NUNTIUS.
O joyful news which I report, and bring into your ears!
Philologus, that would have hanged himself with cord,
Is now converted unto God with many bitter tears:
By godly counsel he was won, all praise be to the Lord.
His errors all he did renounce, his blasphemies he abhorr'd,
And being converted left his life, exhorting foe and friend,
That do profess the faith of Christ, to be constant to the end.
Full thirty weeks in woful wise afflicted he had been,
All which long time he took no food, but forc'd against his will
Even with a spoon to pour some broth his teeth between:
And though they sought by force this wise to feed him still,
He always strove with all his might the same on ground to spill;
So that no sustenance he receiv'd, no sleep could he attain,
And now the Lord in mercy great hath eas'd him of his pain.
THE RARE TRIUMPHS OF LOVE AND FORTUNE.
EDITION.
_The Rare Triumphes of Love and Fortune, Plaide before the Queenes most
excellent Maiestie: wherin are manye fine Conceites with great delight.
At London, Printed by E.A. for Edward White, and are to be solde at the
little North doore of S. Paules Church at the signe of the Gunne_. 1589.
4°. Black letter.
THE RARE TRIUMPHS OF LOVE AND FORTUNE.
THE FIRST ACT.
_Enter_ MERCURY: _then riseth a Fury: then enter the assembly
of the gods_, JUPITER _with_ JUNO, APOLLO _with_ MINERVA, MARS
_and_ SATURN, _after_ VULCAN _with_ VENUS: _the Fury sets debate
amongst them, and after_ JUPITER speaks as followeth_.
JUPITER.
Ye gods and goddesses, whence springs this strife of late?
Who are the authors of this mutiny?
Or whence hath sprung this civil discord here.
Which on the sudden struck us in this fear?
If gods that reign in skies do fall at war,
No marvel, then, though mortal men do jar.
But now I see the cause: thou Fury fell,
Bred in the dungeon of the deepest hell,
Who causeth thee to show thyself in light?
And what thy message is, I charge thee tell upright?
TISIPHONE.
O Jupiter, thou dreadful king of gods, and men the father high,
To whose command the heavens, the earth, and lowest hell obey,
Tisiphone, the daughter of eternal night,
Bred in the bottom of the deepest pit of hell,
Brought up in blood, and cherish'd with scrawling snakes,
Tormenting therewithal the damned souls of them
Here upon earth, that careless live of thy commandment;
I am the same--
I am the same whom both my loathsome sisters hate,
Whom hell itself complains to keep within her race,
Whom every fearful soul detesteth with a curse,
Whom earth and seas defy, heavens loathing to behold;
I am the same--
I am the same sent from thy brother Pluto now,
Thy brother Pluto, king of hell and golden mines;
Sent unto thee and these thy fellow-gods I am,
From him to thee, from him by me, to tell thee to thy face
He hath been lately rubb'd, and touch'd perhaps too near;
Which he ne can or will put up without revenge,
If thou or any god the quarrel dare defend.
And this it is--
Thy daughter Venus, thy proud daughter Venus here,
Blabs it abroad, and beareth all the world in hand,[62]
She must be thought the only goddess in the world,
Exalting and suppressing whom she likes best,
Defacing altogether Lady Fortune's grace;
Breaking her altars[63] down, dishonouring her name,
Whose government thyself, thyself dost know.
How say'st thou? dost thou not?--
Her father, therefore, thy brother Pluto, sends
By me, the messenger of discord and debate,
Commanding or desiring--choose thou whether of both--
Her honour still entire[64] she may maintain;
Else on thy daughter Venus, that lascivious dame,
Himself will wreak his high despite on her.
JUPITER.
Depart, foul fiend, unto thy loathsome cell,
Where thou lamenting makes continual moan!
Go tell my brother, were it not for him,
Thou shouldst have rued thy bold presumption.
Say thou thy message hath been largely heard,
And bid him send his daughter Fortune, now,
Whilst we are here, the matter may have end.
Despatch.
TISIPHONE.
I go--
Give place, thou air; open, thou earth; gape, hollow hell, below;
And unto all that live and breathe I wish a world of woe.
[_Exit_ TISIPHONE.
JUPITER.
Ye powers divine, be reconcil'd again;
Depart from discord and extreme debate:
Within your breasts let love and peace remain,
A perfect pattern of your heavenly state,
Whilome ago[65] to hell condemning hate.
Thus, when the higher powers is in one,[66]
Men upon earth will fly contention.
MERCURY.
Great god and father mine, your care and fear
Of us, and eke of all the world beside,
That restless rolls in his continual sphere,
Whereby all things in perfect course abide,
As one arrays[67] another forth to slide:
And this example may prevail for all,
To work our wills according to your call.
And I dare say, presuming on the rest,
The poison of this rancour is suppress'd.
VULCAN.
How ye agree, my masters, I cannot tell;
[_To Venus_.] But, were we a-bed, we two could agree well.
JUPITER.
Gramercy, Mercury; I know thy will
Is ever prest to further my desire:
In sign whereof, to quiet all things well,
And to suppress betimes the secret fire,
That I perceive would break and mount up higher:
This to prevent, content ye here to stay,
To mark awhile what for themselves they say.
And, Venus, here I charge thee on my grace,
Not that I found thee heretofore untrue,
But for thine adversary is not yet in place,
Thou tell uprightly whence your quarrel grew;
What words betwixt you thereof did ensue.
Say, lovely daughter; tell us flat thy mind:
They shall be blamed on whom the fault we find.
VENUS.
O thou, that governest everything, that gods and men attempt,
And with thy fearful thunderbolt their doings dost prevent,
What hath thy daughter so deserved? what doth she, silly dame,
Before ye thus to be abused with undeserved blame?
Surely, but that my[68] duty commands me now to speak,
For such a trifling cause this way my wrath I would not wreak.
But she--no marvel though she seek my seat thus to stain,
When otherways she cannot tell advantage how to gain.
But thence this hot despite: _Hinc illae lacrimae_,
Because, I say, she could not prove herself of power with me.
For, all you godheads know, she pains but such as pleasure knew:
She never grieves the groaning mind, where gladness never grew.
She never overthrows but at the top of joy;
For they that never tasted bliss mislike not their annoy.
But I torment the mind that never felt relief;
I plague the wretch that never thought on comfort in his grief,
That never had the hope of any happy chance,
That never once so much as deem'd I would his state advance.
Think, then, which of us both are of the greater power:
Once in his life, or not at all, to grant a light'ning hour?
I need not stand to make rehearsal here at all,
For gods and ghosts, yea, men and beasts, unto my power are thrall.
I dare appeal to you, if I should look awry--
Say, father, with your leave, in heaven who dares my word deny?
And if I please to smile, who will not laugh outright?
Whereby my great omnipotence is known to every wight.
I make the noble love the bastard in degree;
I tame and temper all the tongues that rail and scoff at me.
What bird, what beast, what worm, but feeleth my delight?
What lives or draweth breath, but[69] I can pleasure or despite?
Yet divers things there be that Fortune cannot tame;
As are the riches of the mind, or else an honest name,
Or a contented heart, still free from Fortune's power:
But such as climb, before they crawl, must drink the sweet with sour.
Thyself, O Jupiter, didst grant sometimes to me,
Of all things here beneath the moon I should the ruler be:
Thou say'st I did deserve the honour of that praise;
Thyself didst once devise whereby my glory first to raise.
Is this my sovereignty? is this so glorious?
Is this becoming thy renown, to quit thy daughter thus?
JUPITER.
Fear not, fair Venus, neither be dismay'd;
Repose thee on the warrant of my word.
What I have promis'd, doubt not to be performed;
The spareless destinies my will afford:
Let this defend thee, like a trusty sword.
But Lady Fortune cometh, now I see.
Welcome, fair dame; what is thy will with me?
[_Enter_ FORTUNE.]
FORTUNE.
Ye sacred powers divine, how should I now begin,
Or which way should I couch my words, your favours for to win?
I may pour out my plaint, but thou may'st it redress.
My father humbly prayeth you to give me leave to speak,
And pardon him that in his wrath he did your quietness break.
I cannot but confess, dread gods, I am not she,
That seeks with Venus to compare in her supremacy.
I am not of that power, yet am I of some might,
Which she (usurping) challengeth to keep me from my right.
I grant she may do much with her alluring smiles,
But soon your godheads can perceive her words be full of wiles.
What be the tragedies, the terrors, that she makes?
Let's see the mighty monarchs, the kingdoms that she shakes.
Poor soul, she soundly lives with wanton sug'red joys,
Triumphing in her own delight upon her foolish toys.
Sometimes she flattereth it in pleasure mix'd with pain,
Like to a fair sunshine day overcast with clouds of rain.
But should I reckon up what things I can confound,
What is it then, or what hath been, or shall for aye be found?
Is not the wonder of the world a work that soon decays?
Therefore, ye see all earthly things are wearing out always;
As brittle as the glass, unconstant like the mind,
As fickle as the whirling wheel, as wavering as the wind.
Lo, such I am that overthrows the highest-reared tower,
That changeth and supplanteth[70] realms in twinkling of an hour,
And send them hasty smart whom I devise to spoil,
Not threat'ning or forewarning them, but at a smile.
Where joy doth most abound, there I do sorrow place,
And them I chiefly persecute that pleasure did embrace.
What greater grief can fall to man in all his life,
Than after sweet to taste the sour, in peace to be at strife?
It is a biting thought that fretteth on the heart,
To say, the time was when I joy'd, though now oppress'd with smart.
If ever mighty king did 'scape untouch'd of me,
If ever year, or month, or day, or if an hour might be,
Wherein I have not us'd to practise some exchange,
Perhaps for this authority I might be thought to range
Too far beyond my right; but even the very stars,
The heavens, the planets, and the seas, bear witness of my scars.
VENUS.
No more of that, good dame; you run too far at roam:
I'll take the pains to keep you short, and call you nearer home.
I pray you, what's your might, when all are well belov'd?
FORTUNE.
The sweetest lovers in distress the sharper storms have prov'd.
VENUS.
Perhaps for want of wealth; but if their riches slack?
FORTUNE.
They are the very instrument, whereby I work their woe.
VENUS.
What, if their friends abound, then can they never lack?
FORTUNE.
The dearest friends are scattered, when Fortune turns her toe.
VENUS.
If they be noble born, or of a princely blood?
FORTUNE.
When Fortune frowns, that may procure more harm than do them good.
VENUS.
But wise men evermore upon a rock are set.
FORTUNE.
Yet can they not escape a scourge, for Fortune hath a net.
JUPITER.
I will not in, till things be well discern'd:
Affection shall not mar a lawful cause.
By examples this may best be learn'd,
In elder ages led within your laws.
Therefore, a while hereof I mean to pause;
And bring in, Mercury, in open view
The ghosts of them that Love and Fortune slew.
MERCURY.
Thy word my will--
Thou triple-headed Cerberus, give place;
And I command thee, Charon, with thy ferryboat
Transport the souls of such as may report
Fortune and Love, and not in open sort.
Let them appear to us in silent show,
To manifest a truth that we must know.
[_Strikes with his rod three times_.
VULCAN.
Are ye mad, my masters? what a stir have we here.
Lord, have mercy upon us! must the devil appear?
Come away, wife; when I pray thee, come away.
Down on your knees, my masters, and pray.
[_Music_.
_Enter the show of Troilus and Cressida_.
MERCURY.
Behold, how Troilus and Cressida
Cries out on Love, that framed their decay.
VULCAN.
That was like the old wife, when her ale would not come,
Thrust a firebrand in the grout, and scratch'd her bum.
[_Music_.
_Enter the[71] show of Alexander_.
MERCURY.
Alexander the Great, that all the world subdu'd,
Curseth fell Fortune, that did him delude.
VULCAN.
'Tis an honest, grim sire at his first coming out, believe me;
And ye had stood in the wind, ye might have smelt me.
[_Music_.
_Enter the show of Queen Dido_.
MERCURY.
Queen Dido, that Aeneas could not move,
Stabbed herself, and yielded unto Love.
VULCAN.
The more fool she, and she were my own brother?
If my wife would not love me, must not I love another?
[_Music_.
_Enter the show of Pompey and Caesar_.
MERCURY.
Pompey and Caesar, the wonders of their time,
By froward Fortune spoiled in their prime.
VULCAN.
They were served well enough, why could not they be content
With a roach and a red herring in the holy time of Lent?
[_Music_.
_Enter the show of Leander and Hero_.
MERCURY.
[Hero and] Leander presents them very loth,
That felt the force of Love and Fortune both.
FORTUNE.
Upon him I my sovereignty did show.
VENUS.
And think you, dame, my power she did not know?
FORTUNE.
But it was I that dashed their delight.
VENUS.
After that I had proved my open might.
VULCAN.
What a scolding is here! shall it even thus be?
You look like an honest man in the parish; I pray you, make them agree.
JUPITER.
Content ye both: I'll hear no more of this.
And, Mercury, surcease; call out no more.
I have bethought me how to work their wish,
As you have often prov'd it heretofore.
Here in this land, within that princely bower,
There is a Prince beloved of his love,
On whom I mean your sovereignties to prove.
Venus, for that th[e]y love thy sweet delight,
Thou shalt endeavour to increase their joy:
And, Fortune, thou to manifest thy might,
Their pleasures and their pastimes shalt[72] destroy,
Overthwarting them with news of fresh annoy;
And she that most can please them or despite,
I will confirm to be of greatest might.
VENUS.
Your godhead hath devis'd, as I desire,
And I am gladly therewithal content.
FORTUNE.
And I am prest to do as you require;
Now shall you see the proof of my intent.
[JUPITER.]
Take up your places here to work your will:
When you have done, the rest I shall fulfil.
VULCAN.
They are set sunning like a crow in a gutter. What, are they gone?
And you will be quiet, sirs, they will make you good sport with their
scolding anon.
Are not these a sort of good, mannerly gods to get them thus away?
I must take the pains to overtake them, for I see they will not stay.
[_Exeunt omnes_.
_The end of the first Act_.
THE SECOND ACT.
_Enter_ HERMIONE _and_ FIDELIA.
HERMIONE.
Why then, my dear, what is the greatest prize in love?
FIDELIA.
Absence of other griefs, the greatest that loving hearts can prove.
HERMIONE.
But absence cannot minish love, or make it less in ought.
FIDELIA.
Yet nevertheless it leaves a doubt within the other's thought.
HERMIONE.
And what is that?--
FIDELIA.
Lest change of air should change the absent mind.
HERMIONE.
That fault is proper but to them whom jealousy makes blind.
FIDELIA.
O, pardon it, for that the cause from whence it springs is such.
HERMIONE.
From whence is that?
FIDELIA.
My mother says, from loving over-much.
HERMIONE.
Your author I will not admit; that rests us[73] it to prove.
FIDELIA.
Be sure it is, that jealousy proceeds of fervent love.
HERMIONE.
Can that be fervent love, wherein suspicion leads the mind?
FIDELIA.
Most fervent love, where so much love doth make the fancy blind.
HERMIONE.
But faithful love can never be, wherein suspect doth dwell.
FIDELIA.
The faithful lovers do suspect, because they love so well.
HERMIONE.
My dear Fidelia, as I think, thy love is such to me,
So fervent, faithful and unstain'd, as purer none can be,
Admit occasions fall out, then, that I must part from thee,
Tell me, wilt thou mean space suspect inconstancy in me?
FIDELIA.
If so I do, impute it to the force of lovers' laws,
That oftentimes are touch'd with fear, whereas there is no cause.
[ARMENIO _listening_.
ARMENIO.
What have I heard? what do mine eyes behold?
Dishonour to the house from whence I came!
Unshamefast girl, forgetful, all too bold:
And thou, false traitor, author of the same.
Sufferest not, for guerdon of thy due,
The king my father's gracious countenance,
But must thou climb, ungrateful and untrue,
These steps at first thine honour to advance?
Hath Fortune promised so much hope at first,
To make thy conquest of a prince's child?
And should I stand to question, how thou durst
To leave to think she might be so beguil'd?
But words may not suffice to wreak this wrong,
Hid under cloak of over-hardy[74] love.
Thou[75] upstart fondling, and forborne too long,
To give such cause thy prince's ire to move.
FIDELIA.
Nay, my good brother, take it not so whot:
The fault is mine, and I will bear the blame.
And to return you an answer, well I wot
How to defend the honour of my name.
But for my love, I am resolved in this,
However you account of his defaults,
With vowed affection wholly to be his,
As one in whom I spy more special parts,
Than fall in fondlings of the baser kind.
To have a word not squaring with the place,
But measure men by their unstained minds,
Let fortune be to virtue no disgrace;
For fortune, when and where it likes her majesty,
With clouds can cover birth and highest degree.
ARMENIO.
What, dame, and are you shameless in your shame?
No, mistress, no: it will not be let past;
But, wilful wench, this new-attempted game,
Ere it be won, will ask another cast.
And, lady, cloak his virtues as you will,
He'll be but as I said, a fondling still.
HERMIONE.
Erst had I thought, my lord, a man so wise as you,
Son to a prince, scholar to him that depth of learning knew,
Among many lessons one,[76] this rule could wisely find,
To have the government of wrath and rancour of your mind.
What high offence is given unto your father's grace?
I take it nothing needful here to reason of the case:
But stand he less content, or pleased herewithal,
My lord, that thus you should mislike the cause is very small.
The unremoved love I bear my lady here,
Whose countenance my comfort is, that holds my love as dear,
Commands me to digest such hard and bitter words,
As not with credit of your state your honour here affords.
Else, prince, persuade thyself, my mind were not so base
To pocket, but for such respects, so hard and foul disgrace.
And this,[77] lady--Hermione, for ought that men do know,
By birth may be as nobly born as Prince Armenio.
ARMENIO.
Traitor, thou shalt not joy that proud comparison.
FIDELIA.
My good Hermione, come hence; let him alone.
ARMENIO.
Nay, dame; it likes me not that you should go.
HERMIONE.
Whether thou wilt, Armenio, she shall, though thou say no.
ARMENIO.
What, shall she, villain?
FIDELIA.
Help, help! alas!
_Enter_ PHIZANTIES [_the prince], a_ LORD, _and_
PENULO [_a parasite_].
PHIZANTIES.
What stir is here? what means this broil begun?
Give me to know th'occasion of this strife?
How falls it out? Armenio, my son,
Hath wound receiv'd by stroke of naked knife.
Say to me straight, what one hath done this deed?
His blows are big that makes a prince to bleed.
FIDELIA.
My sovereign father, pardon his offence,[78]
Whose grief of mind is greater than his wound.
My rightful quarrel yields me safe defence,
And here they stand that guilty must be found.
ARMENIO.
Traitor, O king, unto your majesty,
Whose proud attempt doth touch your grace so near,
As what may be the greatest villainy
Upon recital shall be opened here.
My sister and your far unworthy child,
Forgetting love and fear of gods and thee,
And honour of her name, is thus beguil'd
To love this gentleman, whom here you see--
Hermione, whom for a jewel of some price
Old Hermet gave[79] your highness long ago.
And for I gave rebuke to her[80] device,
In gallant thought he would not take it so;
But, as it seems, to do my body good--
I thank him--deign'd himself to let me blood.
PHIZANTIES.
Hermione, and hast thou done this deed?
And couldst thou shrine such treason in thy thought?
Armenio, jest not with thy hurt: take heed.
And thou, fond girl, whose stained blood hath wrought,
How hath mine age and honour been abus'd,
My princely care, Hermione, of thee?
The fault so great it cannot be excus'd,
And you enforc'd the shame thereof to see.
But far we fear some farther ill may fall,
Through love and hate of one and of the other:
Her foolish love, I mean; and therewithal
The hot disdain and stomach of her brother.
Hermione, weigh what our pleasure is.
Whilome, thou knowest, we entertained[81] thee willingly;
Now, seeing thou hast done so far amiss
To reach above thy reach unorderly,
In milder words, because we love thee well,
Lo, we discharge thee of our princely court:
Thou mayest no longer with Fidelia dwell,
Forbidden to her presence to resort.
Behold my 'ward,[82] that am no bitter judge,
And wend thy way, where'er thou likest to go:
This only way I take to end the grudge,
And stop the love that each to other owe.
Among such haps as might my mind content,
Whereof the gracious gods have given me store,
I count this one, if thus I might prevent
The furthest outrage of the swelling sore.
HERMIONE.
Alas! now have I lived too long, I see,
Confounded so to yield to fortune's will:
My sovereign prince offended thus with me,
And I adjudg'd to death, though living still.
Ah, my good lord! whom I have honoured long,
Long may your highness joy this highest place:
Thyself the root and cause of mine own wrong.
But must I leave to view my lady's face,
And, banish'd from my prince's royal court,
Wander,[83] as erst the unhappy Oedipus,
Whose pain my foes will make their chiefest sport--
My most unhappy chance will have it thus.
ARMENIO.
No force forsooth: unpitied might he die,
That to his sovereign means such villainy.
HERMIONE.
Such villainy! who ever meant more good?
ARMENIO.
The venom of thy villainy withstood.
HERMIONE.
Armenio, I forbear thee here for reverence;
Yet, by my prince's leave, in my defence
I may allege I lov'd thy sister here;
Which love though I am like to buy full dear;
Yet is her love more precious than the price.
But since hard hap prevents our late device,
Long live my lord, long live my lady's grace:
God send them friends as loyal in my place;
And, trust me, then their fortune shall be such,
As not thy love shall ever prove so much.
PHIZANTIES.
Hermione, give me thy hand: adieu:
Think this is done t'avoid a further ill,
And double mischief that might else ensue.
For my sake cease to love Fidelia still:
Unequal love is enemy to rest.
She is too young to love thee as she should--
And thou, Hermione, canst conceive the rest.
My meaning is, she loves not as we would.
Time may afford to both your hearts' desires
New choice to cool these newly-kindled fires.
FIDELIA.
Never, alas! never will be the day,
That I shall leave to love Hermione.
Sooner shall nature's course quite altered be,
Than I shall leave, dear knight, to honour thee.
Good father, let him stay, who, if he part,
'Gainst law is like to steal away my heart.
ARMENIO.
May it please your grace to keep the body here,
It's like enough the heart will hover[84] near.
HERMIONE.
My lord, laugh not oppressed souls to scorn.
Losers, they say, may easily be forborne.
PHIZANTIES.
Forbear these words; and thou, Fidelia,
These misbeseeming foolish fashions stay.
Let it suffice that thou shalt live in court,
Where, if among the jolly brave resort
Of sundry knights of noble personage,
Worthy thy love for gifts and parentage,
Thou shalt espy one[85] such as we do like,
Our favours shall not be too far to seek.
FIDELIA.
Ah, my Hermione!
HERMIONE.
Sweet lady mine, farewell.[86]
Farewell, the courteous't dame that on earth do dwell.
ARMENIO.
Sir, now you are packing, let me know your walk,
For I have that may not be past without some talk:
Nor stands it with mine honour to let thee bear it clear,
But I will make thee know Armenio's blood is dear.
HERMIONE.
My lord, I make no challenge with offence;
But first I will prepare for my defence.
ARMENIO.
So, sir, you are aforehand: keep you so,
And reckon of Armenio for thy vowed foe.
Go, wend thy ways obscurer than the night,
And Fortune for revenge plague thee with spite.
[_Exit_.
HERMIONE.
Farewell, my cruel foe; not thou nor Fortune may
Add more unto the miseries that I have felt to-day;
Nor but by safe return[87] unto this happy place,
Can gods or Fortune make amends in this distressed case.
Then cease, Hermione, to utter speech of this;
Words not suffice this endless woe, but death, i-wis:
And part thou from the place a dead and liveless man,
Robb'd of thy senses and thy joy, since first this stir began.
PENULO.
Ah, good my lord, my good lord Hermione!
HERMIONE.
I am, indeed, as thou dost say, Hermione;
For that I am Hermione, I am
The unhappiest wight that ever hither came.
PENULO.
Ah, my good lord! would God, poor Penulo
Might any way but mitigate this woe.
And pleaseth it your honour to command
My service, or the help of head or hand,
Penulo, my worthy lord, would prove as just,
As he whom best your honour likes to trust.
Say what it is, wherein my secrecy
May aid your lordship in this extremity?
HERMIONE.
Penulo, since thou so friendly here dost proffer me
The uttermost of aid that lies in thee,
I do remember that which, brought to pass,
Would make me half so happy as I was.
PENULO.
Say it, my lord, and constantly I vow it,
It shall go hard, but Penulo will do it.
HERMIONE.
Gramercy, gentle friend: then, thus it is:--
The lady of my life Fidelia is;
Of whom I am, I know, belov'd no less
Than she of me, my gracious mistress,
Sever'd by Fortune and our cruel foe,
My lord her brother, Prince Armenio.
Now could'st thou, Penulo, thyself behave
On trust to bring my lady to the cave,
Where whilome (lovers) we were wont to meet,
In secret sort each other for to greet.
She wots it well, and every corner knows,
And every uncouth[88] step that thither goes:
For what is not sharpsighted lovers see?
This is the sum of my desire to thee.
Accomplish this, and, this in silence done,
My happiness will be again begun.
PENULO.
My lord, I see whereunto this talk doth tend:
I have this lesson at my finger-end.
No more ado; betake you to your flight:
We'll make a plaister for the sore ere night.
[_Aside_.] But such an one as, if it be applied,
Shall do more grief than ease, when it is tried.
HERMIONE.
Penulo, I yield my life into thy hands.
PENULO.
Ye do, sir, as now the matter stands. [_Aside_.
HERMIONE.
Hold, Penulo, and I will look for thee.
PENULO.
You will not look for them that come with me. [_Aside_.
HERMIONE.
I will be gone, and live to see my dear.
[_Exit_.
PENULO.
Do so, sir, and perchance be never the near.
This is a step that first we use to climb:
We that, forsooth, take hold on every time.
Men of all hours, whose credit such as spites,
In heat forsooth hath call'd us parasites.
But let them spite, and we will bite as fast.
But, Penulo, thou spendest words in waste.
A fool, Hermione, that for hurting thee
On[89] slender trust will give a knave his fee.
[_Exit_.
_Strike up_ FORTUNE'S _triumphs with drums and trumpets_.
FORTUNE.
Behold what Fortune, if she list, can do,
High mistress of the rolling wheel of chance,
To overturn, and who can do thereto,
Or graciously, when please her, to advance.
Lo, lordings, this is Fortune's impery,
And in her pleasure to be changing still:
Herein consisteth Fortune's sovereignty;
That Fortune can on earth do what she will.
When men have builded on the surest grounds,
Their strong devices Fortune's power confounds.
_Enter_ VENUS.
VENUS.
Not all in haste; you do not so intend:
You have begun, but I must make an end.
THE THIRD ACT.
_Enter_ BOMELIO _solus, like an_ HERMIT.
BOMELIO.
He that hath lost his hope, and yet desires to live,
He that is overwhelm'd with woe, and yet would counsel give;
He that delights to sigh, to walk abroad alone,
To drive away the weary time with his lamenting moan;
He that in his distress despaireth of relief,
Let him begin to tell his tale, to rip up all his grief,
And if that wretched man can more than I recite
Of fickle Fortune's froward check and her continual spite,
Of her inconstant change, of her discourtesy,
I will be partner with that man to live in misery.
When first my flow'ring years began to bud their prime,
Even in the April of mine age and May-month of my time;
When, like the tender kid new-weaned from the teat,
In every pleasant springing mead I took my choice of meat;
When simple youth devis'd to length[en] his delight,
Even then, not dreaming I on her, she poured out her spite:
Even then she took her key, and tuned[90] all her strings
To sing my woe: list, lordings, now my tragedy begins.
Behold me, wretched man, that serv'd his prince with pain,
That in the honour of his praise esteem'd my greatest gain:
Behold me, wretched man, that for his public weal
Refused not with thousand foes in bloody wars to deal:
Behold me, wretched man, whose travail, pain, and toil
Was ever prest to save my friends from force of foreign spoil;
And see my just reward, look on my recompense:
Behold by this for labours past what guerdon cometh thence!
Not by my fiercest foes in doubtful fight with us,
But by my fawning friend[91] I was confounded thus.
One word of his despite in question call'd my name;
Two words of his untrusty tongue brought me to open shame.
Then was I banished the city, court and town;
Then every hand that held me up began to pull me down.
O, that the righteous gods should ever grant the power,
That smoothest sands and greenest bogs should soonest me devour.
Yet that I might descry the better their device,
Here have I liv'd almost five years, disguis'd in secret wise:
And now somewhat it is, but what I cannot tell,
Provokes me forward more than wont to leave my darksome cell,
And in my crooked age, instead of mirth and joy,
With broken sighs in doleful tunes to sing of mine annoy.
[_Song_.
Go walk the path of plaint, go wander, wretched, now
In uncouth ways, blind corners fit for such a wretch as thou.
There feed upon thy woe; fresh[92] thoughts shall be thy fare,
Musing shall be thy waiting-maid, thy carver shall be care;
Thy dainty dish shall be of fretting melancholy,
And broken sobs with hollow sighs thy savoury sauce shall be.
But further ere I walk, my servant I will send
Into the town to buy such things as now he can intend.
What, Lentulo! [_To_ LENTULO _within_.
LENTULO.
Anon, forsooth.
BOMELIO.
What, Lentulo, come forth.
LENTULO.
Anon, forsooth.
BOMELIO.
Why, when? I say!
LENTULO.
Anon, forsooth.
BOMELIO.
You naughty lout; come out, sir knave, come away.
LENTULO.
Will you not give one leave to pull down his points? what, an a should
his breeches beray?
[_Enter_ LENTULO.]
BOMELIO.
Get you to the market, and buy such things as needful are for us.
LENTULO.
Such things as needful are for us! and what are those, I pray?
First, there is needful for us a pot of porridge, for I had none this
many a day;
And then, there are needful for us a feather-bed, for I lie on a
bottle of hay;
And then there is most needful for us a pretty proper wench for to
laugh and play.
BOMELIO.
Go, buy us some victuals, and hie thee home.
[_Exit_.
LENTULO.
Now, farewell, master mine, good gentle master mome.
Have you seen such a logger-headed fool, to say:
Go, go, good Lentulo, to buy my victuals so, and give me money?--no!
But for the name's sake, swounds, I were as good serve a master
of clouts.
He'll do nothing all day long but sit on his arse, as my mother did
when she made pouts:
And then a' looks a' this fashion, and thus and thus again; and then,
what do ye?
By my troth, I stand even thus at him, and laugh at his simplismity.
Hath the best manners in the world to bid a man fall to his meat,
And then I say: I thank you forsooth, master, and I could tell
what to eat.
We two, look you--that's I and he--can lie a-bed a whole night and a day,
And we eat, and we had it: it vattens a man; look on my cheeks, else,
are they not fall'n away?
Well, I must jog to the town, and I'll tell you what shift I make there.
Marry, ye shall promise me not to steal it away.
When I come to a rich man's gate, I make a low leg, and then
I knock there;
And then I begin to cry in at the keyhole, that I may be sure they
shall hear:
God save my good master and my good mistress, a poor boy, a piece of
bread and meat for God's sake!
_Enter_ PENULO.
Heigh! merrily trick'd! am I not a knave for the nonce,
That can despatch two errands at once?
I have both told her even as I should do,
And told my young master to meet with him too.
Now he, like a gentleman, for the valour of his mind
Hath sworn by his honour not to stay long behind.
The desire of revenge pricketh him forward so,
That I am sure he'll not let but to go,
And that with all haste possible he may.
Then, tantara-tara, we shall have good play.
I like such a knave so can tickle them all,
To set noblemen at brabble and brawl.
LENTULO.
Save you, sir, young master, and you be a gentleman?
PENULO.
Whoreson peasant, seest thou not what I am?
LENTULO.
Troth, sir, I see you have a good doublet and a pair of hose;
But now-a-days there is so many goes
So like gentlemen, that such a poor fellow as I
Know not how a gentleman from a knave to spy.
PENULO.
Thou may'st perceive I am no such companion:[93]
I am a gentleman, a courtier, and a merry frank franion.[94]
LENTULO.
Then, thou merry companion, thou whoreson frank franion,
Why hast thou abused the law?
What, good skipjack, in faith with thwick-thwack your bones I will claw.
Come about, sir knave.
PENULO.
Cot's my passion, what a merry mate have we here?
LENTULO.
Give me your hand, sir: faith, I was bold to brush the dust out
of your gear.
Pray, sir, tell me: they say in the country 'tis a common guise,
That gentlemen now-a-days cannot see with both eyes.
PENULO.
It's a lie, knave: I know[95] few gentlemen blind.
LENTULO.
No, sir? what will you lay, and I can find
One with a wet finger[96], that is stark blind?
PENULO.
It may be so, but I think thou canst not.
LENTULO.
Will you lay? do wager on it.
PENULO.
What should I lay?
Thou hast no money, I am sure, to pay.
LENTULO.
No, faith, sir; but I'll tell you what our wager shall be;
Because I am not able to lay any money,
I'll lay three round raps on the ribs with my cudgel here.
PENULO.
Soft, let me look first if there be no blind man near.
Content, i'faith: that bargain shall stand.
LENTULO.
Then, sir, I must be so bold as to search your purse out of hand.
PENULO.
My purse, sir? wherefore?
LENTULO.
By my troth, sir, no more but to try,
If you be not as blind a gentleman in the purse as I.
PENULO.
I use not to carry my money in a purse.
LENTULO.
All in a pocket? well, never a whit the worse;
I must search your pocket.
PENULO.
What, if it be elsewhere?
LENTULO.
Wheresoever it is, I must seek out this gear,
I'll not lose my wager, that's certain.
Very well, sir; will you put me to pain?
PENULO.
Have I never a weapon?--I'll look--I pray thee, be content.
LENTULO.
You shall have your wager, sir, as it was meant.
PENULO.
Hold thy hands, good fellow: I'll do anything for thee.
I perceive a wise man of a fool overtaken may be.
LENTULO.
Thou blind gentleman! unless it be for my commodiosity,
I'll teach thee to be blind, and go so bravely.
PENULO.
I'll do anything for thee, if thou strike me no more,
Because I perceive thou art almost as poor
As myself am, and yet there is somewhat in thee:
I'll prefer thee to a service in the Court presently.
LENTULO.
Ha! wilt thou do so?
PENULO.
That I will.
LENTULO.
Wilt thou do so, indeed?
Swear to me by thy ten commandments in thy creed.
PENULO.
I do so.
LENTULO.
Troth, then, we are friends: say nothing, I pray,
And you shall see me prove a rank runaway.
Why, when a man may be a courtier, and live at ease,
Should a' not leave his old master to please?
Sirrah blind gentleman, we two blind gentlemen, and [you] do
as thou promis'd here,
Perhaps I may be as good to thee as two pots of beer.
I'll go with thee, i'faith; gaw, let's be gone.
PENULO.
Soft; tarry a while: I'll go with thee anon.
_Enter_ ARMENIO.
ARMENIO.
How thinkest thou, Penulo, am I not provided now?
LENTULO.
I warrant, sir, a' shall have a cold pull of you,
And a' begin to make another brawl.
ARMENIO.
Farewell, when thou wilt; I trust I shall
Meet with him: am I not almost at the tree?
PENULO.
That same is it, sir.
LENTULO.
Sirrah, what's he?
PENULO.
What car'st thou I come, go thou with me.
Why, I shall have but an ill-favoured courtier of ye.
LENTULO.
Now, for a runaway, God send us good chance.
Then, maids, at your marriage I mean me to dance.
[_Exit_.
ARMENIO.
Now serves the time to wreak me of my foe--
My bastard foe--that to dishonour me
In privy corners seeks to shame me so,
That my discredit might his credit be.
And hath my father from his tender youth
Vouchsaf'd to bring thee up? did I therefore
Believe so earnestly thy perjur'd truth,
Advancing still thine honour evermore,
That, not contented with a common wrack,
Thou shouldst intend the ruin of us all;
And when thou seemd'st afraid to turn thy back,
To make a glory of our greater fall?
Before thou triumph in thy treachery,
Before thou 'scape untouched for thy sin,
Let never Fates nor Fortune favour me,
But wretched let me live and die therein.
Few words shall serve, my deeds shall prove it now
That, ere I sleep, I mean to meet with you.
[_Exit_.
_Enter_ FIDELIA.
FIDELIA.
Behold the shifts that faithful love can make;
See what I dare adventure for thy sake.
In case extreme make virtue of a need,
But hence the grief which maketh my heart to bleed.
My love and life, wherever that thou be,
I am in dole constrain'd to follow thee:
Hence sprung the hell of my tormented mind,
The fear of some misfortune yet behind.
If thou escape the peril of distress,
My fear and care is twenty times more less.
No reason 'tis that I should live in joy,
When thou art wrapt in fetters of annoy;
Nor to that end I swear to be thy wife,
To live in peace with thee and state of life;
But as to dwell at ease in pleasure's lap,
Even so to bear some part of thy mishap,
And so to draw in equal portion still
Of both our fortunes, either good or ill.
And sith the lots of our unconstant fate
Have turn'd our former bliss to wretched state,
I am content to tread the woful dance,
That sounds the measure of our hapless chance.
I'll wait thy coming; long thou wilt not stay:
High Jove defend and keep thee in the way!
_Enter_ BOMELIO.
BOMELIO.
Now weary lay thee down, thy fortune to fulfil:
Go, yield thee captive to thy care, to save thy life or spill.
The pleasures of the field, the prospect of delight,
The blooming trees, the chirping birds, are grievous to thy sight.
The hollow, craggy rock, the shrieking owl to see,
To hear the noise of serpent's hiss, that is thy harmony.
For as unto the sick all pleasure is in vain,
So mirth unto the wounded mind increaseth but his pain.
But, heavens! what do I see? thou nymph or lady fair,
Or else thou goddess of the grove, what mak'st thee to repair
To this unhaunted place, thy presence here unfit?
FIDELIA.
Ancient father, let it not offend thee any whit,
To find me here alone. I am no goddess, I,
But a mortal maid, subject to misery.
And better that I might lament my heavy moan,
I secret came abroad to recreate myself awhile alone.
BOMELIO.
Take comfort, daughter mine, for thou hast found him then,
That is of others all that live the most accursed'st man.
O, I have heard it said, our sorrows are the less,
If in our anguish we may find a partner in distress.
FIDELIA.
O father! but my grief relieved cannot be:
My hope is fled, my help in vain, my hurt my death must be.
Yet not the common death of life that here is led,
But such a death as ever kills, and yet is never dead.
BOMELIO.
Fair maid, I have been well acquainted with that fit:
Sometime injured with the like, I learn to comfort it.
Come, rest thee here with me, with[in] this hollow cave;
There will I reckon up at large the horrors that I have.
FIDELIA.
I thank you, father; but I must needs walk another way.
BOMELIO.
Nay, gentle damsel, be content a while with me to stay.
FIDELIA.
The longer that I stay with you, the greater is my grief.
BOMELIO.
The longer that you stay with me, the sooner is relief.
FIDELIA.
I am provided other ways; good father, let me go.
BOMELIO.
To him that off'reth thee no wrong, be not uncourteous so.
FIDELIA.
Perhaps another time I'll come, and visit thee.
BOMELIO.
Both then and now, if so you please, you shall right welcome be.
[_Enter_ ARMENIO.
ARMENIO.
Shall she be welcome unto thee, old wretch, indeed?
I'll welcome both of you: come, maid, away with speed.
FIDELIA.
O brother!
ARMENIO.
Brother! Peace!
FIDELIA.
Good father, help me now.
BOMELIO.
Have I no weapons, wretch that I am? Well, youth, I'll meet with you.
ARMENIO.
Must you be gone? is this your meeting-place?
Come, get you home; and pack you, sir, apace.
Were't not for reverence of thine age, I swear,
Thou should'st accurse the time I met thee here.
But, i'faith, sister, my father shall welcome you.
BOMELIO.
Go tell thine errand, if thou canst.
FIDELIA.
Hermione, adieu;
Ten times adieu: farewell for ever now.
ARMENIO.
I thank thee. Fortune, that thou didst this deed allow.
[_Exeunt_.
BOMELIO.
Thou heaven and earth, and ye eternal lamps
That restless keep his course in order due;
Thou, Phoebe bright, that scatterest the damps
Of darksome night, I make my plaints to you.
And thou, Alecto, hearken to my call;
Let fall a serpent from thy snaky hair;
Tisiphone, be swift to plague them all,
That make a pastime of my care and fear!
And thou, O Jove, that by thy great foresight
Rulest the earth and reign'st above the skies;
That wreak'st the wrongs of them that master right
Against the wretches that thy name despise.
And Rhadamanth, thou judge of hateful hell,
Where damned ghosts continual moaning make,
Send forth a fury that may further well
The just revenge that here I undertake.
Henceforth accursed be thou evermore,
Accursed all thou tak'st in hand to do,
The time, the day, accursed be the hour,
The earth, the air, and all that 'long thereto!
Dole and despair henceforth be thy delight,
Wrapped now in present and woes to come,
To wail the day and weep the weary night;
And from this time henceforth I strike thee dumb.
Think'st thou I knew thee not? Yes, well, i-wis,
And that thy sister, daughter to my prince.
Now brag abroad what thou hast got by this:
So live thou dumb: that be thy recompense;
And when thy ghost forsakes thy body quite,
Vengeance I wish upon thy soul to light.
_Enter_ HERMIONE.
HERMIONE.
Good even, good father: pardon my rudeness here.
BOMELIO.
O joy and grief! I will dissemble yet my cheer. [_Aside_.
HERMIONE.
Good sir, methought I heard you speak of one right now,
Daughter unto a prince: that made me bold to trouble you.
BOMELIO.
I spake of such an one indeed.
HERMIONE.
Why, do you know her name?
BOMELIO.
Fidelia. Why do you ask? What, do you know the same?
HERMIONE.
Yea, father, that I do: I know, and knew her well.
But did you wish those plagues to light on her, I pray you tell?
BOMELIO.
On her! the gods forbid; but on that wretched wight
Her brother, that from hence right now perforce convey'd her quite.
HERMIONE.
Alas! what do I hear? Good father, tell me true,
Hath she been here?
BOMELIO.
She was.
HERMIONE.
She was! Where is she now?
BOMELIO.
Gone back again.
HERMIONE.
Gone back! With whom?
BOMELIO.
Her brother.
HERMIONE.
Her brother! How?
BOMELIO.
He secret watched here; and when she should have stay'd
Awhile with me, he rushed out and her from hence convey'd.
HERMIONE.
Confounded in my grief! And can it suff'red be?
And shall he make a brag at home of his despite to me?
First let me die a thousand deaths; draw, run and meet with him.
BOMELIO.
Tarry, my son; it is in vain: they are now[97] at home, I ween.
Let him alone; he will not make great reck'ning of his gain.
HERMIONE.
Wretch that thou art for lingering! everlasting shall be thy pain;
Continual thy complaint, aye-during still thy woe,
Why mad'st thou not more haste to come, and first of all to know?
BOMELIO.
Content thyself, my son; torment not so thy mind:
Assuage the sorrows of thy heart, in hope some help to find.
HERMIONE.
Some help! O father, no; all help comes too late.
I am the man of all alive[98] the most unfortunate.
BOMELIO.
I[99] see thy loyalty, I see thy faithful love,
Else never durst thou this attempt adventured to prove.
Take comfort thereby, my son.
HERMIONE.
I am the man, I say,
That Love and Fortune once advanc'd, but now have cast away.
The joy, the sweet delight, the rest I had before,
Fell to my lot that now the loss, my plague, might be the more.
O Fortune! froward dame, wilt thou be never sure?
Most constant in inconstancy I see thou wilt endure.
BOMELIO.
Accuse not Fortune, son, but blame thy love therefor;
For I perceive thou art in love, and then[ce] thy trouble is more.
HERMIONE.
Father, if this be love: to lead a life in thrall,
To think the rankest poison sweet, to feed on honey-gall;
To be at war and peace, to be in joy and grief,
Then farthest from the hope of help, where nearest is relief;
To live and die, to freeze and sweat, to melt and not to move;
If it be this to live in love, father, I am in love.
BOMELIO.
Why did you not possess your lady then at home?
HERMIONE.
At home! where is it, sir? alas! for I have none.
Brought up I know not how, and born I know not where,
When I was in my childhood given unto my prince, then here,
Of[100] whom I cannot tell, wherefore I little know.
But now cast out to seek my fate, unhappy where I go.
Then dare I not be seen; here must I not abide.
Did ever more calamities unto a man betide?
BOMELIO.
My heart will burst, if I forbear amidst this misery.
Behold, thy father thou hast found, my son Hermione!
Thy father thou hast found, thy father--I am he.
HERMIONE.
But is it possible my father you should be?
BOMELIO.
Even from my first exile here have I liv'd forlorn,
And once I gave thee to my prince, for thou wast noble-born;
And now he gives me thee, and welcome home again!
HERMIONE.
This is my recompense for all my former pain.
Dear father, glad I am to find you here alive:
By your example I may learn with froward chance to strive.
BOMELIO.
Come, son, content thee now within a cave to dwell.
I will provide for thy redress, and all things shall be well.
A darksome den must be thy lofty lodging now.
HERMIONE.
Father, I am well content to take such part as you.
Here is a breathing-fit[101] after hard mischance.
O gracious Venus! once vouchsafe thy servants to advance.
_Strike up a noise of viols_: VENUS' _triumph_.
[_Enter_ VENUS.]
VENUS.
Behold what Love can work for their delight
That put affiance in her deity.
Though heaven and earth against them bend their might,
Yet in the end theirs is the victory:
I will in them, and they triumph in me.
Let Fortune frown, I will uphold their state,
Yea, seem they never so unfortunate.
FORTUNE.
Brag not too much: what, think'st thou I have done?
Nay, soft, not yet: my sport is not begun.
[_Music, Music_.
THE FOURTH ACT.
_Enter_ PENULO _and_ LENTULO.
PENULO.
Come away with thy basket, thou loggerheaded jack.
I think thy basket be cloven to thy back.
LENTULO.
My back and my basket; look, dost thou not see,
When my basket is on my back, then my back is under me?
And, O this basket, wott'st thou wherefore I keep it so close?
For all the love of my heart within this basket goes.
PENULO.
Thy love, with a wanion![102] are you in love, sir, then,
with your leave?
LENTULO.
What an ass art thou: couldst thou not all this time perceive,
That I never sleep but when I am not awake,
And I eat and I eat till my belly would ache?
And I fall away like a gammon of bacon.
Am I not in love when I am in this tacon?[103]
Call'st thou this the court? would I had ne'er come thither
To be caught in Cupido. I faint, I faint! O, gather me, gather me!
[_Pretends to swoon_.
PENULO.
Come up, and be hang'd. Alack, poor Lentulo! [_Aside_.
Tell me with whom thou art in love so.
LENTULO.
You kill me, and you make me tell her name. No, no.
O terrible torments, that trounce in my toe!
Love, my masters, is a parlous matter! how it runs out of my nose!
It's now in my back, now in my belly; O, now in the bottom of my hose.
PENULO.
The pestilence! there, what is she, my boy?
I'll make her love thee again, be she never so coy.
LENTULO.
Wilt thou so? O gods of love! that word plucks up my heart,
I'll tell thee, sirrah--even as we two at the court-gate did wait,
Did'st thou not mark a goodly lady, O lady, lady![104]
Why should not I as well as he, my dear lady?
Did'st thou not see her come in with a golden lock?
She had a fine gown on her back, and a passing nether-stock.
PENULO.
Well, sir, proceed: I remember her very well.
It's the Duke's daughter the sot means, I can tell. [_Aside_.
LENTULO.
Now, sirrah, there was a little dappard[105] ass with her,
that went before:
When I saw him, I came in sneaking more and more.
To have heard them talk; ah! crouching on is good;
For when he had talk['d] awhile, I had come in with, ay forsooth, no
forsooth, that I would,
And she would have look'd upon me: then more 'quaintance we should have.
PENULO.
An excellent device. Ah, sirrah! you are an excellent knave.
LENTULO.
_Tu autem, tu[106] autem_: I have it in me. But, sirrah, wott'st thou
what now?
As God juggle me, when I came near them, I tell thee true,
The same squall[107] did nothing but thus: I know what's what;
And I ran before him, and did thus too.
[_Strikes_ PENULO.
PENULO.
A pox upon you, what meant you by that?
LENTULO.
What mean I? marry, sir, he meant to give her a box on the ear, if she
spake to me,
And I meant to give him another box on the ear, sir, he should see.
PENULO.
You should have bestow'd it where you meant it, then.
Must you strike me, and mean other men?
LENTULO.
'Twas nothing, fellow, but for 'sample's sake.
PENULO.
Well, sir, I am content this once it to take.
But, sirrah, you must know that squall is the duke's son,
That now by mischance is stroken stark dumb,
In fetching home his sister, that ran away from hence.
LENTULO.
Is she then a runaway? O passing wench!
I thought as much; now, good Lord, to see
That she and I now akin should be.
O cuckally[108] luck! O heavy chance, O!
I runaway, she runaway: go together, go!
PENULO.
But all the court laments, and sore weeps for it.
LENTULO.
All the court? thou liest: the Court-gate weeps not a whit.
_Enter_ BOMELIO, _like a counterfeit Physician_.
BOMELIO.
_Bien[109] venu, chi diue ve mi nou intendite signeur, no_.
I have a piece of work in hand now, that all the world must not know.
LENTULO.
Cock's nowns, the devil! a-God's name, what's he?
PENULO.
Some Spaniard or foreign stranger he seems to be.
BOMELIO.
_Dio vou salvi, signore, e voutre gratio pavero mouchato_.
LENTULO.
I have no pleasure in thee: I pray thee, get thee gone.
PENULO.
What would you, sir?
BOMELIO.
_Monsieur, par ma foy_, am one have the grand knowledge in the skience
of fiskick.
Can make dem hole have been all life sick;
Can make to seco see, and te dumb speak;
Can make te lame go, and be ne'er so weak.
PENULO.
Can you so, sir? what countryman are you, I pray?
BOMELIO.
E be Italian, Neapolitan: e come a Venice[110] a toder day.
LENTULO.
And you can speak any pedlar's French,[111] tell me what I say.
BOMELIO.
_Ne point entende, signior_.
LENTULO.
You are an ass. I can spose him, I.
BOMELIO.
_Monsieur, parle petit_: e heard now hereby,
Dere be a nobel man dumb, dat made me stay:
If me no help him, me carry no head away.
PENULO.
Will you venture your head to help him, indeed?
Well, sir, I'll tell the Duke with all possible speed.
Tarry me[112] here: I'll return by and by.
Excellent luck! it falls out happily.
[_Exit_.
LENTULO.
Will you venture your head, sirrah, blockhead you?
BOMELIO.
You be de ass-head, me can tell dat's true.
LENTULO.
Swounds! O, but that I am in love, thou shouldst know
What 'twere to move my vengeance so!
BOMELIO.
Come heter, sirrah; me speak with you: me can tell
You are de runaway from your ma'ter; ah, very well.
LENTULO.
You gods and devils eke, what do you mean to do?
Shall I be known a runaway, for and to shame me too?
I a runaway, sirrah? go with your uplandish, go:
I am no runaway, I would you should know.
BOMELIO.
You no runaway from your ma'ter in de wood,
When he send you to market? Ah, no point good!
LENTULO.
O furies fell, and hags of hell, with all that therein be!
What, do ye mean to shame me clean, and tell him then of me?
Hear you, sirrah: you are no devil; mass, and I wist you were,
I would lamback[113] the devil out of you, for all your gear.
BOMELIO.
Diavolo? ah, fie! me no diavolo, me very fury.
Let-a me see your basket: what meat you buy?
LENTULO.
Look in my basket! O villain, rascal, tarry, stay!
Hath opened it? out alas! my love is quite flown away.
My love is gone, my love is gone out of the basket there,
Prepare therefore to kill thyself: farewell, my friends so dear.
BOMELIO.
Ah, vat-a you do, man?
LENTULO.
Uplandish, hence away.
BOMELIO.
Vat-a you do, man? no point yourself to slay.
Come de be hang-a.[114]
LENTULO.
Alas! O my neck, alas!
O frying-pan of my head! uplandish, now, cham worse than ever was.
Adieu! farewell, farewell, my love.
BOMELIO.
Your love? if you be in love, den do as I bid do,
And you shall 've[115] your love away wit' you, too.
LENTULO.
Uplandish, O my friend! if thou do so for me,
Hold here my hand: thy fellow, friend, and partner will I be.
BOMELIO.
Go you ten, and get-a me some fine, fine, fine colosse,
And wit' te marigol' leaf all-to mus your nose.
LENTULO.
Ah, my nose, my nose! O God, is my nose in my hand?
Uplandish, leave your signs; without them I can understand.
BOMELIO.
And come a me heter wit' a gold ring in your mouth fast:
E make de lady go wit' you weter list at last.
LENTULO.
O, let me 'brace thy cursed corpse! O, now I live again!
I will go get apparel straight, although be to my pain.
'Tis th'apparel, a marigol', and a ring.
BOMELIO.
Noting else, and you tem bring.
LENTULO.
Bring them? yes, I warrant thee, I'll bring them by and by.
Now, goodman Venus, lend thy hand, and lady Vulcan high.
[_Exit_.
BOMELIO.
A good beginning. I am not descri'd:
They know not me, but I know them too well.
Disguised thus their counsels may be tri'd,
And I may safe return unto my cell;
Where I have left my solitary son,
'Twixt hope and fear, in doubt and danger too,
Till I return to tell him what is done,
Which for his sake I have devis'd to do.
Eternal gods, that know my true intent,
And how unjustly wronged I have been,
Vouchsafe all secret dangers to prevent,
And further me, as yet you do begin.
Sufficeth you my travail heretofore,
My hunger, cold, and all my former pain.
Here make an end, and plague me now no more:
Contented, then, at rest I will remain.
But hark! some comes: dissemble, then, again.
_Enter the_ DUKE, _his_ Son, _and_ PENULO.
PENULO.
My lord, yon is the man whom I have told to you.[116]
DUKE.
My friend, I am inform'd that by thy worthy skill
In physic, thou art able to recover at thy will
The strangest cures that be: if this be true indeed,
As grant the gods it may, I pray thee then with speed
Provide for our relief: recover this my son,
Unto his speech, whom here thou seest before us to be dumb.
BOMELIO.
You no take care for dat, me nobel prince;
Me make him speak again, or me ne'er come hence.
DUKE.
Thrice welcome, then, to us: despatch it out of hand,
And thou shalt bless the time that e'er thou cam'st unto our land.
BOMELIO.
Let-a me see him. You hear me?
Ah, dat vel: turn heter; no like it truly.
PENULO.
By the mass, this physic is an excellent art;
It picks such a deal of gold out of every part. [_Aside_.
BOMELIO.
Vell, vell; me now see vat this matter mean.
Nobel prince, dis ting be done by mashic clean.
'Tis true dat me tell, me perceive it plain:
No natural 'pediment, but cunshering certain.
DUKE.
O double, treble woe! my son, how cometh this?
He saith by magic it is wrought, unnatural it is.
Dost thou remember aught, that so it should appear,
Or can'st thou any reason make it should be true we hear?
What means he by these signs? can any one express?
PENULO.
If you give me leave, sir, to say as I guess,
Methinks he should mean there was some old man,
That threatened to be revenged on him then.
'Tis so you may see: he confirms it again.
DUKE.
Condemned be that man to everlasting pain,
Perpetual his annoy, continual his unrest!
O, that I had him here to plague as I thought best!
But, learned sir, is there no way, is there no remedy?
Can there be found out no device the charm to mollify?
Good sir, if anything, whatever that it be,
Let spare no cost, my will is such, I will allow it thee.
BOMELIO.
Indeed, and by my trot', dar is o' thing,
But me am vera let' de same to bring;
Yit wit'out dat me am seawer,[117] me tell,
Your son again be never more well.
DUKE.
Good father, tell it me: whatever should befall,
Mine be the danger, mine the loss, you shall be pleased for all.
In any case, express it then.
BOMELIO.
Fait', then me will.
If you no have your son be so dumb still.
You mus' get-a de grand enemy dat he now have,
And in de tenderest part his dearest blood crave:
Derwit' mus' you wash his tongue-a string.
Noting but dat will his speech bring.
DUKE.
The dearest blood in the tenderest part
Of his great enemy? O, grief to my heart!
Will nothing else cure his disease?
BOMELIO.
Noting, by my trot'; but do as you please.
DUKE.
My son, my wretched son! and whom dost thou suppose
Thy greatest enemy amongst thy father's foes?
It is Hermione: 'tis he, and none but he.
He hath now proved himself, indeed, thy greatest enemy.
Where lives the wretch? That he were ta'en, and we revenged be?
PENULO.
And must his dearest blood, in his tenderest part,
Help him in his speech? that's an excellent art.
But what part is that, my masters, now about a man
That is the tenderest? guess it, and you can.
I can tell what part a woman thinks tenderest to be,
And there is dear blood in it--but _benedicite_.
And do you think, sir, there is none but he,
That can be thought his greatest enemy?
I have heard it said, there is no hate
Like to a brother or sister's, if they fall at debate.
I will not say, but you may think it as well as I,
If you mark since her coming home his sister's cruelty,
And the continual rancour she beareth unto him.
BOMELIO.
Is te maid his sister? be Got, den, he say tim.
Bin mine fait' and trot', ser, 'tis true dat he say:
His sister be his greatest enemy to-day.
DUKE.
And must I kill my daughter to help my son to speech?
I'll never do it.
PENULO.
See how a doth beseech!--
I would all our daggers were of his quality,
They should not brawl with a man, then, so for his money.
BOMELIO.
You kill your daughter! fie, no point so.
Her dearest blood in tenderest part me will show:
'Tis in her paps, her dugs, for der be de tenderest part,
And de blood de dearest; it comes from de heart.
So she be prick'd a little under de breast,
And wash his tongue-a, he speak wit' de best.
DUKE.
This thing is somewhat easier, if she consent thereto;
If not, I can enforce and make her it to do.
Penulo, despatch, and to my marshal bear
This signet for a token that he send her to us here.
PENULO.
I will, my lord.
[_Exit_.
DUKE.
He that hath felt the zeal, the tender love and care:
The fear, the grief that parents dear unto their children bear,
He may, and only he, conceive mine, inward woe,
Distracted thus 'twixt two extremes that hale me to and fro.
Sometime mistrusting that, and then misliking this--
Have parents such a cause of joy, or is it such a bliss
To see the offspring of their seed in health before them now?
O, little know they what mishap awaits the death for you.
But, son, my dearest son, recomfort thou thy mind;
Fight against fortune and thy fates, when they be most unkind.
And since I understand what may recover thee,
Make sure account of it, myself will do it presently.
But, sir, I pray you, lest my daughter should by fear
Or fright[118] of it be sore abash'd, be always ready here
To stench her wound, when you see good.
BOMELIO.
Awe, awe, she lose but little blood:
Two or tree ounces sha' be de very most.
Yonder she come, is no she?
DUKE.
The same is she.
_Enter_ FIDELIA _with_ PENULO.
FIDELIA.
Father, they say you sent for me.
DUKE.
Yea, daughter, I did so;
And mark what I shall say to thee, the cause thereof to show.
Thou seest thy brother here?
FIDELIA.
In name, but not in kind.
DUKE.
Well, hold thy peace, I say, and let me tell my mind.
Thy brother here, I say, thou seest him stricken dumb,
And, as this learned man declares by magic it is done.
But yet there is a way--one thing--he telleth me,
That will restore him to his speech that resteth inwardly;
Which, though I might command, yet I intreat to know,
Be not so stubborn or unkind thy furtherance to show.
FIDELIA.
Noble father, you cannot say, but hitherto I have
Been most obedient to your will in all things that you crave;
But herein pardon me, if this I do deny:
I never can be made to grant help to mine enemy,
My deadly enemy, worse than my mortal foe,
And such an one is he to me, for I have found him so;
That laboured evermore to cross me with despite,
But I am glad I may so well his courtesy requite.
PENULO.
A right woman--either love like an angel,
Or hate like a devil--in extremes so to dwell. [_Aside_.
DUKE.
But, daughter, I command, and I thy father, too.
FIDELIA.
And I, your daughter, anything that lawful is to do.
DUKE.
Is it not right and lawful both to help thy brother's woe?
FIDELIA.
It's neither right nor lawful, sir, to help my deadly foe.
DUKE.
If he have been thy foe, he may become thy friend.
FIDELIA.
And when I see that come to pass, I may some succour send.
DUKE.
But wherefore shouldst thou be so cruel unto him?
FIDELIA.
Because unto my dearest friend so spiteful he hath been.
DUKE.
Nay, stubborn girl, but then I will constrain thee, I.
Lay hold on her: myself will then, sith she doth it deny.
FIDELIA.
Assist me, righteous gods, in this extremity.
BOMELIO. [_To DUKE, aside_.]
Ah, pardon-a, pardon-a: please you, let me a while wit' her alone,
And me warrant me make her consent to you anon;
Else me give her a powder with a little drink,
Whish make her sleep; and den, when she noting tink,
Wit' de sharp rasher, me prick her by and by,
And stop it again, and she no feel why.
Please you begone, and let us two alone here.
Me make her consent, you no point fear.
DUKE.
Do it, Master Doctor, and I am bound to you for aye.
Ungracious girl, that dost deny the father to obey.
Look to her, sir, and send me word when thou hast done the deed.
[Exeunt.
BOMELIO.
Awe, awe; i'fait', i'fait', me make her bleed.
FIDELIA.
O wretched girl! what hope remains behind?
What comfort can recomfort now thy mind?
Forsaken thus of father and of friend,
Why seek'st thou not to bring thy life to end?
Can greater woes befall unto thy share?
Come, gentleman, despatch, and do not spare:
If it be so his pleasure and thy will,
1 am content my dearest blood to spill.
Defer not then: hold, take thine aim at me,
And strike me through; for I desire to die.
BOMELIO.
The heavens forbid, fair maiden; no, not I:
I am thy friend, I am no enemy.
Fear not, stand up: it is only for thy sake
That I this toil and travail undertake.
Thy love, my son, is at my cave with me,
Safe and in health, long looking there for thee.
Trust to my words, fair maid, for I am he,
That overtook thee in the wood last day;
And till thy coming, Hermione, I say,
Is in my cave--
FIDELIA.
What joyful words be these!
And is Hermione your son? do, then, as you shall please.
Behold me ready, prest to follow any way:
Good father, do not thus delude a simple maid, I pray.
I trust unto your words: my life is in your power,
And till I see Hermione, each minute is an hour.
BOMELIO.
Daughter, dismay no whit; but trust to me;
What I have said performed thou shalt see.
I have dissembled with thy father here,
The better that I might with thee confer.
And since thou art so faithful to thy love,
As I may well report I did thee prove,
Let us be gone now closely as we may.
FIDELIA.
Yea, my good father, even when you will, I pray.
Thrice-blessed be the hour I met with you!
My father now and brother both adieu:
Unkind to her, most kind that you should be,
I leave them all, my dear, to come to thee.
[_Exeunt_.
_Enter_ HERMIONE, _with books under his arm_.
HERMIONE.
O gods! that deepest griefs are felt in closest smart;
That in the smiling countenance may lurk the wounded heart,
1 see the noble mind can counterfeit a bliss,
When overwhelmed with a care his soul perplexed is.
It is for dastard knights, that stretch on feather beds,
Despairing in adversity so low to hang their heads.
The better born, the more his magnanimity:
The fiercer fight, the deeper wound, the more undaunted he.
So I perceive it now; I well perceive it here:
What I myself could not, I learn by thee, my father dear.
He that in golden age, I mean his lusty youth,
Was thought to spend in pleasure's lap without regard of ruth;
He that had lost his time as bravely as the best,
Only devising how to make his joys surmount the rest:
Not in that wanton youth, not in that pleasant mate,
Could Fortune with her fickleness his wonted mind abate.
He rather challengeth to do her very worst,
And makes a semblance of delight, although indeed accurs'd.
My father thereupon devised how he might
Revenge and wreak himself on her, that wrought him such despite:
And therefore, I perceive, he strangely useth it,
Enchanting and transforming that his fancy did not fit.
As I may see by these his vile blasphemous books;
My soul abhors as often as mine eye upon them looks.
What gain can countervail the danger that they bring,
For man to sell his soul to sin, is't not a grievous thing?
To captivate his mind, and all the gifts therein,
To that which is of others all the most ungracious sin;
Which so entangleth them that thereunto apply,
As at the last forsaketh them in their extremity.
Such is this art, such is the study of this skill,
This supernatural device, this magic, such it will.
In ransacking his cave these books I lighted on,
And with his leave I'll be so bold, while he abroad is gone,
To burn them all; for best that serveth for this stuff.
I doubt not but at his return to please him well enough.
And, gentlemen, I pray, and so desire I shall,
You would abhor this study, for it will confound you all.
[_Exit_.
_Enter_ LENTULO _with a ring in his mouth, a marigold in his hand,
a fair suit of apparel on his back; after he hath a while made
dumb-show_, PENULO _cometh, running in with two or three other_.
PENULO.
Run, for the love of God! search, villains, out of hand:
Run, I say, rascals: look about ye; how, do you stand?
The Duke's daughter is gone again, and all the court is in an uproar.
A pox on such a physician; he shall counsel her no more.
SERJEANT.
See you, Master Penulo, who is that yonder so brave?
PENULO.
Cock's blood, you villain! what do you here, you slave?
Swounds! hath robb'd the Duke of a suit of apparel,
Why speak you not, sirrah? yea, will you not tell?
Lay him on, my masters: spare him not, I say.
Speak you by signs? One of you pull the ring away.
SERJEANT.
Cock's blood, my finger! a bites as pestilence[119] there.
LENTULO.
What mean you, my masters; what mean ye here?
PENULO.
Have you found your tongue, sir! O, very well.
I pray you, sir, where had you this suit of apparel?
LENTULO.
This 'parel? what, and I stole it: what's that to thee?
PENULO.
Marry, sir, no more but that hang'd you shall be.
LENTULO.
Then, all the world shall see there is somewhat in me.
When I am hang'd, O, I shall swing lustily.
Mass, I shall do him great credit that hangs me.
But if I may be hanged by an attorney,
I will desire thee the place to supply.
PENULO.
Yes, marry will I, for courtesy sake.
Come on your way, sir: the pains I will take
To bring you before the Duke, that he may see,
What a proper man in his apparel you be.
LENTULO.
Wilt thou, faith? mass, I thank thee heartily;
But I must talk a little with our uplandish here,
And then I'll go with thee, faith, anywhere.
PENULO.
Uplandish, you rascal! where is he now?
He's gone, and stole away the Duke's daughter with him too.
LENTULO.
O my heart! what do you say?
PENULO.
Marry, that together they be both run away.
LENTULO.
Nay, then, have after ye; behind I'll not stay.
PENULO.
What! no such haste with you, sir, I pray.
LENTULO.
And is my lady gone and fled? O, take me up, for I am dead.
Farewell, my marigold; O villain, caitiff, he!
By bones and stones, and all the moons, I will avenged be.
PENULO.
You shall be revenged, sir, that shall you presently.
Away, away with him to the Duke by and by.
LENTULO.
I can go by myself, and you will let me alone.
Now as I walk, alas! I make to me my moan.
When I in prison strong, poor soul, shall live and die,
Then will I make my loving song upon mine own pigsny.
PENULO.
Away with him, sirs: why do ye tarry?
LENTULO.
And thou wert in my case, thou wouldst not be so hasty.
[_Exit in custody of _SERJEANT.
PENULO.
Fie upon it! what a stir have we here?
Never was nobleman's house in such fear.
Such hurrying and stirring, such running every way;
Such howling, such crying, such accursing the day.
That ever the villain could counterfeit so,
[And] when we least thought of it, away with her to go.
But the world is so full of knavery now,
That we know not whom to trust, I may say to you.
If my wife fall sick, as she may, I'll make a condition,
She shall never take counsel of an uplandish physician.
Hang them, knaves; But what a prating keep I,
When I should have been seven miles of mine errand; for why
I must go set all the country up in a watch,
If it be possible, this physician to catch.
[_Exit_ PENULO.[120]
_Enter_ BOMELIO _and_ FIDELIA.
BOMELIO.
Stay, daughter, stay: forbear thy posting haste.
Thou need'st not fear; all perils now are past.
Thanks to the gods that such success they gave,
Thus happily to bring us to my cave.
FIDELIA.
O father! still I fear mishap behind:
Suspect is natural unto our kind,
And perils that import a man's decay
Can never be eschewed too soon, they say.
Had I [but] sight of mine Hermione,
I care not then what did become of me.
BOMELIO.
I will herein accomplish thy desire,
So grant the gods the rest that I require.
Hermione! Hermione! my son, I say,
Come forth and see thy friends that for thee stay.
_Enter_ HERMIONE.
HERMIONE.
Welcome, my father; but ten times welcome thou,
The constant lady mine, that liveth now.
FIDELIA.
And lives Hermione? lives my Hermione?
What can be added more to my felicity?
HERMIONE.
Thy life, my life; such comfort dost thou give:
Happy my life, because I see thee live.
BOMELIO.
Whilst they record the sweetness of their bliss,
I will apply to further, as they wish,
Their[121] sweet delight by magic's cunning so,
That happy they shall live in spite of foe.
HERMIONE.
How doubtful are the lets of loyal love!
Great be the dangers that true lovers prove;
But when the sun, after a shower of rain,
Breaks through the clouds and shows his might again,
More comfortable to [us] his glory then,
Because it was awhile withheld of men.
Peace after war is pleasanter, we find;
A joy deferr'd is sweeter to the mind:
So I----
FIDELIA.
It hath been said that, when Ulysses was
Ten years at Troy, and ten years more, alas!
Wandering abroad as chance and fortune led,
Penelope supposing him for dead:
But he, providing still for afterclaps,
When he had 'scap'd a thousand hard mishaps,
It did him good to reckon up at last
Unto his wife his travails he had pass'd,
And sweetly then recording his distress
To make the more account of happiness.
So I----
HERMIONE.
Then, as the turtle that hath found her mate
Forgets her former woes and wretched state,
Renewing now her drooping heart again,
Because her pleasure overcomes her pain;
The same of thy desired sight I make,
Whereon thy faith, thy heart and hand I take.
FIDELIA.
And so I swear to thee unfeignedly
To live thine own, and eke thine own to die.
_Enter_ BOMELIO.
BOMELIO.
Gog's blood! villains! the devil is in the bed of straw! Wounds! I have
been robb'd, robb'd, robb'd! where be the thieves? My books, books! did
I not leave thee with my books? Where are my books? my books! where be
my books, villain? arrant villain!
HERMIONE.
O father! my dear father, hark.
BOMELIO.
Father, my dear father? Soul! give me my books. Let's have no more
tarrying: the day begins to be dark; it rains: it begins with tempests.
Thunder and lightning! fire and brimstone! And all my books are gone,
and I cannot help myself, nor my friends. What a pestilence! who came
there?
HERMIONE.
I'll tell you, father, if you please to hear.
BOMELIO.
What can'st thou tell me? tell me of a turd. What, and a' come? I
conjure thee, foul spirit, down to hell! Ho, ho, ho! the devil, the
devil! A-comes, a-comes, a-comes upon me, and I lack my books. Help!
help! help! Lend me a sword, a sword! O, I am gone!
[_He raves_.
FIDELIA.
Alas! how fell he to this madding mood?
HERMIONE.
The heavens and earth deny to do us good!
FIDELIA.
O father! my good father, look on me.
BOMELIO.
What meant I not to shut up the door, and take the keys with me, and
put the books under the bed-straw? Out, you whore! a whore, a whore!
Gog's blood! I'll dress you for a whore. I have a cause to curse whores
as long as I live. Come away, come away! Give me my books, my books:
give me, give me, give!
[_Exit_.
FIDELIA.
Help, help me, good Hermione!
[_Exit_.
HERMIONE.
I come. O[122] worlds of misery!
Confounded on the top of my delight;
The Fates and Fortune thus against me fight.
[_Exit_.
[_Enter_ VENUS _and_ FORTUNE.]
FORTUNE'S _triumph: sound trumpets, drums, cornets, and guns_.
FORTUNE.
See, madam, who can dash your bravery,
Even at the pitch of your felicity?
When you assure that they shall steadfast stand,
Even then my power I suddenly can show,
Transposing it, as it had never been so.
Herein I triumph, herein I delight.
Thus have I manifested now my might.
Here, ladies, learn to like of Venus' lure,
And me love--long your pleasures shall endure.
VENUS.
Now thou hast done even what thou canst, I see,
They shall be once again relieved by me.
[_Music, Music_.
THE FIFTH ACT.
_Enter_ MERCURY.
MERCURY.
Ye goddesses of this eternity,
To whom of right belongs each earthly thing,
The king of gods salutes ye both by me;
And (I beseech you) mark the news I bring.
My father Jupiter, perceiving well
What hath herein been[123] done by each of you,
And[124] how ye still endeavour to excel,
Maintaining that whereon the quarrel grew--
That is, the government of this estate,
And unto whom the sovereignty shall fall--
Here, therefore, to conclude your long debate,
Lest your contention may be counted general,
Desires ye both, and so commands by me,
Ye stand to his conclusion of the cause.
How say you, therefore? will you now agree,
That malice may no longer right delude?
VENUS.
Brother Mercury, as I have never been
So obstinate, or bent so frowardly,
But that I could some time relent the ill--
A woman must a little have her will;
So am I now resolved for to do
Whatso my father shall entreat me to.
FORTUNE.
And all the world by me perceiveth well
Of course my fancy, favour,[125] and my skill:
And when my cause a little course hath had,
I am well pleased, and no longer sad.
MERCURY.
Then thus our father Jupiter concludes,
To lay the stroke of your unceasing strife.
As heretofore betwixt these lovers twain
Ye have express'd your powers upon their life,
So now he wills you to withhold your hands.
Enough sufficeth to confirm your might;
And to conjoin ye both in friendly bands
Of faithful love, wherein the gods delight,
His pleasure is that, Lady Venus, you
Shall be content never to hinder them,
To whom Dame Fortune shall her[126] friendship show,
Of wretched to procure them happy men.
Ne shall you, Fortune, once presume to take
The credit of the honour in your hand:
If Lady Venus do them quite forsake,
You shall not seem in their[127] defence to stand;
But whomsoever one of you prefer,
The other shall be subject unto her;
For thus hath Jupiter determined now.
VENUS.
I must and will subscribe my will to you.
FORTUNE.
And I most gladly thereof do allow.
VENUS.
Whom Fortune favours I will not despise.
FORTUNE.
Whom Love rejects by me shall never rise.
MERCURY.
To this conclusion do you both agree?
VENUS.
For my part.
FORTUNE.
And I, most willingly.
MERCURY.
Then let your union be confirmed again
By proper course, each one in his descent
Over mortal men and worldly things to reign
By interchange, as Jupiter hath meant.
And[128] friendly Fortune, let me entreat, alone--
Sith by your means these lovers hind'red were,
And now ye two are reconcil'd in one,
You grant the[m] grace their honour up to rear.
FORTUNE.[129]
Sweet Mercury, I give thee my consent.
I will forthwith advance them to renown:
And their destruction better to prevent,
They shall relieve them, that did throw them down.
MERCURY.[130]
And I my gracious favour will bestow
Upon them all, according to desert;
And I will help his frenzy ere I go.
That bedlam up and down he[re] plays[131] his part.
_Enter_ BOMELIO _with_ HERMIONE _and_ FIDELIA,
_with a cope and dagger_.
BOMELIO.
Cot's[132] wounds! ye whore, I am not for your diet. Hang, rascal, make
a leg to me, [or,] by Gog's blood, I'll stab thee through. What the
devil, the devil, and all my books be gone! O most accursed man Bomelio!
Go hide thyself, go hide thyself! go hang thyself, go hang! I'll hang
the whore out of hand; and as for you, villain,--stand, rascal! stand!
FIDELIA.
Good father, hear me. Come, take a little rest:
Yea, my sweet father, come, sleep upon my breast.
BOMELIO.
Hark the whore! See what an impudent whore it is. Sleep, you whore?
I'll sleep with you anon, Gog's blood, you whore, I'll hang you up!
[_He threatens her_.
FIDELIA.
Help, help, Hermione!
HERMIONE.
Good father, let her alone. Come, let us go.
[_Enter_ MERCURY _invisible_.]
MERCURY.
Now with my music I'll recure his woe.
[_Play_.
BOMELIO.
Hark, hark, my hearts! Pipes, fiddles! O brave! I shall have my books
again. Dance about. Robin Hood is a good knave. Come, Bess, let's go
sleep. Come, Bess; together, together.
MERCURY.
Now will I charm him, that he shall not wake,
Until he be relieved in this place.
Then take her blood, and cast it on this brake,
And therewithal besprinkle all his face,
And he shall be restored to his sense,
His health and memory, as heretofore.
Do this, for I must now depart from hence,
And so your sorrows shall increase no more.
HERMIONE.
Fidelia, what hast thou heard, my dear?
O comfortable words, were they but true!
If any god or goddess be so near,
Vouchsafe of pity on our pains to rue.
Delude not with a feigned fantasy
The wretched mind[s] of men in misery.
FIDELIA.
Alas! Hermione, let us not feed
And flatter ourselves with any[133] good surmise:
We are too much accursed so to speed,
Or any hope thereof for to devise.
Resolve yourself, dear friend, another way,
And let us never look for happy day.
_Enter_ PHIZANTIES, ARMENIO, PENULO, _and_ LENTULO.
PHIZANTIES.
When thirst of hot revenge inflameth high desire:
When malice kindleth so the minds of them that would aspire,
That to enlarge their names they reck not his despite,
That overseeth all their work, their doings to requite:
Mark, then, what followeth, when princes ye provoke:
The deeper and the larger wound, when longest is the stroke!
And this hath moved me to leave my court awhile,
To be content in sweat of brows, in trouble, pain and toil,
To seek out wretches, them that have abus'd me so,
And to reward their villainy according, ere we go.
PENULO.
May it please your honour, it is excellent done.
Gog's blood! and I were a prince, and had such a noble son,
That should be so highly abused as he hath been,
Would I put it up? no; by his wounds, I would never lin,
Till I had made such a mingle-mangle upon their nose,
That their skin should serve to make me a doublet and a pair of hose.
LENTULO.
What, you would not? i'faith, you look not with the face:
When you have the skin, sir, what will you do with the case?
But, master prince, since you are come to this travailation,
I'll bring you to my old master's convoculation,
Where he hides himself, when I ran away:
It's not far within these woods. How think you, sir, I pray?
PHIZANTIES.
Lead on the way, and I will follow thee.
LENTULO.
Why, then, come on, my valiant hearts, march on and follow me.
But I'll make this bargain first: hear you me what I say?
When I come home, you shall not let my master beat me for running away.
PHIZANTIES.
He shall not, I warrant thee.
LENTULO.
Why, then, my noble youths of oak, pluck up your hearts with me.
Will you come, sir I come on, i'faith: keep in order you thereby.
We shall find her i'faith, master prince, anon, I know,
And then I'll trounce him for running away with another man's wife,
I trow.
PENULO.
Stand, sir. Who lives a-sunning yonder? can you tell?
LENTULO.
It's a beggar with a rogue.
PHIZANTIES.
It is my daughter, I see full well.
HERMIONE.
Fidelia, be content: shrink not at all.
PHIZANTIES.
Strike not a stroke, my son.
PENULO.
For help I shall go run and call.
PHIZANTIES.
And art thou found, false traitor and untrue,
Traitor to him that dealt so well with thee?
Did I devise to stop that would ensue,
And found my cares such issue as I see?
I see I am abused too-too much,
And too much sufferance is cause of this abuse:
This high abuse of yours, as being such,
Affords no cloak nor colour of excuse.
O, where is thankfulness and love become?
Where is the fear of princes' wrath exil'd?
Even this is the unhappiness of some,
To be of them they trusted most beguil'd;
But sometime pardon breeds a second ill.
Thou shameless wench, and thou false-hearted knight,
By your unhappy deeds I learn this skill;
But yet I list not kill thee, as I might.
Her will I have, and keep her as I may.
On pain of death I charge thee, hence away!
HERMIONE.
O prince, this sentence hath his force and strength,
And dead I am that here appear to live;
For how, alas! can this my life have length
When she is hence, that life and sense doth give?
But since, alas! I must be only he,
Whom Fortune vows to make a common game,
Armenio, my foe, do this for me--
With my revenge to end my open shame.
To help thee to digest thine injury,
Appease thee with Hermione's tragedy.
FIDELIA.
Far be the thought of that accursed deed,
O sweet Hermione, my sweet Hermione!
Foul be his fall that makes thy body bleed,
O sweet Hermione, my sweet Hermione!
And, father, this I vow: forgive it me,
1 will be sacrifice for this offence,
And or I will have my Hermione,
My chosen love, or never part from hence.
Him hath the destinies ordained mine,
Most worthy me, your daughter, every way;
Nor he to any will his choice resign--
No more my troubled thoughts will let me say.
PHIZANTIES.
What wilt thou, foolish girl and obstinate?
Say'st thou this treason is devis'd by fate?
That shall we try. Despatch her hence away.
Let's see who dares our princely will gainsay.
PENULO.
Sir, and you'll have us carry her, here be them come of the carriers.
LENTULO.
And you'll have us marry her, here be them come of the marriers.
PENULO.
Lord! I marvel to whose share this lady will fall:
I am sure my part in her will be least of all.
VENUS _and_ FORTUNE _show themselves, and speak to_
PHIZANTIES, _while_ HERMIONE _standeth in amaze_.
VENUS.
High time it is that now we did appear,
If we desire to end their misery.
FORTUNE.
Phizanties, stay, and unto us give ear.
What thou determin'st performed cannot be.
PHIZANTIES.
Dread goddess whatsoever of this place,
If I herein have disobeyed thy grace,
Of favour grant for to remit the same:
Let me not suffer undeserved blame.
VENUS.
Phizanties, stand up; be of good cheer.
None but thy friends are met together here--
Thy friends, though goddesses in other things--
Yet interchange an alteration brings.
And now, whereas you seek in what you can
To let your child to marry with this man,
Know that it is the pleasure of our will,
That they together be conjoined still.
For 'tis not so--he is not born so base
As you esteem, but of a noble race.
His father is the good Bomelio,
That sleepeth here oppress'd with woe,
Whom Phalaris thy father, on a false report,
In wrath and anger banished his court:
But this is he, to whom thou wishest oft good,
And this his son, born of a noble blood.
Think it no scorn to thee or thine hereafter
To have his son espoused to thy daughter.
PHIZANTIES.
Right gracious goddess, if this be true indeed,
As I believe, because from you it doth proceed,
Then pardon me, for had I known it so,
His son had never tasted of this woe.
Unwitting of his lineage till this time,
Not,[134] presumed, sprung of a noble line.
Put[135] hence, and please your deities, my grief,
Because my son is dumb without relief.
PENULO.
I'faith, sirrah, thou and I may hold our peace, with their leave,
For none but wise men speak here, I perceive.
LENTULO.
In some respects so, in some respects not;
For a fool's bolt is soon enough shot.
FORTUNE.
Phizanties, fear no longer his distress;
The gracious gods provide for his redress.
The shedding of thy daughter's dearest blood
Shall both to him and to this man do good;
For let this fern be dipp'd in many a place,
And, as he sleepeth, cast it in his face,
And let his tongue be washed therewithal,
And both of them relieved see you shall.
PHIZANTIES.
How say you, daughter, will you grant thereto?
FIDELIA.
Most willing, sir, if you vouchsafe to do
But this request, which I most humbly pray--
Then I may be Hermione's for aye.
PHIZANTIES.
With all my heart: hereon I give my hand.
FIDELIA.
I take it, sir; and to your word I stand.
And for thy sake, Hermione, my dear,
See what I do, although it touch me near.
Now take thy fill, and for his madness prove.
[_Bares her breast_.]
HERMIONE.
O sweet and fearful sight, the sign of love!
LENTULO.
If it be any sweeter, masters, that runs from you so,
I pray you give me some of your blessings, ere you go.
ARMENIO.
I strive to speak, and glad to find my speech.
Forgive, Hermione, forgive me, I beseech.
And you, good sister; pardon, my friends, too;
Too rash in all I ventured to do.
See what proceedeth from unstable youth!
Shame to himself, and to his friends a cause of ruth.
HERMIONE.
Armenio, long hath my mind[136] desired
To hear the proffer of this pleasant peace,
Which sith the gods do grant as we require,
Henceforth let rancour and contention cease,
And in our breast be knit for ever sure
The links of love, perpetual to endure.
BOMELIO [_waking_].
What have I heard? what is it that they say?
Amazed quite! confounded every way!
My son Hermione, I know that is the same!
And that's my prince: now comes grief and shame!
PHIZANTIES.
My Lord Bomelio, shun not; I know you now.
Forgive the fact my father did to you;
And what he did, impute it not to me.
Thy former place I will restore to thee.
In token of our faithful amity,
We will be joined in near affinity.
BOMELIO.
Long live Phizanties, long live in happy ease;
The gods be bless'd I live this day to see!
What please the one, shall never me displease:
Thrice happy now for all my misery.
PENULO.
Why then, sir, sith everything is come to so good an end,
I hope, my good master, you'll stand-by my good friend,
And give me but two or three thousand pound a year to live on.
LENTULO.
Much in my nock, Nichols:[137] you and I shall slave it anon.
ARMENIO.
Assure thee, Penulo, thou shalt not want as long as I live.
LENTULO.
Why then, master, mine old master, I pray you forgive
Your old runaway. 'Twas for fashion-sake: I'll do so no more.
BOMELIO.
Look you do not, sirrah, and then I pardon you therefore.
[_Enter_ VENUS _and_ FORTUNE.]
VENUS.
Thus everything united is by Love.
Now gods and men are reconcil'd again;
On whom, because I did my pleasure prove,
I will reward you for your former pain.
Receive the favours of our deity,
And sing the praise of Venus' sovereignty.
FORTUNE.
And for I play'd my part with Lady Love,
While each did strive for chief authority,
Your good deserts Dame Fortune so doth move
To give these signs of liberality.
Thus for amends of this your late unrest,
By Love and Fortune you shall all be blest.
And thus hereof this inward care I have,
That Wisdom ruleth Love, and Fortune both:
Though riches fail, and beauty seem to save,
Yet wisdom forward still unconquered go'th.
This, we beseech you, take friendly in worth;
And sith by Love and Fortune our troubles all do cease,
God save her majesty, that keeps us all in peace.
Now they and we do all triumph in joy,
And Love and Fortune are linked sure friends:
All grief is fled; for your annoy
Fortune and Love makes all amends.
Let us rejoice, then, in the same,
And sing high praises of their name.
FINIS.
THE THREE LADIES OF LONDON.
_EDITION_.
[_A right excellent and famous Comoedy called the Three Ladies of London.
Wherein is Notablie declared and set foorth, how by the meanes of Lucar,
Loue and Conscience is so corrupted, that the one is married to
Dissimulation, the other fraught with all abhomination. A Perfect
Patterne for All Estates to looke into, and a worke right worthie to be
marked. Written by R.W. as it hath been publiquely played. At London,
Printed by Roger Warde, dwelling neere Holburne Conduit, at the signs
of the Talbot. 1584.[138] 4º. Black letter_.]
THE PROLOGUE.
To sit on honour's seat it is a lofty reach:
To seek for praise by making brags ofttimes doth get a breach.
We list not ride the rolling racks that dims the crystal skies,
We mean to set no glimmering glance before your courteous eyes:
We search not Pluto's pensive pit, nor taste of Limbo lake;
We do not show of warlike fight, as sword and shield to shake:
We speak not of the powers divine, ne yet of furious sprites;
We do not seek high hills to climb, nor talk of love's delights.
We do not here present to you the thresher with his flail,
Ne do we here present to you the milkmaid with her pail:
We show not you of country toil, as hedger with his bill;
We do not bring the husbandman to lop and top with skill:
We play not here the gardener's part, to plant, to set and sow:
You marvel, then, what stuff[139] we have to furnish out our show.
Your patience yet we crave a while, till we have trimm'd our stall;
Then, young and old, come and behold our wares, and buy them all.
Then, if our wares shall seem to you well-woven, good and fine,
We hope we shall your custom have again another time.
THE THREE LADIES OF LONDON.
THE FIRST ACT.
_Enter_ FAME, _sounding before_ LOVE _and_ CONSCIENCE.
LOVE.
Lady Conscience, what shall we say to our estates? to whom shall
we complain?
Or how shall we abridge such fates as heapeth up our pain?
'Tis Lucre now that rules the rout: 'tis she is all in all:
'Tis she that holds her head so stout; in fine, 'tis she that works
our fall.
O Conscience! I fear, I fear a day,
That we by her and Usury shall quite be cast away.
CONSCIENCE.
Indeed, I fear the worst, for every man doth sue,
And comes from countries strange and far of her to have a view.
Although they ought to seek true Love and Conscience clear;
But Love and Conscience few do like that lean on Lucre's chair.
Men ought be rul'd by us; we ought in them bear sway,
So should each neighbour live by other in good estate alway.
LOVE.
For Lucre men come from Italy, Barbary, Turkey,
From Jewry; nay, the Pagan himself
Endangers his body to gape for her pelf.
They forsake mother, prince, country, religion, kiff and kin;
Nay, men care not what they forsake, so Lady Lucre they win;
That we poor ladies may sigh to see our states thus turned and tost,
And worse and worse is like to be, where Lucre rules the roost.
CONSCIENCE.
You say the truth, yet God, I trust, will not admit it so,
That Love and Conscience by Lucre's lust shall catch an overthrow.
FAME.
Good ladies, rest content, and you, no doubt, shall see
Them plagued with painful punishment for such their cruelty:
And if true Love and Conscience live from Lucre's lust lascivious,
Then Fame a triple crown will give, which lasteth aye victorious.
CONSCIENCE.
God grant that Conscience keep within the bounds of right,
And that vile Lucre do not haunt her heart with deadly spite.
LOVE.
And grant, O God, that Love be found in city, town, and country,
Which causeth wealth and peace abound, and pleaseth God Almighty.
FAME.
But, ladies, is't your pleasure to walk abroad a while,
And recreate yourselves with measure, your sorrows to beguile?
CONSCIENCE.
Pass on, good Fame; your steps do frame; on you we will attend,
And pray to God, that holds the rod, our states for to defend.
[_Exeunt_.
THE SECOND ACT.[140]
_Enter_ DISSIMULATION, _having on a farmer's long coat
and a cap, and his poll and beard painted motley_.
DISSIMULATION.
Nay, no less than a farmer, a right honest man,
But my tongue cannot stay me to tell what I am:
Nay, who is it that knows me not by my party-colour'd head?
They may well think, that see me, my honesty is fled.
Tush! a fig for honesty: tut, let that go,
Sith men, women and children my name and doings do know.
My name is Dissimulation, and no base mind I bear,
For my outward effects my inward zeal do declare;
For men do dissemble with their wives, and their wives with them again,
So that in the hearts of them I always remain.
The child dissembles with his father, the sister with her[141] brother,
The maiden with her mistress, and the young man with his lover.[142]
There is dissimulation between neighbour and neighbour, friend and
friend, one with another,
Between the servant and his master, between brother and brother.
Then, why make you it strange that ever you knew me,
Seeing so how[143] I range thoroughout every degree?
But I forget my business: I'll towards London as fast[144] I can,
To get entertainment of one of the three ladies, like an honest man.
_Enter_ SIMPLICITY _like a miller, all mealy,
with a wand in his hand_.
SIMPLICITY.
They say there is preferment in London to have:
Mass, and there be, I'll be passing and brave.
Why, I'll be no more a miller, because the maidens call me Dusty-poll;
One thumps me on the neck, and another strikes me on the nol:
And you see I am a handsome fellow: mark the comporknance[145] of
my stature.
Faith, I'll go seek peradventures,[146] and be a serving-creature.
DISSIMULATION.
Whither away, good fellow? I pray thee, declare.
SIMPLICITY.
Marry, I'll 'clare thee: to London; would thou didst go there.
DISSIMULATION.
What if I did? would it be better for thee?
SIMPLICITY.
Ay, marry should it, for I love honest company.
DISSIMULATION.
Agreed; there is a bargain; but what shall I call thee?
SIMPLICITY.
'Cause thou art an honest man, I'll tell thee: my name is Simplicity,
DISSIMULATION.
A name agreeing to thy nature [_Aside_]: but stay; here comes more
company.
_Enter_ FRAUD _with a sword and buckler, like a ruffian_.
FRAUD.
Huff! once aloft, and I may hit in the right vein,
Where I may beguile easily without any great pain.
I will flaunt it and brave it after the lusty swash:[147]
I'll deceive thousands. What care I who lie in the lash?[148]
DISSIMULATION.
What, Fraud? well met. Whither travellest thou this way?
FRAUD.
To London, to get entertainment there, if I may,
Of the three ladies Lucre, Love, and Conscience.
I care not whom I serve--the devil, so I may get pence.[149]
SIMPLICITY.
O Fraud! I know thee for a deceitful knave:
And art thou gotten so bonfacion[150] and brave?
I knew thee, when thou dwelledst at a place called Gravesend,
And the guests knew thee too, because thou wast not their friend;
For when thou shouldst bring reckoning to the guests,
Thou would put[151] twice so much, and swear it cost thy dame no less.
So thou didst deceive them and thy dame too;
And because they spied thy knavery, away thou didst go.
Then thou didst go into Hertfordshire, to a place called Ware,
And because horses stood at hay for a penny a night there,
So that thou couldst get nothing that kind of way,
Thou didst grease the horses' teeth, that they should not eat hay:
Then thou wouldst tell the rider his horse no hay would eat.
Then the man would say: Give him some other kind of meat.
Sir, shall I give him oats, vetches, pease, barley, or bread?
But whate'er thou gavest him, thou stolest three quarters,
when he was in bed.
And now thou art so proud with thy filching and cosening art!
But I think one day thou wilt not be proud of the rope and the cart.
Take a wise fellow's counsel, Fraud: leave thy cosening and filching.
FRAUD.
Thou whoreson rascal swad,[152] avaunt! I'll bang thee for thy brawling.
How darest thou defame a gentleman, that hath so large a living?
SIMPLICITY.
A goodly gentleman ostler! I think none of all you will believe him.
FRAUD.
What a clenchpoop[153] drudge is this! I can forbear him no more.
[_Let_ FRAUD _make as though he would strike him,
but let_ DISSIMULATION _step between them_.
DISSIMULATION.
My good friend Fraud, refrain, and care not therefore.
'Tis Simplicity, that patch; he knoweth not good from bad,
And to stand in contention with him I would think you were mad.
But tell me, Fraud, tell me, hast thou been an ostler in thy days?
FRAUD.
Tut, I have proved an hundred such ways;
For when I could not thrive by all other trades,
I became a squire to wait upon jades.[154]
But then was then, and now is now; but let that pass:
I am, as thou seest me; what care I the devil what I was?
DISSIMULATION.
You say, you go to London: in faith, have with you then.
SIMPLICITY.
Nay, come and go with me, good, honest man;
For if thou go with him, he will teach thee all his knavery.
There is none will go with him that hath any honesty.
A bots[155] on thy motley beard! I know thee; thou art Dissimulation:
And hast thou got an honest man's coat to 'semble this fashion?
I'll tell thee what, thou wilt even 'semble and cog with thine
own father:
A couple of false knaves together, a thief and a broker.
Thou makes townsfolks believe thou art an honest man: in the country
Thou dost nothing but cog, lie, and foist with Hypocrisy.
You shall be hanged together, and go along[156] together for me,
For if I should go, the folks would say, we were knaves all three.
_Enter_ SIMONY _and_ USURY, _hand in hand_.
SIMONY.
Friend Usury, I think we are well near at our journey's end.
But knowest thou whom I have espied?
USURY.
No.
SIMONY.
Fraud, our great friend.
USURY.
And I see another, that is now come into my remembrance.
SIMONY.
Who is that?
USURY.
Marry, Master Davy Dissimulation, a good helper, and our old acquaintance.
SIMPLICITY.
Now all the cards in the stock are dealt about,
The four knaves in a cluster comes ruffling out.
SIMONY.
What, Fraud and Dissimulation! happily found out.
I marvel what piece of work you two go about.
FRAUD.
Faith, sir, we met by chance, and towards London are bent.
USURY.
And to London we hie: it is our chiefest intent,
To see if we can get entertainment of the Ladies or no.
DISSIMULATION.
And for the selfsame matter even thither we go.
SIMONY.
Then, we are luckily well-met; and, seeing we wish all for one thing,
I would we our wills and wishing might win.
SIMPLICITY.
Yes, they will be sure to win the devil and all,
Or else they'll make a man to spew out his gall.
O that vild[157] Usury! he lent my father a little money, and for
breaking one day
He took the fee-simple of his house and mill quite away:
And yet he borrowed not half a quarter as much as it cost;
But I think, if it had been a shilling, it had been lost.
So he kill'd my father with sorrow, and undoed me quite.
And you deal with him, sirs, you shall find him a knave full of spite.
And Simony--A-per-se-A-Simony--too, he is a knave for the nonce:
He loves to have twenty livings at once;
And if he let an honest man, as I am, to have one,
He'll let it so dear that he shall be undone.
And he seeks to get parsons' livings into his hand,
And puts in some odd dunce that to his payment will stand:
So, if the parsonage be worth forty or fifty pound a year,
He will give one twenty nobles to mumble service once a month there.
SIMONY _and_ USURY _both_.
What rascal is he, that speaketh by us such villainy?
DISSIMULATION.
Sirs, he was at us erewhile too; it is no matter: it is a simple soul,
called Simplicity.
But here come two of the ladies; therefore make ready.
_Enter_ LOVE _and_ CONSCIENCE. FRAUD.
But which of us all shall first break the matter?
DISSIMULATION
Marry, let Simony do it, for he finely can flatter.
USURY.
Nay, sirs, because none of us shall have preheminence above other,
We will sing in fellowship together, like brother and brother.
SIMONY.
Of truth, agreed, my masters: let it be so.
SIMPLICITY.
Nay, and they sing, I'll sing too. [_Aside_.
_The Song_.
Good ladies, take pity and grant our desire.
CONSCIENCE' REPLY.
Speak boldly, and tell me what is't you require.
THEIR REPLY.
Your service, good ladies, is what we do crave.
HER REPLY.
We like not, nor list not such servants to have.
THEIR REPLY.
If you entertain us, we trusty will be;
But if you refrain us, then most unhappy.
We will come, we will run, we will bend at your beck,
We will ply, we will hie, for fear of your check.
HER REPLY.
You do feign, you do flatter: you do lie, you do prate:
You will steal, you will rob: you will kill in your hate.
I deny you, I defy you; then cease of your talking:
I refrain you, I disdain you; therefore, get you walking.
CONSCIENCE.
What, Fraud, Dissimulation, Usury, and Simony,
How dare you for shame presume so boldly,
As once to show yourselves before Love and Conscience,
Not yielding your lewd lives first to repentance?
Think you not, that God will plague you for your wicked practices,
If you intend not to amend your vild lives so amiss?[158]
Think you not, God knows your thoughts, words, and works,
And what secret mischiefs in the hearts of you lurks?
Then how dare you offend his heavenly majesty
With your dissembling deceit, your flattery, and your usury?
FRAUD.
Tut, sirs, seeing Lady Conscience is so scripolous,[159]
Let us not speak to her, for I see it is frivolous.
But what say you, Lady Love? Will you grant us favour.
LOVE.
I'll no such servants, so ill of behaviour,
Servants more fitter for Lucre than Love,
And happy are they which refrain for to prove,
Shameless, pitiless, graceless, and quite past honesty;
Then who of good conscience but will hate your company?
USURY.
Here is scripolous Conscience and nice Love indeed.
Tush! if they will not, others will: I know we shall speed.
SIMPLICITY.
But, lady, I stand still behind, for I am none of their company.
CONSCIENCE.
Why, what art thou? O, I know: thou art Simplicity.
SIMPLICITY.
I'faith, I am Simplicity, and would fain serve ye.
CONSCIENCE.
No: I may have no fools to dwell with me.
SIMPLICITY.
Why then, Lady Love, will you have me then?
LOVE.
Ay, Simplicity, thou shalt be my man.
SIMPLICITY.
But shall I be your good-man?
LOVE.
Ay, my good-man, indeed.
SIMPLICITY.
Ay, but I would be your good-man, and swap up a wedding with good speed.
LOVE.
No: Love may not marry in any case with Simplicity;
But if thou wilt serve me, I'll receive it willingly:
And if thou wilt not, what remedy?
SIMPLICITY.
Yes, I will serve ye: but will ye go into dinner, for I am hungry?
LOVE.
Come, Lady Conscience: pleaseth you to walk home from this company?
CONSCIENCE.
With right goodwill, for their sights pleaseth not me.
[_Exeunt_ LADY LOVE _and_ CONSCIENCE.
SIMPLICITY.[160]
Fraud is the clubbish knave, and Usury the hard-hearted knave,
And Simony the diamon' dainty knave,
And Dissimulation the spiteful knave of spade.
Come there any mo knaves? come there any mo?
I see four knaves stand in a row.
[_Let_ FRAUD _run at him,[161] and let_ SIMPLICITY
_run in, and come out again straight_.
FRAUD.
Away, drudge! begone quickly.
SIMPLICITY.
I wous:[162] do thrust out my eyes with a lady.
[_Exit_ SIMPLICITY.
USURY.
Did you ever see gentlemen so rated at before?
But it skills not: I hope one day to turn them both out of door.
SIMONY.
We were arrantly flouted, railed at, and scoff'd in our kind.
That same Conscience is a vild terror to man's mind.
Yet, faith, I care not, for I have borne many more than these,
When I was conversant with the clergy beyond the seas;
And he that will live in this world must not care what such say,
For they are blossoms blown down, not to be found after May.
FRAUD.
Faith, care that care will, for I care not a point.
I have shifted[163] hitherto, and whilst I live I will jeopard a joint;
And at my death I will leave my inheritor behind,
That shall be of the right stamp to follow my mind.
Therefore let them prate, till their hearts ache, and spit out
their evil:
She cannot quail me, if she came in likeness of the great devil.
DISSIMULATION.
Mass, Fraud, thou hast a doughty heart to make a hangman of,
For thou hast good skill to help men from the coff.
But we were arrantly flouted, yet I thought she had not known me;
But I perceive, though Dissimulation do disguise him, Conscience can see.
What though Conscience perceive it, all the world cannot beside,
Tush! there be a thousand places, where we ourselves may provide.
But look, sirs; here cometh a lusty lady towards us in haste;
But speak to her, if you will, that we may be all plac'd.
_Enter_ LADY LUCRE.
USURY.
I pray thee do, for thou art the likeliest to speed.
DISSIMULATION.
Why then I'll tout with a stomach in hope of good speed.
Fair lady, all the gods of good fellowship kiss ye--would say bless ye--
LUCRE.
Thou art very pleasant, and full of thy rope-ripe--I would say rethoric.
DISSIMULATION.
Lady, you took me at the worst: I beseech you therefore
To pardon my boldness, offending no more.
LUCRE.
We do; the matter is not great, but what wouldest thou have?
How shall I call thee, and what is't thou dost crave?
DISSIMULATION.
I am called Dissimulation, and my earnest request
Is to crave entertainment for me and the rest,
Whose names are Fraud, Usury, and Simony,
Great carers for your health, wealth, and prosperity.
LUCRE.
Fraud, Dissimulation, Usury, and Simony,
Now truly I thank you for proffering your service to me;
You are all heartily welcome, and I will appoint straightway,
Where each one in his office in great honour shall stay.
But, Usury, didst thou never know my grandmother, the old Lady
Lucre of Venice?
USURY.
Yes, madam; I was servant unto her, and lived there in bliss.
LUCRE.
But why camest thou into England, seeing Venice is a city,
Where Usury by Lucre may live in great glory?
USURY.
I have often heard your good grandmother tell,
That she had in England a daughter, which her far did excel;
And that England was such a place for Lucre to bide,
As was not in Europe and the whole world beside.
Then, lusting greatly to see you and the country, she being dead,
I made haste to come over to serve you in her stead.
LUCRE.
Gramercy, Usury; and I doubt not but that you shall live here as
pleasantly;
Ay, and pleasanter, too, if it may be. But, Simony, from whence
came ye, tell me?[164]
SIMONY.
My birth, nursery and bringing-up hitherto hath been in Rome,
that ancient religious city.
On a time the monks and friars made a banquet, whereunto they invited me,
With certain other some English merchants, which belike were of their
familiarity;
So, talking of many matters, amongst others one began to debate
Of the abundant substance still brought to that state.
Some said the increase of their substance and wealth
Came from other princes, and was brought thither by stealth:
But the friars and monks, with all the ancient company,
Said that it first came, and is now upholden by me, Simony;
Which the English merchants gave ear to: then they flattered a little
too much,
As Englishmen can do for advantage, when increase it doth touch;
And being a-shipboard merry, and overcome with drink on a day,
The wind served, they hoist sail, and so brought me away:
And landing here, I heard in what great estimation you were,
[And] made bold to your honour to make my repair.
LUCRE.
Well, Simony, I thank thee; but as for Fraud and Dissimulation,
I know their long continuance, and after what fashion.
Therefore, Dissimulation, you shall be my Steward,
An office that every man's case by you must be preferred.
And you, Fraud, shall be my rent-gatherer, my letter of leases,
and my purchaser of land,
So that many old bribes will come to thy hand.
And, Usury, because I know you be trusty, you shall be my secretary,
To deal amongst merchants, to bargain and exchange money.
And Simony, because you are a sly fellow, and have your tongue liberal,
I will place you over such matters as are ecclesiastical.
And though we appoint sundry offices, where now ye are in,
Yet jointly we mean to use you together ofttimes in one thing.
ALL.
Lady, we rest at your command in ought we can or may.
LUCRE.
Then, Master Davy, to my palace haste thee away,
And will Crafty Conveyance, my butler, to make ready
The best fare in the house to welcome thee and thy company.
But stay, Dissimulation, I myself will go with thee.
Gentlemen, I'll go before; but pray, in any case,
So soon as ye please, resort to my place.
[_Exeunt_ DISSIMULATION _and_ LUCRE.
SIMONY.
I warrant you, lady,[165] we will not long absent be.
USURY.
Fellow Simony, this fell out pat, so well as heart could wish.
We are cunning anglers: we have caught the fattest fish.
I perceive it is true that her grandmother told:
Here is good to be done by use of silver and gold.
And sith I am so well settled in this country,
I will pinch all, rich and poor, that come to me.
SIMONY.
And sirrah, when I was at Rome, and dwelt in the Friary,
They would talk how England yearly sent over a great mass of money,
And that this little island was more worth to the Pope,
Than three bigger realms which had a great deal more scope;
For here were smoke-pence, Peter-pence, and Paul-pence to be paid,
Besides much other money that to the Pope's use was made.
Why, it is but lately since the Pope received this fine,
Not much more than twenty-six years--it was in Queen Mary's time.[166]
But I think England had never known what this gear had meant,
If Friar Austin from the Pope had not hither been sent;
For the Pope, hearing it to be a little island, sent him with a great
army over,
And winning the victory, he landed about Rye, Sandwich, or Dover:
Then he erected laws, having the people in subjection;
So for the most part England hath paid tribute so long--
I, hearing of the great store and wealth in the country,
Could not choose but persuade myself the people loved Simony.
USURY.
But stay your talk till some other time: we forget my lady.
SIMONY.
Of troth you say true, for she bad us make haste: [_Aside_.]
But my talk, me-thought, savoured well, and had a good taste.
[_Exeunt ambo_.
_Enter_ MERCATORE _like an Italian Merchant_.
MERCATORE.
I judge in my mind a, dat me be not vare far
From da place where dwells my Lady Lucar.
But here come an shentlymane, a, soe he do.
[_Enter_ DISSIMULATION.
Shentleman, I pray you heartily, let me speak you.
Pray you, do you not know a shentleman dat Master Davy do call?
DISSIMULATION.
Yes, marry, do I: I am he, and what would you withal?
MERCATORE.
Gooda my friend, Master Davy, help me, pray you heartily,
For a some-a acquaintance a with Madonna Lucar, your lady.