_Mal._ At the devil’s. Ah, you treacherous, damnable monster, how
dost? how dost, thou treacherous rogue? Ah, ye rascal! I am banished
(110) the court, sirrah.
_Men._ Prithee, let’s be acquainted; I do love thee, faith.
_Mal._ At your service, by the Lord, la: shall’s go to supper?
Let’s be once drunk together, (115) and so unite a most
virtuously-strength’ned friendship: shall ’s Huguenot? shall ’s?
_Men._ Wilt fall upon my chamber to-morrow morn?
_Mal._ As a raven to a dunghill. They say (120) there’s one dead
here: prickt for the pride of the flesh.
_Men._ Ferneze; there he is; prithee, bury him.
_Mal._ O, most willingly: I mean to turn pure Roehelle churchman,
I.[2707] 125
_Men._ Thou churchman! Why, why?
_Mal._ Because I’ll live lazily, rail upon authority, deny kings’
supremacy in things indifferent, and be a pope in mine own parish.
_Men._ Wherefore dost thou think churches were made? 131
_Mal._ To scour plough-shares: I ha’ seen oxen plough up altars; _et
nunc seges ubi Sion fuit_.[2708]
_Men._ Strange! 134
_Mal._ Nay, monstrous! I ha’ seen a sumptuous steeple turned to
a stinking privy; more beastly, the sacredest place made a dogs’
kennel; nay, most inhuman, the stoned coffins of long-dead Christians
burst up, and made hogs’ troughs: _hic finis Priami_[2709] Shall
I ha’ some (140) sack and cheese at thy chamber? Good night, good
mischievous incarnate devil; good night. Mendoza; ah, ye inhuman
villain, good night! night, fuh.[2710] 144
_Men._ Goodnight: to-morrow morn? _Exit._
_Mal._ Ay, I will come, friendly damnation, I will come. I do descry
cross-points; honesty and courtship straddle as far asunder as a true
Frenchman’s legs.
_Fer._ O! 150
_Mal._ Proclamations! more proclamations!
_Fer._ O! a surgeon!
_Mal._ Hark! lust cries for a surgeon. What news from Limbo? How does
the grand cuckold, Lucifer? 155
_Fer._ O, help, help! conceal and save me.
FERNEZE _stirs, and_ MALEVOLE _helps him up and conveys him away_.
_Mal._ Thy shame more than thy wounds do grieve me far:
Thy wounds but leave upon thy flesh some scar;
But fame ne’er heals, still rankles worse and worse;
Such is of uncontrolled lust the curse. 160
Think what it is in lawless sheets to lie;
But, O, Ferneze, what in lust to die!
Then thou that shame respect’st, O, fly converse
With women’s eyes and lisping wantonness! 164
Stick candles ’gainst a virgin wall’s white back,
If they not burn, yet at the least they’ll black.
Come, I’ll convey thee to a private port,
Where thou shalt live (O happy man!) from court.
The beauty of the day begins to rise,
From whose bright form night’s heavy shadow flies. 170
Now ’gin close plots to work; the scene grows full,
And craves his eyes who hath a solid skull. _Exeunt._
ACT III
SCENE I.[2711]
_Enter_ PIETRO, MENDOZA, EQUATO, _and_ BILIOSO.
_Pietro._ ’T is grown to youth of day: how shall we waste this light?
My heart’s more heavy than a tyrant’s crown.
Shall we go hunt? Prepare for field. _Exit_ EQUATO.
_Men._ Would ye could be merry!
_Pietro._ Would God I could! Mendoza, bid ’em haste. _Exit_ MENDOZA. 5
I would fain shift, place; O vain relief!
Sad souls may well change place, but not change grief:
As deer, being struck, fly thorough many soils,[2712]
Yet still the shaft sticks fast, so——
_Bil._ A good old simile, my honest lord. 10
_Pietro._ I am not much unlike to some sick man
That long desired hurtful drink; at last
Swills in and drinks his last, ending at once
Both life and thirst. O, would I ne’er had known
My own dishonour! Good God, that men should desire 15
To search out that, which, being found, kills all
Their joy of life! to taste the tree of knowledge,
And then be driven from out paradise!——
Canst give me some comfort?
_Bil._ My lord, I have some books which (20) have been dedicated to
my honour, and I ne’er read ’em, and yet they had very fine names,
_Physic for Fortune, Lozenges of Sanctified Sincerity_; very pretty
works of curates, scriveners, and schoolmasters. Marry, I remember
one (25) Seneca, Lucius Annaeus Seneca——
_Pietro._ Out upon him! he writ of temperance and fortitude, yet
lived like a voluptuous epicure, and died like an effeminate
coward.——
Haste thee to Florence: 30
Here, take our letters; see ’em seal’d; away!
Report in private to the honour’d duke
His daughter’s forc’d disgrace; tell him at length
We know too much: due compliments[2713] advance:
There’s naught that’s safe and sweet but ignorance. _Exit._ 35
[_Enter_[2714] BIANCA.
_Bil._ Madam, I am going ambassador for Florence; ’t will be great
charges to me.
_Bian._ No matter, my lord, you have the lease of two manors come out
next Christmas; you may lay your tenants on the greater rack (40) for
it: and when you come home again, I’ll teach you how you shall get
two hundred pounds a-year by your teeth.
_Bil._ How, madam?
_Bian._ Cut off so much from house-keeping: (45) that which is saved
by the teeth, you know, is got by the teeth.
_Bil._ ’Fore God, and so I may; I am in wondrous credit, lady.
_Bian._ See the use of flattery: I did ever (50) counsel you to
flatter greatness, and you have profited well: any man that will do
so shall be sure to be like your Scotch barnacle,[2715] now a block,
instantly a worm, and presently a great goose: this it is to rot and
putrefy in the bosom of greatness. 55
_Bil._ Thou art ever my politician. O, how happy is that old lord
that hath a politician to his young lady! I’ll have fifty gentlemen
shall attend upon me: marry, the most of them (60) shall be farmer’s
sons, because they shall bear their own charges: and they shall
go apparelled thus,—in sea-water-green suits, ash-colour cloaks,
watchet stockings, and popinjay-green feathers: will not the colours
do excellent? 65
_Bian._ Out upon ’t! they’ll look like citizens riding to their
friends at Whitsuntide; their apparel just so many several parishes.
_Bil._ I’ll have it so; and Passarello, my fool, shall go along with
me; marry, he shall be in velvet. 71
_Bian._ A fool in velvet!
_Bil._ Ay, ’t is common for your fool to wear satin; I’ll have mine
in velvet.
_Bian._ What will you wear, then, my lord? 75
_Bil._ Velvet too; marry, it shall be embroidered, because I’ll
differ from the fool somewhat. I am horribly troubled with the gout:
nothing grieves me, but that my doctor hath forbidden me wine, and
you know your ambassador (80) must drink. Didst thou ask thy doctor
what was good for the gout?
_Bian._ Yes; he said, ease, wine, and women, were good for it.
_Bil._ Nay, thou hast such a wit! What was good to cure it,
said he? 86
_Bian._ Why, the rack. All your empirics could never do the like cure
upon the gout the rack did in England, or your Scotch boot.[2716] The
French harlequin will instruct you. 90
_Bil._ Surely, I do wonder how thou, having for the most part of thy
lifetime been a country body, shouldst have so good a wit.
_Bian._ Who, I? Why, I have been a courtier thrice two months. 95
_Bil._ So have I this twenty year, and yet there was a
gentleman-usher called me coxcomb t’ other day, and to my face too:
was ’t not a backbiting rascal? I would I were better travelled, that
I might have been better acquainted with the fashions of several
countrymen; (101) but my secretary, I think, he hath sufficiently
instructed me.
_Bian._ How, my lord?
_Bil._ “Marry, my good lord,” quoth he, (105) “your lordship shall
ever find amongst a hundred Frenchmen forty hot-shots; amongst a
hundred Spaniards, three-score braggarts; amongst a hundred Dutchmen,
four-score drunkards; amongst an hundred Englishmen, four-score 110
and ten madmen; and amongst an hundred Welshmen”——
_Bian._ What, my lord?
_Bil._ “Four-score and nineteen gentlemen.”[2717]
_Bian._ But since you go about a sad embassy. I would have you go in
black, my lord. 116
_Bil._ Why, dost think I cannot mourn, unless I wear my hat in
cypress,[2718] like an alderman’s heir? That’s vile, very old, in
faith. 119
_Bian._ I’ll learn of you shortly: O, we should have a fine gallant
of you, should not I instruct you! How will you bear yourself when
you come into the Duke of Florence’ court?
_Bil._ Proud enough, and ’t will do well enough. As I walk up and
down the chamber, I’ll (125) spit frowns about me, have a strong
perfume in my jerkin, let my beard grow to make me look terrible,
salute no man beneath the fourth button; and ’t will do excellent.
_Bian._ But there is a very beautiful lady (130) there; how will you
entertain her?
_Bil._ I’ll tell you that, when the lady hath entertained me: but to
satisfy thee, here comes the fool.
_Enter_ PASSARELLO.
Fool, thou shalt stand for the fair lady. 135
_Pass._ Your fool will stand for your lady most willingly and most
uprightly.
_Bil._ I’ll salute her in Latin.
_Pass._ O, your fool can understand no Latin.
_Bil._ Ay. but your lady can. 140
_Pass._ Why, then, if your lady take down your fool, your fool will
stand no longer for your lady.
_Bil._ A pestilent fool! ’fore God, I think the world be turned
upside down too. 145
_Pass._ O, no, sir; for then your lady and all the ladies in the
palace should go with their heels upward, and that were a strange
sight, you know. 149
_Bil._ There be many will repine at my preferment.
_Pass._ O, ay, like the envy of an elder sister, that hath her
younger made a lady before her.
_Bil._ The duke is wondrous discontented.
_Pass._ Ay, and more melancholic than a (155) usurer having all his
money out at the death of a prince.
_Bil._ Didst thou see Madam Floria to-day?
_Pass._ Yes, I found her repairing her face today; the red upon the
white showed as if (160) her cheeks should have been served in for
two dishes of barberries in stewed broth, and the flesh to them a
woodcock.
_Bil._ A bitter fool![2719] Come, madam, this night thou shalt enjoy
me freely, and tomorrow (165) for Florence.
_Pass._ What a natural fool is he that would be a pair of
bodies[2720] to a woman’s petticoat, to be trussed and pointed to
them! Well, I’ll dog my lord; and the word is proper: for when I 170
fawn upon him, he feeds me; when I snap him by the fingers, he spits
in my mouth. If a dog’s death were not strangling, I had rather be
one than a serving-man; for the corruption of coin is either the
generation of a usurer or a lousy (175) beggar.
_Exeunt_ BIANCA _and_ PASSARELLO.]
SCENE II.[2721]
_Enter_ MALEVOLE _in some frieze gown, whilst_ BILIOSO _reads his
patent_.
_Mal._ I cannot sleep; my eyes’ ill-neighbouring lids
Will hold no fellowship. O thou pale sober night,
Thou that in sluggish fumes all sense dost steep;
Thou that giv’st all the world full leave to play,
Unbend’st the feebled veins of sweaty labour!
The galley-slave, that all the toilsome day 6
Tugs at his oar against the stubborn wave,
Straining his rugged veins, snores fast;
The stooping scythe-man, that doth barb[2722] the field,
Thou mak’st wink sure: in night all creatures sleep; 10
Only the malcontent, that ’gainst his fate
Repines and quarrels,—alas he’s goodman tell-clock!
His sallow jaw-bones sink with wasting moan;
Whilst others’ beds are down, his pillow’s stone.
_Bil._ Malevole! 15
_Mal._ Elder of Israel, thou honest defect of wicked nature and
obstinate ignorance, when did thy wife let thee lie with her?
_Bil._ I am going ambassador to Florence.
_Mal._ Ambassador! Now, for thy country’s (20) honour, prithee, do
not put up mutton and porridge i’ thy cloak-bag. Thy young lady wife
goes to Florence with thee too, does she not?
_Bil._ No, I leave her at the palace. 24
_Mal._ At the palace! Now, discretion shield, man! For God’s love,
let’s ha’ no more cuckolds! Hymen begins to put off his saffron
robe:[2723] keep thy wife i’ the state of grace. Heart o’ truth, I
would sooner leave my lady singled in a bordello than in the Genoa
palace: 30
Sin there appearing in her sluttish shape,
Would soon grow loathsome, even to blushes’ sense;
Surfeit would choke[2724] intemperate appetite,
Make the soul scent the rotten breath of lust.
When in an Italian lascivious palace, 35
A lady guardianless,
Left to the push of all allurement,
The strongest incitements to immodesty,
To have her bound, incens’d with wanton sweets,
Her veins fill’d high with heating delicates, 40
Soft rest, sweet music, amorous masquerers,
Lascivious banquets, sin itself gilt o’er,
Strong fantasy tricking up strange delights,
Presenting it dress’d pleasingly to sense,
Sense leading it unto the soul, confirm’d 45
With potent examples, impudent custom,
Entic’d by that great bawd, Opportunity;
Thus being prepar’d, clap to her easy ear
Youth in good clothes, well-shap’d, rich,
Fair-spoken, promising, noble, ardent, blood-full, 50
Witty, flattering,—Ulysses absent,
O Ithaca, can chastest Penelope hold out?
_Bil._ Mass, I’ll think on ’t. Farewell.
_Mal._ Farewell. Take thy wife with thee.
Farewell. _Exit_ BILIOSO.
To Florence; um! it may prove good, it may!
And we may once unmask our brows. 56
SCENE III.[2725]
_Enter_ COUNT CELSO.
_Celso._ My honour’d lord—,
_Mal._ Celso, peace! how is ’t? Speak low: pale fears
Suspect that hedges, walls, and trees, have ears:
Speak, how runs all?
_Celso._ I’ faith, my lord, that beast with many heads, 5
The staggering multitude, recoils apace:
Though thorough great men’s envy, most men’s malice,
Their much-intemperate heat hath banish’d you,
Yet now they find envy and malice ne’er
Produce faint reformation. 10
The duke, the too soft duke, lies as a block,
For which two tugging factions seem to saw;
But still the iron through the ribs they draw.
_Mal._ I tell thee, Celso, I have ever found
Thy breast most far from shifting cowardice 15
And fearful baseness: therefore I’ll tell thee, Celso,
I find the wind begins to come about;
I’ll shift my suit of fortune.
I know the Florentine, whose only force,[2726]
By marrying his proud daughter to this prince, 20
Both banish’d me and made this weak lord duke,
Will now forsake them all; be sure he will.
I’ll lie in ambush for conveniency,
Upon their severance to confirm myself.
_Celso._ Is Ferneze interr’d? 25
_Mal._ Of that at leisure: he lives.
_Celso._ But how stands Mendoza? How is ’t with him?
_Mal._ Faith, like a pair of snuffers, snibs filth in other men, and
retains it in himself. 30
_Celso._ He does fly from public notice, methinks, as a hare does
from hounds; the feet whereon he flies betray him.
_Mal._ I can track him, Celso.
O, my disguise fools him most powerfully! 35
For that I seem a desperate malcontent,
He fain would clasp with me: he’s the true slave
That will put on the most affected grace
For some vile second cause.
_Enter_ MENDOZA.
_Celso._ He’s here. 40
_Mal._ Give place. _Exit_ CELSO.
Illo, ho, ho, ho! art there, old truepenny? Where hast thou spent
thyself this morning? I see flattery in thine eyes, and damnation in
thy soul. Ha, ye huge rascal! 45
_Men._ Thou art very merry.
_Mal._ As a scholar, _futuens gratis_. How does the devil go with
thee now?
_Men._ Malevole, thou art an arrant knave.
_Mal._ Who, I? I have been a sergeant, (50) man.
_Men._ Thou art very poor.
_Mal._ As Job, an alchymist, or a poet.
_Men._ The duke hates thee.
_Mal._ As Irishmen do bum-cracks. 55
_Men._ Thou hast lost his amity.
_Mal._ As pleasing as maids lose their virginity.
_Men._ Would thou wert of a lusty spirit! Would thou wert noble! 60
_Mal._ Why, sure my blood gives me I am noble, sure I am of noble
kind; for I find myself possessed with all their qualities;—love
dogs, dice, and drabs, scorn wit in stuff-clothes; have beat my
shoemaker, knocked my seamstress, (65) cuckold[ed] my ’pothecary,
and undone my tailor. Noble! why not? since the stoic[2727] said,
_Neminem servum non ex regibus, neminem regem non ex servis esse
oriundum_; only busy Fortune touses, and the provident Chances 70
blend them together. I’ll give you a simile: did you e’er see a well
with two buckets, whilst one comes up full to be emptied, another
goes down empty to be filled? Such is the state of all humanity.
Why, look you, I may (75) be the son of some duke; for, believe me,
intemperate lascivious bastardy makes nobility doubtful: I have a
lusty daring heart, Mendoza. 79
_Men._ Let’s grasp; I do like thee infinitely. Wilt enact one thing
for me?
_Mal._ Shall I get by it? (MEN. _gives him his purse_.) Command me; I
am thy slave, beyond death and hell.
_Men._ Murder the duke. 85
_Mal._ My heart’s wish, my soul’s desire, my fantasy’s dream, my
blood’s longing, the only height of my hopes! How, O God, how! O, how
my united spirits throng together, to strengthen my resolve! 90
_Men._ The duke is now a-hunting.
_Mal._ Excellent, admirable, as the devil would have it! Lend me,
lend me, rapier, pistol, cross-bow: so, so, I’ll do it.
_Men._ Then we agree. 95
_Mal._ As Lent and fishmongers. Come, a-cap-a-pe, how? Inform.
_Men._ Know that this weak-brain’d duke, who only stands
On Florence’ stilts, hath out of witless zeal
Made me his heir, and secretly confirm’d 100
The wreath to me after his life’s full point.
_Mal._ Upon what merit?
_Men._ Merit! by heaven, I horn him.
Only Ferneze’s death gave me state’s life.
Tut, we are politic, he must not live now. 104
_Mal._ No reason, marry: but how must he die now?
_Men._ My utmost project is to murder the duke, that I might have
his state, because he makes me his heir; to banish the duchess, that
I might be rid of a cunning Lacedaemonian, (110) because I know
Florence will forsake her; and then to marry Maria, the banished
Duke Altofront’s wife, that her friends might strengthen me and my
faction: that is all, la. 115
_Mal._ Do you love Maria?
_Men._ Faith, no great affection, but as wise men do love great
women, to ennoble their blood and augment revenue. To accomplish this
now, thus now. The duke is in the forest, next the sea: (120) single
him, kill him, hurl him i’ the main, and proclaim thou sawest wolves
eat him.
_Mal._ Um! Not so good. Methinks when he is slain,
To get some hypocrite, some dangerous wretch
That’s muffled o(’e)r with feigned holiness, 125
To swear he heard the duke on some steep cliff
Lament his wife’s dishonour, and, in an agony
Of his heart’s torture, hurl’d his groaning sides
Into the swollen sea,—this circumstance
Well made sounds probable: and hereupon 130
The duchess——
_Men._ May well be banish’d;
O unpeerable invention! rare!
Thou god of policy! it honeys me.
_Mal._ Then fear not for the wife of Altofront;
I’ll close to her. 135
_Men._ Thou shalt, thou shalt. Our excellency is pleas’d:
Why wert not thou an emperor? When we
Are duke, I’ll make thee some great man, sure.
_Mal._ Nay. Make me some rich knave, and I’ll make myself
Some great man.
_Men._ In thee be all my spirit: 140
Retain ten souls, unite thy virtual powers:
Resolve; ha, remember greatness! Heart, farewell;
The fate of all my hopes in thee doth dwell. [_Exit._]
_Re-enter_ CELSO.
_Mal._ Celso, didst hear?—O heaven, didst hear
Such devilish mischief? Suffer’st thou the world 145
Carouse damnation even with greedy swallow,
And still dost wink, still does thy vengeance slumber?
If now thy brows are clear, when will they thunder? _Exeunt._
SCENE IV.[2728]
Enter PIETRO, FERRARDO, PREPASSO, _and_ THREE PAGES.
_Fer._ The dogs are at a fault.
_Cornets like horns._
_Pietro._ Would God nothing but the dogs were at it! Let the deer
pursue safety,[2729] the dogs follow the game, and do you follow the
dogs: as for me, ’t is unfit one beast should hunt another; (5) I ha’
one chaseth me: an ’t please you, I would be rid of ye a little.
_Fer._ Would your grief would, as soon as we, leave you to quietness!
_Pietro._ I thank you. 10
_Exeunt_ [FERRARDO _and_ PREPASSO].
Boy, what dost thou dream of now?
_1 Page._ Of a dry summer, my lord; for here’s a hot world towards:
but, my lord, I had a strange dream last night.
_Pietro._ What strange dream? 15
_1 Page._ Why, methought I pleased you with singing, and then I
dreamt that you gave me that short sword.
_Pietro._ Prettily begged: hold thee, I’ll prove thy dream true; take
’t. [_Giving sword._] 20
_1 Page._ My duty: but still I dreamt on, my lord; and methought, an
’t shall please your excellency, you would needs out of your royal
bounty give me that jewel in your hat.
_Pietro._ O, thou didst but dream, boy; do (25) not believe it:
dreams prove not always true; they may hold in a short sword, but
not in a jewel. But now, sir, you dreamt you had pleased me with
singing; make that true, as I ha’ made the other. 30
_1 Page._ Faith, my lord, I did but dream, and dreams, you say, prove
not always true; they may hold in a good sword, but not in a good
song. The truth is, I ha’ lost my voice.
_Pietro._ Lost thy voice! How? 35
_1 Page._ With dreaming, faith: but here ’s a couple of sirenical
rascals shall enchant ye. What shall they sing, my good lord?
_Pietro._ Sing of the nature of women: and then the song shall be
surely full of variety, (40) old crotchets, and most sweet closes; it
shall be humorous, grave, fantastic, amorous, melancholy, sprightly,
one in all, and all in one.
_1 Page._ All in one!
_Pietro._ By ’r lady, too many. Sing: my (45) speech grows culpable
of unthrifty idleness:[2730] sing.
_Song_ [_by_ 2 _and_ 3 Pages].
SCENE V.[2731]
[_To Pietro_] _Enter_ MALEVOLE, _with cross-bow and pistol_.
_Pietro._ Ah, so, so, sing. I am heavy: walk off; I shall talk in my
sleep: walk off. _Exeunt_ PAGES.
_Mal._ Brief, brief: who? The Duke! Good heaven, that fools
Should stumble upon greatness!—Do not sleep, duke; 4
Give ye good-morrow. I[2732] must be brief, duke;
I am fee’d to murder thee:—start not:—Mendoza,
Mendoza hir’d me; here ’s his gold, his pistol,
Cross-bow, [and] sword: ’t is all as firm as earth.
O fool, fool, choked with the common maze
Of easy idiots, credulity! 10
Make him thine heir! What, thy sworn murderer!
_Pietro._ O, can it be?
_Mal._ Can!
_Pietro._ Discover’d he not Ferneze?
_Mal._ Yes, but why? but why? For love to thee? 15
Much, much! To be reveng’d upon his rival,
Who had thrust his jaws awry;
Who being slain, suppos’d by thine own hands,
Defended by his sword, made thee most loathsome,
Him most gracious with thy loose princess: 20
Thou, closely[2733] yielding egress and regress to her,
Madest him heir; whose hot unquiet lust
Straight tous’d thy sheets, and now would seize thy state.
Politician! Wise man! Death! to be
Led to the stake like a bull by the horns; 25
To make even kindness cut a gentle throat!
Life, why art thou numb’d? Thou foggy dulness, speak:
Lives not more faith in a home-thrusting tongue
Than in those fencing tip-tap courtiers?
_Enter_ CELSO, _with a hermit’s gown and beard._
[_Pietro._][2734] Lord Malevole, if this be true—
_Mal._ If! Come, shade thee with this disguise. (31) If! Thou shalt
handle it; he shall thank thee for killing thyself. Come, follow my
directions, and thou shalt see strange sleights.
_Pietro._ World, whither wilt thou? 35
_Mal._ Why, to the devil. Come, the morn grows late:
A steady quickness is the soul of state. _Exeunt._
ACT IV
SCENE I.[2735]
_Enter_ MAQUERELLE, _knocking at the ladies’ door_.
_Maq._ Medam, medam, are you stirring, medam? If you be stirring,
medam,—if I thought I should disturb ye—
[_Enter_ Page.]
_Page._ My lady is up, forsooth.
_Maq._ A pretty boy, faith: how old art thou?
_Page._ I think fourteen. 6
_Maq._ Nay, an ye be in the teens—are ye a gentleman born? Do you
know me? My name is Medam Maquerelle; I lie in the old Cunny-court. 10
_Enter_ BIANCA _and_ EMILIA.
[_Page._] See, here the ladies.
_Bian._ A fair day to ye, Maquerelle.
_Emil._ Is the duchess up yet, sentinel?
_Maq._ O ladies, the most abominable mischance! O dear ladies the
most piteous disaster! (15) Ferneze was taken last night in the
duchess’ chamber. Alas, the duke catcht him and kill’d him!
_Bian._ Was he found in bed?
_Maq._ O, no; but the villanous certainty is, (20) the door was not
bolted, the tongue-tied hatch held his peace: so the naked troth is,
he was found in his shirt, whilst I, like an arrant beast, lay in
the outward chamber, heard nothing; and yet they came by me in the
dark, and (25) yet I felt them not, like a senseless creature as I
was. O beauties, look to your busk-points;[2736] if not chastely, yet
charily: be sure the door be bolted.—Is your lord gone to Florence?
_Bian._ Yes, Maquerelle. 30
_Maq._ I hope you ’ll find the discretion to purchase a fresh gown
’fore his return.—Now, by my troth, beauties, I would ha’ ye once
wise. He loves ye; pish! He is witty; bubble! Fair-proportioned; mew!
Nobly-born; wind! Let (35) this be still your fixed position: esteem
me every man according to his good gifts, and so ye shall ever remain
most worthy to be most dear ladies.
_Emil._ Is the duke returned from hunting yet? 40
_Maq._ They say not yet.
_Bian._ ’T is now in midst of day.
_Emil._ How bears the duchess with this blemish now?
_Maq._ Faith, boldly; strongly defies defame, as one that has a
duke to her father. And (45) there ’s a note to you: be sure of a
stout friend in a corner, that may always awe your husband. Mark the
behaviour of the duchess now: she dares defame, cries, “Duke, do what
thou canst, I ’ll quit mine honour:” nay, as one (50) confirmed in
her own virtue against ten thousand mouths that mutter her disgrace,
she ’s presently for dances.
_Enter_ FERRARDO.
_Bian._ For dances!
_Maq._ Most true. 55
_Emil._ Most strange. See, here ’s my servant,[2737] young Ferrardo.
How many servants thinkest thou I have, Maquerelle?[2738]
_Maq._ The more, the merrier. ’T was well (59) said, use your
servants as you do your smocks; have many, use one, and change often;
for that ’s most sweet and courtlike.
_Fer._ Save ye, fair ladies! Is the duke return’d?
_Bian._ Sweet sir, no voice of him as yet in court.
_Fer._ ’T is very strange. 65
_Bian._ And how like you my servant, Maquerelle?
_Maq._ I think he could hardly draw Ulysses’ bow; but, by my
fidelity, were his nose narrower, his eyes broader, his hands
thinner, (69) his lips thicker, his legs bigger, his feet lesser, his
hair blacker, and his teeth whiter, he were a tolerable sweet youth,
i’ faith. And he will come to my chamber, I will read him the fortune
of his beard. _Cornets sound._ 74
_Fer._ Not yet return’d! I fear—but the duchess approacheth.
SCENE II.[2739]
_Enter_ MENDOZA _supporting the_ Duchess _and_ GUERRINO: _the ladies
that are on the stage rise_: FERRARDO _ushers in the_ Duchess, _and
then takes a lady to tread a measure_.[2740]
_Aur._ We will dance: music!—we will dance.
_Guer. Les quanto_,[2741] lady, _Pensez bien_, _Passa regis_, or
_Bianca’s brawl_?
_Aur._ We have forgot the brawl.
_Fer._ So soon? ’T is wonder. 5
_Guer._ Why, ’t is but two singles on the left, two on the right,
three doubles forward, a traverse of six round: do this twice, three
singles side, galliard trick-of-twenty, coranto-pace; a figure of
eight, three singles broken down, (10) come up, meet, two doubles,
fall back, and then honour.
_Aur._ O Daedalus, thy maze! I have quite forgot it.
_Maq._ Trust me, so have I, saving the falling-back,
and then honour. 16
_Enter_ PREPASSO.
_Aur._ Music, music!
_Prep._ Who saw the duke? the duke?
_Enter_ EQUATO.
_Aur._ Music!
_Equato._ The duke? is the duke returned? 20
_Aur._ Music!
_Enter_ CELSO.
_Celso._ The duke is either quite invisible, or else is not.
_Aur._ We are not pleased with your intrusion upon our private
retirement; we are not (25) pleased: you have forgot yourselves.
_Enter a_ Page.
_Celso._ Boy, thy master? Where’s the duke?
_Page._ Alas, I left him burying the earth with his spread joyless
limbs: he told me he was heavy, would sleep; bade me walk off, 30
for that the strength of fantasy oft made him talk in his dreams. I
straight obeyed, nor ever saw him since: but whereso’er he is, he ’s
sad.
_Aur._ Music, sound high, as is our heart! Sound high! 35
SCENE III.[2742]
[_To them_] _enter_ MALEVOLE, _and_ PIETRO _disguised like an hermit_.
_Mal._ The duke,—peace!—the duke is dead.
_Aur._ Music!
_Mal._ Is ’t music?
_Men._ Give proof.
_Fer._ How? 5
_Celso._ Where?
_Prep._ When?
_Mal._ Rest in peace, as the duke does: quietly sit: for my own part,
I beheld him but dead; that ’s all. Marry, here ’s one can give you 10
a more particular account of him.
_Men._ Speak, holy father, nor let any brow
Within this presence fright thee from the truth:
Speak confidently and freely.
_Aur._ We attend.
_Pietro._ Now had the mounting sun’s all-ripening wings 15
Swept the cold sweat of night from earth’s dank breast,
When I, whom men call Hermit of the Rock,
Forsook my cell, and clambered up a cliff,
Against whose base the heady Neptune dash’d
His high-curl’d brows; there ’t was I eas’d my limbs: 20
When, lo! my entrails melted with the moan
Some one, who far ’bove me was climb’d, did make—
I shall offend.
_Men._ Not.
_Aur._ On. 25
_Pietro._ Methinks I hear him yet:—“O female faith!
Go sow the ingrateful sand, and love a woman!
And do I live to be the scoff of men?
To be their wittol-cuckold, even to hug
My poison? Thou knowest, O truth! 30
Sooner hard steel will melt with southern wind,
A seaman’s whistle calm the ocean,
A town on fire be extinct with tears,
Than women, vow’d to blushless impudence,
With sweet behaviour and soft minioning 35
Will turn from that where appetite is fix’d.
O powerful blood! how thou dost slave their soul!
I wash’d an Ethiop, who, for recompense,
Sullied my name: and must I, then, be forc’d 39
To walk, to live thus black? Must! must! fie!
He that can bear with ’must,’ he cannot die.”
With that he sigh’d so passionately deep,
That the dull air even groan’d: at last he cries,
“Sink shame in seas, sink deep enough!” so dies;
For then I viewed his body fall, and souse 45
Into the foamy main. O, then I saw,
That which methinks I see, it was the duke;
Whom straight the nicer-stomach’d sea belch ’d up:
But then——
_Mal._ Then came I in; but, ’las, all was too late! 50
For even straight he sunk.
_Pietro._ Such was the duke’s sad fate.
_Celso._ A better fortune to our Duke Mendoza!
_Omnes._ Mendoza! _Cornets flourish._
_Men._ A guard, a guard!
_Enter a_ Guard.
We, full of hearty tears,
For our good father’s loss, 55
(For so we well may call him
Who did beseech your loves for our succession),
Cannot so lightly over-jump his death
As leave his woes revengeless.—(_To_ AURELIA.) Woman of shame,
We banish thee for ever to the place 60
From whence this good man comes; nor permit,
On death, unto thy body any ornament;
But, base as was thy life, depart away.
_Aur._ Ungrateful!
_Men._ Away! 65
_Aur._ Villain, hear me!
PREPASSO _and_ GUERRINO _lead away_ AURELIA.
_Men._ Begone! My lords,
Address to[2743] public council; ’t is most fit:
The train of fortune is borne up by wit.
Away! our presence shall be sudden; haste. 70
_All depart saving_ MENDOZA, MALEVOLE, _and_ PIETRO.
_Mal._ Now, you egregious devil! Ha, ye murdering politician! How
dost, duke? How dost look now? Brave duke, i’ faith.
_Men._ How did you kill him?
_Mal._ Slatted his brains out, then soused him in the briny sea. 76
_Men._ Brained him, and drowned him too?
_Mal._ O ’t was best, sure work; for he that strikes a great man, let
him strike home, or else ’ware, he’ll prove no man. Shoulder not 80
a huge fellow, unless you may be sure to lay him in the kennel.
_Men._ A most sound brain-pan! I’ll make you both emperors.
_Mal._ Make us Christians, make us Christians.
_Men._ I’ll hoist ye, ye shall mount. 86
_Mal._ To the gallows, say ye? Come: _praemium incertum petit, certum
scelus_.[2744] How stands the progress?
_Men._ Here, take my ring unto the citadel; 90
[_Giving ring._]
Have entrance to Maria, the grave duchess
Of banish’d Altofront. Tell her we love her;
Omit no circumstance to grace our person: do ’t.
_Mal._ I’ll make an excellent pander: duke, farewell; ’dieu, adieu,
duke. 95
_Men._ Take Maquerelle with thee; for ’t is found
None cuts a diamond but a diamond.
_Exit_ MALEVOLE.
Hermit,
Thou art a man for me, my confessor:
O thou selected spirit, born for my good,
Sure thou wouldst make 100
An excellent elder in a deform’d church.
Come, we must be inward,[2745] thou and I all one.
_Pietro._ I am glad I was ordained for ye.
_Men._ Go to, then; thou must know that Malevole is a strange
villain; dangerous, very (105) dangerous: you see how broad ’a
speaks; a gross-jawed rogue. I would have thee poison him: he’s like
a corn upon my great toe, I cannot go for him; he must be cored out,
he must. Wilt do ’t, ha? 110
_Pietro._ Anything, anything.
_Men._ Heart of my life! thus, then. To the citadel;
Thou shalt consort with this Malevole;
There being at supper, poison him. It shall be laid
Upon Maria, who yields love or dies. 115
Send quick.
_Pietro._ Like lightning: good deeds crawl, but mischief flies.
_Exit._
_Re-enter_ MALEVOLE.
_Mal._ Your devilship’s ring has no virtue: the buff-captain, the
sallow Westphalian gammon-faced zaza cries, “Stand out!” must have a
stiffer warrant, or no pass into the castle (121) of comfort.
_Men._ Command our sudden letter.—Not enter! sha’t: what place is
there in Genoa but thou shalt? Into my heart, into my very heart:
come, let’s love: we must love, we two, soul (125) and body.
_Mal._ How didst like the hermit? A strange hermit, sirrah.
_Men._ A dangerous fellow, very perilous. He must die. 131
_Mal._ Ay, he must die.
_Men._ Thou’st kill him. We are wise; we must be wise.
_Mal._ And provident. 135
_Men._ Yea, provident: beware an hypocrite;
A churchman once corrupted. O, avoid!
A fellow that makes religion his stalking-horse.[2746]
He breeds a plague. Thou shalt poison him.
_Mal._ O, ’tis wondrous necessary: how? 140
_Men._ You both go jointly to the citadel;
There sup, there poison him: and Maria,
Because she is our opposite,[2747] shall bear
The sad suspect; on which she dies or loves us.
_Mal._ I run. _Exit._
_Men._ We that are great, our sole self-good still moves us. 146
They shall die both, for their deserts crave more
Than we can recompense: their presence still
Imbraids[2748] our fortunes with beholdingness,
Which we abhor; like deed, not doer: then conclude, 150
They live not to cry out “Ingratitude!”
One stick burns t’ other, steel cuts steel alone:
’Tis good trust few; but, O, ’tis best trust none! _Exit._
SCENE IV.[2749]
_Enter_ MALEVOLE _and_ PIETRO, _still disguised, at several doors_.
_Mal._ How do you? How dost duke?
_Pietro._ O, let
The last day fall! drop, drop on our curs’d heads!
Let heaven unclasp itself, vomit forth flames.
_Mal._ O, do not rave, do not turn player; (5) there’s more of them
than can well live one by another already. What, art an infidel still?
_Pietro._ I am amazed, struck in a swoon with wonder: I am commanded
to poison thee—
_Mal._ I am commanded to poison thee at (10) supper—
_Pietro._ At supper—
_Mal._ In the citadel—
_Pietro._ In the citadel.
_Mal._ Cross capers! tricks! Truth o’ (15) heaven! he would discharge
us as boys do eldern guns one pellet to strike out another. Of what
faith art now?
_Pietro._ All is damnation; wickedness extreme: There is no faith in
man. 20
_Mal._ In none but usurers and brokers; they deceive no man: men take
’em for blood-suckers, and so they are. Now, God deliver me from my
friends!
_Pietro._ Thy friends! 25
_Mal._ Yes, from my friends; for from mine enemies I’ll deliver
myself. O, cut-throat friendship is the rankest villainy! Mark this
Mendoza; mark him for a villain: but heaven will send a plague upon
him for a rogue. 30
_Pietro._ O world!
_Mal._ World! ’tis the only region of death, the greatest shop of the
devil; the cruelest prison of men, out of the which none pass without
paying their dearest breath for a fee; (35) there’s nothing perfect
in it but extreme, extreme calamity, such as comes yonder.
SCENE V.[2750]
_Enter_ AURELIA, _two halberts before and two after, supported by_
CELSO _and_ FERRARDO; AURELIA _in base mourning attire_.
_Aur._ To banishment! led on to banishment!
_Pietro._ Lady, the blessedness of repentance to you!
_Aur._ Why, why, I can desire nothing but death,
Nor deserve anything but hell. 5
If heaven should give sufficiency of grace
To clear my soul, it would make heaven graceless:
My sins would make the stock of mercy poor;
O, they would tire heaven’s goodness to reclaim them!
Judgment is just, yet from that vast villain, 10
But, sure, he shall not miss sad punishment
’Fore he shall rule.—On to my cell of shame!
_Pietro._ My cell ’tis, lady; where, instead of masks,
Music, tilts, tourneys, and such court-like shows,
The hollow murmur of the checkless winds 15
Shall groan again; whilst the unquiet sea
Shakes the whole rock with foamy battery.
There usherless the air comes in and out:
The rheumy vault will force your eyes to weep,
Whilst you behold true desolation. 20
A rocky barrenness shall pain your eyes,
Where all at once one reaches where he stands,
With brows the roof, both walls with both his hands.
_Aur._ It is too good.—Bless’d spirit of my lord,
O, in what orb so’er thy soul is thron’d, 25
Behold me worthily most miserable!
O, let the anguish of my contrite spirit
Entreat some reconciliation!
If not, O, joy, triumph in my just grief!
Death is the end of woes and tears relief. 30
_Pietro._ Belike your lord not lov’d you, was unkind.
_Aur._ O heaven!
As the soul loves[2751] the body, so lov’d he:
’T was death to him to part my presence, heaven
To see me pleas’d. 35
Yet I, like a wretch given o’er to hell,
Brake all the sacred rites of marriage,
To clip[2752] a base ungentle faithless villain;
O God! a very pagan reprobate—
What should I say? ungrateful, throws me out, 40
For whom I lost soul, body, fame, and honour.
But ’t is most fit: why should a better fate
Attend on any who forsake chaste sheets;
Fly the embrace of a devoted heart,
Join’d by a solemn vow ’fore God and man, 45
To taste the brackish[2753] flood[2754] of beastly lust
In an adulterous touch? O ravenous immodesty!
Insatiate impudence of appetite!
Look, here ’s your end; for mark, what sap in dust,
What good in sin,[2755] even so much love in lust. 50
Joy to thy ghost, sweet lord! pardon to me!
_Celso._ ’T is the duke’s pleasure this night you rest in court.
_Aur._ Soul, lurk in shades; run, shame, from brightsome skies;
In night the blind man misses not his eyes. 55
_Exit_ [_with_ CELSO, FERRARDO, _and halberts_].
_Mal._ Do not weep, kind cuckold: take comfort, man; thy betters have
been beccos:[2756] Agamemnon, emperor of all the merry Greeks, that
tickled all the true Trojans, was a cornuto; Prince Arthur, that cut
off twelve kings’ (60) beards, was a cornuto; Hercules, whose back
bore up heaven, and got forty wenches with child in one night,—
_Pietro._ Nay, ’t was fifty.
_Mal._ Faith, forty ’s enow, o’ conscience,—yet (65) was a cornuto.
Patience; mischief grows proud: be wise.
_Pietro._ Thou pinchest too deep; art too keen upon me.
_Mal._ Tut, a pitiful surgeon makes a dangerous (70) sore; I ’ll
tent[2757] thee to the ground. Thinkest I ’ll sustain myself by
flattering thee, because thou art a prince? I had rather follow a
drunkard, and live by licking up his vomit, than by servile
flattery. 75
_Pietro._ Yet great men ha’ done ’t.
_Mal._ Great slaves fear better than love, born naturally for a
coal-basket;[2758] though the common usher of princes’ presence,
Fortune, ha’ blindly given them better place. I am (80) vowed to be
thy affliction.
_Pietro._ Prithee, be:
I love much misery, and be thou son to me.
_Mal._ Because you are an usurping duke.—
_Enter_ BILIOSO.
Your lordship’s well returned from Florence.
_Bil._ Well return’d, I praise my horse. 85
_Mal._ What news from the Florentines?
_Bil._ I will conceal the great duke’s pleasure; only this was his
charge: his pleasure is, that his daughter die; Duke Pietro be
banished (90) for publishing[2759] his blood’s dishonour; and that
Duke Altofront be re-accepted. This is all: but I hear Duke Pietro is
dead.
_Mal._ Ay, and Mendoza is duke: what will you do? 95
_Bil._ Is Mendoza strongest?
_Mal._ Yet he is.
_Bil._ Then yet I ’ll hold with him.
_Mal._ But if that Altofront should turn straight again? 100
_Bil._ Why, then, I would turn straight again.
’T is good run still with him that has most might:
I had rather stand with wrong, than fall with right.
_Mal._ What religion will you be of now?
_Bil._ Of the Duke’s religion, when I know what it is. 106
_Mal._ O Hercules!
_Bil._ Hercules! Hercules was the son of Jupiter and Alcmena.
_Mal._ Your lordship is a very wit-all. 110
_Bil._ Wittal!
_Mal._ Aye, all-wit.
_Bil._ Amphitryo was a cuckold.
_Mal._ Your lordship swears; your young lady will get you a cloth for
your old worship’s (115) brows. (_Exit_ BILIOSO.) Here’s a fellow to
be damn’d: this is his inviolable maxim.—flatter the greatest and
oppress the least: a whoreson flesh-fly, that still knaws upon the
lean galled backs. 120
_Pietro._ Why dost, then, salute him?
_Mal._ Faith, as bawds go to church, for fashion sake. Come, be
not confounded; thou ’rt but in danger to lose a dukedom. Think
this:—this earth is the only grave and Golgotha (125) wherein all
things that live must rot; ’t is but the draught wherein the heavenly
bodies discharge their corruption; the very muck-hill on which the
sublunary orbs cast their excrements: man is the slime of this dung
pit, (130) and princes are the governors of these men; for, for
our souls, they are as free as emperors, all of one piece; there
goes but a pair of shears betwixt[2760] an emperor and the son of a
bagpiper; only the dying, dressing, pressing, glossing, (135) makes
the difference.
Now, what art thou like to lose?
A gaoler’s office to keep men in bonds,
Whilst toil and treason all life’s good confounds.
_Pietro._ I here renounce for ever regency: 140
O Altofront, I wrong thee to supplant thy right,
To trip thy heels up with a devilish sleight!
For which I now from throne am thrown: world-tricks abjure;
For vengeance, though ’t comes slow, yet it comes sure.
O, I am chang’d! for here, ’fore the dread power, 145
In true contrition, I do dedicate
My breath to solitary holiness,
My lips to prayer, and my breast’s care shall be,
Restoring Altofront to regency.
_Mal._ Thy vows are heard, and we accept thy faith.
_Undisguiseth himself._
_Re-enter_ FERNEZE _and_ CELSO.
Banish amazement: come, we four must stand 151
Full shock of fortune: be not so wonder-stricken.
_Pietro._ Doth Ferneze live?
_Fer._ For your pardon.
_Pietro._ Pardon and love. Give leave to recollect 155
My thoughts-dispers’d in wild astonishment.
My vows stand fix’d in heaven, and from hence
I crave all love and pardon.
_Mal._ Who doubts of providence,
That sees this change? A hearty faith to all!
He needs must rise who can no lower fall: 161
For still impetuous vicissitude
Touseth the world; then let no maze intrude
Upon your spirits: wonder not I rise;
For who can sink that close can temporize? 165
The time grows ripe for action: I ’ll detect
My privat’st plot, lest ignorance fear suspect.
Let ’s close to counsel, leave the rest to fate:
Mature discretion is the life of state. _Exeunt._
ACT V
[SCENE Ia.[2761]
_Enter_ BILIOSO _and_ PASSARELLO.
_Bil._ Fool, how dost thou like my calf in a long stocking?
_Pass._ An excellent calf, my lord.
_Bil._ This calf hath been a reveller this twenty year. When Monsieur
Gundi lay here ambassador, (5) I could have carried a lady up and
down at arm’s end in a platter; and I can tell you, there were those
at that time who, to try the strength of a man’s back and his arm,
would be coistered.[2762] I have measured calves with (10) most of
the palace, and they come nothing near me; besides, I think there
be not many armours in the arsenal will fit me, especially for the
headpiece. I’ll tell thee—
_Pass._ What, my lord? 15
_Bil._ I can eat stewed broth as it comes seething off the fire; or
a custard as it comes reeking out of the oven; and I think there are
not many lords can do it. A good pomander,[2763] a little decayed in
the scent; but six grains of musk, (20) ground with rose-water, and
tempered with a little civet, shall fetch her again presently.
_Pass._ O, ay, as a bawd with aqua-vitae.
_Bil._ And, what, dost thou rail upon the ladies as thou wert wont? 25
_Pass._ I were better roast a live cat, and might do it with more
safety. I am as secret to [the] thieves as their painting. There ’s
Maquerelle, oldest bawd and a perpetual beggar—did you never hear of
her trick to be known in the (30) city?
_Bil._ Never.
_Pass._ Why, she gets all the picture-makers to draw her picture;
when they have done, she most courtly finds fault with them one after
(35) another, and never fetcheth them. They, in revenge of this,
execute her in pictures as they do in Germany, and hang her in their
shops. By this means is she better known to the stinkards[2764] than
if she had been five times carted. 40
_Bil._ ’Fore God, an excellent policy.
_Pass._ Are there any revels to-night, my lord?
_Bil._ Yes.
_Pass._ Good my lord, give me leave to break a fellow’s pate that
hath abused me. 45
_Bil._ Whose pate?
_Pass._ Young Ferrardo, my lord.
_Bil._ Take heed, he’s very valiant; I have known him fight eight
quarrels in five days, believe it. 50
_Pass._ O, is he so great a quarreller? Why, then, he’s an arrant
coward.
_Bil._ How prove you that?
_Pass._ Why, thus. He that quarrels seeks to fight; and he that seeks
to fight seeks to (55) die; and he that seeks to die seeks never to
fight more; and he that will quarrel, and seeks means never to answer
a man more, I think he ’s a coward.
_Bil._ Thou canst prove anything. 60
_Pass._ Anything but a rich knave; for I can flatter no man.
_Bil._ Well, be not drunk, good fool: I shall see you anon in the
presence. _Exeunt._]
SCENE I.[2765]
_Enter, from opposite sides_, MALEVOLE _and_ MAQUERELLE, _singing_.
_Mal._ “The Dutchman for a drunkard,”—
_Maq._ “The Dane for golden locks,”—
_Mal._ “The Irishman for usquebaugh,”—
_Maq._ “The Frenchman for the ( ).”
_Mal._ O, thou art a blessed creature! Had (5) I a modest woman to
conceal, I would put her to thy custody; for no reasonable creature
would ever suspect her to be in thy company. Ah, thou art a melodious
Maquerelle,—thou picture of a woman, and substance of a beast!
[[2766] _Enter_ PASSARELLO _with wine_.
_Maq._ O fool, will ye be ready anon to go (11) with me to the
revels? The hall will be so pestered[2767] anon.
_Pass._ Ay, as the country is with attorneys.
_Mal._ What hast thou there, fool? 15
_Pass._ Wine; I have learned to drink since I went with my lord
ambassador: I ’ll drink to the health of Madam Maquerelle,
_Mal._ Why, thou wast wont to rail upon her.
_Pass._ Ay; but since I borrowed money of (20) her, I ’ll drink
to her health now; as gentlemen visit brokers, or as knights send
venison to the city, either to take up more money, or to procure
longer forbearance.
_Mal._ Give me the bowl. I drink a health (25) to Altofront, our
deposed duke. [_Drinks._]
_Pass._ I’ll take it [_drinks_]:—so. Now I ’ll begin a health to
Madam Maquerelle. [_Drinks._]
_Mal._ Pooh! I will not pledge her.
_Pass._ Why, I pledged your lord. 30
_Mal._ I care not.
_Pass._ Not pledge Madam Maquerelle! Why, then, will I spew up your
lord again with this fool’s finger.
_Mal._ Hold; I ’ll take it. [_Drinks._]
_Maq._ Now thou hast drunk my health, (36) fool, I am friends with
thee.
_Pass._ Art? art?
When Griffon[2768] saw the reconciled quean
Offering about his neck her arms to cast, 40
He threw off sword and heart’s malignant spleen,[2769]
And lovely her below the loins embrac’d.—
Adieu, Madam Maquerelle. _Exit._]
_Mal._ And how dost thou think o’ this transformation of state now? 45
_Maq._ Verily, very well; for we women always note, the falling of
the one is the rising of the other; some must be fat, some must
be lean; some must be fools, and some must be lords; some must be
knaves, and some must be officers; some (50) must be beggars, some
must be knights; some must be cuckolds, and some must be citizens. As
for example, I have two court-dogs, the most fawning curs, the one
called Watch, the other Catch: now I, like Lady Fortune, sometimes
love this dog, sometimes raise that (56) dog, sometimes favour Watch,
most commonly fancy Catch. Now, that dog which I favour I feed; and
he ’s so ravenous, that what I give he never chaws it, gulps it down
whole, without any relish of what he has, but with a greedy 61
expectation of what he shall have. The other dog now—
_Mal._ No more dog, sweet Maquerelle, no more dog. And what hope hast
thou of the (65) Duchess Maria? Will she stoop to the duke’s lure?
Will she come, thinkest?
_Maq._ Let me see, where ’s the sign now? Ha’ ye e’er a calendar?
Where ’s the sign, trow you? 70
_Mal._ Sign! why is there any moment in that?
_Maq._ O, believe me, a most secret power: look ye, a Chaldean or an
Assyrian, I am sure ’t was a most sweet Jew, told me, court any woman
in the right sign, you shall not miss. But you must take her in the
right vein (76) then; as, when the sign is in Pisces, a fishmonger’s
wife is very sociable; in Cancer, a precisian’s wife is very
flexible; in Capricorn, a merchant’s wife hardly holds out; in Libra,
a lawyer’s wife is very tractable, especially if (81) her husband be
at the term; only in Scorpio ’t is very dangerous meddling. Has the
duke sent any jewel, any rich stones?
_Enter_ CAPTAIN.
_Mal._ Ay, I think those are the best signs to (85) take a lady
in. By your favour, signior, I must discourse with the Lady Maria,
Altofront’s duchess; I must enter for the duke.
_Capt._ She here shall give you interview. I (89) received the
guardship of this citadel from the good Altofront, and for his use
I’ll keep ’t, till I am of no use.
_Mal._ Wilt thou? O heavens, that a Christian should be found in
a buff-jerkin! Captain Conscience, I love thee, captain. (_Exit_
Captain.) (95) We attend. And what hope hast thou of this duchess’
easiness?
_Maq._ ’T will go hard, she was a cold creature ever; she hated
monkeys, fools, jesters, (99) and gentlemen-ushers extremely; she
had the vile trick on ’t, not only to be truly modestly honourable
in her own conscience, but she would avoid the least wanton carriage
that might incur suspect; as, God bless me, she had almost brought
bed-pressing out of fashion; I (105) could scarce get a fine for the
lease of a lady’s favour once in a fortnight.
_Mal._ Now, in the name of immodesty, how many maidenheads has thou
brought to the block? 110
_Maq._ Let me see: heaven forgive us our misdeeds!—Here’s the
duchess.
SCENE II.[2770]
[_To them_] _enter_ MARIA _with_ Captain.
_Mal._ God bless thee, lady!
_Maria._ Out of thy company!
_Mal._ We have brought thee tender of a husband.
_Maria._ I hope I have one already. 5
_Maq._ Nay, by mine honour, madam, as good ha’ ne’er a husband as a
banished husband; he’s in another world now. I ’ll tell ye, lady, I
have heard of a sect that maintained, when the husband was asleep the
wife might lawfully (10) entertain another man, for then her husband
was as dead; much more when he is banished.
_Maria._ Unhonest creature! 14
_Maq._ Pish, honesty is but an art to seem so:
Pray ye, what ’s honesty, what ’s constancy,
But fables feign’d, odd old fools’ chat, devis’d
By jealous fools to wrong our liberty?
_Mal._ Molly, he that loves thee is a duke, Mendoza; he will maintain
thee royally, love (20) thee ardently, defend thee powerfully, marry
thee sumptuously, and keep thee in despite of Rosicleer[2771] or
Donzel del Phebo. There’s jewels: if thou wilt, so; if not, so.
_Maria._ Captain, for God’s love, save poor wretchedness 25
From tyranny of lustful insolence!
Enforce me in the deepest dungeon dwell,
Rather than here; here round about is hell.—
O my dear’st Altofront! where’er thou breathe,
Let my soul sink into the shades beneath, 30
Before I stain thine honour! ’T is[2772] thou has ’t,
And long as I can die, I will live chaste.
_Mal._ ’Gainst him that can enforce how vain is strife!
_Maria._ She that can be enforc’d has ne’er a knife:
She that through force her limbs with lust enrolls, 35
Wants Cleopatra’s asps and Portia’s coals.
God amend you! _Exit with_ Captain.
_Mal._ Now, the fear of the devil for ever go with thee!—Maquerelle,
I tell thee, I have found an honest woman: faith, I perceive, 40
when all is done, there is of women, as of all other things, some
good, most bad; some saints, some sinners, for as nowadays no
courtier but has his mistress, no captain but has his cockatrice, 44
no cuckold but has his horns, and no fool but has his feather;
even so, no woman but has her weakness and feather too, no sex but
has his—I can hunt the letter no farther.—(_Aside._) O God, how
loathsome this toying is to me! That (49) a duke should be forced to
fool it! Well, _stultorum plena sunt omnia:_[2773] better play the
fool lord than be the fool lord.—Now, where’s your sleights, Madam
Maquerelle?
_Maq._ Why, are ye ignorant that ’t is said a squeamish affected
niceness is natural to (55) women, and that the excuse of their
yielding is only, forsooth, the difficult obtaining? You must put her
to ’t: women are flax, and will fire in a moment.
_Mal._ Why, was the flax put into thy mouth, and yet thou— 60
Thou set fire, thou inflame her!
_Maq._ Marry, but I’ll tell ye now, you were too hot.
_Mal._ The fitter to have inflamed the flax, woman. 65
_Maq._ You were too boisterous, spleeny, for, indeed—
_Mal._ Go, go, thou art a weak pandress; now I see,
Sooner earth’s fire heaven itself shall waste, 69
Than all with heat can melt a mind that’s chaste.
Go; thou the duke’s lime-twig! I’ll make the duke turn thee out of
thine office: what, not get one touch of hope, and had her at such
advantage! 74
_Maq._ Now, o’ my conscience, now I think in my discretion, we did
not take her in the right sign; the blood was not in the true vein,
sure. _Exit._
SCENE III.
[_Enter_[2774] BILIOSO.
_Bil._ Make way there! The duke returns from the
enthronement.—Malevole—
_Mal._ Out, rogue!
_Bil._ Malevole,—
_Mal._ “Hence, ye gross-jawed, peasantly (5)—out, go!”[2775]
_Bil._ Nay, sweet Malevole, since my return I hear you are become
the thing I always prophesied would be,—an advanced virtue, a
worthily-employed faithfulness, a man o’ grace, (10) dear friend.
Come; what! _Si quoties peccant homines_[2776]—if as often as
courtiers play the knaves, honest men should be angry—why, look ye,
we must collogue[2777] sometimes, forswear sometimes. 15
_Mal._ Be damned sometimes.
_Bil._ Right: _nemo omnibus horis sapit_; “no man can be honest at
all hours:” necessity often depraves virtue.
_Mal._ I will commend thee to the duke. 20
_Bil._ Do: let us be friends, man.
_Mal._ And knaves, man.
_Bil._ Right: let us prosper and purchase: our lordships shall live,
and our knavery be forgotten. 25
_Mal._ He that by any ways gets riches, his means never shames him.
_Bil._ True.
_Mal._ For impudency and faithlessness are the main stays to
greatness. 30
_Bil._ By the Lord, thou art a profound lad.
_Mal._ By the Lord, thou art a perfect knave: out, ye ancient
damnation!
_Bil._ Peace, peace! and thou wilt not be a friend to me as I am a
knave, be not a knave to me as I am thy friend, and disclose me.
Peace! cornets!] 37
_Enter_ PREPASSO _and_ FERRARDO, two Pages _with lights_, CELSO _and_
EQUATO, MENDOZA _in duke’s robes_, _and_ GUERRINO.
_Men._ On, on; leave us, leave us.
_Exeunt all saving_ MALEVOLE [_and_ MENDOZA].
Stay, where is the hermit?
_Mal._ With Duke Pietro, with Duke Pietro. 40
_Men._ Is he dead? Is he poisoned?
_Mal._ Dead, as the duke is.
_Men._ Good, excellent: he will not blab: secureness lives in
secrecy. Come hither, come hither. 45
_Mal._ Thou hast a certain strong villainous scent about thee my
nature cannot endure.
_Men._ Scent, man! What returns Maria, what answer to our suit?
_Mal._ Cold, frosty; she is obstinate. 50
_Men._ Then she’s but dead; ’t is resolute, she dies:
“Black deed only through black deed safely flies.”
_Mal._ Pooh! _per scelera semper sceleribus tutum est iter_.[2778]
_Men._ What, art a scholar? Art a politician? Sure, thou art an
arrant knave. 56
_Mal._ Who, I? I ha’ been twice an under-sheriff, man.[2779]
[Well, I will go rail upon some great man, that I may purchase the
bastinado, or else go marry some rich Genoan lady, and instantly go
travel.
_Men._ Travel, when thou art married? 62
_Mal._ Ay, ’t is your young lord’s fashion to do so, though he was
so lazy, being a bachelor, that he would never travel so far as the
university: (65) yet, when he married her, tales off, and, Catso, for
England!
_Men._ And why for England?
_Mal._ Because there is no brothel-houses there.
_Men._ Nor courtesans? 70
_Mal._ Neither; your whore went down with the stews, and your punk
came up with your puritan.]
_Men._ Canst thou empoison? Canst thou empoison? 75
_Mal._ Excellently; no Jew, ’pothecary, or politician better. Look
ye, here’s a box: whom wouldst thou empoison? Here’s a box (_giving
it_), which, opened and the fume ta’en up in conduits thorough which
the brain purges itself, (80) doth instantly for twelve hours’ space
bind up all show of life in a deep senseless sleep: here’s another
(_giving it_), which, being opened under the sleeper’s nose, chokes
all the pores of life, kills him suddenly. 85
_Men._ I’ll try experiments; ’t is good not to be deceived.—So, so;
catso!
_Seems to poison_ MALEVOLE [_who falls_].
Who would fear that may destroy?
Death hath no teeth nor tongue;
And he that’s great, to him are slaves, 90
Shame, murder, fame, and wrong.—
Celso!
_Enter Celso_.
_Celso._ My honour’d lord?
_Men._ The good Malevole, that plain-tongu’d man,
Alas, is dead on sudden, wondrous strangely!
He held in our esteem good place. Celso, 96
See him buried, see him buried.
_Celso._ I shall observe ye.
_Men._ And, Celso, prithee, let it be thy care to-night
To have some pretty show, to solemnize 100
Our high instalment; some music, masquery.
We’ll give fair entertain unto Maria,
The duchess to the banish’d Altofront:
Thou shalt conduct her from the citadel
Unto the palace. Think on some masquery. 105
_Celso._ Of what shape, sweet lord?
_Men._ What[2780] shape! Why, any quick-done fiction;
As some brave spirits of the Genoan dukes,
To come out of Elysium, forsooth,
Led in by Mercury, to gratulate 110
Our happy fortune; some such anything,
Some far-fet trick good for ladies, some stale toy
Or other, no matter, so ’t be of our devising.
Do thou prepare ’t; ’t is but for fashion sake.
Fear not, it shall be grac’d, man, it shall take.
_Celso._ All service. 116
_Men._ All thanks; our hand shall not be close[2781] to thee; farewell.
(_Aside._) Now is my treachery secure, nor can we fall:
Mischief that prospers, men do virtue call.
I’ll trust no man: he that by tricks gets wreaths 120
Keeps them with steel; no man securely breathes
Out of deserved ranks; the crowd will mutter, “fool!”
Who cannot bear with spite, he cannot rule.
The chiefest secret for a man of state
Is, to live senseless of a strengthless hate. _Exit._
_Mal._ (_starts up and speaks._) Death of the (126) damned thief!
I’ll make one i’ the masque; thou shalt ha’ some brave spirits of the
antique dukes.
_Celso._ My lord, what strange delusion? 130
_Mal._ Most happy, dear Celso, poisoned with an empty box: I’ll give
thee all, anon. My lady comes to court; there is a whirl of fate
comes tumbling on; the castle’s captain stands for me, the people
pray for me, and the (135) great leader of the just stands for me:
then courage, Celso;
For no disastrous chance can ever move him
That leaveth[2782] nothing but a God above him. _Exeunt._
[SCENE IV.][2783]
_Enter_ BILIOSO _and_ PREPASSO, two Pages _before them_; MAQUERELLE,
BIANCA, _and_ EMILIA.
_Bil._ Make room there, room for the ladies! Why, gentlemen, will
not ye suffer the ladies to be entered in the great chamber? Why,
gallants! and you, sir, to drop your torch where the beauties must
sit too? 5
_Pre._ And there’s a great fellow plays the knave; why dost not
strike him?
_Bil._ Let him play the knave, o’ God’s name; thinkest thou I have no
more wit than to strike a great fellow?—The music! more lights! 10
revelling-scaffolds! do you hear? Let there be oaths enow ready at
the door, swear out the devil himself. Let’s leave the ladies, and go
see if the lords be ready for them.
_Exeunt_ BILIOSO, PREPASSO, _and_ Pages.
_Maq._ And, by my troth, beauties, why do (15) you not put you into
the fashion? This is a stale cut; you must come in fashion: look
ye, you must be all felt, felt and feather, a felt upon your bare
hair. Look ye, these tiring things[2784] are justly out of request
now: and, do ye (20) hear? you must wear falling-bands,[2785] you
must come into the falling fashion: there is such a deal o’ pinning
these ruffs, when the fine clean fall is worth all: and again, if ye
should chance to take a nap in the afternoon, your falling-band 25
requires no poting-stick[2786] to recover his form: believe me, no
fashion to the falling, I say.
_Bian._ And is not Signior St. Andrew a gallant fellow now. 30
_Maq._ By my maidenhead, la, honour and he agree as well together as
a satin suit and woollen stockings.
_Emilia._ But is not Marshal Make-room, my servant in reversion, a
proper gentleman? 35
_Maq._ Yes, in reversion, as he had his office; as, in truth, he
hath all things in reversion: he has his mistress in reversion, his
clothes in reversion, his wit in reversion; and, indeed, is a suitor
to me for my dog in reversion: but, (40) in good verity, la, he is as
proper a gentleman in reversion as—and, indeed, as fine a man as may
be, having a red beard and a pair of warpt legs.
_Bian._ But, i’ faith, I am most monstrously in love with Count
Quidlibet-in-quodlibet: (45) is he not a pretty, dapper, unidle[2787]
gallant?
_Maq._ He is even one of the most busy-fingered lords: he will put
the beauties to the squeak most hideously.
_Re-enter_ BILIOSO.
_Bil._ Room! make a lane there! the duke (50) is entering: stand
handsomely for beauty’s sake, take up the ladies there! So, cornets,
cornets!
SCENE V.
_Re-enter_ PREPASSO, _joins to_ BILIOSO; _then enter_ two Pages _with
lights_, FERRARDO, MENDOZA; _at the other door_, two Pages _with
lights_, _and the_ Captain _leading in_ MARIA; MENDOZA _meets_ MARIA
_and closeth with her_; _the rest fall back_.
_Men._ Madam, with gentle ear receive my suit;
A kingdom’s safety should o’er-peise[2788] slight rites;
Marriage is merely nature’s policy:
Then, since unless our royal beds be join’d,
Danger and civil tumults fright the state, 5
Be wise as you are fair, give way to fate.
_Maria._ What wouldst thou, thou affliction to our house?
Thou ever-devil, ’t was thou that banished’st
My truly noble lord!
_Men._ I! 10
_Maria._ Ay, by thy plots, by thy black stratagems.
Twelve moons have suffer’d change since I beheld
The loved presence of my dearest lord.
O thou far worse than Death! he parts but soul
From a weak body; but thou soul from soul 15
Dissever’st, that which God’s own hand did knit;
Thou scant of honour, full of devilish wit!
_Men._ We’ll check your too-intemperate lavishness:
I can and will.
_Maria._ What canst? 20
_Men._ Go to; in banishment thy husband dies.
_Maria._ He ever is at home that’s ever wise.
_Men._ You ’st ne’er meet more: reason should love control.
_Maria._ Not meet! 24
She that dear loves, her love ’s still in her soul.
_Men._ You are but a woman, lady, you must yield.
_Maria._ O, save me, thou innated bashfulness,
Thou only ornament of woman’s modesty!
_Men._ Modesty! death, I’ll torment thee. 29
_Maria._ Do, urge all torments, all afflictions try;
I’ll die my lord’s as long as I can die.
_Men._ Thou obstinate, thou shall die.—Captain, that lady’s life
Is forfeited to justice: we have examin’d her,
And we do find she hath empoisoned 34
The reverend hermit; therefore we command
Severest custody.—Nay, if you’ll do ’s no good,
You ’st do ’s no harm: a tyrant’s peace is blood.
_Maria._ O, thou art merciful; O gracious devil,
Rather by much let me condemned be 39
For seeming murder than be damn’d for thee!
I’ll mourn no more; come, girt my brows with flowers:
Revel and dance, soul, now thy wish thou hast;
Die like a bride, poor heart, thou shalt die chaste.
_Enter_ AURELIA _in mourning habit_.
_Aur._ “Life is a frost of cold felicity,[2789]
And death the thaw of all our vanity:”[2790] 45
Was’t not an honest priest that wrote so?
_Men._ Who let her in?
_Bil._ Forbear!
_Pre._ Forbear!
_Aur._ Alas, calamity is everywhere: 50
Sad misery, despite your double doors,
Will enter even in court.
_Bil._ Peace!
_Aur._ I ha’ done.
_Bil._[2791] One word,—take heed! 55
_Aur._ I ha’ done.
_Enter_ MERCURY _with loud music_.
_Mer._ Cyllenian Mercury, the god of ghosts,
From gloomy shades that spread the lower coasts,[2792]
Calls four high-famed Genoan dukes to come,
And make this presence their Elysium, 60
To pass away this high triumphal night
With song and dances, court’s more soft delight.
_Aur._ Are you god of ghosts? I have a suit pending in hell betwixt
me and my conscience; would fain have thee help me to an advocate.
_Bil._ Mercury shall be your lawyer, lady. 66
_Aur._ Nay, faith. Mercury has too good a face to be a right lawyer.
_Pre._ Peace, forbear! Mercury presents the masque.
_Cornets_: _the song to the cornets, which playing, the masque enters_;
MALEVOLE, PIETRO, FERNEZE, _and_ CELSO, _in white robes, with duke’s
crowns upon laurel wreaths, pistolets and short swords under their
robes_.
_Men._ Celso, Celso, court Maria for our love.—
Lady, be gracious, yet grace. 71
_Maria._ With me, sir?
MALEVOLE _takes_ MARIA _to dance_.
_Mal._ Yes, more loved than my breath;
With you I’ll dance.
_Maria._ Why, then, you dance with death.
But, come, sir, I was ne’er more apt for mirth.
Death gives eternity a glorious breath: 75
O, to die honour’d, who would fear to die?
_Mal._ They die in fear who live in villainy.
_Men._ Yes, believe him, lady, and be rul’d by him.
_Pietro._ Madam, with me.
PIETRO _takes_ AURELIA _to dance_.
_Aur._ Wouldst, then, be miserable? 80
_Pietro._ I need not wish.
_Aur._ O, yet forbear my hand! away! fly! fly!
O, seek not her that only seeks to die!
_Pietro._ Poor loved soul!
_Aur._ What, wouldst court misery? 85
_Pietro._ Yes.
_Aur._ She’ll come too soon:—O my grieved heart!
_Pietro._ Lady, ha’ done, ha’ done:
Come, let us dance: be once from sorrow free.
_Aur._ Art a sad man? 90
_Pietro._ Yes, sweet.
_Aur._ Then we’ll agree.
FERNEZE _takes_ MAQUERELLE _and_ CELSO, BIANCA: _then the cornets sound
the measure, one change and rest._
_Fer._ (_to_ BIANCA.) Believe it, lady; shall I swear? Let me enjoy
you in private, and I’ll marry you, by my soul. 95
_Bian._ I had rather you would swear by your body: I think that would
prove the more regarded oath with you.
_Fer._ I’ll swear by them both, to please you.
_Bian._ O, damn them not both to please (100) me, for God’s sake!
_Fer._ Faith, sweet creature, let me enjoy you to-night, and I’ll
marry you to-morrow fortnight, by my troth, la.
_Maq._ On his troth, la! believe him not; (105) that kind of
cony-catching[2793] is as stale as Sir Oliver Anchovy’s perfumed
jerkin: promise of matrimony by a young gallant, to bring a virgin
lady into a fool’s paradise; make her a great woman, and then cast
her off;—’t is as common (110) [and][2794] natural to a courtier, as
jealousy to a citizen, gluttony to a puritan, wisdom to an alderman,
pride to a tailor, or an empty hand-basket to one of these six-penny
damnations: of his troth, la! believe him not; traps to (115) catch
pole-cats.
_Mal._ (_to_ MARIA.) Keep your face constant, let no sudden passion
Speak in your eyes.
_Maria._ O my Altofront!
_Pietro._ (_to_ AURELIA.) A tyrant’s jealousies
Are very nimble: you receive it all? 121
_Aur._ My heart, though not my knees, doth humbly fall
Low as the earth, to thee.
[_Mal._][2795] Peace! next change; no words.
_Maria._ Speech to such, ay, O, what will affords! 125
_Cornets sound the measure over again; which danced, they unmask._
_Men._ Malevole!
_They environ_ MENDOZA, _bending their pistols on him_.
_Mal._ No.
_Men._ Altofront! Duke Pietro! Ferneze! ha!
_All._ Duke Altofront! Duke Altofront!
_Cornets, a flourish._—_They seize upon_ MENDOZA.
_Men._ Are we surpris’d? What strange delusions mock 130
Our senses? Do I dream? or have I dreamt
This two days’ space? Where am I?
_Mal._ Where an arch-villain is.
_Men._ O, lend me breath till I am fit to die!
For peace with heaven, for your own souls’ sake,
Vouchsafe me life! 136
_Pietro._ Ignoble villain! whom neither heaven nor hell,
Goodness of God or man, could once make good!
_Mal._ Base, treacherous wretch! what grace canst thou expect,
That hast grown impudent in gracelessness? 140
_Men._ O, life!
_Mal._ Slave, take thy life.
Wert thou defenced, th(o)rough blood and wounds,
The sternest horror of a civil fight, 144
Would I achieve thee; but prostrate at my feet,
I scorn to hurt thee: ’t is the heart of slaves
That deigns to triumph over peasants’ graves;
For such thou art, since birth doth ne’er enroll
A man ’mong monarchs, but a glorious soul.
[[2796] O, I have seen strange accidents of state! 150
The flatterer, like the ivy, clip the oak,
And waste it to the heart; lust so confirm’d,
That the black act of sin itself not sham’d
To be term’d courtship.
O, they that are as great as be their sins, 155
Let them remember that th’ inconstant people
Love many princes merely for their faces
And outward shows; and they do covet more
To have a sight of these than of their virtues.
Yet thus much let the great ones still conceive,[2797]
When they observe not heaven’s impos’d conditions, 161
They are no kings, but forfeit their commissions.
_Maq._ O good my lord. I have lived in the court this twenty year:
they that have been old courtiers, and come to live in the city, they
(165) are spited at, and thrust to the walls like apricocks, good my
lord.
_Bil._ My lord, I did know your lordship in this disguise; you heard
me ever say, if Altofront did return, I would stand for him: 170
besides, ’t was your lordship’s pleasure to call me wittol and
cuckold: you must not think, but that I knew you, I would have put it
up so patiently.]
_Mal._ You o’er-joy’d spirits, wipe your long-wet eyes.
_To_ PIETRO _and_ AURELIA.
Hence with this man (_kicks out_ MENDOZA): an eagle takes not
flies. 176
You to your vows (_to_ PIETRO _and_ AURELIA):
and thou into the suburbs.[2798] _To_ MAQUERELLE.
You to my worst friend I would hardly give;
Thou art a perfect old knave (_to_ BILIOSO): all-pleas’d live
You two unto my breast (_to_ CELSO _and the_ Captain): thou to my
heart. (_To_ MARIA.) The rest of idle actors idly part: 181
And as for me, I here assume my right.
To which I hope all’s pleas’d: to all, goodnight.
_Cornets, a flourish. Exeunt omnes._
AN IMPERFECT ODE, BEING BUT ONE STAFF
SPOKEN BY THE PROLOGUE.
To wrest each hurtless thought to private sense
Is the foul use of ill-bred impudence:
Immodest censure now grows wild,
All over-running.
Let innocence be ne’er so chaste, 5
Yet to the last
She is defil’d
With too nice-brained cunning.
O you of fairer soul,
Control 10
With an Herculean arm
This harm;
And once teach all old freedom of a pen,
Which still must write of fools, whiles ’t writes of men!
EPILOGUS
Your modest silence, full of heedy stillness,
Makes me thus speak: a voluntary illness
Is merely[2799] senseless; but unwilling error,
Such as proceeds from too rash youthful fervour,
May well be call’d a fault, but not a sin: 5
Rivers take names from founts where they begin.
Then let not too severe an eye peruse
The slighter brakes[2800] of our reformed Muse,
Who could herself herself of faults detect,
But that she knows ’t is easy to correct, 10
Though some men’s labour: troth, to err is fit,
As long as wisdom’s not profess’d, but wit.
Then till another’s[2801] happier Muse appears,
Till his Thalia feast your learned ears,
To whose desertful lamps pleased Fates impart
Art above nature, judgment above art, 16
Receive this piece, which hope nor fear yet daunteth:
He that knows most knows most how much he wanteth.
A WOMAN KILLED WITH KINDNESS
BY THOMAS HEYWOOD
[DRAMATIS PERSONAE
SIR FRANCIS ACTON, Brother to Mistress Frankford.
SIR CHARLES MOUNTFORD.
MASTER JOHN FRANKFORD.
MASTER MALBY, friend to Sir Francis.
MASTER WENDOLL, friend to Frankford.
MASTER CRANWELL.
MASTER SHAFTON, false friend to Sir Charles.
OLD MOUNTFORD, Uncle to Sir Charles.
MASTER SANDY.
MASTER RODER.
MASTER TIDY, Cousin to Sir Charles.
NICHOLAS, ROGER BRICKBAT, } Household Servants to
JENKIN, JACK SLIME, } Frankford.
SPIGOT, Butler, }
Sheriff.
Keeper of Prison.
Sheriff’s Officers, Serjeant, Huntsmen, Falconers,
Coachmen, Carters, Servants, Musicians.
MISTRESS ANNE FRANKFORD.
SUSAN, Sister to Sir Charles Mountford.
CICELY, Maid to Mistress Frankford.
Women Servants in Master Frankford’s household.]
PROLOGUE
I come but like a harbinger, being sent
To tell you what these preparations mean.
Look for no glorious state; our Muse is bent
Upon a barren subject, a bare scene.
We could afford this twig a timber-tree, 5
Whose strength might boldly on your favours build;
Our russet, tissue; drone, a honey-bee;
Our barren plot, a large and spacious field;
Our coarse fare, banquets; our thin water, wine;
Our brook, a sea; our bat’s eyes, eagle’s sight; 10
Our poet’s dull and earthy Muse, divine;
Our ravens, doves; our crow’s black feathers, white.
But gentle thoughts, when they may give the foil,[2802]
Save them that yield, and spare where they may spoil.
[ACT I]
[SCENE I.][2803]
_Enter_ MASTER JOHN FRANKFORD, MISTRESS [FRANKFORD],[2804] SIR FRANCIS
ACTON, SIR CHARLES MOUNTFORD, MASTER MALBY, MASTER WENDOLL, AND MASTER
CRANWELL.
_Sir F._ Some music, there! None lead the bride a dance?
_Sir C._ Yes, would she dance _The Shaking of the Sheets_;
But that’s the dance her husband means to lead her.
_Wen._ That’s not the dance that every man must dance,
According to the ballad.[2805]
_Sir F._ Music, ho! 5
By your leave, sister,—by your husband’s leave,
I should have said,—the hand that but this day
Was given you in the church I’ll borrow.—Sound!
This marriage music hoists me from the ground.
_Frank._ Ay, you may caper; you are light and free! 10
Marriage hath yok’d my heels; pray, then, pardon me.
_Sir F._ I’ll have you dance too, brother!
_Sir C._ Master Frankford,
You are a happy man, sir, and much joy
Succeed your marriage mirth: you have a wife
So qualified, and with such ornaments 15
Both of the mind and body. First, her birth
Is noble, and her education such
As might become the daughter of a prince;
Her own tongue speaks all tongues, and her own hand
Can teach all strings to speak in their best grace, 20
From the shrill’st treble to the hoarsest base.
To end her many praises in one word,
She’s Beauty and Perfection’s eldest daughter,
Only found by yours, though many a heart hath sought her.
_Frank._ But that I know your virtues and chaste thoughts, 25
I should be jealous of your praise, Sir Charles.
_Cran._ He speaks no more than you approve.
_Mal._ Nor flatters he that gives to her her due.
_Mrs. F._ I would your praise could find a fitter theme
Than my imperfect beauties to speak on! 30
Such as they be, if they my husband please,
They suffice me now I am married.
His sweet content is like a flattering glass,
To make my face seem fairer to mine eye;
But the least wrinkle from his stormy brow 35
Will blast the roses in my cheeks that grow.
_Sir F._ A perfect wife already, meek and patient!
How strangely the word husband fits your mouth.
Not married three hours since! Sister, ’t is good; 39
You that begin betimes thus must needs prove
Pliant and duteous in your husband’s love.—
Gramercies, brother! Wrought her to ’t already,—
‘Sweet husband,’ and a curtsey, the first day?
Mark this, mark this, you that are bachelors,
And never took the grace[2806] of honest man; 45
Mark this, against you marry,[2807] this one phrase:
In a good time that man both wins and woos
That takes his wife down[2808] in her wedding shoes.
_Frank._ Your sister takes not after you, Sir Francis,
All his wild blood your father spent on you; 50
He got her in his age, when he grew civil.
All his mad tricks were to his land entail’d,
And you are heir to all; your sister, she
Hath to her dower her mother’s modesty.
_Sir C._ Lord, sir, in what a happy state live you! 55
This morning, which to many seems a burden,
Too heavy to bear, is unto you a pleasure.
This lady is no clog, as many are;
She doth become you like a well-made suit,
In which the tailor hath us’d all his art; 60
Not like a thick coat of unseason’d frieze,
Forc’d on your back in summer. She’s no chain
To tie your neck, and curb you to the yoke:
But she’s a chain of gold to adorn your neck.
You both adorn each other, and your hands, 65
Methinks, are matches. There’s equality
In this fair combination; you are both
Scholars, both young, both being descended nobly.
There’s music in this sympathy; it carries
Consort and expectation of much joy, 70
Which God bestow on you from this first day
Until your dissolution,—that’s for aye!
_Sir F._ We keep you here too long, good brother Frankford.
Into the hall; away! Go cheer your guests.
What! Bride and bridegroom both withdrawn at once? 75
If you be mist, the guests will doubt their welcome,
And charge you with unkindness.
_Frank._ To prevent it,
I’ll leave you here, to see the dance within.
_Mrs. F._ And so will I.
_Exeunt_ [MASTER AND MISTRESS FRANKFORD].
_Sir. F._ To part you it were sin.—
Now, gallants, while the town musicians 80
Finger their frets[2809] within, and the mad lads
And country lasses, every mother’s child,
With nosegays and bride-laces[2810] in their hats,
Dance all their country measures, rounds, and jigs,
What shall we do? Hark! They’re all on the hoigh;[2811] 85
They toil like mill-horses, and turn as round,—
Marry, not on the toe! Ay, and they caper,
[Not][2812] without cutting; you shall see, to-morrow,
The hall-floor peckt and dinted like a millstone,
Made with their high shoes. Though their skill be small, 90
Yet they tread heavy where their hobnails fall.
_Sir C._ Well, leave them to their sports!—Sir Francis Acton,
I’ll make a match with you! Meet me to-morrow
At Chevy Chase; I’ll fly my hawk with yours.
_Sir F._ For what? For what?
_Sir C._ Why, for a hundred pound. 95
_Sir F._ Pawn me some gold of that!
_Sir C._ Here are ten angels;[2813]
I’ll make them good a hundred pound to-morrow
Upon my hawk’s wing.
_Sir. F._ ’T is a match; ’t is done.
Another hundred pound upon your dogs;—
Dare ye, Sir Charles?
_Sir C._ I dare; were I sure to lose,
I durst do more than that; here is my hand, 101
The first course for a hundred pound!
_Sir F._ A match.
_Wen._ Ten angels on Sir Francis Acton’s hawk;
As much upon his dogs!
_Cran._ I’m for Sir Charles Mountford: I have seen 105
His hawk and dog both tried. What! Clap ye hands,[2814]
Or is’t no bargain?
_Wen._ Yes, and stake them down.
Were they five hundred, they were all my own.
_Sir F._ Be stirring early with the lark to-morrow;
I’ll rise into my saddle ere the sun 110
Rise from his bed.
_Sir C._ If there you miss me, say
I am no gentleman! I’ll hold my day.
_Sir F._ It holds on all sides.—Come, to-night let ’s dance;
Early to-morrow let ’s prepare to ride: 114
We ’d need be three hours up before the bride. _Exeunt._
[SCENE II.][2815]
_Enter_ NICHOLAS _and_ JENKIN, JACK SLIME, ROGER BRICKBAT, _with_
Country Wenches, _and two or three_ Musicians.
_Jen._ Come, Nick, take you Joan Miniver, to trace withal; Jack
Slime, traverse you with Cicely Milkpail; I will take Jane Trubkin,
and Roger Brickbat shall have Isabel Motley. And now that they are
busy in the parlour, come, (5) strike up; we ’ll have a crash[2816]
here in the yard.
_Nich._ My humour is not compendious: dancing I possess not, though
I can foot it; yet, since I am fallen into the hands of Cicely 10
Milkpail, I consent.
_Slime._ Truly, Nick, though we were never brought up like serving
courtiers, yet we have been brought up with serving creatures,—ay,
and God’s creatures, too; for we have been (15) brought up to serve
sheep, oxen, horses, hogs, and such like; and, though we be but
country fellows, it may be in the way of dancing we can do the
horse-trick as well as the serving-men.
_Brick._ Ay, and the cross-point too. 20
_Jen._ O Slime! O Brickbat! Do not you know that comparisons are
odious? Now we are odious ourselves, too; therefore there are no
comparisons to be made betwixt us.
_Nich._ I am sudden, and not superfluous; 25
I am quarrelsome, and not seditious;
I am peaceable, and not contentious;
I am brief, and not compendious.
_Slime._ Foot it quickly! If the music overcome not my melancholy, I
shall quarrel; and if (30) they suddenly do not strike up, I shall
presently strike thee down.
_Jen._ No quarrelling, for God’s sake! Truly, if you do, I shall set
a knave between ye.
_Slime._ I come to dance, not to quarrel. (35) Come, what shall it
be? _Rogero?_[2817]
_Jen. Rogero?_ No; we will dance _The Beginning of the World_.
_Cicely._ I love no dance so well as _John come kiss me now_. 40
_Nich._ I that have ere now deserv’d a cushion, call for the
_Cushion-dance_.
_Brick._ For my part, I like nothing so well as _Tom Tyler_.
_Jen._ No; we’ll have _The Hunting of the_ (45) _Fox_.
_Slime. The Hay, The Hay!_ There’s nothing like _The Hay_.
_Nich._ I have said, I do say, and I will say again— 50
_Jen._ Every man agree to have it as Nick says!
_All._ Content.
_Nich._ It hath been, it now is, and it shall be—
_Cicely._ What, Master Nicholas? What? 55
_Nich. Put on your Smock a’ Monday._
_Jen._ So the dance will come cleanly off! Come, for God’s sake,
agree of something: if you like not that, put it to the musicians; or
let me speak for all, and we ’ll have _Sellenger’s_ (60) _Round_.
_All._ That, that, that!
_Nich._ No, I am resolv’d thus it shall be;
First take hands, then take ye to your heels.
_Jen._ Why, would you have us run away? 65
_Nich._ No; but I would have you shake your heels.—Music, strike up!
_They dance;_ NICK _dancing, speaks stately and scurvily, the rest
after the country fashion._
_Jen._ Hey! Lively, my lasses! Here’s a turn for thee! _Exeunt._
[SCENE III.][2818]
_Wind horns. Enter_ SIR CHARLES MOUNTFORD, SIR FRANCIS ACTON, MALBY,
CRANWELL, WENDOLL, Falconer, _and_ Huntsmen.
_Sir C._ So; well cast off! Aloft, aloft! Well flown!
Oh, now she takes her at the souse,[2819] and strikes her
Down to the earth, like a swift thunder-clap.
_Wen._ She hath struck ten angels out of my way.
_Sir F._ A hundred pound from me. 5
_Sir C._ What, falconer!
_Falc._ At hand, sir!
_Sir C._ Now she hath seiz’d the fowl and ’gins to plume[2820] her,
Rebeck[2821] her not; rather stand still and check her!
So, seize her gets,[2822] her jesses,[2823] and her bells! 10
Away!
_Sir F._ My hawk kill’d, too.
_Sir C._ Ay, but ’t was at the querre,[2824]
Not at the mount like mine.
_Sir F._ Judgment, my masters!
_Cran._ Yours mist her at the ferre.[2825]
_Wen._ Ay, but our merlin first had plum’d the fowl, 15
And twice renew’d[2826] her from the river too.
Her bells, Sir Francis, had not both one weight,
Nor was one semi-tune above the other.
Methinks, these Milan bells do sound too full,
And spoil the mounting of your hawk.
_Sir C._ ’T is lost. 20
_Sir F._ I grant it not. Mine likewise seiz’d a fowl
Within her talons, and you saw her paws
Full of the feathers: both her petty singles[2827]
And her long singles grip’d her more than other;
The terrials[2828] of her[2829] legs were stain’d with blood, 25
Not of the fowl only; she did discomfit
Some of her feathers; but she brake away.
Come, come; your hawk is but a rifler.[2830]
_Sir C._ How!
_Sir F._ Ay, and your dogs are trindle-tails[2831] and curs.
_Sir C._ You stir my blood. 30
You keep not one good hound in all your kennel.
Nor one good hawk upon your perch.
_Sir F._ How, knight!
_Sir C._ So, knight. You will not swagger, sir?
_Sir F._ Why, say I did?
_Sir C._ Why, sir,
I say you would gain as much by swagg’ring 35
As you have got by wagers on your dogs.
You will come short in all things.
_Sir F._ Not in this!
Now I’ll strike home. [_Strikes_ Sir Charles.]
_Sir C._ Thou shalt to thy long home,
Or I will want my will.
_Sir F._ All they that love Sir Francis, follow me! 40
_Sir C._ All that affect Sir Charles, draw on my part!
_Cran._ On this side heaves my hand.
_Wen._ Here goes my heart.
_They divide themselves._ SIR CHARLES MOUNTFORD, CRANWELL, Falconer,
_and_ Huntsman, _fight against_ SIR FRANCIS ACTON, WENDOLL, _his_
Falconer _and_ Huntsman; _and_ SIR CHARLES _hath the better, and beats
them away, killing both of_ SIR FRANCIS’S _men._ [_Exeunt all but_ SIR
CHARLES MOUNTFORD.]
_Sir C._ My God, what have I done! What have I done!
My rage hath plung’d into a sea of blood,
In which my soul lies drown’d. Poor innocents, 45
For whom we are to answer! Well, ’t is done,
And I remain the victor. A great conquest,
When I would give this right hand, nay, this head,
To breathe in them new life whom I have slain!—
Forgive me, God! ’T was in the heat of blood, 50
And anger quite removes me from myself.
It was not I, but rage, did this vile murder;
Yet I, and not my rage, must answer it.
Sir Francis Acton, he is fled the field;
With him all those that did partake his quarrel;
And I am left alone with sorrow dumb, 56
And in my height of conquest overcome.
_Enter_ SUSAN.
_Susan._ O God! My brother wounded ’mong the dead!
Unhappy jest, that in such earnest ends!
The rumour of this fear stretcht to my ears, 60
And I am come to know if you be wounded.
_Sir C._ Oh, sister, sister! Wounded at the heart.
_Susan._ My God forbid!
_Sir. C._ In doing that thing which he forbad,
I am wounded, sister.
_Susan._ I hope, not at the heart. 65
_Sir C._ Yes, at the heart.
_Susan._ O God! A surgeon, there.
_Sir C._ Call me a surgeon, sister, for my soul!
The sin of murder, it hath pierc’d my heart
And made a wide wound there; but for these scratches,
They are nothing, nothing.
_Susan._ Charles, what have you done? 70
Sir Francis hath great friends, and will pursue you
Unto the utmost danger[2832] of the law.
_Sir C._ My conscience is become mine enemy,
And will pursue me more than Acton can.
_Susan._ Oh! Fly, sweet brother!
_Sir C._ Shall I fly from thee? 75
Why, Sue, art weary of my company?
_Susan._ Fly from your foe!
_Sir C._ You, sister, are my friend,
And flying you, I shall pursue my end.
_Susan._ Your company is as my eyeball dear;
Being far from you, no comfort can be near. 80
Yet fly to save your life! What would I care
To spend my future age in black despair,
So you were safe? And yet to live one week
Without my brother Charles, through every cheek
My streaming tears would downwards run so rank,[2833] 85
Till they could set on either side a bank,
And in the midst a channel; so my face
For two salt-water brooks shall still find place.
_Sir C._ Thou shalt not weep so much; for I will stay,
In spite of danger’s teeth. I’ll live with thee, 90
Or I’ll not live at all. I will not sell
My country and my father’s patrimony,
Nor thy sweet sight, for a vain hope of life.
_Enter_ Sheriff, _with_ Officers.
_Sher._ Sir Charles, I am made the unwilling instrument
Of your attach[2834] and apprehension. 95
I’m sorry that the blood of innocent men
Should be of you exacted. It was told me
That you were guarded with a troop of friends,
And therefore I come thus arm’d.
_Sir C._ Oh, Master Sheriff!
I came into the field with many friends, 100
But see, they all have left me; only one
Clings to my sad misfortune, my dear sister.
I know you for an honest gentleman;
I yield my weapons, and submit to you.
Convey me where you please!
_Sher._ To prison, then, 105
To answer for the lives of these dead men.
_Susan._ O God! O God!
_Sir C._ Sweet sister, every strain
Of sorrow from your heart augments my pain;
Your grief abounds,[2835] and hits against my breast.
_Sher._ Sir, will you go?
_Sir C._ Even where it likes you best. 110
[ACT II]
[SCENE I.]
_Enter_ MASTER FRANKFORD _in a study_.
_Frank._ How happy am I amongst other men,
That in my mean estate embrace content!
I am a gentleman, and by my birth
Companion with a king; a king’s no more.
I am possess’d of many fair revenues, 5
Sufficient to maintain a gentleman;
Touching my mind, I am studied in all arts;
The riches of my thoughts and of my time
Have been a good proficient;[2836] but, the chief
Of all the sweet felicities on earth, 10
I have a fair, a chaste, and loving wife,—
Perfection all, all truth, all ornament.
If man on earth may truly happy be,
Of these at once possest, sure, I am he.
_Enter_ NICHOLAS.
_Nich._ Sir, there’s a gentleman attends without 15
To speak with you.
_Frank._ On horseback?
_Nich._ Yes, on horseback.
_Frank._ Entreat him to alight, I will attend him.
Know’st thou him, Nick?
_Nich._ Know him? Yes; his name ’s Wendoll.
It seems, he comes in haste: his horse is booted[2837]
Up to the flank in mire, himself all spotted 20
And stain’d with plashing. Sure, he rid in fear,
Or for a wager. Horse and man both sweat;
I ne’er saw two in such a smoking heat.
_Frank._ Entreat him in: about it instantly! [_Exit_ NICHOLAS.]
This Wendoll I have noted, and his carriage 25
Hath pleas’d me much; by observation
I have noted many good deserts in him.
He’s affable, and seen[2838] in many things;
Discourses well; a good companion;
And though of small means, yet a gentleman 30
Of a good house, though somewhat prest by want.
I have preferr’d him to a second place
In my opinion and my best regard.
_Enter_ WENDOLL, MISTRESS FRANKFORD, _and_ NICHOLAS.
_Mrs. F._ Oh, Master Frankford! Master Wendoll here
Brings you the strangest news that e’er you heard. 35
_Frank._ What news, sweet wife? What news, good Master Wendoll?
_Wen._ You knew the match made ’twixt Sir Francis Acton
And Sir Charles Mountford?
_Frank._ True; with their hounds and hawks.
_Wen._ The matches were both play’d.
_Frank._ Ha? And which won?
_Wen._ Sir Francis, your wife’s brother, had the worst, 40
And lost the wager.
_Frank._ Why, the worse his chance;
Perhaps the fortune of some other day
Will change his luck.
_Mrs. F._ Oh, but you hear not all.
Sir Francis lost, and yet was loth to yield. 44
At length the two knights grew to difference,
From words to blows, and so to banding sides;[2839]
Where valorous Sir Charles slew, in his spleen,
Two of your brother’s men,—his falconer,
And his good huntsman, whom be lov’d so well.
More men were wounded, no more slain outright. 50
_Frank._ Now, trust me, I am sorry for the knight.
But is my brother safe?
_Wen._ All whole and sound.
His body not being blemish’d with one wound.
But poor Sir Charles is to the prison led,
To answer at th’ assize for them that’s dead.
_Frank._ I thank your pains, sir. Had the news been better, 56
Your will was to have brought it, Master Wendoll.
Sir Charles will find hard friends; his case is heinous
And will be most severely censur’d[2840] on.
I’m sorry for him. Sir, a word with you! 60
I know you, sir, to be a gentleman
In all things; your possibilities[2841] but mean:
Please you to use my table and my purse;
They’re yours.
_Wen._ O Lord, sir! I shall ne’er deserve it.
_Frank._ O sir, disparage not your worth too much: 65
You are full of quality[2842] and fair desert.
Choose of my men which shall attend on you,
And he is yours. I will allow you, sir,
Your man, your gelding, and your table, all
At my own charge; be my companion! 70
_Wen._ Master Frankford, I have oft been bound to you
By many favours; this exceeds them all,
That I shall never merit your least favour;
But when your last remembrance I forget,
Heaven at my soul exact that weighty debt! 75
_Frank._ There needs no protestation; for I know you
Virtuous, and therefore grateful.—Prithee, Nan,
Use him with all thy loving’st courtesy!
_Mrs. F._ As far as modesty may well extend,
It is my duty to receive your friend. 80
_Frank._ To dinner! Come, sir, from this present day,
Welcome to me for ever! Come, away!
_Exeunt_ [FRANKFORD, MISTRESS FRANKFORD, _and_ WENDOLL].
_Nich._ I do not like this fellow by no means:
I never see him but my heart still yearns.[2843]
Zounds! I could fight with him, yet know not why; 85
The devil and he are all one in mine eye.
_Enter_ JENKIN.
_Jen._ O Nick! What gentleman is that comes to lie at our house? My
master allows him one to wait on him, and I believe it will fall to
thy lot. 90
_Nich._ I love my master; by these hilts, I do; But rather than I’ll
ever come to serve him, I’ll turn away my master.
_Enter_ CICELY.
_Cic._ Nich’las! where are you, Nich’las? You must come in, Nich’las,
and help the young gentleman off with his boots. 96
_Nich._ If I pluck off his boots, I’ll eat the spurs,
And they shall stick fast in my throat like burrs.
_Cic._ Then, Jenkin, come you!
_Jen._ Nay, ’tis no boot[2844] for me to deny it. (100) My master
hath given me a coat here, but he takes pains himself to brush it
once or twice a day with a holly wand.
_Cic._ Come, come, make haste, that you may wash your hands again,
and help to serve (105) in dinner!
_Jen._ You may see, my masters, though it be afternoon with you, ’tis
yet but early days with us, for we have not din’d yet. Stay but a
little; I’ll but go in and help to bear up the first (110) course,
and come to you again presently. _Exeunt._
[SCENE II.][2845]
_Enter_ MALBY _and_ CRANWELL.
_Mal._ This is the sessions-day; pray can you tell me
How young Sir Charles hath sped? Is he acquit,
Or must he try the laws’ strict penalty?
_Cran._ He’s clear’d of all, spite of his enemies,
Whose earnest labour was to take his life. 5
But in this suit of pardon he hath spent
All the revenues that his father left him;
And he is now turn’d a plain countryman,
Reform’d[2846] in all things. See, sir, here he comes.
_Enter_ SIR CHARLES _and his_ Keeper.
_Keep._ Discharge your fees, and you are then at freedom. 10
_Sir C._ Here, Master Keeper, take the poor remainder
Of all the wealth I have! My heavy foes
Have made my purse light; but, alas! to me
’Tis wealth enough that you have set me free.
_Mal._ God give you joy of your delivery! 15
I am glad to see you abroad, Sir Charles.
_Sir C._ The poorest knight in England, Master Malby.
My life has cost me all my patrimony
My father left his son. Well, God forgive them
That are the authors of my penury! 20
_Enter_ SHAFTON.
_Shaft._ Sir Charles! A hand, a hand! At liberty?
Now, by the faith I owe, I am glad to see it.
What want you? Wherein may I pleasure you?
_Sir C._ Oh me! Oh, most unhappy gentleman!
I am not worthy to have friends stirr’d up, 25
Whose hands may help me in this plunge of want.
I would I were in Heaven, to inherit there
Th’ immortal birthright which my Saviour keeps,
And by no unthrift can be bought and sold;
For here on earth what pleasures should we trust! 30
_Shaft._ To rid you from these contemplations,
Three hundred pounds you shall receive of me;
Nay, five for fail.[2847] Come, sir, the sight of gold
Is the most sweet receipt for melancholy,
And will revive your spirits. You shall hold law 35
With your proud adversaries. Tush! let Frank Acton
Wage, with his knighthood, like expense with me,
And he will sink, he will.—Nay, good Sir Charles,
Applaud your fortune and your fair escape
From all these perils.
_Sir C._ Oh, sir! they have undone me. 40
Two thousand and five hundred pound a year
My father at his death possest me of;
All which the envious Acton made me spend;
And, notwithstanding all this large expense,
I had much ado to gain my liberty; 45
And I have only now a house of pleasure,
With some five hundred pounds reserv’d,
Both to maintain me and my loving sister.
_Shaft._ [_Aside._] That must I have, it lies convenient for me.
If I can fasten but one finger on him, 50
With my full hand I’ll gripe him to the heart.
’Tis not for love I proffer’d him this coin,
But for my gain and pleasure.—Come, Sir Charles,
I know you have need of money; take my offer.
_Sir C._ Sir, I accept it, and remain indebted
Even to the best of my unable[2848] power. 56
Come, gentlemen, and see it tend’red down![2849] [_Exeunt._]
[SCENE III.][2850]
_Enter_ WENDOLL, _melancholy._
_Wen._ I am a villain, if I apprehend[2851]
But such a thought! Then, to attempt the deed,
Slave, thou art damn’d without redemption.—
I’ll drive away this passion with a song. 4
A song! Ha, ha! A song! As if, fond[2852] man,
Thy eyes could swim in laughter, when thy soul
Lies drench’d and drowned in red tears of blood!
I’ll pray, and see if God within my heart
Plant better thoughts. Why, prayers are meditations,
And when I meditate (oh, God forgive me!) 10
It is on her divine perfections.
I will forget her; I will arm myself
Not t’ entertain a thought of love to her;
And, when I come by chance into her presence,
I’ll hale these balls until my eye-strings crack. 15
From being pull’d and drawn to look that way.
_Enter, over the Stage_, FRANKFORD, _his_ Wife, _and_ NICHOLAS _and
exit_].
O God, O God! With what a violence
I’m hurried to mine own destruction!
There goest thou, the most perfectest man
That ever England bred a gentleman, 20
And shall I wrong his bed?—Thou God of thunder!
Stay, in Thy thoughts of vengeance and of wrath,
Thy great, almighty, and all-judging hand
From speedy execution on a villain,—
A villain and a traitor to his friend. 25
_Enter_ JENKIN.
_Jen._ Did your worship call?
_Wen._ He doth maintain me; he allows me largely
Money to spend.
_Jen._ By my faith, so do not you me: I cannot get a cross of you. 30
_Wen._ My gelding, and my man.
_Jen._ That’s Sorrel and I.
_Wen._ This kindness grows of no alliance[2853] ’twixt us.
_Jen._ Nor is my service of any great acquaintance.
_Wen._ I never bound him to me by desert. 35
Of a mere stranger, a poor gentleman,
A man by whom in no kind he could gain,
He hath plac’d me in the height of all his thoughts,
Made me companion with the best and chiefest
In Yorkshire. He cannot eat without me, 40
Nor laugh without me; I am to his body
As necessary as his digestion,
And equally do make him whole or sick.
And shall I wrong this man? Base man! Ingrate!
Hast thou the power, straight with thy gory hands, 45
To rip thy image from his bleeding heart,
To scratch thy name from out the holy book
Of his remembrance, and to wound his name
That holds thy name so dear? Or rend his heart
To whom thy heart was knit and join’d together?— 50
And yet I must. Then Wendoll, be content!
Thus villains, when they would, cannot repent.
_Jen._ What a strange humour is my new master in! Pray God he be not
mad; if he should be so, I should never have any mind to serve 55
him in Bedlam. It may be he’s mad for missing of me.
_Wen._ What, Jenkin! Where’s your mistress?
_Jen._ Is your worship married? 60
_Wen._ Why dost thou ask?
_Jen._ Because you are my master; and if I have a mistress, I would
be glad, like a good servant, to do my duty to her.
_Wen._ I mean Mistress Frankford. 65
_Jen._ Marry, sir, her husband is riding out of town, and she went
very lovingly to bring him on his way to horse. Do you see, sir? Here
she comes, and here I go.
_Wen._ Vanish! [_Exit_ JENKINS.] 70
_Enter_ MISTRESS FRANKFORD.
_Mrs. F._ You are well met, sir; now, in troth, my husband
Before he took horse, had a great desire
To speak with you; we sought about the house,
Halloo’d into the fields, sent every way,
But could not meet you. Therefore, he enjoin’d me 75
To do unto you his most kind commends,—
Nay, more: he wills you, as you prize his love,
Or hold in estimation his kind friendship,
To make bold in his absence, and command
Even as himself were present in the house; 80
For you must keep his table, use his servants,
And be a present Frankford in his absence.
_Wen._ I thank him for his love.—
[_Aside._] Give me a name, you, whose infectious tongues
Are tipt with gall and poison: as you would
Think on a man that had your father slain, 86
Murd’red your children, made your wives base strumpets,
So call me, call me so: print in my face
The most stigmatic[2854] title of a villain,
For hatching treason to so true a friend! 90
_Mrs. F._ Sir, you are much beholding to my husband;
You are a man most dear in his regard.
_Wen._ I am bound unto your husband, and you too.
[_Aside._] I will not speak to wrong a gentleman
Of that good estimation, my kind friend. 95
I will not: zounds! I will not. I may choose,
And I will choose. Shall I be so misled,
Or shall I purchase[2855] to my father’s crest
The motto of a villain? If I say
I will not do it, what thing can enforce me? 100
What can compel me? What sad destiny
Hath such command upon my yielding thoughts?
I will not;—ha! Some fury pricks me on;
The swift fates drag me at their chariot wheel,
And hurry me to mischief. Speak I must: 105
Injure myself, wrong her, deceive his trust!
_Mrs. F._ Are you not well, sir, that you seem thus troubled?
There is sedition in your countenance.
_Wen._ And in my heart, fair angel, chaste and wise. 109
I love you! Start not, speak not, answer not;
I love you,—nay, let me speak the rest;
Bid me to swear, and I will call to record
The host of Heaven.
_Mrs. F._ The host of Heaven forbid
Wendoll should hatch such a disloyal thought?
_Wen._ Such is my fate; to this suit was I born, 115
To wear rich pleasure’s crown, or fortune’s scorn.
_Mrs. F._ My husband loves you.
_Wen._ I know it.
_Mrs. F._ He esteems you,
Even as his brain, his eye-ball, or his heart.
_Wen._ I have tried it.
_Mrs. F._ His purse is your exchequer, and his table 120
Doth freely serve you.
_Wen._ So I have found it.
_Mrs. F._ Oh! With what face of brass, what brow of steel,
Can you, unblushing, speak this to the face
Of the espous’d wife of so dear a friend? 124
It is my husband that maintains your state.—
Will you dishonour him that in your power
Hath left his whole affairs? I am his wife.
It is to me you speak.
_Wen._ O speak no more;
For more than this I know, and have recorded
Within the red-leav’d table of my heart. 130
Fair, and of all belov’d, I was not fearful
Bluntly to give my life into your hand,
And at one hazard all my earthly means.
Go, tell your husband; he will turn me off,
And I am then undone. I care not, I; 135
’T was for your sake. Perchance, in rage he’ll kill me;
I care not, ’t was for you. Say I incur
The general name of villain through the world,
Of traitor to my friend; I care not, I.
Beggary, shame, death, scandal, and reproach,— 140
For you I’ll hazard all. Why, what care I?
For you I’ll live, and in your love I’ll die.
_Mrs. F._ You move me, sir, to passion and to pity.
The love I bear my husband is as precious
As my soul’s health.
_Wen._ I love your husband too, 145
And for his love I will engage my life.
Mistake me not; the augmentation
Of my sincere affection borne to you
Doth no whit lessen my regard to him.
I will be secret, lady, close as night; 150
And not the light of one small glorious star
Shall shine here in my forehead, to bewray
That act of night.
_Mrs. F._ What shall I say?
My soul is wandering, hath lost her way.
Oh, Master Wendoll! Oh!
_Wen._ Sigh not, sweet saint; 155
For every sigh you breathe draws from my heart
A drop of blood.
_Mrs. F._ I ne’er offended yet:
My fault, I fear, will in my brow be writ.
Women that fall, not quite bereft of grace,
Have their offences noted in their face. 160
I blush, and am asham’d. Oh, Master Wendoll
Pray God I be not born to curse your tongue,
That hath enchanted me! This maze I am in
I fear will prove the labyrinth of sin.
_Enter_ NICHOLAS [_behind_].
_Wen._ The path of pleasure and the gate to bliss, 165
Which on your lips I knock at with a kiss!
_Nich._ I’ll kill the rogue.
_Wen._ Your husband is from home, your bed’s no blab.
Nay, look not down and blush!
[_Exeunt_ WENDOLL _and_ MISTRESS FRANKFORD.]
_Nich._ Zounds! I’ll stab.
Ay, Nick, was it thy chance to come just in the nick? 170
I love my master, and I hate that slave;
I love my mistress, but these tricks I like not.
My master shall not pocket up this wrong;
I’ll eat my fingers first. What say’st thou, metal?
Does not that rascal Wendoll go on legs 175
That thou must cut off? Hath he not hamstrings
That thou must hough? Nay, metal, thou shalt stand
To all I say. I’ll henceforth turn a spy,
And watch them in their close conveyances.[2856]
I never look’d for better of that rascal, 180
Since he came miching[2857] first into our house.
It is that Satan hath corrupted her;
For she was fair and chaste. I’ll have an eye
In all their gestures. Thus I think of them:
If they proceed as they have done before, 185
Wendoll’s a knave, my mistress is a—— _Exit._
[ACT III]
[SCENE I.][2858]
_Enter_ SIR CHARLES MOUNTFORD _and_ SUSAN.
_Sir C._ Sister, you see we are driven to hard shift,
To keep this poor house we have left unsold.
I ’m now enforc’d to follow husbandry,
And you to milk; and do we not live well?
Well, I thank God.
_Susan._ Oh, brother! here’s a change, 5
Since old Sir Charles died in our father’s house.
_Sir C._ All things on earth thus change, some up, some down;
Content ’s a kingdom, and I wear that crown.
_Enter_ SHAFTON, _with a_ Sergeant.
_Shaft._ Good morrow, morrow, Sir Charles! What! With your sister, 9
Plying your husbandry?—Sergeant, stand off!—
You have a pretty house here, and a garden,
And goodly ground about it. Since it lies
So near a lordship that I lately bought,
I would fain buy it of you. I will give you——
_Sir C._ Oh, pardon me; this house successively 15
Hath long’d to me and my progenitors
Three hundred years. My great-great-grandfather,
He in whom first our gentle style began,
Dwelt here, and in this ground increast this mole-hill
Unto that mountain which my father left me.
Where he the first of all our house began, 21
I now the last will end, and keep this house,—
This virgin title, never yet deflower’d
By any unthrift of the Mountfords’ line.
In brief, I will not sell it for more gold 25
Than you could hide or pave the ground withal.
_Shaft._ Ha, ha! a proud mind and a beggar’s purse!
Where ’s my three hundred pounds, besides the use?[2859]
I have brought it to an execution 29
By course of law. What! Is my money ready?
_Sir C._ An execution, sir, and never tell me
You put my bond in suit? You deal extremely.[2860]
_Shaft._ Sell me the land, and I ’ll acquit you straight.
_Sir C._ Alas, alas! ’T is all trouble hath left me
To cherish me and my poor sister’s life, 35
If this were sold, our names should then be quite
Raz’d from the bead-roll[2861] of gentility.
You see what hard shift we have made to keep it
Allied still to our name. This palm you see,
Labour hath glow’d within; her silver brow, 40
That never tasted a rough winter’s blast
Without a mask or fan, doth with a grace
Defy cold winter, and his storms outface.
_Susan._ Sir, we feed sparing, and we labour hard,
We lie uneasy, to reserve to us 45
And our succession this small spot of ground.
_Sir C._ I have so bent my thoughts to husbandry,
That I protest I scarcely can remember
What a new fashion is; how silk or satin
Feels in my hand. Why, pride is grown to us 50
A mere, mere stranger. I have quite forgot
The names of all that ever waited on me.
I cannot name ye any of my hounds,
Once from whose echoing mouths I heard all music
That e’er my heart desir’d. What should I say? 55
To keep this place, I have chang’d myself away.
_Shaft._ Arrest him at my suit!—Actions and actions
Shall keep thee in perpetual bondage fast;
Nay, more. I ’ll sue thee by a late appeal,
And call thy former life in question. 60
The keeper is my friend; thou shalt have irons,
And usage such as I ’ll deny to dogs.—
Away with him!
_Sir C._ You are too timorous.[2862]
But trouble is my master,
And I will serve him truly.—My kind sister,
Thy tears are of no use to mollify 66
The flinty man. Go to my father’s brother,
My kinsmen, and allies; entreat them for me,
To ransom me from this injurious man
That seeks my ruin.
_Shaft._ Come, irons! Come away; 70
I ’ll see thee lodg’d far from the sight of day.
_Exeunt_ [_except_ SUSAN].
_Susan._ My heart’s so hard’ned with the frost of grief,
Death cannot pierce it through.—Tyrant too fell!
So lead the fiends condemned souls to hell.
_Enter_ SIR FRANCIS ACTON _and_ MALBY.
_Sir F._ Again to prison! Malby, hast thou seen 75
A poor slave better tortur’d? Shall we hear
The music of his voice cry from the grate,[2863]
_Meat, for the Lord’s sake?_ No, no; yet I am not
Throughly reveng’d. They say, he hath a pretty wench
Unto his sister; shall I, in mercy-sake 80
To him and to his kindred, bribe the fool
To shame herself by lewd, dishonest lust?
I ’ll proffer largely; but, the deed being done,
I ’ll smile to see her base confusion.
_Mal._ Methinks, Sir Francis, you are full reveng’d 85
For greater wrongs than he can proffer you.
See where the poor sad gentlewoman stands!
_Sir F._ Ha, ha! Now will I flout her poverty,
Deride her fortunes, scoff her base estate;
My very soul the name of Mountford hates. 90
But stay, my heart! Oh, what a look did fly
To strike my soul through with thy piercing eye!
I am enchanted; all my spirits are fled.
And with one glance my envious spleen struck dead.
_Susan._ Acton! That seeks our blood! _Runs away._
_Sir F._ O chaste and fair! 95
_Mal._ Sir Francis! Why, Sir Francis! Zounds, in a trance?
Sir Francis! What cheer, man? Come, come, how is ’t?
_Sir F._ Was she not fair? Or else this judging eye
Cannot distinguish beauty.
_Mal._ She was fair. 99
_Sir F._ She was an angel in a mortal’s shape,
And ne’er descended from old Mountford’s line.
But soft, soft, let me call my wits together!
A poor, poor wench, to my great adversary
Sister, whose very souls denounce stern war
One against other! How now, Frank, turn’d fool 105
Or madman, whether? But no! Master of
My perfect senses and directest wits.
Then why should I be in this violent humour
Of passion and of love? And with a person
So different every way, and so oppos’d 110
In all contractions[2864] and still-warring actions?
Fie, fie! How I dispute against my soul!
Come, come; I’ll gain her, or in her fair quest
Purchase my soul free and immortal rest. [_Exeunt._]
[SCENE II.][2865]
_Enter three or four_ Serving-men, _one with a voider[2866] and a
wooden knife, to take away all; another the salt and bread; another
with the table-cloth and napkins; another the carpet;_[2867] JENKIN
_with two lights after them._
_Jen._ So; march in order, and retire in battle array! My master and
the guests have supp’d already; all ’s taken away. Here, now spread
for the serving-men in the hall!—Butler, it belongs to your office. 5
_But._ I know it, Jenkin. What d’ ye call the gentleman that supp’d
there to-night?
_Jen._ Who? My master?
_But._ No, no; Master Wendoll, he’s a daily guest. I mean the
gentleman that came (10) but this afternoon.
_Jen._ His name’s Master Cranwell. God’s light! Hark, within there;
my master calls to lay more billets[2868] upon the fire. Come, come!
Lord, how we that are in office here in the (15) house are troubled!
One spread the carpet in the parlour, and stand ready to snuff the
lights; the rest be ready to prepare their stomachs! More lights in
the hall, there! Come, Nicholas.
_Exeunt_ [_all but_ NICHOLAS].
_Nich._ I cannot eat; but had I Wendoll’s heart, 20
I would eat that. The rogue grows impudent,
Oh! I have seen such vile, notorious tricks,
Ready to make my eyes dart from my head.
I’ll tell my master: by this air, I will;
Fall what may fall, I’ll tell him. Here he comes. 25
_Enter MASTER FRANKFORD, as it were brushing the crumbs from his
clothes with a napkin, as newly risen from supper._
_Frank._ Nicholas, what make you here? Why are not you
At supper in the hall, among your fellows?
_Nich._ Master, I stay’d your rising from the board,
To speak with you.
_Frank._ Be brief then, gentle Nicholas;
My wife and guests attend[2869] me in the parlour. 30
Why dost thou pause? Now, Nicholas, you want money,
And, unthrift-like, would eat into your wages
Ere you had earn’d it. Here, sir, ’s half-a-crown;
Play the good husband,[2870]—and away to supper!
_Nich._ By this hand, an honourable gentleman!
I will not see him wrong’d. 35
Sir, I have serv’d you long; you entertain’d me
Seven years before your beard; you knew me, sir,
Before you knew my mistress.
_Frank._ What of this, good Nicholas?
_Nich._ I never was a make-bate[2871] or a knave; 40
I have no fault but one—I’m given to quarrel,
But not with women. I will tell you, master,
That which will make your heart leap from your breast,
Your hair to startle from your head, your ears to tingle.
_Frank._ What preparation’s this to dismal news? 45
_Nich._ ’Sblood! sir, I love you better than your wife.
I’ll make it good.
_Frank._ You are a knave, and I have much ado
With wonted patience to contain my rage,
And not to break thy pate. Thou art a knave. 50
I’ll turn you, with your base comparisons,
Out of my doors.
_Nich._ Do, do.
There is not room for Wendoll and me too,
Both in one house. O master, master,
That Wendoll is a villain!
_Frank._ Ay, saucy? 55
_Nich._ Strike, strike, do strike; yet hear me! I am no fool;
I know a villain, when I see him act
Deeds of a villain. Master, master, the base slave
Enjoys my mistress, and dishonours you.
_Frank._ Thou hast kill’d me with a weapon, whose sharp point 60
Hath prick’d quite through and through my shiv’ring heart.
Drops of cold sweat sit dangling on my hairs,
Like morning’s dew upon the golden flowers,
And I am plung’d into strange agonies.
What did’st thou say? If any word that toucht 65
His credit, or her reputation,
It is as hard to enter my belief,
As Dives into heaven.
_Nich._ I can gain nothing:
They are two that never wrong’d me. I knew before
’T was but a thankless office, and perhaps 70
As much as is my service, or my life
Is worth. All this I know; but this, and more,
More by a thousand dangers, could not hire me
To smother such a heinous wrong from you.
I saw, and I have said. 75
_Frank._ ’T is probable. Though blunt, yet he is honest.
Though I durst pawn my life, and on their faith
Hazard the dear salvation of my soul,
Yet in my trust I may be too secure.
May this be true? Oh, may it? Can it be? 80
Is it by any wonder possible?
Man, woman, what thing mortal can we trust,
When friends and bosom wives prove so unjust?—
What instance[2872] hast thou of this strange report?
_Nich._ Eyes, [master,] eyes. 85
_Frank._ Thy eyes may be deceiv’d, I tell thee;
For should an angel from the heavens drop down,
And preach this to me that thyself hast told,
He should have much ado to win belief;
In both their loves I am so confident. 90
_Nich._ Shall I discourse the same by circumstance?
_Frank._ No more! To supper, and command your fellows
To attend us and the strangers! Not a word,
I charge thee, on thy life! Be secret then;
For I know nothing. 95
_Nich._ I am dumb; and, now that I have eas’d my stomach,[2873]
I will go fill my stomach. [_Exit._]
_Frank._ Away! Begone!—
She is well born, descended nobly;
Virtuous her education; her repute
Is in the general voice of all the country 100
Honest and fair; her carriage, her demeanour,
In all her actions that concern the love
To me her husband, modest, chaste, and godly.
Is all this seeming gold plain copper?
But he, that Judas that hath borne my purse,
Hath sold me for a sin. O God! O God! 106
Shall I put up these wrongs? No! Shall I trust
The bare report of this suspicious groom,
Before the double-gilt, the well-hatch’d[2874] ore
Of their two hearts? No, I will lose these thoughts; 110
Distraction I will banish from my brow,
And from my looks exile sad discontent.
Their wonted favours in my tongue shall flow;
Till I know all, I ’ll nothing seem to know.—
Lights and a table there! Wife, Master Wendoll, 115
And gentle Master Cranwell!
_Enter_ MISTRESS FRANKFORD, MASTER WENDOLL, MASTER CRANWELL, NICHOLAS,
_and_ JENKIN _with cards, carpets, stools, and other necessaries_.
_Frank._ O! Master Cranwell, you are a stranger here,
And often balk[2875] my house; faith, y’ are a churl!—
Now we have supp’d, a table, and to cards!
_Jen._ A pair[2876] of cards, Nicholas, and a carpet to cover
the table! Where ’s Cicely, with her (121) counters and her box?
Candles and candlesticks, there! Fie! We have such a household of
serving-creatures! Unless it be Nick and I, there’s not one amongst
them all that can say bo to a goose.—Well said,[2877] Nick! 126
_They spread a carpet: set down lights and cards._
_Mrs. F._ Come, Mr. Frankford, who shall take my part?[2878]
_Frank._ Marry, that will I, sweet wife. 129
_Wen._ No, by my faith, when you are together, I sit out. It must be
Mistress Frankford and I, or else it is no match.
_Frank._ I do not like that match.
_Nich._ [_Aside._] You have no reason, marry, knowing all. 135
_Frank._ ’T is no great matter, neither.— Come, Master Cranwell,
shall you and I take them up?[2879]
_Cran._ At your pleasure, sir. 139
_Frank._ I must look to you, Master Wendoll, for you ’ll be playing
false. Nay, so will my wife, too.
_Nich._ [_Aside._] Ay, I will be sworn she will.
_Mrs. F._ Let them that are taken playing false, forfeit the set! 145
_Frank._ Content; it shall go hard but I ’ll take you.
_Cran._ Gentlemen, what shall our game be?
_Wen._ Master Frankford, you play best at noddy.[2880]
_Frank._ You shall not find it so; indeed, you shall not.
_Mrs. F._ I can play at nothing so well as double-ruff.[2881] 150
_Frank._ If Master Wendoll and my wife be together, there ’s no
playing against them at double-hand.
_Nich._ I can tell you, sir, the game that Master Wendoll is best
at. 155
_Wen._ What game is that, Nick?
_Nich._ Marry, sir, knave out of doors.
_Wen._ She and I will take you at lodam.
_Mrs. F._ Husband, shall we play at saint?
_Frank._ [_Aside._] My saint ’s turn’d devil.— No, we ’ll none of
saint: 160
You are best at new-cut, wife, you ’ll play at that.
_Wen._ If you play at new-cut, I ’m soonest hitter of any here, for a
wager.
_Frank._ [_Aside._] ’T is me they play on.—Well, you may draw out; 164
For all your cunning, ’t will be to your shame;
I’ll teach you, at your new-cut, a new game.
Come, come!
_Cran._ If you cannot agree upon the game,
To post and pair!
_Wen._ We shall be soonest pairs; and my good host, 170
When he comes late home, he must kiss the post.[2882]
_Frank._ Whoever wins, it shall be to thy cost.
_Cran._ Faith, let it be vide-ruff, and let’s make honours!
_Frank._ If you make honours, one thing let me crave:
Honour the king and queen, except the knave. 175
_Wen._ Well, as you please for that.—Lift,[2883] who shall deal?
_Mrs. F._ The least in sight. What are you, Master Wendoll?
_Wen._ I am a knave.
_Nich._ [_Aside._] I’ll swear it.
_Mrs. F._ I a queen.
_Frank._ [_Aside._] A quean, thou should’st say. —Well, the cards
are mine:
They are the grossest pair[2884] that e’er I felt. 180
_Mrs. F._ Shuffle, I’ll cut: would I had never dealt!
_Frank._ I have lost my dealing.
_Wen._ Sir, the fault’s in me;
This queen I have more than mine own, you see.
Give me the stock![2884]
_Frank._ My mind ’s not on my game.
Many a deal I’ve lost; the more ’s your shame.
You have serv’d me a bad trick, Master Wendoll. 186
_Wen._ Sir, you must take your lot. To end this strife,
I know I have dealt better with your wife.
_Frank._ Thou hast dealt falsely, then.
_Mrs. F._ What ’s trumps? 190
_Wen._ Hearts. Partner, I rub.
_Frank._ [_Aside._] Thou robb’st me of my soul, of her chaste love;
In thy false dealing thou hast robb’d my heart.—
Booty you play; I like a loser stand,
Having no heart, or here or in my hand. 195
I will give o’er the set, I am not well.
Come, who will hold my cards?
_Mrs. F._ Not well, sweet Master Frankford?
Alas what ails you? ’T is some sudden qualm.
_Wen._ How long have you been so, Master Frankford? 200
_Frank._ Sir, I was lusty, and I had my health,
But I grew ill when you began to deal.—
Take hence this table!—Gentle Master Cranwell,
Y’ are welcome; see your chamber at your pleasure!
I am sorry that this megrim takes me so, 205
I cannot sit and bear you company.—
Jenkin, some lights, and show him to his chamber![2885]
_Mrs. F._ A nightgown for my husband; quickly, there!
It is some rheum or cold.
_Wen._ Now, in good faith,
This illness you have got by sitting late 210
Without your gown.
_Frank._ I know it, Master Wendoll.
Go, go to bed, lest you complain like me!—
Wife, prithee, wife, into my bed-chamber!
The night is raw and cold, and rheumatic.
Leave me my gown and light; I ’ll walk away my fit. 215
_Wen._ Sweet sir, good night!
_Frank._ Myself, good night! [_Exit_ Wendoll.]
_Mrs. F._ Shall I attend you, husband?
_Frank._ No, gentle wife, thou ’lt catch cold in thy head.
Prithee, begone, sweet; I’ll make haste to bed.
_Mrs. F._ No sleep will fasten on mine eyes, you know, 220
Until you come. [_Exit._]
_Frank._ Sweet Nan, I prithee, go!—
I have bethought me; get me by degrees
The keys of all my doors, which I will mould
In wax, and take their fair impression,
To have by them new keys. This being compast, 225
At a set hour a letter shall be brought me,
And when they think they may securely play,
They nearest are to danger.—Nick, I must rely
Upon thy trust and faithful secrecy.
_Nich._ Build on my faith!
_Frank._ To bed, then, not to rest!
Care lodges in my brain, grief in my breast. [_Exeunt._] 231
[SCENE III.][2886]
_Enter_ SIR CHARLES’S Sister, OLD MOUNTFORD, SANDY, RODER, _and_ TIDY.
_Old Mount._ You say my nephew is in great distress;
Who brought it to him but his own lewd life?
I cannot spare a cross. I must confess,
He was my brother’s son; why, niece, what then?
This is no world in which to pity men. 5
_Susan._ I was not born a beggar, though his extremes
Enforce this language from me. I protest
No fortune of mine own could lead my tongue
To this base key. I do beseech you, uncle,
For the name’s sake, for Christianity,— 10
Nay, for God’s sake, to pity his distress.
He is deni’d the freedom of the prison,
And in the hole is laid with men condemn’d;
Plenty he hath of nothing but of irons,
And it remains in you to free him thence. 15
_Old Mount._ Money I cannot spare; men should take heed.
He lost my kindred when he fell to need. _Exit._
_Susan._ Gold is but earth; thou earth enough shalt have,
When thou hast once took measure of thy grave.
You know me, Master Sandy, and my suit. 20
_Sandy._ I knew you, lady, when the old man liv’d;
I knew you ere your brother sold his land.
Then you were Mistress Sue, trick’d up in jewels;
Then you sung well, play’d sweetly on the lute;
But now I neither know you nor your suit. 25
[_Exit._]
_Susan._ You, Master Roder, was my brother’s tenant;
Rent-free he plac’d you in that wealthy farm,
Of which you are possest.
_Roder._ True, he did;
And have I not there dwelt still for his sake?
I have some business now; but, without doubt,
They that have hurl’d him in, will help him out. _Exit._ 31
_Susan._ Cold comfort still. What say you, cousin Tidy?
_Tidy._ I say this comes of roysting,[2887] swagg’ring.
Call me not cousin; each man for himself!
Some men are born to mirth, and some to sorrow: 35
I am no cousin unto them that borrow. _Exit._
_Susan._ O Charity, why art thou fled to heaven,
And left all things [up]on this earth uneven?
Their scoffing answers I will ne’er return,
But to myself his grief in silence mourn. 40
_Enter_ SIR FRANCIS _and_ MALBY.
_Sir F._ She is poor, I’ll therefore tempt her with this gold.
Go, Malby, in my name deliver it,
And I will stay thy answer.
_Mal._ Fair mistress, as I understand your grief
Doth grow from want, so I have here in store
A means to furnish you, a bag of gold, 46
Which to your hands I freely tender you.
_Susan._ I thank you, Heavens! I thank you, gentle sir:
God make me able to requite this favour!
_Mal._ This gold Sir Francis Acton sends by me, 50
And prays you——
_Susan._ Acton? O God! That name I’m born to curse.
Hence, bawd; hence, broker! See, I spurn his gold.
My honour never shall for gain be sold.
_Sir F._ Stay, lady, stay!
_Susan._ From you I’ll posting hie, 55
Even as the doves from feather’d eagles fly. _Exit._
_Sir F._ She hates my name, my face; how should I woo?
I am disgrac’d in every thing I do.
The more she hates me, and disdains my love,
The more I am rapt in admiration 60
Of her divine and chaste perfections.
Woo her with gifts I cannot, for all gifts
Sent in my name she spurns; with looks I cannot,
For she abhors my sight; nor yet with letters,
For none she will receive. How then? how then?
Well, I will fasten such a kindness on her, 66
As shall o’ercome her hate and conquer it.
Sir Charles, her brother, lies in execution
For a great sum of money; and, besides,
The appeal is sued still for my huntsmen’s death, 70
Which only I have power to reverse.
In her I’ll bury all my hate of him.—
Go seek the Keeper, Malby, bring him to me!
To save his body, I his debts will pay; 74
To save his life, I his appeal will stay. [_Exeunt._]
[ACT IV]
[SCENE I.][2888]
_Enter_ SIR CHARLES [MOUNTFORD], _in prison, with irons, his feel bare,
his garments all ragged and torn._
_Sir C._ Of all on the earth’s face most miserable,
Breathe in this hellish dungeon thy laments!
Thus like a slave ragg’d, like a felon gyv’d,—
That hurls thee headlong to this base estate.
Oh, unkind uncle! Oh, my friends ingrate! 5
Unthankful kinsmen! Mountford’s all too base,
To let thy name be fetter’d in disgrace,
A thousand deaths here in this grave I die;
Fear, hunger, sorrow, cold, all threat my death,
And join together to deprive my breath. 10
But that which most torments me, my dear sister
Hath left[2889] to visit me, and from my friends
Hath brought no hopeful answer; therefore, I
Divine they will not help my misery.
If it be so, shame, scandal, and contempt 15
Attend their covetous thoughts; need make their graves!
Usurers they live, and may they die like slaves!
_Enter_ Keeper.
_Keep._ Knight, be of comfort, for I bring thee freedom
From all thy troubles.
_Sir C._ Then, I am doom’d to die:
Death is the end of all calamity. 20
_Keep._ Live! Your appeal is stay’d; the execution
Of all your debts discharg’d; your creditors
Even to the utmost penny satisfied.
In sign whereof your shackles I knock off.
You are not left so much indebted to us 25
As for your fees; all is discharg’d; all paid.
Go freely to your house, or where you please;
After long miseries, embrace your ease.
_Sir C._ Thou grumblest out the sweetest music to me
That ever organ play’d.—Is this a dream? 30
Or do my waking senses, apprehend
The pleasing taste of these applausive[2890] news?
Slave that I was, to wrong such honest friends,
My loving kinsman, and my near allies! 34
Tongue, I will bite thee for the scandal breath’d
Against such faithful kinsmen; they are all
Compos’d of pity and compassion,
Of melting charity and of moving ruth.
That which I spoke before was in my rage;
They are my friends, the mirrors of this age; 40
Bounteous and free. The noble Mountford’s race
Ne’er bred a covetous thought, or humour base.
_Enter_ SUSAN.
_Susan._ I cannot longer stay from visiting
My woful brother. While I could, I kept
My hapless tidings, from his hopeful ear. 45
_Sir C._ Sister, how much am I indebted to thee
And to thy travail!
_Susan._ What, at liberty?
_Sir C._ Thou seest I am, thanks to thy industry.
Oh! Unto which of all my courteous friends
Am I thus bound? My uncle Mountford, he 50
Even of an infant lov’d me; was it he?
So did my cousin Tidy; was it he?
So Master Roder, Master Sandy, too.
Which of all these did this high kindness do?
_Susan._ Charles, can you mock me in your poverty, 55
Knowing your friends deride your misery?
Now, I protest I stand so much amaz’d,
To see your bonds free, and your irons knock’d off,
That I am rapt into a maze of wonder;
The rather for I know not by what means 60
This happiness hath chanc’d.
_Sir C._ Why, by my uncle,
My cousins, and my friends; who else, I pray,
Would take upon them all my debts to pay?
_Susan._ Oh, brother! they are men [made] all of flint,
Pictures of marble, and as void of pity 65
As chased bears. I begg’d, I sued, I kneel’d,
Laid open all your griefs and miseries,
Which they derided; more than that, deni’d us
A part in their alliance; but, in pride,
Said that our kindred with our plenty died. 70
_Sir C._ Drudges too much,[2891]—what did they? Oh, known evil!
Rich fly the poor, as good men shun the devil.
Whence should my freedom come? Of whom alive,
Saving of those, have I deserv’d go well?
Guess, sister, call to mind, remember me! 75
These have I rais’d, they follow the world’s guise,
Whom rich [they][2892] honour, they in woe despise.
_Susan._ My wits have lost themselves; let’s ask the keeper!
_Sir C._ Gaoler!
_Keep._ At hand, sir. 80
_Sir C._ Of courtesy resolve me one demand!
What was he took the burden of my debts
From off my back, staid my appeal to death,
Discharg’d my fees, and brought me liberty?
_Keep._ A courteous knight, one call’d Sir Francis Acton. 85
_Sir C._ Ha! Acton! Oh me! More distress’d in this
Than all my troubles! Hale me back,
Double my irons, and my sparing meals
Put into halves, and lodge me in a dungeon
More deep, more dark, more cold, more comfortless! 90
By Acton freed! Not all thy manacles
Could fetter so my heels, as this one word
Hath thrall’d my heart; and it must now lie bound
In more strict prison than thy stony gaol.
I am not free, I go but under bail. 95
_Keep._ My charge is done, sir, now I have my fees.
As we get little, we will nothing leese.[2893]
_Sir C._ By Acton freed, my dangerous opposite!
Why, to what end? On what occasion? Ha!
Let me forget the name of enemy, 100
And with indifference balance[2894] this high favour!
Ha!
_Susan._ [_Aside._] His love to me, upon my soul, ’t is so!
That is the root from whence these strange things grow.
_Sir C._ Had this proceeded from my father, he
That by the law of Nature is most bound 106
In offices of love, it had deserv’d
My best employment to requite that grace.
Had it proceeded from my friends, or him, 109
From them this action had deserv’d my life,—
And from a stranger more, because from such
There is less execution[2895] of good deeds.
But he, nor father, nor ally, nor friend,
More than a stranger, both remote in blood,
And in his heart oppos’d my enemy, 115
That this high bounty should proceed from him,—
Oh! there I lose myself. What should I say,
What think, what do, his bounty to repay?
_Susan._ You wonder, I am sure, whence this strange kindness
Proceeds in Acton; I will tell you, brother. 120
He dotes on me, and oft hath sent me gifts,
Letters, and tokens; I refus’d them all.
_Sir C._ I have enough, though poor: my heart is set,
In one rich gift to pay back all my debt. _Exeunt._
[SCENE II.[2896]]
_Enter_ FRANKFORD _and_ NICHOLAS, _with keys and a letter in his hand_.
_Frank._ This is the night that I must play my part,
To try two seeming angels.—Where’s my keys?
_Nich._ They are made according to your mould in wax.
I bade the smith be secret, gave him money,
And here they are. The letter, sir! 5
_Frank._ True, take it, there it is;
And when thou seest me in my pleasant’st vein,
Ready to sit to supper, bring it me!
_Nich._ I’ll do’t; make no more question, but I’ll do it. _Exit._
_Enter_ MISTRESS FRANKFORD, CRANWELL, WENDOLL, _and_ JENKIN.
_Mrs. F._ Sirrah, ’t is six o’clock already struck; 10
Go bid them spread the cloth, and serve in supper!
_Jen._ It shall be done, forsooth, mistress.
Where’s Spigot, the butler, to give us out salt
and trenchers? 14
_Wen._ We that have been a hunting all the day,
Come with prepared stomachs.—Master Frankford,
We wish’d you at our sport.
_Frank._ My heart was with you, and my mind was on you.—
Fie, Master Cranwell! You are still thus sad.—
A stool, a stool! Where’s Jenkin, and where’s Nick? 20
’T is supper time at least an hour ago.
What’s the best news abroad?
_Wen._ I know none good.
_Frank._ [_Aside._] But I know too much bad.
_Enter_ Butler _and_ JENKIN, _with a table-cloth_, _bread_,
_trenchers_, _and salt_; [_then exeunt._]
_Cran._ Methinks, sir, you might have that interest[2897]
In your wife’s brother, to be more remiss[2898] 25
In his hard dealing against poor Sir Charles,
Who, as I hear, lies in York Castle, needy
And in great want.
_Frank._ Did not more weighty business of mine own
Hold me away, I would have labour’d peace 30
Betwixt them with all care; indeed I would, sir.
_Mrs. F._ I’ll write unto my brother earnestly
In that behalf.
_Wen._ A charitable deed,
And will beget the good opinion
Of all your friends that love you, Mistress Frankford. 35
_Frank._ That’s you, for one; I know you love Sir Charles,
[_Aside._] And my wife too, well.
_Wen._ He deserves the love
Of all true gentlemen; be yourselves judge!
_Frank._ But supper, ho!—Now, as thou lov’st me, Wendoll, 39
Which I am sure thou dost, be merry, pleasant,
And frolic it to-night!—Sweet Mr. Cranwell,
Do you the like!—Wife, I protest, my heart
Was ne’er more bent on sweet alacrity.
Where be those lazy knaves to serve in supper?
_Enter_ NICHOLAS.
_Nich._ Here’s a letter, sir.
_Frank._ Whence comes it, and who brought it?
_Nich._ A stripling that below attends your answer, 45
And, as he tells me, it is sent from York.
_Frank._ Have him into the cellar, let him taste
A cup of our March beer; go, make him drink!
_Nich._ I’ll make him drunk, if he be a Trojan.[2899] 50
_Frank._ [_after reading the letter._] My boots
and spurs! Where’s Jenkin? God forgive me,
How I neglect my business!—Wife, look here!
I have a matter to be tri’d to-morrow
By eight o’clock; and my attorney writes me,
I must be there betimes with evidence, 55
Or it will go against me. Where’s my boots?
_Enter_ JENKIN, _with boots and spurs_.
_Mrs. F._ I hope your business craves no such despatch,
That you must ride to-night?
_Wen._ [_Aside._] I hope it doth.
_Frank._ God’s me! No such despatch?
Jenkin, my boots! Where’s Nick? Saddle my roan, 60
And the grey dapple for himself!—Content ye,
It much concerns me.—Gentle Master Cranwell,
And Master Wendoll, in my absence use
The very ripest pleasure of my house!
_Wen._ Lord! Master Frankford, will you ride to-night? 65
The ways are dangerous.
_Frank._ Therefore will I ride
Appointed[2900] well; and so shall Nick, my man.
_Mrs. F._ I ’ll call you up by five o’clock to-morrow.
_Frank._ No, by my faith, wife, I’ll not trust to that:
’T is not such easy rising in a morning 70
From one I love so dearly. No, by my faith,
I shall not leave so sweet a bedfellow,
But with much pain. You have made me a sluggard
Since I first knew you.
_Mrs. F._ Then, if you needs will go
This dangerous evening. Master Wendoll, 75
Let me entreat you bear him company.