.
_Ta._ But, my dearest father,
Why will not you appear to him yourself,
And see that none of these deceits annoy him?
_Um._ My power is limited; alas! I cannot. 21
All that I can do—See, the cave opens.
_Exit._ D’AMBOIS _at the gulf_.
_Ta._ Away, my love, away; thou wilt be murder’d!
_Enter_ Monsieur _and_ GUISE _above_.
_Bu._ Murder’d; I know not what that Hebrew means:
That word had ne’er been nam’d had all been D’Ambois. 25
Murder’d? By heaven he is my murderer
That shows me not a murderer; what such bug[1095]
Abhorreth not the very sleep of D’Ambois?
Murder’d? Who dares give all the room I see
To D’Ambois’ reach? or look with any odds 30
His fight i’ th’ face, upon whose hand sits death;
Whose sword hath wings, and every feather pierceth?
If I scape Monsieur’s ’pothecary shops,
Foutre[1096] for Guise’s shambles! ’T was ill plotted;
They should have maul’d me here, 35
When I was rising. I am up and ready.
Let in my politic visitants, let them in,
Though ent’ring like so many moving armours,
Fate is more strong than arms and sly than treason,
And I at all parts huckl’d in my fate. 40
_Mo._} Why enter not the coward villains?
_Gu._}
_Bu._ Dare they not come?
_Enter_ Murderers _with_ Friar _at the other door._
_Ta._ They come.
_1 Mur._ Come all at once.
_Um._ Back, coward murderers, back.
_Omn._ Defend us, heaven.
_Exeunt all but the first._
_1 Mur._ Come ye not on?
_Bu._ No, slave, nor goest thou off.
[_Strikes at him._]
Stand you so firm? Will it not enter here? 45
You have a face yet; so in thy life’s flame
I burn the first rites to my mistress’ fame.
_Um._ Breathe thee, brave son, against the other charge.
_Bu._ Oh, is it true then that my sense first told me?
Is my kind father dead?
_Ta._ He is, my love. 50
’T was the Earl, my husband, in his weed that brought thee.
_Bu._ That was a speeding sleight,[1097] and well resembled.
Where is that angry Earl? My lord, come forth
And show your own face in your own affair;
Take not into your noble veins the blood 55
Of these base villains, nor the light reports
Of blister’d tongues for clear and weighty truth:
But me against the world, in pure defence
Of your rare lady, to whose spotless name
I stand here as a bulwark, and project 60
A life to her renown, that ever yet
Hath been untainted, even in envy’s eye,
And where it would protect a sanctuary.
Brave Earl, come forth, and keep your scandal in;
’Tis not our fault if you enforce the spot 65
Nor the wreak[1098] yours if you perform it not.
_Enter_ MONTSURRY, _with all the_ Murderers.
_Mont._ Cowards, a fiend or spirit beat ye off!
They are your own faint spirits that have forg’d
The fearful shadows that your eyes deluded. 69
The fiend was in you; cast him out then, thus.
D’AMBOIS _hath_ MONT. _down_.
_Ta._ Favour my lord, my love, O, favour him!
_Bu._ I will not touch him: take your life, my lord,
And be appeas’d. _Pistols shot within._
O, then the coward Fates
Have maim’d themselves, and ever lost their honour.
_Um._ What have ye done, slaves? Irreligious lord! 76
_Bu._ Forbear them, father; ’tis enough for me
That Guise and Monsieur, death and destiny,
Come behind D’Ambois. Is my body, then,
But penetrable flesh? And must my mind
Follow my blood? Can my divine part add
No aid to th’ earthly in extremity? 81
Then these divines are but for form, not fact.[1099]
Man is of two sweet courtly friends compact,
A mistress and a servant; let my death
Define life nothing but a courtier’s breath. 85
Nothing is made of nought, of all things made,
Their abstract being a dream but of a shade.
I’ll not complain to earth yet, but to heaven,
And, like a man, look upwards even in death.
And if Vespasian thought in majesty 90
An emperor might die standing, why not I?
_She offers to help him._
Nay, without help, in which I will exceed him;
For he died splinted with his chamber grooms.
Prop me, true sword, as thou hast ever done:
The equal thought I bear of life and death 95
Shall make me faint on no side; I am up.
Here like a Roman statue I will stand
Till death hath made me marble. Oh, my fame,
Live in despite of murder; take thy wings
And haste thee where the grey-ey’d morn perfumes 100
Her rosy chariot with Sabaean spices;
Fly, where the evening from th’ Iberian vales,
Takes on her swarthy shoulders Hecate,
Crown’d with a grove of oaks; fly where men feel
The burning axletree; and those that suffer 105
Beneath the chariot of the snowy Bear;
And tell them all that D’Ambois now is hasting
To the eternal dwellers; that a thunder
Of all their sighs together (for their frailties
Beheld in me) may quit my worthless fall 110
With a fit volley for my funeral.
_Um._ Forgive thy murderers.
_Bu._ I forgive them all;
And you, my lord, their fautor;[1100] for true sign
Of which unfeign’d remission, take my sword;
Take it, and only give it motion, 115
And it shall find the way to victory
By his own brightness, and th’ inherent valour
My fight hath ’still’d into ’t, with charms of spirit.
Now let me pray you that my weighty blood
Laid in one scale of your impartial spleen, 120
May sway the forfeit of my worthy love
Weigh’d in the other; and be reconcil’d
With all forgiveness to your matchless wife.
_Ta._ Forgive thou me, dear servant, and this hand
That led thy life to this unworthy end; 125
Forgive it, for the blood with which ’tis stain’d,
In which I writ the summons of thy death;
The forced summons, by this bleeding wound,
By this here in my bosom; and by this
That makes me hold up both my hands imbru’d 130
For thy dear pardon.
_Bu._ O, my heart is broken.
Fate, nor these murderers, Monsieur, nor the Guise,
Have any glory in my death, but this,
This killing spectacle, this prodigy.
My sun is turn’d to blood, in whose red beams
Pindus and Ossa, hid in drifts of snow 136
Laid on my heart and liver, from their veins
Melt like two hungry torrents, eating rocks
Into the ocean of all human life,
And make it bitter, only with my blood. 140
O frail condition of strength, valour, virtue,
In me (like warning fire upon the top
Of some steep beacon on a steeper hill)
Made to express it: like a falling star
Silently glanc’d, that like a thunderbolt 145
Lookt to have struck[1101] and shook the firmament. _Moritur._
_Um._ [My terrors are struck inward, and no more
My penance will allow they shall enforce
Earthly afflictions but upon myself.][1102]
Farewell, brave relics of a complete man! 150
Look up and see thy spirit made a star,
Join flames with Hercules, and when thou sett’st
Thy radiant forehead in the firmament,
Make the vast crystal crack with thy receipt;
Spread to a world of fire; and th’ aged sky 155
Cheer with new sparks of old humanity.
[_To_ MONT.] Son of the earth, whom my unrested soul,
Rues t’ have begotten in the faith of heaven;
[Since thy revengeful spirit hath rejected
The charity it commands, and the remission 160
To serve and worship the blind rage of blood][1102]
Assay to gratulate[1103] and pacify
The soul fled from this worthy by performing
The Christian reconcilement he besought 164
Betwixt thee and thy lady. Let her wounds
Manlessly[1104] digg’d in her, be eas’d and cur’d
With balm of thine own tears; or be assur’d
Never to rest free from my haunt and horror.
_Mont._ See how she merits this, still kneeling by, 169
And mourning his fall more than her own fault.
_Um._ Remove, dear daughter, and content thy husband;
So piety wills thee, and thy servant’s peace.
_Ta._ O wretched piety, that art so distract
In thine own constancy, and in thy right
Must be unrighteous. If I right my friend, 175
I wrong my husband; if his wrong I shun,
The duty of my friend I leave undone.
Ill plays on both sides; here and there it riseth;
No place, no good, so good but ill compriseth.
[My soul more scruple breeds, than my blood, sin, 180
Virtue imposeth more than any stepdame;][1105]
O had I never married but for form,
Never vow’d faith but purpos’d to deceive,
Never made conscience of any sin.
But cloak’d it privately and made it common;
Nor never honour’d been in blood or mind, 186
Happy had I been then, as others are
Of the like licence; I had then been honour’d;
Liv’d without envy; custom had benumb’d
All sense of scruple, and all note of frailty; 190
My fame had been untouch’d, my heart unbroken:
But (shunning all) I strike on all offence,
O husband! Dear friend! O my conscience!
_Mo._ Come, let’s away; my senses are not proof 194
Against those plaints.
_Exeunt_ GUISE, Monsieur: D’AMBOIS _is borne off_.
_Mont._ I must not yield to pity, nor to love
So servile and so traitorous. Cease, my blood,
To wrastle with my honour, fame, and judgment.—
Away! Forsake my house; forbear complaints
Where thou hast bred them: here all things [are] full 200
Of their own shame and sorrow; leave my house.
_Ta._ Sweet lord, forgive me, and I will be gone,
And till these wounds, that never balm shall close
Till death hath enter’d at them, so I love them,
Being opened by your hands, by death be cur’d,
I never more will grieve you with my sight, 206
Never endure that any roof shall part
Mine eyes and heaven; but to the open deserts
(Like to a hunted tigress) I will fly,
Eating my heart, shunning the steps of men,
And look on no side till I be arriv’d. 211
_Mont._ I do forgive thee, and upon my knees,
With hands held up to heaven, wish that mine honour
Would suffer reconcilement to my love;
But since it will not, honour never serve
My love with flourishing object till it sterve:[1106]
And as this taper, though it upwards look, 217
Downwards must needs consume, so let our love;
As having lost his honey, the sweet taste
Runs into savour, and will needs retain 220
A spice of his first parents, till, like life,
It sees and dies; so let our love; and lastly,
As when the flame is suffer’d to look up,
It keeps his lustre, but, being thus turn’d down,
(His natural course of useful light inverted), 225
His own stuff puts it out; so let our love.
Now turn from me, as here I turn from thee,
And may both points of heaven’s straight axletree
Conjoin in one, before thyself and me. _Exeunt severally._
EPILOGUE
With many hands you have seen D’Ambois slain,
Yet by your grace he may revive again,
And every day grow stronger in his skill
To please, as we presume he is in will.
The best deserving actors of the time 5
Had their ascents, and by degrees did climb
To their full height, a place to study due.
To make him tread in their path lies in you;
He’ll not forget his makers, but still prove
His thankfulness as you increase your love. 10
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR
BY BEN JONSON
THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY
KNOWELL, an old Gentleman.
EDWARD KNOWELL, his Son.
BRAINWORM, the Father’s Man.
[GEORGE] DOWNRIGHT, a plain Squire.
WELLBRED, his Half-Brother.
KITELY, a Merchant.
CAPTAIN BOBADILL, a Paul’s Man.[1107]
MASTER STEPHEN, a Country Gull.
MASTER MATHEW, the Town Gull.
[THOMAS] CASH, Kitely’s Man.
[OLIVER] COB, a Water-bearer.
JUSTICE CLEMENT, an old merry Magistrate.
ROGER FORMAL, his Clerk.
[Wellbred’s Servant.]
DAME KITELY, Kitely’s Wife.
MISTRESS BRIDGET, his Sister.
TIB, Cob’s Wife.
[Servants, etc.]
SCENE.—_London._
PROLOGUE
Though need make many poets, and some such
As art and nature have not better’d much;
Yet ours for want hath not so lov’d the stage,
As he dare serve th’ ill customs of the age,
Or purchase your delight at such a rate, 5
As, for it, he himself must justly hate:
To make a child now swaddled, to proceed
Man, and then shoot up, in one beard and weed,
Past threescore years; or, with three rusty swords,
And help of some few foot-and-half-foot words, 10
Fight over York and Lancaster’s long jars,
And in the tyring-house[1108] bring wounds to scars.
He rather prays you will be pleas’d to see
One such to-day, as other plays should be;
Where neither chorus wafts you o’er the seas, 15
Nor creaking throne comes down the boys to please;
Nor nimble squib is seen to make afeard
The gentlewomen; nor roll’d bullet heard
To Bay, it thunders; nor tempestuous drum
Rumbles, to tell you when the storm doth come; 20
But deeds, and language, such as men do use,
And persons, such as comedy would choose,
When she would shew an image of the tunes,
And sport with human follies, not with crimes;
Except we make ’em such, by loving still 25
Our popular errors, when we know they’re ill.
I mean such errors as you’ll all confess,
By laughing at them, they deserve no less:
Which when you heartily do, there’s hope left then,
You, that have so grac’d monsters, may like men. 30
ACT I
SCENE I.[1109]
[_Enter_] KNOWELL, [_at the door of his house_.]
_Know._ A goodly day toward, and a fresh morning.—
Brainworm!
[_Enter_ BRAINWORM.]
Call up your young master: bid him rise, sir.
Tell him, I have some business to employ him.
_Brai._ I will, sir, presently.
_Know._ But hear you, sirrah,
If he be at his book, disturb him not. 6
_Brai._ Well, sir. [_Exit._]
_Know._ How happy yet should I esteem myself,
Could I, by any practice, wean the boy
From one vain course of study he affects. 10
He is a scholar, if a man may trust
The liberal voice of fame in her report,
Of good account in both our Universities,
Either of which hath favour’d him with graces:
But their indulgence must not spring in me 15
A fond[1110] opinion that he cannot err.
Myself was once a student, and, indeed,
Fed with the self-same humour he is now,
Dreaming on nought but idle poetry,
That fruitless and unprofitable art, 20
Good unto none, but least to the professors;
Which then I thought the mistress of all knowledge;
But since, time and the truth have wak’d my judgment,
And reason taught me better to distinguish
The vain from th’ useful learnings.
[_Enter_ MASTER STEPHEN.]
Cousin Stephen, 25
What news with you, that you are here so early?
_Step._ Nothing, but e’en come to see how you do, uncle.
_Know._ That’s kindly done; you are welcome, coz. 30
_Step._ Ay, I know that, sir; I would not ha’ come else. How does my
cousin Edward, uncle?
_Know._ O, well, coz; go in and see; I doubt he be scarce stirring
yet. 34
_Step._ Uncle, afore I go in, can you tell me, an he have e’er a book
of the sciences of hawking and hunting; I would fain borrow it.
_Know._ Why, I hope you will not a hawking now, will you? 39
_Step._ No, wusse;[1111]—but I’ll practise against next year, uncle.
I have bought me a hawk, and a hood, and bells, and all; I lack
nothing but a book to keep it by.
_Know._ Oh, most ridiculous!
_Step._ Nay, look you now, you are angry, (45) uncle.—Why, you
know an a man have not skill in the hawking and hunting languages
now-a-days, I’ll not give a rush for him: they are more studied than
the Greek, or the Latin. (49) He is for no gallant’s company without
’em; and by gadslid[1112] I scorn it, I, so I do, to be a consort for
every humdrum: hang ’em, scroyles![1113] there’s nothing in ’em i’
the world. What do you talk on it? Because I dwell at Hogsden.[1114]
(54) I shall keep company with none but the archers of Finsbury, or
the citizens that come a ducking to Islington ponds! A fine jest,
i’ faith! ’Slid,[1112] a gentleman mun[1115] show himself like a
gentleman. Uncle, I pray you be not angry; I know what I have to do,
I trow, I am no (60) novice.
_Know._ You are a prodigal, absurd coxcomb, go to!
Nay, never look at me, ’tis I that speak;
Take’t as you will, sir, I’ll not flatter you.
Ha’ you not yet found means enow to waste 65
That which your friends have left you, but you must
Go cast away your money on a kite,
And know not how to keep it, when you ha’ done?
O, it’s comely! This will make you a gentleman! 69
Well, cousin, well, I see you are e’en past hope
Of all reclaim.—Ay, so, now you are told on’t,
You look another way.
_Step._ What would you ha’ me do?
_Know._ What would I have you do? I’ll tell you, kinsman;
Learn to be wise, and practise how to thrive;
That would I have you do: and not to spend 75
Your coin on every bauble that you fancy,
Or every foolish brain that humours you.
I would not have you to invade each place,
Nor thrust yourself on all societies,
Till men’s affections, or your own desert, 80
Should worthily invite you to your rank.
He that is so respectless in his courses,
Oft sells his reputation at cheap market.
Nor would I you should melt away yourself
In flashing bravery,[1116] lest, while you affect[1117] 85
To make a blaze of gentry to the world,
A little puff of scorn extinguish it;
And you be left like an unsavoury snuff,
Whose property is only to offend.
I’d ha’ you sober, and contain yourself, 90
Not that your sail be bigger than your boat;
But moderate your expenses now, at first,
As you may keep the same proportion still:
Nor stand so much on your gentility,
Which is an airy and mere borrow’d thing, 95
From dead men’s dust and bones; and none of yours,
Except you make, or hold it. Who comes here?
SCENE II.[1118]
KNOWELL, STEPHEN. [_Enter a_] Servant.
_Serv._ Save you, gentlemen!
_Step._ Nay, we do not stand much on our gentility, friend; yet you
are welcome: and I assure you mine uncle here is a man of a thousand
a year, Middlesex land. He has but one son in (5) all the world, I
am his next heir, at the common law, master Stephen, as simple as
I stand here, if my cousin die, as there’s hope he will. I have a
pretty living o’ mine own too, beside, hard by here. 10
_Serv._ In good time, sir.
_Step._ In good time, sir! Why, and in very good time, sir! You do
not flout, friend, do you?
_Serv._ Not I, sir.
_Step._ Not you, sir! you were not best, sir; (15) an you should,
here be them can perceive it, and that quickly too; go to: and they
can give it again soundly too, an need be.
_Serv._ Why, sit, let this satisfy you; good faith, I had no such
intent. 20
_Step._ Sir, an I thought you had, I would talk with you, and that
presently.[1119]
_Serv._ Good master Stephen, so you may, sir, at your pleasure.
_Step._ And so I would, sir, good my saucy (25) companion! An you
were out o’ mine uncle’s ground, I can tell you; though I do not
stand upon my gentility neither, in ’t.
_Know._ Cousin, cousin, will this ne’er be left?
_Step._ Whoreson, base fellow! a mechanical (30) serving-man! By this
cudgel, an ’twere not for shame, I would——
_Know._ What would you do, you peremptory gull?[1120]
If you cannot be quiet, get you hence.
You see the honest man demeans himself 35
Modestly tow’rds you, giving no reply
To your unseason’d, quarrelling, rude fashion;
And still you huff[1121] it, with a kind of carriage
As void of wit, as of humanity.
Go, get you in; ’fore heaven, I am asham’d 40
Thou hast a kinsman’s interest in me.
[_Exit_ MASTER STEPHEN.]
_Serv._ I pray, sir, is this master Knowell’s house?
_Know._ Yes, marry is it, sir. 44
_Serv._ I should inquire for a gentleman here, one master Edward
Knowell; do you know any such, sir, I pray you?
_Know._ I should forget myself else, sir.
_Serv._ Are you the gentleman? Cry you mercy, sir: I was requir’d by
a gentleman i’ the (50) city, as I rode out at this end o’ the town,
to deliver you this letter, sir.
_Know._ To me, sir! What do you mean? pray you remember your
court’sy.[1122] [_Reads._] _To his most selected friend, master
Edward Knowell._ (55) What might the gentleman’s name be, sir, that
sent it? Nay, pray you be cover’d.
_Serv._ One master Wellbred, sir.
_Know._ Master Wellbred! a young gentleman, is he not? 60
_Serv._ The same, sir; master Kitely married his sister; the rich
merchant i’ the Old Jewry.
_Know._ You say very true.—Brainworm!
[_Enter_ BRAINWORM.]
_Brai._ Sir. 64
_Know._ Make this honest friend drink here: pray you, go in.
[_Exeunt_ BRAINWORM _and_ Servant.]
This letter is directed to my son;
Yet I am Edward Knowell too, and may,
With the safe conscience of good manners, use
The fellow’s error to my satisfaction. 70
Well, I will break it ope (old men are curious),
Be it but for the style’s sake and the phrase,
To see if both do answer my son’s praises,
Who is almost grown the idolater
Of this young Wellbred. What have we here? What’s this? 75
[_Reads._] Why, Ned, I beseech thee, hast thou forsworn all thy
friends i’ the Old Jewry? or dost thou think us all Jews that
inhabit there? Yet, if thou dost, come over, and but see our 79
frippery;[1123] change an old shirt for a whole smock with us: do not
conceive that antipathy between us and Hogsden, as was between Jews
and hogs-flesh. Leave thy vigilant father alone, to number over his
green apricots, evening and (84) morning, o’ the north-west wall.
An I had been his son, I had sav’d him the labour long since, if
taking in all the young wenches that pass by at the back-door, and
coddling[1124] every kernel of the fruit for ’em, would ha’ serv’d.
But (89) prithee, come over to me quickly this morning; I have such
a present for thee!—our Turkey company never sent the like to the
Grand Signior. One is a rhymer, sir, o’ your own batch, your own
leaven; but doth think himself poet-major o’ the town, willing to
be shown, and (95) worthy to be seen. The other—I will not venture
his description with you, till you come, because I would ha’ you
make hither with an appetite. If the worst of ’em be not worth your
journey, draw your bill fit of charges, as unconscionable (100) as
any Guildhall verdict will give it you, and you shall be allow’d your
viaticum.[1125]
_From the Windmill._[1126]
From the Bordello it might come as well,
The Spittle, or Pict-hatch.[1127] Is this the man
My son hath sung so, for the happiest wit, 105
The choicest brain, the times have sent us forth!
I know not what he may be in the arts,
Nor what in schools; but, surely, for his manners,
I judge him a profane and dissolute wretch;
Worse by possession of such great good gifts, 110
Being the master of so loose a spirit.
Why, what unhallow’d ruffian would have writ
In such a scurrilous manner to a friend!
Why should he think I tell[1128] my apricots,
Or play the Hesperian dragon with my fruit, 115
To watch it? Well, my son, I’d thought
You’d had more judgment t’ have made election
Of your companions, than t’ have ta’en on trust
Such petulant, jeering gamesters, that can spare
No argument or subject from their jest. 120
But I perceive affection makes a fool
Of any man too much the father.—Brainworm!
[_Enter_ BRAINWORM.]
_Brai._ Sir.
_Know._ Is the fellow gone that brought this letter?
_Brai._ Yes, sir, a pretty while since.
_Know._ And where’s your young master? 125
_Brai._ In his chamber, sir.
_Know._ He spake not with the fellow, did he?
_Brai._ No, sir, he saw him not.
_Know._ Take you this letter, and deliver it my son; but with no
notice that I have open’d it, on your life. 131
_Brai._ O Lord, sir! that were a jest indeed. [_Exit._]
_Know._ I am resolv’d I will not stop his journey,
Nor practise any violent means to stay
The unbridled course of youth in him; for that 135
Restrain’d grows more impatient; and in kind
Like to the eager, but the generous[1129] greyhound,
Who ne’er so little from his game withheld,
Turns head, and leaps up at his holder’s throat.
There is a way of winning more by love 140
And urging of the modesty, than fear:
Force works on servile natures, not the free.
He that’s compell’d to goodness, may be good,
But ’tis but for that fit; where others, drawn
By softness and example, get a habit. 145
Then, if they stray, but warn ’em, and the same
They should for virtue ’ve done, they’ll do for shame. [_Exit._]
SCENE III.[1130]
[_Enter_] E. KNOWELL, [_with a letter in his hand, followed by_]
BRAINWORM.
_E. Know._ Did he open it, say’st thou?
_Brai._ Yes, o’ my word, sir, and read the contents.
_E. Know._ That scarce contents me. What countenance, prithee, made
he i’ the reading of it? Was he angry or pleas’d? 6
_Brai._ Nay, sir, I saw him not read it, nor open it, I assure your
worship.
_E. Know._ No! How know’st thou then that he did either? 10
_Brai._ Marry, sir, because he charg’d me, on my life, to tell nobody
that he open’d it; which, unless he had done, he would never fear to
have it reveal’d.
_E. Know._ That’s true: well, I thank thee, Brainworm. 15
[_Enter_ STEPHEN.]
_Step._ O, Brainworm, didst thou not see a fellow here in
what-sha’-call-him doublet? He brought mine uncle a letter e’en now.
_Brai._ Yes, master Stephen; what of him? 20
_Step._ O, I ha’ such a mind to beat him——where is he, canst thou
tell?
_Brai._ Faith, he is not of that mind: he is gone, master Stephen.
_Step._ Gone! which way? When went he? How long since? 25
_Brai._ He is rid hence; he took horse at the street-door.
_Step._ And I staid i’ the fields! Whoreson Scanderbag[1131] rogue! O
that I had but a horse to fetch him back again! 31
_Brai._ Why, you may ha’ my master’s gelding, to save your longing,
sir.
_Step._ But I ha’ no boots, that’s the spite on’t.
_Brai._ Why, a fine wisp of hay, roll’d hard, master Stephen. 36
_Step._ No, faith, it’s no boot to follow him now: let him e’en go
and hang. Prithee, help to truss[1132] me a little: he does so vex
me——
_Brai._ You’ll be worst vex’d when you are (40) truss’d, master
Stephen. Best keep unbrac’d, and walk yourself till you be cold; your
choler may founder you else.
_Step._ By my faith, and so I will, now thou tell’st me on’t. How
dost thou like my leg, Brainworm? 46
_Brai._ A very good leg, master Stephen; but the woollen stocking
does not commend it so well. 49
_Step._ Foh! the stockings be good enough, now summer is coming on,
for the dust: I’ll have a pair of silk again’[1133] winter, that I go
to dwell in the town. I think my leg would shew in a silk hose—— 54
_Brai._ Believe me, master Stephen, rarely well.
_Step._ In sadness,[1134] I think it would; I have a reasonable good
leg.
_Brai._ You have an excellent good leg, master Stephen; but I cannot
stay to praise it longer now, and I am very sorry for it. [_Exit._] 60
_Step._ Another time will serve, Brainworm, Gramercy for this.
_E. Know._ Ha, ha, ha! (_Laughs, having read the letter._)
_Step._ ’Slid, I hope he laughs not at me; an he do—— 65
_E. Know._ Here was a letter indeed, to be intercepted by a
man’s father, and do him good with him! He cannot but think most
virtuously, both of me, and the sender, sure, that make the careful
costermonger of him in our familiar (70) epistles. Well, if he read
this with patience I’ll be gelt, and troll ballads for Master John
Trundle[1135] yonder, the rest of my mortality. It is true, and
likely, my father may have as much patience as another man, for
he takes much (75) physic; and oft taking physic makes a man very
patient. But would your packet, Master Wellbred, had arriv’d at him
in such a minute of his patience! then we had known the end of it,
which now is doubtful, and threatens——[_sees_ MASTER STEPHEN.]
What, my wise (81) cousin! Nay, then I’ll furnish our feast with one
gull more toward the mess. He writes to me of a brace, and here’s
one, that’s three: oh, for a fourth! Fortune, if ever thou’lt use
thine eyes, I entreat thee—— 86
_Step._ Oh, now I see who he laughed at: he laughed at somebody in
that letter. By this good light, an he had laughed at me—— 89
_E. Know._ How now, cousin Stephen, melancholy?
_Step._ Yes, a little: I thought you had laughed at me, cousin.
_E. Know._ Why, what an I had, coz? What would you ha’ done? 95
_Step._ By this light, I would ha’ told mine uncle.
_E. Know._ Nay, if you would ha’ told your uncle, I did laugh at
you, coz.
_Step._ Did you, indeed? 100
_E. Know._ Yes, indeed.
_Step._ Why then——
_E. Know._ What then?
_Step._ I am satisfied; it is sufficient. 104
_E. Know._ Why, be so, gentle coz: and, I pray you, let me entreat
a courtesy of you. I am sent for this morning by a friend i’ the
Old Jewry, to come to him; it is but crossing over the fields to
Moorgate. Will you bear me company? I protest it is not to draw you
into bond or any plot against the state, coz. 111
_Step._ Sir, that’s all one an ’twere; you shall command me twice
so far as Moorgate, to do you good in such a matter. Do you think I
would leave you? I protest—— 115
_E. Know._ So, no, you shall not protest, coz.
_Step._ By my fackings,[1136] but I will, by your leave:—I’ll
protest more to my friend, than I’ll speak of at this time.
_E. Know._ You speak very well, coz. 120
_Step._ Nay, not so neither, you shall pardon me: but I speak to
serve my turn.
_E. Know._ Your turn, coz! Do you know what you say? A gentleman
of your sort,[1137] parts, (124) carriage, and estimation, to
talk o’ your turn[1138] i’ this company, and to me alone, like a
tankard-bearer at a conduit! fie! A wight that, hitherto, his every
step hath left the stamp of a great foot behind him, as every word
the (129) savour of a strong spirit, and he! this man! so grac’d,
gilded, or, to use a more fit metaphor, so tin-foil’d by nature,
as not ten housewives’ pewter again’ a good time,[1139] shows more
bright to the world than he! and he! (as I said last, so I say
again, and still shall say it) this (135) man! to conceal such real
ornaments as these, and shadow their glory, as a milliner’s wife does
her wrought stomacher, with a smoky lawn, or a black Cyprus![1140]
O, coz! it cannot be answer’d; (139) go not about it. Drake’s old
ship[1141] at Deptford may sooner circle the world again. Come, wrong
not the quality of your desert, with looking downward, coz; but hold
up your head, so: and let the idea of what you are be portrayed i’
your face, that men may read i’ your physnomy, _Here within this
place is to be seen the true, rare,_ (145) _and accomplished monster,
or miracle of nature_, which is all one. What think you of this, coz?
_Step._ Why, I do think of it: and I will be more proud, and
melancholy, and gentleman-like, than I have been, I’ll insure you. 151
_E. Know._ Why, that’s resolute, master Stephen!—[_Aside._] Now, if
I can but hold him up to his height, as it is happily begun, it will
do well for a suburb humour: we may hap have a match with the city,
and play him for forty (156) pound.—Come, coz.
_Step._ I’ll follow you.
_E. Know._ Follow me! You must go before.
_Step._ Nay, an I must, I will. Pray you shew me, good cousin.
[_Exeunt._] 161
SCENE IV.[1142]
[_Enter_] MASTER MATHEW.
_Mat._ I think this be the house. What, ho!
[_Enter_ COB.]
_Cob._ Who’s there? O, master Mathew! gi’ your worship good morrow.
_Mat._ What, Cob! how dost thou, good Cob? Dust thou inhabit here,
Cob? 5
_Cob._ Ay, sir. I and my lineage ha’ kept a poor house here, in our
days.
_Mat._ Thy lineage, monsieur Cobb! What lineage, what lineage?
_Cob._ Why. sir, an ancient lineage, and a (10) princely. Mine
ance’try came from a king’s belly no worse man; and yet no man
either, by your worship’s leave, I did lie in that, but herring, the
king of fish (from his belly I proceed), one o’ the monarchs o’ the
world, I assure you. (15) The first red herring that was broil’d
in Adam and Eve’s kitchen, do I fetch my pedigree from, by the
harrot’s[1143] book. His cob[1144] was my great, great, mighty-great
grandfather.
_Mat._ Why mighty, why mighty, I pray thee? 21
_Cob._ O, it was a mighty while ago, sir, and a mighty great cob.
_Mat._ How know’st thou that?
_Cob._ How know I! why, I smell his ghost ever and anon. 26
_Mat._ Smell a ghost! O unsavoury jest! and the ghost of a herring
cob?
_Cob._ Ay, sir. With favour of your worship’s nose, master Mathew,
why not the ghost of (30) a herring cob, as well as the ghost of
Rasher Bacon?
_Mat._ Roger Bacon, thou would’st say.
_Cob._ I say Rasher Bacon. They were both broil’d o’ the coals; and a
man may smell broil’d meat, I hope! You are a scholar; upsolve 36
me that now.
_Mat._ O raw ignorance!—Cob, canst thou shew me of a gentleman, one
captain Bobadill, where his lodging is? 40
_Cob._ O, my guest, sir, you mean.
_Mat._ Thy guest! alas, ha, ha!
_Cob._ Why do you laugh, sir? Do you not mean captain Bobadill?
_Mat._ Cob, pray thee advise thyself well; do (45) not wrong the
gentleman, and thyself too. I dare be sworn, he scorns thy house; he!
he lodge in such a base obscure place as thy house! Tut, I know his
disposition so well, he would not lie in thy bed if thou ’dst gi’ it
him. 50
_Cob._ I will not give it him though, sir. Mass, I thought somewhat
was in ’t, we could not get him to bed all night. Well, sir, though
he lie not o’ my bed, he lies o’ my bench; an ’t please you to go up,
sir, you shall find him with two cushions under his head, and his
cloak (56) wrapt about him, as though he had neither won nor lost;
and yet, I warrant, he ne’er cast[1145] better in his life, than he
has done to-night.
_Mat._ Why, was he drunk? 60
_Cob._ Drunk, sir! you hear not me say so. Perhaps he swallow’d a
tavern-token,[1146] or some such device, sir; I have nothing to do
withal. I deal with water and not with wine.—Gi’ me my tankard
there, ho!—God b’ wi’ you, sir. It’s six o’clock: I should ha’
carried two (65) turns by this. What ho! my stopple![1147] come.
[_Enter_ TIB _with a water-tankard_.]
_Mat._ Lie in a water-bearer’s house! a gentleman of his havings!
Well, I’ll tell him my mind. 70
_Cob._ What, Tib; shew this gentleman up to the captain. [_Exit_ TIB
_with_ MASTER MATHEW.] Oh, an my house were the Brazen-head[1148]
now! faith it would e’en speak _Moe[1149] fools yet_. You should
have some now would take this Master (75) Mathew to be a gentleman,
at the least. His father’s an honest man, a worshipful fishmonger,
and so forth; and now does he creep and wriggle into acquaintance
with all the brave gallants about the town, such as my guest is (O,
my guest is a fine man!), and they flout him (81) invincibly. He
useth every day to a merchant’s house where I serve water, one master
Kitely’s, i’ the Old Jewry; and here’s the jest, he is in love with
my master’s sister, Mrs. Bridget, and calls her “Mistress”; and there
he will sit (86) you a whole afternoon sometimes, reading o’ these
same abominable, vile (a pox on ’em! I cannot abide them), rascally
verses, poyetry, poyetry, and speaking of interludes; ’t will 90
make a man burst to hear him. And the wenches, they do so jeer, and
ti-he at him.—Well, should they do so much to me, I’d forswear them
all, by the foot of Pharaoh! There’s an oath! How many water-bearers
shall you (95) hear swear such an oath? O, I have a guest—he teaches
me—he does swear the legiblest of any man christ’ned: _By St.
George! The foot of Pharaoh! The body of me! As I am a gentleman and
a soldier!_ such dainty oaths! and withal (100) he does take this
same filthy roguish tobacco, the finest and cleanliest! It would do
a man good to see the fumes come forth at ’s tonnels.[1150]—Well,
he owes me forty shillings, my wife lent him out of her purse, by
sixpence a time, besides his lodging: I would I had it! I shall ha’
it, he says, the next action. Helter skelter, hang (107) sorrow, care
’ll kill a cat, up-tails all, and a louse for the hangman! [_Exit._]
SCENE V.[1151]
BOBADILL _is discovered lying on his bench_.
_Bob._ Hostess, hostess!
[_Enter_ TIB.]
_Tib._ What say you, sir?
_Bob._ A cup o’ thy small beer, sweet hostess.
_Tib._ Sir, there’s a gentleman below would speak with you. 5
_Bob._ A gentleman! ’odso, I am not within.
_Tib._ My husband told him you were, sir.
_Bob._ What a plague—what meant he?
_Mat._ (_below._) Captain Bobadill!
_Bob._ Who’s there!—Take away the bason, good hostess;—Come up,
sir. 11
_Tib._ He would desire you to come up, sir. You come into a cleanly
house, here!
[_Enter_ MATHEW.]
_Mat._ Save you, sir; save you, captain!
_Bob._ Gentle master Mathew! Is it you, sir? Please you sit down. 16
_Mat._ Thank you, good captain; you may see I am somewhat audacious.
_Bob._ Not so, sir. I was requested to supper last night by a
sort[1152] of gallants, where you (20) were wish’d for, and drunk to,
I assure you.
_Mat._ Vouchsafe me, by whom, good captain?
_Bob._ Marry, by young Wellbred, and others.—Why, hostess, a stool
here for this gentleman.
_Mat._ No haste, sir, ’tis very well. 25
_Bob._ Body o’ me! it was so late ere we parted last night, I can
scarce open my eyes yet; I was but new risen, as you came. How passes
the day abroad, sir? you can tell.
_Mat._ Faith, some half hour to seven. Now, (30) trust me, you have
an exceeding fine lodging here, very neat, and private.
_Bob._ Ay, sir: sit down, I pray you. Master Mathew, in any case
possess no gentlemen of our acquaintance with notice of my lodging. 35
_Mat._ Who? I, sir? No.
_Bob._ Not that I need to care who know it, for the cabin is
convenient; but in regard I would not be too popular, and generally
visited, as some are. 40
_Mat._ True, captain, I conceive you.
_Bob._ For, do you see, sir, by the heart of valour in me, except it
be to some peculiar and choice spirits, to whom I am extraordinarily
engag’d, as yourself, or so, I could not extend (45) thus far.
_Mat._ O Lord, sir! I resolve[1153] so.
_Bob._ I confess I love a cleanly and quiet privacy, above all the
tumult and roar of fortune. What new book ha’ you there? What! “Go
(50) by, Hieronymo?”[1154]
_Mat._ Ay: did you ever see it acted? Is’t not well penn’d?
_Bob._ Well penn’d! I would fain see all the poets of these times pen
such another play (55) as that was: they’ll prate and swagger, and
keep a stir of art and devices, when, as I am a gentleman, read ’em,
they are the most shallow, pitiful, barren fellows that live upon the
face of the earth again. 60
_Mat._ Indeed here are a number of fine speeches in this book. _O
eyes, no eyes, but fountains fraught with tears!_ There’s a conceit!
_Fountains fraught with tears! O life, no life, but lively form of
death!_—another. _O world, no (65) world, but mass of public
wrongs!_—a third. _Confused and fill’d with murder and misdeeds!_—a
fourth. O, the muses! Is’t not excellent? Is’t not simply the best
that ever you heard, captain? Ha! how do you like it? 70
_Bob._ ’Tis good.
Mat. _To thee, the purest object to my sense,
The most refined essence heaven covers,
Send I these lines, wherein I do commence
The happy state of turtle-billing lovers. 75
If they prove rough, unpolish’d, harsh, and rude,
Haste made the waste: thus mildly I conclude._
_Bob._ Nay, proceed, proceed. Where’s this?
BOBADILL _is making himself ready all this while_.
_Mat._ This, sir! a toy o’ mine own, in my nonage; the infancy of my
muses. But (80) when will you come and see my study? Good faith, I
can shew you some very good things I have done of late.—That boot
becomes your leg passing well, captain, methinks.
_Bob._ So, so; it’s the fashion gentlemen (85) now use.
_Mat._ Troth, captain, and now you speak o’ the fashion, master
Wellbred’s elder brother and I are fall’n out exceedingly. This other
day, I happ’ned to enter into some discourse (90) of a hanger,[1155]
which, I assure you, both for fashion and workmanship, was most
peremptory[1156] beautiful and gentlemanlike: yet he condemn’d, and
cri’d it down for the most pied[1157] and ridiculous that he ever
saw. 95
_Bob._ Squire Downright, the half-brother, was’t not?
_Mat._ Ay, sir, he.
_Bob._ Hang him, rook![1158] he! why he has no more judgment than
a malt-horse. By St. (100) George, I wonder you’d lose a thought
upon such an animal; the most peremptory[1156] absurd clown of
Christendom, this day, he is holden. I protest to you, as I am a
gentleman and a soldier, I ne’er chang’d words with his like. 105
By his discourse, he should eat nothing but hay; he was born for the
manger, pannier, or packsaddle. He has not so much as a good phrase
in his belly, but all old iron and rusty proverbs: a good commodity
for some smith to make (110) hob-nails of.
_Mat._ Ay, and he thinks to carry it away[1159] with his manhood
still, where he comes: he brags he will gi’ me the bastinado, as I
hear.
_Bob._ How! he the bastinado! How came (115) he by that word, trow?
_Mat._ Nay, indeed, he said cudgel me; I term’d it so, for my more
grace.
_Bob._ That may be; for I was sure it was none of his word: but when,
when said he so? 120
_Mat._ Faith, yesterday, they say; a young gallant, a friend of mine,
told me so.
_Bob._ By the foot of Pharaoh, an ’twere my case now, I should
send him a chartel[1160] presently. The bastinado! a most proper
and sufficient (125) dependence,[1161] warranted by the great
Caranza.[1162] Come hither, you shall chartel him; I’ll show you
a trick or two you shall kill him with at pleasure; the first
stoccata,[1163] if you will, by this air. 130
_Mat._ Indeed, you have absolute knowledge i’ the mystery, I have
heard, sir.
_Bob._ Of whom, of whom, ha’ you heard it, I beseech you?
_Mat._ Troth, I have heard it spoken of divers, (135) that you have
very rare, and un-in-one-breath-utterable skill, sir.
_Bob._ By heaven, no, not I; no skill i’ the earth; some small
rudiments i’ the science, as to know my time, distance, or so. I have
profest (140) it more for noblemen and gentlemen’s use, than mine
own practice, I assure you.—Hostess, accommodate us with another
bed-staff here quickly. [_Enter_ TIB.] Lend us another bed-staff—the
woman does not understand the words (145) of action.—Look you,
sir: exalt not your point above this state, at any hand, and let
your poniard maintain your defence, thus:—give it the gentleman,
and leave us. [_Exit_ TIB.] So, sir. Come on: O, twine your body
more about, (150) that you may fall to a more sweet, comely,
gentleman-like guard; so! indifferent: hollow your body more, sir,
thus: now, stand fast o’ your left leg, note your distance, keep
your due proportion of time.—Oh, you disorder your (155) point most
irregularly!
_Mat._ How is the bearing of it now, sir?
_Bob._ O, out of measure ill. A well experienc’d
hand would pass upon you at pleasure.
_Mat._ How mean you, sir, pass upon me? 160
_Bob._ Why, thus, sir,—make a thrust at me—[MASTER MATHEW _pushes
at_ BOBADILL] come in upon the answer, control your point, and make a
full career at the body. The best-practis’d gallants of the time name
it the passado; a most desperate thrust, believe it. 166
_Mat._ Well, come, sir.
_Bob._ Why, you do not manage your weapon with any facility or grace
to invite me. I have no spirit to play with you; your dearth of 170
judgment renders you tedious.
_Mat._ But one venue,[1164] sir.
_Bob._ “Venue!” fie; the most gross denomination as ever I heard.
O, the “stoccata,” while you live, sir; note that.—Come put 175
on your cloak, and we’ll go to some private place where you are
acquainted; some tavern, or so—and have a bit. I’ll send for one
of these fencers, and he shall breathe[1165] you, by my direction;
and then I will teach you your (180) trick: you shall kill him with
it at the first, if you please. Why, I will learn you, by the true
judgment of the eye, hand, and foot, to control any enemy’s point i’
the world. Should your adversary confront you with a pistol, ’twere
(185) nothing, by this hand! You should, by the same rule, control
his bullet, in a line, except it were hail shot, and spread. What
money have you about you, master Mathew?
_Mat._ Faith, I ha’ not past a two shillings (190) or so.
_Bob._ ’Tis somewhat with the least; but come; we will have a bunch
of radish and salt to taste our wine, and a pipe of tobacco to close
the orifice of the stomach: and then we’ll (195) call upon young
Wellbred. Perhaps we shall meet the Corydon[1166] his brother there,
and put him to the question. [_Exeunt._]
ACT II
SCENE I.[1167]
[_Enter_] KITELY, CASH, DOWNRIGHT.
_Kit._ Thomas, come hither.
There lies a note within upon my desk;
Here take my key: it is no matter neither.—
Where is the boy?
_Cash._ Within, sir, i’ the warehouse.
_Kit._ Let him tell over straight that Spanish gold, 5
And weigh it, with th’ pieces of eight.[1168] Do you
See the delivery of those silver stuffs
To Master Lucar: tell him, if he will,
He shall ha’ the grograns[1169] at the rate I told him,
And I will meet him on the Exchange anon. 10
_Cash._ Good, sir. [_Exit._]
_Kit._ Do you see that fellow, brother Downright?
_Dow._ Ay, what of him?
_Kit._ He is a jewel, brother.
I took him of a child up at my door,
And christ’ned him, gave him mine own name, Thomas: 15
Since bred him at the Hospital;[1170] where proving
A toward imp, I call’d him home, and taught him
So much, as I have made him my cashier,
And giv’n him, who had none, a surname, Cash:
And find him in his place so full of faith, 20
That I durst trust my life into his hands.
_Dow._ So would not I in any bastard’s, brother,
As it is like he is, although I knew
Myself his father. But you said you’d somewhat
To tell me, gentle brother: what is’t, what is’t?
_Kit._ Faith, I am very loath to utter it, 25
As fearing it may hurt your patience;
But that I know your judgment is of strength,
Against the nearness of affection——
_Dow._ What need this circumstance?[1171] Pray you, be direct. 30
_Kit._ I will not say how much I do ascribe
Unto your friendship, nor in what regard
I hold your love; but let my past behaviour,
And usage of your sister, [both][1172] confirm
How well I’ve been affected to your—— 35
_Dow._ You are too tedious; come to the matter, the matter.
_Kit._ Then, without further ceremony, thus.
My brother Wellbred, sir, I know not how,
Of late is much declin’d in what he was,
And greatly alter’d in his disposition. 40
When he came first to lodge here in my house,
Ne’er trust me if I were not proud of him:
Methought he bare himself in such a fashion,
So full of man, and sweetness in his carriage,
And what was chief, it show’d not borrowed in him, 45
But all he did became him as his own,
And seem’d as perfect, proper, and possest,
As breath with life, or colour with the blood.
But now, his course is so irregular,
So loose, affected, and depriv’d of grace, 50
And he himself withal so far fall’n off
From that first place, as scarce no note remains,
To tell men’s judgments where he lately stood.
He’s grown a stranger to all due respect,
Forgetful of his friends; and, not content 55
To stale[1173] himself in all societies,
He makes my house here common as a mart,
A theatre, a public receptacle
For giddy humour, and diseased riot;
And here, as in a tavern or a stews, 60
He and his wild associates spend their hours,
In repetition of lascivious jests,
Swear, leap, drink, dance, and revel night by night,
Control my servants; and, indeed, what not?
_Dow._ ’Sdeins,[1174] I know not what I should (65) say to him, i’
the whole world! He values me at a crack’d three-farthings, for aught
I see. It will never out o’ the flesh that’s bred i’ the bone. I have
told him enough, one would think, if that would serve; but counsel to
him is as good (70) as a shoulder of mutton to a sick horse. Well! he
knows what to trust to, for[1175] George: let him spend, and spend,
and domineer, till his heart ache; an he think to be reliev’d by me,
when he is got into one o’ your city pounds, the (75) counters, he
has the wrong sow by the ear, i’ faith; and claps his dish[1176] at
the wrong man’s door. I’ll lay my hand o’ my halfpenny, ere I part
with ’t to fetch him out, I’ll assure him.
_Kit._ Nay, good brother, let it not trouble you thus. 80
_Dow._ ’Sdeath! he mads me: I could eat my very spur-leathers for
anger! But, why are you so tame? Why do you not speak to him, and
tell him how he disquiets your house?
_Kit._ O, there are divers reasons to dissuade, brother. 85
But, would yourself vouchsafe to travail in it
(Though but with plain and easy circumstance),
It would both come much better to his sense,
And savour less of stomach,[1177] or of passion.
You are his elder brother, and that title 90
Both gives and warrants you authority,
Which, by your presence seconded, must breed
A kind of duty in him, and regard;
Whereas, if I should intimate the least,
It would but add contempt to his neglect, 95
Heap worse on ill, make up a pile of hatred,
That in the rearing would come tott’ring down,
And in the ruin bury all our love.
Nay, more than this, brother; if I should speak,
He would be ready, from his heat of humour,[1178]
And overflowing of the vapour in him, 101
To blow the ears of his familiars
With the false breath of telling what disgraces
And low disparagements I had put upon him:
Whilst they, sir, to relieve him in the fable,[1179] 105
Make their loose comments upon every word,
Gesture, or look, I use; mock me all over,
From my flat cap[1180] unto my shining shoes;[1180]
And, out of their impetuous rioting phant’sies,
Beget some slander that shall dwell with me. 110
And what would that be, think you? Marry, this:
They would give out, because my wife is fair,
Myself but lately married, and my sister
Here sojourning a virgin in my house,
That I were jealous!—nay, as sure as death, 115
That they would say; and, how that I had quarrell’d
My brother purposely, thereby to find
An apt pretext to banish them my house.
_Dow._ Moss, perhaps so; they’re like enough to do it.
_Kit._ Brother, they would, believe it; so should I, 120
Like one of these penurious quack-salvers,
But set the bills up[1181] to mine own disgrace,
And try experiments upon myself;
Lend scorn and envy opportunity
To stab my reputation and good name—— 125
SCENE II.[1182]
KITELY, DOWNRIGHT. [_Enter_] MATHEW [_struggling with_] BOBADILL.
_Mat._ I will speak to him.
_Bob._ Speak to him! away! By the foot of Pharaoh, you shall not! you
shall not do him that grace.—The time of day to you, gentleman o’
the house. Is master Wellbred stirring?
_Dow._ How then? What should he do? 6
_Bob._ Gentleman of the house, it is to you. Is
he within, sir?
_Kit._ He came not to his lodging to-night, sir, I assure you. 10
_Dow._ Why, do you hear? You!
_Bob._ The gentleman citizen hath satisfied me;
I’ll talk to no scavenger. [_Exeunt_ BOB. _and_ MAT.]
_Dow._ How! scavenger! Stay, sir, stay!
_Kit._ Nay, brother Downright. 15
Dow. ’Heart! stand you away, an you love me.
_Kit._ You shall not follow him now, I pray you, brother, good faith
you shall not; I will overrule you.
_Dow._ Ha! scavenger! Well, go to, I say (20) little; but, by this
good day (God forgive me I should swear), if I put it up[1183] so,
say I am the rankest cow that ever pist. ’Sdeins, an I swallow
this, I’ll ne’er draw my sword in the sight of Fleet-street again
while I live; I’ll sit in a (25) barn with madge-howlet, and catch
mice first. Scavenger! heart!—and I’ll go near to fill that huge
tumbrel-slop[1184] of yours with somewhat, an I have good luck: your
Garagantua breech cannot carry it away so. 30
_Kit._ Oh, do not fret yourself thus; never think on ’t.
_Dow._ These are my brother’s consorts, these! These are his
cam’rades, his walking mates! He’s a gallant, a cavaliero too, right
hangman cut! Let me not live, an I could not find in (35) my heart
to swinge the whole ging[1185] of ’em, one after another, and begin
with him first. I am griev’d it should be said he is my brother, and
take these courses. Well, as he brews, so shall he drink, for George,
again. Yet he shall (40) hear on ’t, and that tightly too, an I live,
i’ faith.
_Kit._ But, brother, let your reprehension, then,
Run in an easy current, not o’er high
Carried with rashness, or devouring choler;
But rather use the soft persuading way, 45
Whose powers will work more gently, and compose
Th’ imperfect thoughts you labour to reclaim;
More winning than enforcing the consent.
_Dow._ Ay, ay, let me alone for that, I warrant you. 49
_Kit._ How now! (_Bell rings._) Oh, the bell rings to breakfast.
Brother, I pray you go in, and bear my wife company till I come; I’ll
but give order for some despatch of business to my servants. [_Exit_
DOWNRIGHT.]
SCENE III.[1186]
KITELY, [_Enter_] COB.
_Kit._ What, Cob! our maids will have you by the back, i’ faith, for
coming so late this morning.
_Cob._ Perhaps so, sir; take heed somebody have not them by the
belly, for walking so late in the evening. 5
_He passes by with his tankard._
_Kit._ Well; yet my troubled spirit’s somewhat eas’d,
Though not repos’d in that security
As I could wish: but I must be content,
Howe’er I set a face on ’t to the world. 10
Would I had lost this finger at a venture,
So Wellbred had ne’er lodged within my house.
Why ’t cannot be, where there is such resort
Of wanton gallants and young revellers,
That any woman should be honest long. 15
Is’t like that factious beauty will preserve
The public weal of chastity unshaken,
When such strong motives muster and make head[1187]
Against her single peace? No, no: beware.
When mutual appetite doth meet to treat, 20
And spirits of one kind and quality
Come once to parley in the pride of blood,
It is no slow conspiracy that follows.
Well, to be plain, if I but thought the time
Had answer’d their affections,[1188] all the world 25
Should not persuade me but I were a cuckold.
Marry, I hope they ha’ not got that start;
For opportunity hath balk’d ’em yet,
And shall do still, while I have eyes and ears
To attend the impositions of my heart. 30
My presence shall be as an iron bar
’Twixt the conspiring motions of desire:
Yea, every look or glance mine eye ejects
Shall check occasion, as one doth his slave,
When he forgets the limits of prescription. 35
[_Enter_ DAME KITELY.]
_Dame K._ Sister Bridget, pray you fetch down the rose-water, above
in the closet.—Sweetheart, will you come in to breakfast?
_Kit._ An she have overheard me now!——
_Dame Kit._ I pray thee, good muss,[1189] we stay for you. 41
_Kit._ By heaven, I would not for a thousand angels.[1190]
_Dame K._ What ail you, sweet-heart? are you not well? Speak, good
muss. 46
_Kit._ Troth my head aches extremely on a sudden.
_Dame K._ [_putting her hand to his forehead._] O, the Lord!
_Kit._ How now! What? 50
_Dame K._ Alas, how it burns! Muss, keep you warm; good truth it is
this new disease,[1191] there’s a number are troubled withal. For
love’s sake, sweet-heart, come in out of the air.
_Kit._ How simple, and how subtle are her answers! 55
A new disease, and many troubled with it?
Why true; she heard me, all the world to nothing.
_Dame K._ I pray thee, good sweet-heart, come in; the air will do you
harm, in troth.
_Kit._ The air! she has me i’ the wind.[1192]— (60) Sweet-heart,
I’ll come to you presently; ’t will away, I hope.
_Dame K._ Pray Heaven it do. [_Exit._]
_Kit._ A new disease! I know not, new or old,
But it may well be call’d poor mortals’ plague; 65
For, like a pestilence, it doth infect
The houses of the brain. First it begins
Solely to work upon the phantasy,
Filling her seat with such pestiferous air
As soon corrupts the judgment; and from thence 70
Sends like contagion to the memory:
Still each to other giving the infection,
Which as a subtle vapour spreads itself
Confusedly through every sensive part,
Till not a thought or motion in the mind 75
Be free from the black poison of suspect.[1193]
Ah! but what misery is it to know this?
Or, knowing it, to want the mind’s erection
In such extremes? Well, I will once more strive,
In spite of this black cloud, myself to be, 80
And shake the fever off that thus shakes me.
[_Exit._]
SCENE IV.[1194]
[_Enter_] BRAINWORM [_disguised like a maimed Soldier_.]
_Brai._ ’Slid, I cannot choose but laugh to see myself translated
thus, from a poor creature to a creator; for now must I create an
intolerable sort[1195] of lies, or my present profession loses the
grace: and yet the lie, to a man of my coat, is (5) as ominous a
fruit as the fico.[1196] O, sir, it holds for good polity ever, to
have that outwardly in vilest estimation, that inwardly is most
dear to us: so much for my borrowed shape. Well, the troth is, my
old master intends to follow my (10) young master, dry-foot,[1197];
over Moorfields to London, this morning; now, I knowing of this
hunting-match, or rather conspiracy, and to insinuate with my young
master (for so must we that are blue waiters,[1198] and men of hope
and (15) service do, or perhaps we may wear motley at the year’s end,
and who wears motley,[1199]—you know), have got me afore in this
disguise, determining here to lie in ambuscado, and intercept him in
the mid-way. If I can but get his (20) cloak, his purse, and his hat,
nay, any thing to cut him off, that is, to stay his journey, _Veni,
vidi, vici_, I may say with Captain Caesar, I am made for ever, i’
faith. Well, now I must practise to get the true garb of one of these
lance-knights, (25) my arm here, and my——[Odso! my] young master,
and his cousin, master Stephen, as I am true counterfeit man of war,
and no soldier! [_Exit._]
[_Enter_ E. KNOWELL _and_ STEPHEN.]
_E. Know._ So, sir! and how then, coz? 30
_Step._ ’Sfoot! I have lost my purse, I think.
_E. Know._ How! lost your purse? Where? When had you it?
_Step._ I cannot tell; stay.
_Brai._ ’Slid, I am afraid they will know me: would I could get by
them! 35
_E. Know._ What, ha’ you it?
_Step._ No; I think I was bewitcht, I——[_Cries._]
_E. Know._ Nay, do not weep the loss: hang it, let it go. 40
_Step._ Oh, it’s here. No, an it had been lost, I had not car’d, but
for a jet ring mistress Mary sent me.
_E. Know._ A jet ring! O the posy, the posy?
_Step._ Fine, i’ faith.— 45
Though Fancy sleep,
My love is deep.
Meaning, that though I did not fancy her, yet she loved me dearly.
_E. Know._ Most excellent! 50
_Step._ And then I sent her another, and my poesie was,
The deeper the sweeter,
I’ll be judg’d by St. Peter.
_E. Know._ How, by St. Peter? I do not (55) conceive that.
_Step._ Marry, St. Peter, to make up the metre.
_E. Know._ Well, there the saint was your good patron, he help’d you
at your need; thank him, thank him. 60
_Re-enter_ BRAINWORM.
_Brai._ I cannot take leave on ’em so; I will venture, come what
will.—Gentlemen, please you change a few crowns for a very excellent
good blade here? I am a poor gentleman, a soldier, one that, in the
better state of my fortunes, (65) scorn’d so mean a refuge; but now
it is the humour of necessity to have it so. You seem to be gentlemen
well affected to martial men, else I should rather die with silence,
than live with shame: however, vouchsafe to remember (70) it is my
want speaks, not myself; this condition agrees not with my spirit——
_E. Know._ Where hast thou serv’d?
_Brai._ May it please you, sir, in all the late wars of Bohemia,
Hungary, Dalmatia, Poland,—where (75) not, sir? I have been a poor
servitor by sea and land any time this fourteen years, and follow’d
the fortunes of the best commanders in Christendom. I was twice shot
at the taking of Aleppo, once at the relief (80) of Vienna; I have
been at Marseilles, Naples, and the Adriatic gulf, a gentleman-slave
in the galleys, thrice; where I was most dangerously shot in the
head, through both the thighs; and yet, being thus maim’d, I am void
of maintenance, (85) nothing left me but my scars, the noted marks of
my resolution.
_Step._ How will you sell this rapier, friend?
_Brai._ Generous sir, I refer it to your own judgment; you are a
gentleman, give me (90) what you please.
_Step._ True, I am a gentleman, I know that, friend; but what though?
I pray you say, what would you ask?
_Brai._ I assure you, the blade may become (95) the side or thigh of
the best prince in Europe.
_E. Know._ Ay, with a velvet scabbard, I think.
_Step._ Nay, an’t be mine, it shall have a velvet scabbard, coz,
that’s flat; I’d not wear it, as it is, an you would give me an
angel. 100
_Brai._ At your worship’s pleasure, sir; [STEPHEN _examines the
blade_] nay, ’tis a most pure Toledo.
_Step._ I had rather it were a Spaniard. But tell me, what shall I
give you for it? An it had a silver hilt—— 106
_E. Know._ Come, come, you shall not buy it. Hold, there’s a
shilling, fellow; take thy rapier.
_Step._ Why, but I will buy it now, because you say so; and there’s
another shilling, fellow; I scorn to be out-bidden. What, shall I
walk (111) with a cudgel, like Higginbottom, and may have a rapier
for money!
_E. Know._ You may buy one in the city.
_Step._ Tut! I’ll buy this i’ the field, so I will: I have a mind to
’t, because ’tis a field (116) rapier. Tell me your lowest price.
_E. Know._ You shall not buy it, I say.
_Step._ By this money, but I will, though I give more than ’tis
worth. 120
_E. Know._ Come away, you are a fool.
_Step._ Friend, I am a fool, that’s granted; but I’ll have it, for
that word’s sake. Follow me for your money.
_Brai._ At your service, sir. [_Exeunt._] 125
SCENE V.[1200]
[_Enter_] KNOWELL.
_Know._ I cannot lose the thought yet of this letter
Sent to my son; nor leave t’ admire[1201] the change
Of manners, and the breeding of our youth
Within the kingdom, since myself was one.—
When I was young, he liv’d not in the stews, 5
Durst have conceiv’d a scorn, and utter’d it,
On a gray head; age was authority
Against a buffoon, and a man had then
A certain reverence paid unto his years,
That had none due unto his life: so much 10
The sanctity of some prevail’d for others.
But now we all are fall’n; youth, from their fear,
And age, from that which bred it, good example.
Nay, would ourselves were not the first, e’en parents, 14
That did destroy the hopes in our own children;
Or they not learn’d our vices in their cradles,
And suck’d in our ill customs with their milk!
Ere all their teeth be born, or they can speak,
We make their palates cunning; the first words
We form their tongues with, are licentious jests:
Can it call “whore”? cry “bastard”? O, then, kiss it! 21
A witty child! Can’t swear? The father’s darling!
Give it two plums. Nay, rather than ’t shall learn
No bawdy song, the mother herself will teach it!
But this is in the infancy, the days 25
Of the long coat; when it puts on the breeches,
It will put off all this. Ay, it is like,
When it is gone into the bone already!
No, no; this dye goes deeper than the coat,
Or shirt, or skin; it stains into the liver 30
And heart, in some: and, rather than it should not,
Note what we fathers do! Look how we live!
What mistresses we keep! at what expense!
In our sons’ eyes, where they may handle our gifts,
Hear our lascivious courtships, see our dalliance,
Taste of the same provoking meats with us, 36
To ruin of our states! Nay, when our own
Portion is fled, to prey on the remainder,
We call them into fellowship of vice;
Bait ’em with the young chamber-maid, to seal,[1202]
And teach ’em all bad ways to buy affliction. 41
This is one path; but there are millions more,
In which we spoil our own, with leading them.
Well, I thank heaven, I never yet was he
That travell’d with my son, before sixteen, 45
To shew him the Venetian courtesans;
Nor read the grammar of cheating I had made,
To my sharp boy, at twelve; repeating still
The rule, _Get money; still, get money, boy;
No matter by what means; money will do 50
More, boy, than my lord’s letter_. Neither have I
Drest snails or mushrooms curiously before him,
Perfum’d my sauces, and taught him how to make ’em;
Preceding still, with my gray gluttony,
At all the ord’naries, and only fear’d 55
His palates should degenerate, not his manners.
These are the trade of fathers now; however,
My son, I hope, hath met within my threshold
None of these household precedents, which are strong
And swift to rape youth to their precipice. 60
But let the house at home be ne’er so clean
Swept, or kept sweet from filth, nay dust and cobwebs,
If he will live abroad with his companions,
In dung and leystals,[1203] it is worth a fear;
Nor is the danger of conversing less 65
Than all that I have mention’d of example.
[_Enter_ BRAINWORM, _disguised as before_.]
_Brai._ [_Aside._] My master! nay, faith, have at you; I am flesht
now, I have sped so well.— Worshipful sir, I beseech you, respect
the estate of a poor soldier; I am asham’d of this base (70) course
of life,—God’s my comfort—but extremity provokes me to ’t: what
remedy?
_Know._ I have not for you, now.
_Brai._ By the faith I bear unto truth, gentleman, it is no ordinary
custom in me, but (75) only to preserve manhood. I protest to you, a
man I have been: a man I may be, by your sweet bounty.
_Know._ Pray thee, good friend, be satisfied.
_Brai._ Good sir, by that hand, you may do (80) the part of a kind
gentleman, in lending a poor soldier the price of two cans of beer, a
matter of small value: the king of heaven shall pay you, and I shall
rest thankful. Sweet worship——
_Know._ Nay, an you be so importunate—— 85
_Brai._ Oh, tender sir I need will have its course; I was not made
to this vile use. Well, the edge of the enemy could not have abated
me so much: it’s hard when a man hath serv’d in his prince’s cause,
and be thus (_Weeps_). (90) Honourable worship, let me derive a small
piece of silver from you, it shall not be given in the course of
time.[1204] By this good ground, I was fain to pawn my rapier last
night for a poor supper; I had suck’d the hilts long before, I am a 95
pagan else. Sweet honour——
_Know._ Believe me, I am taken with some wonder,
To think a fellow of thy outward presence,
Should, in the frame and fashion of his mind,
Be so degenerate, and sordid-base. 100
Art thou a man, and sham’st thou not to beg?
To practise such a servile kind of life?
Why, were thy education ne’er so mean,
Having thy limbs, a thousand fairer courses
Offer themselves to thy election. 105
Either the wars might still supply thy wants,
Or service of some virtuous gentleman,
Or honest labour; nay, what can I name,
But would become thee better than to beg:
But men of thy condition feed on sloth, 110
As doth the beetle on the dung she breeds in;
Nor caring how the metal of your minds
Is eaten with the rust of idleness.
Now, afore me, whate’er he be, that should
Relieve a person of thy quality, 115
While thou insist’st in this loose desperate course,
I would esteem the sin not thine, but his.
_Brai._ Faith, sir, I would gladly find some other course, if so——
_Know._ Ay, you’d gladly find it, but you will not seek it. 121
_Brai._ Alas, sir, where should a man seek? In the wars, there’s
no ascent by desert in these days; but——and for service, would
it were as soon purchas’d,[1205] as wisht for! The air’s my 125
comfort.—[_Sighs_]—I know what I would say.
_Know._ What’s thy name?
_Brai._ Please you, Fitz-Sword, sir.
_Know._ Fitz-Sword!
Say that a man should entertain thee now, 130
Wouldst thou be honest, humble, just, and true?
_Brai._ Sir, by the place and honour of a soldier——
_Know._ Nay, nay, I like not these affected oaths. Speak plainly,
man, what think’st thou of my words? 135
_Brai._ Nothing, sir, but wish my fortunes were as happy as my
service should be honest.
_Know._ Well, follow me; I’ll prove thee, if thy deeds
Will carry a proportion to thy words. [_Exit._]
_Brai._ Yes, sir, straight; I’ll but garter (140) my hose. Oh that
my belly were hoopt now, for I am ready to burst with laughing!
never was bottle or hagpipe fuller. ’Slid, was there ever seen a fox
in years to betray himself thus! Now shall I be possest of all his
counsels; (145) and, by that conduit, my young master. Well, he is
resolv’d to prove[1206] my honesty; faith, and I’m resolv’d to prove
his patience: oh, I shall abuse[1207] him intolerably. This small
piece of service will bring him clean out of love with (150) the
soldier for ever. He will never come within the sign of it, the sight
of a cassock,[1208] or a musket-rest again. He will hate the musters
at Mile-end for it, to his dying day. It’s no matter, let the world
think me a bad counterfeit, if I cannot give him the slip[1209] 155
at an instant. Why, this is better than to have staid his journey.
Well, I’ll follow him. Oh, how I long to be employed! [_Exit._]
ACT III
SCENE I.[1210]
[_Enter_] MASTER MATHEW, WELLBRED, _and_ BOBADILL.
_Mat._ Yes, faith, sir, we were at your lodging to seek you too.
_Wel._ Oh, I came not there to-night.
_Bob._ Your brother delivered us as much.
_Wel._ Who, my brother Downright? 5
_Bob._ He. Mr. Wellbred, I know not in what kind you hold me; but let
me say to you this: as sure as honour, I esteem it so much out of the
sunshine of reputation, to throw the least beam of regard upon such
a—— 10
_Wel._ Sir, I must hear no ill words of my brother.
_Bob._ I protest to you, as I have a thing to be sav’d about me, I
never saw any gentleman-like part—— 15
_Wel._ Good captain, faces about[1211] to some other discourse.
_Bob._ With your leave, sir, an there were no more men living upon
the face of the earth, I should not fancy him, by St. George! 20
_Mat._ Troth, nor I; he is of a rustical cut. I know not how: he doth
not carry himself like a gentleman of fashion.
_Wel._ Oh, master Mathew, that’s a grace peculiar but to a few, _quos
aequus amavit Jupiter_. 25
_Mat._ I understand you, sir.
_Wel._ No question, you do,—[_Aside._] or do you not, sir.
_Enter_ E. KNOWELL, [_and_ STEPHEN].
Ned Knowell! by my soul, welcome: how dost thou, sweet spirit, my
genius? ’Slid, I shall love Apollo and the mad Thespian girls[1212]
the better, (31) while I live, for this, my dear Fury; now I see
there’s some love in thee. Sirrah, these be the two I writ to thee
of: nay, what a drowsy humour is this now! Why dost thou not speak? 35
_E. Know._ Oh, you are a fine gallant; you sent me a rare letter.
_Wel._ Why, was’t not rare?
_E. Know._ Yes, I’ll be sworn, I was ne’er guilty of reading the
like; match it in all (40) Pliny, or Symmachus’s epistles, and I’ll
have my judgment burn’d in the ear for a rogue: make much of thy
vein, for it is inimitable. But I marle[1213] what camel it was, that
had the carriage of it; for, doubtless, he was no ordinary beast that
brought it. 46
_Wel._ Why?
_E. Know._ “Why?” say’st thou! Why, dost thou think that any
reasonable creature, especially in the morning, the sober time of the
day too, could have mista’en my father for me? 51
_Wel._ ’Slid, you jest, I hope.
_E. Know._ Indeed, the best use we can turn it to, is to make a jest
on’t, now: but I’ll assure you, my father had the full view of your 55
flourishing style some hour before I saw it.
_Wel._ What a dull slave was this! But, sirrah, what said he to it,
i’ faith?
_E. Know._ Nay, I know not what he said; but I have a shrewd guess
what he thought. 60
_Wel._ What, what?
_E. Know._ Marry, that thou art some strange, dissolute young fellow,
and I—a grain or two better, for keeping thee company.
_Wel._ Tut! that thought is like the moon in (65) her last quarter,
’t will change shortly. But, sirrah, I pray thee be acquainted with
my two hang-by’s here; thou wilt take exceeding pleasure in ’em
if thou hear’st ’em once go; my wind-instruments; I’ll wind ’em
up——But (70) what strange piece of silence is this? The sign of the
Dumb Man?
_E. Know._ Oh, sir, a kinsman of mine, one that may make your music
the fuller, an he please; he has his humour, sir. 75
_Wel._ Oh, what is’t, what is’t?
_E. Know._ Nay, I’ll neither do your judgment nor his folly that
wrong, as to prepare your apprehension; I’ll leave him to the mercy
o’ your search; if you can take him, so! 80
_Wel._ Well, captain Bobadill, master Mathew, pray you know this
gentleman here; he is a friend of mine, and one that will deserve
your affection.—I know not your name, sir (_to_ (84) STEPHEN), but I
shall be glad of any occasion to render me more familiar to you.
_Step._ My name is master Stephen, sir; I am this gentleman’s own
cousin, sir; his father is mine uncle, sir. I am somewhat melancholy,
(89) but you shall command me, sir, in whatsoever is incident to a
gentleman.
_Bob._ (_to_ E. KNOWELL.) Sir, I must tell you this, I am no
general[1214] man; but for master Wellbred’s sake (you may embrace it
at what height of favour you please), I do communicate (95) with you,
and conceive you to be a gentleman of some parts; I love few words.
_E. Know._ And I fewer, sir; I have scarce enough to thank you. 99
_Mat._ But are you, indeed, sir, so given to it?
_Step._ Ay, truly, sir, I am mightily given to melancholy.
_Mat._ Oh, it’s your only fine humour, sir: your true melancholy
breeds your perfect fine wit, sir. I am melancholy myself, diver
times, sir, and then do I no more but take pen and (106) paper
presently, and overflow you half a score, or a dozen of sonnets at a
sitting.
_E. Know._ (_Aside._) Sure he utters them then by the gross. 110
_Step._ Truly, sir, and I love such things out of measure.
_E. Know._ I’ faith, better than in measure, I’ll undertake.
_Mat._ Why, I pray you, sir, make use of my study; it’s at your
service. 116
_Step._ I thank you, sir, I shall be bold I warrant you; have you a
stool there to be melancholy upon?
_Mat._ That I have, sir, and some papers (120) there of mine own
doing, at idle hours, that you’ll say there’s some sparks of wit in
’em, when you see them.
_Wel._ [_Aside._] Would the sparks would kindle once, and become
afire amongst ’em! I (125) might see self-love burnt for her heresy.
_Step._ Cousin, is it well? Am I melancholy enough?
_E. Know._ Oh ay, excellent.
_Wel._ Captain Bobadill, why muse you so? 130
_E. Know._ He is melancholy too.
_Bob._ Faith, sir, I was thinking of a most honourable piece of
service, was perform’d tomorrow, being St. Mark’s day, shall be some
ten years now. 135
_E. Know._ In what place, captain?
_Bob._ Why, at the beleag’ring of Strigonium,[1215] where, in less
than two hours, seven hundred resolute gentlemen, as any were in
Europe, lost their lives upon the breach. I’ll tell you, gentlemen,
(140) it was the first, but the best leaguer that ever I beheld with
these eyes, except the taking in[1216] of—what do you call it?[1217]
last year, by the Genoways;[1218] but that, of all other, was the
most fatal and dangerous exploit that ever I was (145) rang’d in,
since I first bore arms before the face of the enemy, as I am a
gentleman and a soldier!
_Step._ So! I had as lief as an angel I could swear as well as that
gentleman. 150
_E. Know._ Then, you were a servitor at both, it seems; at
Strigonium, and what do you call’t?
_Bob._ O lord, sir! By St. George, I was the first man that ent’red
the breach; and had I not effected it with resolution, I had been
slain if I had had a million of lives. 156
_E. Know._ ’T was pity you had not ten; a cat’s and your own, i’
faith. But, was it possible?
_Mat._ Pray you mark this discourse, sir.
_Step._ So I do. 160
_Bob._ I assure you, upon my reputation, ’tis true, and yourself
shall confess.
_E. Know._ [_Aside._] You must bring me to the rack, first. 164
_Bob._ Observe me judicially, sweet sir: they had planted me
three demi-culverins[1219] just in the mouth of the breach; now,
sir, as we were to give on,[1220] their master-gunner (a man of
no mean skill and mark, you must think), confronts (169) me with
his linstock,[1221] ready to give fire; I, spying his intendment,
discharg’d my petronel[1222] in his bosom, and with these single
arms, my poor rapier, ran violently upon the Moors that guarded the
ordnance, and put ’em pell-mell to the sword. 175
_Wel._ To the sword! To the rapier, captain.
_E. Know._ Oh, it was a good figure observ’d, sir. But did you all
this, captain, without hurting your blade?
_Bob._ Without any impeach o’ the earth: (180) you shall perceive,
sir. [_Shews his rapier._] It is the most fortunate weapon that ever
rid on poor gentleman’s thigh. Shall I tell you, sir? You talk of
Morglay, Excalibur, Durindana,[1223] or so; tut! I lend no credit
to that is fabled of ’em. (185) I know the virtue of mine own, and
therefore I dare the boldlier maintain it.
_Step._ I marle whether it be a Toledo or no.
_Bob._ A most perfect Toledo, I assure you, sir. 190
_Step._ I have a countryman of his here.
_Mat._ Pray you, let’s see, sir; yes, faith, it is.
_Bob._ This a Toledo! Pish!
_Step._ Why do you pish, captain? 194
_Bob._ A Fleming, by heaven! I’ll buy them for a guilder a-piece, an
I would have a thousand of them.
_E. Know._ How say you, cousin? I told you thus much. 199
_Wel._ Where bought you it, master Stephen?
_Step._ Of a scurvy rogue soldier: a hundred of lice go with him! He
swore it was a Toledo.
_Bob._ A poor provant[1224] rapier, no better.
_Mat._ Mass, I think it be indeed, now I look on’t better. 206
_E. Know._ Nay, the longer you look on’t, the worse. Put it up, put
it up.
_Step._ Well, I will put it up: but by—I have forgot the captain’s
oath, I thought to ha’ sworn by it—an e’er I meet him—— 210
_Wel._ O, it is past help now, sir; you must have patience.
_Step._ Whoreson, coney-catching[1225] rascal! I could eat the very
hilts for anger. 214
_E. Know._ A sign of good digestion; you have an ostrich stomach,
cousin.
_Step._ A stomach! Would I had him here, you should see an I had a
stomach.[1226]
_Wel._ It’s better as ’tis.—Come, gentlemen, shall we go? 220
SCENE II.[1227]
E. KNOWELL, MASTER STEPHEN, WELLBRED, BOBADILL, MASTER MATHEW.
[_Enter_] BRAINWORM, [_disguised as before_.]
_E. Know._ A miracle, cousin; look here, look here!
_Step._ Oh—God’s lid. By your leave, do you know me, sir?
_Brai._ Ay, sir, I know you by sight. 5
_Step._ You sold me a rapier, did you not?
_Brai._ Yes, marry, did I, sir.
_Step._ You said it was a Toledo, ha?
_Brai._ True, I did so.
_Step._ But it is none. 10
_Brai._ No, sir, I confess it; it is none.
_Step._ Do you confess it? Gentlemen, bear witness, he has confest
it:—By God’s will, an you had not confest it——
_E. Know._ Oh, cousin, forbear, forbear! 15
_Step._ Nay, I have done, cousin.
_Wel._ Why, you have done like a gentleman; he has confest it, what
would you more?
_Step._ Yet, by his leave, he is a rascal, under his favour, do you
see. 20
_E. Know._ Ay, by his leave, he is, and under favour: a pretty piece
of civility! Sirrah, how dost thou like him?
_Wel._ Oh, it’s a most precious fool, make much on him. I can compare
him to nothing (25) more happily than a drum; for every one may play
upon him.
_E. Know._ No, no, a child’s whistle were far the fitter.
_Brai._ Shall I entreat a word with you? 30
_E. Know._ With me, sir? You have not another Toledo to sell, ha’ you?
_Brai._ You are conceited,[1228] sir. Your name is Master Knowell, as
I take it?
_E. Know._ You are i’ the right; you mean (35) not to proceed in the
catechism, do you?
_Brai._ No, sir; I am none of that coat.
_E. Know._ Of as bare a coat, though. Well, say, sir. 39
_Brai._ [_taking_ E. KNOW. _aside_.] Faith, sir, I am but servant to
the drum[1229] extraordinary, and indeed, this smoky varnish being
washt off, and three or four patches remov’d, I appear your worship’s
in reversion, after the decease of your good father,—Brainworm. 45
_E. Know._ Brainworm! ’Slight, what breath of a conjurer hath blown
thee hither in this shape?
_Brai._ The breath o’ your letter, sir, this morning; the same that
blew you to the Windmill, and your father after you. 51
_E. Know._ My father!
_Brai._ Nay, never start, ’tis true; he has follow’d you over the
fields by the foot, as you would do a hare i’ the snow. 55
_E. Know._ Sirrah Wellbred, what shall we do, sirrah? My father is
come over after me.
_Wel._ Thy father! Where is he?
_Brai._ At justice Clement’s house, in Coleman-street, where he but
stays my return; and then—— 61
_Wel._ Who’s this? Brainworm!
_Brai._ The same, sir.
_Wel._ Why how, in the name of wit, com’st thou transmuted thus? 65
_Brai._ Faith, a device, a device; nay, for the love of reason,
gentlemen, and avoiding the danger, stand not here; withdraw, and
I’ll tell you all. 69
_Wel._ But art thou sure he will stay thy return?
_Brai._ Do I live, sir? What a question is that!
_Wel._ We’ll prorogue his expectation, then, a little: Brainworm,
thou shalt go with us.—Come on, gentlemen.—Nay, I pray thee, 75
sweet Ned, droop not; ’heart, an our wits be so wretchedly dull,
that one old plodding brain can outstrip us all, would we were e’en
prest[1230] to make porters of, and serve out the remnant of our days
in Thames-street, or at Customhouse (80) quay, in a civil war against
the carmen!
_Brai._ Amen, amen, amen, say I. [_Exeunt._]
SCENE III.[1231]
[_Enter_] KITELY _and_ CASH.
_Kit._ What says he, Thomas? Did you speak with him?
_Cash._ He will expect you, sir, within this half hour.
_Kit._ Has he the money ready, can you tell?
_Cash._ Yes, sir, the money was brought in last night.
_Kit._ O, that is well; fetch me my cloak, my cloak!—[_Exit_ CASH.] 5
Stay, let me see, an hour to go and come;
Ay, that will be the least; and then ’t will be
An hour before I can dispatch with him,
Or very near; well, I will say two hours.
Two hours! ha! things never dreamt of yet, 10
May be contriv’d, ay, and effected too,
In two hours’ absence; well, I will not go.
Two hours! No, fleering Opportunity,
I will not give your subtilty that scope.
Who will not judge him worthy to be robb’d, 15
That sets his doors wide open to a thief,
And shews the felon where his treasure lies?
Again, what earthy spirit but will attempt
To taste the fruit of beauty’s golden tree,
When leaden sleep seals up the dragon’s eyes?
I will not go. Business, go by for once. 21
No, beauty, no; you are of too good caract[1232]
To be left so, without a guard, or open.
Your lustre, too, ’ll inflame at any distance,
Draw courtship to you, as a jet doth straws; 25
Put motion in a stone, strike fire from ice,
Nay, make a porter leap you with his burden.
You must be then kept up, close, and well watch’d,
For, give you opportunity, no quick-sand
Devours or swallows swifter! He that lends 30
His wife, if she be fair, or time or place,
Compels her to be false. I will not go!
The dangers are too many:—and then the dressing
Is a most main attractive! Our great heads
Within this city never were in safety 35
Since our wives wore these little caps. I’ll change ’em;
I’ll change ’em straight in mine: mine shall no more
Wear three-piled[1233] acorns, to make my horns ache,[1234]
Nor will I go; I am resolv’d for that.
[_Re-enter_ CASH _with a cloak._]
Carry in my cloak again. Yet stay. Yet do, too:
I will defer going, on all occasions. 41
_Cash._ Sir, Snare, your scrivener, will be there with th’ bonds.
_Kit._ That’s true: fool on me! I had clean forgot it;
I must go. What’s a clock?
_Cash._ Exchange-time,[1235] sir.
_Kit._ ’Heart, then will Wellbred presently be here too, 45
With one or other of his loose consorts.
I am a knave if I know what to say,
What course to take, or which way to resolve.
My brain, methinks, is like an hour-glass,
Wherein my imaginations run like sands, 50
Filling up time; but then are turn’d and turn’d:
So that I know not what to stay upon,
And less, to put in act.—It shall be so.
Nay, I dare build upon his secrecy,
He knows not to deceive me.—Thomas!
_Cash._ Sir. 55
_Kit._ Yet now I have bethought me, too, I will not.—
Thomas, is Cob within?
_Cash._ I think he be, sir.
_Kit._ But he’ll prate too, there is no speech of him.
No, there were no man o’ the earth to[1236] Thomas,
If I durst trust him; there is all the doubt. 60
But should he have a chink in him, I were gone.
Lost i’ my fame for ever, talk for th’ Exchange!
The manner he hath stood with, till this present,
Doth promise no such change: what should I fear then?
Well, come what will, I’ll tempt my fortune once. 65
Thomas—you may deceive me, but, I hope—
Your love to me is more—
_Cash._ Sir, if a servant’s
Duty, with faith, may be call’d love, you are
More than in hope, you are possess’d of it.
_Kit._ I thank you heartily, Thomas: give me your hand: 70
With all my heart, good Thomas. I have, Thomas,
A secret to impart unto you—but,
When once you have it, I must seal your lips up;
So far I tell you, Thomas.
_Cash._ Sir, for that——
_Kit._ Nay, hear me out. Think I esteem you, Thomas, 75
When I will let you in thus to my private.
It is a thing sits nearer to my crest,
Than thou art ’ware of, Thomas; if thou should’st
Reveal it, but——
_Cash._ How, I reveal it?
_Kit._ Nay,
I do not think thou would’st; but if thou should’st, 80
’Twere a great weakness.
_Cash._ A great treachery:
Give it no other name.
_Kit._ Thou wilt not do ’t, then?
_Cash._ Sir, if I do, mankind disclaim me ever!
_Kit._ He will not swear, he has some reservation,
Some conceal’d purpose, and close[1237] meaning sure; 85
Else, being urg’d so much, how should he choose
But lend an oath to all this protestation?
He’s no precisian,[1238] that I’m certain of,
Nor rigid Roman Catholic: he’ll play
At fayles,[1239] and tick-tack;[1239] I have heard him swear. 90
What should I think of it? Urge him again,
And by some other way? I will do so.
Well, Thomas, thou hast sworn not to disclose:—
Yes, you did swear?
_Cash._ Not yet, sir, but I will,
Please you——
_Kit._ No, Thomas, I dare take thy word,
But, if thou wilt swear, do as thou think’st good; 96
I am resolv’d[1240] without it; at thy pleasure.
_Cash._ By my soul’s safety then, sir, I protest,
My tongue shall ne’er take knowledge of a word
Deliver’d me in nature of your trust. 100
_Kit._ It is too much; these ceremonies need not;
I know thy faith to be as firm as rock.
Thomas, come hither, near; we cannot be
Too private in this business. So it is,—
[_Aside._] Now he has sworn, I dare the safelier venture. 105
I have of late, by divers observations——
[_Aside._] But whether his oath can bind him, yea, or no,
Being not taken lawfully?[1241] Ha! say you?
I will ask council ere I do not proceed:—
Thomas, it will be now too long to stay, 110
I’ll spy some fitter time soon, or to-morrow.
_Cash._ Sir, at your pleasure.
_Kit._ I will think:—and, Thomas,
I pray you search the books ’gainst my return,
For the receipts ’twixt me and Traps.
_Cash._ I will, sir.
_Kit._ And hear you, if your mistress’ brother, Wellbred, 115
Chance to bring hither any gentlemen
Ere I come back, let one straight bring me word.
_Cash._ Very well, sir.
_Kit._ To the Exchange, do you hear?
Or here in Coleman-street, to justice Clement’s.
Forget it not, nor be not out of the way. 120
_Cash._ I will not, sir.
_Kit._ I pray you have a care on ’t.
Or, whether he come or no, if any other,
Stranger, or else; fail not to send me word.
_Cash._ I shall not, sir.
_Kit._ Be ’t your special business
Now to remember it.
_Cash._ Sir, I warrant you. 125
_Kit._ But, Thomas, this is not the secret, Thomas,
I told you of.
_Cash._ No, sir; I do suppose it.
_Kit._ Believe me, it is not.
_Cash._ Sir, I do believe you.
_Kit._ By heaven it is not, that’s enough. But, Thomas,
I would not you should utter it, do you see, 130
To any creature living; yet I care not.
Well, I must hence. Thomas, conceive thus much;
It was a trial of you, when I meant
So deep a secret to you; I mean not this, 134
But that I have to tell you; this is nothing, this.
But, Thomas, keep this from my wife, I charge you.
Lock’d up in silence, midnight, buried here.—
No greater hell than to be slave to fear. [_Exit._]
_Cash. Lock’d up in silence, midnight, buried here!_
Whence should this flood of passion, trow, take head? ha! 140
Best dream no longer of this running humour,
For fear I sink; the violence of the stream
Already hath transported me so far,
That I can feel no ground at all. But soft—
Oh, ’tis our water-bearer: somewhat has crost him now. 145
SCENE IV.[1242]
CASH. [_Enter_] COB, [_hastily_].
_Cob._ Fasting-days! what tell you me of fasting-days? ’Slid, would
they were all on a light fire for me! They say the whole world shall
be consum’d with fire one day, but would I had these Ember-weeks and
villanous Fridays (5) burnt in the mean time, and then——
_Cash._ Why, how now, Cob? What moves thee to this choler, ha?
_Cob._ Collar, master Thomas! I scorn your collar, I, sir; I am none
o’ your cart-horse, (10) though I carry and draw water. An you offer
to ride me with your collar or halter either, I may hap shew you a
jade’s trick, sir.
_Cash._ O, you’ll slip your head out of the collar? Why, goodman Cob,
you mistake me. 15
_Cob._ Nay, I have my rheum, and I can be angry as well as another,
sir.
_Cash._ Thy rheum, Cob! Thy humour, thy humour—thou mistak’st.[1243]
_Cob._ Humour! mack,[1244] I think it be so indeed. (20) What is that
humour? Some rare thing, I warrant.
_Cash._ Marry I’ll tell thee, Cob: it is a gentleman-like monster,
bred in the special gallantry of our time, by affectation, and fed by
folly. 25
_Cob._ How! must it be fed?
_Cash._ Oh ay, humour is nothing if it be not fed; didst thou never
hear that? It’s a common phrase, _Feed my humour_.
_Cob._ I’ll none on it: humour, avaunt! I know you not, be gone!
Let who will make hungry (31) meals for your monstership, it shall
not be I. Feed you, quoth he! ’Slid. I ha’ much ado to feed myself;
especially on these lean rascally days too; an’t had been any other
day but a (35) fasting-day—a plague on them all for me! By this
light, one might have done the commonwealth good service, and have
drown’d them all i’ the flood, two or three hundred thousand years
ago. O, I do stomach[1245] them hugely. I (40) have a maw[1246] now,
and ’twere for sir Bevis his horse, against ’em.
_Cash._ I pray thee, good Cob, what makes thee so out of love with
fasting days?
_Cob._ Marry, that which will make any man (45) out of love with ’em,
I think; their bad conditions, an you will needs know. First, they
are of a Flemish breed, I am sure on’t, for they raven up more butter
than all the days of the week beside; next, they stink of fish and
leek-porridge miserably; thirdly, they’ll keep a man devoutly 51
hungry all day, and at night send him supperless to bed.
_Cash._ Indeed, these are faults, Cob. 54
_Cob._ Nay, an this were all, ’twere something; but they are the only
known enemies to my generation. A fasting-day no sooner comes, but my
lineage goes to wrack; poor cobs! they smoke for it, they are made
martyrs o’ the gridiron, they melt in passion: and your maids 60
too know this, and yet would have me turn Hannibal,[1247] and eat my
own flesh and blood. My princely coz (_Pulls out a red herring_),
fear nothing; I have not the heart to devour you, an I might be made
as rich as king Cophetua. O that I had room for my tears, I could
weep salt-water (66) enough now to preserve the lives of ten thousand
of my kin! But I may curse none but these filthy almanacs; for an
’twere not for them, these days of persecution would never (70) be
known. I’ll be hang’d an some fishmonger’s son do not make of ’em,
and puts in more fasting-days than he should do, because he would
utter[1248] his father’s dried stock-fish and stinking conger. 75
_Cash._ ’Slight, peace! Thou’lt be beaten like a stock-fish else.
Here is master Mathew. Now must I look out for a messenger to my
master. [_Exeunt._]
SCENE V.[1249]
[_Enter_] WELLBRED, E. KNOWELL, BRAINWORM, MATHEW, BOBADILL, _and_
STEPHEN.
_Wel._ Beshrew me, but it was an absolute good jest, and exceedingly
well carried!
_E. Know._ Ay, and our ignorance maintain’d it as well, did it not?
_Wel._ Yes, faith; but was it possible thou (5) shouldst not know
him? I forgive master Stephen, for he is stupidity itself.
_E. Know._ ’Fore God, not I, an I might have been join’d
patten[1250] with one of the seven wise masters for knowing him.
He had so writhen[1251] himself into the habit of one of your poor 11
infantry, your decay’d, ruinous, worm-eaten gentlemen of the
round;[1252] such as have vowed to sit on the skirts of the city,
let your provost and his half-dozen of halberdiers do what (15) they
can; and have translated begging out of the old hackney-pace to
a fine easy amble, and made it run as smooth off the tongue as a
shove-groat shilling.[1253] Into the likeness of one of these
reformados[1254] had he moulded himself so perfectly, (20) observing
every trick of their action, as, varying the accent, swearing with an
emphasis, indeed, all with so special and exquisite a grace, that,
hadst thou seen him, thou wouldst have sworn he might have been
sergeant-major,[1255] if not lieutenant-colonel to the regiment. 26
_Wel._ Why, Brainworm, who would have thought thou hadst been such an
artificer?
_E. Know._ An artificer! an architect. Except a man had studied
begging all his life time, (30) and been a weaver of language from
his infancy for the clothing of it, I never saw his rival.
_Wel._ Where got’st thou this coat, I marle?[1256]
_Brai._ Of a Houndsditch man, sir, one of the devil’s near kinsmen, a
broker. 35
_Wel._ That cannot be, if the proverb hold; for _A crafty knave needs
no broker_.
_Brai._ True, sir; but I did _need a broker, ergo_——
_Wel._ Well put off:—_no crafty knave_, you’ll say. 41
_E. Know._ Tut, he has more of these shifts.
_Brai._ And yet, where I have one the broker has ten,[1257] sir.
[_Re-enter_ CASH.]
_Cash._ Francis! Martin! Ne’er a one to be found now? What a spite’s
this! 46
_Wel._ How now, Thomas? Is my brother Kitely within?
_Cash._ No, sir, my master went forth e’en now; but master Downright
is within.—Cob! what, Cob! Is he gone too? 51
_Wel._ Whither went your master, Thomas, canst thou tell?
_Cash._ I know not: to justice Clement’s, I think, sir.—Cob!
_E. Know._ Justice Clement! what’s he? 55
_Wel._ Why, dost thou not know him? He is a city-magistrate, a
justice here, an excellent good lawyer, and a great scholar; but the
only mad, merry old fellow in Europe. I show’d him you the other day.
61
_E. Know._ Oh, is that he? I remember him now. Good faith, and he
is a very strange presence methinks; it shows as if he stood out of
the rank from other men: I have heard many (65) of his jests i’ the
University. They say he will commit a man for taking the wall of his
horse.
_Wel._ Ay, or wearing his cloak on one shoulder, or serving of God;
any thing indeed, if it come in the way of his humour. 70
CASH _goes in and out calling_.
_Cash._ Gasper! Martin! Cob! ’Heart, where should they be, trow?
_Bob._ Master Kitely’s man, pray thee vouchsafe us the lighting of
this match. 74
_Cash._ Fire on your match! No time but now to _vouchsafe_?—Francis!
Cob! [_Exit._]
_Bob._ Body o’ me! here’s the remainder of seven pound since
yesterday was seven-night. ’Tis your right Trinidado:[1258] did you
never take any, master Stephen? 80
_Step._ No, truly, sir; but I’ll learn to take it now, since you
commend it so.
_Bob._ Sir, believe me upon my relation, for what I tell you, the
world shall not reprove. I have been in the Indies, where this herb
grows, where neither myself, nor a dozen gentlemen (86) more of my
knowledge, have received the taste of any other nutriment in the
world, for the space of one-and-twenty weeks, but the fume of this
simple[1259] only; therefore it cannot be but ’tis most divine.
Further, take it in the nature, (91) in the true kind; so, it makes
an antidote, that, had you taken the most deadly poisonous plant in
all Italy, it should expel it, and clarify you, with as much ease as
I speak. And for (95) your green wound,—your Balsamum and your St.
John’s wort, are all mere gulleries and trash to it, especially your
Trinidado: your Nicotian[1260] is good too. I could say what I know
of the virtue of it, for the expulsion of rheums, (100) raw humours,
crudities, obstructions, with a thousand of this kind; but I profess
myself no quacksalver. Only thus much; by Hercules, I do hold it, and
will affirm it before any prince in Europe, to be the most sovereign
and precious (105) weed that ever the earth tend’red to the use of
man.
_E. Know._ This speech would ha’ done decently in a tobacco-trader’s
mouth.
[_Re-enter_ CASH _with_ COB.]
_Cash._ At justice Clement’s he is, in the (110) middle of
Coleman-street.
_Cob._ Oh, oh!
_Bob._ Where’s the match I gave thee, master Kitely’s man? 114
_Cash._ Would his match and he, and pipe and all, were at Sancto
Domingo! I had forgot it. [_Exit._]
_Cob._ By God’s me, I marle what pleasure or felicity they have in
taking this roguish tobacco. It’s good for nothing but to choke a
man, and fill him full of smoke and embers. (120) There were four
died out of one house last week with taking of it, and two more the
bell went for yesternight; one of them, they say, will ne’er scape
it; he voided a bushel of soot yesterday, upward and downward. By
(125) the stocks, an there were no wiser men than I, I’d have it
present whipping, man or woman, that should but deal with a tobacco
pipe. Why, it will stifle them all in the end, as many as use it;
it’s little better than ratsbane or rosaker.[1261] 130
BOBADILL _beats him with a cudgel_.
_All._ Oh, good captain, hold, hold!
_Bob._ You base cullion, you!
_Re-enter_ CASH.
_Cash._ Sir, here ’s your match.—Come, thou must needs be talking
too, thou’rt well enough serv’d. 135
_Cob._ Nay, he will not meddle with his match, I warrant you. Well,
it shall be a dear beating, an I live.
_Bob._ Do you prate, do you murmur? 139
_E. Know._ Nay, good captain, will you regard the humour of a fool?
Away, knave.
_Wel._ Thomas, get him away.
[_Exit_ CASH _with_ COB.]
_Bob._ A whoreson filthy slave, a dung-worm, an excrement! Body o’
Caesar, but that I scorn to let forth so mean a spirit, I’d have
stabb’d him to the earth. 146
_Wel._ Marry, the law forbid, sir!
_Bob._ By Pharaoh’s foot, I would have done it.
_Step._ Oh, he swears most admirably! By Pharaoh’s foot! Body o’
Caesar!—I shall (150) never do it, sure. Upon mine honour, and by
St. George!—No, I have not the right grace.
_Mat._ Master Stephen, will you any? By this air, the most divine
tobacco that ever I drunk.[1262] 154
_Step._ None, I thank you, sir. O, this gentleman does it rarely too:
but nothing like the other. By this air! As I am a gentleman! By——
[_Exeunt_ BOB. _and_ MAT.]
_Brai._ Master, glance, glance! master Wellbred!
STEPHEN _is practising to the post._ 160
_Step._ As I have somewhat to be saved, I protest—
_Wel._ You are a fool; it needs no affidavit.
_E. Know._ Cousin, will you any tobacco?
_Step._ I, sir! Upon my reputation——
_E. Know._ How now, cousin! 165
_Step._ I protest, as I am a gentleman, but no soldier, indeed——
_Wel._ No, master Stephen! As I remember, your name is ent’red in the
artillery-garden. 169
_Step._ Ay, sir, that’s true. Cousin, may I swear “as I am a soldier”
by that?
_E. Know._ O yes, that you may; it is all you have for your money.
_Step._ Then, as I am a gentleman and a soldier, it is “divine
tobacco!” 175
_Wel._ But soft, where’s master Mathew? Gone?
_Brai._ No, sir; they went in here.
_Wel._ O let’s follow them. Master Mathew is gone to salute his
mistress in verse; we shall ha’ the happiness to hear some of his
poetry (180) now; he never comes unfurnish’d.—Brainworm!
_Step._ Brainworm! Where? Is this Brainworm?
_E. Know._ Ay, cousin; no words of it, upon your gentility. 185
_Step._ Not I, body o’ me! By this air! St. George! and the foot of
Pharaoh!
_Wel._ Rare! Your cousin’s discourse is simply drawn out with oaths.
_E. Know._ ’Tis larded with ’em; a kind of French dressing, if you
love it. [_Exeunt._]
SCENE VI.[1263]
[_Enter_] KITELY, COB.
_Kit._ Ha! how many are there, sayest thou?
_Cob._ Marry, sir, your brother, master Wellbred——
_Kit._ Tut, beside him: what strangers are there, man?
_Cob._ Strangers? let me see, one, two; mass, I know not well, there
are so many. 5
_Kit._ How! so many?
_Cob._ Ay, there’s some five or six of them at the most.
_Kit._ [_Aside._] A swarm, a swarm!
Spite of the devil, how they sting my head
With forked stings, thus wide and large!—But, Cob, 10
How long hast thou been coming hither, Cob?
_Cob._ A little while, sir.
_Kit._ Didst thou come running?
_Cob._ No, sir.
_Kit._ [_Aside._] Nay, then I am familiar with thy haste. 15
Bane to my fortunes! what meant I to marry?
I, that before was rankt in such content,
My mind at rest too, in so soft a peace,
Being free master of mine own free thoughts, 19
And now become a slave? What! never sigh,
Be of good cheer, man; for thou art a cuckold:
’Tis done, ’tis done! Nay, when such flowing-store,
Plenty itself, falls in [to] my wife’s lap,
The cornucopiae will be mine, I know.—
But, Cob, 25
What entertainment had they? I am sure
My sister and my wife would bid them welcome: ha?
_Cob._ Like enough, sir; yet I heard not a word of it.
_Kit._ No;—
[_Aside._] Their lips were seal’d with kisses, and the voice, 30
Drown’d in a flood of joy at their arrival,
Had lost her motion, state, and faculty.—
Cob, which of them was’t that first kist my wife,
My sister, I should say? My wife, alas!
I fear not her; ha! who was it say’st thou?
_Cob._ By my troth, sir, will you have the truth of it?
_Kit._ Oh, ay, good Cob, I pray thee heartily.
_Cob._ Then I am a vagabond, and fitter for Bridewell than your
worship’s company, if I saw any body to be kist, unless they would
(40) have kist the post[1264] in the middle of the ware-house; for
there I left them all at their tobacco, with a pox!
_Kit._ How! were they not gone in then ere thou cam’st!
_Cob._ O no, sir. 45
_Kit._ Spite of the devil! what do I stay here then? Cob, follow me.
[_Exit._]
_Cob._ Nay, soft and fair; I have eggs on the spit;[1265] I cannot
go yet, sir. Now am I, for some five and fifty reasons, hammering,
hammering (50) revenge: oh for three or four gallons of vinegar,
to sharpen my wits! Revenge, vinegar revenge, vinegar and mustard
revenge! Nay, an he had not lien in my house, ’twould never have
griev’d me; but being my guest, one that, (55) I’ll be sworn, my wife
has lent him her smock off her back, while his own shirt has been
at washing; pawn’d her neckerchers for clean bands for him; sold
almost all my platters, to buy him tobacco; and he to turn monster of
(60) ingratitude, and strike his lawful host! Well, I hope to raise
up an host of fury for’t: here comes justice Clement.
SCENE VII.[1266]
COB. [_Enter_] JUSTICE CLEMENT, KNOWELL, FORMAL.
_Clem._ What’s master Kitely gone, Roger?
_Form._ Ay, sir.
_Clem._ ’Heart o’ me! what made him leave us so abruptly?—How now,
sirrah! what make you here? What would you have, ha? 5
_Cob._ An’t please your worship, I am a poor neighbour of your
worship’s——
_Clem._ A poor neighbour of mine! Why, speak, poor neighbour.
_Cob._ I dwell, sir, at the sign of the Water-tankard, (10) hard by
the Green Lattice:[1267] I have paid scot and lot[1268] there any
time this eighteen years.
_Clem._ To the Green Lattice?
_Cob._ No, sir, to the parish. Marry, I have (15) seldom scapt
scot-free at the Lattice.
_Clem._ O, well; what business has my poor neighbour with me?
_Cob._ An’t like your worship, I am come to crave the peace of your
worship. 20
_Clem._ Of me, knave! Peace of me, knave! Did I ever hurt thee, or
threaten thee, or wrong thee, ha?
_Cob._ No, sir; but your worship’s warrant for one that has wrong’d
me, sir. His arms are at (25) too much liberty, I would fain have
them bound to a treaty of peace, an my credit could compass it, with
your worship.
_Clem._ Thou goest far enough about for’t, I am sure. 30
_Know._ Why, dost thou go in danger of thy life for him, friend?
_Cob._ No, sir; but I go in danger of my death every hour, by his
means; an I die within a twelve-month and a day,[1269] I may swear by
the law of the land that he kill’d me. 36
_Clem._ How, how, knave, swear he kill’d thee, and by the law? What
pretence, what colour, hast thou for that?
_Cob._ Marry, an’t please your worship, both black and blue; colour
enough, I warrant you. (41) I have it here to shew your worship.
[_Shows his bruises._]
_Clem._ What is he that gave you this, sirrah?
_Cob._ A gentleman and a soldier, he says he is, of the city here. 45
_Clem._ A soldier o’ the city! What call you him?
_Cob._ Captain Bobadill.
_Clem._ Bobadill! and why did he bob[1270] and beat you, sirrah? How
began the quarrel betwixt you, ha? Speak truly, knave, I advise you.
50
_Cob._ Marry, indeed, an’t please your worship, only because I spake
against their vagrant tobacco, as I came by ’em when they were taking
on’t; for nothing else.
_Clem._ Ha! you speak against tobacco? Formal, his name. 55
_Form._ What’s your name, sirrah?
_Cob._ Oliver, sir, Oliver Cob, sir.
_Clem._ Tell Oliver Cob he shall go to the jail, Formal. 60
_Form._ Oliver Cob, my master, justice Clement, says you shall go to
the jail.
_Cob._ O, I beseech your worship, for God’s sake, dear master
justice! 64
_Clem._ God’s precious! an such drunkards and tankards as you are,
come to dispute of tobacco once, I have done. Away with him!
_Cob._ O, good master justice!—Sweet old gentleman! [_To_ KNOWELL.]
_Know._ “Sweet Oliver,” would I could do (70) thee any good!—Justice
Clement, let me intreat you, sir.
_Clem._ What! a thread-bare rascal, a beggar, a slave that never
drunk out of better than piss-pot metal[1271] in his life! and he to
deprave and (75) abuse the virtue of an herb so generally receiv’d in
the courts of princes, the chambers of nobles, the bowers of sweet
ladies, the cabins of soldiers!—Roger, away with him? By God’s
precious—I say, go to. 80
_Cob._ Dear master justice, let me be beaten again, I have deserv’d
it: but not the prison, I beseech you.
_Know._ Alas, poor Oliver!
_Clem._ Roger, make him a warrant:—he shall not go, I but fear[1272]
the knave. 85
_Form._ Do not stink, sweet Oliver, you shall not go; my master will
give you a warrant.
_Cob._ O, the Lord maintain his worship, his worthy worship! 90
_Clem._ Away, dispatch him.
[_Exeunt_ FORMAL _and_ COB.]
—How now, master Knowell, in dumps, in dumps! Come, this becomes not.
_Know._ Sir, would I could not feel my cares.
_Clem._ Your cares are nothing: they are (95) like my cap, soon put
on, and as soon put off. What! your son is old enough to govern
himself; let him run his course, it’s the only way to make him a
staid man. If he were an unthrift, a ruffian, a drunkard, or a
licentious liver, (100) then you had reason; you had reason to take
care: but, being none of these, mirth’s my witness, an I had twice so
many cares as you have, I’d drown them all in a cup of sack. Come,
come, let’s try it: I muse[1273] your parcel of a (105) soldier
returns not all this while. _Exeunt._
ACT IV
SCENE I.[1274]
[_Enter_] DOWNRIGHT _and_ DAME KITELY.
_Dow._ Well, sister, I tell you true; and you’ll find it so in the
end.
_Dame K._ Alas, brother, what would you have me to do? I cannot help
it; you see my brother brings ’em in here; they are his friends. 5
_Dow._ His friends! his fiends! ’Slud! they do nothing but haunt him
up and down like a sort of unlucky spirits, and tempt him to all
manner of villainy that can be thought of. Well, by this light, a
little thing would make me play (10) the devil with some of ’em: an
’twere not more for your husband’s sake than anything else, I’d make
the house too hot for the best on ’em; they should say, and swear,
hell were broken loose, ere they went hence. But, by God’s will, ’tis
nobody’s fault but yours; for an you had (16) done as you might have
done, they should have been parboil’d, and bak’d too, every mother’s
son, ere they should ha’ come in, e’er a one of ’em. 20
_Dame K._ God’s my life! did you ever hear the like? What a strange
man is this! Could I keep out all them, think you? I should put
myself against half a dozen men, should I? Good faith, you’d mad the
patient’st body in the (25) world, to hear you talk so, without any
sense or reason.
SCENE II.[1275]
DOWNRIGHT, DAME KITELY. [_Enter_] MISTRESS BRIDGET, MASTER MATHEW,
_and_ BOBADILL; [_followed, at a distance, by_] WELLBRED, E. KNOWELL,
STEPHEN, _and_ BRAINWORM.
_Brid._ Servant,[1276] in troth you are too prodigal
Of your wit’s treasure, thus to pour it forth
Upon so mean a subject as my worth.
_Mat._ You say well, mistress, and I mean as well.
_Dow._ Hoy-day, here is stuff! 5
_Wel._ O, now stand close;[1277] pray Heaven, she can get him to
read! He should do it of his own natural impudency.
_Brid._ Servant, what is this same, I pray you?
_Mat._ Marry, an elegy, an elegy, an odd toy——
_Dow._ To mock an ape withal![1278] O, I could (11) sew up his mouth,
now.
_Dame K._ Sister, I pray you let’s hear it.
_Dow._ Are you rhyme-given too?
_Mat._ Mistress, I’ll read it, if you please. 15
_Brid._ Pray you do, servant.
_Dow._ O, here’s no foppery! Death! I can endure the stocks better.
[_Exit._]
_E. Know._ What ails thy brother? Can he not hold his water at
reading of a ballad? 20
_Wel._ O, no; a rhyme to him is worse than cheese, or a bag-pipe; but
mark; you lose the protestation.
_Mat._ Faith, I did it in a humour; I know not how it is; but please
you come near, sir. This (25) gentleman has judgment, he knows how to
censure of a——pray you, sir, you can judge?
_Step._ Not I, sir; upon my reputation, and by the foot of Pharaoh!
_Wel._ O, chide your cousin for swearing. 30
_E. Know._ Not I, so long as he does not forswear
himself.
_Bob._ Master Mathew, you abuse the expectation of your dear
mistress, and her fair sister. Fie! while you live, avoid this
prolixity. 35
_Mat._ I shall, sir, well; _incipere dulce_.[1279]
_E. Know._ How, _insipere dulce_! “a sweet thing to be a fool,”
indeed!
_Wel._ What, do you take _incipere_ in that sense? 40
_E. Know._ You do not, you! This was your villainy, to gull him with
a mot.
_Wel._ O, the benchers’[1280] phrase: _pauca verba, pauca verba_!
Mat. [_Reads._] _Rare creature, let me speak without offence, 45
Would God my rude words had the influence
To rule thy thoughts, as thy fair looks do mine,
Then shouldst thou be his prisoner, who is thine._
_E. Know._ This is “Hero and Leander.” 49
_Wel._ O, ay: peace, we shall have more of this.
Mat. _Be not unkind and fair: misshapen stuff
Is of behaviour boisterous and rough._
_Wel._ How like you that, sir?
MASTER STEPHEN _answers with shaking his head_.
_E. Know._ ’Slight, he shakes his head like a bottle, to feel an
there be any brain in it. 55
_Mat._ But observe the catastrophe, now:
_And I in duty will exceed all other,
As you in beauty do excel Love’s mother._
_E. Know._ Well, I’ll have him free of the wit-brokers, for he utters
nothing but stol’n remnants. 61
_Wel._ O, forgive it him.
_E. Know._ A filching[1281] rogue, hang him!—and from the dead! It’s
worse than sacrilege. 64
[WELLBRED, E. KNOWELL, _and_ MASTER STEPHEN _come forward_.]
_Wel._ Sister, what ha’ you here? Verses? Pray you, let’s see. Who
made these verses? They are excellent good.
_Mat._ O, Master Wellbred, ’tis your disposition to say so, sir. They
were good i’ the morning: I made them _ex tempore_ this morning.
_Wel._ How! _ex tempore?_ 71
_Mat._ Ay, would I might be hang’d else; ask Captain Bobadill; he saw
me write them, at the——pox on it!—the Star, yonder.
_Brai._ Can he find in his heart to curse the stars so? 76
_E. Know._ Faith, his are even with him; they ha’ curst him enough
already.
_Step._ Cousin, how do you like this gentleman’s verses? 80
_E. Know._ O, admirable! the best that ever I heard, coz.
_Step._ Body o’ Caesar, they are admirable! the best that I ever
heard, as I am a soldier! 84
[_Re-enter_ DOWNRIGHT.]
_Dow._ I am vext, I can hold ne’er a bone of me still. ’Heart, I
think they mean to build and breed here.
_Wel._ Sister, you have a simple servant here, that crowns your
beauty with such encomiums (89) and devices; you may see what it
is to be the mistress of a wit that can make your perfections so
transparent, that every blear eye may look through them, and see him
drown’d over head and ears in the deep well of desire. Sister Kitely,
I marvel you get you not a servant that can rhyme, and do tricks too.
96
_Dow._ O monster! impudence itself! tricks!
_Dame K._ Tricks, brother! what tricks?
_Brid._ Nay, speak, I pray you, what tricks?
_Dame K._ Ay, never spare any body here; (100) but say, what tricks?
_Brid._ Passion of my heart, do tricks!
_Wel._ ’Slight, here ’s a trick vied and revied![1282] Why, you
monkeys, you, what a cater-wauling do you keep! Has he not given you
rhymes and verses and tricks? 106
_Dow._ O, the fiend!
_Wel._ Nay, you lamp of virginity, that take it in snuff[1283] so,
come, and cherish this tame poetical fury in your servant; you’ll be
begg’d (110) else shortly for a concealment:[1284] go to, reward his
muse. You cannot give him less than a shilling in conscience, for
the book he had it out of cost him a teston[1285] at least. How now,
gallants! (114) Master Mathew! Captain! what, all sons of silence? No
spirit?
_Dow._ Come, you might practise your ruffian tricks somewhere else,
and not here, I wuss;[1286] this is no tavern nor drinking-school, to
vent your exploits in. 120
_Wel._ How now; whose cow has calv’d?
_Dow._ Marry, that has mine, sir. Nay, boy, never look askance at me
for the matter; I ’ll tell you of it, I, sir; you and your companions
mend yourselves when I ha’ done. 125
_Wel._ My companions!
_Dow._ Yes, sir, your companions, so I say; I am not afraid of you,
nor them neither; your hangbyes here. You must have your poets and
your potlings,[1287] your soldados and foolados to (130) follow
you up and down the city; and here they must come to domineer and
swagger.—Sirrah, you ballad-singer, and Slops[1288] your fellow
there, get you out, get you home; or by this steel, I ’ll cut off
your ears, and that presently. 135
_Wel._ ’Slight, stay, let ’s see what he dare do; cut off his ears!
cut a whetstone. You are an ass, do you see? Touch any man here, and
by this hand I ’ll run my rapier to the hilts in you. 140
_Dow._ Yea, that would I fain see, boy.
_They all draw, and they of the house make out to part them._
_Dame K._ O Jesu! murder! Thomas! Gasper!
_Brid._ Help, help! Thomas!
_E. Know._ Gentlemen, forbear, I pray you. 144
_Bob._ Well, sirrah, you Holofernes; by my hand, I will pink your
flesh full of holes with my rapier for this; I will, by this good
heaven! Nay, let him come, let him come, gentlemen; by the body of
St. George, I ’ll not kill him.
_Offer to fight again, and are parted._
_Cash._ Hold, hold, good gentlemen. 150
_Dow._ You whoreson, bragging coystril![1289]
SCENE III.[1290]
_To them_ [_enter_] KITELY.
_Kit._ Why, how now! what’s the matter, what’s the stir here?
Whence springs the quarrel? Thomas! where is he?
Put up your weapons, and put off this rage.
My wife and sister, they are the cause of this.
What, Thomas! where is the knave? 5
_Cash._ Here, sir.
_Wel._ Come, let’s go; this is one of my brother’s ancient humours,
this.
_Step._ I am glad nobody was hurt by his ancient humour. 10
[_Exeunt_ WELLBRED, STEPHEN, E. KNOWELL, BOBADILL, _and_ BRAINWORM.]
_Kit._ Why, how now, brother, who enforc’d this brawl?
_Dow._ A sort[1291] of lewd rake-hells, that care neither for God
nor the devil. And they must come here to read ballads, and roguery,
and (15) trash! I ’ll mar the knot of ’em ere I sleep, perhaps;
especially Bob there, he that ’s all manner of shapes: and Songs and
Sonnets, his fellow.
_Brid._ Brother, indeed you are too violent,
Too sudden in your humour: and you know 20
My brother Wellbred’s temper will not bear
Any reproof, chiefly in such a presence,
Where every slight disgrace he should receive
Might wound him in opinion and respect. 24
_Dow._ Respect! what talk you of respect among such as ha’ nor spark
of manhood nor good manners? ’Sdeins, I am asham’d to hear you!
respect! [_Exit._]
_Brid._ Yes, there was one a civil gentleman,
And very worthily demean’d himself. 30
_Kit._ O, that was some love of yours, sister.
_Brid._ A love of mine! I would it were no worse, brother;
You ’d pay my portion sooner than you think for.
_Dame K._ Indeed he seem’d to be a gentleman (34) of a very exceeding
fair disposition, and of excellent good parts.
[_Exeunt_ DAME KITELY _and_ BRIDGET.]
_Kit._ Her love, by heaven! my wife’s minion.
_Fair disposition! excellent good parts!_
Death! these phrases are intolerable.
Good parts! how should she know his parts? 40
His parts! Well, well, well, well, well, well;
It is too plain, too clear: Thomas, come hither.
What, are they gone?
_Cash._ Ay, sir, they went in.
My mistress and your sister——
_Kit._ Are any of the gallants within? 45
_Cash._ No, sir, they are all gone.
_Kit._ Art thou sure of it?
_Cash._ I can assure you, sir.
_Kit._ What gentleman was that they prais’d so, Thomas?
_Cash._ One, they call him Master Knowell, (50) a handsome young
gentleman, sir.
_Kit._ Ay, I thought so; my mind gave me as much.
I’ll die, but they have hid him i’ the house
Somewhere; I’ll go and search; go with me, Thomas: 54
Be true to me, and thou shalt find me a master. [_Exeunt._]
SCENE IV.[1292]
[_Enter_] COB.
_Cob._ [_knocks at the door._] What, Tib! Tib, I say!
_Tib._ [_within._] How now, what cuckold is that knocks so hard?
_Enter_ TIB.
O, husband! is it you? What’s the news? 5
_Cob._ Nay, you have stunn’d me, i’ faith; you ha’ giv’n me a knock
o’ the forehead will stick by me. Cuckold! ’Slid, cuckold!
_Tib._ Away, you fool! did I know it was you that knockt? Come, come,
you may call me as bad when you list. 11
_Cob._ May I? Tib, you are a whore.
_Tib._ You lie in your throat, husband.
_Cob._ How, the lie! and in my throat too! do you long to be stabb’d,
ha? 15
_Tib._ Why, you are no soldier, I hope.
_Cob._ O, must you be stabb’d by a soldier? Mass, that’s true! When
was Bobadill here, your captain? that rogue, that foist,[1293] that
fencing Burgullion?[1294] I’ll tickle him, i’ faith.
_Tib._ Why, what’s the matter, trow? 21
_Cob._ O, he has basted me rarely, sumptuously! but I have it here
in black and white [_Pulls out the warrant_], for his black and blue
shall pay him. O, the justice, the honestest old brave (25) Trojan
in London; I do honour the very flea of his dog. A plague on him,
though, he put me once in a villanous filthy fear; marry, it vanished
away like the smoke of tobacco; but I was smokt[1295] soundly first.
I thank the devil, (30) and his good angel, my guest. Well, wife,
or Tib, which you will, get you in, and lock the door; I charge you
let nobody in to you, wife; nobody in to you; those are my words:
not Captain Bob himself, nor the fiend in his (35) likeness. You
are a woman, you have flesh and blood enough in you to be tempted;
therefore keep the door shut upon all comers.
_Tib._ I warrant you, there shall nobody enter here without my
consent. 40
_Cob._ Nor with your consent, sweet Tib; and so I leave you.
_Tib._ It’s more than you know, whether you leave me so.
_Cob._ How? 45
_Tib._ Why, _sweet_.
_Cob._ Tut, sweet or sour, thou art a flower. Keep close thy door, I
ask no more. [_Exeunt._]
SCENE V.[1296]
[_Enter_] E. KNOWELL, WELLBRED, STEPHEN, _and_ BRAINWORM, [_disguised
as before_.]
_E. Know._ Well, Brainworm, perform this business happily, and thou
makest a purchase of my love for ever.
_Wel._ I’ faith, now let thy spirits use their best faculties: but,
at any hand, remember (5) the message to my brother; for there’s no
other means to start him.
_Brai._ I warrant you, sir; fear nothing; I have a nimble soul has
wakt all forces of my phant’sie by this time, and put ’em in true
(10) motion. What you have possest[1297] me withal, I’ll discharge it
amply, sir; make it no question. [_Exit._]
_Wel._ Forth, and prosper, Brainworm. Faith, Ned, how dost thou
approve of my abilities in this device? 16
_E. Know._ Troth, well, howsoever; but it will come excellent if it
take.
_Wel._ Take, man! why it cannot choose but take, if the circumstances
miscarry not: (20) but, tell me ingenuously, dost thou affect my
sister Bridget as thou pretend’st?
_E. Know._ Friend, am I worth belief?
_Wel._ Come, do not protest. In faith, she is a maid of good
ornament, and much modesty; (25) and, except I conceiv’d very
worthily of her, thou should’st not have her.
_E. Know._ Nay, that, I am afraid, will be a question yet, whether I
shall have her, or no.
_Wel._ ’Slid, thou shalt have her; by this light thou shalt. 31
_E. Know._ Nay, do not swear.
_Wel._ By this hand thou shalt have her; I’ll go fetch her presently.
’Point but where to meet, and as I am an honest man I’ll bring her.
_E. Know._ Hold, hold, be temperate. 36
_Wel._ Why, by——what shall I swear by? Thou shalt have her, as I
am——
_E. Know._ Pray thee, be at peace, I am satisfied; and do believe
thou wilt omit no (40) offered occasion to make my desires complete.
_Well._ Thou shalt see, and know, I will not. [_Exeunt._]
SCENE VI.[1298]
[_Enter_] FORMAL _and_ KNOWELL.
_Form._ Was your man a soldier, sir?
_Know._ Ay, a knave;
I took him begging o’ the way, this morning,
As I came over Moorfields.
[_Enter_ BRAINWORM, _disguised as before_.]
O, here he is!—you’ve made fair speed, believe me,
Where, i’ the name of sloth, could you be thus? 5
_Brai._ Marry, peace be my comfort, where I thought I should have had
little comfort of your worship’s service.
_Know._ How so? 9
_Brai._ O, sir, your coming to the city, your entertainment of me,
and your sending me to watch——indeed all the circumstances either
of your charge, or my employment, are as open to your son, as to
yourself.
_Know._ How should that be, unless that villain, Brainworm, 15
Have told him of the letter, and discovered
All that I strictly charg’d him to conceal?
’Tis so.
_Brai._ I am partly o’ the faith, ’tis so, indeed.
_Know._ But, how should he know thee to be my man? 20
_Brai._ Nay, sir, I cannot tell; unless it be by the black art. Is
not your son a scholar, sir?
_Know._ Yes, but I hope his soul is not allied
Unto such hellish practice: if it were,
I had just cause to weep my part in him, 25
And curse the time of his creation.
But, where didst thou find them, Fitz-Sword?
_Brai._ You should rather ask where they found me, sir; for I’ll
be sworn, I was going along in the street, thinking nothing, when,
(30) of a sudden, a voice calls, “Mr. Knowell’s man!” another cries,
“Soldier!” and thus half a dozen of ’em, till they had call’d me
within a house, where I no sooner came, but they seem’d men, and out
flew all their (35) rapiers at my bosom, with some three or four
score oaths to accompany them; and all to tell me, I was but a dead
man, if I did not confess where you were, and how I was employed,
and about what; which when they could not get (40) out of me (as,
I protest, they must ha’ dissected, and made an anatomy[1299] o’
me first, and so I told ’em), they lock’d me up into a room i’ the
top of a high house, whence by great miracle (having a light heart)
I slid down by a (45) bottom[1300] of packthread into the street,
and so scapt. But, sir, thus much I can assure you, for I heard it
while I was lockt up, there were a great many rich merchants and
brave citizens’ wives with ’em at a feast; and your son, (50) master
Edward, withdrew with one of ’em, and has ’pointed to meet her anon
at one Cob’s house, a water-bearer that dwells by the Wall. Now,
there your worship shall be sure to take him, for there he preys, and
fail he will not. 56
_Know._ Nor will I fail to break his match, I doubt not.
Go thou along with justice Clement’s man,
And stay there for me. At one Cob’s house, say’st thou? 59
_Brai._ Ay, sir, there you shall have him. [_Exit_ KNOWELL.]
Yes—invisible! Much wench, or much son! ’Slight, when he has staid
there three or four hours, travailing with the expectation of
wonders, and at length be deliver’d of air! O the sport that I should
then (65) take to look on him, if I durst! But now, I mean to appear
no more afore him in this shape: I have another trick to act yet.
O that I were so happy as to light on a nupson[1301] now of this
justice’s novice!—Sir, I make you stay somewhat long. 71
_Form._ Not a whit, sir. Pray you what do you mean, sir?
_Bra._ I was putting up some papers.
_Form._ You ha’ been lately in the wars, sir, it seems. 76
_Brai._ Marry have I, sir, to my loss, and expense of all, almost.
_Form._ Troth, sir, I would be glad to bestow a bottle of wine o’
you, if it please you to accept it—— 81
_Brai._ O, sir——
_Form._ But to hear the manner of your services, and your devices in
the wars. They say they be very strange, and not like those (86) a
man reads in the Roman histories, or sees at Mile-end.[1302]
_Brai._ No, I assure you, sir; why at any time when it please you, I
shall be ready to discourse to you all I know; [_Aside._]—and more
too somewhat. 91
_Form._ No better time than now, sir; we’ll go to the Windmill; there
we shall have a cup of neat grist,[1303] we call it. I pray you, sir,
let me request you to the Windmill.
_Brai._ I’ll follow you, sir; [_Aside._]—and make grist o’ you, if I
have good luck. [_Exeunt._] 95
SCENE VII.[1304]
[_Enter_] MATHEW, E. KNOWELL, BOBADILL, STEPHEN.
_Mat._ Sir, did your eyes ever taste the like clown of him where we
were to-day, Mr. Wellbred’s half-brother? I think the whole earth
cannot shew his parallel, by this daylight.
_E. Know._ We were now speaking of him; (5) captain Bobadill tells me
he is fall’n foul o’ you too.
_Mat._ O, ay, sir, he threat’ned me with the bastinado.
_Bob._ Ay, but I think, I taught you prevention (10) this morning,
for that. You shall kill him beyond question, if you be so generously
minded.
_Mat._ Indeed, it is a most excellent trick.
[_Fences._]
_Bob._ O, you do not give spirit enough to (15) your motion; you are
too tardy, too heavy! O, it must be done like lightning, hay!
_Practises at a post._
_Mat._ Rare, captain!
_Bob._ Tut! ’tis nothing, an’t be not done in a——_punto_.[1305] 20
_E. Know._ Captain, did you ever prove yourself upon any of our
masters of defence here?
_Mat._ O good sir! yes, I hope he has.
_Bob._ I will tell you, sir. Upon my first coming to the city, after
my long travel for knowledge (25) in that mystery only, there came
three or four of ’em to me, at a gentleman’s house, where it was my
chance to be resident at that time, to intreat my presence at their
schools: and withal so much importun’d me that, (30) I protest to
you as I am a gentleman, I was asham’d of their rude demeanour out
of all measure. Well, I told ’em that to come to a public school,
they should pardon me, it was opposite, in diameter, to my humour;
but if (35) so be they would give their attendance at my lodging,
I protested to do them what right or favour I could, as I was a
gentleman, and so forth.
_E. Know._ So, sir! then you tried their skill?
_Bob._ Alas, soon tried: you shall hear, sir. (41) Within two or
three days after, they came; and, by honesty, fair sir, believe me,
I grac’d them exceedingly, shew’d them some two or three tricks of
prevention have purchas’d (45) ’em since a credit to admiration. They
cannot deny this; and yet now they hate me; and why? Because I am
excellent; and for no other vile reason on the earth.
_E. Know._ This is strange and barbarous, (50) as ever I heard.
_Bob._ Nay, for a more instance of their preposterous natures, but
note, sir. They have assaulted me some three, four, five, six of
them together, as I have walkt alone in divers skirts i’ the town,
as Turnbull, Whitechapel, (56) Shoreditch,[1306] which were then my
quarters; and since, upon the Exchange, at my lodging, and at my
ordinary: where I have driven them afore me the whole length of a
street, in the (60) open view of all our gallants, pitying to hurt
them, believe me. Yet all this lenity will not o’ercome their spleen;
they will be doing with the pismire,[1307] raising a hill a man may
spurn abroad with his foot at pleasure. By myself, (65) I could have
slain them all, but I delight not in murder. I am loth to bear any
other than this bastinado for ’em: yet I hold it good polity not
to go disarm’d, for though I be skilful, I may be oppress’d with
multitudes. 70
_E. Know._ Ay, believe me, may you, sir: and in my conceit, our whole
nation should sustain the loss by it, if it were so.
_Bob._ Alas, no? what’s a peculiar[1308] man to a nation? Not seen. 75
_E. Know._ O, but your skill, sir.
_Bob._ Indeed, that might be some loss; but who respects it? I
will tell you, sir, by the way of private, and under seal; I am a
gentleman, and live here obscure, and to myself; but (80) were I
known to her majesty and the lords,—observe me,—I would undertake,
upon this poor head and life, for the public benefit of the state,
not only to spare the entire lives of her subjects in general; but
to save the one half, (85) nay, three parts of her yearly charge in
holding war, and against what enemy soever. And how would I do it,
think you?
_E. Know._ Nay, I know not, nor can I conceive. 90
_Bob._ Why thus, sir. I would select nineteen more, to myself,
throughout the land; gentlemen they should be of good spirit,
strong and able constitution; I would choose them by an instinct, a
character that I have: and I would teach these nineteen the special
rules, as your (96) _punto_, your _reverso_, your _stoccata_, your
_imbroccato_, your _passada_, your _montanto_;[1309] till they could
all play very near, or altogether, as well as myself. This done,
say the enemy were forty thousand strong, we twenty would come into
the (101) field the tenth of March, or thereabouts; and we would
challenge twenty of the enemy; they could not in their honour refuse
us: well, we would kill them; challenge twenty more, kill (105) them;
twenty more, kill them; twenty more, kill them too; and thus would we
kill every man his twenty a day, that’s twenty score; twenty score,
that’s two hundred;[1310] two hundred a day, five days a thousand:
forty thousand; forty times five, five times forty, two hundred 111
days kills them all up by computation. And this will I venture my
poor gentleman-like carcass to perform, provided there be no treason
practis’d upon us, by fair and discreet manhood; (115) that is,
civilly by the sword.
_E. Know._ Why, are you so sure of your hand, captain, at all times?
_Bob._ Tut! never miss thrust, upon my reputation with you. 120
_E. Know._ I would not stand in Downright’s state then, an you meet
him, for the wealth of any one street in London.
_Bob._ Why, sir, you mistake me: if he were here now, by this welkin,
I would not draw my weapon on him. Let this gentleman do his (126)
mind; but I will bastinado him, by the bright sun, wherever I meet
him.
_Mat._ Faith, and I’ll have a fling at him, at my distance. 130
_E. Know._ ’God’s so, look where he is! yonder he goes.
DOWNRIGHT _walks over the stage_.
_Dow._ What peevish luck have I, I cannot meet with these bragging
rascals?
_Bob._ It is not he, is it? 135
_E. Know._ Yes, faith, it is he.
_Mat._ I’ll be hang’d, then, if that were he.
_E. Know._ Sir, keep your hanging good for some greater matter, for I
assure you that was he. 140
_Step._ Upon my reputation, it was he.
_Bob._ Had I thought it had been he, he must not have gone so: but I
can hardly be induc’d to believe it was he yet.
_E. Know._ That I think, sir. 145
[_Re-enter_ DOWNRIGHT.]
But see, he is come again.
_Dow._ O, Pharaoh’s foot, have I found you? Come, draw, to your
tools; draw, gipsy, or I’ll thrash you.
_Bob._ Gentleman of valour, I do believe in thee; hear me—— 151
_Dow._ Draw your weapon then.
_Bob._ Tall[1311] man, I never thought on it till now——body of me,
I had a warrant of the peace served on me, even now as I came along,
by a water-bearer; this gentleman saw it, (156) Master Mathew.
_Dow._ ’S death! you will not draw then?
_Beats and disarms him._ MATHEW _runs away_.
_Bob._ Hold, hold! under thy favour forbear!
_Dow._ Prate again, as you like this, you (160) whoreson foist[1312]
you! You’ll “control[1313] the point,” you! Your consort is gone; had
he staid he had shar’d with you, sir. [_Exit._]
_Bob._ Well, gentlemen, bear witness, I was bound to the peace, by
this good day. 165
_E. Know._ No, faith, it’s an ill day, captain, never reckon it
other: but, say you were bound to the peace, the law allows you to
defend yourself: that’ll prove but a poor excuse.
_Bob._ I cannot tell, sir: I desire good construction (170) in fair
sort. I never sustain’d the like disgrace, by heaven! Sure I was
struck with a planet thence, for I had no power to touch my weapon.
_E. Know._ Ay, like enough; I have heard of many that have been
beaten under a planet: (176) go, get you to a surgeon. ’Slid! an
these be your tricks, your _passadas_, and your _montantos_, I’ll
none of them. [_Exit_ BOBADILL.] O, manners! that this age should
bring forth such (180) creatures! that nature should be at leisure to
make them! Come, coz.
_Step._ Mass, I’ll ha’ this cloak.
_E. Know._ ’Od’s will, ’tis Downright’s.
_Step._ Nay, it’s mine now, another might have ta’en up as well as
I: I’ll wear it, so I will. 186
_E. Know._ How an he see it? He’ll challenge it, assure yourself.
_Step._ Ay, but he shall not ha’ it; I’ll say I bought it. 190
_E. Know._ Take heed you buy it not too dear, coz. [_Exeunt._]
SCENE VIII.[1314]
[_Enter_] KITELY, WELLBRED, DAME KITELY, _and_ BRIDGET.
_Kit._ Now, trust me, brother, you were much to blame,
T’ incense his anger, and disturb the peace
Of my poor house, where there are sentinels
That every minute watch to give alarms
Of civil war, without adjection[1315] 5
Of your assistance or occasion.
_Wel._ No harm done, brother, I warrant you. Since there is no harm
done, anger costs a man nothing; and a tall man is never his own man
till he be angry. To keep his valour in obscurity, (10) is to keep
himself as it were in a cloak-bag. What’s a musician, unless he play?
What’s a tall mail unless he fight? For, indeed, all this my wise
brother stands upon absolutely; and that made me fall in with him so
resolutely. 15
_Dame K._ Ay, but what harm might have come of it, brother!
_Wel._ Might, sister? So might the good warm clothes your husband
wears be poison’d, for any thing he knows: or the wholesome wine he 20
drank, even now at the table.
_Kit._ [_Aside._] Now, God forbid! O me! now I remember
My wife drank to me last, and chang’d the cup,
And bade me wear this cursed suit to-day.
See, if Heaven suffer murder undiscover’d!— 25
I feel me ill; give me some mithridate,[1316]
Some mithridate and oil, good sister, fetch me;
O, I am sick at heart, I burn, I burn.
If you will save my life, go fetch it me.
_Wel._ O strange humour! my very breath (30) has poison’d him.
_Brid._ Good brother, be content, what do you mean?
The strength of these extreme conceits[1317] will kill you.
_Dame K._ Beshrew your heart-blood, brother Wellbred, now,
For putting such a toy into his head! 35
_Wel._ Is a fit simile a toy? Will he be poison’d with a simile?
Brother Kitely, what a strange and idle imagination is this! For
shame, be wiser. O’ my soul, there’s no such matter. 39
_Kit._ Am I not sick? How am I then not poison’d?
Am I not poison’d? How am I then so sick?
_Dame K._ If you be sick, your own thoughts make you sick.
_Wel._ His jealousy is the poison he has taken.
_Enter_ BRAINWORM, _disguised like justice Clement’s man_.
_Brai._ Master Kitely, my master, justice (44) Clement, salutes you;
and desires to speak with you with all possible speed.
_Kit._ No time but now, when I think I am sick, very sick! Well, I
will wait upon his worship. Thomas! Cob! I must seek them out, and
set ’em sentinels till I return. Thomas! Cob! (50) Thomas! [_Exit._]
_Wel._ This is perfectly rare, Brainworm; [_Takes him aside._] but
how got’st thou this apparel of the justice’s man? 54
_Brai._ Marry, sir, my proper fine pen-man would needs bestow the
grist o’ me, at the Windmill, to hear some martial discourse; where
I so marshall’d him, that I made him drunk with admiration: and,
because too much heat was the cause of his distemper, I stript 60
him stark naked as he lay along asleep, and borrowed his suit to
deliver this counterfeit message in, leaving a rusty armour, and an
old brown bill to watch him till my return; which shall be, when I
ha’ pawn’d his apparel, and (65) spent the better part o’ the money,
perhaps.
_Wel._ Well, thou art a successful merry knave, Brainworm: his
absence will be a good subject for more mirth. I pray thee return to
thy young master, and will him to meet me and my (70) sister Bridget
at the Tower[1318] instantly; for here, tell him, the house is so
stor’d with jealousy, there is no room for love to stand upright in.
We must get our fortunes committed to some larger prison, say; and
than the Tower, I (75) know no better air, nor where the liberty of
the house may do us more present service. Away!
[_Exit_ BRAINWORM.]
[_Re-enter_ KITELY, _talking aside to_ CASH.]
_Kit._ Come hither, Thomas. Now my secret’s ripe,
And thou shalt have it: lay to both thine ears.
Hark what I say to thee. I must go forth, Thomas; 80
Be careful of thy promise, keep good watch,
Note every gallant, and observe him well,
That enters in my absence to thy mistress:
If she would shew him rooms, the jest is stale,
Follow ’em, Thomas, or else hang on him, 85
And let him not go after; mark their looks;
Note if she offer but to see his band,
Or any other amorous toy about him;
But praise his leg, or foot: or if she say
The day is hot, and bid him feel her hand, 90
How hot it is; O, that’s a monstrous thing!
Note me all this, good Thomas, mark their sighs,
And if they do but whisper, break ’em off:
I’ll bear thee out in it. Wilt thou do this?
Wilt thou be true, my Thomas?
_Cash._ As truth’s self, sir. 95
_Kit._ Why, I believe thee. Where is Cob, now? Cob! _Exit._]
_Dame K._ He’s ever calling for Cob: I wonder how he employs Cob so.
_Wel._ Indeed, sister, to ask how he employs Cob, is a necessary
question for you that are (100) his wife, and a thing not very easy
for you to be satisfied in; but this I’ll assure you, Cob’s wife is
an excellent bawd, sister, and oftentimes your husband haunts her
house; marry, to what end? I cannot altogether accuse him; imagine
(105) you what you think convenient: but I have known fair hides have
foul hearts ere now, sister.
_Dame K._ Never said you truer than that, brother, so much I can tell
you for your learning. Thomas, fetch your cloak and go with me. 110
[_Exit_ CASH.]
I’ll after him presently: I would to fortune I could take him there,
i’ faith. I ’d return him his own, I warrant him! [_Exit._]
_Wel._ So, let ’em go; this may make sport anon. Now, my fair
sister-in-law, that you knew but (115) how happy a thing it were to
be fair and beautiful.
_Brid._ That touches not me, brother.
_Wel._ That’s true; that’s even the fault of it; for indeed,
beauty stands a woman in no (120) stead, unless it procure her
touching.—But, sister, whether it touch you or no, it touches your
beauties; and I am sure they will abide the touch; an they do not,
a plague of all ceruse,[1319] say I! and it touches me too in part,
(125) though not in the——Well, there’s a dear and respected friend
of mine, sister, stands very strongly and worthily affected toward
you, and hath vow’d to inflame whole bonfires of zeal at his heart,
in honour of your perfections. I (130) have already engag’d my
promise to bring you where you shall hear him confirm much more. Ned
Knowell is the man, sister: there’s no exception against the party.
You are ripe for a husband; and a minute’s loss to such an 135
occasion is a great trespass in a wise beauty. What say you, sister?
On my soul he loves you; will you give him the meeting?
_Brid._ Faith, I had very little confidence in mine own constancy,
brother, if I durst not (140) meet a man: but this motion of yours
savours of an old knight adventurer’s servant a little too much,
methinks.
_Wel._ What’s that, sister?
_Brid._ Marry, of the squire.[1320] 145
_Wel._ No matter if it did, I would be such an one for my friend. But
see, who is return’d to hinder us!
[_Re-enter_ KITELY.]
_Kit._ What villany is this? Call’d out on a false message!
This was some plot; I was not sent for.—Bridget, 150
Where is your sister?
_Brid._ I think she be gone forth, sir.
_Kit._ How! is my wife gone forth? Whither, for God’s sake?
_Brid._ She ’s gone abroad with Thomas.
_Kit._ Abroad with Thomas! oh, that villain dors[1321] me:
He hath discover’d all unto my wife. 155
Beast that I was, to trust him! Whither, I pray you
Went she?
_Brid._ I know not, sir.
_Wel._ I’ll tell you, brother,
Whither I suspect she’s gone.
_Kit._ Whither, good brother?
_Wel._ To Cob’s house, I believe: but, keep my counsel.
_Kit._ I will, I will: to Cob’s house! Doth she haunt Cob’s? 160
She’s gone a’ purpose now to cuckold me
With that lewd rascal, who, to win her favour,
Hath told her all. [_Exit._]
_Wel._ Come, he is once more gone,
Sister, let’s lose no time; th’ affair is worth it.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE IX.[1322]
[_Enter_] MATHEW _and_ BOBADILL.
_Mat._ I wonder, captain, what they will say of my going away, ha?
_Bob._ Why, what should they say, but as of a discreet gentleman;
quick, wary, respectful of nature’s fair lineaments? and that’s all. 5
_Mat._ Why so! but what can they say of your beating?
_Bob._ A rude part, a touch with soft wood, a kind of gross battery
us’d, laid on strongly, borne most patiently; and that’s all. 10
_Mat._ Ay, but would any man have offered it in Venice, as you say?
_Bob._ Tut! I assure you, no: you shall have there your _nobilis_,
your _gentilezza_, come in bravely upon your reverse, stand you
close, (15) stand you firm, stand you fair, save your _retricato_
with his left leg, come to the _assalto_ with the right, thrust with
brave steel, defy your base wood! But wherefore do I awake this
remembrance? I was fascinated, by Jupiter; fascinated, but I will be
unwitch’d and reveng’d by law. 21
_Mat._ Do you hear? Is it not best to get a warrant, and have him
arrested and brought before justice Clement?
_Bob._ It were not amiss? Would we had it! 25
[_Enter_ BRAINWORM _disguised as_ FORMAL.]
_Mat._ Why, here comes his man; let’s speak to him.
_Bob._ Agreed, do you speak.
_Mat._ Save you, sir.
_Brai._ With all my heart, sir. 30
_Mat._ Sir, there is one Downright hath abus’d this gentleman and
myself, and we determine to make our amends by law. Now, if you would
do us the favour to procure a warrant to (34) bring him afore your
master, you shall be well considered, I assure you, sir.
_Brai._ Sir, you know my service is my living; such favours as these
gotten of my master is his only preferment,[1323] and therefore you
must (39) consider me as I may make benefit of my place.
_Mat._ How is that, sir?
_Brai._ Faith, sir, the thing is extraordinary, and the gentleman may
be of great account; yet, be he what he will, if you will lay me down
a brace of angels in my hand you shall (45) have it, otherwise not.
_Mat._ How shall we do, captain? He asks a brace of angels; you have
no money?
_Bob._ Not a cross,[1324] by fortune.
_Mat._ Nor I, as I am a gentleman, but two-pence (50) left of my two
shillings in the morning for wine and radish: let’s find him some
pawn.
_Bob._ Pawn! we have none to the value of his demand.
_Mat._ O, yes; I’ll pawn this jewel in my (55) ear, and you may pawn
your silk stockings, and pull up your boots, they will ne’er be mist:
it must be done now.
_Bob._ Well, an there be no remedy, I’ll step aside and pull ’em off.
[_Withdraws._] 60
_Mat._ Do you hear, sir? We have no store of money at this time,
but you shall have good pawns; look you, sir, this jewel, and that
gentleman’s silk stockings; because we would have it dispatch’d ere
we went to our chambers. 65
_Brai._ I am content, sir; I will get you the warrant
presently.[1325] What’s his name, say you? Downright?
_Mat._ Ay, ay, George Downright.
_Brai._ What manner of man is he? 70
_Mat._ A tall big man, sir; he goes in a cloak most commonly of
silk-russet, laid about with russet lace.
_Brai._ ’Tis very good, sir.
_Mat._ Here, sir, here’s my jewel. 75
_Bob._ [_returning._] And here are stockings.
_Brai._ Well, gentlemen, I’ll procure you this warrant presently; but
who will you have to serve it?
_Mat._ That’s true, captain: that must be (80) consider’d.
_Bob._ Body o’ me, I know not; ’tis service of danger.
_Brai._ Why, you were best get one o’ the varlets o’ the city,[1326]
a serjeant: I’ll appoint you one, if you please. 85
_Mat._ Will you, sir? Why, we can wish no better.
_Bob._ We’ll leave it to you, sir.
[_Exeunt_ BOB. _and_ MAT.]
_Brai._ This is rare! Now will I go and pawn this cloak of the
justice’s man’s at the broker’s (90) for a varlet’s suit, and be the
varlet myself; and get either more pawns, or more money of Downright,
for the arrest. [_Exit._]
SCENE X.[1327]
[_Enter_] KNOWELL.
_Know._ Oh, here it is; I am glad I have found it now;
Ho! who is within here?
_Tib._ [_within._] I am within, sir? What’s your pleasure?
_Know._ To know who is within besides yourself.
_Tib._ Why, sir, you are no constable, I hope?
_Know._ O, fear you the constable? Then I doubt not 6
You have some guests within deserve that fear.
I’ll fetch him straight.
[_Enter_ TIB.]
O’ God’s name, sir!
_Know._ Go to; come tell me, is not young Knowell here?
_Tib._ Young Knowell! I know none such, sir, o’ mine honesty. 10
_Know._ Your honesty, dame! It flies too lightly from you.
There is no way but fetch the constable.
_Tib._ The constable! the man is mad, I think.
[_Exit, and claps to the door._]
[_Enter_ DAME KITELY _and_ CASH.]
_Cash._ Ho! who keeps house here?
_Know._ O, this is the female copesmate[1328] of my son: 15
Now shall I meet him straight.
_Dame K._ Knock, Thomas, hard.
_Cash._ Ho, goodwife!
[_Re-enter_ TIB.]
_Tib._ Why, what’s the matter with you?
_Dame K._ Why, woman, grieves it you to ope your door?
Belike you get something to keep it shut.
_Tib._ What mean these questions, pray ye? 20
_Dame K._ So strange you make it! Is not my husband here?
_Know._ Her husband!
_Dame K._ My tried husband, master Kitely?
_Tib._ I hope he needs not to be tried here.
_Dame K._ No, dame, he does it not for need, but pleasure. 24
_Tib._ Neither for need nor pleasure is he here.
_Know._ This is but a device to balk me withal:
[_Enter_ KITELY, _muffled in his cloak_.]
Soft, who is this? ’Tis not my son disguis’d?
_Dame K._ (_spies her husband come, and runs to him._)
O, sir, have I forestall’d your honest market?
Found your close[1329] walks? You stand amaz’d now, do you? 29
I’ faith, I am glad I have smokt[1330] you yet at last.
What is your jewel, trow? In, come, let’s see her;
Fetch forth your huswife, dame; if she be fairer,
In any honest judgment, than myself,
I’ll be content with it: but she is change,
She feeds you fat, she soothes your appetite, 35
And you are well! Your wife, an honest woman,
Is meat twice sod[1331] to you, sir! O, you treachour![1332]
_Know._ She cannot counterfeit thus palpably.
_Kit._ Out on thy more than strumpet’s impudence!
Steal’st thou thus to thy haunts? and have I taken 40
Thy bawd and thee, and thy companion,
(_pointing to old_ KNOWELL)
This hoary-headed letcher, this old goat,
Close at your villainy, and would’st thou ’scuse it
With this stale harlot’s jest, accusing me?
O, old incontinent (_to_ KNOWELL), dost thou not shame, 45
When all thy powers in chastity is spent,
To have a mind so hot, and to entice,
And feed th’ enticements of a lustful woman?
_Dame K._ Out, I defy thee, I, dissembling wretch!
_Kit._ Defy me, strumpet! Ask thy pander[1333] here, 50
Can he deny it; or that wicked elder?
_Know._ Why, hear you, sir.
_Kit._ Tut, tut, tut; never speak:
Thy guilty conscience will discover thee.
_Know._ What lunacy is this, that haunts this man?
_Kit._ Well, good wife BA’D,[1334] Cob’s wife, and you, 55
That make your husband such a hoddy-doddy;[1335]
And you, young apple-squire, and old cuckold-maker;
I’ll ha’ you every one before a justice:
Nay, you shall answer it, I charge you go.
_Know._ Marry, with all my heart, sir, I go willingly; 60
Though I do taste this as a trick put on me,
To punish my impertinent search, and justly,
And half forgive my son for the device.
_Kit._ Come, will you go?
_Dame K._ Go! to thy shame believe it.
[_Enter_ COB.]
_Cob._ Why, what’s the matter here, what’s here to do? 65
_Kit._ O, Cob, art thou come? I have been abus’d,
And i’ thy house; was never man so wrong’d!
_Cob._ ’Slid, in my house, my master Kitely!
Who wrongs you in my house?
_Kit._ Marry, young lust in old, and old in young here: 70
Thy wife’s their bawd, here have I taken ’em.
_Cob._ How, bawd! is my house come to that? Am I preferr’d thither?
Did I not charge you to keep your doors shut, Isbel? and do you let
’em lie open for all comers? 75
_He falls upon his wife and beats her._
_Know._ Friend, know some cause, before thou beat’st thy wife.
This ’s madness in thee.
_Cob._ Why, is there no cause?
_Kit._ Yes, I’ll shew cause before the justice, Cob:
Come, let her go with me.
_Cob._ Nay, she shall go.
_Tib._ Nay, I will go. I’ll see an you may (80) be allow’d to make
a bundle o’ hemp[1336] o’ your right and lawful wife thus, at every
cuckoldy knave’s pleasure. Why do you not go?
_Kit._ A bitter quean! Come, we will ha’ you tam’d. [_Exeunt._]
SCENE XI.[1337]
[_Enter_] BRAINWORM, [_disguised as a City Serjeant_.]
_Brai._ Well, of all my disguises yet, now am I most like myself,
being in this serjeant’s gown. A man of my present profession never
counterfeits, till he lays hold upon a debtor and says he ’rests him;
for then he brings him to all (5) manner of unrest. A kind of little
kings we are, bearing the diminutive of a mace, made like a young
artichoke, that always carries pepper and salt in itself. Well, I
know not what danger I undergo by this exploit; pray Heaven (10) I
come well off!
[_Enter_ MATHEW _and_ BOBADILL.]
_Mat._ See, I think, yonder is the varlet, by his gown.
_Bob._ Let’s go in quest of him.
_Mat._ ’Save you, friend! Are not you here by appointment of justice
Clement’s man? 15
_Brai._ Yes, an’t please you, sir; he told me two gentlemen had
will’d him to procure a warrant from his master, which I have about
me, to be serv’d on one Downright.
_Mat._ It is honestly done of you both; and (20) see where the party
comes you must arrest; serve it upon him quickly, afore he be aware.
_Bob._ Bear back, master Mathew.
[_Enter_ STEPHEN _in_ DOWNRIGHT’S _cloak_.]
_Brai._ Master Downright, I arrest you i’ the queen’s name, and must
carry you afore a (25) justice by virtue of this warrant.
_Step._ Me, friend! I am no Downright, I; I am master Stephen. You do
not well to arrest me, I tell you, truly; I am in nobody’s bonds nor
books, I would you should know it. A plague (30) on you heartily, for
making me thus afraid afore my time!
_Brai._ Why, now are you deceived, gentlemen?
_Bob._ He wears such a cloak, and that deceived us: but see, here ’a
comes indeed; this (35) is he, officer.
[_Enter_ DOWNRIGHT.]
_Dow._ Why how now, signior gull! Are you turn’d filcher of late!
Come, deliver my cloak.
_Step._ Your cloak, sir! I bought it even now, in open market. 40
_Brai._ Master Downright, I have a warrant I must serve upon you,
procur’d by these two gentlemen.
_Dow._ These gentlemen! These rascals!
[_Offers to beat them_.]
_Brai._ Keep the peace, I charge you in her majesty’s name. 45
_Dow._ I obey thee. What must I do, officer?
_Brai._ Go before master justice Clement, to answer what they can
object against you, sir. I will use you kindly, sir. 50
_Mat._ Come, let’s before, and make[1338] the justice, captain.
_Bob._ The varlet’s a tall man, afore heaven!
[_Exeunt_ BOB. _and_ MAT.]
_Dow._ Gull, you’ll gi’ me my cloak.
_Step._ Sir, I bought it, and I’ll keep it. 55
_Dow._ You will?
_Step._ Ay, that I will.
_Dow._ Officer, there’s thy fee, arrest him.
_Brai._ Master Stephen, I must arrest you.
_Step._ Arrest me! I scorn it. There, take your cloak, I’ll none on
’t. 61
_Dow._ Nay, that shall not serve your turn now, sir. Officer, I’ll
go with thee to the justice’s; bring him along.
_Step._ Why, is not here your cloak? What would you have? 66
_Dow._ I’ll ha’ you answer it, sir.
_Brai._ Sir, I’ll take your word, and this gentleman’s too, for his
appearance.
_Dow._ I’ll ha’ no words taken: bring him along.
_Brai._ Sir, I may choose to do that, I may (71) take bail.
_Dow._ ’Tis true, you may take bail, and choose at another time; but
you shall not now, varlet. Bring him along, or I’ll swinge you. 75
_Brai._ Sir, I pity the gentleman’s case; here’s your money again.
_Dow._ ’Sdeins, tell not me of my money; bring him away, I say.
_Brai._ I warrant you he will go with you of himself, sir. 81
_Dow._ Yet more ado?
_Brai._ [_Aside._] I have made a fair mash on’t.
_Step._ Must I go?
_Brai._ I know no remedy, master Stephen. 85
_Dow._ Come along afore me here; I do not love your hanging look
behind.
_Step._ Why, sir, I hope you cannot hang me for it: can he, fellow?
_Brai._ I think not, sir; it is but a whipping matter, sure. 91
_Step._ Why then let him do his worst, I am resolute. [_Exeunt._]
ACT V
SCENE I.[1339]
[_Enter_] CLEMENT, KNOWELL, KITELY, DAME KITELY, TIB, CASH, COB,
Servants.
_Clem._ Nay, but stay, stay, give me leave: my chair, sirrah.—You,
master Knowell, say you went thither to meet your son?
_Know._ Ay, sir.
_Clem._ But who directed you thither? 5
_Know._ That did mine own man, sir.
_Clem._ Where is he?
_Know._ Nay, I know not now; I left him with your clerk, and
appointed him to stay here for me. 10
_Clem._ My clerk! about what time was this?
_Know._ Marry, between one and two, as I take it.
_Clem._ And what time came my man with the false message to you,
master Kitely? 15
_Kit._ After two, sir.
_Clem._ Very good: but, mistress Kitely, how chance that you were at
Cob’s, ha?
_Dame K._ An ’t please you, sir, I’ll tell you: my brother Wellbred
told me that Cob’s house was a suspected place—— 21
_Clem._ So it appears, methinks: but on.
_Dame K._ And that my husband us’d thither daily.
_Clem._ No matter, so he us’d himself well, mistress. 25
_Dame K._ True, sir: but you know what grows by such haunts
oftentimes.
_Clem._ I see rank fruits of a jealous brain, mistress Kitely: but
did you find your husband (30) there, in that case as you suspected?
_Kit._ I found her there, sir.
_Clem._ Did you so? That alters the case. Who gave you knowledge of
your wife’s being there?
_Kit._ Marry, that did my brother Wellbred. 35
_Clem._ How, Wellbred first tell her; then tell you after! Where is
Wellbred?
_Kit._ Gone with my sister, sir, I know not whither. 39
_Clem._ Why this is a mere trick, a device; you are gull’d in this
most grossly all. Alas, poor wench! wert thou beaten for this?
_Tib._ Yes, most pitifully, an ’t please you.
_Cob._ And worthily, I hope, if it shall prove so. 45
_Clem._ Ay, that’s like, and a piece of a sentence.—
[_Enter a_ Servant.]
How now, sir! what’s the matter?
_Serv._ Sir, there’s a gentleman i’ the court without, desires to
speak with your worship. 50
_Clem._ A gentleman! what is he?
_Serv._ A soldier, sir, he says.
_Clem._ A soldier! Take down my armour, my sword quickly. A soldier
speak with me! Why, when, knaves! Come on, come on. (_Arms himself_);
(55) hold my cap there, so; give me my gorget,[1340] my sword: stand
by, I will end your matters anon.——Let the soldier enter. [_Exit
Servant._]
SCENE II.[1341]
[CLEMENT, KNOWELL, _etc. Enter_] BOBADILL, [_followed by_] MATHEW.
Now, sir, what ha’ you to say to me? [1342]
_Bob._ By your worship’s favour——
_Clem._ Nay, keep out, sir; I know not your pretence.—You send me
word, sir, you are a soldier; why, sir, you shall be answer’d here: 5
here be them have been amongst soldiers. Sir, your pleasure.
_Bob._ Faith, sir, so it is, this gentleman and myself have been most
uncivilly wrong’d and beaten by one Downright, a coarse fellow 10
about the town here; and for mine own part, I protest, being a man in
no sort given to this filthy humour of quarrelling, he hath assaulted
me in the way of my peace, despoil’d me of mine honour, disarm ’d me
of my weapons, (15) and rudely laid me along in the open streets,
when I not so much as once offer’d to resist him.
_Clem._ O, God’s precious! is this the soldier? Here, take my armour
off quickly, ’t will make him swoon, I fear; he is not fit to look on
’t, (20) that will put up a blow.
_Mat._ An’t please your worship, he was bound to the peace.
_Clem._ Why, an he were, sir, his hands were not bound, were they? 25
[_Re-enter_ Servant.]
_Serv._ There’s one of the varlets of the city, sir, has brought two
gentlemen here; one, upon your worship’s warrant.
_Clem._ My warrant!
_Serv._ Yes, sir; the officer says, procur’d by these two. 31
_Clem._ Bid him come in. [_Exit_ Servant.] Set by this picture.[1343]
SCENE III.[1344]
[CLEMENT, BOBADILL, _etc. Enter_] DOWNRIGHT, STEPHEN, _and_ BRAINWORM
[_disguised as before_].
What, Master Downright! Are you brought in at
Mr. Freshwater’s[1345] suit here?[1346]
_Dow._ I’ faith, sir, and here’s another brought at my suit.
_Clem._ What are you, sir? 5
_Step._ A gentleman, sir. O, uncle!
_Clem._ Uncle! Who? Master Knowell?
_Know._ Ay, sir; this is a wise kinsman of mine. 9
_Step._ God’s my witness, uncle, I am wrong’d here monstrously; he
charges me with stealing of his cloak, and would I might never stir,
if I did not find it in the street by chance.
_Dow._ O, did you find it now? You said you bought it ere-while. 15
_Step._ And you said, I stole it. Nay, now my uncle is here, I’ll do
well enough with you.
_Clem._ Well, let this breathe awhile. You that have cause to
complain there, stand forth. Had you my warrant for this gentleman’s 20
apprehension?
_Bob._ Ay, an ’t please your worship.
_Clem._ Nay, do not speak in passion[1347] so. Where had you it?
_Bob._ Of your clerk, sir. 25
_Clem._ That’s well! an my clerk can make warrants, and my hand not
at ’em! Where is the warrant—officer, have you it?
_Brai._ No, sir. Your worship’s man, Master Formal, bid me do it for
these gentlemen, (30) and he would be my discharge.
_Clem._ Why, Master Downright, are you such a novice, to be serv’d
and never see the warrant?
_Dow._ Sir, he did not serve it on me. 35
_Clem._ No! how then?
_Dow._ Marry, sir, he came to me, and said he must serve it, and he
would use me kindly, and so—— 39
_Clem._ O, God’s pity, was it so, sir? _He must serve it!_ Give me my
long sword there, and help me off. So, come on, sir varlet, I _must_
cut off your legs, sirrah [BRAINWORM _kneels_]; nay, stand up, _I’ll
use you kindly_; I _must_ cut off your legs, I say. 45
_Flourishes over him with his long sword._
_Brai._ O, good sir, I beseech you; nay, good master justice!
_Clem._ I _must_ do it, there is no remedy; I _must_ cut off your
legs, sirrah, I _must_ cut off your ears, you rascal, I _must_ do it:
I _must_ (50) cut off your nose, I _must_ cut off your head.
_Brai._ O, good your worship!
_Clem._ Well, rise; how dost thou do now? Dost thou feel thyself
well? Hast thou no harm? 55
_Brai._ No, I thank your good worship, sir.
_Clem._ Why so! I said I must cut off thy legs, and I must cut off
thy arms, and I must cut off thy head; but I did not do it: so you
said you must serve this gentleman with my (60) warrant, but you
did not serve him. You knave, you slave, you rogue, do you say you
_must_, sirrah! Away with him to the jail; I’ll teach you a trick for
your _must_, sir.
_Brai._ Good sir, I beseech you, be good to (65) me.
_Clem._ Tell him he shall to the jail; away with him, I say.
_Brai._ Nay, sir, if you will commit me, it shall be for committing
more than this: I will (70) not lose by my travail any grain of my
fame, certain. [_Throws off his serjeant’s gown._]
_Clem._ How is this?
_Know._ My man Brainworm!
_Step._ O, yes, uncle: Brainworm has been with my cousin Edward and I
all this day. 76
_Clem._ I told you all there was some device.
_Brai._ Nay, excellent justice, since I have laid myself thus open to
you, now stand strong for me; both with your sword and your balance. 80
_Clem._ Body o’ me, a merry knave! give me a bowl of sack. If he
belong to you, Master Knowell, I bespeak your patience.
_Brai._ That is it I have most need of. Sir, if you’ll pardon me
only, I’ll glory in all the (85) rest of my exploits.
_Know._ Sir, you know I love not to have my favours come hard from
me. You have your pardon, though I suspect you shrewdly for being of
counsel with my son against me. 90
_Brai._ Yes, faith, I have, sir, though you retain’d me doubly this
morning for yourself: first, as Brainworm; after, as Fitz-Sword. I
was your reform’d soldier, sir. ’T was I sent you to Cob’s upon the
errand without end. 95
_Know._ Is it possible? or that thou should’st disguise thy language
so as I should not know thee?
_Brai._ O, sir, this has been the day of my metamorphosis. It is not
that shape alone (100) that I have run through to-day. I brought
this gentleman, master Kitely, a message too, in the form of master
Justice’s man here, to draw him out o’ the way, as well as your
worship, while master Wellbred might make a conveyance (105) of
mistress Bridget to my young master.
_Kit._ How! my sister stol’n away?
_Know._ My son is not married, I hope.
_Brai._ Faith, sir, they are both as sure as love, a priest, and three
thousand pound, which (110) is her portion, can make ’em; and by
this time are ready to bespeak their wedding-supper at the Windmill,
except some friend here prevent ’em, and invite ’em home.
_Clem._ Marry, that will I; I thank thee for (115) putting me in mind
on ’t. Sirrah, go you and fetch them hither upon my warrant. [_Exit_
Servant.] Neither’s friends have cause to be sorry, if I know the
young couple aright. Here, I drink to thee for thy good news. But I
pray (120) thee, what hast thou done with my man, Formal?
_Brai._ Faith, sir, after some ceremony past, as making him drunk,
first with story, and then with wine, (but all in kindness,) and
stripping (125) him to his shirt, I left him in that cool vein;
departed, sold your worship’s warrant to these two, pawn’d his livery
for that varlet’s gown, to serve it in; and thus have brought myself
by my activity to your worship’s consideration. 131
_Clem._ And I will consider thee in another cup of sack. Here’s to
thee, which having drunk off this my sentence: Pledge me. Thou hast
done, or assisted to nothing, in my (135) judgment, but deserves to
be pardon’d for the wit of the offence. If thy master, or any man
here, be angry with thee, I shall suspect his ingine,[1348] while I
know him, for ’t. How now, what noise is that? 140
[_Enter_ Servant.]
_Serv._ Sir, it is Roger is come home.
_Clem._ Bring him in, bring him in.
SCENE IV.[1349]
_To them_ [_enter_] FORMAL [_in a suit of armour_.]
What! drunk? In arms against me? Your reason, your reason for
this?[1350]
_Form._ I beseech your worship to pardon me; I happen’d into ill
company by chance, that cast me into a sleep, and stript me of all my 5
clothes.
_Clem._ Well, tell him I am Justice Clement, and do pardon him: but
what is this to your armour? What may that signify?
_Form._ An’t please you, sir, it hung up i’ (10) the room where I was
stript; and I borrow’d it of one of the drawers[1351] to come home
in, because I was loth to do penance through the street i’ my shirt.
_Clem._ Well, stand by a while. 15
SCENE V.[1349]
_To them_ [_enter_] E. KNOWELL, WELLBRED, _and_ BRIDGET.
Who be these? O, the young company; welcome, welcome! Gi’ you joy.
Nay, mistress Bridget, blush not; you are not so fresh a bride, but
the news of it is come hither afore you. Master bridegroom, I ha’
made your peace, (5) give me your hand: so will I for all the rest
ere you forsake my roof.[1352]
_E. Know._ We are the more bound to your humanity, sir.
_Clem._ Only these two have so little of man in ’em, they are no part
of my care. 11
_Wel._ Yes, sir, let me pray you for this gentleman, he belongs to my
sister the bride.
_Clem._ In what place, sir?
_Wel._ Of her delight, sir, below the stairs, (15) and in public: her
poet, sir.
_Clem._ A poet! I will challenge him myself presently at extempore.
_Mount up thy Phlegon,[1353] Muse, and testify
How Saturn, sitting in an ebon cloud, 20
Disrobed his podex, white as ivory,
And through the welkin thund’red all aloud._
_Wel._ He is not for extempore, sir: he is all for the pocket muse;
please you command a sight of it. 25
_Clem._ Yes, yes, search him for a taste of his vein. [_They search_
MATHEW’S _pockets_.]
_Wel._ You must not deny the queen’s justice, sir, under a writ o’
rebellion. 29
_Clem._ What! all this verse? Body o’ me, he carries a whole
realm,[1354] a commonwealth of paper in his hose. Let us see some of
his subjects. [_Reads._]
_Unto the boundless ocean of thy face,
Runs this poor river, charg’d with streams of eyes._[1355]
How! this is stol’n. 35
_E. Know._ A parody! a parody! with a kind of miraculous gift, to
make it absurder than it was.
_Clem._ Is all the rest of this batch? Bring me a torch; lay it
together, and give fire. (40) Cleanse the air. [_Sets the papers
on fire._] Here was enough to have infected the whole city, if it
had not been taken in time. See, see, how our poet’s glory shines!
brighter and brighter! still it increases! O, now it’s at the
highest; (45) and now it declines as fast. You may see, _sic transit
gloria mundi_!
_Know._ There’s an emblem for you, son, and your studies. 49
_Clem._ Nay, no speech or act of mine be drawn against such as
profess it worthily. They are not born every year, as an alderman.
There goes more to the making of a good poet, than a sheriff. Master
Kitely, you look upon me!—though I live i’ the city here, amongst
you, I (55) will do more reverence to him, when I meet him, than I
will to the mayor out of his year. But these paper-pedlars! these
ink-dabblers! they cannot expect reprehension or reproach; they have
it with the fact. 60
_E. Know._ Sir, you have sav’d me the labour of a defence.[1356]
_Clem._ It shall be discourse for supper between your father and me,
if he dare undertake (64) me. But to dispatch away these: you sign
o’ the soldier, and picture o’ the poet, (but both so false, I will
not ha’ you hang’d out at my door till midnight,) while we are at
supper, you two shall penitently fast it out in my court without;
and, if you will, you may pray there (70) that we may be so merry
within as to forgive or forget you when we come out. Here’s a third,
because we tender your safety, shall watch you, he is provided for
the purpose.[1357]—Look to your charge, sir. 75
_Step._ And what shall I do?
_Clem._ O! I had lost a sheep an he had not bleated: why, sir, you
shall give master Downright his cloak; and I will intreat him to take
it. A trencher and a napkin you shall (80) have i’ the buttery, and
keep Cob and his wife company here; whom I will intreat first to be
reconcil’d; and you to endeavour with your wit to keep ’em so.
_Step._ I’ll do my best. 85
_Cob._ Why, now I see thou art honest, Tib, I receive thee as my dear
and mortal wife again.
_Tib._ And I you, as my loving and obedient husband. 90
_Clem._ Good compliment! It will be their bridal night too. They are
married anew. Come, I conjure the rest to put off all discontent.
You, master Downright, your anger; you, master Knowell, your cares;
Master Kitely and his wife, their jealousy. 96
For, I must tell you both, while that is fed,
Horns i’ the mind are worse than o’ the head.
_Kit._ Sir, thus they go from me; kiss me, sweetheart. 100
_See what a drove of horns fly in the air,
Wing’d with my cleansed and my credulous breath!
Watch ’em, suspicious eyes, watch where they fall.
See, see! on heads that think they’ve none at all!
O, what a plenteous world of this will come! 105
When air rains horns, all may be sure of some._[1358]
I ha’ learn’d so much verse out of a jealous man’s part in a play.
_Clem._ ’Tis well, ’tis well! This night we’ll dedicate to
friendship, love, and laughter. (110) Master bridegroom, take your
bride and lead; every one, a fellow. Here is my mistress, Brainworm!
to whom all my addresses of courtship shall have their reference:
whose adventures this day, when our grandchildren shall (115) hear to
be made a fable, I doubt not but it shall find both spectators and
applause. [_Exeunt._]
SEJANUS, HIS FALL
BY BEN JONSON
_Non hic Centauros, non Gorgonas, Harpyiasque Invenies: Hominem pagina
nostra sapit._
PERSONS OF THE PLAY
TIBERIUS, [Emperor].
DRUSUS SENIOR, [Nephew of Tiberius].
NERO, }
DRUSUS JUNIOR, } [Sons of Germanicus].
CALIGULA, }
[LUCIUS] ARRUNTIUS, }
[CAIUS] SILIUS, } [Gentlemen
[TITIUS] SABINUS, } opposed
[MARCUS] LEPIDUS, } to
[CREMUTIUS] CORDUS, } Sejanus].
[ASINIUS] GALLUS, }
REGULUS, [Consul].
TERENTIUS.
[GRACINUS] LACO.
EUDEMUS, [a Physician].
RUFUS.
SEJANUS.
LATIARIS.
VARRO, [Consul].
[SERTORIUS] MACRO.
COTTA.
[DOMITIUS] AFER.
HATERIUS.
SANQUINIUS.
POMPONIUS.
[JULIUS] POSTHUMUS.
[FULCINUS] TRIO, Consul.
MINUTIUS.
SATRIUS [SECUNDUS].
[PINNARIUS] NATTA.
OPSIUS.
AGRIPPINA, [Widow of Germanicus].
LIVIA, [Wife of Drusus senior].
SOSIA, [Wife of C. Silius].
Tribuni.
Praecones.
Flamen.
Tubicines.
Nuntius.
Lictores.
Ministri.
Tibicines.
Servus, [_etc._].
SCENE.—_Rome._
TO THE NO LESS NOBLE BY VIRTUE THAN BLOOD, ESME, LORD AUBIGNY
MY LORD,—If ever any ruin were so great as to survive, I think this
be one I send you, The Fall of Sejanus. It is a poem, that, if I well
remember, in your lordship’s sight, suffer’d no less violence from our
people here, than the subject of it did from the rage of the people
of Rome; but with a different fate, as, I hope, merit;[1361] for this
hath outliv’d their malice, and begot itself a greater favour than he
lost, the love of good men. Amongst whom, if I make your lordship the
first it thanks, it is not without a just confession of the bond your
benefits have, and ever shall hold upon me,
Your Lordship’s most faithful honourer,
BEN. JONSON.
TO THE READERS[1362]
The following and voluntary labours[1363] of my friends, prefixed to
my book, have relieved me in much whereat, without them, I should
necessarily have touched. Now I will only use three or four short and
needful notes, and so rest.
First, if it be objected, that what I publish is no true poem, in
the strict laws of time, I confess it: as also in the want of a
proper chorus; whose habit and moods are such and so difficult, as
not any, whom I have seen, since the ancients, no, not they who have
most presently affected laws, have yet come in the way of. Nor is it
needful, or almost possible in these our times, and to such auditors as
commonly things are presented, to observe the old state and splendour
of dramatic poems, with preservation of any popular delight. But of
this I shall take more seasonable cause to speak, in my observations
upon Horace his Art of Poetry, which, with the text translated, I
intend shortly to publish.[1364] In the meantime, if in truth of
argument, dignity of persons, gravity and height of elocution, fulness
and frequency of sentence, I have discharged the other offices of a
tragic writer, let not the absence of these forms be imputed to me,
wherein I shall give you occasion hereafter, and without my boast, to
think I could better prescribe, than omit the due use for want of a
convenient knowledge.
The next is, lest in some nice nostril the quotations might savour
affected, I do let you know, that I abhor nothing more; and I have only
done it to show my integrity in the story, and save myself in those
common torturers that bring all wit to the rack; whose noses are ever
like swine spoiling and rooting up the Muses’ gardens; and their whole
bodies like moles, as blindly working under earth, to cast any, the
least, hills upon virtue.
Whereas they are in Latin, and the work in English, it was presupposed
none but the learned would take the pains to confer them; the authors
themselves being all in the learned tongues, save one,[1365] with whose
English side I have had little to do. To which it may be required,
since I have quoted the page, to name what editions I followed: _Tacit.
Lips. in quarto_, _Antwerp, edit. 1600. Dio. folio_, _Hen. Steph.
1592_. For the rest, as _Sueton_, _Seneca_, &c, the chapter doth
sufficiently direct, or the edition is not varied.
Lastly, I would inform you, that this book, in all numbers, is not the
same with that which was acted on the public stage; wherein a second
pen[1366] had good share: in place of which, I have rather chosen to
put weaker, and, no doubt, less pleasing, of mine own, than to defraud
so happy a genius of his right by my loathed usurpation.
Fare you well, and if you read farther of me, and like, I shall not be
afraid of it, though you praise me out.
_Neque enim mihi cornea fibra est._
But that I should plant my felicity in your general saying, _good_, or
_well_, &c., were a weakness which the better sort of you might worthily
contemn, if not absolutely hate me for.
BEN. JONSON;
and no such,
_Quem
Palma negata macrum, donata reducit opimum._
THE ARGUMENT
Aelius Sejanus, son to Seius Strabo, a gentleman of Rome, and born
at Vulsinium; after his long service in court, first under Augustus;
afterward, Tiberius; grew into that favour with the latter, and won
him by those arts, as there wanted nothing but the name to make him
a co-partner of the Empire. Which greatness of his, Drusus, the
Emperor’s son, not brooking; after many smother’d dislikes, it one day
breaking out, the prince struck him publicly on the face. To revenge
which disgrace, Livia, the wife of Drusus (being before corrupted by
him to her dishonour, and the discovery of her husband’s counsels)
Sejanus practiseth with, together with her physician, called Eudemus,
and one Lygdus, an eunuch, to poison Drusus. This their inhuman act
having successful and unsuspected passage, it emboldeneth Sejanus to
farther and more insolent projects, even the ambition of the Empire;
where finding the lets[1367] he must encounter to be many and hard,
in respect of the issue of Germanicus, who were next in hope for the
succession, he deviseth to make Tiberius’ self his means; and instils
into his ears many doubts and suspicions, both against the princes,
and their mother Agrippina; which Caesar jealously heark’ning to, as
covetously consenteth to their ruin, and their friends’. In this time,
the better to mature and strengthen his design, Sejanus labours to
marry Livia, and worketh with all his ingine,[1368] to remove Tiberius
from the knowledge of public business, with allurements of a quiet and
retired life; the latter of which, Tiberius, out of a proneness to
lust, and a desire to hide those unnatural pleasures which he could
not so publicly practise, embraceth: the former enkindleth his fears,
and there gives him first cause of doubt or suspect towards Sejanus:
against whom he raiseth in private a new instrument, one Sertorius
Macro, and by him underworketh, discovers the other’s counsels, his
means, his ends, sounds the affections of the senators, divides,
distracts them: at last, when Sejanus least looketh, and is most
secure; with pretext of doing him an unwonted honour in the senate, he
trains[1369] him from his guards, and with a long doubtful letter, in
one day hath him suspected, accused, condemned, and torn in pieces by
the rage of the people. [This do we advance, as a mark of terror to all
traitors, and treasons; to show how just the heavens are, in pouring
and thundering down a weighty vengeance on their unnatural intents,
even to the worst princes; much more to those, for guard of whose
piety and virtue the angels are in continual watch, and God himself
miraculously working.][1370]
ACT I
[SCENE I.][1371]
[_Enter_] SABINUS _and_ SILIUS, [_followed by_] LATIARIS.
_Sab._ Hail, Caius Silius![1372]
_Sil._ Titius Sabinus,[1373] hail!
You’re rarely met in court.
_Sab._ Therefore, well met.
_Sil._’T is true: indeed, this place is not our sphere.
_Sab._ No, Silius, we are no good inginers.[1374]
We want the fine arts, and their thriving use 5
Should make us grac’d, or favour’d of the times:
We have no shift of faces, no cleft tongues,
No soft and glutinous bodies, that can stick,
Like snails, on painted walls; or, on our breasts,
Creep up, to fall from that proud height, to which 10
We did by slavery,[1375] not by service climb.
We are no guilty men, and then no great;
We have nor place in court, office in state,
That we can say,[1376] we owe unto our crimes:
We burn with no black secrets,[1377] which can make 15
Us dear to the pale authors; or live fear’d
Of their still waking jealousies, to raise
Ourselves a fortune, by subverting theirs.
We stand not in the lines, that do advance
To that so courted point.
[_Enter_ SATRIUS _and_ NATTA _at a distance_.]
_Sil._ But yonder lean 20
A pair that do.
_Sab._[_salutes_ LATIARIS.] Good cousin Latiaris.[1378]
_Sil._ Satrius Secundus,[1379] and Pinnarius Natta,[1380]
The great Sejanus’ clients: there be two,
Know more than honest counsels; whose close[1381] breasts, 24
Were they ripp’d up to light, it would be found
A poor and idle[1382] sin to which their trunks
Had not been made fit organs. These can lie,
Flatter, and swear, forswear,[1383] deprave, inform,
Smile, and betray; make guilty men; then beg
The forfeit lives, to get their livings; cut 30
Men’s throats with whisp’rings; sell to gaping suitors
The empty smoke that flies about the palace;
Laugh when their patron laughs; sweat when he sweats;
Be hot and cold with him; change every mood,
Habit, and garb, as often as he varies; 35
Observe him, as his watch observes his clock;[1384]
And, true as turquoise in the dear lord’s ring,[1385]
Look well or ill with him:[1386] ready to praise
His lordship, if he spit, or but piss fair, 39
Have an indifferent stool, or break wind well;
Nothing can scape their catch.
_Sab._ Alas! these things
Deserve no note, conferr’d[1387] with other vile
And filthier flatteries,[1388] that corrupt the times,
When, not alone our gentries chief are fain
To make their safety from such sordid acts, 45
But all our consuls,[1389] and no little part
Of such as have been praetors, yea, the most
Of senators,[1390] that else not use their voices,
Start up in public senate, and there strive
Who shall propound most abject things, and base; 50
So much, as oft Tiberius hath been heard,
Leaving the court, to cry,[1391] O race of men,
Prepar’d for servitude!—which show’d that he,
Who least the public liberty could like,
As loathly brook’d their flat servility. 55
_Sil._ Well, all is worthy of us, were it more,
Who with our riots, pride, and civil hate,
Have so provok’d the justice of the gods:
We, that, within these fourscore years, were born
Free, equal lords of the triumphed world, 60
And knew no masters but affections;
To which betraying first our liberties,
We since became the slaves to one man’s lusts;
And now to many:[1392] every minist’ring spy
That will accuse and swear, is lord of you, 65
Of me, of all, our fortunes and our lives.
Our looks are call’d to question,[1393] and our words,
How innocent soever, are made crimes;
We shall not shortly dare to tell our dreams,
Or think, but ’t will be treason.
_Sab._ Tyrants’ arts 70
Are to give flatterers grace; accusers, power;
That those may seem to kill whom they devour.
[_Enter_ CORDUS _and_ ARRUNTIUS.]
Now, good Cremutius Cordus.[1394]
_Cor._ [_salutes_ SABINUS.] Hail to your lordship!
_Nat._ Who ’s that salutes your cousin?
_Lat._ ’T is one Cordus. _They whisper._
A gentleman of Rome: one that has writ 75
Annals of late, they say, and very well.
_Nat._ Annals? Of what times?
_Lat._ I think of Pompey’s,[1395]
And Caius Caesar’s; and so down to these.
_Nat._ How stands he affected to the present state?
Is he or Drusian,[1396] or Germanican, 80
Or ours, or neutral?
_Lat._ I know him not so far.
_Nat._ Those times are somewhat queasy[1397] to be toucht.
Have you or seen or heard part of his work?
_Lat._ Not I; he means they shall be public shortly.
_Nat._ O, Cordus do you call him?
_Lat._ Ay. [_Exeunt_ NATTA _and_ SATRIUS.]
_Sab._ But these our times 85
Are not the same, Arruntius.[1398]
_Arr._ Times! The men,
The men are not the same! ’T is we are base,
Poor, and degenerate from th’ exalted strain
Of our great fathers. Where is now the soul
Of god-like Cato? he, that durst be good, 90
When Caesar durst be evil; and had power,
As not to live his slave, to die his master?
Or where’s the constant Brutus, that being proof
Against all charm of benefits, did strike
So brave a blow into the monster’s heart 95
That sought unkindly[1399] to captive his country?
O, they are fled the light! Those mighty spirits
Lie rak’d up with their ashes in their urns,
And not a spark of their eternal fire
Glows in a present bosom. All’s but blaze, 100
Flashes, and smoke, wherewith we labour so;
There’s nothing Roman in us; nothing good,
Gallant, or great. ’T is true that Cordus says,
“Brave Cassius was the last of all that race.”
DRUSUS _passes by_ [_attended by_ HATERIUS, _etc._]
_Sab._ Stand by! Lord Drusus.[1400]
_Hat._ Th’ emp’ror’s son! Give place, 105
_Sil._ I like the prince well.
_Arr._ A riotous youth,[1401]
There’s little hope of him.
_Sab._ That fault his age
Will, as it grows, correct. Methinks he bears
Himself each day more nobly than other;
And wins no less on men’s affections, 110
Than doth his father lose. Believe me, I love him;
And chiefly for opposing to Sejanus.[1402]
_Sil._ And I, for gracing his young kinsmen so,[1403]
The sons[1404] of prince Germanicus:[1405] it shows
A gallant clearness in him, a straight mind, 115
That envies not, in them, their father’s name.
_Arr._ His name was, while he liv’d, above all envy;
And, being dead, without it. O, that man!
If there were seeds of the old virtue left, 119
They liv’d in him.
_Sil._ He had the fruits, Arruntius,
More than the seeds:[1406] Sabinus and myself
Had means to know him within; and can report him.
We were his followers, he would call us friends;
He was a man most like to virtue; in all,
And every action, nearer to the gods 125
Than men, in nature; of a body as fair
As was his mind; and no less reverend
In face than fame:[1407] he could so use his state,
Temp’ring his greatness with his gravity,
As it avoided all self-love in him, 130
And spite in others. What his funerals lack’d
In images and pomp, they had suppli’d
With honourable sorrow, soldiers’ sadness,
A kind of silent mourning, such as men,
Who know no tears but from their captives, use 135
To show in so great losses.
_Cor._ I thought once,
Considering their forms, age, manner of deaths,
The nearness of the places where they fell,
T’ have parallel’d him with great Alexander:
For both were of best feature, of high race, 140
Year’d but to thirty, and, in foreign lands,
By their own people alike made away.
_Sab._ I know not, for his death, how you might wrest it:
But, for his life, it did as much disdain
Comparison with that voluptuous, rash, 145
Giddy, and drunken Macedon’s, as mine
Doth with my bondman’s. All the good in him,
His valour, and his fortune, he made his;
But he had other touches of late Romans, 149
That more did speak him:[1408] Pompey’s dignity,
The innocence of Cato, Caesar’s spirit,
Wise Brutus’ temp’rance: and every virtue,
Which, parted unto others, gave them name,
Flow’d mixt in him. He was the soul of goodness;
And all our praises of him are like streams 155
Drawn from a spring, that still rise full, and leave
The part remaining greatest.
_Arr._ I am sure
He was too great for us,[1409] and that they knew
Who did remove him hence.
_Sab._ When men grow fast
Honour’d and lov’d, there is a trick in state, 160
(Which jealous princes never fail to use)
How to decline that growth, with fair pretext,
And honourable colours of employment,
Either by embassy, the war, or such,
To shift them forth into another air, 165
Where they may purge, and lessen; so was he:[1410]
And had his seconds there, sent by Tiberius
And his more subtile dam, to discontent him;
To breed and cherish mutinies; detract
His greatest actions; give audacious check 170
To his commands; and work to put him out
In open act of treason. All which snares
When his wise cares prevented,[1411] a fine poison
Was thought on, to mature their practices.
_Cor._ Here comes Sejanus.[1412]
_Sil._ Now observe the stoops, 175
The bendings, and the falls.
_Arr._ Most creeping base!
[_Enter_] SEJANUS, TERENTIUS, SATRIUS, [NATTA,] _etc._
_They pass over the stage._
_Sej._ I note ’em well: no more. Say you?
_Sat._ My lord.
There is a gentleman of Rome would buy——
_Sej._ How call you him you talk’d with?
_Sat._ Please your worship,
It is Eudemus,[1413] the physician 180
To Livia, Drusus’ wife.
_Sej._ On with your suit.
Would buy, you said——
_Sat._ A tribune’s place, my lord.
_Sej._ What will he give?
_Sat._ Fifty sestertia.[1414]
_Sej._ Livia’s physician, say you, is that fellow?
_Sat._ It is, my lord. Your lordship’s answer?
_Sej._ To what? 185
_Sat._ The place, my lord. ’T is for a gentleman
Your lordship will well like of, when you see him,
And one that you may make yours, by the grant.
_Sej._ Well, let him bring his money, and his name.
_Sat._ Thank your lordship. He shall, my lord.
_Sej._ Come hither. 190
Know you this same Eudemus? Is he learn’d?
_Sat._ Reputed so, my lord, and of deep practice.
_Sej._ Bring him in to me, in the gallery;
And take you cause to leave us there together:
I would confer with him, about a grief.—On!
[_Exeunt_ SEJANUS, SATRIUS, TERENTIUS, _etc._]
_Arr._ So! yet another? yet? O desperate state 195
Of grov’ling honour! Seest thou this, O sun,
And do we see thee after? Methinks, day
Should lose his light, when men do lose their shames,
And for the empty circumstance of life, 200
Betray their cause of living.
_Sil._ Nothing so.[1415]
Sejanus can repair, if Jove should ruin.
He is the now court-god; and well applied
With sacrifice of knees, of crooks, and cringe,
He will do more than all the house of heav’n 205
Can for a thousand hecatombs. ’T is he
Makes us our day, or night; hell and elysium
Are in his look. We talk of Rhadamanth,
Furies, and firebrands; but ’t is his frown 209
That is all these; where, on the adverse part,
His smile is more than e’er yet poets feign’d
Of bliss, and shades, nectar—
_Arr._ A serving boy!
I knew him, at Caius’[1416] trencher, when for hire
He prostituted his abused body
To that great gourmand, fat Apicius: 215
And was the noted pathic[1417] of the time.
_Sab._ And, now,[1418] the second face of the whole world!
The partner of the empire, hath his image
Rear’d equal with Tiberius, borne in ensigns;
Commands, disposes every dignity. 220
Centurions, tribunes, heads of provinces,
Praetors, and consuls; all that heretofore
Rome’s general suffrage gave, is now his sale.
The gain, or rather spoil of all the earth,
One, and his house, receives.
_Sil._ He hath of late 225
Made him a strength too, strangely, by reducing
All the praetorian bands into one camp,
Which he commands: pretending that the soldier,
By living loose and scattered, fell to riot;
And that if any sudden enterprise 230
Should be attempted, their united strength
Would be far more than sever’d; and their life
More strict, if from the city more remov’d.
_Sab._ Where now he builds what kind of forts he please,
Is heard to court the soldier by his name, 235
Woos, feasts the chiefest men of action,
Whose wants, nor loves, compel them to be his.
And though he ne’er were liberal by kind,[1419]
Yet to his own dark ends, he’s most profuse,
Lavish, and letting fly he cares not what 240
To his ambition.
_Arr._ Yet hath he ambition?
Is there that step in state can make him higher,
Or more, or anything he is, but less?
_Sil._ Nothing but emp’ror.
_Arr._ The name Tiberius,
I hope, will keep, howe’er he hath foregone 245
The dignity and power.
_Sil._ Sure, while he lives.
_Arr._ And dead, it comes to Drusus. Should he fail,
To the brave issue of Germanicus;
And they are three:[1420] too many—ha? for him
To have a plot upon?
_Sil._ I do not know 250
The heart of his designs; but sure their face
Looks farther than the present.
_Arr._ By the gods,
If I could guess he had but such a thought,
My sword should cleave him down from head to heart,
But I would find it out; and with my hand 255
I’d hurl his panting brain about the air
In mites as small as atomi t’ undo
The knotted bed——
_Sab._ You are observ’d, Arruntius.
_Arr._ (_Turns to_ SEJANUS’ _clients_.)
Death! I dare tell him so; and all his spies.
You, sir, I would, do you look? and you.
_Sab._ Forbear. 260
[SCENE II.][1421]
[_Enter_] SATRIUS, EUDEMUS.
_Sat._ Here he will instant be; let’s walk a turn;
You’re in a muse, Eudemus?
_Eud._ Not I, sir.
[_Aside._] I wonder he should mark me out so. Well,
Jove and Apollo form it for the best!
_Sat._ Your fortune’s made unto you now, Eudemus, 5
If you can but lay hold upon the means;
Do but observe his humour, and—believe it—
He is the noblest Roman, where he takes—
[_Enter_ SEJANUS.]
Here comes his lordship.
_Sej._ Now, good Satrius.
_Sat._ This is the gentleman, my lord.
_Sej._ Is this? 10
Give me your hand, we must be more acquainted.
Report, sir, hath spoke out your art and learning:
And I am glad I have so needful cause,
However in itself painful and hard,
To make me known to so great virtue—Look, 15
Who’s that, Satrius? [_Exit_ SAT.] I have a grief, sir,
That will desire your help. Your name’s Eudemus?
_Eud._ Yes.
_Sej._ Sir?
_Eud._ It is, my lord.
_Sej._ I hear you are
Physician to Livia, the princess.
_Eud._ I minister unto her, my good lord. 20
_Sej._ You minister to a royal lady, then.
_Eud._ She is, my lord, and fair.
_Sej._ That’s understood
Of all their sex, who are or would be so;
And those that would be, physic soon can make ’em:
For those that are, their beauties fear no colours.[1422] 25
_Eud._ Your lordship is conceited.[1423]
_Sej._ Sir, you know it,
And can, if need be, read a learned lecture
On this, and other secrets. ’Pray you, tell me,
What more of ladies, besides Livia,
Have you your patients?
_Eud._ Many, my good lord. 30
The great Augusta, Urgulania,
Mutilia Prisca, and Plancina; divers—
_Sej._ And all these tell you the particulars
Of every several grief? how first it grew,
And then increas’d; what action caused that;
What passion that; and answer to each point 36
That you will put ’em?
_Eud._ Else, my lord, we know not
How to prescribe the remedies.
_Sej._ Go to,
You are a subtile nation, you physicians!
And grown the only cabinets in court 40
To ladies’ privacies. Faith, which of these
Is the most pleasant lady in her physic?
Come, you are modest[1424] now.
_Eud._ ’T is fit, my lord.
_Sej._ Why, sir, I do not ask you of their urines,
Whose smell’s most violet, or whose siege is best, 45
Or who makes hardest faces on her stool,
Which lady sleeps with her own face a nights.
Which puts her teeth off, with her clothes, in court,
Or, which her hair, which her complexion,
And, in which box she puts it. These were questions 50
That might, perhaps, have put your gravity
To some defence of blush. But, I inquir’d,
Which was the wittiest, merriest, wantonest?
Harmless interrogatories, but conceits.——
Methinks Augusta should be most perverse, 55
And froward in her fit.
_Eud._ She’s so, my lord.
_Sej._ I knew it: and Mutilia the most jocund.
_Eud._ ’T is very true, my lord.
_Sej._ And why would you
Conceal this from me, now? Come, what is Livia?
I know she’s quick and quaintly spirited, 60
And will have strange thoughts, when she is at leisure:
She tells ’em all to you?
_Eud._ My noblest lord,
He breathes not in the Empire, or on earth,
Whom I would be ambitious to serve
(In any act that may preserve mine honour) 65
Before your lordship.
_Sej._ Sir, you can lose no honour,
By trusting aught to me. The coarsest act
Done to my service, I can so requite
As all the world shall style it honourable:
Your idle, virtuous definitions, 70
Keep honour poor, and are as scorn’d as vain:
Those deeds breathe honour that do suck in gain.
_Eud._ But, good my lord, if I should thus betray
The counsels of my patient, and a lady’s
Of her high place and worth, what might your lordship, 75
(Who presently are to trust me with your own)
Judge of my faith?
_Sej._ Only the best, I swear.
Say now that I should utter you my grief,
And with it the true cause; that it were love,
And love to Livia: you should tell her this: 80
Should she suspect your faith? I would you could
Tell me as much from her; see if my brain
Could be turn’d jealous.[1425]
_Eud._ Happily,[1426] my lord,
I could in time tell you as much and more;
So I might safely promise but the first 85
To her from you.
_Sej._ As safely, my Eudemus,
I now dare call thee so, as I have put
The secret into thee.
_Eud._ My lord——
_Sej._ Protest not,
Thy looks are vows to me; use only speed,
And but affect her with Sejanus’ love, 90
Thou art a man made to make consuls. Go.
_Eud._ My lord, I’ll promise you a private meeting.
This day together.
_Sej._ Canst thou?
_Eud._ Yes.
_Sej._ The place?
_Eud._ My gardens, whither I shall fetch your lordship.
_Sej._ Let me adore my Aesculapius. 95
Why, this indeed is physic! and outspeaks
The knowledge of cheap drugs, or any use
Can be made out of it! more comforting
Than all your opiates, juleps, apozems,[1427]
Magistral[1428] syrups, or——Begone, my friend,
Not barely styled, but created so; 101
Expect things greater than thy largest hopes,
To overtake thee. Fortune shall be taught
To know how ill she hath deserv’d thus long,
To come behind thy wishes. Go, and speed——
[_Exit_ EUDEMUS.]
Ambition makes more trusty slaves than need.
These fellows, by the favour of their art, 107
Have still the means to tempt; oft-times the power.
If Livia will be now corrupted, then
Thou hast the way, Sejanus, to work out 110
His secrets, who, thou know’st, endures thee not,
Her husband, Drusus: and to work against them.
Prosper it, Pallas, thou that better’st wit;
For Venus hath the smallest share in it.
[_Enter_] TIBERIUS, DRUSUS, [_attended._] _One kneels to_ TIBERIUS.
_Tib._ We not endure these flatteries; let him stand; 115
Our empire, ensigns, axes, rods, and state
Take not away our human nature from us:
Look up on us, and fall before the gods.
_Sej._ How like a god speaks Cæsar!
_Arr._ [_Aside to_ CORDUS.] There, observe!
He can endure that second, that’s no flattery.
O, what is it proud slime will not believe, 121
Of his own worth, to hear it equal prais’d
Thus with the gods!
_Cor._ He did not hear it, sir.
_Arr._ He did not? Tut, he must not, we think meanly.
’T is your most courtly known confederacy, 125
To have your private parasite redeem
What he, in public subtilety, will lose
To making him a name.
_Hat._ Right mighty lord——
[_Gives him letters._]
_Tib._ We must make up our ears ’gainst these assaults
Of charming tongues; we pray you use no more
These contumelies to us; style not us 131
Or lord, or mighty, who profess ourself
The servant of the senate, and are proud
T’ enjoy them our good, just, and favouring lords.
_Cor._ Rarely dissembled!
_Arr._ Prince-like to the life. 135
_Sab._ When power that may command, so much descends,
Their bondage, whom it stoops to, it intends.
_Tib._ Whence are these letters?
_Hat._ From the senate.
_Tib._ So,
Whence these? [LAT. _gives him letters_.]
_Lat._ From thence too.
_Tib._ Are they sitting now?
_Lat._ They stay thy answer, Caesar.
_Sil._ If this man 140
Hath but a mind allied unto his words,
How blest a fate were it to us, and Rome!
We could not think[1429] that state for which to change,
Although the aim were our old liberty:
The ghosts of those that fell for that, would grieve 145
Their bodies liv’d not, now, again to serve.
Men are deceiv’d, to think there can be thrall
Beneath a virtuous prince. Wish’d liberty
Ne’er lovelier looks, than under such a crown.
But, when his grace is merely but lip-good, 150
And that no longer than he airs himself
Abroad in public, there, to seem to shun
The strokes and stripes of flatterers, which within
Are lechery unto him, and so feed
His brutish sense with their afflicting sound, 155
As, dead to virtue, he permits himself
Be carried like a pitcher by the ears,
To every act of vice: this is a case
Deserves our fear, and doth presage the nigh
And close approach of blood and tyranny. 160
Flattery is midwife unto prince’s rage:
And nothing sooner doth help forth a tyrant,
Than that and whisperers’ grace, who have the time,
The place, the power, to make all men offenders.
_Arr._ He should be told this; and be bid dissemble 165
With fools and blind men: we that know the evil,
Should hunt the palace-rats, or give them bane.[1430]
Fright hence these worse than ravens, that devour
The quick, where they but prey upon the dead:
He shall be told it.
_Sab._ Stay, Arruntius, 170
We must abide our opportunity,
And practise what is fit, as what is needful.
It is not safe t’ enforce a sovereign’s ear:
Princes hear well, if they at all will hear.
_Arr._ Ha, say you so? well! In the mean time, Jove, 175
(Say not but I do call upon thee now,)
Of all wild beasts preserve me from a tyrant;
And of all tame, a flatterer.
_Sil._ ’T is well pray’d.
_Tib._ [_having read the letters._] Return the lords
this voice: We are their creature,
And it is fit a good and honest prince, 180
Whom they, out of their bounty, have instructed
With so dilate[1431] and absolute a power,
Should owe the office of it to their service,
And good of all and every citizen.
Nor shall it e’er repent us to have wish’d 185
The senate just and fav’ring lords unto us,
Since their free loves do yield no less defence
T’ a prince’s state, than his own innocence.
Say then, there can be nothing in their thought
Shall want to please us, that hath pleased them;
Our suffrage rather shall prevent[1432] than stay 191
Behind their wills: ’t is empire to obey,
Where such, so great, so good determine.
Yet, for the suit of Spain t’ erect a temple
In honour of our mother and our self, 195
We must, with pardon of the senate, not
Assent thereto. Their lordships may object
Our not denying the same late request
Unto the Asian cities: we desire
That our defence for suffering that be known 200
In these brief reasons, with our after purpose.
Since deified Augustus hind’red not
A temple to be built at Pergamum,
In honour of himself and sacred Rome;
We, that have all his deeds and words observ’d
Ever, in place of laws, the rather follow’d 206
That pleasing precedent, because with ours,
The senate’s reverence, also, there was join’d.
But as, t’ have once receiv’d it, may deserve
The gain of pardon; so, to be ador’d 210
With the continu’d style and note[1433] of gods,
Through all the provinces, were wild ambition,
And no less pride: yea, ev’n Augustus’ name
Would early vanish, should it be profan’d 214
With such promiscuous flatteries. For our part,
We here protest it, and are covetous
Posterity should know it, we are mortal;
And can but deeds of men: ’t were glory enough,
Could we be truly a prince. And they shall add
Abounding grace unto our memory, 220
That shall report us worthy our forefathers,
Careful of your affairs, constant in dangers,
And not afraid of any private frown
For public good. These things shall be to us
Temples and statues, reared in your minds, 225
The fairest, and most during imag’ry:
For those of stone or brass, if they become
Odious in judgment of posterity,
Are more contemn’d as dying sepulchres,
Than ta’en for living monuments. We then 230
Make here our suit, alike to gods and men;
The one, until the period of our race,
T’ inspire us with a free and quiet mind,
Discerning both divine and human laws;
The other, to vouchsafe us after death, 235
An honourable mention, and fair praise,
T’ accompany our actions and our name:
The rest of greatness princes may command,
And, therefore, may neglect; only, a long,
A lasting, high, and happy memory 240
They should, without being satisfied, pursue:
Contempt of fame begets contempt of virtue.
_Nat._ Rare!
_Sat._ Most divine!
_Sej._ The oracles are ceas’d,
That only Caesar, with their tongue, might speak.
_Arr._ Let me be gone: most felt and open this! 245
_Cor._ Stay.
_Arr._ What! to hear more cunning and fine words,
With their sound flatter’d ere their sense be meant?
_Tib._ Their choice of Antium, there to place the gift,
Vow’d to the goddess[1434] for our mother’s health,
We will the senate know, we fairly like; 250
As also of their grant to Lepidus,
For his repairing the Aemilian place,
And restoration of those monuments:
Their grace, too, in confining of Silanus
To th’ other isle Cithera, at the suit 255
Of his religious sister, much commends
Their policy, so temp’red with their mercy.
But for the honours which they have decreed
To our Sejanus, to advance[1435] his statue
In Pompey’s theatre, (whose ruining fire 260
His vigilance and labour kept restrain’d
In that one loss,) they have therein outgone
Their own great wisdoms, by their skilful choice
And placing of their bounties on a man
Whose merit more adorns the dignity 265
Than that can him; and gives a benefit,
In taking, greater than it can receive.
Blush not, Sejanus, thou great aid of Rome,
Associate of our labours, our chief helper;
Let us not force thy simple modesty 270
With off’ring at[1436] thy praise, for more we cannot,
Since there’s no voice can take[1437] it. No man here
Receive our speeches as hyperboles:
For we are far from flattering our friend,
Let envy know, as from the need to flatter. 275
Nor let them ask the causes of our praise:
Princes have still their grounds rear’d with themselves,
Above the poor low flats of common men;
And who will search the reasons of their acts,
Must stand on equal bases. Lead, away: 280
Our loves unto the senate.
[_Exeunt_ TIB., SEJAN., NATTA., HAT., SAT., Officers, _etc._]
_Arr._ Caesar!
_Sab._ Peace.
_Cor._ Great Pompey’s theatre was never ruin’d
Till now, that proud Sejanus hath a statue
Rear’d on his ashes.
_Arr._ Place the shame of soldiers 284
Above the best of generals? Crack the world,
And bruise the name of Romans into dust,
Ere we behold it!
_Sil._ Check your passion;
Lord Drusus tarries.
_Dru._ Is my father mad,
Weary of life and rule, lords, thus to heave 289
An idol up with praise? Make him his mate,
His rival in the empire?
_Arr._ O, good prince!
_Dru._ Allow him statues, titles, honours, such
As he himself refuseth?
_Arr._ Brave, brave Drusus!
_Dru._ The first ascents to sovereignty are hard;
But ent’red once, there never wants or means,
Or ministers, to help th’ aspirer on. 296
_Arr._ True, gallant Drusus.
_Dru._ We must shortly pray
To Modesty, that he will rest contented—
_Arr._ Ay, where he is, and not write emp’ror.
_Re-enter_ SEJANUS, [SATRIUS, LATIARIS,] Clients, _etc._
_Sej._ There is your bill, and yours; bring you
your man. [_To_ SATRIUS.] 300
I have mov’d for you, too, Latiaris.
_Dru._ What!
Is your vast greatness grown so blindly bold,
That you will over us?
_Sej._ Why then give way.
_Dru._ Give way, Colossus! Do you lift? Advance you?
Take that! _Strikes him._
_Arr._ Good! brave! excellent, brave prince! 305
_Dru._ Nay, come, approach. [_Draws his sword._]
What, stand you off? at gaze?
It looks too full of death for thy cold spirits.
Avoid mine eye, dull camel, or my sword
Shall make thy brav’ry fitter for a grave,
Than for a triumph. I’ll advance[1438] a statue 310
O’ your own bulk; but ’t shall be on the cross,
Where I will nail your pride at breadth and length,
And crack those sinews, which are yet but stretch’d
With your swoln fortune’s rage.
_Arr._ A noble prince!
_All._ A Castor, a Castor, a Castor, a Castor.
[_Exeunt all but_ SEJANUS.]
_Sej._ He that, with such wrong mov’d, can bear it through 316
With patience, and an even mind, knows how
To turn it back. Wrath cover’d carries fate:
Revenge is lost, if I profess my hate.
What was my practice[1439] late, I’ll now pursue,
As my fell justice: this hath styl’d it new. 321
[_Exit._]
CHORUS—of musicians.
ACT II
[SCENE I.][1440]
[_Enter_] SEJANUS, LIVIA, EUDEMUS.
_Sej._ Physician, thou art worthy of a province,
For the great favours done unto our loves;
And, but that greatest Livia bears a part
In the requital of thy services,
I should alone despair of aught like means 5
To give them worthy satisfaction.
_Liv._ Eudemus, I will see it, shall receive
A fit and full reward for his large merit.—
But for this potion we intend to Drusus,
(No more our husband, now) whom shall we choose 10
As the most apt and abled instrument,
To minister it to him?
_Eud._ I say, Lygdus.
_Sej._ Lygdus? What’s he?
_Liv._ An eunuch Drusus loves.
_Eud._ Ay, and his cup-bearer.
_Sej._ Name not a second.
If Drusus love him, and he have that place, 15
We cannot think a fitter.
_Eud._ True, my lord;
For free access and trust are two main aids.
_Sej._ Skilful physician!
_Liv._ But he must be wrought
To th’ undertaking, with some labour’d art.
_Sej._ Is he ambitious?
_Liv._ No.
_Sej._ Or covetous? 20
_Liv._ Neither.
_Eud._ Yet, gold is a good general charm.
_Sej._ What is he, then?
_Liv._ Faith, only wanton, light.
_Sej._ How! is he young? and fair?
_Eud._ A delicate youth.
_Sej._ Send him to me, I’ll work him.—Royal lady,
Though I have lov’d you long, and with that height 26
Of zeal and duty, like the fire, which more
It mounts it trembles, thinking nought could add
Unto the fervour which your eye had kindled;
Yet, now I see your wisdom, judgment, strength,
Quickness, and will, to apprehend the means 30
To your own good and greatness, I protest
Myself through rarified, and turn’d all flame
In your affection. Such a spirit as yours,
Was not created for the idle second
To a poor flash, as Drusus; but to shine 35
Bright as the moon among the lesser lights,
And share the sov’reignty of all the world.
Then Livia triumphs in her proper sphere,
When she and her Sejanus shall divide
The name of Caesar, and Augusta’s star 40
Be dimm’d with glory of a brighter beam:
When Agrippina’s fires are quite extinct,
And the scarce-seen Tiberius borrows all
As little light from us, whose folded arms
Shall make one perfect orb! [_Knocking within._]
Who ’s that? Eudemus, 45
Look. [_Exit_ EUDEMUS.] ’T is not Drusus, lady, do not fear.
_Liv._ Not I, my lord: my fear and love of him
Left me at once.
_Sej._ Illustrious lady, stay——
_Eud._ [_within._] I’ll tell his lordship.
[_Re-enter_ EUDEMUS.]
_Sej._ Who is it, Eudemus?
_Eud._ One of your lordship’s servants brings you word 50
The emp’ror hath sent for you.
_Sej._ O! where is he?—
With your fair leave, dear princess, I’ll but ask
A question, and return. _He goes out._
_Eud._ Fortunate princess!
How are you blest in the fruition
Of this unequall’d man, the soul of Rome, 55
The Empire’s life, and voice of Caesar’s world!
_Liv._ So blessed, my Eudemus, as to know
The bliss I have, with what I ought to owe
The means that wrought it. How do I look today?
_Eud._ Excellent clear, believe it. This same fucus[1441] 60
Was well laid on.
_Liv._ Methinks ’t is here not white.
_Eud._ Lend me your scarlet, lady. ’T is the sun,
Hath giv’n some little taint unto the ceruse;[1442]
You should have us’d of the white oil I gave you.
Sejanus for your love! his very name 65
Commandeth above Cupid or his shafts——
[_Paints her cheek._]
_Liv._ Nay, now you’ve made it worse.
_Eud._ I’ll help it straight——
And but pronounc’d, is a sufficient charm
Against all rumour; and of absolute power
To satisfy for any lady’s honour.—— 70
_Liv._ What do you now, Eudemus?
_Eud._ Make a light fucus,
To touch you o’er withal.—Honour’d Sejanus!
What act, though ne’er so strange and insolent,
But that addition will at least bear out,
If ’t do not expiate?
_Liv._ Here, good physician. 75
_Eud._ I like this study to preserve the love
Of such a man, that comes not every hour
To greet the world.—’T is now well, lady; you should
Use of the dentifrice I prescrib’d you too, 79
To clear your teeth, and the prepar’d pomatum,
To smooth the skin.—A lady cannot be
Too curious of her form, that still would hold
The heart of such a person, made her captive,
As you have his; who, to endear him more
In your clear eye, hath put away his wife, 85
The trouble of his bed and your delights,
Fair Apicata, and made spacious room
To your new pleasures.
_Liv._ Have not we return’d[1443]
That with our hate to Drusus, and discovery
Of all his counsels?
_Eud._ Yes, and wisely, lady. 90
The ages that succeed, and stand far off
To gaze at your high prudence, shall admire,
And reckon it an act without[1444] your sex:
It hath that rare appearance. Some will think
Your fortune could not yield a deeper sound, 95
Than mixt with Drusus; but, when they shall hear
That and the thunder of Sejanus meet,
Sejanus, whose high name doth strike the stars,
And rings about the concave; great Sejanus,
Whose glories, style, and titles are himself, 100
The often iterating of Sejanus;
They then will lose their thoughts, and be asham’d
To take acquaintance of them.
[_Re-enter_ SEJANUS.]
_Sej._ I must make
A rude departure, lady; Caesar sends 104
With all his haste both of command and prayer.
Be resolute in our plot; you have my soul,
As certain yours as it is my body’s.
And, wise physician, so prepare the poison,
As you may lay the subtile operation
Upon some natural disease of his: 110
Your eunuch send to me. I kiss your hands,
Glory of ladies, and commend my love
To your best faith and memory.
_Liv._ My lord,
I shall but change[1445] your words. Farewell. Yet, this
Remember for your heed, he loves you not; 115
You know what I have told you; his designs
Are full of grudge and danger; we must use
More than a common speed.
_Sej._ Excellent lady,
How you do fire my blood!
_Liv._ Well, you must go?
The thoughts be best, are least set forth to show. [_Exit_ SEJANUS.]
_Eud._ When will you take some physic, lady?
_Liv._ When 121
I shall, Eudemus: but let Drusus’ drug
Be first prepar’d.
_Eud._ Were Lygdus made,[1446] that’s done;
I have it ready. And, to-morrow morning
I’ll send you a perfume, first to resolve 125
And procure sweat, and then prepare a bath
To cleanse and clear the cutis;[1447] against when
I’ll have an excellent new fucus made,
Resistive ’gainst the sun, the rain, or wind,
Which you shall lay on with a breath, or oil, 130
As you best like, and last some fourteen hours.
This change came timely, lady, for your health,
And the restoring your complexion,
Which Drusus’ choler had almost burnt up;
Wherein your fortune hath prescrib’d you better 135
Than art could do.
_Liv._ Thanks, good physician,
I’ll use my fortune, you shall see, with reverence.
Is my coach ready?
_Eud._ It attends your highness.
[_Exeunt._]
[SCENE II.][1448]
[_Enter_] SEJANUS.
_Sej._ If this be not revenge, when I have done
And made it perfect, let Egyptian slaves,
Parthians, and barefoot Hebrews brand my face,
And print my body full of injuries.
Thou lost thyself, child Drusus, when thou thought’st 5
Thou couldst outskip my vengeance, or outstand
The power I had to crush thee into air.
Thy follies now shall taste what kind of man
They have provok’d, and this thy father’s house
Crack in the flame of my incensed rage, 10
Whose fury shall admit no shame or mean.—
Adultery! it is the lightest ill
I will commit. A race of wicked acts
Shall flow out of my anger, and o’erspread
The world’s wide face, which no posterity 15
Shall e’er approve, nor yet keep silent: things,
That for their cunning, close,[1449] and cruel mark
Thy father would wish his, and shall, perhaps,
Carry the empty name, but we the prize.
On, then, my soul, and start not in thy course;
Though heav’n drop sulphur, and hell belch out fire, 21
Laugh at the idle terrors: tell proud Jove,
Between his power and thine there is no odds:
’T was only fear first in the world made gods.
[_Enter_] TIBERIUS [_attended_.]
_Tib._ Is yet Sejanus come?
_Sej._ He’s here, dread Caesar.
_Tib._ Let all depart that chamber, and the next. 25
[_Exeunt_ Attendants.]
Sit down, my comfort. When the master prince
Of all the world, Sejanus, saith he fears,
Is it not fatal?
_Sej._ Yes, to those are fear’d.
_Tib._ And not to him?
_Sej._ Not if he wisely turn 30
That part of fate he holdeth, first on them.
_Tib._ That nature, blood, and laws of kind forbid.
_Sej._ Do policy and state forbid it?
_Tib._ No.
_Sej._ The rest of poor respects, then let go by;
State[1450] is enough to make th’ act just, them guilty. 35
_Tib._ Long hate pursues such acts.
_Sej._ Whom hatred frights,
Let him not dream of sov’reignty.
_Tib._ Are rites
Of faith, love, piety, to be trod down,
Forgotten, and made vain?
_Sej._ All for a crown.
The prince who shames a tyrant’s name to bear,
Shall never dare do anything but fear; 41
All the command of sceptres quite doth perish,
If it begin religious thoughts to cherish:
Whole empires fall, sway’d by those nice[1451] respects;
It is the licence of dark deeds protects 45
Ev’n states most hated, when no laws resist
The sword, but that it acteth what it list.
_Tib._ Yet so, we may do all things cruelly,
Not safely.
_Sej._ Yes, and do them thoroughly.
_Tib._ Knows yet Sejanus whom we point at?
_Sej._ Ay, 50
Or else my thought, my sense, or both do err:
’T is Agrippina.
_Tib._ She, and her proud race.
_Sej._ Proud! dangerous, Caesar: for in them apace
The father’s spirit shoots up. Germanicus
Lives in their looks, their gait, their form, t’ upbraid us 56
With his close death, if not revenge the same.
_Tib._ The act’s not known.
_Sej._ Not prov’d; but whisp’ring Fame
Knowledge and proof doth to the jealous[1452] give,
Who, than to fail,[1453] would their own thought believe.
It is not safe the children draw long breath, 60
That are provoked by a parent’s death.
_Tib._ It is as dangerous to make them hence,
If nothing but their birth be their offence.
_Sej._ Stay, till they strike at Caesar; then their crime
Will be enough; but late and out of time 65
For him to punish.
_Tib._ Do they purpose it?
_Sej._ You know, sir, thunder speaks not till it hit.
Be not secure;[1454] none swiftlier are opprest
Than they whom confidence betrays to rest.
Let not your daring make your danger such: 70
All power ’s to be fear’d, where ’t is too much.
The youths are of themselves hot, violent,
Full of great thought; and that male-spirited dame,
Their mother, slacks no means to put them on,
By large allowance, popular presentings, 75
Increase of train and state, suing for titles;
Hath them commended with like prayers, like vows,
To the same gods, with Caesar: days and nights
She spends in banquets and ambitious feasts
For the nobility; where Caius Silius, 80
Titius Sabinus, old Arruntius,
Asinius Gallus, Furnius, Regulus,
And others of that discontented list,
Are the prime guests. There, and to these, she tells
Whose niece she was, whose daughter, and whose wife. 85
And then must they compare her with Augusta,
Ay, and prefer her too; commend her form,
Extol her fruitfulness, at which a shower
Falls for the memory of Germanicus,
Which they blow over straight with windy praise 90
And puffing hopes of her aspiring sons;
Who, with these hourly ticklings, grow so pleas’d,
And wantonly conceited of themselves,
As now they stick not to believe they ’re such
As these do give them out; and would be thought 95
More than competitors,[1455] immediate heirs.
Whilst to their thirst of rule, they win the rout
(That’s still the friend of novelty) with hope
Of future freedom, which on every change
That greedily, though emptily expects. 100
Caesar, ’t is age in all things breeds neglects,
And princes that will keep old dignity
Must not admit too youthful heirs stand by;
Not their own issue; but so darkly set
As shadows are in picture, to give height 105
And lustre to themselves.
_Tib._ We will command
Their rank thoughts down, and with a stricter hand
Than we have yet put forth; their trains must bate,[1456]
Their titles, feasts, and factions.
_Sej._ Or your state.
But how, sir, will you work?
_Tib._ Confine ’em.
_Sej._ No. 110
They are too great, and that too faint a blow
To give them now; it would have serv’d at first,
When with the weakest touch their knot had burst.
But now, your care must be, not to detect
The smallest cord, or line of your suspect; 115
For such, who know the weight of princes’ fear,
Will, when they find themselves discover’d, rear
Their forces, like seen snakes, that else would lie
Roll’d in their circles, close. Nought is more high,
Daring, or desperate, than offenders found; 120
Where guilt is, rage and courage doth abound.
The course must be, to let ’em still swell up,
Riot, and surfeit on blind Fortune’s cup;
Give ’em more place, more dignities, more style,
Call ’em to court, to senate; in the while, 125
Take from their strength some one or twain or more,
Of the main fautors[1457] (it will fright thy store),
And, by some by-occasion. Thus, with sleight
You shall disarm first; and they, in night
Of their ambition,[1458] not perceive the train, 130
Till in the engine[1459] they are caught and slain.
_Tib._ We would not kill, if we knew how to save;
Yet, than a throne, ’t is cheaper give a grave.
Is there no way to bind them by deserts?
_Sej._ Sir, wolves do change their hair, but not their hearts. 135
While thus your thought unto a mean[1460] is tied,
You neither dare enough, nor do provide.
All modesty is fond,[1461] and chiefly where
The subject is no less compell’d to bear,
Than praise his sov’reign’s acts.
_Tib._ We can no longer 140
Keep on our mask to thee, our dear Sejanus;
Thy thoughts are ours, in all, and we but prov’d
Their voice, in our designs, which by assenting
Hath more confirm’d us, then if heart’ning Jove
Had, from his hundred statues, bid us strike, 145
And at the stroke clickt all his marble thumbs.
But who shall first be struck?
_Sej._ First, Caius Silius;
He is the most of mark, and most of danger:
In power and reputation equal strong,
Having commanded an imperial army 150
Seven years together, vanquish’d Sacrovir
In Germany, and thence obtain’d to wear
The ornaments triumphal. His steep fall,
By how much it doth give the weightier crack,
Will send more wounding terror to the rest, 155
Command them stand aloof, and give more way
To our surprising of the principal.
_Tib._ But what, Sabinus?
_Sej._ Let him grow awhile,
His fate is not yet ripe: we must not pluck
At all together, lest we catch ourselves. 160
And there’s Arruntius too, he only talks.
But Sosia, Silius’ wife, would be wound in
Now, for she hath a fury in her breast,
More than hell ever knew: and would be sent
Thither in time. Then is there one Cremutius
Cordus, a writing fellow, they have got 166
To gather notes of the precedent times,
And make them into Annals; a most tart
And bitter spirit, I hear: who, under colour 169
Of praising those, doth tax[1462] the present state,
Censures[1463] the men, the actions, leaves no trick,
No practice unexamin’d, parallels
The times, the governments; a profest champion
For the old liberty——
_Tib._ A perishing wretch!
As if there were that chaos bred in things, 175
That laws and liberty would not rather choose
To be quite broken, and ta’en hence by us,
Than have the stain to be preserv’d by such.
Have we the means to make these guilty first?
_Sej._ Trust that to me: let Caesar, by his power, 180
But cause a formal meeting of the senate,
I will have matter and accusers ready.
_Tib._ But how? Let us consult.
_Sej._ We shall misspend
The time of action. Counsels are unfit
In business where all rest is more pernicious 185
Than rashness can be. Acts of this close kind
Thrive more by execution than advice.
There is no ling’ring in that work begun,
Which cannot praised be, until through done.
_Tib._ Our edict shall forthwith command a court. 190
While I can live, I will prevent earth’s fury:
Ἐμοῦ θανόντος γαῑα μιχθήτω πυρί.[1464]
[_Exit._]
[_Enter_ JULIUS] POSTHUMUS.
_Pos._ My lord Sejanus——
_Sej._ Julius Posthumus!
Come with my wish! What news from Agrippina’s?
_Pos._ Faith, none. They all lock up themselves a’ late, 195
Or talk in character; I have not seen
A company so chang’d. Except they had
Intelligence by augury of our practice—
_Sej._ When were you there?
_Pos._ Last night.
_Sej._ And what guests found you?
_Pos._ Sabinus, Silius, (the old list,) Arruntius, Furnius, and
Gallus.
_Sej._ Would not these talk?
_Pos._ Little. 201
And yet we offered choice of argument.[1465]
Satrius was with me.
_Sej._ Well: ’t is guilt enough
Their often meeting. You forgot t’ extol
The hospitable lady?
_Pos._ No; that trick 205
Was well put home, and had succeeded too,
But that Sabinus cough’d a caution out;
For she began to swell.
_Sej._ And may she burst!
Julius, I would have you go instantly
Unto the palace of the great Augusta, 210
And, by your kindest friend, get swift access;
Acquaint her with these meetings: tell the words
You brought me th’ other day, of Silius,
Add somewhat to ’em. Make her understand
The danger of Sabinus, and the times, 215
Out of his closeness. Give Arruntius’ words
Of malice against Caesar; so, to Gallus:
But, above all, to Agrippina. Say,
As you may truly, that her infinite pride,
Propt with the hopes of her too fruitful womb,
With popular studies gapes for sovereignty, 221
And threatens Caesar. Pray Augusta then,
That for her own, great Caesar’s, and the public
Safety, she be pleas’d to urge these dangers.
Caesar is too secure,[1466] he must be told, 225
And best he’ll take it from a mother’s tongue.
Alas! what is ’t for us to sound, t’ explore,
To watch, oppose, plot, practise, or prevent,
If he, for whom it is so strongly labour’d,
Shall, out of greatness and free spirit, be 230
Supinely negligent? Our city ’s now
Divided as in time o’ th’ civil war,
And men forbear not to declare themselves
Of Agrippina’s party. Every day
The faction multiplies; and will do more, 235
If not resisted: you can best enlarge it,
As you find audience. Noble Posthumus,
Commend me to your Prisca: and pray her,
She will solicit this great business
To earnest and most present execution, 240
With all her utmost credit with Augusta.
_Pos._ I shall not fail in my instructions. [_Exit._]
_Sej._ This second, from his mother, will well urge
Our late design, and spur on Caesar’s rage;
Which else might grow remiss. The way to put
A prince in blood, is to present the shapes 245
Of dangers greater than they are, like late
Or early shadows: and, sometimes, to feign
Where there are none, only to make him fear.
His fear will make him cruel: and once ent’red
He doth not easily learn to stop, or spare 251
Where he may doubt. This have I made my rule
To thrust Tiberius into tyranny,
And make him toil to turn aside those blocks,
Which I alone could not remove with safety. 255
Drusus once gone, Germanicus’ three sons
Would clog my way; whose guards have too much faith
To be corrupted: and their mother known
Of too unreprov’d[1467] a chastity
To be attempted, as light Livia was. 260
Work then, my art, on Caesar’s fears, as they
On those they fear, till all my lets[1468] be clear’d,
And he in ruins of his house, and hate
Of all his subjects, bury his own state;
When with my peace, and safety, I will rise, 265
By making him the public sacrifice. [_Exit._]
[SCENE III.][1469]
[_Enter_] SATRIUS, NATTA.
_Sat._ They ’re grown exceeding circumspect, and wary.
_Nat._ They have us in the wind: and yet Arruntius
Cannot contain himself.
_Sat._ Tut, he ’s not yet
Look’d after; there are others more desir’d,
That are more silent.
_Nat._ Here he comes. Away! [_Exeunt._]
[_Enter_] SABINUS, ARRUNTIUS, CORDUS.
_Sab._ How is it, that these beagles haunt the house 6
Of Agrippina?
_Arr._ O, they hunt, they hunt!
There is some game here lodg’d, which they must rouse,
To make the great ones sport.
_Cor._ Did you observe
How they inveigh’d ’gainst Caesar?
_Arr._ Ay, baits, baits,
For us to bite at: would I have my flesh 11
Torn by the public hook, these qualified hangmen
Should be my company.
_Cor._ Here comes another.
[DOM. AFER _passes over the stage_.]
_Arr._ Ay, there’s a man, Afer the orator! 14
One that hath phrases, figures, and fine flowers,
To strew his rhetoric with, and doth make haste,
To get him note or name by any offer
Where blood or gain be objects; steeps his words,
When he would kill, in artificial tears:
The crocodile of Tiber! him I love, 20
That man is mine; he hath my heart and voice
When I would curse! he, he.
_Sab._ Contemn the slaves,
Their present lives will be their future graves.
[_Exeunt._]
[SCENE IV.][1470]
[_Enter_] SILIUS, AGRIPPINA, NERO, SOSIA.
_Sil._ May’t please your highness not forget yourself:
I dare not, with my manners, to attempt
Your trouble farther.
_Agr._ Farewell, noble Silius!
_Sil._ Most royal princess.
_Agr._ Sosia stays with us?
_Sil._ She is your servant, and doth owe your grace 5
An honest, but unprofitable love.
_Agr._ How can that be, when there’s no gain but virtue’s?
_Sil._ You take the moral, not the politic sense.
I meant, as she is bold, and free of speech,
Earnest to utter what her zealous thought 10
Travails withal, in honour of your house;
Which act, as it is simply borne in her,
Partakes of love and honesty; but may,
By th’ over-often, and unseason’d use,
Turn to your loss and danger: for your state 15
Is waited on by envies, as by eyes;
And every second guest your tables take
Is a fee’d spy, to observe who goes, who comes;
What conference you have, with whom, where, when,
What the discourse is, what the looks, the thoughts 20
Of ev’ry person there, they do extract,
And make into a substance.
_Agr._ Hear me, Silius.
Were all Tiberius’ body stuck with eyes,
And ev’ry wall and hanging in my house
Transparent, as this lawn I wear, or air; 25
Yea, had Sejanus both his ears as long
As to my inmost closet, I would hate
To whisper any thought, or change an act,
To be made Juno’s rival. Virtue’s forces
Show ever noblest in conspicuous courses. 30
_Sil._ ’T is great, and bravely spoken, like the spirit
Of Agrippina: yet, your highness knows,
There is nor loss nor shame in providence;[1471]
Few can, what all should do, beware enough.
You may perceive with what officious face, 35
Satrius, and Natta, Afer, and the rest
Visit your house of late, t’ inquire the secrets;
And with what bold and privileg’d art, they rail
Against Augusta, yea, and at Tiberius;
Tell tricks of Livia, and Sejanus: all 40
T’ excite, and call your indignation on,
That they might hear it at more liberty.
_Agr._ You’re too suspicious, Silius.
_Sil._ Pray the gods,
I be so, Agrippina; but I fear 44
Some subtile practice. They that durst to strike
At so exampless, and unblam’d a life,
As that of the renown’d Germanicus,
Will not sit down with that exploit alone:
He threatens many that hath injur’d one.
_Nero._ ’T were best rip forth their tongues, sear out their eyes, 50
When next they come.
_Sos._ A fit reward for spies.
[_Enter_] DRUSUS JUN.
_Dru. jun._ Hear you the rumour?
_Agr._ What?
_Dru. jun._ Drusus is dying.
_Agr._ Dying!
_Nero._ That’s strange!
_Agr._ You were with him yesternight.
_Dru. jun._ One met Eudemus the physician,
Sent for, but now; who thinks he cannot live. 55
_Sil._ Thinks! If it be arriv’d at that, he knows,
Or none.
_Agr._ ’T is quick! What should be his disease?
_Sil._ Poison, poison——
_Agr._ How, Silius!
_Nero._ What’s that?
_Sil._ Nay, nothing. There was late a certain blow
Giv’n o’ the face.
_Nero._ Ay, to Sejanus.
_Sil._ True. 60
_Dru. jun._ And what of that?
_Sil._ I’m glad I gave it not.
_Nero._ But there is somewhat else?
_Sil._ Yes, private meetings,
With a great lady at a physician’s,
And a wife turn’d away—
_Nero._ Ha!
_Sil._ Toys, mere toys:
What wisdom’s now i’ th’ streets, i’ th’ common mouth? 66
_Dru. jun._ Fears, whisp’rings, tumults, noise, I know not what:
They say the Senate sit.
_Sil._ I’ll thither straight;
And see what’s in the forge.
_Agr._ Good Silius, do;
Sosia and I will in.
_Sil._ Haste you, my lords,
To visit the sick prince; tender your loves, 70
And sorrows to the people. This Sejanus,
Trust my divining soul, hath plots on all:
No tree, that stops his prospect, but must fall.
[_Exeunt._]
CHORUS—of Musicians.
ACT III
[SCENE I.]
_The Senate._
[_Enter_] Praecones, Lictores, SEJANUS, VARRO, LATIARIS, COTTA, _and_
AFER.
_Sej._ ’T is only you must urge against him, Varro;
Nor I, nor Caesar may appear therein,
Except in your defence, who are the consul;
And, under colour of late enmity 4
Between your father and his, may better do it,
As free from all suspicion of a practice.[1472]
Here be your notes, what points to touch at; read:
Be cunning in them. Afer has them too.
_Var._ But is he summon’d?
_Sej._ No. It was debated
By Caesar, and concluded as most fit 10
To take him unprepar’d.
_Afer._ And prosecute
All under name of treason.
_Var._ I conceive.
[_Enter_ SABINUS, GALLUS, LEPIDUS, _and_ ARRUNTIUS.]
_Sab._ Drusus being dead, Caesar will not be here.
_Gal._ What should the business of this senate be?
_Arr._ That can my subtle whisperers tell you: we 15
That are the good-dull-noble lookers-on.
Are only call’d to keep the marble warm.
What should we do with those deep mysteries,
Proper to these fine heads? Let them alone. 19
Our ignorance may, perchance, help us be sav’d
From whips and furies.
_Gal._ See, see, see their action!
_Arr._ Ay, now their heads do travail, now they work;
Their faces run like shittles; they are weaving
Some curious cobweb to catch flies.
_Sab._ Observe,
They take their places.
_Arr._ What, so low!
_Gal._ O yes, 25
They must be seen to flatter Caesar’s grief,
Though but in sitting.
_Var._ Bid us silence.
_Prae._ Silence.
_Var._ “Fathers conscript, may this our present meeting
Turn fair and fortunate to the commonwealth!”
[_Enter_] SILIUS [_and other_ Senators.]
_Sej._ See, Silius enters.
_Sil._ Hail, grave fathers!
_Lic._ Stand. 30
Silius, forbear thy place.
_Sen._ How!
_Prae._ Silius, stand forth,
The consul hath to charge thee.
_Lic._ Room for Caesar.
_Arr._ Is he come too! Nay then expect a trick.
_Sab._ Silius accus’d! Sure he will answer nobly.
[_Enter_] TIBERIUS [_attended_.]
_Tib._ We stand amazed, fathers, to behold 35
This general dejection. Wherefore sit
Rome’s consuls thus dissolv’d, as they had lost
All the remembrance both of style and place?
It not becomes. No woes are of fit weight
To make the honour of the Empire stoop: 40
Though I, in my peculiar self may meet
Just reprehension, that so suddenly,
And in so fresh a grief, would greet the senate,
When private tongues, of kinsmen and allies,
Inspir’d with comforts, lothly are endur’d, 45
The face of men not seen, and scarce the day,
To thousands that communicate[1473] our loss.
Nor can I argue these of weakness, since
They take but natural ways; yet I must seek 49
For stronger aids, and those fair helps draw out
From warm embraces of the commonwealth.
Our mother, great Augusta, ’a struck with time,
Our self imprest with aged characters,
Drusus is gone, his children young and babes;
Our aims must now reflect on those that may
Give timely succour to these present ills, 56
And are our only glad-surviving hopes,
The noble issue of Germanicus,
Nero and Drusus: might it please the consul
Honour them in, they both attend without. 60
I would present them to the senate’s care,
And raise those sons of joy that should drink up
These floods of sorrow in your drowned eyes.
_Arr._ By Jove, I am not Oedipus enough
To understand this Sphinx.
_Sab._ The princes come. 65
[_Enter_] NERO, DRUSUS JUNIOR.
_Tib._ Approach you, noble Nero, noble Drusus.
These princes, fathers, when their parent died,
I gave unto their uncle, with this prayer,
That though he ’d proper issue of his own,
He would no less bring up, and foster these, 70
Than that self-blood; and by that act confirm
Their worths to him, and to posterity.
Drusus ta’en hence, I turn my prayers to you,
And ’fore our country and our gods, beseech
You take, and rule Augustus’ nephew’s sons, 75
Sprung of the noblest ancestors; and so
Accomplish both my duty, and your own.
Nero, and Drusus, these shall be to you
In place of parents, these your fathers, these;
And not unfitly: for you are so born, 80
As all your good or ill ’s the commonwealth’s.
Receive them, you strong guardians; and blest gods.
Make all their actions answer to their bloods:
Let their great titles find increase by them,
Not they by titles. Set them, as in place, 85
So in example, above all the Romans:
And may they know no rivals but themselves.
Let Fortune give them nothing, but attend
Upon their virtue: and that still come forth 89
Greater than hope, and better than their fame.
Relieve me, fathers, with your general voice.
_Senators._ “May all the gods consent to Caesar’s wish.
And add to any honours that may crown
The hopeful issue of Germanicus!”
_Tib._ We thank you, reverend fathers, in their right. 95
_Arr._ [_Aside._] If this were true, now! but the space, the space
Between the breast and lips! Tiberius’ heart
Lies a thought farther than another man’s.
_Tib._ My comforts are so flowing in my joys,
As, in them, all my streams of grief are lost, 100
No less than are land-waters in the sea,
Or showers in rivers; though their cause was such,
As might have sprinkled ev’n the gods with tears:
Yet, since the greater doth embrace the less,
We covetously obey.
_Arr._ (_Aside._)[1474] Well acted, Caesar. 105
_Tib._ And now I am the happy witness made
Of your so much desir’d affections
To this great issue, I could wish the Fates
Would here set peaceful period to my days;
However, to my labours I entreat 110
And beg it of this senate, some fit ease.
_Arr._ (_Aside._)[1474] Laugh, fathers, laugh: ha’
you no spleens[1475] about you?
_Tib._ The burden is too heavy I sustain
On my unwilling shoulders; and I pray
It may be taken off, and reconferr’d 115
Upon the consuls, or some other Roman,
More able, and more worthy.
_Arr._ (_Aside._)[1474] Laugh on still.
_Sab._ Why, this doth render all the rest suspected!
_Gal._ It poisons all.
_Arr._ O, do you taste it then?
_Sab._ It takes away my faith to anything 120
He shall hereafter speak.
_Arr._ Ay, to pray that,
Which would be to his head as hot as thunder,
’Gainst which he wears that charm,[1476] should but the court
Receive him at his word.
_Gal._ Hear!
_Tib._ For myself
I know my weakness, and so little covet, 125
Like some gone past, the weight that will oppress me,
As my ambition is the counter-point.
_Arr._ (_Aside._)[1474] Finely maintain’d; good still!
_Sej._ But Rome, whose blood,
Whose nerves, whose life, whose very frame relies
On Caesar’s strength, no less than heaven on Atlas, 130
Cannot admit it but with general ruin.
_Arr._ (_Aside._) Ah! are you there to bring him off?
_Sej._ Let Caesar
No more then urge a point so contrary
To Caesar’s greatness, the griev’d senate’s vows,
Or Rome’s necessity.
_Gal._ (_Aside._) He comes about—— 135
_Arr._ (_Aside._) More nimbly than Vertumnus.
_Tib._ For the public.
I may be drawn to show I can neglect
All private aims, though I affect my rest;
But if the senate still command me serve,
I must be glad to practise my obedience. 140
_Arr._ (_Aside._) You must and will, sir. We do know it.
_Senators._ “Caesar,
Live long and happy, great and royal Caesar;
The gods preserve thee and thy modesty,
Thy wisdom and thy innocence!”
_Arr._ (_Aside._) Where is ’t?
The prayer is made before the subject.
_Senators._ “Guard 145
His meekness, Jove, his piety, his care,
His bounty——”
_Arr._ (_Aside._) And his subtilty, I’ll put in:
Yet he’ll keep that himself, without the gods.
All prayers are vain for him.
_Tib._ We will not hold
Your patience, fathers, with long answer; but
Shall still contend to be what you desire, 151
And work to satisfy so great a hope.
Proceed to your affairs.
_Arr._ [_Aside._] Now, Silius, guard thee;
The curtain ’s drawing. Afer advanceth.
_Prae._ Silence!
_Afer._ Cite Caius Silius.
_Prae._ Caius Silius!
_Sil._ Here. 155
_Afer._ The triumph that thou hadst in Germany
For thy late victory on Sacrovir,
Thou hast enjoy’d so freely, Caius Silius,
As no man it envi’d thee; nor would Caesar 159
Or Rome admit, that thou wert then defrauded
Of any honours thy deserts could claim
In the fair service of the commonwealth;
But now, if after all their loves and graces,
(Thy actions, and their courses being discover’d)
It shall appear to Caesar and this senate, 165
Thon hast defil’d those glories with thy crimes——
_Sil._ Crimes!
_Afer._ Patience, Silius.
_Sil._ Tell thy mule of patience;
I am a Roman. What are my crimes? Proclaim them.
Am I too rich, too honest for the times?
Have I or treasure, jewels, land, or houses 170
That some informer gapes for? Is my strength
Too much to be admitted, or my knowledge?
These now are crimes.
_Afer._ Nay, Silius, if the name
Of crime so touch thee, with what impotence
Wilt thou endure the matter to be search’d? 175
_Sil._ I tell thee, Afer, with more scorn than fear:
Employ your mercenary tongue and art.
Where ’s my accuser?
_Var._ Here.
_Arr._ Varro, the consul!
Is he thrust in?
_Var._ ’T is I accuse thee, Silius.
Against the majesty of Rome and Caesar, 180
I do pronounce thee here a guilty cause,
First of beginning and occasioning,
Next, drawing out the war in Gallia,
For which thou late triumph’st; dissembling long
That Sacrovir to be an enemy, 185
Only to make thy entertainment more:
Whilst thou, and thy wife Sosia, poll’d[1477] the province;
Wherein, with sordid-base desire of gain,
Thou hast discredited thy actions’ worth,
And been a traitor to the state.
_Sil._ Thou liest. 190
_Arr._ I thank thee, Silius; speak so still and often.
_Var._ If I not prove it, Caesar, but unjustly
Have call’d him into trial, here I bind
Myself to suffer what I claim ’gainst him; 194
And yield to have what I have spoke, confirm’d
By judgment of the court, and all good men.
_Sil._ Caesar, I crave to have my cause deferr’d.
Till this man’s consulship be out.
_Tib._ We cannot,
Nor may we grant it.
_Sil._ Why? Shall he design[1478]
My day of trial? Is he my accuser, 200
And must he be my judge?
_Tib._ It hath been usual,
And is a right that custom hath allow’d
The magistrate, to call forth private men
And to appoint their day: which privilege
We may not in the consul see infring’d, 205
By whose deep watches and industrious care
It is so labour’d, as the commonwealth
Receive no loss, by any oblique course.
_Sil._ Caesar, thy fraud is worse than violence.
_Tib._ Silius, mistake us not, we dare not use
The credit of the consul to thy wrong; 211
But only do preserve his place and power,
So far as it concerns the dignity
And honour of the state.
_Arr._ Believe him, Silius.
_Cot._ Why, so he may, Arruntius.
_Arr._ I say so; 215
And he may choose too.
_Tib._ By the Capitol,
And all our gods, but that the dear republic,
Our sacred laws, and just authority
Are interess’d therein, I should be silent. 219
_Afer._ Please Caesar to give way unto his trial,
He shall have justice.
_Sil._ Nay, I shall have law;
Shall I not, Afer? Speak.
_Afer._ Would you have moe?
_Sil._ No, my well-spoken man, I would no more;
Nor less: might I enjoy it natural,
Not taught to speak unto your present ends, 225
Free from thine, his, and all your unkind handling,
Furious enforcing, most unjust presuming,
Malicious, and manifold applying,
Foul wresting, and impossible construction.
_Afer._ He raves, he raves.
_Sil._ Thou durst not tell me so, 230
Hadst thou not Caesar’s warrant. I can see
Whose power condemns me.
_Var._ This betrays his spirit:
This doth enough declare him what he is.
_Sil._ What am I? speak.
_Var._ An enemy to the state.
_Sil._ Because I am an enemy to thee, 235
And such corrupted ministers o’ the state.
That here art made a present instrument
To gratify it with thine own disgrace.
_Sej._ This, to the consul, is most insolent,
And impious!
_Sil._ Ay, take part. Reveal yourselves. 240
Alas! I scent not your confed’racies,
Your plots, and combinations! I not know
Minion Sejanus hates me; and that all
This boast of law, and law, is but a form,
A net of Vulcan’s filing, a mere ingine, 245
To take that life by a pretext of justice,
Which you pursue in malice! I want brain
Or nostril to persuade me, that your ends
And purposes are made to what they are,
Before my answer! O, you equal gods, 250
Whose justice not a world of wolf-turn’d men
Shall make me to accuse (howe’er provoke),
Have I for this so oft engag’d myself?
Stood in the heat and fervour of a fight,
When Phoebus sooner hath forsook the day 255
Than I the field, against the blue-ey’d Gauls,
And crisped Germans? when our Roman eagles
Have fann’d the fire with their labouring wings,
And no blow dealt, that left not death behind it?
When I have charg’d, alone, into the troops 260
Of curl’d Sicambrians, routed them, and came
Not off with backward ensigns of a slave,
But forward marks, wounds on my breast and face,
Were meant to thee, O Caesar, and thy Rome?
And have I this return! Did I, for this, 265
Perform so noble, and so brave defeat,
On Sacrovir! O Jove, let it become me
To boast my deeds, when he, whom they concern,
Shall thus forget them.
_Afer._ Silius, Silius, 269
These are the common customs of thy blood,
When it is high with wine, as now with rage.
This well agrees with that intemperate vaunt,
Thou lately mad’st at Agrippina’s table,
That, when all other of the troops were prone
To fall into rebellion, only yours 275
Remain’d in their obedience. You were he
That sav’d the Empire, which had then been lost
Had but your legions there rebell’d, or mutin’d;
Your virtue met, and fronted every peril. 279
You gav’st to Caesar and to Rome their surety.
Their name, their strength, their spirit, and their state,
Their being was a donative from you.
_Arr._ Well worded, and most like an orator.
_Tib._ Is this true, Silius?
_Sil._ Save thy question, Caesar,
Thy spy of famous credit hath affirm’d it. 285
_Arr._ Excellent Roman!
_Sab._ He doth answer stoutly.
_Sej._ If this be so, there needs no farther cause
Of crime against him.
_Var._ What can more impeach
The royal dignity and state of Caesar,
Than to be urged with a benefit 290
He cannot pay.
_Cot._ In this, all Caesar’s fortune
Is made unequal to the courtesy.
_Lat._ His means are clean destroy’d that should requite.
_Gal._ Nothing is great enough for Silius’ merit.
_Arr._ Gallus on that side too?
_Sil._ Come, do not hunt,
And labour so about for circumstance, 296
To make him guilty, whom you have foredoom’d:
Take shorter ways, I ’ll meet your purposes.
The words were mine, and more I now will say:
Since I have done thee that great service, Caesar, 300
Thou still hast fear’d me; and, in place of grace,
Return’d me hatred: so soon all best turns,
With doubtful princes, turn deep injuries
In estimation, when they greater rise
Than can be answer’d. Benefits, with you, 305
Are of no longer pleasure, than you can
With ease restore them; that transcended once,
Your studies are not how to thank, but kill.
It is your nature, to have all men slaves
To you, but you acknowledging to none. 310
The means that makes your greatness, must not come
In mention of it; if it do, it takes
So much away, you think: and that which help’d
Shall soonest perish, if it stand in eye, 314
Where it may front, or but upbraid the high.
_Cot._ Suffer him speak no more.
_Var._ Note but his spirit.
_Afer._ This shows him in the rest.
_Lat._ Let him be censur’d.[1479]
_Sej._ He hath spoke enough to prove him Caesar’s foe.
_Cot._ His thoughts look through his words.
_Sej._ A censure.
_Sil._ Stay,
Stay, most officious senate, I shall straight 320
Delude thy fury. Silius hath not plac’d
His guards within him, against fortune’s spite,
So weakly but he can escape your gripe
That are but hands of fortune: she herself, 324
When virtue doth oppose, must lose her threats.
All that can happen in humanity,
The frown of Caesar, proud Sejanus’ hatred,
Base Varro’s spleen, and Afer’s bloodying tongue,
The senate’s servile flattery, and these
Must’red to kill, I ’m fortified against, 330
And can look down upon: they are beneath me.
It is not life whereof I stand enamour’d
Nor shall my end make me accuse my fate.
The coward and the valiant man must fall, 334
Only the cause, and manner how, discerns them:
Which then are gladdest, when they cost us dearest.
Romans, if any here be in this senate,
Would know to mock Tiberius’ tyranny,
Look upon Silius, and so learn to die.
[_Stabs himself._]
_Var._ O desperate act!
_Arr._ An honourable hand! 340
_Tib._ Look, is he dead?
_Sab._ ’T was nobly struck, and home.
_Arr._ My thought did prompt him to it. Farewell, Silius.
Be famous ever for thy great example.
_Tib._ We are not pleas’d in this sad accident,
That thus hath stalled,[1480] and abus’d our mercy,
Intended to preserve thee, noble Roman, 346
And to prevent thy hopes.
_Arr._ Excellent wolf!
Now he is full he howls.
_Sej._ Caesar doth wrong
His dignity and safety thus to mourn
The deserv’d end of so profest a traitor; 350
And doth, by this his lenity, instruct
Others as factious to the like offence.
_Tib._ The confiscation merely of his state
Had been enough.
_Arr._ O, that was gap’d for then?
_Var._ Remove the body.
_Sej._ Let citation 355
Go out for Sosia.
_Gal._ Let her be proscrib’d:
And for the goods, I think it fit that half
Go to the treasure, half unto the children.
_Lep._ With leave of Caesar, I would think that fourth 359
Part, which the law doth cast on the informers,
Should be enough; the rest go to the children:
Wherein the prince shall show humanity,
And bounty; not to force them by their want,
Which in their parent’s trespass they deserv’d,
To take ill courses.
_Tib._ It shall please us.
_Arr._ Ay, 366
Out of necessity. This Lepidus
Is grave and honest, and I have observ’d
A moderation still in all his censures,[1481]
_Sab._ And bending to the better——Stay, who ’s this?
Cremutius Cordus! What! is he brought in?
_Arr._ More blood unto the banquet! Noble Cordus, 371
I wish thee good; be as thy writings, free
And honest.
_Tib._ What is he?
_Sej._ For th’ _Annals_, Caesar.
[_Enter_] Praeco. SATRIUS _and_ NATTA, [_with_] CREMUTIUS CORDUS,
[_guarded_.]
_Prae._ Cremutius Cordus!
_Cor._ Here.
_Prae._ Satrius Secundus,
Pinnarius Natta, you are his accusers. 375
_Arr._ Two of Sejanus’ blood-hounds, whom he breeds
With human flesh, to bay at citizens.
_Afer._ Stand forth before the Senate, and confront him.
_Sat._ I do accuse thee here, Cremutius Cordus,
To be a man factious and dangerous, 380
A sower of sedition in the state,
A turbulent and discontented spirit,
Which I will prove from thine own writings, here,
The Annals thou hast publish’d; where thou bit’st
The present age, and with a viper’s tooth, 385
Being a member of it, dar’st that ill
Which never yet degenerous bastard did
Upon his parent.
_Nat._ To this I subscribe;
And, forth[1482] a world of more particulars,
Instance in only one: comparing men 390
And times, thou praisest Brutus, and affirm’st
That Cassius was the last of all the Romans.
_Cot._ How! what are we then?
_Var._ What is Caesar! Nothing?
_Afer._ My lords, this strikes at every Roman’s private,
In whom reigns gentry and estate of spirit, 395
To have a Brutus brought in parallel,
A parricide, an enemy of his country,
Rank’d, and preferr’d to any real worth
That Rome now holds. This is most strangely invective,
Most full of spite, and insolent upbraiding. 400
Nor is ’t the time alone is here dispriz’d,
But the whole man of time, yea, Caesar’s self
Brought in disvalue; and he aim’d at most,
By oblique glance of his licentious pen.
Caesar, if Cassius were the last of Romans, 405
Thou hast no name.
_Tib._ Let ’s hear him answer. Silence!
_Cor._ So innocent I am of fact, my lords,
As but my words are argu’d: yet those words
Not reaching either prince or prince’s parent;
The which your law of treason comprehends.
Brutus and Cassius I am charg’d t’ have prais’d; 411
Whose deeds, when many more, besides myself,
Have writ, not one hath mention’d without honour.
Great Titus Livius, great for eloquence
And faith amongst us, in his History 415
With so great praises Pompey did extol,
As oft Augustus call’d him a Pompeian:
Yet this not hurt their friendship. In his book
He often names Scipio, Afranius,
Yea, the same Cassius, and this Brutus too, 420
As worthiest men; not thieves and parricides,
Which notes upon their fames are now impos’d.
Asinius Pollio’s writings quite throughout
Give them a noble memory; so Messala 424
Renown’d his general, Cassius: yet both these
Liv’d with Augustus, full of wealth and honours.
To Cicero’s book, where Cato was heav’d up
Equal with heaven, what else did Caesar answer,
Being then dictator, but with a penn’d oration,
As if before the judges? Do but see 430
Antonius’ letters; read but Brutus’ pleadings:
What vile reproach they hold against Augustus,
False, I confess, but with much bitterness.
The epigrams of Bibaculus and Catullus
Are read, full stuft with spite of both the Caesars; 435
Yet deified Julius, and no less Augustus,
Both bore them, and contemn’d them: I not know,
Promptly to speak it, whether done with more
Temper, or wisdom; for such obloquies
If they despised be, they die supprest; 440
But if with rage acknowledged, they are confest.
The Greeks I slip, whose licence not alone,
But also lust did scape unpunished:
Or where some one, by chance, exception took,
He words with words reveng’d. But, in my work, 445
What could be aim’d more free,[1483] or farther off
From the time’s scandal, than to write of those
Whom death from grace or hatred had exempted?
Did I, with Brutus and with Cassius,
Arm’d and possess’d of the Philippi fields, 450
Incense the people in the civil cause,
With dangerous speeches? Or do they, being slain
Seventy years since, as by their images,
Which not the conqueror hath defac’d, appears,
Retain that guilty memory with writers? 455
Posterity pays every man his honour:
Nor shall there want, though I condemned am,
That will not only Cassius well approve,
And of great Brutus’ honour mindful be,
But that will also mention make of me. 460
_Arr._ Freely and nobly spoken!
_Sab._ With good temper;
I like him, that he is not mov’d with passion.
_Arr._ He puts ’em to their whisper.
_Tib._ Take him hence;
We shall determine of him at next sitting.
[_Exeunt_ Officers _with_ CORDUS.]
_Cot._ Mean time, give order, that his books be burnt, 465
To the aediles.
_Sej._ You have well advis’d.
_Afer._ It fits not such licentious things should live
T’ upbraid the age.
_Arr._ If th’ age were good, they might.
_Lat._ Let ’em be burnt.
_Gal._ All sought, and burnt to-day.
_Prae._ The court is up; lictors, resume the fasces. 470
[_Exeunt all but_] ARRUNTIUS, SABINUS, _and_ LEPIDUS.
_Arr._ Let them be burnt! O, how ridiculous
Appear the senate’s brainless diligence,
Who think they can, with present power, extinguish
The memory of all succeeding times!
_Sab._ ’T is true; when, contrary, the punishment 475
Of wit doth make th’ authority increase.
Nor do they aught, that use this cruelty
Of interdiction, and this rage of burning,
But purchase to themselves rebuke and shame,
And to the writers an eternal name. 480
_Lep._ It is an argument the times are sore,
When virtue cannot safely be advanc’d,
Nor vice reprov’d.
_Arr._ Ay, noble Lepidus;
Augustus well foresaw what we should suffer
Under Tiberius, when he did pronounce 485
The Roman race most wretched, that should live
Between so slow jaws, and so long a bruising. [_Exeunt._]
[SCENE II.][1484]
[_Enter_] TIBERIUS _and_ SEJANUS.
_Tib._ This business hath succeeded well, Sejanus;
And quite remov’d all jealousy of practice[1485]
’Gainst Agrippina, and our nephews. Now,
We must bethink us how to plant our ingines
For th’ other pair, Sabinus and Arruntius, 5
And Gallus too; howe’er he flatter us,
His heart we know.
_Sej._ Give it some respite, Caesar.
Time shall mature, and bring to perfect crown,
What we, with so good vultures, have begun:
Sabinus shall be next.
_Tib._ Rather Arruntius. 10
_Sej._ By any means, preserve him. His frank tongue
Being lent the reins, would take away all thought
Of malice, in your course against the rest:
We must keep him to stalk with.
_Tib._ Dearest head,
To thy most fortunate design I yield it. 15
_Sej._ Sir, I have been so long train’d up in grace,
First with your father, great Augustus; since,
With your most happy bounties so familiar;
As I not sooner would commit my hopes
Or wishes to the gods, than to your ears. 20
Nor have I ever yet been covetous
Of over-bright and dazzling honours; rather
To watch and travail in great Caesar’s safety,
With the most common soldier.
_Tib._ ’T is confest.
_Sej._ The only gain, and which I count most fair 25
Of all my fortunes, is, that mighty Caesar
Has thought me worthy his alliance. Hence
Begin my hopes.
_Tib._ Umph!
_Sej._ I have heard, Augustus,
In the bestowing of his daughter, thought
But even of gentlemen of Rome: if so— 30
I know not how to hope so great a favour—
But if a husband should be sought for Livia,
And I be had in mind, as Caesar’s friend,
I would but use the glory of the kindred. 34
It should not make me slothful, or less caring
For Caesar’s state: it were enough to me
It did confirm, and strengthen my weak house,
Against the now-unequal opposition
Of Agrippina; and for dear regard
Unto my children, this I wish: myself 40
Have no ambition farther than to end
My days in service of so dear a master.
_Tib._ We cannot but commend thy piety,
Most lov’d Sejanus, in acknowledging
Those bounties; which we, faintly, such remember.— 45
But to thy suit. The rest of mortal men,
In all their drifts and counsels, pursue profit;
Princes alone are of a different sort,
Directing their main actions still to fame: 49
We therefore will take time to think and answer.
For Livia she can best, herself, resolve
If she will marry, after Drusus, or
Continue in the family; besides,
She hath a mother, and a grandam yet, 54
Whose nearer counsels she may guide her by:
But I will simply deal. That enmity
Thou fear’st in Agrippina, would burn more,
If Livia’s marriage should, as ’t were in parts,
Divide th’ imperial house; an emulation
Between the women might break forth; and discord 60
Ruin the sons and nephews on both hands.
What if it cause some present difference?
Thou art not safe, Sejanus, if thou prove[1486] it.
Canst thou believe, that Livia, first the wife
To Caius Caesar, then to Drusus, now 65
Will be contented to grow old with thee,
Born but a private gentleman of Rome,
And raise thee with her loss, if not her shame?
Or say that I should wish it, canst thou think
The senate, or the people (who have seen 70
Her brother, father, and our ancestors,
In highest place of empire) will endure it?
The state thou hold’st already, is in talk;
Men murmur at thy greatness; and the nobles
Stick not, in public, to upbraid thy climbing 75
Above our father’s favours, or thy scale:
And dare accuse me, from their hate to thee.
Be wise, dear friend. We would not hide these things,
For friendship’s dear respect: nor will we stand
Adverse to thine, or Livia’s designments. 80
What we have purpos’d to thee, in our thought,
And with what near degrees of love to bind thee,
And make thee equal to us, for the present
We will forbear to speak. Only, thus much
Believe, our lov’d Sejanus, we not know 85
That height in blood or honour, which thy virtue
And mind to us, may not aspire with merit.
And this we ’ll publish on all watch’d occasion
The senate or the people shall present.
_Sej._ I am restor’d, and to my sense again, 90
Which I had lost in this so blinding suit.
Caesar hath taught me better to refuse,
Than I knew how to ask. How pleaseth Caesar
T’ embrace my late advice for leaving Rome?
_Tib._ We are resolv’d.
_Sej._ Here are some motives more, 95
[_Gives him a paper._]
Which I have thought on since, may more confirm.
_Tib._ Careful Sejanus! we will straight peruse them:
Go forward in our main design, and prosper. [_Exit._]
_Sej._ If those but take, I shall. Dull, heavy Caesar!
Wouldst thou tell me, thy favours were made crimes, 100
And that my fortunes were esteem’d thy faults,
That thou for me wert hated, and not think
I would with winged haste prevent that change,
When thou might’st win all to thyself again,
By forfeiture of me? Did those fond words 105
Fly swifter from thy lips than this my brain,
This sparkling forge, created me an armour
T’ encounter chance and thee? Well, read my charms,
And may they lay that hold upon thy senses, 109
As thou hadst snuft up hemlock, or ta’en down
The juice of poppy and of mandrakes. Sleep,
Voluptuous Caesar, and security
Seize on thy stupid powers, and leave them dead
To public cares; awake but to thy lusts,
The strength of which makes thy libidinous soul 115
Itch to leave Rome! and I have thrust it on;
With blaming of the city business,
The multitude of suits, the confluence
Of suitors: then their importunacies.
The manifold distractions he must suffer, 120
Besides ill-rumours, envies, and reproaches,
All which a quiet and retired life,
Larded with ease and pleasure, did avoid:
And yet for any weighty and great affair, 124
The fittest place to give the soundest counsels.
By this I shall remove him both from thought
And knowledge of his own most dear affairs:
Draw all dispatches through my private hands;
Know his designments, and pursue mine own;
Make mine own strengths by giving suits and places, 130
Conferring dignities and offices;
And these that hate me now, wanting access
To him, will make their envy none, or less:
For when they see me arbiter of all,
They must observe; or else with Caesar fall. 135
[_Exit._]
[SCENE III.][1487]
[_Enter_] TIBERIUS.
_Tib._ To marry Livia! will no less, Sejanus,
Content thy aims? No lower object? Well!
Thou know’st how thou art wrought into our trust;
Woven in our design; and think’st we must
Now use thee, whatso’er thy projects are: 5
’Tis true. But yet with caution and fit care;
And, now we better think—Who’s there within?
[_Enter an_ Officer.]
_Off._ Caesar!
_Tib._ [_Aside._] To leave our journey off, were sin
’Gainst our decreed delights; and would appear
Doubt; or, what less becomes a prince, low fear. 10
Yet doubt hath law, and fears have their excuse,
Where princes’ states plead necessary use;
As ours doth now: more in Sejanus’ pride,
Than all fell Agrippina’s hates beside.
Those are the dreadful enemies, we raise 15
With favours, and make dangerous with praise;
The injur’d by us may have will alike,
But ’t is the favourite hath the power to strike;
And fury ever boils more high and strong,
Heat[1488] with ambition, than revenge of wrong. 20
’T is then a part of supreme skill, to grace
No man too much; but hold a certain space
Between th’ ascender’s rise and thine own flat,[1489]
Lest, when all rounds be reach’d, his aim be that.
’T is thought.—Is Macro in the palace? see: 25
If not, go seek him, to come to us. [_Exit_ Officer.] He
Must be the organ we must work by now;
Though none less apt for trust: need doth allow
What choice would not. I have heard that aconite,
Being timely taken, hath a healing might 30
Against the scorpion’s stroke; the proof we’ll give:
That, while two poisons wrastle, we may live.
He hath a spirit too working to be us’d
But to th’ encounter of his like; excus’d
Are wiser sov’reigns then, that raise one ill 35
Against another, and both safely kill:
The prince that feeds great natures, they will sway him;
Who nourisheth a lion, must obey him.—
[_Re-enter_ Officer _with_] MACRO.
Macro, we sent for you.
_Mac._ I heard so, Caesar.
_Tib._ Leave us a while. [_Exit_ Officer.]
When you shall know, good Macro,
The causes of our sending, and the ends, 41
You will then hearken nearer; and be pleas’d
You stand so high both in our choice and trust,
_Mac._ The humblest place in Caesar’s choice or trust.
May make glad Macro proud; without ambition, 45
Save to do Caesar service.
_Tib._ Leave your courtings.
We are in purpose, Macro, to depart
The city for a time, and see Campania;
Not for our pleasures, but to dedicate
A pair of temples, one to Jupiter 50
At Capua; th’ other at Nola, to Augustus:
In which great work, perhaps our stay will be
Beyond our will produc’d. Now, since we are
Not ignorant what danger may be born
Out of our shortest absence, in a state 55
So subject unto envy, and embroil’d
With hate and faction; we have thought on thee,
Amongst a field of Romans, worthiest Macro,
To be our eye and ear: to keep strict watch
On Agrippina, Nero, Drusus; ay, 60
And on Sejanus: not that we distrust
His loyalty, or do repent one grace,
Of all that heap we have conferr’d on him;
For that were to disparage our election,
And call that judgment now in doubt, which then 65
Seem’d as unquestion’d as an oracle—
But greatness hath his cankers. Worms and moths
Breed out of too fit matter, in the things
Which after they consume, transferring quite
The substance of their makers int’ themselves.
Macro is sharp, and apprehends: besides. 71
I know him subtile, close, wise, and well read
In man, and his large nature; he hath studied
Affections, passions, knows their springs, their ends,
Which way, and whether they will work: ’t is proof 75
Enough of his great merit that we trust him.
Then to a point (because our conference
Cannot be long without suspicion):
Here, Macro, we assign thee both to spy,
Inform, and chastise; think, and use thy means,
Thy ministers, what, where, on whom thou wilt; 81
Explore, plot, practise: all thou dost in this
Shall be, as if the senate or the laws
Had giv’n it privilege, and thou thence styl’d
The saviour both of Caesar and of Rome. 85
We will not take thy answer but in act:
Whereto, as thou proceed’st, we hope to hear
By trusted messengers. If ’t be inquir’d
Wherefore we call’d you, say you have in charge
To see our chariots ready, and our horse. 90
Be still our lov’d and, shortly, honour’d Macro. [_Exit._]
_Mac._ I will not ask why Caesar bids do this;
But joy, that he bids me. It is the bliss
Of courts to be employ’d, no matter how;
A prince’s power makes all his actions virtue. 95
We, whom he works by, are dumb instruments,
To do, but not inquire: his great intents
Are to be serv’d, not search’d. Yet, as that bow
Is most in hand whose owner best doth know 99
T’ affect[1490] his aims; so let that statesman hope
Most use, most price, can hit his prince’s scope.[1491]
Nor must he look at what or whom to strike,
But loose[1492] at all; each mark must be alike.
Were it to plot against the fame, the life
Of one with whom I twinn’d; remove a wife 105
From my warm side, as lov’d as is the air;
Practise away each parent; draw mine heir
In compass,[1493] though but one; work all my kin
To swift perdition; leave no untrain’d engine
For friendship, or for innocence; nay, make 110
The gods all guilty; I would undertake
This, being impos’d me, both with gain and ease:
The way to rise is to obey and please.
He that will thrive in state, he must neglect 114
The trodden paths that truth and right respect;
And prove new, wilder ways: for virtue there
Is not that narrow thing she is elsewhere.
Men’s fortune there is virtue; reason their will;
Their licence, law; and their observance, skill.
Occasion is their foil; conscience, their stain; 120
Profit their lustre; and what else is, vain.
If then it be the lust of Caesar’s power
T’ have rais’d Sejanus up, and in an hour
O’erturn him, tumbling, down from height of all;
We are his ready engine: and his fall 125
May be our rise. It is no uncouth[1494] thing
To see fresh buildings from old ruins spring. [_Exit._]
CHORUS—of Musicians.
ACT IV
[SCENE I.][1495]
[_Enter_] GALLUS, AGRIPPINA.
_Gal._ You must have patience, royal Agrippina.
_Agr._ I must have vengeance first; and that were nectar
Unto my famish’d spirits. O, my fortune,
Let it be sudden thou prepar’st against me;
Strike all my powers of understanding blind, 5
And ignorant of destiny to come!
Let me not fear, that cannot hope.
_Gal._ Dear princess.
These tyrannies on yourself are worse than Caesar’s.
_Agr._ Is this the happiness of being born great?
Still to be aim’d at? still to be suspected? 10
To live the subject of all jealousies?
At least the colour[1496] made, if not the ground
To every painted danger? Who would not
Choose once to fall, than thus to hang for ever?
_Gal._ You might be safe if you would——
_Agr._ What, my Gallus! 15
Be lewd Sejanus’ strumpet? Or the bawd
To Caesar’s lusts, he now is gone to practise?
Not these are safe, where nothing is. Yourself,
While thus you stand but by me, are not safe.
Was Silius safe? Or the good Sosia safe? 20
Or was my niece, dear Claudia Pulchra, safe,
Or innocent Furnius? they that latest have
(By being made guilty) added reputation
To Afer’s eloquence? O, foolish friends,
Could not so fresh example warn your loves, 25
But you must buy my favours with that loss
Unto yourselves; and when you might perceive
That Caesar’s cause of raging must forsake him,
Before his will! Away, good Gallus, leave me.
Here to be seen, is danger; to speak, treason: 30
To do me least observance, is call’d faction.
You are unhappy in me, and I in all.
Where are my sons Nero and Drusus? We
Are they he shot at; let us fall apart;
Not in our ruins sepulchre our friends. 35
Or shall we do some action like offence,[1497]
To mock their studies that would make us faulty,
And frustrate practice by preventing[1498] it?
The danger’s like: for what they can contrive,
They will make good. No innocence is safe 40
When power contests: nor can they trespass more,
Whose only being[1499] was all crime before.
[_Enter_ NERO, DRUSUS, _and_ CALIGULA.]
_Ner._ You hear Sejanus is come back from Caesar?
_Gal._ No. How? disgrac’d?
_Dru._ More graced now than ever.
_Gal._ By what mischance?
_Cal._ A fortune like enough
Once to be bad.
_Dru._ But turn’d too good to both. 46
_Gal._ What was’t?
_Ner._ Tiberius sitting at his meat,
In a farm-house they call Spelunca, sited
By the sea-side, among the Fundane hills,
Within a natural cave; part of the grot, 50
About the entry, fell, and overwhelmed
Some of the waiters; others ran away:
Only Sejanus with his knees, hands, face,
O’erhanging Caesar, did oppose himself
To the remaining ruins, and was found 55
In that so labouring posture by the soldiers
That came to succour him. With which adventure,
He hath so fixt himself in Caesar’s trust,
As thunder cannot move him, and is come
With all the height of Caesar’s praise to Rome.
_Agr._ And power to turn those ruins all on us, 61
And bury whole posterities beneath them.
Nero, and Drusus, and Caligula,
Your places are the next, and therefore most
In their offence. Think on your birth and blood, 65
Awake your spirits, meet their violence;
’T is princely when a tyrant doth oppose,
And is a fortune sent to exercise
Your virtue, as the wind doth try strong trees,
Who by vexation[1500] grow more sound and firm.
After your father’s fall, and uncle’s fate, 71
What can you hope, but all the change of stroke
That force or sleight can give? Then stand upright;
And though you do not act, yet suffer nobly: 74
Be worthy of my womb, and take strong cheer;
What we do know will come, we should not fear. [_Exeunt._]
[SCENE II.][1501]
[_Enter_] MACRO.
_Mac._ Return’d so soon! Renew’d in trust and grace!
Is Caesar then so weak, or hath the place
But wrought this alteration with the air;
And he, on next remove, will all repair?
Macro, thou art engag’d: and what before 5
Was public, now must be thy private more.
The weal of Caesar, fitness did imply;
But thine own fate confers necessity
On thy employment; and the thoughts borne nearest 9
Unto ourselves, move swiftest still, and dearest.
If he recover, thou art lost; yea, all
The weight of preparation to his fall
Will turn on thee, and crush thee: therefore strike
Before he settle, to prevent the like
Upon thyself. He doth his vantage know, 15
That makes it home,[1502] and gives the foremost blow. [_Exit._]
[SCENE III.][1503]
[_Enter_] LATIARIS, RUFUS, _and_ OPSIUS.
_Lat._ It is a service great Sejanus will
See well requited, and accept of nobly.
Here place yourselves between the roof and ceiling;
And when I bring him to his words of danger,
Reveal yourselves, and take him.
_Ruf._ Is he come? 5
_Lat._ I’ll now go fetch him. [_Exit._]
_Ops._ With good speed.—I long
To merit from the state in such an action.
_Ruf._ I hope it will obtain the consulship
For one of us.
_Ops._ We cannot think of less,
To bring in one so dangerous as Sabinus. 10
_Ruf._ He was a follower of Germanicus,
And still is an observer[1504] of his wife
And children, though they be declin’d in grace;
A daily visitant, keeps them company
In private and in public, and is noted 15
To be the only client of the house:
Pray Jove, he will be free to Latiaris.
_Ops._ He ’s alli’d to him, and doth trust him well.
_Ruf._ And he’ll requite his trust!
_Ops._ To do an office
So grateful to the state, I know no man 20
But would strain nearer bands than kindred—
_Ruf._ List!
I hear them come.
_Ops._ Shift to our holes with silence.
[_They retire._]
[_Re-enter_] LATIARIS, SABINUS.
_Lat._ It is a noble constancy you show
To this afflicted house; that not like others,
The friends of season, you do follow fortune, 25
And, in the winter of their fate, forsake
The place whose glories warm’d you. You are just,
And worthy such a princely patron’s love,
As was the world’s renown’d Germanicus,
Whose ample merit when I call to thought, 30
And see his wife and issue objects made
To so much envy, jealousy, and hate;
It makes me ready to accuse the gods
Of negligence, as men of tyranny.
_Sab._ They must be patient, so must we.
_Lat._ O Jove,
What will become of us or of the times, 36
When, to be high or noble, are made crimes,
When land and treasure are most dangerous faults?
_Sab._ Nay, when our table, yea our bed, assaults
Our peace and safety? When our writings are
By any envious instruments, that dare 41
Apply them to the guilty, made to speak
What they will have to fit their tyrannous wreak?
When ignorance is scarcely innocence;
And knowledge made a capital offence? 45
When not so much, but the bare empty shade
Of liberty, is reft[1505] us; and we made
The prey to greedy vultures and vile spies,
That first transfix us with their murdering eyes? 49
_Lat._ Methinks the genius of the Roman race
Should not be so extinct, but that bright flame
Of liberty might be reviv’d again,
(Which no good man but with his life should lose)
And we not sit like spent and patient fools,
Still puffing in the dark at one poor coal, 55
Held on by hope, till the last spark is out.
The cause is public, and the honour, name,
The immortality of every soul,
That is not bastard or a slave in Rome,
Therein concern’d: whereto, if men would change 60
The weari’d arm, and for the weighty shield
So long sustain’d, employ the facile sword,
We might have soon assurance of our vows.
This ass’s fortitude doth tire us all:
It must be active valour must redeem 65
Our loss, or none. The rock and our hard steel
Should meet t’ enforce those glorious fires again,
Whose splendour cheer’d the world, and heat gave life
No less than doth the sun’s.
_Sab._ ’T were better stay
In lasting darkness, and despair of day. 70
No ill should force the subject undertake
Against the sovereign, more than hell should make
The gods do wrong. A good man should and must
Sit rather down with loss than rise unjust;
Though, when the Romans first did yield themselves 75
To one man’s power, they did not mean their lives,
Their fortunes, and their liberties should be
His absolute spoil, as purchas’d by the sword.
_Lat._ Why, we are worse, if to be slaves, and bond 79
To Caesar’s slave, be such, the proud Sejanus!
He that is all, does all, gives Caesar leave
To hide his ulcerous and anointed face,
With his bald crown at Rhodes, while he here stalks
Upon the heads of Romans and their princes,
Familiarly to empire.
_Sab._ Now you touch 84
A point indeed, wherein he shows his art,
As well as power.
_Lat._ And villany in both.
Do you observe where Livia lodges? How
Drusus came dead? What men have been cut off?
_Sab._ Yes, those are things remov’d. I nearer lookt 90
Into his later practice, where he stands
Declar’d a master in his mystery.
First, ere Tiberius went, he wrought his fear
To think that Agrippina sought his death.
Then put those doubts in her; sent her oft word, 95
Under the show of friendship, to beware
Of Caesar, for he laid to poison her:
Drave them to frowns, to mutual jealousies,
Which, now, in visible hatred are burst out.
Since, he hath had his hired instruments 100
To work on Nero, and to heave him up;
To tell him Caesar’s old, that all the people,
Yea, all the army have their eyes on him;
That both do long to have him undertake 104
Something of worth, to give the world a hope;
Bids him to court their grace: the easy youth
Perhaps gives ear, which straight he writes to Caesar;
And with this comment: “See yon dangerous boy;
Note but the practice of the mother, there;
She’s tying him for purposes at hand, 110
With men of sword.” Here’s Caesar put in fright
’Gainst son and mother. Yet he leaves not thus,
The second brother, Drusus, a fierce nature,
And fitter for his snares, because ambitious
And full of envy, him he clasps and hugs, 115
Poisons with praise, tells him what hearts he wears,
How bright he stands in popular expectance;
That Rome doth suffer with him in the wrong
His mother does him, by preferring Nero: 119
Thus sets he them asunder, each ’gainst other.
Projects the course that serves him to condemn,
Keeps in opinion of a friend to all,
And all drives on to ruin.
_Lat._ Caesar sleeps,
And nods at this.
_Sab._ Would he might ever sleep,
Bogg’d in his filthy lusts!
[OPSIUS _and_ RUFUS _rush in_.]
_Ops._ Treason to Caesar! 125
_Ruf._ Lay hands upon the traitor, Latiaris,
Or take the name thyself.
_Lat._ I am for Caesar.
_Sab._ Am I then catch’d?
_Ruf._ How think you, sir? You are.
_Sab._ Spies of this head, so white, so full of years!
Well, my most reverend monsters, you may live
To see yourself thus snar’d.
_Ops._ Away with him! 131
_Lat._ Hale him away.
_Ruf._ To be a spy for traitors,
Is honourable vigilance.
_Sab._ You do well,
My most officious instruments of state,
Men of all uses. Drag me hence, away. 135
The year is well begun, and I fall fit
To be an off’ring to Sejanus. Go!
_Ops._ Cover him with his garments, hide his face.
_Sab._ It shall not need. Forbear your rude assault.
The fault’s not shameful, villany makes a fault. [_Exeunt._] 140
[SCENE IV.][1506]
[_Enter_] MACRO, CALIGULA.
_Mac._ Sir, but observe how thick your dangers meet
In his clear drifts![1507] Your mother and your brothers,
Now cited to the senate; their friend Gallus,
Feasted to-day by Caesar, since committed!
Sabinus here we met, hurried to fetters: 5
The senators all struck with fear and silence,
Save those whose hopes depend not on good means,
But force their private prey from public spoil.
And you must know, if here you stay, your state
Is sure to be the subject of his hate, 10
As now the object.
_Cal._ What would you advise me?
_Mac._ To go for Capreae presently; and there
Give up yourself entirely to your uncle.
Tell Caesar (since your mother is accus’d
To fly for succours to Augustus’ statue, 15
And to the army, with your brethren) you
Have rather chose to place your aids in him
Than live suspected; or in hourly fear
To be thrust out, by bold Sejanus’ plots:
Which you shall confidently urge to be 20
Most full of peril to the state, and Caesar,
As being laid to his peculiar ends,
And not to be let run with common safety.
All which, upon the second, I’ll make plain,
So both shall love and trust with Caesar gain.
_Cal._ Away then, let’s prepare us for our journey. [_Exeunt._] 26
[SCENE V.][1508]
[_Enter_] ARRUNTIUS.
_Arr._ Still dost thou suffer, heaven! Will no flame,
No heat of sin, make thy just wrath to boil
In thy distemp’red bosom, and o’erflow
The pitchy blazes of impiety,
Kindled beneath thy throne! Still canst thou sleep, 5
Patient, while vice doth make an antic face
At thy dread power, and blow dust and smoke
Into thy nostrils! Jove, will nothing wake thee?
Must vile Sejanus pull thee by the beard,
Ere thou wilt open thy black-lidded eye, 10
And look him dead? Well! snore on, dreaming gods;
And let this last of that proud giant-race
Heave mountain upon mountain ’gainst your state.—
Be good unto me, Fortune and you powers,
Whom I, expostulating, have profan’d; 15
I see (what’s equal with a prodigy)
A great, a noble Roman, and an honest,
Live an old man!—
[_Enter_ LEPIDUS.][1509]
O Marcus Lepidus,
When is our turn to bleed? Thyself and I,
Without our boast, are a’most all the few 20
Left to be honest in these impious times.
_Lep._ What we are left to be, we will be, Lucius;
Though tyranny did stare as wide as death,
To fright us from it.
_Arr._ ’T hath so on Sabinus.
_Lep._ I saw him now drawn from the Gemonies,[1510] 26
And what increas’d the direness of the fact,
His faithful dog, upbraiding all us Romans,
Never forsook the corpse, but, seeing it thrown
Into the stream, leap’d in, and drown’d with it.
_Arr._ O act, to be envi’d him of us men! 30
We are the next the hook lays hold on. Marcus
What are thy arts, good patriot, teach them me,
That have preserv’d thy hairs to this white dye,
And kept so reverend and so dear a head
Safe on his comely shoulders?
_Lep._ Arts, Arruntius! 35
None, but the plain and passive fortitude,
To suffer and be silent; never stretch
These arms against the torrent; live at home,
With my own thoughts and innocence about me,
Not tempting the wolves’ jaws: these are my arts. 40
_Arr._ I would begin to study ’em, if I thought
They would secure me. May I pray to Jove
In secret and be safe? ay, or aloud,
With open wishes, so I do not mention
Tiberius or Sejanus? Yes, I must, 45
If I speak out. ’T is hard, that. May I think,
And not be rackt? What danger is ’t to dream,
Talk in one’s sleep, or cough? Who knows the law?
May I shake my head without a comment? say
It rains, or it holds up, and not be thrown 50
Upon the Gemonies? These now are things,
Whereon men’s fortune, yea, their fate depends.
Nothing hath privilege ’gainst the violent ear.
No place, no day, no hour, we see, is free,
(Not our religious and most sacred times) 55
From some one kind of cruelty: all matter,
Nay, all occasion pleaseth. Madmen’s rage,
The idleness of drunkards, women’s nothing,
Jester’s simplicity, all, all is good
That can be catcht at. Nor is now th’ event 60
Of any person, or for any crime,
To be expected;[1511] for ’t is always one:
Death, with some little difference of place,
Or time——What’s this? Prince Nero, guarded!
[_Enter_] LACO _and_ NERO [_with_ GUARDS.]
_Lac._ On, lictors, keep your way. My lords, forbear. 65
On pain of Caesar’s wrath, no man attempt
Speech with the prisoner.
_Ner._ Noble friends, be safe;
To lose yourselves for words, were as vain hazard,
As unto me small comfort. Fare you well.
Would all Rome’s sufferings in my fate did dwell! 70
_Lac._ Lictors, away.
_Lep._ Where goes he, Laco?
_Lac._ Sir,
He’s banished into Pontia by the senate.
_Arr._ Do I see, and hear, and feel? May I trust sense,
Or doth my phant’sie form it?
_Lep._ Where ’s his brother?
_Lac._ Drusus is prisoner in the palace.
_Arr._ Ha! 75
I smell it now: ’t is rank. Where’s Agrippina?
_Lac._ The princess is confin’d to Pandataria.
_Arr._ Bolts, Vulcan; bolts for Jove! Phoebus, thy bow;
Stern Mars, thy sword; and, blue-ey’d Maid, thy spear;
Thy club, Alcides: all the armoury 80
Of heaven is too little!—Ha! to guard
The gods, I meant. Fine, rare dispatch! This same
Was swiftly borne! Confin’d, imprison’d, banish’d?
Most tripartite! The cause, sir?
_Lac._ Treason.
_Arr._ O!
The complement of all accusings! That 85
Will hit, when all else fails.
_Lep._ This turn is strange!
But yesterday the people would not hear,
Far less objected, but cri’d Caesar’s letters
Were false and forg’d; that all these plots were malice;
And that the ruin of the prince’s house 90
Was practis’d ’gainst his knowledge. Where are now
Their voices, now that they behold his heirs
Lock’d up, disgrac’d, led into exile?
_Arr._ Hush’d,
Drown’d in their bellies. Wild Sejanus’ breath
Hath, like a whirlwind, scatter’d that poor dust, 95
With his rude blast.—We’ll talk no treason, sir.
_Turns to_ LACO, _and the rest_.
If that be it you stand for. Fare you well.
We have no need of horse-leeches. Good spy,
Now you are spi’d, be gone.
[_Exeunt_ LACO, NERO, _and_ GUARDS.]
_Lep._ I fear you wrong him:
He has the voice to be an honest Roman. 100
_Arr._ And trusted to this office! Lepidus,
I’d sooner trust Greek Sinon than a man
Our state employs. He’s gone: and being gone,
I dare tell you, whom I dare better trust,
That our night-ey’d Tiberius doth not see 105
His minion’s drifts; or, if he do, he ’s not
So arrant subtile, as we fools do take him;
To breed a mongrel up, in his own house.
With his own blood, and, if the good gods please,
At his own throat flesh him to take a leap. 110
I do not beg it, heav’n; but if the fates
Grant it these eyes, they must not wink.
_Lep._ They must
Not see it, Lucius.
_Arr._ Who should let[1512] ’em?
_Lep._ Zeal,
And duty; with the thought he is our prince.
_Arr._ He is our monster: forfeited to vice 115
So far, as no rack’d virtue can redeem him.
His loathed person fouler than all crimes:
An emp’ror only in his lusts. Retir’d,
From all regard of his own fame, or Rome’s,
Into an obscure island, where he lives 120
Acting his tragedies with a comic face,
Amidst his rout of Chaldees: spending hours,
Days, weeks, and months, in the unkind[1513] abuse
Of grave astrology, to the bane of men,
Casting the scope of men’s nativities, 125
And having found aught worthy in their fortune,
Kill, or precipitate them in the sea,
And boast he can mock fate. Nay, muse not: these
Are far from ends of evil, scarce degrees.
He hath his slaughter-house at Capreae; 130
Where he doth study murder as an art;
And they are dearest in his grace that can
Devise the deepest tortures. Thither, too,
He hath his boys, and beauteous girls ta’en up
Out of our noblest houses, the best form’d, 135
Best nurtur’d, and most modest; what’s their good,
Serves to provoke his bad. Some are allur’d,
Some threat’ned; others, by their friends detain’d,
Are ravish’d hence, like captives, and, in sight
Of their most grieved parents, dealt away 140
Unto his spintries,[1514] sellaries,[1515] and slaves
Masters of strange and new commented lusts,
For which wise nature hath left not a name.
To this (what most strikes us, and bleeding Rome)
He is, with all his craft, become the ward 145
To his own vassal, a stale catamite.[1514]
Whom he, upon our low and suffering necks,
Hath raised from excrement to side the gods,
And have his proper sacrifice in Rome:
Which Jove beholds, and yet will sooner rive 150
A senseless oak with thunder than his trunk!
[_Re-enter_] LACO, POMPONIUS, MINUTIUS.
_Lac._ These letters make men doubtful what t’ expect,
Whether his coming, or his death.
_Pom._ Troth, both:
And which comes soonest, thank the gods for.
_Arr._ (_Aside._) List!
Their talk is Caesar; I would hear all voices. 155
[ARRUNT. _and_ LEPIDUS _stand aside_.]
_Min._ One day, he’s well; and will return to Rome;
The next day, sick; and knows not when to hope it.
_Lac._ True; and to-day, one of Sejanus’ friends
Honour’d by special writ; and on the morrow
Another punish’d——
_Pom._ By more special writ. 160
_Min._ This man receives his praises of Sejanus,
A second but slight mention, a third none,
A fourth rebukes: and thus he leaves the senate
Divided and suspended, all uncertain.
_Lac._ These forked tricks, I understand ’em not: 165
Would he would tell us whom he loves or hates,
That we might follow, without fear or doubt.
_Arr._ (_Aside._) Good Heliotrope! Is this your honest man?
Let him be yours so still; he is my knave.
_Pom._ I cannot tell, Sejanus still goes on, 170
And mounts, we see; new statues are advanc’d,[1516]
Fresh leaves of titles, large inscriptions read,
His fortune sworn by, himself new gone out
Caesar’s colleague in the fifth consulship;
More altars smoke to him than all the gods: 175
What would be more?
_Arr._ (_Aside._) That the dear smoke would choke him,
[That would I more.
_Lep._ Peace, good Arruntius.][1517]
_Lat._ But there are letters come, they say, ev’n now,
Which do forbid that last.
_Min._ Do you hear so?
_Lac._ Yes.
_Pom._ By Castor that’s the worst.
_Arr._ (_Aside._) By Pollux, best.
_Min._ I did not like the sign, when Regulus,
Whom all we know no friend unto Sejanus, 182
Did, by Tiberius’ so precise command,
Succeed a fellow in the consulship:
It boded somewhat.
_Pom._ Not a mote. His partner,
Fulcinius Trio, is his own, and sure.— 186
Here comes Terentius.
[_Enter_ TERENTIUS]
He can give us more.
[_They whisper with_ TERENTIUS.]
_Lep._ I’ll ne’er believe but Caesar hath some scent
Of bold Sejanus’ footing. These cross points
Of varying letters, and opposing consuls, 190
Mingling his honours and his punishments,
Feigning now ill, now well, raising Sejanus,
And then depressing him, as now of late
In all reports we have it, cannot be
Empty of practice: ’t is Tiberius’ art, 195
For, having found his favourite grown too great,
And with his greatness strong; that all the soldiers
Are, with their leaders, made at his devotion;
That almost all the senate are his creatures,
Or hold on him their main dependencies, 200
Either for benefit, or hope, or fear;
And that himself hath lost much of his own,
By parting unto him; and, by th’ increase
Of his rank lusts and rages, quite disarm’d
Himself of love, or other public means 205
To dare an open contestation;
His subtilty hath chose this doubling line,
To hold him even in: not so to fear him,
As wholly put him out, and yet give check
Unto his farther boldness. In mean time, 210
By his employments, makes him odious
Unto the staggering rout, whose aid, in fine,
He hopes to use, as sure, who, when they sway,
Bear down, o’erturn all objects in their way. 214
_Arr._ You may be a Lynceus, Lepidus: yet I
See no such cause, but that a political tyrant,
Who can so well disguise it, should have ta’en
A nearer way: feign’d honest, and come home
To cut his throat, by law.
_Lep._ Ay, but his fear
Would ne’er be mask’d, all be his vices were.
_Pom._ His lordship then is still in grace?
_Ter._ Assure you,
Never in more, either of grace or power. 223
_Pom._ The gods are wise and just.
_Arr._ (_Aside._) The fiends they are,
To suffer thee belie ’em.
_Ter._ I have here
His last and present letters, where he writes him, 225
“The partner of his cares,” and “his Sejanus.”—
_Lac._ But is that true, if ’t is prohibited
To sacrifice unto him?
_Ter._ Some such thing
Caesar makes scruple of, but forbids it not;
No more than to himself: says he could wish
It were forborne to all.
_Luc._ Is it no other? 231
_Ter._ No other, on my trust. For your more surety,
Here is that letter too.
_Arr._ (_Aside._) How easily
Do wretched men believe what they would have! 234
Looks this like plot?
_Lep._ (_Aside._) Noble Arruntius, stay.
_Lac._ He names him here without his titles.
_Lep._ (_Aside._) Note!
_Arr._ (_Aside._) Yes, and come off your notable fool. I will.
_Lac._ No other than Sejanus.
_Pom._ That’s but haste
In him that writes: here he gives large amends.
_Mar._ And with his own hand written?
_Pom._ Yes.
_Lac._ Indeed?
_Ter._ Believe it, gentlemen, Sejanus’ breast
Never receiv’d more full contentments in, 242
Than at this present.
_Pom._ Takes he well th’ escape
Of young Caligula, with Macro?
_Ter._ Faith,
At the first air it somewhat troubled him. 245
_Lep._ (_Aside._) Observe you?
_Arr._ (_Aside._) Nothing; riddles. Till I see Sejanus struck, no
sound thereof strikes me.
[_Exeunt_ ARRUNTIUS _and_ LEPIDUS.]
_Pom._ I like it not. I muse he ’d not attempt
Somewhat against him in the consulship,
Seeing the people ’gin to favour him. 250
_Ter._ He doth repent it now; but he ’s employ’d
Pagonianus after him: and he holds
That correspondence there, with all that are
Near about Caesar, as no thought can pass
Without his knowledge, thence, in act to front him. 255
_Pom._ I gratulate the news.
_Lac._ But how comes Macro
So in trust and favour with Caligula?
_Pom._ O, sir, he has a wife; and the young prince
An appetite: he can look up and spy
Flies in the roof, when there are fleas i’ bed; 260
And hath a learned nose t’ assure his sleeps.
Who to be favour’d of the rising sun,
Would not lend little of his waning moon?
It is the saf’st ambition. Noble Terentius!
_Ter._ The night grows fast upon us. At your service. [_Exeunt._] 265
CHORUS—of Musicians.
ACT V
[SCENE I.][1518]
[_Enter_] SEJANUS.
_Sej._ Swell, swell, my joys; and faint not to declare
Yourselves as ample as your causes are.
I did not live till now: this my first hour,
Wherein I see my thoughts reach’d by my power.
But this, and gripe my wishes. Great and high,
The world knows only two, that’s Rome and I. 6
My roof receives me not; ’t is air I tread;
And, at each step, I feel my advanced head
Knock out a star in heaven! Rear’d to this height,
All my desires seem modest, poor, and slight,
That did before sound impudent; ’t is place, 11
Not blood, discerns the noble and the base.
Is there not something more than to be Caesar?
Must we rest there? it irks t’ have come so far,
To be so near a stay. Caligula, 15
Would thou stood ’st stiff, and many in our way!
Winds lose their strength, when they do empty fly,
Unmet of woods or buildings; great fires die,
That want their matter to withstand them: so,
It is our grief, and will be our loss, to know 20
Our power shall want opposites; unless
The gods, by mixing in the cause, would bless
Our fortune with their conquest. That were worth
Sejanus’ strife, durst fates but bring it forth.
[_Enter_] TERENTIUS.
_Ter._ Safety to great Sejanus!
_Sej._ Now, Terentius? 25
_Ter._ Hears not my lord the wonder?
_Sej._ Speak it; no.
_Ter._ I meet it violent in the people’s mouths,
Who run in routs to Pompey’s theatre,
To view your statue; which, they say, sends forth
A smoke, as from a furnace, black and dreadful. 30
_Sej._ Some traitor hath put fire in: you, go see,
And let the head be taken off, to look
What ’t is. [_Exit_ TERENTIUS.] Some slave hath practis’d an imposture
To stir the people.—How now! Why return you?
[_Re-enter_ TERENTIUS, _with_] SATRIUS _and_ NATTA.
_Sat._ The head, my lord, already is ta’en off, 35
I saw it; and, at opening, there leapt out
A great and monstrous serpent.
_Sej._ Monstrous! Why?
Had it a beard, and horns? no heart? a tongue
Forked as flattery? Look’d it of the hue
To such as live in great men’s bosoms? Was 40
The spirit of it Macro’s?
_Nat._ May it please
The most divine Sejanus, in my days,
(And by his sacred fortune, I affirm it,)
I have not seen a more extended, grown,
Foul, spotted, venomous, ugly——
_Sej._ O, the fates! 45
What a wild muster ’s here of attributes,
T’ express a worm, a snake!
_Ter._ But how that should
Come there, my lord?
_Sej._ What, and you too, Terentius!
I think you mean to make ’t a prodigy
In your reporting.
_Ter._ Can the wise Sejanus 50
Think heav’n hath meant it less?
_Sej._ O, superstition!
Why, then the falling of our bed, that brake
This morning, burd’ned with the populous weight
Of our expecting clients, to salute us;
Or running of the cat betwixt our legs, 55
As we set forth unto the Capitol,
Were prodigies.
_Ter._ I think them ominous:
And would they had not happ’ned! As, to-day,
The fate of some your servants: who declining[1519]
Their way, not able, for the throng, to follow,
Slipt down the Gemonies, and brake their necks! 61
Besides, in taking your last augury,
No prosperous bird appear’d; but croaking ravens
Flagg’d up and down, and from the sacrifice
Flew to the prison, where they sat all night, 65
Beating the air with their obstreperous beaks!
I dare not counsel, but I could entreat,
That great Sejanus would attempt the gods
Once more with sacrifice.
_Sej._ What excellent fools
Religion makes of men! Believes Terentius, 70
If these were dangers, as I shame to think them,
The gods could change the certain course of fate?
Or, if they could they would, now in a moment,
For a beeve’s fat, or less, be brib’d t’ invert
Those long decrees? Then think the gods, like flies, 75
Are to be taken with the steam of flesh,
Or blood, diffus’d about their altars: think
Their power as cheap as I esteem it small.
Of all the throng that fill th’ Olympian hall,
And, without pity, lade poor Atlas’ back, 80
I know not that one deity, but Fortune,
To whom I would throw up, in begging smoke,
One grain of incense; or whose ear I’d buy
With thus much oil. Her I indeed adore;
And keep her grateful image in my house, 85
Sometimes belonging to a Roman king,
But now call’d mine, as by the better style:
To her I care not, if, for satisfying
Your scrupulous phant’sies, I go offer. Bid
Our priest prepare us honey, milk, and poppy, 90
His masculine odours, and night-vestments: say
Our rites are instant; which perform’d, you ’ll see
How vain, and worthy laughter, your fears be. [_Exeunt._]
[SCENE II.][1520]
[_Enter_] COTTA _and_ POMPONIUS.
_Cot._ Pomponius, whither in such speed?
_Pom._ I go.
To give my lord Sejanus notice——
_Cot._ What?
_Pom._ Of Macro.
_Cot._ Is he come?
_Pom._ Ent’red but now
The house of Regulus.
_Cot._ The opposite consul!
_Pom._ Some half hour since.
_Cot._ And by night too! Stay, sir; 5
I ’ll bear you company.
_Pom._ Along then. [_Exeunt._]
[SCENE III.][1521]
[_Enter_] MACRO, REGULUS, [_and_ Attendant.]
_Mac._ ’T is Caesar’s will to have a frequent senate;
And therefore must your edict lay deep mulct
On such as shall be absent.
_Reg._ So it doth.
Bear it my fellow consul to adscribe.[1522]
_Mac._ And tell him it must early be proclaim’d: 5
The place Apollo’s temple. [_Exit_ Attendant.]
_Reg._ That ’s rememb’red.
_Mac._ And at what hour?
_Reg._ Yes.
_Mac._ You do forget
To send one for the provost of the watch.
_Reg._ I have not: here he comes.
[_Enter_] LACO.
_Mac._ Gracinus Laco,
You are a friend most welcome: by and by, 10
I ’ll speak with you.—You must procure this list
Of the praetorian cohorts, with the names
Of the centurions, and their tribunes.
_Reg._ Ay.
_Mac._ I bring you letters, and a health from Caesar.
_Lac._ Sir, both come well.
_Mac._ And, hear you? with your note, 15
Which are the eminent men, and most of action.
_Reg._ That shall be done you too. _Goes out._
_Mac._ Most worthy Laco,—
Caesar salutes you.—Consul! death and furies!
Gone now!—The argument will please you, sir.—
Ho! Regulus! The anger of the gods 20
Follow your diligent legs, and overtake ’em,
In likeness of the gout!
_Re-enter_ REGULUS.
O, my good lord,
We lackt you present: I would pray you send
Another to Fulcinius Trio, straight,
To tell him you will come and speak with him: 25
The matter we ’ll devise, to stay him there,
While I with Laco do survey the watch.
REGULUS _goes out again_.
What are your strengths, Gracinus?
_Lac._ Seven cohorts.
_Mac._ You see what Caesar writes; and—Gone again!
H’ as sure a vein of mercury in his feet.—— 30
Know you what store of the praetorian soldiers
Sejanus holds about him, for his guard?
_Lac._ I cannot the just[1523] number; but I think
Three centuries.
_Mac._ Three! good.
_Lac._ At most not four.
_Mac._ And who be those centurions?
_Lac._ That the consul 35
Can best deliver you.
_Mac._ When he’s away!
Spite on his nimble industry!—Gracinus,
You find what place you hold, there, in the trust
Of royal Caesar?
_Lac._ Ay, and I am——
_Mac._ Sir, 39
The honours there propos’d are but beginnings
Of his great favours.
_Lac._ They are more——
_Mac._ I heard him
When he did study what to add.
_Lac._ My life,
And all I hold——
_Mac._ You were his own first choice!
Which doth confirm as much as you can speak;
And will, if we succeed, make more——Your guards 45
Are seven cohorts, you say?
_Lac._ Yes.
_Mac._ Those we must
Hold still in readiness and undischarg’d.
_Lac._ I understand so much. But how it can——
_Mac._ Be done without suspicion, you’ll object?
_Re-enter_ REGULUS.
_Reg._ What’s that.
_Lac._ The keeping of the watch in arms, 50
When morning comes.
_Mac._ The senate shall be met, and set
So early in the temple, as all mark
Of that shall be avoided.
_Reg._ If we need,
We have commission to possess the palace, 54
Enlarge Prince Drusus, and make him our chief.
_Mac._ (_Aside._) That secret would have burnt his reverend mouth,
Had he not spit it out now.——By the gods.
You carry things too——Let me borrow a man
Or two, to bear these——That of freeing Drusus,
Caesar projected as the last and utmost; 60
Not else to be rememb’red.
[_Enter_ Servants.]
_Reg._ Here are servants.
_Mac._ These to Arruntius, these to Lepidus.
This bear to Cotta, this to Latiaris.
If they demand you of me, say I have ta’en
Fresh horse and am departed. [_Exeunt_ Servants.] You, my lord, 65
To your colleague, and be you sure to hold him
With long narration of the new fresh favours,
Meant to Sejanus, his great patron; I,
With trusted Laco, here, are for the guards:
Then, to divide. For night hath many eyes, 70
Whereof, though most do sleep, yet some are spies. [_Exeunt._]
[SCENE IV.][1524]
[_Enter_] Praecones, Flamen, [Tubicines, Tibicines,] Ministri, SEJANUS,
TERENTIUS, SATRIUS, [NATTA,] _etc._
_Prae._ Be all profane far hence; fly, fly far off:
Be absent far; far hence be all profane!
Tubicines[1525] _and_ Tibicines[1526] _sound while the_ Flamen
_washeth_.
_Fla._ We have been faulty, but repent us now.
And bring pure hands, pure vestments, and pure minds. 4
_1 Min._ Pure vessels.
_2 Min._ And pure offerings.
_3 Min._ Garlands pure.
_Fla._ Bestow your garlands: and, with reverence place
The vervain[1527] on the altar.
_Prae._ Favour your tongues.
_While they sound again, the_ Flamen _takes of the honey with his
finger, and tastes, then ministers to all the rest: so of the milk
in an earthen vessel, he deals about; which done, he sprinkleth upon
the altar, milk; then imposeth the honey, and kindleth his gums, and
after censing about the altar, placeth his censer thereon, into which
they put several branches of poppy, and the music ceasing, proceed._
_Fla._ Great mother Fortune, queen of human state,
Rectress of action, arbitress of fate,
To whom all sway, all power, all empire bows,
Be present, and propitious to our vows! 11
_Prae._ Favour it with your tongues.
_Min._ Be present, and propitious to our vows!
Accept our off’ring, and be pleas’d, great goddess. 14
_Ter._ See, see, the image stirs!
_Sat._ And turns away!
_Nat._ Fortune averts her face!
_Fla._ Avert, you gods,
The prodigy. Still! still! some pious rite
We have neglected. Yet, heav’n be appeas’d,
And be all tokens false or void, that speak 19
Thy present wrath!
_Sej._ Be thou dumb, scrupulous priest:
And gather up thyself, with these thy wares,
Which I, in spite of thy blind mistress, or
Thy juggling mystery, religion, throw
Thus scorned on the earth.
[_Overturns the statue and the altar._]
Nay, hold thy look
Averted till I woo thee turn again; 25
And thou shalt stand, to all posterity,
Th’ eternal game and laughter, with thy neck
Writh’d to thy tail, like a ridiculous cat.
Avoid[1528] these fumes, these superstitious lights,
And all these cos’ning[1529] ceremonies; you, 30
Your pure and spiced[1530] conscience!
[_Exeunt all but_ SEJANUS, TERENTIUS, SATRIUS, _and_ NATTA.]
I, the slave
And mock of fools, (scorn on my worthy head!)
That have been titled and ador’d a god,
Yea sacrific’d unto, myself, in Rome,
No less than Jove: and I be brought to do 35
A peevish giglot[1531] rites! Perhaps the thought
And shame of that made Fortune turn her face,
Knowing herself the lesser deity,
And but my servant.—Bashful queen, if so,
Sejanus thanks thy modesty.—Who’s that? 40
[_Enter_] POMPONIUS _and_ MINUTIUS.
_Pom._ His fortune suffers, till he hears my news:
I have waited here too long. Macro, my lord——
_Sej._ Speak lower and withdraw. [_Takes him aside._]
_Ter._ Are these things true?
_Min._ Thousands are gazing at it in the streets.
_Sej._ What’s that?
_Ter._ Minutius tells us here, my lord, 45
That a new head being set upon your statue,
A rope is since found wreath’d about it! and,
But now, a fiery meteor in the form
Of a great ball was seen to roll along 49
The troubled air, where yet it hangs unperfect,
The amazing wonder of the multitude!
_Sej._ No more. That Macro ’s come, is more than all!
_Ter._ Is Macro come?
_Pom._ I saw him.
_Ter._ Where? with whom?
_Pom._ With Regulus.
_Sej._ Terentius!
_Ter._ My lord.
_Sej._ Send for the tribunes, we will straight have up 55
More of the soldiers for our guard. [_Exit_ TER.] Minutius,
We pray you go for Cotta, Latiaris,
Trio the consul, or what senators
You know are sure, and ours. [_Exit_ MIN.] You, my good Natta,
For Laco, provost of the watch. [_Exit NAT._] Now, Satrius, 60
The time of proof comes on; arm all our servants,
And without tumult. [_Exit_ SAT.] You, Pomponius,
Hold some good correspondence with the consul:
Attempt him, noble friend. [_Exit_ POMP.] These things begin
To look like dangers, now, worthy my fates. 65
Fortune, I see thy worst: let doubtful states,
And things uncertain hang upon thy will;
Me surest death shall render certain still.
Yet, why is now my thought turn’d toward death,
Whom fates have let go on so far in breath, 70
Uncheck’d or unreprov’d? I, that did help
To fell the lofty cedar of the world
Germanicus; that at one stroke cut down
Drusus, that upright elm; wither’d his vine;
Laid Silius and Sabinus, two strong oaks, 75
Flat on the earth; besides those other shrubs,
Cordus and Sosia, Claudia Pulchra,
Furnius and Gallus, which I have grubb’d up;
And since, have set my axe so strong and deep
Into the root of spreading Agrippine; 80
Lopt off and scatter’d her proud branches, Nero,
Drusus; and Caius too, although replanted.
If you will, Destinies, that after all,
I faint now ere I touch my period.
You are but cruel; and I already have done 85
Things great enough. All Rome hath been my slave;
The senate sate an idle looker-on,
And witness of my power; when I have blush’d
More to command than it to suffer:[1532] all
The fathers have sat ready and prepar’d 90
To give me empire, temples, or their throats,
When I would ask ’em; and, what crowns the top,
Rome, senate, people, all the world have seen
Jove but my equal; Caesar but my second.
’T is then your malice, Fates, who, but your own, 95
Envy and fear t’ have any power long known. [_Exit._]
[SCENE V.][1533]
[_Enter_] TERENTIUS _and_ Tribunes.
_Ter._ Stay here: I’ll give[1534] his lordship you are come.
[_Enter_] MINUTIUS, COTTA, LATIARIS.
_Min._ Marcus Terentius, pray you tell my lord
Here’s Cotta, and Latiaris.
_Ter._ Sir, I shall. [_Exit._]
_Cot._ My letter is the very same with yours;
Only requires me to be present there, 5
And give my voice to strengthen his design.
_Lat._ Names he not what it is?
_Cot._ No, nor to you.
_Lat._ ’T is strange and singular doubtful!
_Cot._ So it is,
It may be all is left to lord Sejanus.
[_Enter_] NATTA _and_ GRACINUS LACO.
_Nat._ Gentlemen, where ’s my lord?
_Tri._ We wait him here. 10
_Cot._ The provost Laco! What’s the news?
_Lat._ My lord——
[_Enter_] SEJANUS.
_Sej._ Now, my right dear, noble, and trusted friends,
How much I am a captive to your kindness!
Most worthy Cotta, Latiaris, Laco,
Your valiant hand; and, gentlemen, your loves.
I wish I could divide myself unto you; 15
Or that it lay within our narrow powers,
To satisfy for so enlarged bounty.
Gracinus, we must pray you, hold your guards
Unquit when morning comes. Saw you the consul? 20
_Min._ Trio will presently be here, my lord.
_Cot._ They are but giving order for the edict,
To warn the senate?
_Sej._ How! the senate?
_Lac._ Yes.
This morning in Apollo’s temple—
_Cot._ We
Are charg’d by letter to be there, my lord. 25
_Sej._ By letter! Pray you let’s see.
_Lat._ Knows not his lordship?
_Cot._ It seems so!
_Sej._ A senate warn’d! without my knowledge!
And on this sudden! Senators by letters
Required to be there! Who brought these?
_Cot._ Macro, 30
_Sej._ Mine enemy! And when?
_Cot._ This midnight.
_Sej._ Time,
With ev’ry other circumstance, doth give
It hath some strain of engine[1535] in ’t!—How now?
[_Enter_] SATRIUS.
_Sat._ My lord, Sertorius Macro is without,
Alone, and prays t’ have private conference 35
In business of high nature with your lordship,
He says to me, and which regards you much.
_Sej._ Let him come here.
_Sat._ Better, my lord, withdraw:
You will betray what store and strength of friends
Are now about you; which he comes to spy. 40
_Sej._ Is he not arm’d?
_Sat._ We’ll search him.
_Sej._ No; but take,
And lead him to some room, where you conceal’d
May keep a guard upon us. [_Exit_ SAT.] Noble Laco,
You are our trust; and till our own cohorts
Can be brought up, your strengths must be our guard. 45
Now, good Minutius, honour’d Latiaris,
_He salutes them humbly._
Most worthy and my most unwearied friends;
I return instantly. [_Exit._]
_Lat._ Most worthy lord!
_Cot._ His lordship is turn’d instant kind, methinks;
I have not observ’d it in him heretofore. 50
_1 Tri._ ’T is true, and it becomes him nobly.
_Min._ I
Am rapt withal.
_2 Tri._ By Mars, he has my lives,
Were they a million, for this only grace.
_Lac._ Ay, and to name a man!
_Lat._ As he did me!
_Min._ And me!
_Lat._ Who would not spend his life and fortunes
To purchase but the look of such a lord? 55
_Lac._ [_Aside._] He that would nor be lord’s fool, nor the world’s.
[_Exeunt._]
[SCENE VI.][1536]
_Enter_ SEJANUS, MACRO, _and_ SATRIUS.
_Sej._ Macro! most welcome, as most coveted friend!
Let me enjoy my longings. When arriv’d you?
_Mac._ About the noon of night.
_Sej._ Satrius, give leave. [_Exit_ SATRIUS.]
_Mac._ I have been, since I came, with both the consuls,
On a particular design from Caesar. 5
_Sej._ How fares it with our great and royal master?
_Mac._ Right plentifully well; as with a prince
That still holds out the great proportion
Of his large favours, where his judgment hath
Made once divine election: like the god 10
That wants not, nor is wearied to bestow
Where merit meets his bounty, as it doth
In you, already the most happy, and, ere
The sun shall climb the south, most high Sejanus.
Let not my lord be amus’d.[1537] For to this end 15
Was I by Caesar sent for to the isle,
With special caution to conceal my journey;
And thence had my despatch as privately
Again to Rome; charg’d to come here by night;
And only to the consuls make narration 20
Of his great purpose: that the benefit
Might come more full, and striking, by how much
It was less look’d for, or aspir’d by you,
Or least informed to the common thought.
_Sej._ What may this be? Part of myself, dear Macro, 25
If good, speak out; and share with your Sejanus.
_Mac._ If bad, I should for ever loathe myself
To be the messenger to so good a lord.
I do exceed my instructions to acquaint
Your lordship with thus much; but ’t is my venture 30
On your retentive wisdom: and because
I would no jealous scruple should molest
Or rack your peace of thought. For I assure
My noble lord, no senator yet knows
The business meant: though all by several letters 35
Are warned to be there, and give their voices,
Only to add unto the state and grace
Of what is purpos’d.
_Sej._ You take pleasure, Macro,
Like a coy wench, in torturing your lover. 39
What can be worth this suffering?
_Mac._ That which follows,
The tribunitial dignity and power:
Both which Sejanus is to have this day
Conferr’d upon him, and by public senate.
_Sej._ Fortune be mine again! [_Aside._] Thou hast satisfied
For thy suspected loyalty.
_Mac._ My lord, 45
I have no longer time, the day approacheth,
And I must back to Caesar.
_Sej._ Where’s Caligula?
_Mac._ That I forgot to tell your lordship. Why,
He lingers yonder about Capreae,
Disgrac’d; Tiberius hath not seen him yet. 50
He needs would thrust himself to go with me,
Against my wish or will; but I have quitted
His forward trouble,[1538] with as tardy note
As my neglect or silence could afford him. 54
Your lordship cannot now command me aught,
Because I take no knowledge that I saw you;
But I shall boast to live to serve your lordship;
And so take leave.
_Sej._ Honest and worthy Macro:
Your love and friendship. [_Exit_ MACRO.] Who’s there? Satrius,
Attend my honourable friend forth.—O! 60
How vain and vile a passion is this fear,
What base uncomely things it makes men do!
Suspect their noblest friends, as I did this,
Flatter poor enemies, entreat their servants,
Stoop, court, and catch at the benevolence 65
Of creatures unto whom, within this hour,
I would not have vouchsaf’d a quarter-look,
Or piece of face! By you that fools call gods,
Hang all the sky with your prodigious signs,
Fill earth with monsters, drop the scorpion down 70
Out of the zodiac, or the fiercer lion,
Shake off the loos’ned globe from her long hinge,
Roll all the world in darkness, and let loose
Th’ enraged winds to turn up groves and towns!
When I do fear again, let me be struck 75
With forked fire, and unpitied die;
Who fears, is worthy of calamity. [_Exit._]
[SCENE VII.][1539]
[_Enter_ TERENTIUS, MINUTIUS, LACO, COTTA, LATIARIS, _and_] POMPONIUS;
REGULUS, TRIO, [_and others, on different sides._]
_Pom._ Is not my lord here?
_Ter._ Sir, he will be straight.
_Cot._ What news, Fulcinius Trio?
_Tri._ Good, good tidings;
But keep it to yourself. My lord Sejanus
Is to receive this day in open senate
The tribunitial dignity.
_Cot._ Is’t true? 5
_Tri._ No words, not to your thought: but, sir, believe it.
_Lat._ What says the consul?
_Cot._ Speak it not again:
He tells me that to-day my lord Sejanus——
_Tri._ I must entreat you, Cotta, on your honour
Not to reveal it.
_Cot._ On my life, sir.
_Lat._ Say. 10
_Cot._ Is to receive the tribunitial power,
But, as you are an honourable man,
Let me conjure you not to utter it;
For it is trusted to me with that bond.
_Lat._ I am Harpocrates.
_Ter._ Can you assure it? 15
_Pom._ The consul told it me; but keep it close.
_Min._ Lord Latiaris, what’s the news?
_Lat._ I’ll tell you;
But you must swear to keep it secret.
[_Enter_] SEJANUS.
_Sej._ I knew the Fates had on their distaff left
More of our thread, than so.
_Reg._ Hail, great Sejanus! 20
_Tri._ Hail, the most honour’d!
_Cot._ Happy!
_Lat._ High Sejanus!
_Sej._ Do you bring prodigies too?
_Tri._ May all presage
Turn to those fair effects, whereof we bring
Your lordship news.
_Reg._ May’t please my lord withdraw.
_Sej._ Yes:—I will speak with you anon.
_To some that stand by._
_Ter._ My lord, 25
What is your pleasure for the tribunes?
_Sej._ Why,
Let ’em be thankt and sent away.
_Min._ My lord——-
_Lac._ Will’t please your lordship to command me——-
_Sej._ No:
You are troublesome.
_Min._ The mood is chang’d.
_Tri._ Not speak,
Nor look!
_Lac._ Ay, he is wise, will make him friends
Of such who never love but for their ends.
[_Exeunt._] 31
[SCENE VIII.][1540]
[_Enter_] ARRUNTIUS _and_ LEPIDUS, _divers other_ Senators _passing by
them_.
_Arr._ Ay, go, make haste; take heed you be not last
To tender your “All Hail” in the wide hall
Of huge Sejanus: run a lictor’s pace:
Stay not to put your robes on; but away
With the pale troubled ensigns of great friendship 5
Stampt i’ your face! Now, Marcus Lepidus,
You still believe your former augury?
Sejanus must go downward! You perceive
His wane approaching fast!
_Lep._ Believe me, Lucius,
I wonder at this rising.
_Arr._ Ay, and that we 10
Must give our suffrage to it. You will say,
It is to make his fall more steep and grievous.
It may be so. But think it, they that can
With idle wishes ’say[1541] to bring back time:
In cases desperate, all hope is crime. 15
See, see! what troops of his officious friends
Flock to salute my lord, and start before
My great proud lord! to get a lord-like nod!
Attend my lord unto the senate-house! 19
Bring back my lord! like servile ushers, make
Way for my lord! proclaim his idol lordship,
More than ten criers, or six noise of trumpets![1542]
Make legs, kiss hands, and take a scatter’d hair
From my lord’s eminent shoulder! See, Sanguinius,
With his slow belly, and his dropsy! Look, 25
What toiling haste he makes! Yet here’s another
Retarded with the gout, will be afore him.
Get thee Liburnian porters, thou gross fool,
To bear thy obsequious fatness, like thy peers.
They met! The gout returns, and his great carriage. 30
Lictors, Consuls, [REGULUS _and_ TRIO] SEJANUS, [SATRIUS, SANGUINIUS,
HATERIUS, _and many other_ Senators] _pass over the stage_.
_Lict._ Give way, make place, room for the consul!
_San._ Hail,
Hail, great Sejanus!
_Hat._ Hail, my honour’d lord!
_Arr._ We shall be markt anon, for our not Hail.
_Lep._ That is already done.
_Arr._ It is a note,
Of upstart greatness, to observe and watch 35
For these poor trifles, which the noble mind
Neglects and scorns.
_Lep._ Ay, and they think themselves
Deeply dishonour’d where they are omitted,
As if they were necessities that helpt
To the perfection of their dignities; 40
And hate the men that but refrain ’em.
_Arr._ O!
There is a farther cause of hate. Their breasts
Are guilty that we know their obscure springs
And base beginnings; thence the anger grows.
On. Follow. [_Exeunt._] 45
[SCENE IX.][1543]
[_Enter_] MACRO _and_ LACO.
_Mac._ When all are ent’red, shut the temple doors;
And bring your guards up to the gate.
_Lac._ I will.
_Mac._ If you shall hear commotion in the senate,
Present yourself: and charge on any man 4
Shall offer to come forth.
_Lac._ I am instructed. [_Exeunt._]
[SCENE X.][1544]
_The Senate._
HATERIUS, TRIO, SANGUINIUS, COTTA, REGULUS, SEJANUS, POMPONIUS,
LATIARIS, LEPIDUS, ARRUNTIUS; Praecones, Lictores.
_Hat._ How well his lordship looks to-day!
_Tri._ As if
He had been born, or made for this hour’s state.
_Cot._ Your fellow consul’s come about, methinks?
_Tri._ Ay, he is wise,
_San._ Sejanus trusts him well.
_Tri._ Sejanus is a noble, bounteous lord. 5
_Hat._ He is so, and most valiant.
_Lat._ And most wise.
[1] _Sen._ He’s everything.
_Lat._ Worthy of all, and more
Than bounty can bestow.
_Tri._ This dignity
Will make him worthy.
_Pom._ Above Caesar.
_San._ Tut,
Caesar is but the rector of an isle, 10
He of the Empire.
_Tri._ Now he will have power
More to reward than ever.
_Cot._ Let us look
We be not slack in giving him our voices.
_Lat._ Not I.
_San._ Nor I.
_Cot._ The readier we seem
To propagate his honours, will more bind 15
His thoughts to ours.
_Hat._ I think right with your lordship;
It is the way to have us hold our places.
_San._ Ay, and get more.
_Lat._ More office and more titles.
_Pom._ I will not lose the part I hope to share
In these his fortunes, for my patrimony. 20
_Lat._ See how Arruntius sits, and Lepidus!
_Tri._ Let ’em alone, they will be markt anon.
_1 Sen._ I’ll do with others.
_2 Sen._ So will I.
_3 Sen._ And I.
Men grow not in the state but as they are planted
Warm in his favours.
_Cot._ Noble Sejanus! 25
_Hat._ Honour’d Sejanus!
_Lat._ Worthy and great Sejanus!
_Arr._ Gods! how the sponges open and take in
And shut again! Look, look! is not he blest
That gets a seat in eye-reach of him! more
That comes in ear, or tongue-reach? O but most 30
Can claw his subtile elbow, or with a buz
Fly-bow his ears?
_Praet._ Proclaim the senate’s peace,
And give last summons by the edict.
_Prae._ Silence!
In the name of Caesar, and the senate, silence!
“Memmius Regulus, and Fulcinius Trio, (35) consuls, these present
kalends of June, with the first light, shall hold a senate in the
temple of Apollo Palatine: all that are fathers, and are regist’red
fathers, that have right of ent’ring the senate, we warn or command
you be frequently (40) present, take knowledge the business is the
commonwealth’s: whosoever is absent, his fine or mulct will be taken,
his excuse will not be taken.”
_Tri._ Note who are absent, and record their names. 45
_Reg._ Fathers conscript, may what I am to utter
Turn good and happy for the commonwealth!
And thou, Apollo, in whose holy house
We here are met, inspire us all with truth,
And liberty of censure to our thought! 50
The majesty of great Tiberius Caesar
Propounds to this grave senate, the bestowing
Upon the man he loves, honour’d Sejanus,
The tribunitial dignity and power:
Here are his letters, signed with his signet. 55
What pleaseth now the fathers to be done?
_Sen._ Read, read ’em, open, publicly read ’em.
_Cot._ Caesar hath honour’d his own greatness much
In thinking of this act.
_Tri._ It was a thought
Happy, and worthy Caesar.
_Lat._ And the lord 60
As worthy it, on whom it is directed!
_Hat._ Most worthy!
_San._ Rome did never boast the virtue
That could give envy bounds, but his: Sejanus——
[1] _Sen._ Honour’d and noble!
[2] _Sen._ Good and great Sejanus! 64
_Arr._ O, most tame slavery, and fierce flattery!
_Prae._ Silence! (_Reads._)
“Tiberius Caesar to the Senate greeting. If you, conscript fathers,
with your children, be in health, it is abundantly well: we with
our friends here are so. The care of the commonwealth, howsoever
we are remov’d in person, (70) cannot be absent to our thought:
although, oftentimes, even to princes most present, the truth of
their own affairs is hid; than which nothing falls out more miserable
to a state, or makes the art of governing more difficult. (75) But
since it hath been our easeful happiness to enjoy both the aids and
industry of so vigilant a senate, we profess to have been the more
indulgent to our pleasures, not as being careless of our office, but
rather secure of the necessity. Neither do these common rumours of
many, (81) and infamous libels published against our retirement, at
all afflict us; being born more out of men’s ignorance than their
malice: and will, neglected, find their own grave quickly; 85
whereas, too sensibly acknowledge, it would make their obloquy ours.
Nor do we desire their authors, though found, be censur’d, since in
a free state, as ours, all men ought to enjoy both their minds and
tongues free.” 90
_Arr._ (_Aside_). The lapwing, the lapwing!
“Yet in things which shall worthily and more near concern the majesty
of a prince, we shall fear to be so unnaturally cruel to our own
fame, as to neglect them. True it is, conscript fathers, that we have
raised Sejanus from obscure, (96) and almost unknown gentry,”
_Sen._ (_Aside._) How, how!
“to the highest and most conspicuous point of greatness, and, we
hope, deservingly; yet (100) not without danger: it being a most bold
hazard in that sov’reign who, by his particular love to one, dares
adventure the hatred of all his other subjects.”
_Arr._ (_Aside._) This touches; the blood turns.
“But we affy[1545] in your loves and understandings, (106) and do no
way suspect the merit of our Sejanus, to make our favours offensive
to any.”
_Sen._ (_Aside._) O! good, good. 110
“Though we could have wished his zeal had run a calmer course against
Agrippina and our nephews, howsoever the openness of their actions
declared them delinquents; and that he would have rememb’red no
innocence is so (115) safe, but it rejoiceth to stand in the sight
of mercy: the use of which in us he hath so quite taken away toward
them, by his loyal fury, as now our clemency would be thought but
wearied cruelty, if we should offer to exercise it.”
_Arr._ (_Aside._) I thank him; there I look’d for ’t. A good fox! 121
“Some there be that would interpret this his public severity to be
particular ambition; and that, under a pretext of service to us, he
doth but remove his own lets:[1546] alleging the (125) strengths he
hath made to himself, by the praetorian soldiers, by his faction in
court and senate, by the offices he holds himself, and confers on
others, his popularity and dependents, his urging and almost driving
us to this our unwilling (130) retirement, and, lastly, his aspiring
to be our son-in-law.”
_Sen._ (_Aside._) This is strange!
_Arr._ (_Aside._) I shall anon believe your vultures,[1547] Marcus.
“Your wisdoms, conscript fathers, are able (135) to examine, and
censure[1548] these suggestions. But were they left to our absolving
voice, we durst pronounce them, as we think them, most malicious.”
_Sen._ (_Aside._) O, he has restor’d all, list! 140
“Yet are they offer’d to be averr’d, and on the lives of the
informers. What we should say, or rather what we should not say,
lords of the senate, if this be true, our gods and goddesses confound
us if we know! Only we must think, (145) we have plac’d our benefits
ill; and conclude, that in our choice, either we were wanting to the
gods, or the gods to us.”
_The_ Senators _shift their places_.
_Arr._ (_Aside._) The place grows hot; they shift.
“We have not been covetous, honourable (150) fathers, to change;
neither is it now any new lust that alters our affection, or old
loathing: but those needful jealousies of state, that warn wiser
princes hourly to provide their safety; and do teach them how learned
a thing it is (155) to beware of the humblest enemy; much more of
those great ones, whom their own employ’d favours have made fit for
their fears.”
[1] _Sen._ (_Aside._) Away.
[2] _Sen._ (_Aside._) Sit farther.
_Cot._ (_Aside._) Let’s remove——
_Arr._ (_Aside._) Gods! how the leaves drop off, this little wind! 160
“We therefore desire, that the offices he holds be first seized by
the senate; and himself suspended from all exercise of place or
power——”
_Sen._ (_Aside._) How! 165
_San._ [_Thrusting by._] By your leave.
_Arr._ Come, porpoise. (_Aside._) Where’s Haterius?
His gout keeps him most miserably constant!—
Your dancing shows a tempest.
_Sej._ Read no more.
_Reg._ Lords of the senate, hold your seats: read on.
_Sej._ These letters, they are forg’d.
_Reg._ A guard! sit still. 170
_Enter_ LACO, _with the_ Guards.
_Arr._ There’s change!
_Reg._ Bid silence, and read forward.
_Prae._ Silence!—“and himself suspended from all exercise of place
or power, but till due and mature trial be made of his innocency,
which yet we can faintly apprehend the necessity to (175) doubt.
If, conscript fathers, to your more searching wisdoms, there shall
appear farther cause—or of farther proceeding, either to seizure
of lands, goods, or more—it is not our power that shall limit your
authority, or our favour (180) that must corrupt your justice: either
were dishonourable in you, and both uncharitable to ourself. We would
willingly be present with your counsels in this business; but the
danger of so potent a faction, if it should prove (185) so, forbids
our attempting it: except one of the consuls would be entreated for
our safety, to undertake the guard of us home; then we should most
readily adventure. In the meantime, it shall not be fit for us to
importune (190) so judicious a senate, who know how much they hurt
the innocent that spare the guilty; and how grateful a sacrifice to
the gods is the life of an ingrateful person. We reflect not in this
on Sejanus, (notwithstanding, if you (195) keep an eye upon him—and
there is Latiaris, a senator, and Pinnarius Natta, two of his most
trusted ministers; and so profest, whom we desire not to have
apprehended,) but as the necessity of the cause exacts it.” 200
_Reg._ A guard on Latiaris!
_Arr._ O, the spy.
The reverend spy is caught! Who pities him?
Reward, sir, for your service: now, you ha’ done
Your property.[1549] you see what use is made!
[_Exeunt_ LATIARIS _and_ NATTA _guarded_.]
Hang up the instrument.
_Sej._ Give leave.
_Lac._ Stand, stand! 206
He comes upon his death, that doth advance
An inch toward my point.
_Sej._ Have we no friends here?
_Arr._ Husht! Where now are all the hails and acclamations?
[_Enter_] MACRO.
_Mac._ Hail to the consuls, and this noble senate!
_Sej._ [_Aside._] Is Macro here? O, thou art lost, Sejanus! 210
_Mac._ Sit still, and unaffrighted, reverend fathers;
Macro, by Caesar’s grace the new-made provost,
And now possest of the praetorian bands,
An honour late belong’d to that proud man,
Bids you be safe: and to your constant doom[1550] 215
Of his deservings, offers you the surety
Of all the soldiers, tribunes, and centurions,
Receiv’d in our command.
_Reg._ Sejanus, Sejanus,
Stand forth, Sejanus!
_Sej._ Am I call’d!
_Mac._ Ay, thou,
Thou insolent monster, art bid stand.
_Sej._ Why, Macro, 220
It hath been otherwise between you and I;
This court, that knows us both, hath seen a difference,
And can, if it be pleas’d to speak, confirm
Whose insolence is most.
_Mac._ Come down, Typhoeus.
If mine be most, lo! thus I make it more; 225
Kick up thy heels in air, tear off thy robe,
Play with thy beard and nostrils. Thus ’t is fit
(And no man take compassion of thy state)
To use th’ ingrateful viper, tread his brains
Into the earth.
_Reg._ Forbear.
_Mac._ If I could lose 230
All my humanity now, ’t were well to torture
So meriting a traitor.—Wherefore, fathers,
Sit you amaz’d and silent; and not censure
This wretch, who, in the hour he first rebell’d
’Gainst Caesar’s bounty, did condemn himself?
Phlegra, the field where all the sons of earth
Muster’d against the gods, did ne’er acknowledge 237
So proud and huge a monster.
_Reg._ Take him hence;
And all the gods guard Caesar!
_Tri._ Take him hence.
_Hat._ Hence.
_Cot._ To the dungeon with him.
_San._ He deserves it. 240
_Sen._ Crown all our doors with bays.
_San._ And let an ox,
With gilded horns and garlands, straight be led
Unto the Capitol.
_Hat._ And sacrific’d
To Jove, for Caesar’s safety.
_Tri._ All our gods
Be present still to Caesar!
_Cot._ Phoebus.
_San._ Mars. 244
_Hat._ Diana.
_San._ Pallas.
_Sen._ Juno, Mercury,
All guard him!
_Mac._ Forth thou prodigy of men.
[_Exit_ SEJANUS, _guarded_.]
_Cot._ Let all the traitor’s titles be defac’d.
_Tri._ His images and statues be pull’d down.
_Hat._ His chariot-wheels be broken.
_Arr._ And the legs
Of the poor horses, that deserved nought, 251
Let them be broken too!
_Lep._ O violent change,
And whirl of men’s affections!
_Arr._ Like, as both
Their bulks and souls were bound on Fortune’s wheel,
And must act only with her motion. 255
[_Exeunt all but_] LEPIDUS _and_ ARRUNTIUS.
_Lep._ Who would depend upon the popular air,
Or voice of men, that have to-day beheld
That which, if all the gods had fore-declar’d,
Would not have been believ’d Sejanus’ fall?
He that this morn rose proudly as the sun, 260
And, breaking through a mist of clients’ breath,
Came on as gaz’d at and admir’d as he,
When superstitious Moors salute his light!
That had our servile nobles waiting him
As common grooms; and hanging on his look
No less than human life on destiny! 265
That had men’s knees as frequent as the gods;
And sacrifices more than Rome had altars:
And this man fall! fall? ay, without a look
That durst appear his friend, or lend so much
Of vain relief, to his chang’d state, as pity! 271
_Arr._ They that before, like gnats, play’d in his beams,
And throng’d to circumscribe him, now not seen,
Nor deign to hold a common seat with him!
Others, that waited him unto the senate, 275
Now inhumanely ravish him to prison,
Whom but this morn they follow’d as their lord!
Guard through the streets, bound like a fugitive.
Instead of wreaths give fetters, strokes for stoops:
Blind shame for honours, and black taunts for titles! 280
Who would trust slippery Chance?
_Lep._ They that would make
Themselves her spoil; and foolishly forget,
When she doth flatter, that she comes to prey.
Fortune, thou hadst no deity, if men
Had wisdom: we have placed thee so high, 285
By fond belief in thy felicity.
(_Shout within._) The gods guard Caesar! All the gods guard Caesar!
[_Re-enter_ MACRO,] REGULUS, [_and divers_], Senators.
_Mac._ Now, great Sejanus, you that aw’d the state,
And sought to bring the nobles to your whip;
That would be Caesar’s tutor, and dispose 290
Of dignities and offices! that had
The public head still bare to your designs,
And made the general voice to echo yours!
That look’d for salutations twelve score off,
And would have pyramids, yea, temples, rear’d
To your huge greatness; now you lie as flat 295
As was your pride advanc’d![1551]
_Reg._ Thanks to the gods!
_Sen._ And praise to Macro, that hath saved Rome!
Liberty, liberty, liberty! Lead on,
And praise to Macro, that hath saved Rome! 300
[_Exeunt all but_] ARRUNTIUS _and_ LEPIDUS.
_Arr._ I prophesy, out of the senate’s flattery,
That this new fellow, Macro, will become
A greater prodigy in Rome than he
That now is fall’n.
[_Enter_ TERENTIUS.]
_Ter._ O you, whose minds are good,
And have not forc’d all mankind from your breasts; 305
That yet have so much stock of virtue left
To pity guilty states, when they are wretched:
Lend your soft ears to hear, and eyes to weep
Deeds done by men, beyond the acts of furies.
The eager multitude (who never yet 310
Knew why to love or hate, but only pleas’d
T’ express their rage of power) no sooner heard
The murmur of Sejanus in decline,
But with that speed and heat of appetite,
With which they greedily devour the way 315
To some great sports, or a new theatre,
They fill’d the Capitol, and Pompey’s Cirque
Where, like so many mastiffs biting stones,
As if his statues now were sensitive 319
Of their wild fury; first, they tear them down;
Then fast’ning ropes, drag them along the streets,
Crying in scorn, “This, this was that rich head
Was crown’d with garlands, and with odours, this
That was in Rome so reverenced! Now
The furnace and the bellows shall to work, 325
The great Sejanus crack, and piece by piece
Drop in the founder’s pit.”
_Lep._ O popular rage!
_Ter._ The whilst the senate at the temple of Concord
Make haste to meet again, and thronging cry,
“Let us condemn him, tread him down in water,
While he doth lie upon the bank; away!” 331
While some, more tardy, cry unto their bearers,
“He will be censur’d ere we come; run, knaves,”
And use that furious diligence, for fear
Their bondmen should inform against their slackness, 335
And bring their quaking flesh unto the hook.
The rout, they follow with confused voice,
Crying they’re glad, say they could ne’er abide him;
Inquire what man he was, what kind of face,
What beard he had, what nose, what lips? protest 340
They ever did presage he’d come to this;
They never thought him wise, nor valiant; ask
After his garments, when he dies, what death;
And not a beast of all the herd demands
What was his crime, or who were his accusers,
Under what proof or testimony he fell. 346
There came, says one, a huge long-worded letter
From Capreae against him. Did there so?
O, they are satisfied; no more.
_Lep._ Alas!
They follow Fortune, and hate men condemn’d,
Guilty or not.
_Arr._ But had Sejanus thriv’d 351
In his design, and prosperously opprest
The old Tiberius; then, in that same minute,
These very rascals, that now rage like furies,
Would have proclaim’d Sejanus emperor. 355
_Lep._ But what hath follow’d?
_Ter._ Sentence by the senate,
To lose his head; which was no sooner off,
But that and th’ unfortunate trunk were seiz’d
By the rude multitude; who not content
With what the forward justice of the state 360
Officiously had done, with violent rage
Have rent it limb from limb. A thousand heads,
A thousand hands, ten thousand tongues and voices,
Employ’d at once in several acts of malice!
Old men not staid with age, virgins with shame,
Late wives with loss of husbands, mothers of children, 366
Losing all grief in joy of his sad fall,
Run quite transported with their cruelty!
These mounting at his head, these at his face,
These digging out his eyes, those with his brain
Sprinkling themselves, their houses and their friends; 371
Others are met, have ravish’d thence an arm,
And deal small pieces of the flesh for favours;
These with a thigh, this hath cut off his hands,
And this his feet; these fingers, and these toes; 375
That hath his liver, he his heart: there wants
Nothing but room for wrath, and place for hatred!
What cannot oft be done, is now o’erdone.
The whole, and all of what was great Sejanus,
And, next to Caesar, did possess the world, 380
Now torn and scatter’d, as he needs no grave
Each little dust covers a little part:
So lies he nowhere, and yet often buried!
[_Enter_] NUNTIUS.
_Arr._ More of Sejanus?
_Nun._ Yes.
_Lep._ What can be added?
We know him dead.
_Nun._ Then there begin your pity, 385
There is enough behind to melt ev’n Rome,
And Caesar into tears; since never slave
Could yet so highly offend, but tyranny,
In tormenting him, would make him worth lamenting.
A son and daughter to the dead Sejanus, 390
(Of whom there is not now so much remaining
As would give fast’ning to the hangman’s hook,)
Have they drawn forth for farther sacrifice;
Whose tenderness of knowledge, unripe years,
And childish silly innocence was such, 395
As scarce would lend them feeling of their danger:
The girl so simple, as she often askt
Where they would lead her? for what cause they dragg’d her?
Cried, she would do no more: that she could take
Warning with beating. And because our laws 400
Admit no virgin immature to die,
The wittily and strangely cruel Macro
Deliver’d her to be deflower’d and spoil’d
By the rude lust of the licentious hangman, 404
Then to be strangled with her harmless brother.
_Lep._ O, act most worthy hell, and lasting night,
To hide it from the world!
_Nun._ Their bodies thrown
Into the Gemonies, (I know not how,
Or by what accident return’d,) the mother,
Th’ expulsed[1552] Apicata, finds them there; 410
Whom when she saw lie spread on the degrees,[1553]
After a world of fury on herself,
Tearing her hair, defacing of her face,
Beating her breasts and womb, kneeling amaz’d,
Crying to heaven, then to them; at last, 415
Her drowned voice gat up above her woes,
And with such black and bitter execrations
As might affright the gods, and force the sun
Run backward to the east; nay, make the old
Deformed chaos rise again, t’ o’erwhelm 420
Them, us, and all the world, she fills the air,
Upbraids the heavens with their partial dooms,
Defies their tyrannous powers, and demands,
What she, and those poor innocents have transgress’d,
That they must suffer such a share in vengeance, 425
Whilst Livia, Lygdus, and Eudemus live,
Who, as she says, and firmly vows to prove it
To Caesar and the senate, poison’d Drusus?
_Lep._ Confederates with her husband!
_Nun._ Ay.
_Lep._ Strange act!
_Arr._ And strangely open’d. What says now my monster, 430
The multitude? They reel now, do they not?
_Nun._ Their gall is gone, and now they ’gin to weep
The mischief they have done.
_Arr._ I thank ’em, rogues.
_Nun._ Part are so stupid, or so flexible,
As they believe him innocent; all grieve: 435
And some, whose hands yet reek with his warm blood,
And grip the part which they did tear of him,
Wish him collected and created new.
_Lep._ How Fortune plies her sports, when she begins
To practise ’em! pursues, continues, adds, 440
Confounds with varying her impassion’d moods!
_Arr._ Dost thou hope, Fortune, to redeem thy crimes,
To make amend for thy ill placed favours,
With these strange punishments! Forbear, you things
That stand upon the pinnacles of state, 445
To boast your slippery height; when you do fall,
You pash[1554] yourselves in pieces, ne’er to rise;
And he that lends you pity, is not wise.
_Ter._ Let this example move the insolent man
Not to grow proud and careless of the gods. 450
It is an odious wisdom to blaspheme,
Much more to slighten, or deny their powers:
For whom the morning saw so great and high,
Thus low and little, ’fore the even doth lie. [_Exeunt._]
VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX
BY BEN JONSON
THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY
VOLPONE, a Magnifico.
MOSCA, his Parasite.
VOLTORE, an Advocate.
CORBACCIO, an old Gentleman.
CORVINO, a Merchant.
BONARIO, a young Gentleman, [son to Corbaccio.]
[SIR] POLITIC WOULD-BE, a Knight.
PEREGRINE, a Gentleman Traveller.
NANO, a Dwarf.
CASTRONE, an Eunuch.
ANDROGYNO, an Hermaphrodite.
Grege [or Mob].
Commandadori, Officers [of Justice.]
Mercatori, three Merchants.
Avocatori, four Magistrates.
Notario, the Register.
Fine Madame WOULD-BE, the Knight’s Wife.
CELIA, [Corvino] the Merchant’s Wife.
Servitore, a Servant, [two Waiting-] women, &c.
SCENE.—_Venice._
THE ARGUMENT
V olpone, childless, rich, feigns sick, despairs,
O ffers his state to hopes of several heirs,
L ies languishing: his parasite receives
P resents of all, assures, deludes; then weaves
O ther cross plots, which ope themselves, are told. 5
N ew tricks for safety are sought; they thrive: when, bold,
E ach tempts th’ other again, and all are sold.
PROLOGUE
Now, luck yet send us, and a little wit
Will serve to make our play hit;
According to the palates of the season,
Here is rhyme, not empty of reason.
This we were bid to credit from our poet, 5
Whose true scope, if you would know it,
In all his poems still hath been this measure,
To mix profit with your pleasure;
And not as some, whose throats their envy failing,
Cry hoarsely, “All he writes is railing:” 10
And when his plays come forth, think they can flout them,
With saying, he was a year about them.
To this there needs no lie, but this his creature,
Which was two months since no feature:
And though he dares give them five lives to mend it, 15
’T is known, five weeks fully penn’d it,
From his own hand, without a coadjutor,
Novice, journeyman, or tutor.
Yet thus much I can give you as a token
Of his play’s worth, no eggs are broken, 20
Nor quaking custards with fierce teeth affrighted,
Wherewith your rout are so delighted;
Nor hales he in a gull, old ends reciting,
To stop gaps in his loose writing;
With such a deal of monstrous and forc’d action, 25
As might make Bethlem[1555] a faction:
Nor made he his play for jests stol’n from each table,
But makes jests to fit his fable;
And so presents quick comedy refin’d,
As best critics have design’d; 30
The laws of time, place, persons he observeth,
From no needful rule he swerveth.
All gall and copperas[1556] from his ink he draineth,
Only a little salt remaineth,
Wherewith he ’ll rub your cheeks, till, red with laughter, 35
They shall look fresh a week after.
ACT I
SCENE I.[1557]
[_Enter_] VOLPONE, MOSCA.
_Volp._ Good morning to the day; and next, my gold!
Open the shrine, that I may see my saint.
[MOSCA _withdraws the curtain, and discovers piles of gold, plate,
jewels, etc._]
Hail the world’s soul, and mine! More glad than is
The teeming earth to see the long’d-for sun
Peep through the horns of the celestial Ram, 5
Am I, to view thy splendour dark’ning his;
That lying here, amongst my other hoards,
Show’st like a flame by night, or like the day
Struck out of chaos, when all darkness fled
Unto the centre.[1558] O thou son of Sol, 10
But brighter than thy father, let me kiss,
With adoration, thee, and every relic
Of sacred treasure in this blessed room.
Well did wise poets, by thy glorious name,
Title that age which they would have the best;
Thou being the best of things, and far transcending 16
All style of joy, in children, parents, friends,
Or any other waking dream on earth
Thy looks when they to Venus did ascribe,
They should have given her twenty thousand Cupids; 20
Such are thy beauties and our loves! Dear saint,
Riches, the dumb god, that giv’st all men tongues,
That canst do nought, and yet mak’st men do all things;
The price of souls; even hell, with thee to boot, 24
Is made worth heaven. Thou art virtue, fame,
Honour, and all things else. Who can get thee,
He shall be noble, valiant, honest, wise——[1559]
_Mos._ And what he will, sir. Riches are in fortune
A greater good than wisdom is in nature.
_Volp._ True, my beloved Mosca. Yet I glory
More in the cunning purchase of my wealth, 31
Than in the glad possession, since I gain
No common way; I use no trade, no venture;
I wound no earth with ploughshares, I fat no beasts
To feed the shambles; have no mills for iron, 35
Oil, corn, or men, to grind them into powder;
I blow no subtle glass, expose no ships
To threat’nings of the furrow-faced sea;
I turn no monies in the public bank,
No usure private.
_Mos._ No, sir, nor devour 40
Soft prodigals. You shall ha’ some will swallow
A melting heir as glibly as your Dutch
Will pills of butter, and ne’er purge for it;
Tear forth the fathers of poor families
Out of their beds, and coffin them alive 45
In some kind clasping prison, where their bones
May be forthcoming, when the flesh is rotten:
But your sweet nature doth abhor these courses;
You loathe the widow’s or the orphan’s tears
Should wash your pavements, or their piteous cries 50
Ring in your roofs, and beat the air for vengeance.
_Volp._ Right, Mosca; I do loathe it.
_Mos._ And, besides, sir,
You are not like the thresher that doth stand
With a huge flail, watching a heap of corn, 54
And, hungry, dares not taste the smallest grain,
But feeds on mallows, and such bitter herbs;
Nor like the merchant, who hath fill’d his vaults
With Romagnia, rich and Candian wines,
Yet drinks the lees of Lombard’s vinegar:
You will not lie in straw, whilst moths and worms 60
Feed on your sumptuous hangings and soft beds;
You know the use of riches, and dare give now
From that bright heap, to me, your poor observer,
Or to your dwarf, or your hermaphrodite,
Your eunuch, or what other household trifle 65
Your pleasure allows maintenance—
_Vol._ Hold thee, Mosca,
Take of my hand; thou strik’st on truth in all,
And they are envious term thee parasite.
Call forth my dwarf, my eunuch, and my fool,
And let ’em make me sport. [_Exit_ MOS.]
What should I do, 70
But cocker up my genius, and live free
To all delights my fortune calls me to?
I have no wife, no parent, child, ally,
To give my substance to; but whom I make
Must be my heir; and this makes men observe[1560] me: 75
This draws new clients daily to my house,
Women and men of every sex and age,
That bring me presents, send me plate, coin, jewels,
With hope that when I die (which they expect
Each greedy minute) it shall then return 80
Tenfold upon them; whilst some, covetous
Above the rest, seek to engross me whole,
And counter-work the one unto the other,
Contend in gifts, as they would seem in love:
All which I suffer, playing with their hopes, 85
And am content to coin ’em into profit,
And look upon their kindness, and take more,
And look on that; still bearing them in hand,[1561]
Letting the cherry knock against their lips,
And draw it by their mouths, and back again.—
How now! 91
SCENE II.[1562]
[_To him re-enter_] MOSCA, [_with_] NANO, ANDROGYNO, _and_ CASTRONE.
_Nan._ “Now, room for fresh gamesters, who do will you to know,
They do bring you neither play nor university show;
And therefore do intreat you that whatsoever they rehearse,
May not fare a whit the worse, for the false pace of the verse.
If you wonder at this, you will wonder more ere we pass, 5
For know, here[1563] is inclos’d the soul of Pythagoras,
That juggler divine, as hereafter shall follow;
Which soul, fast and loose, sir, came first from Apollo,
And was breath’d into Aethalides, Mercurius his son,
Where it had the gift to remember all that ever was done. 10
From thence it fled forth, and made quick transmigration
To goldy-lock’d Euphorbus, who was kill’d in good fashion,
At the siege of old Troy, by the cuckold of Sparta.
Hermotimus was next (I find it in my charta),
To whom it did pass, where no sooner it was missing, 15
But with one Pyrrhus of Delos it learn’d to go a-fishing;
And thence did it enter the sophist of Greece.
From Pythagore, she went into a beautiful piece,
Hight Aspasia, the meretrix; and the next toss of her
Was again of a whore, she became a philosopher,
Crates the cynick, as itself doth relate it: 21
Since kings, knights, and beggars, knaves, lords, and fools gat it,
Besides ox and ass, camel, mule, goat, and brock,[1564]
In all which it hath spoke, as in the cobbler’s cock.[1565] 24
But I come not here to discourse of that matter,
Or his one, two, or three, or his great oath, BY QUATER![1566]
His musics, his trigon,[1567] his golden thigh,
Or his telling how elements shift; but I
Would ask, how of late thou hast suffer’d translation,
And shifted thy coat in these days of reformation. 30
_And._ Like one of the reform’d, a fool, as you see,
Counting all old doctrine heresy.
_Nan._ But not on thine own forbid meats hast thou ventur’d?
_And._ On fish, when first a Carthusian I enter’d.
_Nan._ Why, then thy dogmatical silence hath left thee? 35
_And._ Of that an obstreperous lawyer bereft me.
_Nan._ O wonderful change, when sir lawyer forsook thee!
For Pythagore’s sake, what body then took thee?
_And._ A good dull mule.
_Nan._ And how! by that means
Thou wert brought to allow of the eating of beans? 40
_And._ Yes.
_Nan._ But from the mule into whom didst thou pass?
_And._ Into a very strange beast, by some writers call’d an ass;
By others a precise,[1568] pure, illuminate brother
Of those devour flesh, and sometimes one another;
And will drop you forth a libel, or a sanctifi’d lie,
Betwixt every spoonful of a nativity-pie.[1569] 46
_Nan._ Now quit thee, for heaven, of that profane nation,
And gently report thy next transmigration.
_And._ To the same that I am.
_Nan._ A creature of delight,
And, what is more than a fool, an hermaphrodite! 50
Now, prithee, sweet soul, in all thy variation,
Which body wouldst thou choose to keep up thy station?
_And._ Troth, this I am in: even here would I tarry.
_Nan._ ’Cause here the delight of each sex thou canst vary?
_And._ Alas, those pleasures be stale and forsaken; 55
No, ’t is your fool wherewith I am so taken,
The only one creature that I can call blessed;
For all other forms I have prov’d most distressed.
_Nan._ Spoke true, as thou wert in Pythagoras still.
This learned opinion we celebrate will, 60
Fellow eunuch, as behoves us, with all our wit and art,
To dignify that whereof ourselves are so great and special a part.”
_Volp._ Now, very, very pretty! Mosca, this
Was thy invention?
_Mos._ If it please my patron,
Not else.
_Volp._ It doth, good Mosca.
_Mos._ Then it was, sir. 65
[NANO _and_ CASTRONE _sing_.]
Song.
“Fools, they are the only nation
Worth men’s envy or admiration;
Free from care or sorrow-taking,
Selves and others merry making:
All they speak or do is sterling. 70
Your fool he is your great man’s darling,
And your ladies’ sport and pleasure;
Tongue and bauble are his treasure.
E’en his face begetteth laughter,
And he speaks truth free from slaughter;[1570] 75
He’s the grace of every feast,
And sometimes the chiefest guest;
Hath his trencher and his stool,
When wit waits upon the fool.
O, who would not be 80
He, he, he?”
_One knocks without._
_Volp._ Who ’s that? Away! Look, Mosca.
Fool, begone!
[_Exeunt_ NANO, CAST. _and_ ANDRO.]
_Mos._ ’T is Signior Voltore, the advocate;
I know him by his knock.
_Volp._ Fetch me my gown,
My furs, and night-caps; say my couch is changing 85
And let him entertain himself awhile
Without i’ th’ gallery. [_Exit_ MOSCA.] Now, now my clients
Begin their visitation! Vulture, kite,
Raven, and gorcrow,[1571] all my birds of prey, 89
That think me turning carcase, now they come:
I am not for ’em yet.
[_Re-enter_ MOSCA, _with the gown, etc._]
How now! the news?
_Mos._ A piece of plate, sir.
_Volp._ Of what bigness?
_Mos._ Huge,
Massy, and antique, with your name inscrib’d,
And arms engraven.
_Volp._ Good! and not a fox 94
Stretcht on the earth, with fine delusive sleights,
Mocking a gaping crow? ha, Mosca!
_Mos._ Sharp, sir.
_Volp._ Give me my furs.
[_Puts on his sick dress_.]
Why dost thou laugh so, man?
_Mos._ I cannot choose, sir, when I apprehend
What thoughts he has without now, as he walks: 99
That this might be the last gift he should give,
That this would fetch you; if you died to-day,
And gave him all, what he should be to-morrow;
What large return would come of all his ventures; 103
How he should worshipp’d be, and reverenc’d;
Ride with his furs, and foot cloths; waited on
By herds of fools and clients; have clear way
Made for his mule, as letter’d as himself;
Be call’d the great and learned advocate: 108
And then concludes, there’s nought impossible.
_Volp._ Yes, to be learned, Mosca.
_Mos._ O, no: rich
Implies it. Hood an ass with reverend purple,
So you can hide his two ambitious[1572] ears,
And he shall pass for a cathedral doctor.
_Volp._ My caps, my caps, good Mosca. Fetch him in. 114
_Mos._ Stay, sir; your ointment for your eyes.
_Volp._ That ’s true;
Dispatch, dispatch: I long to have possession
Of my new present.
_Mos._ That, and thousands more,
I hope to see you lord of.
_Volp._ Thanks, kind Mosca.
_Mos._ And that, when I am lost in blended dust,
And hundreds such as I am, in succession— 120
_Volp._ Nay, that were too much, Mosca.
_Mos._ You shall live
Still to delude these harpies.
_Volp._ Loving Mosca!
’T is well: my pillow now, and let him enter.
[_Exit_ MOSCA.]
Now, my feign’d cough, my phthisic, and my gout,
My apoplexy, palsy, and catarrhs, 125
Help, with your forced functions, this my posture,
Wherein, this three year, I have milk’d their hopes.
He comes; I hear him—Uh! [_coughing_] uh! uh! uh! O——
SCENE III[1573]
VOLPONE; [_re-enter_ MOSCA, [_introducing_] VOLTORE [_with a piece of
plate_.]
_Mos._ You still are what you were, sir. Only you,
Of all the rest, are he commands his love,
And you do wisely to preserve it thus,
With early visitation, and kind notes
Of your good meaning to him, which, I know, 5
Cannot but come most grateful. Patron! sir!
Here’s Signior Voltore is come——
_Volp._ [_Faintly._] What say you?
_Mos._ Sir, Signior Voltore is come this morning
To visit you.
_Volp._ I thank him.
_Mos._ And hath brought
A piece of antique plate, bought of St. Mark,[1574]
With which he here presents you.
_Volp._ He is welcome. 11
Pray him to come more often.
_Mos._ Yes.
_Volt._ What says he?
_Mos._ He thanks you, and desires you see him often.
_Volp._ Mosca.
_Mos._ My patron!
_Volp._ Bring him near, where is he?
I long to feel his hand.
_Mos._ The plate is here, sir. 15
_Volt._ How fare you, sir?
_Volp._ I thank you, Signior Voltore;
Where is the plate? mine eyes are bad.
_Volt._ [_putting it into his hands._] I’m sorry
To see you still thus weak.
_Mos._ [_Aside._] That he’s not weaker.
_Volp._ You are too munificent.
_Volt._ No, sir; would to heaven
I could as well give health to you, as that plate! 20
_Volp._ You give, sir, what you can; I thank you. Your love
Hath taste in this, and shall not be unanswer’d:
I pray you see me often.
_Volt._ Yes, I shall, sir.
_Volp._ Be not far from me.
_Mos._ Do you observe that, sir?
_Volp._ Hearken unto me still; it will concern you. 25
_Mos._ You are a happy man, sir; know your good.
_Volp._ I cannot now last long——
_Mos._ (_Aside._) You are his heir, sir.
_Volt._ (_Aside._) Am I?
_Volp._ I feel me going: Uh! uh! uh! uh!
I’m sailing to my port. Uh! uh! uh! uh!
And I am glad I am so near my haven. 30
_Mos._ Alas, kind gentleman! Well, we must all go——
_Volt._ But, Mosca——
_Mos._ Age will conquer.
_Volt._ Prithee, hear me;
Am I inscrib’d his heir for certain?
_Mos._ Are you!
I do beseech you, sir, you will vouchsafe
To write me i’ your family. All my hopes 35
Depend upon your worship: I am lost
Except the rising sun do shine on me.
_Volt._ It shall both shine, and warm thee, Mosca.
_Mos._ Sir,
I am a man that hath not done your love
All the worst offices: here I wear your keys, 40
See all your coffers and your caskets lock’d,
Keep the poor inventory of your jewels,
Your plate, and monies; am your steward, sir,
Husband your goods here.
_Volt._ But am I sole heir?
_Mos._ Without a partner, sir: confirm’d this morning: 45
The wax is warm yet, and the ink scarce dry
Upon the parchment.
_Volt._ Happy, happy me!
By what good chance, sweet Mosca?
_Mos._ Your desert, sir;
I know no second cause.
_Volt._ Thy modesty
Is loth to know it; well, we shall requite it. 50
_Mos._ He ever lik’d your course, sir; that first took him.
I oft have heard him say how he admir’d
Men of your large profession, that could speak
To every cause, and things mere contraries,
Till they were hoarse again, yet all be law; 55
That, with most quick agility, could turn,
And return;[1575] make knots, and undo them;
Give forked counsel; take provoking gold
On either hand, and put it up; these men,
He knew, would thrive with their humility, 60
And, for his part, he thought he should be blest
To have his heir of such a suff’ring spirit,
So wise, so grave, of so perplex’d a tongue,
And loud withal, that would not wag, nor scarce
Lie still, without a fee; when every word 65
Your worship but lets fall, is a chequin!—
_Another knocks._
Who’s that? one knocks; I would not have you seen, sir.
And yet—pretend you came and went in haste;
I’ll fashion an excuse—and, gentle sir,
When you do come to swim in golden lard, 70
Up to the arms in honey, that your chin
Is borne up stiff with fatness of the flood,
Think on your vassal; but remember me:
I ha’ not been your worst of clients.
_Volt._ Mosca!——
_Mos._ When will you have your inventory brought, sir? 75
Or see a copy of the will?—Anon!
I ’ll bring them to you, sir. Away, begone.
Put business i’ your face. [_Exit_ VOLTORE.]
_Volp._ [_Springing up._] Excellent Mosca!
Come hither, let me kiss thee.
_Mos._ Keep you still, sir,
Here is Corbaccio.
_Volp._ Set the plate away: 80
The vulture’s gone, and the old raven’s come.
Scene IV.[1576]
MOSCA, VOLPONE.
_Mos._ Betake you to your silence, and your sleep.
Stand there and multiply. [_Putting the plate to the rest._]
Now we shall see
A wretch who is indeed more impotent
Than this can feign to be; yet hopes to hop
Over his grave.
[_Enter_ CORBACCIO.]
Signior Corbaccio! 5
You’re very welcome, sir.
_Corb._ How does your patron?
_Mos._ Troth, as he did, sir; no amends.
_Corb._ What! mends he?
_Mos._ No, sir: he ’s rather worse.
_Corb._ That ’s well. Where is he?
_Mos._ Upon his couch, sir, newly fall’n asleep.
_Corb._ Does he sleep well?
_Mos._ No wink, sir, all this night, 10
Nor yesterday; but slumbers.
_Corb._ Good! he should take
Some counsel of physicians: I have brought him
An opiate here, from mine own doctor.
_Mos._ He will not hear of drugs.
_Corb._ Why? I myself
Stood by while ’t was made, saw all th’ ingredients; 15
And know it cannot but most gently work:
My life for his, ’t is but to make him sleep.
_Volp._ [_Aside._] Ay, his last sleep, if he would take it.
_Mos._ Sir,
He has no faith in physic.
_Corb._ Say you, say you?
_Mos._ He has no faith in physic: he does think 20
Most of your doctors are the greater danger,
And worse disease, t’ escape. I often have
Heard him protest that your physician
Should never be his heir.
_Corb._ Not I his heir?
_Mos._ Not your physician, sir.
_Corb._ O, no, no, no, 25
I do not mean it.
_Mos._ No, sir, nor their fees
He cannot brook; he says they flay a man
Before they kill him.
_Corb._ Right, I do conceive you.
_Mos._ And then they do it by experiment;
For which the law not only doth absolve ’em,
But gives them great reward: and he is loth 31
To hire his death so.
_Corb._ It is true, they kill
With as much licence as a judge.
_Mos._ Nay, more;
For he but kills, sir, where the law condemns,
And these can kill him too.
_Corb._ Ay, or me; 35
Or any man. How does his apoplex?
Is that strong on him still?
_Mos._ Most violent.
His speech is broken, and his eyes are set,
His face drawn longer than ’t was wont——
_Corb._ How! how!
Stronger than he was wont?
_Mos._ No, sir; his face 40
Drawn longer than ’t was wont.
_Corb._ O, good!
_Mos._ His mouth
Is ever gaping, and his eyelids hang.
_Corb._ Good.
_Mos._ A freezing numbness stiffens all his joints,
And makes the colour of his flesh like lead.
_Corb._ ’T is good.
_Mos._ His pulse beats slow, and dull.
_Corb._ Good symptoms still. 45
_Mos._ And from his brain——
_Corb._ Ha? How? Not from his brain?
_Mos._ Yes, sir, and from his brain—
_Corb._ I conceive you; good.
_Mos._ Flows a cold sweat, with a continual rheum,
Forth the resolved corners of his eyes.
_Corb._ Is ’t possible? Yet I am better, ha! 50
How does he with the swimming of his head?
_Mos._ O, sir, ’t is past the scotomy;[1577] he now
Hath lost his feeling, and hath left to snort:
You hardly can perceive him, that he breathes.
_Corb._ Excellent, excellent! sure I shall outlast him: 55
This makes me young again, a score of years.
_Mos._ I was a-coming for you, sir.
_Corb._ Has he made his will?
What has he giv’n me?
_Mos._ No, sir.
_Corb._ Nothing! ha?
_Mos._ He has not made his will, sir.
_Corb._ Oh, oh, oh!
What then did Voltore, the lawyer, here? 60
_Mos._ He smelt a carcase, sir, when he but heard
My master was about his testament;
As I did urge him to it for your good——
_Corb._ He came unto him, did he? I thought so.
_Mos._ Yes, and presented him this piece of plate. 65
_Corb._ To be his heir?
_Mos._ I do not know, sir.
_Corb._ True:
I know it too.
_Mos._ [_Aside._] By your own scale, sir.
_Corb._ Well,
I shall prevent him yet. See, Mosca, look,
Here I have brought a bag of bright chequins,[1578]
Will quite lay down his plate.
_Mos._ [_taking the bag._] Yea, marry, sir. 70
This is true physic, this your sacred medicine;
No talk of opiates to this great elixir!
_Corb._ ’T is _aurum palpabile_, if not _potabile_.
_Mos._ It shall be minister’d to him in his bowl.
_Corb._ Ay, do, do, do.
_Mos._ Most blessed cordial! 75
This will recover him.
_Corb._ Yes, do, do, do.
_Mos._ I think it were not best, sir.
_Corb._ What?
_Mos._ To recover him.
_Corb._ O, no, no, no; by no means.
_Mos._ Why, sir, this
Will work some strange effect, if he but feel it.
_Corb._ ’T is true, therefore forbear; I ’ll take my venture: 80
Give me ’t again.
_Mos._ At no hand: pardon me:
You shall not do yourself that wrong, sir. I
Will so advise you, you shall have it all.
_Corb._ How?
_Mos._ All, sir; ’t is your right, your own; no man
Can claim a part: ’t is yours without a rival, 85
Decreed by destiny.
_Corb._ How, how, good Mosca?
_Mos._ I’ll tell you, sir. This fit he shall recover.—
_Corb._ I do conceive you.
_Mos._ And on first advantage
Of his gain’d sense, will I re-importune him
Unto the making of his testament: 90
And show him this. [_Pointing to the money._]
_Corb._ Good, good.
_Mos._ ’T is better yet.
If you will hear, sir.
_Corb._ Yes, with all my heart.
_Mos._ Now would I counsel you, make home with speed;
There, frame a will; whereto you shall inscribe
My master your sole heir.
_Corb._ And disinherit 95
My son?
_Mos._ O, sir, the better: for that colour[1579]
Shall make it much more taking.
_Corb._ O, but colour?
_Mos._ This will, sir, you shall send it unto me.
Now, when I come to inforce, as I will do,
Your cares, your watchings, and your many prayers, 100
Your more than many gifts, your this day’s present,
And last, produce your will; where, without thought,
Or least regard, unto your proper issue,
A son so brave, and highly meriting,
The stream of your diverted love hath thrown you 105
Upon my master, and made him your heir;
He cannot be so stupid, or stone-dead,
But out of conscience and mere gratitude——
_Corb._ He must pronounce me his?
_Mos._ ’T is true.
_Corb._ This plot
Did I think on before.
_Mos._ I do believe it. 110
_Corb._ Do you not believe it?
_Mos._ Yes, sir,
_Corb._ Mine own project.
_Mos._ Which, when he hath done, sir——
_Corb._ Publish’d me his heir?
_Mos._ And you so certain to survive him——
_Corb._ Ay.
_Mos._ Being so lusty a man——
_Corb._ ’T is true.
_Mos._ Yes, sir——
_Corb._ I thought on that too. See, how he should be 115
The very organ to express my thoughts!
_Mos._ You have not only done yourself a good——
_Corb._ But multipli’d it on my son.
_Mos._ ’T is right, sir.
_Corb._ Still, my invention.
_Mos._ ’Las, sir! heaven knows,
It hath been all my study, all my care, 120
(I e’en grow gray withal,) now to work things——
_Corb._ I do conceive, sweet Mosca.
_Mos._ You are he
For whom I labour here.
_Corb._ Ay, do, do, do:
I ’ll straight about it. [_Going._]
_Mos._ [_Aside._] Rook go with you,[1580] raven!
_Corb._ I know thee honest.
_Mos._ You do lie, sir!
_Corb._ And—— 125
_Mos._ Your knowledge is no better than your ears, sir.
_Corb._ I do not doubt to be a father to thee.
_Mos._ Nor I to gull my brother of his blessing.
_Corb._ I may ha’ my youth restor’d to me, why not?
_Mos._ Your worship is a precious ass!
_Corb._ What sayst thou?
_Mos._ I do desire your worship to make haste, sir. 131
_Corb._ ’T is done, ’t is done; I go. [_Exit_]
_Volp._ [_leaping from his couch._] O, I shall burst!
Let out my sides, let out my sides——
_Mos._ Contain
Your flux of laughter, sir: you know this hope
Is such a bait, it covers any hook. 135
_Volp._ O, but thy working, and thy placing it!
I cannot hold; good rascal, let me kiss thee:
I never knew thee in so rare a humour.
_Mos._ Alas, sir, I but do as I am taught;
Follow your grave instructions; give ’em words; 140
Pour oil into their ears, and send them hence.
_Volp._ ’T is true, ’t is true. What a rare punishment
Is avarice to itself!
_Mos._ Ay, with our help, sir.
_Volp._ So many cares, so many maladies,
So many fears attending on old age. 145
Yea, so often call’d on, as no wish
Can be more frequent with ’em, their limbs faint,
Their senses dull, their seeing, hearing, going,
All dead before them; yea, their very teeth,
Their instruments of eating, failing them: 150
Yet this is reckon’d life! Nay, here was one,
Is now gone home, that wishes to live longer!
Feels not his gout, nor palsy; feigns himself
Younger by scores of years, flatters his age
With confident belying it, hopes he may 155
With charms like Aeson, have his youth restor’d;
And with these thoughts so battens, as if fate
Would be as easily cheated on as he,
And all turns air! Who ’s that there, now? a third! _Another knocks_.
_Mos._ Close, to your couch again; I hear his voice. 160
It is Corvino, our spruce merchant.
_Volp._ [_Lies down as before_.] Dead.
_Mos._ Another bout, sir, with your eyes [_Anointing them_].
Who ’s there?
SCENE V.[1581]
MOSCA, VOLPONE. [_Enter_] CORVINO.
Signior Corvino! come most wish’d for! O,
How happy were you, if you knew it, now!
_Corv._ Why? what? wherein?
_Mos._ The tardy hour is come, sir.
_Corv._ He is not dead?
_Mos._ Not dead, sir, but as good;
He knows no man.
_Corv._ How shall I do then?
_Mos._ Why, sir? 5
_Corv._ I have brought him here a pearl.
_Mos._ Perhaps he has
So much remembrance left as to know you, sir:
He still calls on you; nothing but your name
Is in his mouth. Is your pearl orient,[1582] sir?
_Corv._ Venice was never owner of the like. 10
_Volp._ [_faintly._] Signior Corvino!
_Mos._ Hark!
_Volp._ Signior Corvino.
_Mos._ He calls you; step and give it him.— He’s here, sir.
And he has brought you a rich pearl.
_Corv._ How do you, sir?
Tell him it doubles the twelve carat.
_Mos._ Sir,
He cannot understand, his hearing’s gone; 15
And yet it comforts him to see you——
_Corv._ Say
I have a diamond for him, too.
_Mos._ Best show ’t, sir;
Put it into his hand: ’t is only there
He apprehends: he has his feeling yet.
See how he grasps it!
_Corv._ ’Las, good gentleman! 20
How pitiful the sight is!
_Mos._ Tut, forget, sir.
The weeping of an heir should still be laughter
Under a visor.
_Corv._ Why, am I his heir?
_Mos._ Sir, I am sworn, I may not show the will
Till he be dead: but here has been Corbaccio,
Here has been Voltore, here were others too, 26
I cannot number ’em, they were so many;
All gaping here for legacies: but I,
Taking the vantage of his naming you,
_Signior Corvino_, _Signior Corvino_, took 30
Paper, and pen, and ink, and there I ask’d him
Whom he would have his heir! _Corvino_. Who
Should be executor? _Corvino_. And
To any question he was silent to,
I still interpreted the nods he made, 35
Through weakness, for consent: and sent home th’ others,
Nothing bequeath’d them, but to cry and curse.
_Corv._ O, my dear Mosca. (_They embrace._) Does he not perceive us?
_Mos._ No more than a blind harper. He knows no man,
No face of friend, nor name of any servant, 40
Who ’t was that fed him last, or gave him drink.
Not those he hath begotten, or brought up,
Can he remember.
_Corv._ Has he children?
_Mos._ Bastards,
Some dozen, or more, that he begot on beggars,
Gypsies, and Jews, and black-moors, when he was drunk. 45
Knew you not that, sir? ’t is the common fable,
The dwarf, the fool, the eunuch, are all his;
He’s the true father of his family,
In all save me:—but he has giv’n ’em nothing.
_Corv._ That’s well, that’s well! Art sure he does not hear us? 50
_Mos._ Sure, sir! why, look you, credit your
own sense. [_Shouts in_ VOL.’s _ear_.]
The pox approach, and add to your diseases,
If it would send you hence the sooner, sir,
For your incontinence, it hath deserv’d it
Throughly and throughly, and the plague to boot!— 55
You may come near, sir.—Would you would once close
Those filthy eyes of yours, that flow with slime
Like two frog-pits; and those same hanging cheeks,
Cover’d with hide instead of skin—Nay, help, sir[1583]——
That look like frozen dish-clouts set on end! 60
_Corv._ Or like an old smok’d wall, on which the rain
Ran down in streaks!
_Mos._ Excellent, sir! speak out:
You may be louder yet; a culverin
Discharged in his ear would hardly bore it.
_Corv._ His nose is like a common sewer, still running. 65
_Mos._ ’T is good! And what his mouth?
_Corv._ A very draught.
_Mos._ O, stop it up——
_Corv._ By no means.
_Mos._ Pray you, let me:
Faith I could stifle him rarely with a pillow
As well as any woman that should keep him.
_Corv._ Do as you will; but I’ll begone.
_Mos._ Be so; 70
It is your presence makes him last so long.
_Corv._ I pray you use no violence.
_Mos._ No, sir! why?
Why should you be thus scrupulous, pray you, sir?
_Corv._ Nay, at your discretion.
_Mos._ Well, good sir, be gone.
_Corv._ I will not trouble him now to take[1584] my pearl. 75
_Mos._ Puh! nor your diamond. What a needless care
Is this afflicts you? Is not all here yours?
Am not I here, whom you have made your creature?
That owe my being to you?
_Corv._ Grateful Mosca! 79
Thou art my friend, my fellow, my companion,
My partner, and shalt share in all my fortunes.
_Mos._ Excepting one.
_Corv._ What’s that?
_Mos._ Your gallant wife, sir. [_Exit_ CORV.]
Now is he gone: we had no other means
To shoot him hence but this.
_Volp._ My divine Mosca! 85
Thou hast to-day outgone thyself. Who’s there?
_Another knocks._
I will be troubled with no more. Prepare
Me music, dances, banquets, all delights;
The Turk is not more sensual in his pleasures
Than will Volpone. [_Exit_ MOS.] Let me see; a pearl!
A diamond! plate! chequins! Good morning’s purchase.[1585] 90
Why, this is better than rob churches, yet;
Or fat, by eating, once a month, a man——
[_Re-enter_ MOSCA.]
Who is ’t?
_Mos._ The beauteous Lady Would-be, sir,
Wife to the English knight, Sir Politic Would-be,
(This is the style, sir, is directed me,) 95
Hath sent to know how you have slept to-night,
And if you would be visited?
_Volp._ Not now:
Some three hours hence.
_Mos._ I told the squire[1586] so much.
_Volp._ When I am high with mirth and wine; then then: 99
’Fore heaven, I wonder at the desperate valour
Of the bold English, that they dare let loose
Their wives to all encounters!
_Mos._ Sir, this knight
Had not his name for nothing, he is _politic_,
And knows, howe’er his wife affect strange airs,
She hath not yet the face to be dishonest: 105
But had she Signior Corvino’s wife’s face——
_Volp._ Hath she so rare a face?
_Mos._ O, sir, the wonder,
The blazing star of Italy! a wench
Of the first year, a beauty ripe as harvest!
Whose skin is whiter than a swan all over, 110
Than silver, snow, or lilies; a soft lip,
Would tempt you to eternity of kissing!
And flesh that melteth in the touch to blood!
Bright as your gold, and lovely as your gold!
_Volp._ Why had not I known this before?
_Mos._ Alas, sir, 115
Myself but yesterday discover’d it.
_Volp._ How might I see her?
_Mos._ O, not possible;
She’s kept as warily as is your gold;
Never does come abroad, never takes air
But at a windore. All her looks are sweet, 120
As the first grapes or cherries, and are watch’d
As near as they are.
_Volp._ I must see her.
_Mos._ Sir,
There is a guard of ten spies thick upon her,
All his whole household; each of which is set
Upon his fellow, and have all their charge, 125
When he goes out, when he comes in, examin’d.
_Volp._ I will go see her, though but at her windore.
_Mos._ In some disguise then.
_Volp._ That is true; I must
Maintain mine own shape still the same: we’ll think. [_Exeunt._]
ACT II
SCENE I.[1587]
[_Enter_] SIR POLITIC WOULD-BE, _and_ PEREGRINE.
_Sir P._ Sir, to a wise man, all the world’s his soil:
It is not Italy, nor France, nor Europe,
That must bound me, if my fates call me forth.
Yet I protest, it is no salt desire
Of seeing countries, shifting a religion, 5
Nor any disaffection to the state
Where I was bred, and unto which I owe
My dearest plots, hath brought me out, much less
That idle, antique, stale, grey-headed project
Of knowing men’s minds and manners, with Ulysses! 10
But a peculiar humour of my wife’s
Laid for this height of Venice, to observe,
To quote,[1588] to learn the language, and so forth——
I hope you travel, sir, with licence?
_Per._ Yes.
_Sir P._ I dare the safelier converse——How long, sir, 15
Since you left England?
_Per._ Seven weeks.
_Sir P._ So lately!
You have not been with my lord ambassador?
_Per._ Not yet, sir.
_Sir P._ Pray you, what news, sir, vents our climate?
I heard last night a most strange thing reported
By some of my lord’s followers, and I long 21
To hear how ’t will be seconded.
_Per._ What was ’t, sir?
_Sir P._ Marry, sir, of a raven that should build
In a ship royal of the king’s.
_Per._ [_Aside._] This fellow,
Does he gull me, trow? or is gull’d? Your name, sir?
_Sir P._ My name is Politic Would-be.
_Per._ [_Aside._] O, that speaks him. 25
A knight, sir?
_Sir P._ A poor knight, sir.
_Per._ Your lady
Lies[1589] here in Venice, for intelligence
Of tires and fashions, and behaviour,
Among the courtesans? The fine Lady Would-be?
_Sir P._ Yes, sir; the spider and the bee ofttimes 30
Suck from one flower.
_Per._ Good Sir Politic,
I cry you mercy; I have heard much of you:
’T is true, sir, of your raven.
_Sir P._ On your knowledge?
_Per._ Yes, and your lion’s whelping in the Tower.
_Sir P._ Another whelp![1590]
_Per._ Another, sir.
_Sir P._ Now heaven! 35
What prodigies be these? The fires at Berwick!
And the new star! These things concurring, strange.
And full of omen! Saw you those meteors?
_Per._ I did, sir.
_Sir P._ Fearful! Pray you, sir, confirm me,
Were there three porpoises seen above the bridge, 40
As they give out?
_Per._ Six, and a sturgeon, sir.
_Sir P._ I am astonish’d.
_Per._ Nay, sir, be not so;
I ’ll tell you a greater prodigy than these.
_Sir P._ What should these things portend?
_Per._ The very day
(Let me be sure) that I put forth from London,
There was a whale discover’d in the river, 46
As high as Woolwich, that had waited there,
Few know how many months, for the subversion
Of the Stode fleet.
_Sir P._ Is ’t possible? Believe it,
’T was either sent from Spain, or the archduke’s: 50
Spinola’s whale, upon my life, my credit!
Will they not leave these projects? Worthy sir,
Some other news.
_Per._ Faith, Stone the fool is dead,
And they do lack a tavern fool extremely.
_Sir P._ Is Mass Stone dead?
_Per._ He ’s dead, sir; why, I hope 55
You thought him not immortal?—[_Aside._] O, this knight,
Were he well known, would be a precious thing
To fit our English stage: he that should write
But such a fellow, should be thought to feign
Extremely, if not maliciously.
_Sir P._ Stone dead! 60
_Per._ Dead.—Lord! how deeply, sir, you apprehend it!
He was no kinsman to you?
_Sir P._ That I know of.
Well! that same fellow was an unknown fool.
_Per._ And yet you knew him, it seems?
_Sir P._ I did so. Sir,
I knew him one of the most dangerous heads 65
Living within the state, and so I held him.
_Per._ Indeed, sir?
_Sir P._ While he liv’d, in action,
He has receiv’d weekly intelligence,
Upon my knowledge, out of the Low Countries,
For all parts of the world, in cabbages; 70
And those dispens’d again to ambassadors,
In oranges, musk-melons, apricots,
Lemons, pome-citrons, and such-like; sometimes
In Colchester oysters, and your Selsey cockles.
_Per._ You make me wonder.
_Sir P._ Sir, upon my knowledge. 75
Nay, I’ve observ’d him, at your public ordinary,
Take his advertisement[1591] from a traveller,
A conceal’d statesman, in a trencher of meat;
And instantly, before the meal was done,
Convey an answer in a tooth-pick.
_Per._ Strange! 80
How could this be, sir?
_Sir P._ Why, the meat was cut
So like his character, and so laid as he
Must easily read the cipher.
_Per._ I have heard,
He could not read, sir.
_Sir P._ So ’t was given out,
In policy, by those that did employ him: 85
But he could read, and had your languages,
And to ’t, as sound a noddle——
_Per._ I have heard, sir,
That your baboons were spies, and that they were
A kind of subtle nation near to China.
_Sir P._ Ay, ay, your Mamaluchi. Faith, they had 90
Their hand in a French plot or two; but they
Were so extremely giv’n to women, as
They made discovery of all: yet I
Had my advices here, on Wednesday last,
From one of their own coat, they were return’d,
Made their relations, as the fashion is, 96
And now stand fair for fresh employment.
_Per._ [_Aside._] Heart!
This Sir Pol will be ignorant of nothing.——
It seems, sir, you know all.
_Sir P._ Not all, sir; but
I have some general notions. I do love 100
To note and to observe: though I live out,
Free from the active torrent, yet I ’d mark
The currents and the passages of things
For mine own private use; and know the ebbs
And flows of state.
_Per._ Believe it, sir. I hold 105
Myself in no small tie[1592] unto my fortunes,
For casting me thus luckily upon you,
Whose knowledge, if your bounty equal it,
May do me great assistance, in instruction
For my behaviour, and my bearing, which 110
Is yet so rude and raw.
_Sir P._ Why? came you forth
Empty of rules for travel?
_Per._ Faith, I had
Some common ones, from out that vulgar grammar,
Which he that cri’d Italian to me, taught me.
_Sir P._ Why, this it is that spoils all our brave bloods, 115
Trusting our hopeful gentry unto pedants,
Fellows of outside, and mere bark. You seem
To be a gentleman of ingenuous race:——
I not profess it, but my fate hath been
To be, where I have been consulted with, 120
In this high kind, touching some great men’s sons,
Persons of blood and honour.——
_Per._ Who be these, sir?
SCENE II.
[_To them enter_] MOSCA _and_ NANO [_disguised_, _followed by persons
with materials for erecting a stage_.]
_Mos._ Under that window, there ’t must be. The same.
_Sir P._ Fellows, to mount a bank. Did your instructor
In the dear tongues, never discourse to you
Of the Italian mountebanks?
_Per._ Yes, sir.
_Sir P._ Why,
Here shall you see one.
_Per._ They are quacksalvers,
Fellows that live by venting oils and drugs. 6
_Sir P._ Was that the character he gave you of them?
_Per._ As I remember.
_Sir. P._ Pity his ignorance.
They are the only knowing men of Europe!
Great general scholars, excellent physicians, 10
Most admir’d statesmen, profest favourites
And cabinet counsellors to the greatest princes;
The only languag’d men of all the world!
_Per._ And, I have heard, they are most lewd[1593] impostors;
Made all of terms and shreds; no less beliers 15
Of great men’s favours, than their own vile medicines;
Which they will utter upon monstrous oaths;
Selling that drug for twopence, ere they part,
Which they have valu’d at twelve crowns before.
_Sir P._ Sir, calumnies are answer’d best with silence. 20
Yourself shall judge.—Who is it mounts, my friends?
_Mos._ Scoto of Mantua,[1594] sir.
_Sir P._ Is ’t he? Nay, then
I ’ll proudly promise, sir, you shall behold
Another man than has been phant’sied[1595] to you.
I wonder yet, that he should mount his bank, 25
Here in this nook, that has been wont t’ appear
In face of the Piazza!—Here he comes.
[_Enter_ VOLPONE, _disguised as a mountebank Doctor_, _and followed by
a crowd of people_.]
_Volp._ Mount, zany. [_To_ NANO.]
_Mob._ Follow, follow, follow, follow!
_Sir P._ See how the people follow him! he’s a man 30
May write ten thousand crowns in bank here. Note,
[VOLPONE _mounts the stage_.]
Mark but his gesture:—I do use to observe
The state he keeps in getting up.
_Per._ ’T is worth it, sir.
_Volp._ “Most noble gentlemen, and my (34) worthy patrons! It may
seem strange that I, your Scoto Mantuano, who was ever wont to fix
my bank in the face of the public Piazza, near the shelter of the
Portico to the Procuratia, should now, after eight months’ absence
from (40) this illustrious city of Venice, humbly retire myself into
an obscure nook of the Piazza.”
_Sir P._ Did not I now object the same?
_Per._ Peace, sir.
_Volp._ “Let me tell you: I am not, as your Lombard proverb saith,
cold on my feet; or (45) content to part with my commodities at a
cheaper rate than I am accustom’d: look not for it. Nor that the
calumnious reports of that impudent detractor, and shame to our
profession (Alessandro Buttone, I mean), who gave (50) out, in
public, I was condemn’d _a’ sforzato_[1596] to the galleys, for
poisoning the Cardinal Bembo’s—cook, hath at all attach’d, much less
dejected me. No, no, worthy gentlemen; to tell you true, I cannot
endure to see the rabble of (55) these ground _ciarlitani_,[1597]
that spread their cloaks on the pavement, as if they meant to do
feats of activity, and then come in lamely, with their mouldy tales
out of Boccacio, like stale Tabarin,[1598] the fabulist: some of them
discoursing (60) their travels, and of their tedious captivity in the
Turk’s galleys, when, indeed, were the truth known, they were the
Christian’s galleys, where very temperately they eat bread, and drunk
water, as a wholesome penance, enjoin’d them (65) by their confessors,
for base pilferies.”
_Sir P._ Note but his bearing, and contempt of these.
_Volp._ “These turdy-facy-nasty-paty-lousy-fartical (69) rogues,
with one poor groat’s-worth of unprepar’d antimony, finely wrapt
up in several _scartoccios_,[1599] are able, very well, to kill
their twenty a week, and play; yet these meagre, starv’d spirits,
who have half stopt the organs (74) of their minds with earthy
oppilations,[1600] want not their favourers among your shrivell’d
salad-eating artisans, who are overjoy’d that they may have their
half-pe’rth of physic; though it purge ’em into another world, ’t
makes no matter.”
_Sir P._ Excellent! ha’ you heard better language, sir? 80
_Volp._ “Well, let ’em go. And, gentlemen, honourable gentlemen,
know, that for this time, our bank, being thus removed from the
clamours of the _canaglia_[1601] shall be the scene of pleasure and
delight; for I have nothing (85) to sell, little or nothing to sell.”
_Sir P._ I told you, sir, his end.
_Per._ You did so, sir.
_Volp._ “I protest. I, and my six servants, are not able to
make of this precious liquor so fast (90) as it is fetch’d away
from my lodging by gentlemen of your city; strangers of the
Terra-firma;[1602] worshipful merchants; ay, and senators too: who,
ever since my arrival, have detain’d me to their uses, by their
splendidous liberalities. (95) And worthily; for, what avails your
rich man to have his magazines stuft with _moscadelli_, or of the
purest grape, when his physicians prescribe him, on pain of death, to
drink (99) nothing but water cocted[1603] with aniseeds? O health!
health! the blessing of the rich! the riches of the poor! who can
buy thee at too dear a rate, since there is no enjoying this world
without thee? Be not then so sparing of your purses, honourable
gentlemen, as to abridge the natural course of life——” 105
_Per._ You see his end.
_Sir P._ Ay, is’t not good?
_Volp._ “For when a humid flux, or catarrh, by the mutability of air,
falls from your head into an arm or shoulder, or any other part;
take you a ducket, or your chequin of gold, and (110) apply to the
place affected: see what good effect it can work. No, no, ’t is this
blessed _unguento_,[1604] this rare extraction, that hath only power
to disperse all malignant humours, that proceed either of hot, cold,
moist, or windy causes——” 115
_Per._ I would he had put in dry too.
_Sir P._ Pray you observe.
_Volp._ “To fortify the most indigest and crude stomach, ay, were
it of one that, through extreme weakness, vomited blood, applying
only (120) a warm napkin to the place, after the unction and
fricace;[1605]—for the _vertigine_[1606] in the head, putting
but a drop into your nostrils, likewise behind the ears; a most
sovereign and approv’d (124) remedy; the _mal caduco_,[1607] cramps,
convulsions, paralyses, epilepsies, _tremorcordia_, retir’d nerves,
ill vapours of the spleen, stoppings of the liver, the stone,
the strangury, _hernia ventosa_, _iliaca passio_;[1608] stops a
_dysenteria_ immediately; easeth the torsion[1609] of the small (130)
guts; and cures _melancholia hypocondriaca_, being taken and appli’d,
according to my printed receipt. (_Pointing to his bill and his
glass._) For this is the physician, this the medicine; this counsels,
this cures; this gives the direction, (135) this works the effect;
and, in sum, both together may be term’d an abstract of the theoric
and practic in the Aesculapian art. ’T will cost you eight crowns.
And,—Zan Fritada, prithee sing a verse extempore in honour of it.”
140
_Sir P._ How do you like him, sir?
_Per._ Most strangely, I!
_Sir P._ Is not his language rare?
_Per._ But alchemy,
I never heard the like; or Broughton’s[1610] books.
[NANO _sings_.]
Had old Hippocrates, or Galen,
That to their books put med’cines all in, 145
But known this secret, they had never
(Of which they will be guilty ever)
Been murderers of so much paper,
Or wasted many a hurtless taper;
No Indian drug had e’er been fam’d, 150
Tobacco, sassafras not nam’d.
Ne yet of guacum one small stick, sir,
Nor Raymund Lully’s[1611] great elixir.
Ne had been known the Danish Gonswart,[1612]
Or Paracelsus, with his long sword.[1613] 155
_Per._ All this, yet, will not do; eight crowns is high.
_Volp._ “No more.—Gentlemen, if I had but time to discourse to you
the miraculous effects of this my oil, surnam’d Oglio del Scoto;
with the countless catalogue of those I have (160) cur’d of th’
aforesaid, and many more diseases; the patents and privileges of all
the princes and commonwealths of Christendom; or but the depositions
of those that appear’d on my part, before the signiory of the Sanita
and most (165) learned College of Physicians; where I was authoris’d,
upon notice taken of the admirable virtues of my medicaments, and
mine own excellency in matter of rare and unknown secrets, not only
to disperse them publicly in this (170) famous city, but in all
the territories, that happily joy under the government of the most
pious and magnificent states of Italy. But may some other gallant
fellow say, ’O, there be divers that make profession to have as
good, (175) and as experimented receipts as yours: indeed, very
many have assay’d, like apes, in imitation of that, which is really
and essentially in me, to make of this oil; bestow’d great cost in 179
furnaces, stills, alembics, continual fires, and preparation
of the ingredients (as indeed there goes to it six hundred several
simples, besides some quantity of human fat, for the conglutination,
which we buy of the anatomists), but when these practitioners come
to the last decoction, (185) blow, blow, puff, puff, and all flies
in fumo:[1614] ha, ha, ha! Poor wretches! I rather pity their folly
and indiscretion, than their loss of time and money; for those may be
recover’d by industry: but to be a fool born, is a disease incurable.
191
“For myself, I always from my youth have endeavour’d to get the
rarest secrets, and book them, either in exchange, or for money; I
spar’d nor cost nor labour, where anything (195) was worthy to be
learned. And, gentlemen, honourable gentlemen, I will undertake, by
virtue of chymical art, out of the honourable hat that covers your
head, to extract the four elements; that is to say, the fire, air,
water, (200) and earth, and return you your felt without burn or
stain. For, whilst others have been at the _ballo_,[1615] I have been
at my book; and am now past the craggy paths of study, and come to
the flowery plains of honour and reputation.” 205
_Sir P._ I do assure you, sir, that is his aim.
_Volp._ “But to our price——”
_Per._ And that withal, Sir Pol.
_Volp._ “You all know, honourable gentlemen, I never valu’d this
_ampulla_, or vial, at less than eight crowns; but for this time,
I am content (210) to be depriv’d of it for six; six crowns is the
price, and less in courtesy I know you cannot offer me; take it or
leave it, howsoever, both it and I am at your service. I ask you
not as the value of the thing, for then I should demand (215) of you
a thousand crowns, so the Cardinals Montalto, Fernese, the great Duke
of Tuscany, my gossip,[1616] with divers other princes, have given
me; but I despise money. Only to show my affection to you, honourable
gentlemen, (220) and your illustrious State here, I have neglected
the messages of these princes, mine own offices, fram’d my journey
hither, only to present you with the fruits of my travels.—Tune
(225) your voices once more to the touch of your instruments, and
give the honourable assembly some delightful recreation.”
_Per._ What monstrous and most painful circumstance
Is here, to get some three or four gazettes,[1617]
Some threepence i’ the whole! for that ’t will come to. 230
[NANO _sings_.]
You that would last long, list to my song,
Make no more coil, but buy of this oil.
Would you be ever fair and young?
Stout of teeth, and strong of tongue?
Tart of palate? quick of ear? 235
Sharp of sight? of nostril clear?
Moist of hand? and light of foot?
Or, I will come nearer to ’t,
Would you live free from all diseases?
Do the act your mistress pleases, 240
Yet fright all aches[1618] from your bones?
Here ’s a med’cine for the nones.[1619]
_Volp._ “Well, I am in a humour at this time to make a present of
the small quantity my coffer contains; to the rich in courtesy, and
(245) to the poor for God’s sake. Wherefore now mark: I ask’d you six
crowns; and six crowns, at other times, you have paid me; you shall
not give me six crowns, nor five, nor four, nor three, nor two, nor
one; nor half a ducat; no, nor a (250) _moccinigo_.[1620] Sixpence
it will cost you, or six hundred pound—expect no lower price, for,
by the banner of my front, I will not bate a bagatine,[1621]—that
I will have, only, a pledge of your loves, to carry something from
amongst you, to (255) show I am not contemn’d by you. Therefore, now,
toss your handkerchiefs, cheerfully, cheerfully; and be advertis’d,
that the first heroic spirit that deigns to grace me with a
handkerchief, I will give it a little remembrance of (260) something
beside, shall please it better than if I had presented it with a
double pistolet.”[1622]
_Per._ Will you be that heroic spark, Sir Pol?
CELIA, _at the window, throws down her handkerchief_.
O, see! the windore has prevented[1623] you.
_Volp._ “Lady, I kiss your bounty; and for (265) this timely grace
you have done your poor Scoto of Mantua, I will return you, over and
above my oil, a secret of that high and inestimable nature, shall
make you forever enamour’d on that minute, wherein your eye first
descended (270) on so mean, yet not altogether to be despis’d, an
object. Here is a powder conceal’d in this paper, of which, if I
should speak to the worth, nine thousand volumes were but as one
page, that page as a line, that line as a word; (275) so short is
this pilgrimage of man (which some call life) to the expressing of
it. Would I reflect on the price? Why, the whole world is but as an
empire, that empire as a province, that province as a bank, that bank
as a private purse (280) to the purchase of it. I will only tell you;
it is the powder that made Venus a goddess (given her by Apollo),
that kept her perpetually young, clear’d her wrinkles, firm’d her
gums, fill’d her skin, colour’d her hair; from her deriv’d (285) to
Helen, and at the sack of Troy unfortunately lost: till now, in this
our age, it was as happily recover’d, by a studious antiquary, out of
some ruins of Asia, who sent a moiety of it to the court of France
(but much (290) sophisticated), wherewith the ladies there now colour
their hair. The rest, at this present, remains with me; extracted
to a quintessence: so that, wherever it but touches, in youth it
perpetually preserves, in age restores the complexion; (295) seats
your teeth, did they dance like virginal jacks,[1624] firm as a wall:
makes them white as ivory, that were black as——”
SCENE III.[1625]
[_To them enter_] CORVINO.
_Cor._ Spite o’ the devil, and my shame! come down here;
Come down!—No house but mine to make your scene?
Signior Flaminio, will you down, sir? down?
What, is my wife your Franciscina, sir?
No windows on the whole Piazza, here, 5
To make your properties, but mine? but mine?
_Beats away_ [VOLPONE, NANO, _etc._]
Heart! ere to-morrow I shall be new christen’d,
And called the Pantalone di Besogniosi,[1626]
About the town.
_Per._ What should this mean. Sir Pol?
_Sir P._ Some trick of state, believe it; I will home. 10
_Per._ It may be some design on you.
_Sir P._ I know not.
I ’ll stand upon my guard.
_Per._ It is your hest, sir.
_Sir P._ This three weeks, all my advices, all my letters,
They have been intercepted.
_Per._ Indeed, sir!
Best have a care.
_Sir P._ Nay, so I will.
_Per._ This knight, 15
I may not lose him, for my mirth, till night.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE IV. [1627]
[_Enter_] VOLPONE, MOSCA.
_Volp._ O, I am wounded!
_Mos._ Where, sir?
_Volp._ Not without;
Those blows were nothing: I could bear them ever.
But angry Cupid, bolting from her eyes,
Hath shot himself into me like a flame;
Where now he flings about his burning heat, 5
As in a furnaces an ambitious fire
Whose vent is stopt. The fight is all within me.
I cannot live, except thou help me, Mosca;
My liver melts, and I, without the hope
Of some soft air from her refreshing breath, 10
Am but a heap of cinders.
_Mos._ ’Las, good sir,
Would you had never seen her!
_Volp._ Nay, would thou
Hadst never told me of her!
_Mos._ Sir, ’t is true;
I do confess I was unfortunate,
And you unhappy; but I ’m bound in conscience, 15
No less than duty, to effect my best
To your release of torment, and I will, sir.
_Volp._ Dear Mosca, shall I hope?
_Mos._ Sir, more than dear,
I will not bid you to despair of aught
Within a human compass.
_Volp._ O, there spoke 20
My better angel. Mosca, take my keys,
Gold, plate, and jewels, all ’s at thy devotion;
Employ them how thou wilt: nay, coin me too:
So thou in this but crown my longings, Mosca.
_Mos._ Use but your patience.
_Volp._ So I have.
_Mos._ I doubt not, 25
To bring success to your desires.
_Volp._ Nay, then,
I not repent me of my late disguise.
_Mos._ If you can horn him, sir, you need not.
_Volp._ True:
Besides, I never meant him for my heir.
Is not the colour o’ my beard and eyebrows 30
To make me known?
_Mos._ No jot.
_Volp._ I did it well.
_Mos._ So well, would I could follow you in mine,
With half the happiness! and yet I would
Escape your epilogue.[1628]
_Volp._ But were they gull’d
With a belief that I was Scoto?
_Mos._ Sir, 35
Scoto himself could hardly have distinguish’d!
I have not time to flatter you now; we ’ll part:
And as I prosper, so applaud my art. [_Exeunt._]
SCENE V.[1629]
[_Enter_] CORVINO, [_with his sword in his hand, dragging in_] CELIA.
_Corv._ Death of mine honour, with the city’s fool!
A juggling, tooth-drawing, prating mountebank!
And at a public windore! where, whilst he,
With his strain’d action, and his dole of faces,[1630]
To his drug-lecture draws your itching ears, 5
A crew of old, unmarri’d, noted lechers,
Stood leering up like satyrs: and you smile
Most graciously, and fan your favours forth,
To give your hot spectators satisfaction!
What, was your mountbank their call? their whistle? 10
Or were you enamour’d on his copper rings,
His saffron jewel, with the toad-stone in ’t,
Or his embroid’red suit, with the cope-stitch,
Made of a hearse cloth? or his old tilt-feather?
Or his starch’d beard! Well, you shall have him, yes! 15
He shall come home, and minister unto you
The fricace for the mother.[1631] Or, let me see,
I think you ’d rather mount; would you not mount?
Why, if you ’ll mount, you may; yes, truly, you may!
And so you may be seen, down to the foot. 20
Get you a cittern, Lady Vanity,
And be a dealer with the virtuous man;
Make one. I ’ll but protest myself a cuckold,
And save your dowry. I ’m a Dutchman, I!
For if you thought me an Italian, 25
You would be damn’d ere you did this, you whore!
Thou ’dst tremble to imagine that the murder
Of father, mother, brother, all thy race,
Should follow, as the subject of my justice.
_Cel._ Good sir, have patience.
_Corv._ What couldst thou propose[1632] 30
Less to thyself, than in this heat of wrath,
And stung with my dishonour, I should strike
This steel into thee, with as many stabs
As thou wert gaz’d upon with goatish eyes?
_Cel._ Alas, sir, be appeas’d! I could not think
My being at the windore should more now 36
Move your impatience than at other times.
_Corv._ No! not to seek and entertain a parley
With a known knave, before a multitude!
You were an actor with your handkerchief, 40
Which he most sweetly kist in the receipt,
And might, no doubt, return it with a letter,
And point the place where you might meet; your sister’s,
Your mother’s, or your aunt’s might serve the turn.
_Cel._ Why, dear sir, when do I make these excuses, 45
Or ever stir abroad, but to the church?
And that so seldom——
_Corv._ Well, it shall be less;
And thy restraint before was liberty,
To what I now decree: and therefore mark me.
First, I will have this bawdy light damm’d up: 50
And till ’t be done, some two or three yards off,
I’ll chalk a line; o’er which if thou but chance
To set thy desp’rate foot, more hell, more horror,
More wild remorseless rage shall seize on thee,
Than on a conjuror that had heedless left 55
His circle’s safety ere his devil was laid.
Then here’s a lock which I will hang upon thee,
And, now I think on ’t, I will keep thee backwards;
Thy lodging shall be backwards: thy walks backwards;
Thy prospect, all be backwards; and no pleasure, 60
That thou shalt know but backwards: nay, since you force
My honest nature, know, it is your own,
Being too open, makes me use you thus:
Since you will not contain your subtle nostrils
In a sweet room, but they must snuff the air 65
Of rank and sweaty passengers. (_Knock within._) One knocks.
Away, and be not seen, pain of thy life;
Nor look toward the windore; if thou dost——
Nay, stay, hear this——let me not prosper, whore,
But I will make thee an anatomy, 70
Dissect thee mine own self, and read a lecture
Upon thee to the city, and in public.
Away!— [_Exit_ CELIA.]
[_Enter_ SERVANT.]
Who ’s there?
_Ser._ ’T is Signior Mosca, sir.
SCENE VI.[1633]
CORVINO. _Enter_ MOSCA.
_Corv._ Let him come in. His master’s dead; there ’s yet
Some good to help the bad.——My Mosca, welcome!
I guess your news.
_Mos._ I fear you cannot, sir.
_Corv._ Is ’t not his death?
_Mos._ Rather the contrary.
_Corv._ Not his recovery?
_Mos._ Yes, sir.
_Corv._ I am curs’d, 5
I am bewitch’d, my crosses meet to vex me.
How? how? how? how?
_Mos._ Why, sir, with Scoto’s oil;
Corbaccio and Voltore brought of it,
Whilst I was busy in an inner room——
_Corv._ Death! that damn’d mountebank! but for the law 10
Now, I could kill the rascal: it cannot be
His oil should have that virtue. Ha’ not I
Known him a common rogue, come fiddling in
To the _osteria_,[1634] with a tumbling whore,
And, when he has done all his forc’d tricks, been glad 15
Of a poor spoonful of dead wine, with flies in ’t?
It cannot be. All his ingredients
Are a sheep’s gall, a roasted bitch’s marrow,
Some few sod[1635] earwigs, pounded caterpillars,
A little capon’s grease, and fasting spittle: 20
I know them to a dram.
_Mos._ I know not, sir;
But some on ’t, there, they pour’d into his ears,
Some in his nostrils, and recover’d him;
Applying but the fricace.
_Corv._ Pox o’ that fricace!
_Mos._ And since, to seem the more officious 25
And flatt’ring of his health, there, they have had,
At extreme fees, the college of physicians
Consulting on him, how they might restore him;
Where one would have a cataplasm[1636] of spices,
Another a flay’d ape clapp’d to his breast, 30
A third would have it a dog, a fourth an oil,
With wild cats’ skins: at last, they all resolv’d
That to preserve him, was no other means
But some young woman must be straight sought out,
Lusty, and full of juice, to sleep by him; 35
And to this service most unhappily,
And most unwillingly, am I now employ’d,
Which here I thought to pre-acquaint you with,
For your advice, since it concerns you most;
Because I would not do that thing might cross
Your ends, on whom I have my whole dependence, sir; 41
Yet, if I do it not they may delate[1637]
My slackness to my patron, work me out
Of his opinion; and there all your hopes,
Ventures, or whatsoever, are all frustrate! 45
I do but tell you, sir. Besides, they are all
Now striving who shall first present him; therefore——
I could entreat you, briefly conclude somewhat;
Prevent ’em if you can.
_Corv._ Death to my hopes.
This is my villanous fortune! Best to hire 50
Some common courtesan.
_Mos._ Ay, I thought on that, sir;
But they are all so subtle, full of art—
And age again doting and flexible,
So as—I cannot tell—we may, perchance,
Light on a quean may cheat us all.
_Corv._ ’T is true. 55
_Mos._ No, no: it must be one that has no tricks, sir,
Some simple thing, a creature made[1638] unto it;
Some wench you may command. Ha’ you no kinswoman?
Gods so—Think, think, think, think, think, think, think, sir.
One o’ the doctors offer’d there his daughter.
_Corv._ How!
_Mos._ Yes, Signior Lupo, the physician. 61
_Corv._ His daughter!
_Mos._ And a virgin, sir. Why, alas,
He knows the state of ’s body, what it is:
That nought can warm his blood, sir, but a fever;
Nor any incantation raise his spirit: 65
A long forgetfulness hath seiz’d that part.
Besides, sir, who shall know it’! Some one or two—
_Corv._ I pray thee give me leave. [_Walks aside._] If any man
But I had had this luck—The thing in ’t self,
I know, is nothing.—Wherefore should not I 70
As well command my blood and my affections
As this dull doctor? In the point of honour,
The cases are all one of wife and daughter.
_Mos._ [_Aside._] I hear him coming.[1639]
_Corv._ She shall do ’t: ’t is done.
Slight! if this doctor, who is not engag’d, 75
Unless ’t be for his counsel, which is nothing,
Offer his daughter, what should I, that am
So deeply in? I will prevent him: Wretch!
Covetous wretch!—Mosca, I have determin’d.
_Mos._ How, sir? 80
_Corv._ We’ll make all sure. The party you wot of
Shall be mine own wife, Mosca.
_Mos._ Sir, the thing,
But that I would not seem to counsel you,
I should have motion’d[1640] to you, at the first:
And make your count,[1641] you have cut all their throats.[1642]
Why, ’t is directly taking a possession! 85
And in his next fit, we may let him go.
’T is but to pull the pillow from his head,
And he is throttled: it had been done before
But for your scrupulous doubts.
_Corv._ Ay, a plague on ’t.
My conscience fools my wit! Well, I’ll be brief, 90
And so be thou, lest they should be before us.
Go home, prepare him, tell him with what zeal
And willingness I do it: swear it was
On the first hearing, as thou mayst do, truly,
Mine own free motion.
_Mos._ Sir, I warrant you, 95
I’ll so possess him with it, that the rest
Of his starv’d clients shall be banish’d all;
And only you receiv’d. But come not, sir,
Until I send, for I have something else
To ripen for your good, you must not know ’t.
_Corv._ But do not you forget to send now.
_Mos._ Fear not. [_Exit._] 101
[SCENE VII.][1643]
CORVINO.
_Corv._ Where are you, wife? My Celia! wife!
[_Enter_ CELIA.]
—What, blubb’ring?
Come, dry those tears. I think thou thought’st me in earnest;
Ha! by this light I talk’d so but to try thee:
Methinks, the lightness of the occasion
Should have confirm’d thee. Come, I am not jealous. 5
_Cel._ No?
_Corv._ Faith I am not, I, nor never was;
It is a poor unprofitable humour.
Do not I know, if women have a will,
They’ll do ’gainst all the watches o’ the world,
And that the fiercest spies are tam’d with gold?
Tut, I am confident in thee, thou shalt see’t; 11
And see I ’ll give thee cause too, to believe it.
Come kiss me. Go, and make thee ready straight,
In all thy best attire, thy choicest jewels,
Put ’em all on, and, with ’em, thy best looks: 15
We are invited to a solemn feast,
At old Volpone’s, where it shall appear
How far I am free from jealousy or fear.
[_Exeunt._]
ACT III
SCENE I.[1644]
[_Enter_] MOSCA.
_Mos._ I fear I shall begin to grow in love
With my dear self, and my most prosp’rous parts,
They do so spring and burgeon; I can feel
A whimsy i’ my blood: I know not how,
Success hath made me wanton. I could skip 5
Out of my skin now, like a subtle snake,
I am so limber. O! your parasite
Is a most precious thing, dropt from above,
Not bred ’mongst clods and clodpoles, here on earth.
I muse, the mystery[1645] was not made a science, 10
It is so liberally profest! Almost
All the wise world is little else, in nature,
But parasites or sub-parasites. And yet
I mean not those that have your bare town-art,
To know who’s fit to feed them; have no house, 15
No family, no care, and therefore mould
Tales for men’s ears, to bait that sense; or get
Kitchen-invention, and some stale receipts
To please the belly, and the groin; nor those,
With their court dog-tricks, that can fawn and fleer, 20
Make their revenue out of leg[1646] and faces,
Echo my lord, and lick away a moth:
But your fine elegant rascal, that can rise
And stoop, almost together, like an arrow;
Shoot through the air as nimbly as a star; 25
Turn short as doth a swallow; and be here,
And there, and here, and yonder, all at once;
Present to any humour, all occasion;
And change a visor swifter than a thought! 29
This is the creature had the art born with him;
Toils not to learn it, but doth practise it
Out of most excellent nature: and such sparks
Are the true parasites, others but their zanies.
SCENE II.[1647]
MOSCA. [_Enter_] BONARIO.
Who’s this? Bonario, old Corbaccio’s son?
The person I was bound to seek. Fair sir,
You are happ’ly met.
_Bon._ That cannot be by thee.
_Mos._ Why, sir?
_Bon._ Nay, pray thee know thy way, and leave me:
I would be loth to interchange discourse 5
With such a mate[1648] as thou art.
_Mos._ Courteous sir,
Scorn not my poverty.
_Bon._ Not I, by heaven;
But thou shalt give me leave to hate thy baseness.
_Mos._ Baseness!
_Bon._ Ay; answer me, is not thy sloth
Sufficient argument? thy flattery? 10
Thy means of feeding?
_Mos._ Heaven be good to me!
These imputations are too common, sir,
And easily stuck on virtue when she’s poor.
You are unequal[1649] to me, and however
Your sentence may be righteous, yet you are not, 15
That, ere you know me, thus proceed in censure:
St. Mark bear witness ’gainst you, ’t is inhuman.
[_Weeps._]
_Bon._ [_Aside._] What! does he weep? the sign is soft and good:
I do repent me that I was so harsh.
_Mos._ ’T is true, that, sway’d by strong necessity, 20
I am enforc’d to eat my careful bread
With too much obsequy; ’t is true, beside,
That I am fain to spin mine own poor raiment
Out of my mere observance, being not born
To a free fortune: but that I have done 25
Base offices, in rending friends asunder,
Dividing families, betraying counsels,
Whisp’ring false lies, or mining men with praises,
Train’d their credulity with perjuries,
Corrupted chastity, or am in love 30
With mine own tender ease, but would not rather
Prove the most rugged and laborious course,
That might redeem my present estimation,
Let me here perish, in all hope of goodness.
_Bon._ [_Aside._] This cannot be a personated passion.— 35
I was to blame, so to mistake thy nature;
Prithee forgive me: and speak out thy business.
_Mos._ Sir, it concerns you; and though I may seem
At first to make a main offence in manners,
And in my gratitude unto my master, 40
Yet for the pure love which I bear all right,
And hatred of the wrong, I must reveal it.
This very hour your father is in purpose
To disinherit you——
_Bon._ How!
_Mos._ And thrust you forth,
As a mere stranger to his blood: ’t is true, sir.
The work no way engageth me, but as 45
I claim an interest in the general state
Of goodness and true virtue, which I hear
T’ abound in you; and for which mere respect,
Without a second aim, sir, I have done it. 50
_Bon._ This tale hath lost thee much of the late trust
Thou hadst with me; it is impossible.
I know not how to lend it any thought,
My father should be so unnatural.
_Mos._ It is a confidence that well becomes 55
Your piety; and form’d, no doubt, it is
From your own simple innocence, which makes
Your wrong more monstrous and abhorr’d. But, sir,
I now will tell you more. This very minute,
It is, or will be doing; and if you 60
Shall be but pleas’d to go with me, I ’ll bring you,
I dare not say where you shall see, but where
Your ear shall be a witness of the deed;
Hear yourself written bastard, and profest
The common issue of the earth.
_Bon._ I’m maz’d! 65
_Mos._ Sir, if I do it not, draw your just sword,
And score your vengeance on my front and face;
Mark me your villain: you have too much wrong,
And I do suffer for you, sir. My heart 69
Weeps blood in anguish——
_Bon._ Lead; I follow thee. [_Exeunt._]
SCENE III.[1650]
[_Enter_] VOLPONE, NANO, ANDROGYNO, CASTRONE.
_Volp._ Mosca stays long, methinks.—Bring forth your sports,
And help to make the wretched time more sweet.
_Nan._ “Dwarf, fool, and eunuch, well met here we be.
A question it were now, whether of us three,
Being all the known delicates of a rich man, 5
In pleasing him, claim the precedency can?”
_Cas._ “I claim for myself.”
_And._ “And so doth the fool.”
_Nan._ “’T is foolish indeed: let me set you both to school.
First for your dwarf, he’s little and witty,
And everything, as it is little, is pretty; 10
Else why do men say to a creature of my shape,
So soon as they see him, ’It’s a pretty little ape’?
And why a pretty ape, but for pleasing imitation
Of greater men’s actions, in a ridiculous fashion? 14
Beside, this feat[1651] body of mine doth not crave
Half the meat, drink, and cloth, one of your bulks will have.
Admit your fool’s face be the mother of laughter,
Yet, for his brain, it must always come after:
And though that do feed him, it ’s a pitiful case,
His body is beholding to such a bad face.” 20
_One knocks._
_Volp._ Who’s there? My couch; away! look! Nano, see:
[_Exeunt_ AND. _and_ CAS.]
Give me my caps first—go, inquire. [_Exit_ NANO.] Now, Cupid
Send it be Mosca, and with fair return!
_Nan._ [_within._] It is the beauteous madam—
_Volp._ Would-be—is it?
_Nan._ The same.
_Volp._ Now torment on me! Squire her in; 25
For she will enter, or dwell here for ever:
Nay, quickly. [_Retires to his couch._] That my fit were past! I fear
A second hell too, that my loathing this
Will quite expel my appetite to the other:
Would she were taking now her tedious leave.
Lord, how it threats me what I am to suffer! 31
SCENE IV.[1652]
[_To him enter_] NANO, LADY POLITIC WOULD-BE.
_Lady P._ I thank you, good sir. Pray you signify
Unto your patron I am here.—This band
Shows not my neck enough.—I trouble you, sir;
Let me request you bid one of my women
Come hither to me. In good faith, I am drest 5
Most favourably to-day! It is no matter:
’T is well enough.
[_Enter_ 1 Waiting-woman.]
Look, see these petulant things,
How they have done this!
_Volp._ [_Aside._] I do feel the fever
Ent’ring in at mine ears; O, for a charm,
To fright it hence!
_Lady P._ Come nearer: is this curl 10
In his right place, or this? Why is this higher
Than all the rest? You ha’ not wash’d your eyes yet!
Or do they not stand even i’ your head?
Where is your fellow? call her. [_Exit_ 1 Woman.]
_Nan._ Now, St. Mark
Deliver us! anon she ’ll beat her women, 15
Because her nose is red.
[_Re-enter_ 1 _with_ 2 Woman.]
_Lady P._ I pray you view
This tire,[1653] forsooth: are all things apt, or no?
_1 Wom._ One hair a little here sticks out, forsooth.
_Lady P._ Does ’t so, forsooth! and where was your dear sight,
When it did so, forsooth! What now! bird-ey’d?[1654] 20
And you, too? Pray you, both approach and mend it.
Now, by that light I muse you ’re not asham’d!
I, that have preach’d these things so oft unto you,
Read you the principles, argu’d all the grounds,
Disputed every fitness, every grace, 25
Call’d you to counsel of so frequent dressings—
_Nan._ (_Aside._) More carefully than of your fame or honour.
_Lady P._ Made you acquainted what an ample dowry
The knowledge of these things would be unto you,
Able alone to get you noble husbands 30
At your return: and you thus to neglect it!
Besides, you seeing what a curious nation
Th’ Italians are, what will they say of me?
“The English lady cannot dress herself.”
Here ’s a fine imputation to our country! 35
Well, go your ways, and stay i’ the next room.
This fucus[1655] was too coarse too; it ’s no matter.—
Good sir, you ’ll give ’em entertainment?
[_Exeunt_ NANO _and_ Waiting-women.]
_Volp._ The storm comes toward me.
_Lady P._ [_Goes to the couch._] How does my Volpone?
_Volp._ Troubl’d with noise, I cannot sleep; I dreamt 40
That a strange fury ent’red now my house,
And, with the dreadful tempest of her breath,
Did cleave my roof asunder.
_Lady P._ Believe me, and I
Had the most fearful dream, could I remember ’t:——
_Volp._ [_Aside._] Out on my fate! I have given her the occasion 45
How to torment me: she will tell me hers.
_Lady P._ Methought the golden mediocrity,
Polite, and delicate——
_Volp._ O, if you do love me,
No more: I sweat, and suffer, at the mention
Of any dream; feel how I tremble yet. 50
_Lady P._ Alas, good soul! the passion of the heart.
Seed-pearl were good now, boil’d with syrup of apples,
Tincture of gold, and coral, citron-pills,
Your elecampane[1656] root, myrobalanes[1657]——
_Volp._ Ay me, I have ta’en a grasshopper by the wing![1658] 55
_Lady P._ Burnt silk and amber. You have muscadel
Good i’ the house——
_Volp._ You will not drink, and part?
_Lady P._ No, fear not that. I doubt we shall not get
Some English saffron, half a dram would serve; 59
Your sixteen cloves, a little musk, dried mints;
Bugloss, and barley-meal——
_Volp._ [_Aside._] She ’s in again!
Before I feign’d diseases, now I have one.
_Lady P._ And these appli’d with a right scarlet cloth.
_Volp._ [_Aside._] Another flood of words! a very torrent!
_Lady P._ Shall I, sir, make you a poultice?
_Volp._ No, no, no. 65
I ’m very well, you need prescribe no more.
_Lady P._ I have a little studied physic; but now
I ’m all for music, save, i’ the forenoons,
An hour or two for painting. I would have
A lady, indeed, to have all letters and arts, 70
Be able to discourse, to write, to paint,
But principal, as Plato holds, your music,
And so does wise Pythagoras, I take it,
Is your true rapture: when there is concent[1659]
In face, in voice, and clothes: and is, indeed, 75
Out sex’s chiefest ornament.
_Volp._ The poet
As old in time as Plato, and as knowing,
Says that your highest female grace is silence.
_Lady P._ Which of your poets? Petrarch, or Tasso, or Dante?
Guarini? Ariosto? Aretine? 80
Cieco di Hadria? I have read them all.
_Volp._ [_Aside._] Is everything a cause to my destruction?
_Lady P._ I think I have two or three of ’em about me.
_Volp._ [_Aside._] The sun, the sea, will sooner both stand still 84
Than her eternal tongue! nothing can scape it.
_Lady P._ Here ’s Pastor Fido——
_Volp._ [_Aside._ ] Profess obstinate silence;
That ’s now my safest.
_Lady P._ All our English writers,
I mean such as are happy in th’ Italian,
Will deign to steal out of this author, mainly;
Almost as much as from Montagnié: 90
He has so modern and facile a vein,
Fitting the time, and catching the court-ear!
Your Petrarch is more passionate, yet he,
In days of sonnetting, trusted ’em with much:
Dante is hard, and few can understand him. 95
But for a desperate wit, there ’s Aretine;
Only his pictures are a little obscene——
You mark me not.
_Volp._ Alas, my mind ’s perturb’d.
_Lady P._ Why, in such cases, we must cure ourselves,
Make use of our philosophy——
_Volp._ Oh me! 100
_Lady P._ And as we find our passions do rebel,
Encounter them with reason, or divert ’em,
By giving scope unto some other humour
Of lesser danger: as, in politic bodies,
There ’s nothing more doth overwhelm the judgment, 105
And cloud the understanding, than too much
Settling and fixing, and, as ’t were, subsiding
Upon one object. For the incorporating
Or these same outward things, into that part
Which we call mental, leaves some certain faeces 110
That stop the organs, and, as Plato says,
Assassinate our knowledge.
_Volp._ [_Aside._] Now, the spirit
Of patience help me!
_Lady P._ Come, in faith, I must
Visit you more a days; and make you well:
Laugh and be lusty.
_Volp._ [_Aside._] My good angel save me! 115
_Lady P._ There was but one sole man in all the world
With whom I e’er could sympathise; and he
Would lie you, often, three, four hours together
To hear me speak; and be sometime so rapt,
As he would answer me quite from the purpose, 120
Like you, and you are like him, just. I ’ll discourse,
An ’t be but only, sir, to bring you asleep,
How we did spend our time and loves together,
For some six years.
_Volp._ Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh!
_Lady P._ For we were coaetanei,[1660] and brought up—— 125
_Volp._ Some power, some fate, some fortune rescue me!
SCENE V.[1661]
[_To them enter_] MOSCA.
_Mos._ God save you, madam!
_Lady P._ Good sir.
_Volp._ Mosca! welcome,
Welcome to my redemption.
_Mos._ Why, sir?
_Volp._ Oh,
Rid me of this my torture, quickly, there;
My madam with the everlasting voice:
The bells, in time of pestilence, ne’er made 5
Like noise, or were in that perpetual motion!
The Cock-pit comes not near it. All my house,
But now, steam’d like a bath with her thick breath,
A lawyer could not have been heard; nor scarce
Another woman, such a hail of words 10
She has let fall. For hell’s sake, rid her hence.
_Mos._ Has she presented?
_Volp._ Oh, I do not care;
I ’ll take her absence upon any price,
With any loss.
_Mos._ Madam——
_Lady P._ I ha’ brought your patron
A toy, a cap here, of mine own work.
_Mos._ ’T is well. 15
I had forgot to tell you I saw your knight
Where you would little think it.——
_Lady P._ Where?
_Mos._ Marry,
Where yet, if you make haste, you may apprehend him,
Rowing upon the water in a gondole,
With the most cunning courtesan of Venice. 20
_Lady P._ Is ’t true?
_Mos._ Pursue ’em, and believe your eyes:
Leave me to make your gift.
[_Exit_ LADY P. _hastily_.]
I knew ’t would take:
For, lightly, they that use themselves most licence,
Are still most jealous.
_Volp._ Mosca, hearty thanks
For thy quick fiction, and delivery of me. 25
Now to my hopes, what sayst thou?
[_Re-enter_ LADY P. WOULD-BE.]
_Lady P._ But do you hear, sir?——
_Volp._ Again! I fear a paroxysm.
_Lady P._ Which way
Row’d they together?
_Mos._ Toward the Rialto.
_Lady P._ I pray you lend me your dwarf. 29
_Mos._ I pray you take him. [_Exit_ LADY P.]
Your hopes, sir, are like happy blossoms, fair,
And promise timely fruit, if you will stay
But the maturing; keep you at your couch,
Corbaccio will arrive straight, with the will;
When he is gone, I’ll tell you more. [_Exit._]
_Volp._ My blood, 35
My spirits are return’d; I am alive:
And, like your wanton gamester at primero,
Whose thought had whisper’d to him, not go[1662] less,
Methinks I lie, and draw[1663]——for an encounter.[1663]
SCENE VI.[1664]
[_Enter_] MOSCA, BONARIO.
_Mos._ Sir, here conceal’d [_Opening a door_] you may hear all.
But, pray you,
Have patience, sir; [_One knocks._] the same’s your father knocks:
I am compell’d to leave you. [_Exit._]
_Bon._ Do so.—Yet
Cannot my thought imagine this a truth.
[_Goes in._]
SCENE VII.[1665]
[_Enter_] MOSCA, CORVINO, CELIA.—
_Mos._ Death on me! you are come too soon, what meant you?
Did not I say I would send?
_Corv._ Yes, but I fear’d
You might forget it, and then they prevent us.
_Mos._ Prevent! [_Aside._] Did e’er man haste so for his horns?
A courtier would not ply it so for a place. 5
—Well, now there is no helping it, stay here;
I’ll presently return. [_Exit._]
_Corv._ Where are you, Celia?
You know not wherefore I have brought you hither?
_Cel._ Not well, except you told me.
_Corv._ Now I will:
Hark hither. [_They retire to one side._]
[_Re-enter_ MOSCA.]
_Mos._ (_to_ BONARIO) Sir, your father hath sent word,
It will be half an hour ere he come; 11
And therefore, if you please to walk the while
Into that gallery—at the upper end,
There are some books to entertain the time:
And I’ll take care no man shall come unto you, sir. 15
_Bon._ Yes, I will stay there.—[_Aside._] I do doubt this fellow.
[_Exit._]
_Mos._ [_Looking after him._] There; he is far enough;
he can hear nothing:
And for his father, I can keep him off.[1666]
_Corv._ Nay, now, there is no starting back, and therefore,
Resolve upon it: I have so decreed. 20
It must be done. Nor would I move’t afore,
Because I would avoid all shifts and tricks,
That might deny me.
_Cel._ Sir, let me beseech you,
Affect not these strange trials; if you doubt
My chastity, why, lock me up for ever; 25
Make me the heir of darkness. Let me live
Where I may please your fears, if not your trust.
_Corv._ Believe it, I have no such humour, I.
All that I speak I mean; yet I’m not mad; 29
Not horn-mad, you see? Go to, show yourself
Obedient, and a wife.
_Cel._ O heaven!
_Corv._ I say it,
Do so.
_Cel._ Was this the train?
_Corv._ I ’ve told you reasons;
What the physicians have set down; how much
It may concern me; what my engagements are;
My means, and the necessity of those means 35
For my recovery: wherefore, if you be
Loyal and mine, be won, respect my venture.
_Cel._ Before your honour?
_Corv._ Honour! tut, a breath:
There’s no such thing in nature; a mere term
Invented to awe fools. What is my gold 40
The worse for touching, clothes for being look’d on?
Why, this’s no more. An old decrepit wretch,
That has no sense, no sinew; takes his meat
With others’ fingers: only knows to gape
When you do scald his gums; a voice, a shadow;
And what can this man hurt you?
_Cel._ [_Aside._] Lord! what spirit 46
Is this hath ent’red him?
_Corv._ And for your fame,
That’s such a jig; as if I would go tell it,
Cry it on the Piazza! Who shall know it
But he that cannot speak it, and this fellow, 50
Whose lips are i’ my pocket? Save yourself,
(If you’ll proclaim’t, you may,) I know no other
Should come to know it.
_Cel._ Are heaven and saints then nothing?
Will they be blind or stupid?
_Corv._ How!
_Cel._ Good sir,
Be jealous still, emulate them; and think 55
What hate they burn with toward every sin.
_Corv._ I grant you: if I thought it were a sin
I would not urge you. Should I offer this
To some young Frenchman, or hot Tuscan blood
That had read Aretine, conn’d all his prints, 60
Knew every quirk within lust’s labyrinth,
And were profest critic in lechery;
And I would look upon him, and applaud him,
This were a sin: but here, ’t is contrary,
A pious work, mere charity for physic, 65
And honest polity, to assure mine own.
_Cel._ O heaven! canst thou suffer such a change?
_Volp._ Thou art mine honour, Mosca, and my pride,
My joy, my tickling, my delight! Go bring ’em.
_Mos._ [_Advancing._] Please you draw near, sir.
_Corv._ Come on, what——
You will not be rebellious? By that light—— 71
_Mos._ Sir, Signior Corvino, here, is come to see you.
_Volp._ Oh!
_Mos._ And hearing of the consultation had,
So lately, for your health, is come to offer,
Or rather, sir, to prostitute——
_Corv._ Thanks, sweet Mosca. 75
_Mos._ Freely, unask’d, or unintreated——
_Corv._ Well.
_Mos._ As the true fervent instance of his love,
His own most fair and proper wife; the beauty
Only of price in Venice——
_Corv._ ’T is well urg’d.
_Mos._ To be your comfortress, and to preserve you. 80
_Volp._ Alas, I am past, already! Pray you, thank him
For his good care and promptness; but for that,
’T is a vain labour e’en to fight ’gainst heaven;
Applying fire to stone—uh, uh, uh, uh!
[_Coughing._]
Making a dead leaf grow again. I take 85
His wishes gently, though; and you may tell him
What I have done for him: marry, my state is hopeless.
Will him to pray for me; and to use his fortune
With reverence when he comes to’t.
_Mos._ Do you hear, sir?
Go to him with your wife.
_Corv._ Heart of my father! 90
Wilt thou persist thus? Come, I pray thee, come.
Thou seest ’t is nothing, Celia. By this hand
I shall grow violent. Come, do’t, I say.
_Cel._ Sir, kill me, rather: I will take down poison,
Eat burning coals, do anything——
_Corv._ Be damn’d! 95
Heart, I will drag thee hence home by the hair;
Cry thee a strumpet through the streets; rip up
Thy mouth unto thine ears; and slit thy nose,
Like a raw rochet![1667]—Do not tempt me; come,
Yield, I am loth—Death! I will buy some slave 100
Whom I will kill, and bind thee to him alive;
And at my windore hang you forth, devising
Some monstrous crime, which I, in capital letters,
Will eat into thy flesh with aquafortis, 104
And burning cor’sives,[1668] on this stubborn breast.
Now, by the blood thou hast incens’d, I’ll do it!
_Cel._ Sir, what you please, you may; I am your martyr.
_Corv._ Be not thus obstinate, I ha’ not deserv’d it:
Think who it is intreats you. Prithee, sweet;—
Good faith, thou shalt have jewels, gowns, attires, 110
What thou wilt think, and ask. Do but go kiss him.
Or touch him but. For my sake. At my suit—
This once. No! not! I shall remember this.
Will you disgrace me thus? Do you thirst my undoing?
_Mos._ Nay, gentle lady, be advis’d.
_Corv._ No, no. 115
She has watch’d her time. God’s precious, this is scurvy,
’T is very scurvy; and you are——
_Mos._ Nay, good sir.
_Corv._ An arrant locust—by heaven, a locust!—
Whore, crocodile, that hast thy tears prepar’d,
Expecting how thou’lt bid ’em flow——
_Mos._ Nay, pray you, sir! 120
She will consider.
_Cel._ Would my life would serve
To satisfy——
_Corv._ ’Sdeath! if she would but speak to him,
And save my reputation, ’t were somewhat;
But spitefully to affect my utter ruin!
_Mos._ Ay, now you have put your fortune in her hands. 125
Why i’ faith, it is her modesty, I must quit her.
If you were absent, she would be more coming;
I know it: and dare undertake for her.
What woman can before her husband? Pray you,
Let us depart and leave her here.
_Corv._ Sweet Celia, 130
Thou mayest redeem all yet; I’ll say no more:
If not, esteem yourself as lost. Nay, stay there.
[_Exit with_ MOSCA.]
_Cel._ O God, and his good angels! whither, whither,
Is shame fled human breasts? that with such ease, 134
Men dare put off your honours, and their own?
Is that, which ever was a cause of life,
Now plac’d beneath the basest circumstance,
And modesty an exile made, for money?
_Volp._ Ay, in Corvino, and such earth-fed minds.
_He leaps from his couch._
That never tasted the true heaven of love. 140
Assure thee, Celia, he that would sell thee,
Only for hope of gain, and that uncertain,
He would have sold his part of Paradise
For ready money, had he met a cope-man.[1669]
Why art thou maz’d to see me thus reviv’d?
Rather applaud thy beauty’s miracle; 146
’T is thy great work, that hath, not now alone,
But sundry times rais’d me, in several shapes,
And, but this morning, like a mountebank,
To see thee at thy windore: ay, before 150
I would have left my practice, for thy love,
In varying figures. I would have contended
With the blue Proteus, or the horned flood.[1670]
Now art thou welcome.
_Cel._ Sir!
_Volp._ Nay, fly me not,
Nor let thy false imagination 155
That I was bed-rid, make thee think I am so:
Thou shalt not find it. I am now as fresh,
As hot, as high, and in as jovial plight
As, when, in that so celebrated scene,
At recitation of our comedy, 160
For entertainment of the great Valois,
I acted young Antinous; and attracted
The eyes and ears of all the ladies present,
To admire each graceful gesture, note, and footing. [_Sings._]
Song[1671]
Come, my Celia, let us prove 165
While we can, the sports of love,
Time will not be ours for ever,
He, at length, our good will sever;
Spend not then his gifts in vain:
Suns that set may rise again; 170
But if once we lose this light,
’T is with us perpetual night.
Why should we defer our joys?
Fame and rumour are but toys.
Cannot we delude the eyes 175
Of a few poor household spies?
Or his easier ears beguile,
Thus removed by our wile?
’T is no sin love’s fruits to steal;
But the sweet thefts to reveal: 180
To be taken, to be seen,
These have crimes accounted been.
_Cel._ Some serene[1672] blast me, or dire lightning strike
This my offending face!
_Volp._ Why droops my Celia?
Thou hast, in place of a base husband found 185
A worthy lover: use thy fortune well,
With secrecy and pleasure. See, behold,
What thou art queen of; not in expectation,
As I feed others: but possess’d and crown’d.
See, here, a rope of pearl; and each more orient[1673]
Then the brave Aegyptian queen carous’d: 191
Dissolve and drink ’em. See, a carbuncle,
May put out both the eyes of our St. Mark;
A diamond would have bought Lollia Paulina,
When she came in like star-light, hid with jewels 195
That were the spoils of provinces; take these
And wear, and lose ’em; yet remains an earring
To purchase them again, and this whole state.
A gem but worth a private patrimony
Is nothing; we will eat such at a meal. 200
The heads of parrots, tongues of nightingales,
The brains of peacocks, and of estriches,
Shall be our food, and, could we get the phoenix,
Though nature lost her kind, she were our dish.
_Cel._ Good sir, these things might move a mind affected 205
With such delights; but I, whose innocence
Is all I can think wealthy, or worth th’ enjoying,
And which, once lost, I have nought to lose beyond it,
Cannot be taken with these sensual baits:
If you have conscience——
_Volp._ ’T is the beggar’s virtue;
If thou hast wisdom, hear me, Celia. 211
Thy baths shall be the juice of July-flowers,
Spirit of roses, and of violets,
The milk of unicorns, and panthers’ breath 214
Gather’d in bags, and mix’d with Cretan wines.
Our drink shall be prepared gold and amber;
Which we will take until my root whirl round
With the vertigo: and my dwarf shall dance,
My eunuch sing, my fool make up the antic, 219
Whilst we, in changed shapes, act Ovid’s tales,
Thou, like Europa now, and I like Jove,
Then I like Mars, and thou like Erycine:
So of the rest, till we have quite run through,
And wearied all the fables of the gods. 224
Then will I have thee in more modern forms,
Attired like some sprightly dame of France,
Brave Tuscan lady, or proud Spanish beauty;
Sometimes unto the Persian sophy’s wife;
Or the grand signior’s mistress; and for change,
To one of our most artful courtesans, 230
Or some quick Negro, or cold Russian;
And I will meet thee in as many shapes:
Where we may so transfuse our wand’ring souls
Out at our lips, and score up sums of pleasures,
[_Sings._]
That the curious shall not know 235
How to tell them as they flow;
And the envious, when they find
What their number is, be pin’d.
_Cel._ If you have ears that will be pierc’d—or eyes
That can be open’d—a heart that may be touch’d— 240
Or any part that yet sounds man about you—
If you have touch of holy saints—or heaven—
Do me the grace to let me scape:—if not,
Be bountiful and kill me. You do know,
I am a creature, hither ill betray’d, 245
By one whose shame I would forget it were:
If you will deign me neither of these graces,
Yet feed your wrath, sir, rather than your lust,
(It is a vice comes nearer manliness,)
And punish that unhappy crime of nature, 250
Which you miscall my beauty: flay my face,
Or poison it with ointments for seducing
Your blood to this rebellion. Rub these hands
With what may cause an eating leprosy,
E’en to my bones and marrow: anything 255
That may disfavour me, save in my honour—
And I will kneel to you, pray for you, pay down
A thousand hourly vows, sir, for your health;
Report, and think you virtuous——
_Volp._ Think me cold,
Frozen, and impotent, and so report me? 260
That I had Nestor’s hernia, thou wouldst think.
I do degenerate, and abuse my nation,
To play with opportunity thus long;
I should have done the act, and then have parley’d.
Yield, or I’ll force thee. [_Seizes her._]
_Cel._ O! just God!
_Volp._ In vain—— 265
_Bon._ (_leaps out from where_ MOSCA _had placed him_.) Forbear, foul
ravisher! libidinous swine!
Free the forc’d lady, or thou diest, impostor.
But that I’m loth to snatch thy punishment
Out of the hand of justice, thou shouldst yet
Be made the timely sacrifice of vengeance, 270
Before this altar and this dross, thy idol.——
Lady, let ’s quit the place, it is the den
Of villany; fear nought, you have a guard:
And he ere long shall meet his just reward. 274
[_Exeunt_ BON. _and_ CEL.]
_Volp._ Fall on me, roof, and bury me in ruin!
Become my grave, that wert my shelter! O!
I am unmask’d, unspirited, undone,
Betray’d to beggary, to infamy——
[SCENE VIII.][1674]
VOLPONE. [_Enter_] MOSCA, [_wounded and bleeding_.]
_Mos._ Where shall I run, most wretched shame of men,
To beat out my unlucky brains?
_Volp._ Here, here.
What! dost thou bleed?
_Mos._ O, that his well-driv’n sword
Had been so courteous to have cleft me down
Unto the navel, ere I liv’d to see 5
My life, my hopes, my spirits, my patron, all
Thus desperately engaged by my error!
_Volp._ Woe on thy fortune!
_Mos._ And my follies, sir.
_Volp._ Thou hast made me miserable.
_Mos._ And myself, sir.
Who would have thought he would have heark’ned so? 10
_Volp._ What shall we do?
_Mos._ I know not; if my heart
Could expiate the mischance, I’d pluck it out.
Will you be pleas’d to hang me, or cut my throat?
And I’ll requite you, sir. Let’s die like Romans,[1675]
Since we have liv’d like Grecians.
_They knock without._
_Volp._ Hark! who’s there? 15
I hear some footing; officers, the saffi,[1676]
Come to apprehend us! I do feel the brand
Hissing already at my forehead; now
Mine ears are boring.
_Mos._ To your couch, sir, you,
Make that place good, however. [VOLPONE _lies down as before_.]
Guilty men 20
Suspect what they deserve still. Signior Corbaccio!
[SCENE IX.][1677]
[_To them enter_] CORBACCIO.
_Corb._ Why, how now, Mosca?
_Mos._ O, undone, amaz’d, sir.
Your son, I know not by what accident,
Acquainted with your purpose to my patron,
Touching your will, and making him your heir,
Ent’red our house with violence, his sword drawn, 5
Sought for you, called you wretch, unnatural,
Vow’d he would kill you.
_Corb._ Me!
_Mos._ Yes, and my patron.
_Corb._ This act shall disinherit him indeed:
Here is the will.
_Mos._ ’T is well, sir.
_Corb._ Right and well:
Be you as careful now for me.
[_Enter_ VOLTORE _behind_.]
_Mos._ My life, sir, 10
Is not more tender’d; I am only yours.
_Corb._ How does he? Will he die shortly, think’st thou?
_Mos._ I fear
He’ll outlast May.
_Corb._ To-day?
_Mos._ No, last out May, sir.
_Corb._ Couldst thou not gi’ him a dram?
_Mos._ O, by no means, sir.
_Corb._ Nay, I’ll not bid you.
_Volt._ [_coming forward._] This is a knave, I see. 15
_Mos._ [_Aside, seeing_ VOLT.] How! Signior Voltore! did he hear me?
_Volt._ Parasite!
_Mos._ Who ’s that?—O, sir, most timely welcome—
_Volt._ Scarce,
To the discovery of your tricks, I fear.
You are his, _only_? And mine also, are you not?
_Mos._ Who? I, sir!
_Volt._ You, sir. What device is this 20
About a will?
_Mos._ A plot for you, sir.
_Volt._ Come,
Put not your foists[1678] upon me; I shall scent ’em.
_Mos._ Did you not hear it?
_Volt._ Yes, I hear Corbaccio
Hath made your patron there his heir.
_Mos._ ’T is true,
By my device, drawn to it by my plot, 25
With hope——
_Volt._ Your patron should reciprocate?
And you have promis’d?
_Mos._ For your good I did, sir.
Nay, more, I told his son, brought, hid him here,
Where he might hear his father pass the deed;
Being persuaded to it by this thought, sir, 30
That the unnaturalness, first, of the act,
And then his father’s oft disclaiming in him,
(Which I did mean t’ help on), would sure enrage him
To do some violence upon his parent, 34
On which the law should take sufficient hold,
And you be stated in a double hope.
Truth be my comfort, and my conscience,
My only aim was to dig you a fortune
Out of these two rotten sepulchres——
_Volt._ I cry thee mercy, Mosca.
_Mos._ —Worth your patience, 40
And your great merit, sir. And see the change!
_Volt._ Why, what success?
_Mos._ Most hapless! you must help, sir.
Whilst we expected th’ old raven, in comes
Corvino’s wife, sent hither by her husband——
_Volt._ What, with a present?
_Mos._ No, sir, on visitation; 45
(I ’ll tell you how anon;) and staying long,
The youth he grows impatient, rushes forth,
Seizeth the lady, wounds me, makes her swear
(Or he would murder her, that was his vow)
T’ affirm my patron to have done her rape: 50
Which how unlike it is, you see! and hence,
With that pretext he ’s gone, t’ accuse his father,
Defame my patron, defeat you——
_Volt._ Where ’s her husband?
Let him be sent for straight.
_Mos._ Sir, I ’ll go fetch him.
_Volt._ Bring him to the Scrutineo.[1679]
_Mos._ Sir, I will. 55
_Volt._ This must be stopt.
_Mos._ O you do nobly, sir.
Alas, ’t was labour’d all, sir, for your good;
Nor was there want of counsel in the plot:
But Fortune can, at any time, o’erthrow
The projects of a hundred learned clerks, sir. 60
_Corb._ [_listening._] What ’s that?
_Volt._ Wilt please you, sir, to go along?
[_Exit_ CORBACCIO, _followed by_ VOLTORE.]
_Mos._ Patron, go in, and pray for our success.
_Volp._ [_rising from his couch._] Need makes devotion: heaven your
labour bless!
[_Exeunt._]
ACT IV
SCENE I.[1680]
[_Enter_] SIR POLITIC WOULD-BE, PEREGRINE.
_Sir P._ I told you, sir, it was a plot; you see
What observation is! You mention’d me
For some instructions: I will tell you, sir,
(Since we are met here in this height of Venice.)
Some few particulars I have set down, 5
Only for this meridian, fit to be known
Of your crude traveller; and they are these.
I will not touch, sir, at your phrase, or clothes,
For they are old.
_Per._ Sir, I have better.
_Sir P._ Pardon,
I meant, as they are themes.
_Per._ O, sir, proceed: 10
I ’ll slander you no more of wit, good sir.
_Sir P._ First, for your garb, it must be grave and serious,
Very reserv’d and lockt; not tell a secret
On any terms, not to your father; scarce
A fable, but with caution: make sure choice 15
Both of your company and discourse; beware
You never speak a truth——
_Per._ How!
_Sir P._ Not to strangers,
For those be they you must converse with most;
Others I would not know, sir, but at distance
So as I still might be a saver in them: 20
You shall have tricks else past upon you hourly.
And then, for your religion, profess none,
But wonder at the diversity of all;
And, for your part, protest, were there no other
But simply the laws o’ th’ land, you could content you. 25
Nic. Machiavel and Monsieur Bodin,[1681] both
Were of this mind. Then must you learn the use
And handling of your silver fork at meals,
The metal of your glass; (these are main matters
With your Italian;) and to know the hour 30
When you must eat your melons and your figs.
_Per._ Is that a point of state too?
_Sir P._ Here it is:
For your Venetian, if he see a man
Preposterous in the least, he has him straight;
He has; he strips him. I ’ll acquaint you, sir. 35
I now have liv’d here ’t is some fourteen months:
Within the first week of my landing here,
All took me for a citizen of Venice,
I knew the forms so well——
_Per._ [_Aside._] And nothing else.
_Sir P._ I had read Contarene,[1682] took me a house, 40
Dealt with my Jews to furnish it with movables—
Well, if I could but find one man, one man
To mine own heart, whom I durst trust, I would——
_Per._ What, what, sir?
_Sir P._ Make him rich; make him a fortune:
He should not think again. I would command it. 45
_Per._ As how?
_Sir P._ With certain projects that I have;
Which I may not discover.
_Per._ [Aside.] If I had
But one to wager with, I would lay odds now,
He tells me instantly.
_Sir P._ One is, and that
I care not greatly who knows, to serve the state
Of Venice with red herrings for three years, 51
And at a certain rate, from Rotterdam,
Where I have correspondence. There ’s a letter,
Sent me from one o’ th’ states, and to that purpose:
He cannot write his name, but that ’s his mark. 55
_Per._ He is a chandler?
_Sir P._ No, a cheesemonger.
There are some others too with whom I treat
About the same negotiation;
And I will undertake it: for ’t is thus.
I ’ll do ’t with ease, I have cast[1683] it all. Your hoy[1684] 60
Carries but three men in her, and a boy;
And she shall make me three returns a year:
So if there come but one of three, I save;
If two, I can defalk:[1685]—but this is now,
If my main project fail.
_Per._ Then you have others? 65
_Sir P._ I should be loth to draw the subtle air
Of such a place, without my thousand aims.
I ’ll not dissemble, sir: where’er I come,
I love to be considerative; and ’t is true,
I have at my free hours thought upon 70
Some certain goods unto the state of Venice,
Which I do call my Cautions; and, sir, which
I mean, in hope of pension, to propound
To the Great Council, then unto the Forty, 75
So to the Ten. My means are made already——
_Per._ By whom?
_Sir P._ Sir, one that though his place be obscure,
Yet he can sway, and they will hear him. He ’s
A _commandadore_.
_Per._ What! a common serjeant?
_Sir P._ Sir, such as they are, put it in their mouths,
What they should say, sometimes; as well as greater: 80
I think I have my notes to show you——
[_Searching his pockets._]
_Per._ Good sir.
_Sir P._ But you shall swear unto me, on your gentry,
Not to anticipate——
_Per._ I, sir!
_Sir P._ Nor reveal
A circumstance——My paper is not with me.
_Per._ O, but you can remember, sir.
_Sir P._ My first is 85
Concerning tinder-boxes. You must know,
No family is here without its box.
Now, sir, it being so portable a thing,
Put case, that you or I were ill affected
Unto the state, sir; with it in our pockets, 90
Might not I go into the Arsenal,
Or you come out again, and none the wiser?
_Per._ Except yourself, sir.
_Sir P._ Go to, then. I therefore
Advertise to the state, how fit it were
That none but such as were known patriots, 95
Sound lovers of their country, should be suffer’d
T’ enjoy them in their houses; and even those
Seal’d at some office, and at such a bigness
As might not lurk in pockets.
_Per._ Admirable!
_Sir P._ My next is, how t’ inquire, and be resolv’d 100
By present demonstration, whether a ship,
Newly arriv’d from Soria,[1686] or from
Any suspected part of all the Levant,
Be guilty of the plague: and where they use
To lie out forty, fifty days, sometimes, 105
About the Lazaretto, for their trial;
I ’ll save that charge and loss unto the merchant,
And in an hour clear the doubt.
_Per._ Indeed, sir!
_Sir P._ Or——I will lose my labour.
_Per._ My faith, that ’s much.
_Sir. P._ Nay, sir, conceive me. It will cost me in onions, 110
Some thirty livres——
_Per._ Which is one pound sterling.
_Sir P._ Beside my waterworks: for this I do, sir.
First, I bring in your ship ’twixt two brick walls;
But those the state shall venture. On the one
I strain me a fair tarpauling, and in that 115
I stick my onions, cut in halves; the other
Is full of loopholes, out of which I thrust
The noses of my bellows; and those bellows
I keep, with waterworks, in perpetual motion,
Which is the easiest matter of a hundred. 120
Now, sir, your onion, which doth naturally
Attract th’ infection, and your bellows blowing
The air upon him, will show instantly,
By his chang’d colour, if there be contagion;
Or else remain as fair as at the first 125
Now it is known, ’t is nothing.
_Per._ You are right, sir.
_Sir P._ I would I had my note.
_Per._ Faith, so would I:
But you ha’ done well for once, sir.
_Sir P._ Were I false,
Or would be made so, I could show you reasons
How I could sell this state now to the Turk, 130
Spite of their galleys, or their——
[_Examining his papers._]
_Per._ Pray you, Sir Pol.
_Sir P._ I have ’em not about me.
_Per._ That I fear’d.
They are there, sir?
_Sir P._ No, this is my diary,
Wherein I note my actions of the day. 134
_Per._ Pray you let ’s see, sir. What is here? _Notandum_, [_Reads._]
“A rat had gnawn my spur-leathers; notwithstanding,
I put on new, and did go forth; but first
I threw three beans over the threshold. Item,
I went and bought two toothpicks, whereof one
I burst immediately, in a discourse 140
With a Dutch merchant, ’bout _ragion’ del stato_.[1687]
From him I went and paid a _moccinigo_[1688]
For piecing my silk stockings; by the way
I cheapen’d[1689] sprats; and at St. Mark’s I urin’d.”
’Faith these are politic notes!
_Sir P._ Sir, I do slip 145
No action of my life, but thus I quote[1690] it.
_Per._ Believe me, it is wise!
_Sir P._ Nay, sir, read forth.
SCENE II.[1691]
[_Enter, at a distance._] LADY POLITIC WOULD-BE, NANO, [_and two_
Waiting]-women.
_Lady P._ Where should this loose knight be, trow? Sure he ’s hous’d.
_Nan._ Why, then he ’s fast.
_Lady P._ Ay, he plays both[1692] with me.
I pray you stay. This heat will do more harm
To my complexion than his heart is worth.
(I do not care to hinder, but to take him.) 5
How it comes off! [_Rubbing her cheeks._]
_1 Wom._ My master ’s yonder.
_Lady P._ Where?
_2 Wom._ With a young gentleman.
_Lady P._ That same ’s the party:
In man’s apparel! Pray you, sir, jog my knight:
I will be tender to his reputation,
However he demerit.
_Sir P._ [_seeing her_] My lady!
_Per._ Where? 10
_Sir P._ ’T is she indeed, sir; you shall know her. She is,
Were she not mine, a lady of that merit,
For fashion and behaviour; and for beauty
I durst compare——
_Per._ It seems you are not jealous,
That dare commend her.
_Sir P._ Nay, and for discourse—— 15
_Per._ Being your wife, she cannot miss that.
_Sir. P._ [_introducing_ PER.] Madam,
Here is a gentleman, pray you, use him fairly;
He seems a youth, but he is——
_Lady P._ None.
_Sir P._ Yes one
Has put his face as soon into the world——
_Lady P._ You mean, as early? But to-day?
_Sir P._ How ’s this? 20
_Lady P._ Why, in this habit, sir; you apprehend me.
Well, Master Would-be, this doth not become you;
I had thought the odour, sir, of your good name
Had been more precious to you; that you would not
Have done this dire massacre on your honour;
One of your gravity, and rank besides! 26
But knights, I see, care little for the oath
They make to ladies; chiefly their own ladies.
_Sir P._ Now, by my spurs, the symbol of my knighthood——
_Per._ [_Aside._] Lord, how his brain is humbl’d for an oath! 30
_Sir P._ I reach[1693] you not.
_Lady P._ Right, sir, your polity
May bear it through thus. Sir, a word with you.
[_To_ PER.]
I would be loth to contest publicly
With any gentlewoman, or to seem
Froward, or violent, as the courtier says; 35
It comes too near rusticity in a lady,
Which I would shun by all means: and however
I may deserve from Master Would-be, yet
T’ have one fair gentlewoman thus be made
The unkind instrument to wrong another, 40
And one she knows not, ay, and to perséver;
In my poor judgment, is not warranted
From being a solecism in our sex,
If not in manners.
_Per._ How is this!
_Sir P._ Sweet madam,
Come nearer to your aim.
_Lady P._ Marry, and will, sir. 45
Since you provoke me with your impudence,
And laughter of your light land-syren here,
Your Sporus, your hermaphrodite——
_Per._ What ’s here?
Poetic fury and historic storms! 49
_Sir P._ The gentleman, believe it, is of worth
And of our nation.
_Lady P._ Ay, your Whitefriars nation.[1694]
Come, I blush for you. Master Would-be, I;
And am asham’d you should ha’ no more fore-head
Than thus to be the patron, or St. George,
To a lewd harlot, a base fricatrice,[1695] 55
A female devil, in a male outside.
_Sir P._ Nay,
An you be such a one, I must bid adieu
To your delights. The case appears too liquid. [_Exit._]
_Lady P._ Ay, you may carry ’t clear, with you state-face!
But for your carnival concupiscence, 60
Who here is fled for liberty of conscience,
From furious persecution of the marshal,
Her will I disc’ple.[1696]
_Per._ This is fine, i’ faith!
And do you use this often? Is this part
Of your wit’s exercise, ’gainst you have occasion? 65
Madam——
_Lady P._ Go to, sir.
_Per._ Do you hear me, lady?
Why, if your knight have set you to beg shirts,
Or to invite me home, you might have done it
A nearer way by far.
_Lady P._ This cannot work you
Out of my snare.
_Per._ Why, am I in it, then? 70
Indeed your husband told me you were fair,
And so you are; only your nose inclines,
That side that ’s next the sun, to the queen-apple.[1697]
_Lady P._ This cannot be endur’d by any patience.
SCENE III.[1698]
[_To them enter_] MOSCA.
_Mos._ What is the matter, madam?
_Lady P._ If the senate
Right not my quest in this, I will protest ’em
To all the world no aristocracy.
_Mos._ What is the injury, lady?
_Lady P._ Why, the callet[1695]
You told me of, here I have ta’en disguis’d. 5
_Mos._ Who? this! what means your ladyship? The creature
I mention’d to you is apprehended now,
Before the senate; you shall see her——
_Lady P._ Where?
_Mos._ I ’ll bring you to her. This young gentleman,
I saw him land this morning at the port. 10
_Lady P._ Is ’t possible! how has my judgment wander’d?
Sir, I must, blushing, say to you, I have err’d;
And plead your pardon.
_Per._ What, more changes yet!
_Lady P._ I hope you ha’ not the malice to remember
A gentlewoman’s passion. If you stay 15
In Venice here, please you to use me, sir——
_Mos._ Will you go, madam?
_Lady P._ Pray you, sir, use me; in faith.
The more you see me the more I shall conceive
You have forgot our quarrel.
[_Exeunt_ LADY WOULD-BE, MOSCA, NANO, _and_ Waiting-women.]
_Per._ This is rare!
Sir Politic Would-be? No, Sir Politic Bawd, 20
To bring me thus acquainted with his wife!
Well, wise Sir Pol, since you have practis’d thus
Upon my freshman-ship, I ’ll try your salt-head,
What proof it is against a counter-plot.
[_Exit._]
SCENE IV.[1699]
[_Enter_] VOLTORE, CORBACCIO, CORVINO, MOSCA.
_Volt._ Well, now you know the carriage of the business,
Your constancy is all that is requir’d
Unto the safety of it.
_Mos._ Is the lie
Safely convey’d[1700] amongst us? Is that sure?
Knows every man his burden?
_Corv._ Yes.
_Mos._ Then shrink not. 5
_Corv._ But knows the advocate the truth?
_Mos._ O, sir,
By no means; I devis’d a formal tale,
That salv’d your reputation. But be valiant, sir.
_Corv._ I fear no one but him that this his pleading
Should make him stand for a co-heir——
_Mos._ Co-halter! 10
Hang him; we will but use his tongue, his noise,
As we do croaker’s[1701] here.
_Corv._ Ay, what shall he do?
_Mos._ When we ha’ done, you mean?
_Corv._ Yes.
_Mos._ Why, we ’ll think;
Sell him for mummia:[1702] he ’s half dust already.——
Do you not smile, (_to_ VOLTORE) to see this buffalo,[1703] 16
How he doth sport it with his head? [_Aside._] I should,
If all were well and past.—Sir, (_to_ CORBACCIO) only you
Are he that shall enjoy the crop of all,
And these not know for whom they toil.
_Corb._ Ay, peace.
_Mos._ (_turning to_ CORVINO.) But you shall eat
it. [_Aside._] Much!—Worshipful sir, (_to_ VOLTORE) 20
Mercury sit upon your thund’ring tongue,
Or the French Hercules, and make your language
As conquering as his club, to beat along,
As with a tempest, flat, our adversaries;
But much more yours, sir.
_Volt._ Here they come, ha’ done. 25
_Mos._ I have another witness, if you need, sir,
I can produce.
_Volt._ Who is it?
_Mos._ Sir, I have her.
SCENE V.[1704]
[_Enter_] 4 Avocatori, [_and take their seats_,] BONARIO, CELIA,
Notario, Commandadori, Saffi, _and other_ Officers of Justice.]
_1 Avoc._ The like of this the senate never heard of.
_2 Avoc._ ’T will come most strange to them when we report it.
_4 Avoc._ The gentlewoman has been ever held
Of unreproved name.
_3 Avoc._ So has the youth.
_4 Avoc._ The more unnatural part that of his father. 5
_2 Avoc._ More of the husband.
_1 Avoc._ I not know to give
His act a name, it is so monstrous!
_4 Avoc._ But the impostor, he ’s a thing created.
T’ exceed example!
_1 Avoc._ And all after-times!
_2 Avoc._ I never heard a true voluptuary 10
Describ’d but him.
_3 Avoc._ Appear yet those were cited?
_Not._ All but the old magnifico, Volpone.
_1 Avoc._ Why is not he here?
_Mos._ Please your fatherhoods,
Here is his advocate: himself ’s so weak,
So feeble——
_4 Avoc._ Who are you?
_Bon._ His parasite, 15
His knave, his pander. I beseech the court
He may be forc’d to come, that your grave eyes
May bear strong witness of his strange impostures.
_Volt._ Upon my faith and credit with your virtues.
He is not able to endure the air. 20
_2 Avoc._ Bring him.
_3 Avoc._ We will see him.
_4 Avoc._ Fetch him.
_Volt._ Your fatherhoods’ fit pleasures be obey’d;
[_Exeunt_ Officers.]
But sure, the sight will rather move your pities
Than indignation. May it please the court,
In the mean time, he may be heard in me. 25
I know this place most void of prejudice,
And therefore crave it, since we have no reason
To fear our truth should hurt our cause.
_3 Avoc._ Speak free.
_Volt._ Then know, most honour’d fathers, I must now
Discover to your strangely abus’d ears, 30
The most prodigious and most frontless piece
Of solid impudence, and treachery,
That ever vicious nature yet brought forth
To shame the state of Venice. This lewd woman,
That wants no artificial looks or tears 35
To help the vizor she has now put on,
Hath long been known a close adulteress
To that lascivious youth there; not suspected,
I say, but known, and taken in the act 40
With him; and by this man, the easy husband,
Pardon’d; whose timeless bounty makes him now
Stand here, the most unhappy, innocent person,
That ever man’s own goodness made accus’d.
For these not knowing how to owe a gift
Of that dear grace, but with their shame; being plac’d 45
So above all powers of their gratitude,
Began to hate the benefit; and in place
Of thanks, devise t’ extirp the memory
Of such an act: wherein I pray your fatherhoods
To observe the malice, yea, the rage of creatures 50
Discover’d in their evils: and what heart
Such take, ev’n from their crimes:—but that anon
Will more appear.—This gentleman, the father,
Hearing of this foul fact, with many others,
Which daily struck at his too tender ears, 55
And griev’d in nothing more than that he could not
Preserve himself a parent (his son’s ills
Growing to that strange flood), at last decreed
To disinherit him.
_1 Avoc._ These be strange turns!
_2 Avoc._ The young man’s fame was ever fair and honest. 60
_Volt._ So much more full of danger is his vice,
That can beguile so, under shade of virtue,
But, as I said, my honour’d sires, his father
Having this settled purpose, by what means
To him betray’d, we know not, and this day 65
Appointed for the deed; that parricide,
I cannot style him better, by confederacy
Preparing this his paramour to be there,
Ent’red Volpone’s house (who was the man,
Your fatherhoods must understand, design’d 70
For the inheritance), there sought his father:—
But with what purpose sought he him, my lords?
I tremble to pronounce it, that a son
Unto a father, and to such a father,
Should have so foul, felonious intent! 75
It was to murder him: when being prevented
By his more happy absence, what then did he?
Not check his wicked thoughts; no, now new deeds;
(Mischief doth never end where it begins)
An act of horror, fathers! He dragg’d forth 80
The aged gentleman that had there lain bed-rid
Three years and more, out of his innocent couch,
Naked upon the floor; there left him; wounded
His servant in the face; and with this strumpet,
The stale[1705] to his forg’d practice, who was glad
To be so active,—(I shall here desire 85
Your fatherhoods to note but my collections,
As most remarkable,—) thought at once to stop
His father’s ends, discredit his free choice
In the old gentleman, redeem themselves, 90
By laying infamy upon this man,
To whom, with blushing, they should owe their lives.
_1 Avoc._ What proofs have you of this?
_Bon._ Most honour’d fathers,
I humbly crave there be no credit given
To this man’s mercenary tongue.
_2 Avoc._ Forbear. 95
_Bon._ His soul moves in his fee.
_3 Avoc._ O, sir.
_Bon._ This fellow,
For six sols[1706] more would plead against his Maker.
_1 Avoc._ You do forget yourself.
_Volt._ Nay, nay, grave fathers,
Let him have scope: can any man imagine 99
That he will spare his accuser, that would not
Have spar’d his parent?
_1 Avoc._ Well, produce your proofs.
_Cel._ I would I could forget I were a creature.
_Volt._ Signior Corbaccio!
[CORBACCIO _comes forward._]
_4 Avoc._ What is he?
_Volt._ The father.
_2 Avoc._ Has he had an oath?
_Not._ Yes.
_Corb._ What must I do now? 104
_Not._ Your testimony’s crav’d.
_Corb._ Speak to the knave?
I ’ll ha’ my mouth first stopt with earth; my heart
Abhors his knowledge: I disclaim in[1707] him.
_1 Avoc._ But for what cause?
_Corb._ The mere portent of nature!
He is an utter stranger to my loins. 109
_Bon._ Have they made you to[1708] this?
_Corb._ I will not hear thee,
Monster of men, swine, goat, wolf, parricide!
Speak not, thou viper.
_Bon._ Sir, I will sit down.
And rather wish my innocence should suffer
Than I resist the authority of a father. 114
_Volt._ Signior Corvino!
[CORVINO _comes forward._]
_2 Avoc._ This is strange.
_1 Avoc._ Who ’s this?
_Not._ The husband.
_4 Avoc._ Is he sworn?
_Not._ He is.
_3 Avoc._ Speak then.
_Corv._ This woman, please your fatherhoods, is a whore,
Of most hot exercise, more than a partridge,
Upon record——-
_1 Avoc._ No more.
_Corv._ Neighs like a jennet. 119
_Not._ Preserve the honour of the court.
_Corv._ I shall,
And modesty of your most reverend ears,
And yet I hope that I may say, these eyes
Have seen her glu’d unto that piece of cedar,
That fine well timber’d gallant: and that here
The letters maybe read, thorough the horn,[1709] 125
That make the story perfect.
_Mos._ Excellent! sir.
_Corv._ [_Aside to_ MOSCA.] There is no shame in this now, is there?
_Mos._ None.
_Corv._ Or if I said, I hop’d that she were onward
To her damnation, if there be a hell
Greater than whore and woman, a good Catholic 130
May make the doubt.
_3 Avoc._ His grief hath made him frantic.
_1 Avoc._ Remove him hence.
_2 Avoc._ Look to the woman. CELIA _swoons_.
_Corv._ Rare!
Prettily feign’d again!
_4 Avoc._ Stand from about her.
_1 Avoc._ Give her the air.
_3 Avoc._ What can you say? [_To_ MOSCA.]
_Mos._ My wound,
May it please your wisdoms, speaks for me, receiv’d 135
In aid of my good patron, when he mist
His sought-for father, when that well-taught dame
Had her cue giv’n her to cry out, “A rape!”
_Bon._ O most laid[1710] impudence! Fathers—
_3 Avoc._ Sir, be silent; 139
You had your hearing free, so must they theirs.
_2 Avoc._ I do begin to doubt th’ imposture here.
_4 Avoc._ This woman has too many moods.
_Volt._ Grave fathers,
She is a creature of a most profest
And prostituted lewdness.
_Corv._ Most impetuous, 144
Unsatisfi’d, grave fathers!
_Volt._ May her feignings
Not take your wisdoms: but this day she baited
A stranger, a grave knight, with her loose eyes,
And more lascivious kisses. This man saw ’em
Together on the water, in a gondola.
_Mos._ Here is the lady herself, that saw them too, 150
Without; who then had in the open streets
Pursu’d them, but for saving her knight’s honour.
_1 Avoc._ Produce that lady.
_2 Avoc._ Let her come. [_Exit_ MOSCA.]
_4 Avoc._ These things,
They strike with wonder.
_3 Avoc._ I am turn’d a stone.
SCENE VI.[1711]
[_To them re-enter_] MOSCA [_with_] LADY WOULD-BE.
_Mos._ Be resolute, madam.
_Lady P._ Ay, this same is she.
[_Pointing to_ CELIA.]
Out, thou chameleon harlot! now thine eyes
Vie tears with the hyena. Dar’st thou look
Upon my wronged face? I cry your pardons,
I fear I have forgettingly transgrest 5
Against the dignity of the court——
_2 Avoc._ No, madam.
_Lady P._ And been exorbitant——
_2 Avoc._ You have not, lady.
_4 Avoc._ These proofs are strong.
_Lady P._ Surely, I had no purpose
To scandalize your honours, or my sex’s.
_3 Avoc._ We do believe it.
_Lady P._ Surely you may believe it. 10
_2 Avoc._ Madam, we do.
_Lady P._ Indeed you may; my breeding
Is not so coarse——
_4 Avoc._ We know it.
_Lady P._ To offend
With pertinacy——
_3 Avoc._ Lady——
_Lady P._ Such a presence!
No surely.
_1 Avoc._ We will think it.
_Lady P._ You may think it.
_1 Avoc._ Let her o’ercome. What witnesses have you, 15
To make good your report?
_Bon._ Our consciences.
_Cel._ And heaven, that never fails the innocent.
_1 Avoc._ These are no testimonies.
_Bon._ Not in your courts,
Where multitude and clamour overcomes.
_1 Avoc._ Nay, then you do wax insolent.
VOLPONE _is brought in, as impotent._
_Volt._ Here, here, 20
The testimony comes that will convince,
And put to utter dumbness their bold tongues!
See here, grave fathers, here ’s the ravisher,
The rider on men’s wives, the great impostor,
The grand voluptuary! Do you not think 25
These limbs should affect venery? or these eyes
Covet a concubine? Pray you mark these hands;
Are they not fit to stroke a lady’s breasts?
Perhaps he doth dissemble!
_Bon._ So he does.
_Volt._ Would you ha’ him tortur’d?
_Bon._ I would have him prov’d. 30
_Volt._ Best try him then with goads, or burning irons;
Put him to the strappado: I have heard
The rack hath cur’d the gout; faith, give it him,
And help him of a malady; be courteous. 34
I’ll undertake, before these honour’d fathers,
He shall have yet as many left diseases,
As she has known adulterers, or thou strumpets.
O, my most equal hearers, if these deeds,
Acts of this bold and most exorbitant strain,
May pass with suff’rance, what one citizen 40
But owes the forfeit of his life, yea, fame,
To him that dares traduce him? Which of you
Are safe, my honour’d fathers? I would ask,
With leave of your grave fatherhoods, if their plot
Have any face or colour like to truth? 45
Or if, unto the dullest nostril here,
It smell not rank, and most abhorred slander?
I crave your care of this good gentleman,
Whose life is much endanger’d by their fable;
And as for them, I will conclude with this, 50
That vicious persons, when they’re hot, and flesh’d
In impious acts, their constancy[1712] abounds:
Damn’d deeds are done with greatest confidence.
_1 Avoc._ Take ’em to custody, and sever them.
_2 Avoc._ ’T is pity two such prodigies should live. 55
_1 Avoc._ Let the old gentleman be return’d with care.
[_Exeunt_ Officers _with_ VOLPONE.]
I’m sorry our credulity wrong’d him.
_4 Avoc._ These are two creatures!
_3 Avoc._ I’ve an earthquake in me.
_2 Avoc._ Their shame, ev’n in their cradles, fled their faces.
_4 Avoc._ You have done a worthy service to the state, sir, 60
In their discovery. [_To_ VOLT.]
_1 Avoc._ You shall hear, ere night,
What punishment the court decrees upon ’em.
[_Exeunt_ Avocat., Not., _and_ Officers _with_ BONARIO _and_ CELIA.]
_Volt._ We thank your fatherhoods. How like you it?
_Mos._ Rare.
I’d ha’ your tongue, sir, tipt with gold for this;
I’d ha’ you be the heir to the whole city; 65
The earth I’d have want men ere you want living:
They ’re bound to erect your statue in St. Mark’s.
Signior Corvino, I would have you go
And show yourself that you have conquer’d.
_Corv._ Yes.
_Mos._ It was much better that you should profess 70
Yourself a cuckold thus, than that the other
Should have been prov’d.
_Corv._ Nay, I consider’d that:
Now it is her fault.
_Mos._ Then it had been yours.
_Corv._ True; I do doubt this advocate still.
_Mos._ I’ faith.
You need not, I dare ease you of that care. 75
_Corv._ I trust thee, Mosca. [_Exit._]
_Mos._ As your own soul, sir.
_Corb._ Mosca!
_Mos._ Now for your business, sir.
_Corb._ How! ha’ you business?
_Mos._ Yes, yours, sir.
_Corb._ O, none else?
_Mos._ None else, not I.
_Corb._ Be careful then.
_Mos._ Rest you with both your eyes, sir.
_Corb._ Dispatch it.
_Mos._ Instantly.
_Corb._ And look that all, 80
Whatever, be put in, jewels, plate, moneys,
Household stuff, bedding, curtains.
_Mos._ Curtain-rings, sir:
Only the advocate’s fee must be deducted.
_Corb._ I’ll pay him now; you’ll be too prodigal.
_Mos._ Sir, I must tender it.
_Corb._ Two chequins is well. 85
_Mos._ No, six, sir.
_Corb._ ’Tis too much.
_Mos._ He talk’d a great while;
You must consider that, sir.
_Corb._ Well, there ’s three——
_Mos._ I’ll give it him.
_Corb._ Do so, and there ’s for thee. [_Exit._]
_Mos._ [_Aside._] Bountiful bones! What horrid strange offence
Did he commit ’gainst nature, in his youth, 90
Worthy this age?—You see, sir, [_to_ VOLT] how I work
Unto your ends; take you no notice.
_Volt._ No,
I’ll leave you.
_Mos._ All is yours, the devil and all,
Good advocate!—Madam, I’ll bring you home.
_Lady P._ No, I’ll go see your patron.
_Mos._ That you shall not: 95
I’ll tell you why. My purpose is to urge
My patron to reform his will, and for
The zeal you’ve shown to-day, whereas before
You were but third or fourth, you shall be now 99
Put in the first; which would appear as begg’d
If you were present. Therefore——
_Lady P._ You shall sway me. [_Exeunt._]
ACT V
SCENE I.[1713]
[_Enter_] VOLPONE.
_Volp._ Well, I am here, and all this brunt is past.
I ne’er was in dislike with my disguise
Till this fled moment: here ’t was good, in private;
But in your public,—_cave_ whilst I breathe. 4
’Fore God, my left leg ’gan to have the cramp,
And I apprehended straight some power had struck me
With a dead palsy. Well! I must be merry,
And shake it off. A many of these fears
Would put me into some villanous disease,
Should they come thick upon me: I ’ll prevent ’em. 10
Give me a bowl of lusty wine, to fright
This humour from my heart. (_Drinks._) Hum, hum, hum!
’T is almost gone already; I shall conquer.
Any device now of rare ingenious knavery, 14
That would possess me with a violent laughter,
Would make me up again. (_Drinks again._) So, so, so, so!
This heat is life; ’t is blood by this time:—Mosca!