+Scene.+--_+Don Carlos's+ house._
_Enter +Diego+, +Flora+, and +Pedro+, accompanying the
chair, groping as in the dark._
+Ped.+ Dame Flora and Signior Diego, go in there; and you, my
friends, set down the chair, and let the lady out; go, there's
money for you. I'll go fetch a candle.
[_+Diego+ and +Flora+ go in, and the chair being set in the
door, +Octavio+ goes out into the room: +Pedro+ claps
to the door, and goes away._
_Enter +Don Octavio+, +Diego+, +Flora+, at another door._
+Don O.+ What! put in all alone here i' th' dark,
[_Groping as in the dark._
And the door shut upon me! Diego! Flora!
+Diego.+ Here am I, sir, and Mistress Flora too,
Unless my sense of feeling fails me.
+Don O.+ I can't conjecture where we are. I durst not
So much as peep out of the chair since Flora
Gave me the warning; but, where'er I am,
'Tis better far than in the sergeants' hands.
+Flo.+ Though now i' th' dark, I know well where we are.
I have too often walk'd the streets, Octavio,
From your house hither, upon Cupid's errands,
Not to know the back-door of Carlos his
Apartment: 'tis there, I'm sure, w' are now.
+Don O.+ Curse on thee, Flora! hadst thou lost thy wits,
Not to let me know it sooner?
+Diego.+ A gipsy told me by my palm, long since,
A sour-fac'd damsel should be my undoing.
+Flo.+ Suspend awhile your apprehensions, sir;
You may escape before the candles come.
The door was wont to open on this side;
If not, I have another way in store. [_+Octavio+ goes to the door._
+Don O.+ Flora, I cannot make the lock go back.
[_+Pedro+ unlocks it on the other side, and coming in with
a candle, meets with +Octavio+, and starting back and
stumbling, lets the candle fall, then running out
again, double-locks the door._
+Diego.+ Nay then, i' faith, w' are fast: I heard him give
The key a double turn. [_+Diego+ takes up the candle._
Here's a fair trial for your maiden breath!
Flora, blow't in again; let's owe your mouth
More light than yet your eyes could e'er impart.
+Flo.+ Light's cast away on such an owl as you;
But yet I'll try. [_+Flora+ blows the candle in._
+Diego.+ Thanks, gentle Flora, to your virgin puff;
'Tis a strong breath that can o'ercome a snuff. [_Aside._
But I had rather't had been let alone:
If I must needs be kill'd, unless it were
Behind my back, I'd have it i' th' dark;
For I hate to be kill'd in my own presence.
+Don O.+ What must we do, Flora I all my hope's in you.
+Flo.+ W' have yet some room for hope. There's a back-stairs
Beyond that inner chamber, which goes down
Into the garden: if the door be open,
As certainly it is, the way is easy.
+Don O.+ Come, let's lose no time. Prythee, guide us, Flora. [_Exeunt._
_Scene changes to +Don Henrique's+ house. Enter
+Don Henrique+._
+Don H.+ As well pleas'd as I am to find my honour
Less desperate than I thought, I cannot rest
Till I have drawn from Porcia a confession
Of the whole truth before she goes to bed.
She's in her chamber now, unless by new
Enchantments carried thence.
_As he is going towards +Porcia's+ chamber, enter
+Don Carlos+ in haste._
+Don O.+ I can't imagine what should make Don Henrique
Quit the corregidor's till we return'd:
One of his servants tells me he's come home.
O, here he is, Now shall I raise a storm
Which (if we do not take a special care)
Will scarce b' allay'd without a shower of blood;
Yet I must venture't, since it so imports
Our friendship and the honour of our house. [_Aside._
Happiness is such a stranger to mankind
[_Addressing to +Don Henrique+._
That, like to forc'd motion, it is ever strongest
At the first setting out; then languishing
With time, grows weary of our company:
But to misfortunes we so subject are,
That, like to natural motion, they acquire
More force in their progression.
+Don H.+ What means this philosophical preamble?
+Don C.+ You'll know too soon, I fear.
+Don H.+ Don Carlos, I am so well recover'd
From all m' inquietudes, that for the future
I dare defy the malice of my stars
To cause a new relapse into distemper.
+Don C.+ Cousin, I'm much surpris'd with this great change:
But since y' are such a master of your passions,
I'll spare my ethics, and proceed to give you
In short the narrative of our success.
Our worthy kinsman the corregidor,
Forward to serve you in th' affair I mention'd,
Was pleas'd to go along with me in person
With a strong band of sergeants to the place
Where I, attended by your servants, led him.
Cousin, 'twas there;--it wounds my heart to speak it,
And I conjure you summon all your patience--
'Twas there I found----
+Don H.+ Whom, cousin, did you find? for since I'm sure
You found no Porcia there, my concernments
In your discoveries are not very likely
To discompose me.
+Don C.+ I would to heaven we had not found her there!
+Don H.+ What's that you say, Don Carlos? My sister there?
+Don C.+ Yes, sir, your sister.
+Don H.+ My sister? that's good, i' faith; ha, ha, ha!
+Don C.+ Why do you laugh! Is the dishonour of
Our family becoming a laughing matter?
This is a worse extreme, methinks, than t'other.
+Don H.+ How can I choose but laugh, to see you dream?
Awake, for heaven's sake, and recall your senses.
Porcia there, said you?
+Don C.+ Yes, sir, Porcia, I say; your sister Porcia;
And, which is more, 'twas in Octavio's house.
+Don H.+ Why, sure, y' are not in earnest, cousin?
+Don C.+ As sure as y' are alive, I found her there.
+Don H.+ Then you transport me, sir, beyond all patience.
Why, cousin, if she has been still at home,
Antonio seen and entertain'd her here,
Accompani'd by Camilla; if even now
I left them there within, is't possible
You should have found her in Octavio's house?
To be here and there too at the same time!
None, sure, but Janus with his double face
Can e'er unfold this mystery.
+Don C.+ Let me advise you, abuse not yourself;
I tell you positive'y, I found her there:
And, by the same token, her waiting-woman
Flora was there attending her.
+Don H.+ Flora! Dear cousin, do not still persist
Thus to affirm impossibilities.
+Don C.+ Sure, you are making some experiment
Upon my temper, and would fain provoke
My patience to some such high disorder,
That I should ne'er hereafter have the face,
When you are in your fits, to play the stoic.
+Don H.+ Cousin, I swear to you upon my honour,
'Tis not above a quarter of an hour
Since I did speak with Porcia and your sister
In that very apartment, and am now
Returning to them in my sister's chamber.
+Don C.+ And, sir, I swear to you upon my honour,
'Tis not above a quarter of an hour,
Since I left Porcia carrying in a chair
From Don Octavio's house, and your man Pedro
Leading the chairmen to mine, and follow'd
By Flora; whilst I came to find you out,
To acquaint you with this unpleasing news,
But fit for you to know as soon as might be.
+Don H.+ This question, cousin, may be soon decided:
Pray, come along, her chamber's not far off.
+Don C.+ And my house but the next door; let's go thither.
+Don H.+ You'll quickly find your error, cousin.
+Don C.+ And you'll as soon be undeceiv'd. But stay:
Here comes your servant, whom I left to guard her:
He'll instantly convince you of the truth.
_Enter +Pedro+._
+Ped.+ O sir!----
+Don H.+ What brings yon hither, Pedro?
+Ped.+ Give me my albricias,[69] sir; I bring you
The rarest news: your enemy Octavio--
I'm quite out of breath----
+Don H.+ What does the varlet mean?
+Ped.+ Sir, I suppose Don Carlos has inform'd you
That he left me to see your sister Porcia,
With Flora and Diego, Oetavio's man,
Safely convey'd t' his house.
+Don C.+ See now, Don Henrique: who was i' the right!
+Ped.+ I did as he commanded me, and put them
All three into Don Carlos's antechamber,
Porcia in the same chair which brought her thither,
And for more safety, double-lock'd the door,
Whilst I went down in haste to fetch some candles.
+Don H.+ As sure as death, this madness is infectious;
My man is now in one of Carlos's fits.
+Ped.+ Returning with some lights a moment after,
I no sooner open'd the door, but, heavens!
Who should I see there, standing just before me,
In the selfsame place where I had left Porcia,
But Octavio, your enemy Octavio.
+Don H.+ Here is some witchcraft, sure. What can this mean?
+Ped.+ Amaz'd at this sight, I let the candle fall,
And clapp'd the door to; then double-lock'd it,
And brought away the key.
+Don C.+ But how could he get in, if you be sure
You lock'd the door when you went out for lights?
+Ped.+ I know not whether he was there before,
Or got in after; but of this I'm sure,
That there I have him now, and safe enough.
+Don H.+ Let's not, Don Carlos, now perplex ourselves
With needless circumstances, when and how;
Those queries are too phlegmatic for me:
If the beast be i' th' toil, it is enough;
Let us go seize him, for he must die.
_Enter +Don Antonio+._
+Don A.+ Pray, brother, what unhappy man is he
Whom you so positively doom to death?
I have a sword to serve you on all occasions
Worthy of you and me.
+Don H.+ His intervening, Carlos, is unlucky.
How shall we behave ourselves towards him
In this business, so unfit for his knowledge?
+Don C.+ Cousin, you should consider with yourself
[_+Carlos+ draws +Henrique+ aside._
What answer to return him: he's not a man
To be put off with any slight pretences;
Nor yet to be engag'd in such an action
As bears th' appearance rather of brutality
Than true honour. You know Antonio needs
No fresh occasions to support his name.
Who danger seek, are indigent of fame.
+Don H.+ I beg your patience, sir, but for one word
With this gentleman my friend.
[_+Don Henrique+ addresses himself to +Don
Antonio+._
+Don A.+ I'll attend your leisure.
I find my coming has disorder'd 'em, [_Aside._
There's something they would fain conceal from me:
All here is discompos'd, whate'er's the matter.
+Don H.+ I am a rogue, if I know what to do.
+Don C.+ Since the event's so dangerous and doubtful,
'Tis best, in my opinion, sir, to temporise.
+Don H.+ How easily men get the name of wise!
To fear t' engage, is call'd to temporise:
Sure, fear and courage cannot be the same,
Yet th' are confounded by a specious name;
And I must tamely suffer, because fools
Are rul'd by nice distinctions of the schools.
How I hate such cold complexions! [_He stamps._
+Don C.+ Why so transported? as if vehemence
Were for your passion an approv'd defence.
+Don H.+ Who condemns passions, Nature he arraigns.
+Don C.+ Th' are useful succours, when they serve in chains:
But he who throws the bridle on their necks,
From a good cause will produce ill effects.
+Don H.+ Be th' effects what they will, I am resolv'd.
I doubt not of your kind concurrence, sir,
[_Addressing to +Don Antonio+._
In all the near concernments of a person
Allied to you as I am; but, noble brother,
It were against the laws of hospitality
And civil breeding to engage a guest
(Newly arriv'd after so long a journey)
In an occasion where there may be danger.
+Don A.+ If such be the occasion, I must then
Acquaint you freely, that I wear a sword,
Which must not be excluded from your service.
I'm sure you are too noble to employ yours
In any cause not justifi'd by honour.
+Don H.+ Though with regret, I see, sir, I must yield
To your excess of generosity,
This only I shall say to satisfy
Your just reflections, that my resentments
Are grounded on affronts of such a nature
That, as nothing but the offender's life
Can e'er repair 'em, so, as to the forms
Of taking my revenge, they can't admit
Of the least scruple.
+Don A.+ Honour's my standard, and 'tis true that I
Had rather fall, than blush for victory;
But you are such a judge of honour's laws,
That 'twere injurious to suspect your cause.
Allow me, sir, th' honour to lead the way.
[_Exeunt +Don Antonio+ and +Don Henrique+._
+Don C.+ If Porcia be there too (as I believe)
'Twill prove, I fear, a fatal tragedy;
But should she not be there, yet 'tis too much
For such a heart as mine, through ignorance
To have betray'd a gentleman, though faulty,
Into such cruel hands. I must go with them;
But so resolv'd as, in this bloody strife,
I'll salve my honour, or I'll lose my life. [_Exit._
_Scene changes to +Don Carlos's+ house. Enter
+Don Octavio+, +Diego+, and +Flora+ with a candle._
+Flo.+ O th' unluckiness! I vow t' you, sir,
I have scarce known that door e'er lock'd before.
+Don O.+ There's no remedy, Flora: I am now
At the mercy of my enemies.
+Diego.+ Having broken into another's ground,
'Tis just, i' faith, you should be put i' th' pound.
+Don O.+ The tide of my ill fate is swoll'n so high,
'Twill not admit increase of misery;
Since, amongst all the curses, there is none
So wounds the spirit as privation:
For 'tis not where we lie, but whence we fell;
The loss of heaven's the greatest pain in hell.
When I had sail'd the doubtful course of love,
Had safely gain'd my port, and (far above
My hopes) the precious treasure had secured
For which so many storms I had endur'd:
To be so soon from this great blessing torn,
That's hard to say, if 'twere first dead or born,
May doubtless seem such a transcendent curse,
That even the Fates themselves could do no worse:
Yet this I bore with an erected face.
Since fortune, not my fault, caus'd my disgrace;
But now my eyes unto the earth are bent,
Conscious of meriting this punishment:
For trusting a fond maid's officious care,
My life and honour's taken in this snare;
And thus I perish on this unseen shelf,
Pursu'd by fate, and false unto myself.
Flora, when I am dead, I pray present [_He pulls out his tablets._
These tablets to your lady; there she'll find
My last request, with reasons which I give,
That for my sake she would vouchsafe to live.
Give me the candle, Flora.
[_+Octavio+ sets the candle on a table, and sits
down to write in his tablets._
+Diego.+ A double curse upon all love in earnest,
All constant love: 'tis still accompanied
With strange disasters, or else ends in that
Which is the worst of all disasters--marriage.
+Flo.+ Sure, you could wish that everybody living
Had such a soul of quicksilver as yours,
That can fix nowhere.
+Diego.+ Why' 'twould not be the worse for you, dear Flora;
You then might hope in time to have your turn,
As well as those who have much better faces.
+Flo.+ You, I presume, sir, would be one o' th' latest,
Which I should hear of; yet 'tis possible
That one might see you before you should be
Welcome.
+Diego.+ She has wit and good-humour, excellent
Ingredients to pass away the time;
And I have kindness for her person too;
But that will end with marriage, and possibly
Her good-humour; for I have seldom known
The husband and the wife make any music,
Though when asunder they can play their parts.
Well, friend Diego, I advise you to look
Before you leap, for if you should be coupled
To a yoke, instead of a yoke-fellow,
'Tis likely you may wear it to your grave.
Yet, honest Diego, now I think on't better,
Your dancing and your vaulting days are done:
Faith, all your pleasures are three storeys high,
They are come up to your mouth; you are now
For ease and eating, the only joys of life;
And there's no cook, no dry-nurse, like a wife.
+Don O.+ Here, take my tablets, Flora: sure, they'll spare
Thy life for thy sex's sake; but for poor Diego----
+Diego.+ Why, sir, they'll never offer to kill me?
There's nothing in the world I hate like death.
+Don O.+ Since death's the passage to eternity,
To be for ever happy we must die.
+Diego.+ 'Tis very true; but most that die would live,
If to themselves they could new leases give.
+Don O.+ We must possess our souls with such indifference,
As not to wish nor fear to part from hence.
+Diego.+ The first I may pretend to, for I swear
I do not wish to part: 'tis true, I fear.
+Don O.+ Fear! why, death's only cruel when she flies,
And will not deign to close the weeping eyes.
+Diego.+ That is a cruelty I can forgive,
For I confess I'm not afraid to live.
+Don O.+ We shall still live, though 'tis by others' breath--
By our good fame, which is secur'd by death.
+Diego.+ But we shall catch such colds, sir, under ground,
That we shall never hear Fame's trumpet sound.
+Don O.+ 'Tis but returning, when from hence we go,
As rivers to their mother-ocean flow.
+Diego.+ We know our names and channels whilst w' are here;
W' are swallow'd in that dark abyss when there.
+Don O.+ Engulf'd in endless joys and perfect rest,
Unchangeable, i' th' centre of the bless'd.
+Diego.+ Hark, I hear a noise--
[_The noise of the opening of a door. +Diego+ runs to the
door, looks into the next room, then comes running to
+Octavio+._
+Diego.+ O sir, w' are lost! I sea two female giants
Coming most terribly upon us.
+Don O.+ Away, you fearful fool----
_Enter +Camilla+ and +Porcia+, the one with a key, the
other with a candle._
+Por.+ I'm confident nobody saw us pass
From th' other house.
+Cam.+ However, let us go through my brother's quarter,
And open the back-door into the street;
'Tis good in all events t' have a retreat
More ways than one. [_A door claps behind, and both look back._
+Por.+ O heavens, our passage is cut off!
The wind has shut the door through which we came.
+Cam.+ The accident's unlucky: 'tis a spring lock,
That opens only on the other side.
+Por.+ Let's on the faster, and make sure of th' other--
[_Seeing +Octavio+, she starts._
Octavio here! [_+Octavio+ hearing them, starts up._
+Don O.+ Porcia in this place! may I trust my senses,
Or does my fancy form these chimeras?
+Diego.+ Either we sleep, and dream extravagantly,
Or else the fairies govern in this house.
[_+Flora+ runs to +Porcia+._
+Flo.+ Ah, dearest mistress! you shall never make me
Quit you so again.
+Por.+ But can that be Octavio?
+Don O.+ I was Octavio; but I am at present
So much astonish'd, I am not myself.
+Cam.+ What can the meaning of this vision be?
[_+Don Octavio+ approaches +Porcia+._
+Don O.+ My dearest Porcia, how is't possible
To find you in this place, my friend Antonio
Having so generously undertaken
Your protection?
+Por.+ Did he not yours so too? and yet I find
Octavio here, where he is more expos'd
Than I to certain ruin. I am loth
To say 'tis he who has betray'd us both.
+Don O.+ Antonio false? It is impossible.
+Diego.+ 'Tis but too evident.
+Don O.+ Peace, slave! he is my noble friend, of noble blood,
Whose fame's above the level of those tongues
That bark by custom at the brightest virtues,
As dogs do at the moon.
+Por.+ How hard it is for virtue to suspect!
Ah, Octavio! we have been both deceiv'd.
This vile Antonio is the very man
To whom my brother without my consent
Or knowledge has contracted me in Flanders.
+Don O.+ Antonio the man to whom you are contracted?
Porcia the bride whom he is come to marry?
+Por.+ The very same.
+Don O.+ Why did you not acquaint me with it sooner?
+Por.+ Alas! I have not seen you since I knew it;
But those few hours such wonders have produc'd
As exceed all belief, and ask more time
Than your unsafe condition in this place
Will allow me to make you comprehend it.
+Cam.+ Cousin, I cannot blame your apprehensions,
Nor your suspicion of Antonio's friendship;
But I am so possess'd with the opinion
Of his virtue, I shall as soon believe
Impossibilities as his apostasy
From honour.
+Don O.+ What's her concernment in Antonio, Porcia?
+Por.+ O, that's the strangest part of our sad story,
And which requires most time to let you know it
[_A blaze of light appears at the window, and a noise without._
See, Flora, at the window, what's that light
And noise we hear. [_+Flora+ goes to the window._
+Flo.+ O madam, we are all undone! I see
Henrique, Carlos, and their servants, with torches
All coming hither; and, which is wonderful,
Antonio leading them with his sword drawn.
+Cam.+ Thou dream'st, distracted wench? Antonio false?
It is impossible----
[_+Camilla+ runs to the window, and turning
back, says_--
All she has said is in appearance true.
There is some hidden mystery, which thus
Abuses us; for I shall ne'er believe
Antonio can transgress the rules of friendship.
+Don O.+ Friendship's a specious name, made to deceive
Those whose good-nature tempts them to believe:
The traffic of good offices 'mongst friends
Moves from ourselves, and in ourselves it ends:
When competition brings us to the test,
Then we find friendship is self-interest.
+Por.+ Ye pow'rs above! what pleasure can ye take
To persecute submitting innocence?
+Don O.+ Retire, dear Porcia, to that inner room:
For should thy cruel brother find thee here,
He's so revolted from humanity,
He'll mingle thine with my impurer blood.
+Por.+ That were a kind of contract. Let him come,
We'll meet at once marriage and martyrdom.
+Don O.+ Soul of my life, retire.
+Por.+ I will not leave you.
+Don O.+ Thou preserv'st me by saving of thyself:
For they can murder only half of me,
Whilst that my better part survives in thee.
+Por.+ I will die too, Octavio, to maintain
That different causes form the same effects:
'Tis courage in you men, love in our sex.
+Don O.+ Though souls no sexes have, when w' are above,
If we can know each other, we may love.
+Por.+ I'll meet you there above: here take my word.
[_+Don Octavio+ takes her hand and kisses it._
This Porcia knows the way of joining souls,
As well as th' other, when she swallow'd coals.
[_They retire to the other room, +Porcia+ leaning on
+Camilla+, and +Octavio+ waits on them to the door._
+Diego.+ Nay, if y' are good at that, the devil take
The hindmost. 'Tis for your sake, fair Flora,
[_Taking +Flora+ by the hand._
I shun these honourable occasions.
Having no weapon, sir, 'tis fit that I
March off with the baggage.
[_Turning to +Don Octavio+. Exeunt +Diego+
and +Flora+._
+Don O.+ I'm now upon the frontiers of this life,
There's but one step to immortality;
And, since my cruel fortune has allow'd me
No other witness of my tragic end
But a false friend and barbarous enemy,
I'll leave my genius to inform the world
My life and death was uniform: as I
Liv'd firm to love and honour, so I die. [_Draws his sword._
Look down, ye spirits above; for if there be
A sight on earth worthy of you to see,
'Tis a brave man, pursu'd by unjust hate,
Bravely contending with his adverse fate. [_Waving his sword._
Stay till this heaven-born soul puts off her earth,
And she'll attend ye to her place of birth.
_Enter +Don Antonio+, +Don Henrique+, +Don Carlos+, and
+Pedro+, their swords drawn; +Don Antonio+ before the rest._
+Don A.+ Where is the man whose insolence and folly
Has so misled him to affront my friend?
+Don O.+ Here is the man thou seek'st, and he whom thou
So basely hast betray'd.
+Don A.+ O heavens! what is't I see? It is Octavio,
My friend.
+Don O.+ Not thy friend, Antonio, but 'tis Octavio,
Who by thy perfidy has been betray'd
To this forlorn condition; but, vile man,
Thou now shalt pay thy treachery with thy life.
[_+Don Octavio+ makes at +Don Antonio+._
+Don A.+ Hold, Octavio! though thy injurious error
May transport thee, it shall not me, beyond
The bounds of honour. Heaven knows I thought
Of nothing less than what I find--Octavio
In this place.
+Don H.+ What pause is this, Antonio? All your fervour
In the concernments of a brother-in-law
Reduc'd to a tame parley with our enemy?
Do all the promises you have made to me,
T' assist my just revenge, conclude in this?
+Don O.+ Do all the promises you have made to me,
T' assist my virtuous love, conclude in this?
+Don H.+ Where is your wonted bravery?
Where your kindness to such a near ally?
+Don O.+ Where is your former honour? where your firmness
To such an ancient friend?
+Don A.+ What course shall my distracted honour steer,
Betwixt these equal opposite engagements? [_Aside._
+Don H.+ What, demur still? nay, then I'll right myself.
[_+Don Henrique+ makes at +Don Octavio+; +Don
Antonio+ turns on +Don Octavio's+ side._
+Don A.+ Who attacks Octavio must pass through me.
+Don C.+ I must lay hold on this occasion. [_Aside._
Good cousin, I conjure you to restrain
Your passion for awhile. There lies conceal'd
Some mystery in this which, once unfolded,
May reconcile this difference.
+Don H.+ Sweetly propos'd, sir; an accommodation!
Think'st thou my anger's like a fire of straw,
Only to blaze and then expire in smoke?
Think'st thou I can forget my name and nation,
And barter for revenge, when honour bleeds?
His life must pay this insolence, or mine.
[_He makes at +Don Octavio+ again; +Don Antonio+ interposes._
+Don A.+ Mine must protect his, or else perish with him.
+Don H.+ Since neither faith nor friendship can prevail,
'Tis time to try what proof you are, Antonio,
Against your own near interest. Know that the man,
Whom you protect against my just revenge,
Has seconded his insolence to me
By foul attempts upon my sister's honour,
Your Porcia's, sir. If this will not inflame you----
[_+Don Antonio+ turns from +Don Octavio+ and beholds him with a
stern countenance._
+Don O.+ How! I attempt your sister's honour, Henrique?
[_+Don Antonio+ turns and looks sternly upon +Don Henrique+._
The parent of your black designs, the devil,
Did ne'er invent a more malicious falsehood;
'Tis true that I have serv'd the virtuous Porcia
With such devotion and such spotless love,
That, though unworthy, yet she has been pleas'd
To recompense my passion with esteem;
[_+Don Antonio+ turns and looks sternly upon
+Don Octavio+._
By which she has so chain'd me to her service,
That here I vow either to live her prize,
Or else in death to fall love's sacrifice.
+Don A.+ O heavens! what's that I hear? Thou blessed angel,
Guardian of my honour, I now implore
Thy powerful assistance, to preserve
That reputation which I hitherto
By virtuous actions have maintain'd unblemish'd.
In vain, Don Henrique, you design to change
[_He pauses a little, and rubs his forehead._
My resolutions: it must ne'er be said
That passion could return Antonio
From the strict rules of honour. Sir, I tell you,
Nothing can make me violate my first
Engagement.
+Don H.+ Nay, then, thou shalt die too, perfidious man.
Ho! Geraldo, Pedro, Leonido!
_Enter +Geraldo+, +Pedro+, and +Leonido+, with their swords
drawn; they join with +Don Henrique+; +Don Carlos+
interposes._
+Don C.+ For heaven's sake, cousin, draw not on yourself
The horrid infamy of assassinating
Persons of noble blood by servile hands!
+Don H.+ Do you defend them too? Kill 'em, I say.
+Don A.+ Retire, Octavio, I'll sustain their shock.
+Don O.+ Octavio retire!
+Don A.+ Trust me, you must, they will surround us else;
Through that narrow passage they'll assail us
With less advantage.
[_They retire, fighting, off the stage, +Don Henrique+ and
his men pursuing them, and +Don Carlos+ endeavouring to
stop +Don Henrique.+_
+Don H.+ What, d'ye give back, ye mighty men of fame?
+Don A.+ Don Henrique, you shall quickly find 'tis honour,
Not fear, makes me retire. [_Exeunt._
_Enter presently +Don Antonio+ and +Don Octavio+
at another door, which +Don Antonio+ bolts._
+Don A.+ Now we shall have a breathing while at least,
Octavio, and time to look about us.
Pray, see yon other door be fast.
[_+Don Octavio+ steps to the door where they went out, and
+Don Henrique+ bounces at the door they came in at._
+Don H.+ Geraldo, fetch an iron bar to force
The door.
[_Within, aloud. +Don Antonio+ goes to both
the doors, to see if they be fast._
+Don A.+ So, 'tis now as I could wish it.
+Don O.+ What do you mean, generous Antonio?
+Don A.+ To kill thee now myself:--having perform'd
What my engagement did exact from me
In your defence 'gainst others, my love now
Requires its dues, as honour has had his.
There's no protection for you from my sword
But in your own, or in your frank renouncing
All claim to Porcia; she is so much mine,
That none must breathe and have the vanity
Of a pretension to her whilst I live.
+Don O.+ I never will renounce my claims to Porcia,
But still assert them by all noble ways:
Yet, sir, this hand shall never use a sword
(Without the last compulsion) 'gainst that man
Who has so much oblig'd me. No, Antonio,
You are securely guarded by the favours
Which you so frankly have conferr'd upon me.
+Don A.+ Pray, sir, let not your pretended gratitude
Enervate your defence: 'tis not my custom
To serve my friends with prospects of return.
+Don O.+ And, sir, 'tis not my custom to receive
An obligation, but with a purpose,
And within the power of my return.
Friendship, Antonio, is reciprocal.
He that will only give, and not receive,
Enslaves the person whom he would relieve.
+Don A.+ Your rule is right; but you apply it wrong.
It was Octavio, my camerade in arms
And ancient friend, whom I design'd to serve;
Not that disloyal man who has invaded
My honour and my love. 'Tis the intent
Which forms the obligation, not th' event.
+Don O.+ I call those pow'rs, which both discern and punish,
To witness for me that I never knew
You e'er pretended to Don Henrique's sister,
Before I came within these fatal walls:
This I declare only to clear myself
From th' imputation of disloyalty,
And to prevent the progress of your error.
+Don A.+ How can I think you should speak truth to me
Who am a witness y' have been false to her,
To whom you now profess so high devotion?
+Don O.+ I false to Porcia! take heed, Antonio,
So foul an injury provokes too much.
But, sir, I must confess I owe you more
Than the forgiveness of one gross mistake.
+Don A.+ Rare impudence! I must not trust my senses.
+Don O.+ If we cannot adjust this competition,
Let's charge our envious fortunes, not our passions,
With this fatal breach of friendship.
+Don A.+ Leave your discourses, and defend yourself;
Either immediately renounce all claims
To Porcia, or this must speak the rest. [_Shaking his sword._
+Don O.+ Nay, then I must reply.
[_They fight. A noise, as if the door were broken open._
_Enter +Don Henrique+, +Don Carlos+, +Leonido+, and
+Geraldo+, with their swords drawn._
+Don H.+ What's this! Antonio fighting with Octavio?
This bravery is excessive, gallant friend,
Not to allow a share in your revenge
To him who's most concern'd: he must not fall
Without some marks of mine.
[_+Don Henrique+ makes at +Don Octavio+, and
+Don Antonio+ turns to +Don Octavio's+ side._
+Don A.+ Nay, then my honour you invade anew,
And, by assaulting him, revive in me
My pre-engagements to protect and serve him
Against all others.
+Don H.+ Why, were not you, Antonio, fighting with him?
Were you not doing all you could to kill him?
+Don A.+ Henrique, 'tis true; but finding in my breast
An equal strife 'twixt honour and revenge,
I do, in just compliance with them both,
Preserve him from your sword, to fall by mine.
+Don C.+ Brave man, how nicely he does honour weigh!
Justice herself holds not the scales more even.
+Don H.+ My honour suffers more as yet than yours,
And I must have a share in the revenge.
+Don A.+ My honour, sir, is so sublim'd by love,
'Twill not admit comparison or rival.
+Don H.+ Either he must renounce all claims to Porcia,
Or die immediately.
+Don A.+ Y' are i' the right: that he must do, or die;
But by no other hand than mine.
+Don O.+ Cease your contention, and turn all your swords
Against this breast! whilst Porcia and I have breath,
She must be mine, there's no divorce but death.
+Don H.+ I'll hear no more, protect him if thou canst:
Kill the slave, kill him, I say!
[_+Don Henrique+ makes at him, and +Don
Carlos+ endeavours to interpose._
+Don C.+ For heaven's sake, hold a moment! certainly
There's some mistake lies hidden here, which (clear'd)
Might hinder these extremes.
[_+Don Henrique+ and his servants press +Don Antonio+ and
+Don Octavio+. +Flora+ peeps out, and, seeing them
fight, cries out_ Camilla! Porcia! _+Camilla+ and
+Porcia+ looking out, both shriek, and then run out
upon the stage._
_Enter +Porcia+ and +Camilla+ from the inner room._
+Por.+ Don Henrique!
+Cam.+ Antonio! Carlos!
+Por.+ Octavio!
_+Cam.+ and +Por.+ together_. Hear us but speak! hear us but speak!
+Don H.+ By heavens, 'tis Porcia! why, how came she here?
+Don C.+ Why, did not I tell you she was brought hither
By my directions? you would not believe me.
+Don H.+ But how then could Octavio come hither?
+Don C.+ Nay, that heaven knows, you heard as well as I
Your man's relation.
+Don H.+ Ah, thou vile woman, that I could destroy
Thy memory with thy life!
[_He offers to run at +Porcia+: +Don Antonio+
interposes._
+Don A.+ Hold, sir, that must not be!
+Don H.+ What, may not I do justice upon her
Neither?
+Don A.+ No, sir: although I have not yet the honour
To know who this lady is, I have this night
Engag'd myself both to secure and serve her.
+Don C.+ He knows not Porcia. Who was i' the right,
Don Henrique, you or I?
+Don H.+ He not know Porcia! why, 'tis not an hour
Since I saw him entertaining her at home,
Sure w' are enchanted, and all we see's illusion.
+Cam.+ Allow me, Henrique, to unspell these charms.
Who is't, Octavio, you pretend to? speak.
+Don O.+ You might have spar'd that question, madam: none
Knows so well as you, 'tis Porcia I adore.
+Don A.+ Porcia's my wife! disloyal man, thou diest.
[_Offers to make at +Don Octavio+._
+Cam.+ Hold, sir! which is the Porcia you lay claim to?
+Don A.+ Can you doubt of that? why, sure, you know too well
The conquest that you made so long ago[70]
Of my poor heart in Flanders.
+Don C.+ Conquest! poor heart! Flanders! what can this mean?
+Don H.+ New riddles every moment do arise,
And mysteries are born of mysteries.
+Don C.+ Sure, 'tis the pastime of the destinies
To mock us for pretending to be wise.
+Cam.+ Thanks be to heaven, our work draws near an end.
Cousin, it belongs to you to finish it.
+Por.+ To free you from that labyrinth, Antonio,
In which a slight mistake, not rectifi'd,
Involv'd us all, know the suppos'd Porcia,
Whom you have lov'd, is the true Camilla.
+Cam.+ And you, Don Henrique, know that Don Octavio
Has always been your sister's faithful lover,
And only feign'd a gallantry to me
To hide his real passion for my cousin
From your discerning eyes.
+Don A.+ Generous Octavio!
+Don O.+ Brave Antonio! how happy are we both. [_They embrace._
Both in our loves and friendships!
+Don A.+ Ah, how the memory of our crosses pass'd
Heightens our joys when we succeed at last!
+Don O.+ Our pleasures in this world are always mix'd:
'Tis in the next where all our joys are fix'd.
[_+Camilla+ takes +Don Antonio+ by the hand,
and leads him to +Don Carlos+._
+Cam.+ This, my dear brother, is that brave commander
To whom you owe your life and liberty;
And I much more--the safety of my honour.
+Don C.+ Is this that gallant leader who redeem'd us
With so much valour from the enemy?
+Cam.+ The very same.
+Don C.+ Why did you not acquaint me with it sooner?
'Twas ill done, Camilla.
+Cam.+ Alas! my dearest brother, gratitude,
[_Drawing +Don Carlos+ aside._
Conspiring with the graces of his person,
So soon possess'd him of my heart, that I,
Asham'd of such a visionary love,
Durst never trust my tongue with my own thoughts.
+Don C.+ 'Tis enough. Here, sir, take from me her hand,
[_Addressing to +Don Antonio+._
Whose heart your merit has long since made yours.
[_+Don Antonio+ takes +Camilla's+ hand and kisses it._
+Don A.+ Sir, with your leave and hers, I seal the vows
Of my eternal faith unto you both.
+Don C.+ But let's take heed, Antonio, lest, whilst we
Are joying in our mutual happiness,
Don Henrique's scarcely yet composed distemper
Revive not, and disorder us afresh:
I like not his grim posture.
+Don A.+ 'Tis well thought on; let's approach him.
[+Don Octavio+, _holding +Porcia+ by the hand,
advances towards +Don Henrique+._
+Don O.+ Here with respect we wait your confirmation
Of that which seems to be decreed above,
Though travers'd by unlucky accidents.
This lady, your incomparable sister,
Can witness that I never did invade
Your passion for Camilla; and Pedro's death
Happen'd by your mistaken jealousy.
The causes of your hate being once remov'd,
'Tis just. Don Henrique, the effects should cease.
+Don H.+ I shall consult my honour----
+Don C.+ You cannot take a better councillor
In this case than your own and sister's honour;
What, to secure them both, could have been wish'd
Beyond what fate has of itself produc'd?
+Don H.+ How hard it is to act upon constraint!
That which I could have wish'd, I now would fly,
Since 'tis obtruded by necessity.
'Tis fit that I consent, but yet I must
Still seem displeas'd, that m' anger may seem just [_Aside._
+Don A.+ Noble Don Henrique, you may reckon me
To be as truly yours by this alliance,
As if a brother's name subsisted still.
+Don H.+ Well, I must yield, I see, or worse will follow. [_Aside._
He is a fool who thinks by force or skill
To turn the current of a woman's will:
Since fair Camilla is Antonio's lot,
I Porcia yield to Don Antonio's friend.
Our strength and wisdom must submit to fate:
Stripp'd of my love, I will put off my hate.
Here take her hand, and may she make you, sir,
[_+Don Henrique+ takes +Porcia+ by the hand,
and gives her to +Don Octavio+._
Happier than she has done me.
_+Diego+ and +Flora+ advance._
+Flo.+ Had e'er disorders such a rare come-off?
Methinks 'twould make a fine plot for a play.
+Diego.+ Faith, Flora, I should have the worst of that;
For, by the laws of comedy, 'twould be
My lot to marry you.
+Don O.+ Well thought on, Diego, tho' 'tis spoke in jest:
We cannot do a better thing in earnest
Than to join these who seem to have been made
For one another. What say'st thou to it, Flora?
+Flo.+ Troth, I have had so many frights this night,
That I am e'en afraid to lie alone.
[_+Diego+ takes her by the hand._
+Diego.+ Give me thy hand, sweet Flora, 'tis a bargain,
I promise thee, dear spouse, I'll do my best
To make thee first repent this earnest jest.
+Flo.+ You may mistake: we have a certain way,
By going halves, to match your foulest play.
+Don C.+ Since this last happy scene is in my house,
You'll make collation with me, ere you part.
_+Don A.+ and +Don O.+_ Agreed, agreed, agreed!
+Don A.+ Thus end the strange Adventures of Five Hours,
As sometimes blust'ring storms, in gentle showers.[71]
[_Addressing to the Pit._
+Don O.+ Thus, noble gallants, after blust'ring lives,
You'll end as we have done, in taking wives.
+Diego.+ Hold, sirs, there's not an end as yet; for then
Come your own brats and those of other men.
+Don H.+ Besides the cares of th' honour of your race
Which, as you know, is my accursed case. [_Addressing to the Boxes._
+Cam.+ You, ladies, whilst unmarried, tread on snares:
Married, y' are cumber'd with domestic cares.
+Por.+ If handsome, y' are by fools and fame attack'd;
If ugly, then by your own envy rack'd.
+Flo.+ We by unthrifty parents forc'd to serve,
When fed are slaves, and when w' are free, we starve.
+Don C.+ Which put together, we must needs confess,
This world is not the scene of happiness.
FOOTNOTES:
[69] A reward or gratuity given to one that brings good
news.--Stevens's "Spanish Dictionary."
[70] All the copies have it _so long ago_, but Reed followed Dodsley in
the absurd error of substituting _some days ago_.--_Collier._
[71] Here the play ended until the third edition which, as has been
already noticed, varies materially from those that preceded it. The
third edition also omits the original epilogues at the theatre and
at court, which, as they are worth preserving, are now inserted in a
note.--_Collier._
THE EPILOGUE.
_+Diego+ comes stealing in, and is followed by +Henrique+, who
stays at the door and listens._
+Diego.+ Come, gentlemen!
Let the _Dons_ and _Monsieurs_ say what they will,
For our parts, we are for _Old England_ still.
Here's a fine Play indeed, to lay the scene
In three houses of the same town, O mean!
Why, we have several plays, where I defy
The devil to tell where the scene does lie:
Sometimes in _Greece_, and then they make a step
To _Transylvania_, thence at one leap
To _Greece_ again: this shows a ranging brain,
Which scorns to be confined t' a town in _Spain._
_Then for the Plot._
The possible _Adventures of Five Hours_!
A copious design! why, in some of ours
Many of the adventures are impossible,
Or, if to be achiev'd, no man can tell
Within what time: this shows a rare invention,
When the design's above your comprehension;
Whilst here y' are treated with a romance-tale.
And a plot cover'd with a _Spanish_ veil.
_As for the Style._
It is as easy as a proclamation,
As if the play were penn'd for the whole nation.
None of those thund'ring lines, which used to crack
Our breaths, and set your wits upon the rack.
Who can admire this piece, or think it good?
There's not one line but may be understood.
_The Raillery._
As innocent as if't had pass'd the test
Of a full synod: not one bawdy jest!
Nor any of those words of double sense,
Which make the ladies, to show their innocence,
Look so demure, whilst by a simp'ring smile
The gallant shows he understands the style.
But here you have a piece so subtly writ,
Men must have wit themselves to find the wit.
Faith, that's too much; therefore by my consent,
We'll damn the play.
+Henrique.+ Think'st thou, impertinent,
That these, who know the pangs of bringing forth
[_Pointing to the Pit._
A living scene, should e'er destroy this birth?
You ne'er can want such writers, who aspire
To please the judges of that upper tier.
The knowing are his peers, and for the rest
Of the illiterate crowd (though finely dress'd),
The author hopes he never gave them cause
To think he'd waste his time for their applause.
You then (most equal judges) freely give
Your votes, whether this play should die or live.
THE EPILOGUE AT COURT.
We've pass'd the lords and commons, and are come
At length, dread sir, to hear your final doom.
'Tis true your vassals, sir, may vote the laws.
Their sanction comes from your divine applause.
This shining circle then will all sit mute
'Till one pronounce from you _Le Roi le veut_.[72]
[72] These are the words still used by ancient usage whenever the royal
assent is given to any bill that has passed through both Houses of
Parliament.--_Collier._
EPILOGUE.
BY MR SMITH.
Our poet, gentlemen, thought to steal away,
Hoping those wretched rhymes, i' th' end o' th' play,
Might serve for epilogue; for truly he
Takes epilogues for arrant bribery.
H' observes your poet in our modern plays,
Humbly showeth, and then as humbly prays;
So that it can't be said, what they have writ
Was without fear, though often without wit.
He trusts (as ye say papists do) to merit;
Leaves you (like quakers) to be mov'd by th' spirit.
But since that epilogues are so much in vogue,
Take this as prologue to the epilogue.
BY MR HARRIS.
Some, as soon as th' enter, we wish 'em gone,
Taking their visit as a visitation:
Yet when they go, there are certain grimaces
(Which in plain English, is but making faces)
That we, for manners' sake, to all allow.
The poet's parting; don't rise, but smile and bow;
And's back being turn'd, ye may take the liberty
To turn him, and all h' has writ to raillery.
Now, as I shall be sav'd, were I as you,
I'd make no bones on't--why, 'tis but his due.
A fop! in this brave, licentious age,
To bring his musty morals on the stage?
Rhyme us to reason, and our lives redress
In metre, as Druids did the savages?
Affront the freeborn vices of the nation?
And bring dull virtue into reputation?
Virtue! would any man of common sense
Pretend to't? why, virtue now is impudence;
And such another modest play would blast
Our new stage, and put your palates out of taste.
We told him, Sir, 'tis whisper'd in the pit
This may be common sense, but 'tis not wit;
That has a flaming spirit, and stirs the blood
That's bawdry, said he, if rightly understood;
Which our late poets make their chiefest tasks,
As if they writ only to th' vizard-masks.
Nor that poetic rage, which hectors heaven,
Your writer's style, like's temper, 's grown more even;
And he's afraid to shock their tender ears.
Whose God, say they, 's the fiction of their fears;
Your moral's to no purpose. He replied,
Some men talk'd idly just before they died,
And yet we heard them with respect. 'Twas all he said.
Well, we may count him now as good as dead;
And since ghosts have left walking, if you please,
We'll let our virtuous poet rest in peace.
ALL MISTAKEN;
OR,
THE MAD COUPLE
_EDITION._
_All Mistaken; Or The Mad Couple. A Comedy, Acted by His
Majestyes Servants, at the Theatre Royal. Written by the
Honorable James Howard, Esq.; London, Printed by H. Brugis,
for James Magnes in Russel-street, neer the Piazza, in
Covent-garden, 1672. 4º._
This play formed part of the collection as originally published by
Dodsley in 1744, but was excluded from the second and third editions.
In the copies of 1672 and 1744, the arrangement of the lines was found
very irregular, and the metre correspondingly corrupt. In the present
reprint the text has been, to a large extent, reconstructed.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
+The Duke.+
+Ortellus+, _next of kin to the Duke; of an
ambitious and treacherous nature._
+Arbatus+, _supposed brother to Artabella._
+Philidor+, _a mad kinsman of the Duke's, in love
with Mirida._
+Zoranzo+, _the Duke's prisoner of war, in love
with Amarissa._
+Pinguister+, }
+Lean-man+, } _two ridiculous lovers of Mirida._
_Doctor to Pinguister._
_Tailor to Lean-man._
_Jailor._
_Servant to Philidor._
_Boy._
_Clown._
_Guard and attendances._
+Amphelia+, _in love with the Duke._
+Artabella+, _the Duke's sister, but taken for the
sister of Arbatus._
+Mirida+, _Philador's mad mistress._
+Amarissa+, _in love with Zoranzo._
_Six Ladies._
_Three Nurses with children._
_Scene, Italy._
ALL MISTAKEN.
ACT I., SCENE I.
_Enter +Duke+ from war, in triumph, leading in his hand
+Artabella+, a woman of that country from whence he came,
with +Arbatus+ her brother, and +Zoranzo+ prisoner; and on
the other side +Amphelia+, +Ortellus+, and Guard._
+Duke.+ Madam, I need not say y'are welcome to this
Country, since 'tis mine.
+Art.+ Sir, leaving my own for yours
Speaks my belief of that, and all things else
You say.
+Duke.+ The same unto your worthy brother,
Besides, my thanks to you, sir, for letting
Your sister take this journey.
+Arb.+ Your highness hath so nobly express'd
Yourself unto my sister, that I
Consented to her coming with you; so
Highly I esteem'd your princely word,
That I have let her trespass on the
Bound of common modesty in this
Adventure: for when this hasty judging
World shall see you have brought a woman
From her own country, and not your
Wife, how soon will every tongue give her
Another title!
+Duke.+ Sir, my sudden actions shall prevent all
Tongues or thoughts either to name or think her
Anything but my duchess; therefore
All that owe duty or respect to me, pay it
To her. What, Amphelia, did you believe
The world so barren of good faces, that
Yours only does enrich it? or did you think
It was men's fates only to doat on yours?
Look on this lady, and you'll see your error;
Mark well her face, and you will find
In every line beauty sits empress there.
These are the eyes, Amphelia, now, that dart
Obedience through my heart; are not you vex'd
To see I am no constant fool, and love
You still?
+Amph.+ Vexed at what? to see a man I hate
Love another? a very great vexation!
Know, sir, this breast has only room for joy
And love to brave Ortellus--
Forgive my heart that 'twas not yours before,
Since you have long deserv'd it.
+Ort.+ Madam, no time was long enough to wait
This blessed hour.
+Amph.+ Alas, great duke! instead
Of pining for your change, you find me midst
A thousand joys in this new choice.
+Duke.+ So you do me, Amphelia, amidst
Ten thousand; not all the glories that
Attend a conquering soldier can create
One joy so great in me,
As being conquer'd here in my own triumphs.
I am but a slave;
Nor does my victory over thousands please
Me so much, as being overcome by
One--by this fair one, whose eyes, by shining
On my triumph only, make it glorious.
+Amph.+ Well, sir, we will not change our happy states;
You cannot brag of happiness so great
To make me envy: I am only sorry for
This lady, that had nothing else to do
With her heart but to give it you. Madam,
If your breast had been crowded with some twenty
Or thirty hearts, and amongst these one very
Ill, you might have
Made present of that to this mighty duke.
+Duke.+ Madam, does not this lady's discourse make you
Afraid of me.
+Art.+ Not in the least, sir.
+Duke.+ Where's this bold prisoner?
+Guard.+ Here, and [it] please your highness.
+Duke.+ Well, sir, tho' you did attempt to kill me
In our camp, after you were our prisoner,
You shall not die, since you are of the same
Country this lady is; therefore thank her
And fortune for your life.
+Zor.+ I'd sooner curse them both.
Shall I thank any for my life, but heaven
That gave it me? I'd rather give it to
A cat. A noble death were far more welcome
To me, than a mean life at second hand.
My being here I owe unto the gods.
When they think fit to lend it me no longer,
They know the way to take it from me. I scorn
To run in debt unto a mortal duke for two
Or three days' breath.
+Amph.+ Brave captive! [_Aside._
+Duke.+ You're
Very high, considering you are in chains.
+Zor.+ Why, sir, think you these fetters can confine
My mind as they do my legs, or that my
Tongue is your prisoner, and dares only say:
May it please your highness? How much are you
Mistaken? Know, sir, my soul is
Prompter to my tongue, and gives it courage to say
Anything that heaven will not frown at. We
Should detract from those great pow'rs above,
If we pay fears to any here below.
Perhaps you think I'll beg my life now upon
A pair of bent petitioning knees? No, sir;
Had I a hundred lives, I'd give them all
To sharpest deaths, rather than beg for one.
+Duke.+ You're well resolv'd; perhaps your mind may alter,
When you see the axe. In the meantime commit him
To the closest prison where, if you have any
Accounts with heaven, you will have time to cast
Them up before your death.
+Zor.+ Your sentence brings me
Joy. Welcome the keenest axe that can be set!
'Twill cut my head and chains both off together.
Welcome, most happy stroke, since it will bring
Rest to my eyes, and make a slave a king. [_Exit with a Guard._
+Duke.+ Madam, I suppose this journey has so wearied
You, that it is time to show you the way
To your lodgings, and leave you to your
Repose.
+Guard.+ Make way there for the duke!
+Amph.+ My lord, you had best attend the duke, because
'Tis a respect due to him.
+Ort.+ I shall, madam,
At your command. [_Exeunt._
+Amph.+ How has my tongue belied my too true heart,
In speaking hate unto
The duke, and love to Ortellus! I hate the duke?
So eyes do sleep, that long have known no rest.
How could my lips give passage to such words,
And not have clos'd for ever?
Not by my heart's direction, I am sure; for that
So swell'd, being injured by my mouth, as, had
Not pride and reason kept it here from this
Unquiet feat, it would have forc'd away
To Archimedes' breast, and there have whisper'd to
His heart my tongue's untruth. Why should I love
This man, that shows me nothing but contempt
And hate? Rouse, drooping heart, and think
Of that; think of it always, so by degrees
'Twill bring a winter round thee, that in time
Shall chill the heat of thy undone and lost
Affections. O, it is not true that all
Our sex love change, then I might find one path
That leads to it;
That womanish vice were virtue now in me,
'Twould free my heart, and that were charity.
_Enter +Duke+._
See, where he comes again; O, how I love
And hate that man! Now help me, pride, and fill
My breast with scorn; and pr'ythee, tongue, take heed
You do not falter: hear not, my heart, that will
Distract thy speech, and so betray my feign'd
Unkindness.
+Duke.+ What, Amphelia all alone?
Weary of your new love already? can't
You pass away the time with him one hour?
+Amph.+ Were he
No finer man than yourself, to be with him
A minute, I should think a
Seven years' penance.
Good heart, lie still, and let my tongue alone. [_Aside._
I wonder what a woman can see in you,
Or hear from you, to make her love you.
(I was just going to have said, hate him.) [_Aside._
O, what a task is this! therefore let me
Advise you to have a mean opinion
Of yourself.
+Duke.+ Methinks that advice might serve
For yourself. Ha, ha, ha!
+Amph.+ Have patience, heart, I know I lie: thou need'st
Not tell me so--I had better then confess
My love. [_Aside._] Do you laugh, duke? [i']faith
So could I at you, till the tears ran down
My cheeks--that they would quickly do, for grief
Would fain unload my eyes.
I must begone,
I cannot longer act this part, unless
I had a heart as hard as his. [_Aside._
+Duke.+ What, you are going
Now to your love Ortellus?
+Amph.+ I am so,
And going from you to him, is pleasure double,
Not only pain, to quit, but joy to meet.
+Duke.+ Make haste then, for your departure will oblige
Me too, so we shall be all pleas'd!
+Amph.+ Haste I will make, but with unwilling feet:
For every step from him my grief repeats. [_Aside. Exit._
+Duke.+ She's gone, and after her my heart is flown,
'Tis well it has no tongue to make its moan;
Then 'twould discover what my pride conceals,
A heart in love (though slighted) love reveals.
Yet though I love her still, she shall not know;
Her hate shall seem my joy, which is my woe.
My constancy I'll outwardly disguise,
Though here within I am not half so wise.
Yet rather than disclose my doating fate,
I'll wound my heart by counterfeiting hate.
To whine, it wou'd the worst of follies prove,
Since women only pity when they love.
With how much scorn she gave me welcome home,
Ortellus in her hand, to show my doom!
Me and my triumphs she did so despise,
As if they'd been unworthy of her eyes.
'Tis well to her I show'd as much disdain;
I'd rather perish than she guess my pain.
But O, the horrid act she makes me do,
To fool a woman that is young and true!
So damn'd a sin, that hell could not invent,
It is too foul for any punishment;
To question those above I am afraid,
Else I would ask them, why they woman made.
_Enter +Philidor+._
O my mad cousin, your servant.
Whither so fast?
+Phil.+ So fast, sir? why,
I have been hunted by a pack of hounds
This three hours,
And damn'd deep-mouth'd hounds too, [sir] no less than
Three couple of nurses, three couple
Of plaguy hunting bitches, and with them
Three couple of whelps, alias children, sir.
They have rung me such a ring this morning
Through every by-turning that leads to a bawdy
House, I wish'd myself earth'd a thousand
Times, as a fox does when he is hard-run,
But that they wou'd have presently digged me
Out with their tongues.
+Duke.+ Faith, Philidor,
'Tis no news to me; for I have known thee
From sixteen at this course of life. What, and these
Children were all your bastards, and your nurses
Coming to dun you for money?
+Phil.+ Something of that's in it, I think, sir.
+Duke.+ Well, coz, I'll leave thee to thy wildness; a fitter
Companion much for thee than I at this time.
+Phil.+ Why, sir, I hope nothing has happened
To trouble you?
+Duke.+ No, no;
My grief, alas! is far beyond express;
To tell it to a friend can't make it less. [_Exit._
+Phil.+ Wou'd I were at the wars again: I fear
No sword half so much as the tongue of one
Of these nurses; and the youling of th' children
Are more dismal to my ears than the groans
Of dying men in a battle. I am
At this time in law with six or seven
Parishes about fath'ring of bastards;
Tis very fine truly! and yet me thinks
'Tis a hard case that I should be sued for
Multiplying the world,
Since death makes bold with bastards,
As well as other children. The very picture
Of a nurse and child in her arms wou'd fright
Me now. O, from that sight deliver me!
_Enter Nurse and Child as he is going out._
Ha! and here they come: pox on't, what luck have
I after saying my prayers? it shall be a
Fair warning to me; now am I started
Again, and must go run t'other course. [_Offers to run away._
+1st Nurse.+ 'Squire Philidor, 'Squire Philidor!
[_She runs after him._
+Phil.+ How deaf
Am I now! 'tis well I know this by-way
To avoid her.
_Enter Second Nurse and meets him._
Ha! S'death, another?
The devil appearing here too?
+2d Nurse.+ O my proper
Young 'squire, stay, stay, d'ye hear, sir?
+Phil.+ No, indeed, won't I. Yet I know one way
More to avoid them.
_Enter Third Nurse._
Ha! another coming
Here too? Nay then, I find I am in hell,
Before I thought I shou'd. What will become
Of me now?
+3d Nurse.+ O 'squire, I thought I should
Never have spoken with your worship.
+Phil.+ No, by this
Light, shou'd you not, if I could have holp it. [_Aside._
+1st Nurse.+ I wonder, 'squire, at your conscience, t'avoid
Your pretty babes as you do.
+Phil.+ So, now it
Begins, I am like to have sweet music
From the comfort of these nurses' tongues.
+1st Nurse.+ Saving your presence, sir, I think here are
Three as sweet babes as ever sucked teat,
And all born within the year too, besides
Three more that your worship has in our street.
+Phil.+ A very hopeful generation! sure,
This was a great nut year![73]
Well, if all trades fail, I may go
Into some foreign plantation, where
They want people, and be well paid for my
Pains: wou'd I were there now!
+1st Nurse.+ Codge, codge,
Dos a laugh upon a dad? In conscience, sir,
The child knows your worship.
+Phil.+ A very great comfort!
+1st Nurse.+ My young master here is as like your worship
As e'er he can look; has your tempting eyes
To a hair: I cou'd not choose but smile
To myself t'other day; I was making him clean
About the secrets, to see that[74] God had sent him
In a plentiful manner; it put me half
In mind of your worship. I am sure I
Have been at double the expense of other
Nurses, in eating choice meat, to make my
Milk good for my young master, because I
Would not spoil the growth of any one of his
Members.
+2d Nurse.+ Nay, for that, neighbour, I have ate
As good, or better, meat than you, every day
In the week: I never touch'd a bit of
Salt meat, for fear of spoiling my child's blood.
+Phil.+ Considering how well 'tis born. [_Aside._
+3d Nurse.+ Nay, neighbours, for that I have been at greater
Charge than either of you, in choice diets,
To breed good milk for my young mistress here.
+1st Nurse.+ You lie.
+2d Nurse.+ You are a quean.
+1st Nurse.+ And you're a whore.
Marry, your husband is the notedest
Cuckold in all our street.
+2d Nurse.+ You lie, you jade,
Yours is a greater.
+Phil.+ Hiss! Now for a battle
Royal.
+1st Nurse.+ If I lay the child out of my
[_Lay their children down, and fight._
Arms, I'll pull off your head-clothes, you--
Carrion!
+2d Nurse.+ Marry, come, if thou durst.
+Phil.+ 'Tis best for me to be a coward,
And march off from this bloody fight.
+All Nurses.+ Hold, hold, the 'squire is going away.
+Phil.+ So, nothing could have parted them this three
Hours, but the fear of losing me. [_Aside._
+1st Nurse.+ What, wou'd
Your worship have left us without paying us
For nursing your children? you have a conscience,
With a pox to you!
+Phil.+ So, now will they end
Their war in vollies of shot upon me.
I have but one thing now to do. With ev'ry
One of these hags have I been forc'd to lie,
Which they took as satisfaction for payment
For two months' nursing. Perhaps, rather
Than they will have it known to one another,
They'll hold their tongues and leave me?
Well, my three sweet harmonious nurses, what is due to you?
+1st Nurse.+ Due! why, there was twelve months
Due for nursing; 'tis true, two months your squireship
Satisfied me for.
+2d Nurse.+ And me too.
+3d Nurse.+ And me
Likewise.
+Phil.+ Harkye, if you will not be gone,
I'll tell.
+1st Nurse.+ No, marry, won't I, till I have
My money.
+2d Nurse.+ Don't think to fright me, but pay me.
+3d Nurse.+ I fear you not; pay me my money.
+Phil.+ Pox on't, 'twill not do, I must try another
Way.--Boy, was the wolf fed to-day?
+Boy.+ No, sir.
+Phil.+ Go fetch him quickly, to dine with these ladies.
[_Exeunt +Nurses+._
So! I thought I should set them going. He!
The devil, they have left the children behind them.
This was a very cunning device of mine.
Now am I in a pretty condition. Troth, a
Very noble Anabaptist progeny!
For the devil a one of these were ever
Christen'd; for I have run so much upon
Tick to the parsons for christening of
Children, that now they all refuse to make
Any bastards of mine a Christian
Without ready money; so that I'll have
This boy bred up a parson, that he may
Christen himself and the rest of his sisters
And brothers. What shall I do, when these infants,
Begin to be hungry, and youl for th' teat?
O, that a milk-woman wou'd come by now!
Well, I must remove my flock from hence. Small
Coal, small coal, will you buy any small coal?
Pox on it. I could never light of any
But fruitful whores. Small coal, small coal! [_Exit._
FOOTNOTES:
[73] [See Hazlitt's "Proverbs," 1869, 275.]
[74] [Old copy, _what_.]
ACT II.
_Enter +Zoranzo+, as in prison._
+Zor.+ Sure, 'tis not kind of those great pow'rs above,
To add these chains to me that am in love.
As to my bed of straw, I am content,
Since any bed from her is punishment.
To lie on down of swans would be hard rest,
Could I not make my pillow on her breast.
O Amarissa, wert thou here with me,
I would not sell these bonds for liberty.
Ransoms that prisoners give to be set free,
I'd give as much to lie in chains by thee.
Here is her picture. O, thou too like shade,
[_Pulls out her picture._
To look on it my eyes are half afraid,
It so presents my joy and misery;
Since 'tis the nothing of that all to me.
The greatest pain to any lover's heart,
Is to remember when they are apart;
For thoughts of joys, when there's a bar betwixt,
Are worse than poison with a cordial mix'd.
_Enter +Amphelia+ and +Jailor+._
+Amph.+ Well said, jailor, here's for thy pains. Brave pris'ner,
Perhaps this visit may appear but strange
To you, till you have heard me speak--Know then,
When you receiv'd the sentence of your death, you seem'd
To meet it with so brave a soul, as if
The sound had not displeas'd your ears. Thus did
Your courage fill my eyes with wonder, and
My heart with pity.
Straight I resolv'd to give you all my helps
To set you free, which now I offer to
You.
+Zor.+ Madam, could I tell you what to say I
Wou'd begin; I have nothing but poor thanks
To offer to you, and those, though millions, were
Not half enough. Compassion shown unto
The miserable heaven can only recompence;
Therefore, in my dying prayers, I will beg from thence
A blessing to reward your pity.
+Amph.+ Sir,
The joy of your escape will pay my pains;
All my endeavours I will set at work:
The time is short, therefore I must make haste.
Expect to hear of me again with speed.
_Enter +Ortellus+, as she is going out._
+Zor.+ What can this mean? heaven grant she does not
Love me; I wou'd not wish so brave a heart
So great a punishment, since my love's fix'd already.
+Ort.+ Madam, I have been seeking you; pray, whence
Came you? This is no usual place to find you
In.
+Amph.+ I was only walking this way, sir.
+Ort.+ I'll wait on you presently.--I suspect
She has been at the prison; I will inform
Myself by the jailor; and yet perhaps
She has bid him to deny it. [_Steps back to the Jailor._
The lady
Amphelia says she has left one of
Her gloves behind her in the prison, and
Has sent me for it.
+Jail.+ I'll go see straight, sir.
+Ort.+ She has been there, it seems, then. Madam, I
Fancy you have been to see the prison.
+Amph.+ Who, I?
What makes you think so?
+Ort.+ Why, am I mistaken?
+Amph.+ Yes; what should I do there?
+Ort.+ Nay, that's the question,
But there you have been just now, and with the
Pris'ner too.
+Amph.+ Sure, you dream.
+Ort.+ She's false, I find:
I'll try her love to me. [_Aside._
Madam, since you
Have been pleased to show your kindness publicly
To me, I take this time to beg my happiness,
Which is, that a priest may join our hands.
+Amph.+ I will not marry yet.
+Ort.+ Why, pray, madam?
+Amph.+ For a very good reason, because I ha'n't
A mind to't.
+Ort.+ Will you give me another reason?
+Amph.+ I need not: that's sufficient.
+Ort.+ You love me, do you not?
+Amph.+ You know I have declar'd it.
+Ort.+ But (sure) you'll not deny me twice?
+Amph.+ Not, if you ask but once.
+Ort.+ Fie, fie, this modesty's a thief to lovers,
And robs them of their time. Come, come,
Say aye, and blush.
+Amph.+ I'll not say aye, nor blush.
+Ort.+ If you had any modesty, you wou'd.
+Amph.+ You said
Just now I had too much.
+Ort.+ Too much
Of impudence, you mean.
+Amph.+ What's that to say?
+Ort.+ Why, truth.
+Amph.+ Get you out, and wash your tongue:
'Tis foul.
+Ort.+ 'Tis like you heart then,
But that it cannot lie as much.
+Amph.+ Most valiant lord,
To give the lie to petticoats!
+Ort.+ Why did you
Deny your being in prison?
+Amph.+ Not for fear of you;
I was with the brave prisoner,
What then?
+Ort.+ You went to make love to him.
You had best use your time well; 'twill
Be short and sweet: your dear will not be so
Proper a man by the head within this
Two days. False woman! you've a heart that flies
From one man's breast to another: all the
Inconstancy of your sex is constancy
To this of yours: you have deceived the duke
Already; that might have been my warning.
+Amph.+ Faith, and so
It might; th' duke in all things so far excels
You, that you were a fool to think, when once
My heart bid him farewell, that it design'd
No better a change than you. Troth, your mistaken;
It had a farther journey to make, and so
Took your breast for an inn only, to lie
By the way.
+Ort.+ Base woman! is't not enough that you
Have fool'd me, but you must mock me too? Heaven
Hold my hand from murdering thee!
+Amph.+ Fright those that fear you. [_Exit._
+Ort.+ Curses of all fool'd men (like me) light heavy
On thee! Revenge begins to fill my heart,
And I will pour it out on this base woman.
I know the way: I'll to the duke.
_Enter +Duke+._
I am
Glad I have met your highness, for I have
Business to impart to you that concerns your life.
+Duke.+ What is't, Ortellus?
+Ort.+ Know, sir,
Amphelia, that----
+Duke.+ Loves you?
+Ort.+ No, sir, she loves
The pris'ner.
+Duke.+ 'Tis impossible.
+Ort.+ 'Tis very true, sir,
I caught her coming from him! she's designing
His escape, and for aught I know, her love
To him may put other thoughts into her head.
+Duke.+ What d'ye mean?
+Ort.+ She may design your life;
A woman that is ill, exceeds a man
In mischief.
+Duke.+ My lord, I thank your care. If you
Can track her farther, pray let me know; in the
Meantime I shall prevent her ill intentions.
+Ort.+ My diligence shall not be wanting. So,
Since I can have no love, revenge shall be
My mistress. [_Aside. Exit._
+Duke.+ O Amphelia! why dost
Thou take such pains to break my heart, when 'tis
So easily done? She needs not secretly
Contrive my death, since half a word from her
Commands my life: her face and heart (sure) can
Not be akin; nature mistook, or else
She was to blame to give one woman two
So great extremes.
_Enter +Arbatus+._
See, here comes the brother
To wronged Artabella: th' horror of
That sin grows bigger in me,
That I with a deluding love should fool
An innocent, to show an outward scorn
To false Amphelia; for when I heard
She lov'd
Ortellus, I straight made love to this young
Woman, and brought her from her own country,
Only to make Amphelia think I lov'd
Another.
+Arb.+ I hope I don't disturb your highness.
+Duke.+ No, Arbatus, you are always welcome
To me.
+Arb.+ Sir, I should ask you a question.
+Duke.+ You freely may.
+Arb.+ Not but
I think my sister far unworthy, either
In birth or fortune, to be call'd your wife;
Yet since you have been pleas'd to grace her with
Your love so far, as saying she shall be your
Duchess, be pleas'd to tell me why it is
Not so? she has been here so long, that people
Now begin to say you mean her for your mistress;
Should my ears meet that sound from any tongue,
I'd----
+Duke.+ Hold, Arbatus, I'm sure I have given
No cause as yet to doubt my kindness to
Your sister.
+Arb.+ Pardon me, sir, in your delay you have.
My sister has no dowry but her virtue,
Youth, and some small stock of beauty. These if
You lov'd her for, you would not waste,
By letting time rob her and you at once.
+Duke.+ Sir, business of great importance has
Hitherto deferr'd my marriage; believe
Me, you shall find me just.
+Arb.+ A prince's word
Must not be question'd; I have done.
+Duke.+ O Amphelia! what dost thou make me do? [_Exit._
+Arb.+ Let him take heed; if he does fool my sister,
Were he ten thousand dukes, I'd cut his throat. [_Exit._
_Enter +Philidor+ alone._
+Phil.+ I have been quite at t'other end o'th' town,
To put my children out to new nurses,
For I am known to every nurse hereabout;
That they will as soon nurse a cat's kitten
As any child of mine. This is a very
Pleasant life I lead, neither is this the
Worst part of it; for there are a certain
Flock of women that I have promis'd marriage,
I expect a volley of shot from them too,
Soon as they find me out. Would wives and children
Were as hard to come by as money, then would
I turn usurer, and let 'em out to use;
For, to say truth, I have enough to spare.
_Enter six +Ladies+, one after another._
So, here comes one of my promis'd Virgins!
Nay, a second too--a third--a fourth--a fifth--
A sixth--Welcome, blessed half-dozen; now will I go
Muster my nurses and children too, and go
Against the Great Turk. I am glad to see
They have brought ne'er a coffin, for I expect
Nothing but death from them. I wonder they don't
Begin to ring my funeral peal. See every
One of them beckons to me, as much as to say,
I'd speak with you in private; but the devil
Take me if e'er a one of them do; I find
By this they would not have their business known
To one another; this may be a means for me
To get off for this time--Ladies, you all
Look as if you had something to say to
Me; pray make me so happy as to let
Me know what 'tis. They dare not speak aloud. [_Aside._] Will you,
Madam? or you? or you, madam? or you,
Madam? [What] not one of you tell me what
The honour of these visits mean? I see
I am troublesome to you all? therefore
I'll not be longer rude; and so I take
My leave--This was good luck, that they should come
All together; for I had rather be [_Beckon him._
Alone six hours with the devil, than with
E'er a one of them an half hour--I'll stand close
In this corner till they are all gone.
+1st Lady.+ Now the pox take him for a cunning rogue!
+2d Lady.+ A plague take him!
+3d Lady.+ The devil take him!
+4th Lady.+ If there be e'er a devil worse than another,
Take him thou!
+5th Lady.+ O, that I had him alone!
+6th Lady.+ Was there ever such a rascal?
[_Exeunt at several doors._
+Phil.+ So the coast is clear again-- [_Peeps out._
_Enter +Mirida+._
S'death, here comes another--O, 'tis none
Of that gang, though.
+Mir.+ I'll lay my head, ne'er a girl in Christendom
Of my age, can say what I can; I'm now
But five years i'th' teens, and I have fool'd
Five several men.
+Phil.+ A brave wench, by this light!
Sure, it is I in petticoats.
+Mir.+ My humour
Is to love no man, but to have as many
Love me as they please, come cut or long tail.
+Phil.+ A most divine wench!
+Mir.+ 'Tis a rare diversion, to see what several
Ways my flock of lovers have in being
Ridiculous; some of them sigh so damnably,
That 'tis as troublesome as a windy day.
There's two of them that make their love together,
By languishing eye-casts; one of them has
One eye bigger than another, and looks
Like a tumbler; and that eye's like a musket
Bullet, and I expect every minute when he
Will hit me with it, he aims so right at me.
My other lover looks a-squint, and to
See him cast languishing eyes, would make a
Woman with child miscarry. There is also
A very fat man, master Pinguister, and
A very lean man that loves me; I tell the
Fat man I cannot marry him till he's
Leaner, and the lean man I cannot marry
Him till he's fat: so one of them purges
And runs heats every morning, to pull down
His sides, and th' other makes his tailor stuff
His clothes to make him show fatter. O, what
Pleasure do I take in fooling of mankind!
+Phil.+ Was there ever so witty a wench? 'tis the
Woman of women for my turn. I'll to her--
Thou most renowned female! I cannot hold--
+Mir.+ From what?
+Phil.+ From kissing thee, [from] loving thee, or what
Thou wilt.
+Mir.+ Troth, y'are very well acquainted, consid'ring
You never saw me before!
+Phil.+ Saw thee! I have
Heard thee talk this hour, like an angel of light.
+Mir.+ Well, d'ye love me for what you heard me say?
+Phil.+ Yes, faith, do I; why, you are just of my
Humour; when I heard thee say how many
Men you had fool'd, I was very glad to hear
You come one short of me, for I have fool'd
Six women, and you but five men.
+Mir.+ Why,
If you love me, you will be the sixth fool,
To make up my half dozen too.
+Phil.+ No, I
Won't, and yet I love thee too.
+Mir.+ Why, how will
You help it?
+Phil.+ Thus: you and I
Will love one another.
+Mir.+ What, whether I will or no?
+Phil.+ Nay, hear me, we two will love how we please,
When we please, and as long as
We please: do not
These propositions tickle your heart a little?
+Mir.+ I don't mislike them--Now could I take him
About the neck and kiss him for this humour
Of his. And do you say you will love me! [_Aside._
+Phil.+ Yes, marry, will I.
+Mir.+ Nay, hold, I won't marry
You.
+Phil.+ Nor I thee, for all the world.
+Mir.+ And yet
You say you will love me?
+Phil.+ I tell you
I will: make no more words on it.
+Mir.+ Why then,
Hark you, to be as absolute as you,
I will love you too, that is to say,
Upon the aforesaid conditions.
+Phil.+ With all my heart; prythee, don't think
That I
Will love thee upon any other terms. But come,
We must seal this
Bargain with hands, hearts, lips.
+Mir.+ No, no; no lips; we will only shake hands
Upon't, that's enough for so weighty a contract
As this of ours.
+Phil.+ But, prythee, let us seal
The bargain.
+Mir.+ No, no, sir, I use no wax
To my lips.
+Phil.+ Nay, by my troth, I care not
A pin to kiss thee.
+Mir.+ No? look upon me well,
And see if you can say so again.
+Phil.+ Hum--yes,
Faith, I will give two-pence to kiss thee
Now.
+Mir.+ Well, sir, when I do kiss you, I'll 'bate you
A penny of that.
+Phil.+ Now you and I will sing this song. [_He sings._
_My love and I a bargain made,
It is well worth a telling:
When one was weary, we agreed
To part, should both be willing._
+Mir.+ Nay, here I'm for you too. [_She sings._
_And thus our loves will longer last,
Than fools that still are pining:
We'll spend our time in joy and mirth,
Whilst doaters do in whining._
+Phil.+ Faith, you and I sing very well; we are
Alike in that too: I see either nature
Or the devil, somebody or something, made
Thee and me for one another. Well,
But let us
Remember our conditions: imprimis, I
Will love you.
+Mir.+ Item, so will I you.
+Phil.+ I
Will not say how long.
+Mir.+ Item, nor I neither.
+Phil.+ Item, it may be I can love you but
A week.
+Mir.+ I don't care if't be but a day.
+Phil.+ I'll ne'er be tied to any thing.
+Mir.+ Item, thou shalt be tied to what thou wilt
But me.
+Phil.+ Item, I will come when I please,
And go when I please.
+Mir.+ Item, thou shalt drown
Thyself when thou wilt, or hang thyself when
Thou wilt, or go to the devil when thou wilt.
+Phil.+ Item, if I should like another woman, I
Will have the liberty of leaving you, without
Any ceremony, but just saying
Good-bye.
+Mir.+ Item, if I should like any
Man better than you, I'll leave you without saying
So much as good-bye.
+Phil.+ Item, the first that
Sighs of us two, shall fast a week.
+Mir.+ Item, the first
That looks but melancholy of us two,
Shall be starv'd to death.
+Phil.+ To conclude, we will
Both be as mad as we please.
+Mir.+ Agreed,
And the devil take the tamest!
+Phil.+ A bless'd bargain!
But hark you, there's one thing I have forgot.
+Mir.+ What's that?
+Phil.+ Have you had as many children as I?
+Mir.+ No, indeed, ha'nt I.
+Phil.+ Why, then you must let me help you to 'em,
That you may be even with me there too.
+Mir.+ Hold, sir, that bargain's yet to make.
+Phil.+ Pox on't!
That should have been one of our articles.
+Mir.+ Well, I can stay no longer with you now.
+Phil.+ Nay, prythee, hold, thou shalt not go yet; I
Can't part with you so soon.
+Mir.+ Ay, but I have
A mind to go, and that is one of our
Articles.
+Phil.+ Well, but shan't we put that other
Article in, before we part?
+Mir.+ No, no, good-bye to you.
+Phil.+ Farewell, mettle-- [_Exit._
_Enter +Pinguister+, +Doctor+, and +Servants+._
+Mir.+ Look you, master Pinguister, this is the
Measure must meet about your waist, before
I marry you.
+Pin.+ This? why it will not come
About the small of my leg. [_Tries the measure himself._
+Mir.+ Sir, I am sorrier
For it: but it must compass your middle before
You can be my dear chuck: your servant, sir,
I am in haste.
+Pin.+ Prythee, thou damnable
Pretty rogue, let me have some comfort from thee,
Before thou goest, either from thy eyes,
Thy cheeks, mouth, or nose, or some part about thee
Consider what a dissolution I
Must undergo for love of thee.
+Mir.+ I do indeed, sir; but your servant for this time. [_Exit._
+Pin.+ Worthy doctor, my hopes are all in you now,
I have tried many physicians already
To make me lean enough for that
Tormenting, pretty fairy devil.
+Doctor.+ Truly, sir, your case is very desperate;
But if any man in the world can drain
Your fat from you, 'tis I: sir, we'll begin
Your course out of hand.
+Pin.+ Do you hear, be sure
I have at least two dozen of napkins ready
Upon the spot, to rub me at every turn;
Therefore come you all along with me--
Have mercy on me, I have love and fat
Enough to furnish a whole nation. [_Exeunt._
ACT III.
_Enter +Amphelia+, going to the prison._
+Amph.+ How false a woman to all eyes I seem,
Because I still will hide my constant love!
This way I take will bravely break my heart,
To tell the duke were sneakingly to die:
Since, if he knew that I did love him still,
With basest scorns he'd laugh my soul to death;
Such friendship to this pris'ner I will show,
Shall make the duke believe my heart is there.
To set him free I'll use my utmost art----.
Would I could do as much for this poor heart!
This way my love with my designs complies,
Thus one in chains another's chains unties.
I have made the jailor mine already,
By promising him these hundred pieces--
'Tis now about the time I appointed
To be here--
_Enter +Jailor+._
O, yonder's the jailor expecting me--
Here, jailor, here's for thy
Honesty: may the business be done now?
+Jailor.+ O madam, never at a fitter time; take you
The key and go in to the prisoner;
Whilst I go see the passage clear,
Stand you at th' door, and when I beckon
To you, come away.
+Amph.+ Honest jailor?
+Jailor.+ So, now I am just i' th' fashion; I have taken
Money to do her business, and instead
Of doing it I have undone it.
_Enter +Duke+ and +Ortellus+._
+Ort.+ 'Tis so, sir.
The jailor has discover'd all to me. Here
He comes.
+Jailor.+ And please your highness to stand close
Here, for the lady Amphelia is now
With the prisoner; I have given her a
Key to convey him through this private passage;
As soon as I beckon to her, she will come
Away with him. [_Beckons her._
+Amph.+ Come, sir, give me your hand;
The jailor beckons me; the way is clear.
+Duke.+ Hold, lady, and your love, we must shorten
Your journey a little.
+Amph.+ Ha! the duke and Ortellus!
I am betray'd! O villain jailor!
+Ort.+ Sir,
I fear we've interrupted them; it may be
They were going to be married; ha, ha, ha!
+Amph.+ If I were, 'twas what I refused you,
Ortellus; that makes you so mad.
+Duke.+ Well, madam,
If you have a mind to be married, a priest
Shall not join your hands, but you shall go both
Back to the prison, and th' jailor shall tie you
Both hands and legs together.
+Amph.+ Know, sir,
A prison with this brave gentleman
Will be greater paradise to me, than to
Be mistress of your palace. What do I say? [_Aside._
+Duke.+ Well you shall have your desire then; ye shall live
Together, and die together. How could
I speak that word to her? [_Aside._
+Zor.+ She die, sir!
Wou'd you destroy so great a world of virtue?
Rather invent two deaths for me, that I
May die for her too. You'll rob
Your dukedom of your greatest treasure to take
Away so blest a life as hers: let not
An axe part such a head and body,
Lest heaven frown and call you murderer. You'll pull
Upon your head all mankind's curse: when nature
Sees her bounty thus rewarded, she will
Turn miser, and will give no more such blessings
To th' world as this fair saint.
+Duke.+ Well, sir,
I'm satisfied ye like one another, so you
Shall both return back to your straw beds, there you
May lie as close together as you please.
+Amph.+ No, sir, virtue shall lie betwixt us.
+Duke.+ You will want a pillow, till you come both
To execution, then you shall have one--
A block to lay your heads on.
+Amph.+ Know, [O] duke,
My head will rest better with his upon a block,
Than with yours on the softest pillow. How
Many lies must I confess, before I die. [_Aside._
+Duke.+ Indeed, you'll sleep pretty soundly. See, her scorn
To me makes death a pleasure to her. [_Aside._
My lord, give order that she may be brought
Immediately to her trial; in the meantime,
Jailor, take them into your custody;
Lay 'em in shackles both. Cousin, many thanks
To you for this timely discovery.
I must leave you awhile. [_Exit._
+Ort.+ Duke, you shall have
Less to thank me for, else I am deceiv'd.
I've found out he loves Amphelia still,
So she does him. Now will I go possess
Arbatus of this, and tell him how the duke
Intends to fool his sister. He has the
Character of so strict a brother, and so brave
A spirit, that his soul will never digest
This injury without the duke's blood.
Will join with him, and tell him how
The business may be done.
By this, one of these three things shall I have
Either a mistress, dukedom, or a grave.
_Enter +Arbatus+ and +Artabella+._
See, here comes Arbatus and his sister
Artabella; they talk very earnestly.
+Arb.+ Sister, I do not like it; the duke will
Fool ye.
+Art.+ Indeed, brother, I am amaz'd
At this delay.
+Arb.+ How does he carry himself
To you?
+Art.+ With all respect imaginable.
+Arb.+ Then there must be something more in't,
That he defers his marriage thus.
+Ort.+ There is
So, sir.
+Arb.+ My lord, heark'ning's but a base office;
But if you have heard it, 'tis no treason.
+Ort.+ No, sir, but it is falseness in the duke,
To use your worthy sister thus. I came
To tell you upon my knowledge, he never
Intended to marry her.
+Arb.+ My lord, though I believe it, you must pardon
Me, if I wonder at this information
From your lordship, that is his near cousin.
+Ort.+ Sir, you have the character of so brave
A gentleman, conscience and honour
Bids me discover this to you and your sister:
Think of a way of being reveng'd, and here's
My hand and heart to help you.
+Arb.+ Pardon
Me, that I cannot thank you truly, because
I needs must doubt this offer from your lordship.
+Ort.+ What can I say to confirm you? will the
Word and honour of a gentleman do't?
+Arb.+ To me those are things of great value.
+Ort.+ Then here
I give them both.
+Arb.+ But what to do, my lord?
+Ort.+ What you will.
+Arb.+ Perhaps you think I'd have you
Ask some place about the court for me, in
Recompense of this injury to my sister?
+Ort.+ No, sir, had you been such a person, I
Should not have trusted you thus far with what
I have said. I say [it] again, I am
Your friend; if you doubt it, you wrong my honour.
+Arb.+ Why then, my lord, to be short, nothing will
Satisfy me, but the duke's----
+Ort.+ What?
+Arb.+ Blood.
+Ort.+ Why,
Thou shalt have it all, if I can help thee
To't; this night will I convey you privately
Into his bed-chamber. Come along with me,
And I will tell you all. [_Exit._
+Arb.+ My lord, I follow you.
Sister, go to your chamber.
+Art.+ O brother!
Heaven preserve you in this danger.
+Arb.+ Now
It comes into my head, I need not doubt
This lord's truth; he is next heir to the dukedom,
If the duke die without issue.
'Tis base in him the duke's life to pursue,
His blood is only to my sister due. [_Exit._
+Art.+ False duke, thou justly hast deserv'd thy death;
To cheat the innocent is a double crime;
I had no cunning guard about this heart
To keep it safe from a seducing tongue.
I have lost my heart, which he by falseness won;
How soon is truth and innocence undone! [_Exit._
_Enter +Philidor+._
+Phil.+ Pray remember the poor prisoners, pray
Remember the prisoners. Well, had I
Not taken this course with the regiment
Of women that I have promis'd to marry,
I should have been devour'd by 'em by this
Time. They came just now into my chamber,
One by one, hoping to have found me alone,
To have preach'd matrimony to me; but,
To my blest deliverance, no sooner
One was there, but another came; so I
Persuaded them one by one, to slip up
Into a garret: so still as one knock'd
At the door, the t'other ascended; there
Have I secur'd them with this key, and there
Must I keep them till I have made
Conditions with them.
_Enter +Mirida+._
O, here comes Mirida.
Pray remember the poor prisoners, pray
Remember the poor prisoners.
+Mir.+ Who the devil's that, Philidor?
+Phil.+ The very same, my mettled female.
+Mir.+ Why,
What mad prank art thou playing now?
+Phil.+ Alack-
A-day, I have great cares upon me; I
Must provide meat for half-a-dozen ladies,
That shou'd have been my spouses. Look up yonder;
In that very garret, for aught I know, they
Must dine and sup at my charge as long as
They live; and thus must I be their cook every
Day, and beg their first and second course.
+Mir.+ I am sorry to hear this, because 'tis
A wilder trick than I have done lately
To any of my lovers. Prythee, let's
Go under the window, and call to them.
+Phil.+ Come away, you shall hear what vollies we shall
Have from the castle. Most excellent
Amazonian ladies, look out, and behold
Your labouring purveyor, what pains he
Takes to victual your castle,
Because he knows you must be long there. [_Women look out._
+1st Lady.+ Rogue!
+2d Lady.+ Rascal!
+3d Lady.+ Villain!
+4th Lady.+ Dog!
+5th Lady.+ Slave!
+6th Lady.+ Hell-hound!
+Phil.+ Methinks you represent the hemisphere,
Because you are enthron'd so high; your eyes
Appear like stars to us poor mortals here
Below.
+1st Lady.+ Villain, if we had thee here, thou
Should'st find it hell.
+Mir.+ Pray, ladies, what makes you
So angry? Methinks the gentleman is
Your friend, and has holpt you nearer heaven
Than perhaps e'er a one of you would ever
Have been.
+2d Lady.+ What's that you say, little piss-a-bed?
+Mir.+ Sweet angels, will never a one of you
Please to descend?
+3d Lady.+ Thou little devil,
If we had thee here, we'd throw thee down again
With such a swing, we'd knock that rascal's brains
Out with thy fall.
+Mir.+ Then, angry ladies, I
Shall stay here--see, has not that lady
A very fair nose at this distance?
+Phil.+ Has
Not t'other there a mouth, that when she opens it
To scold, looks like a giant's cave?
+4th Lady.+ S'life, we'll
Not be abus'd thus; here's a Hercules' statue,
Let's throw it down upon their heads.
[_+Mirida+ runs away, and meets +Pinguister+ and stops._
_Enter +Pinguister+ and +Doctor+._
+Mir.+ Hold, Philidor, we shall have some new sport
Of my making now; here comes my fat lover,
Let us stand close and hear a little.
+Ping.+ Doctor,
Pray, how many stools may I happily have
This morning by this purgation, already
Taken by me?
+Doctor.+ Doubtless, one hundred, sir.
+Ping.+ Save me, 'twill swinge my bum-gut then: but how
Much fat may it bring away?
+Doctor.+ Peradventure,
Half-a-dozen pounds.
+Ping.+ Love! what dost thou make
Me do? But, worthy doctor, from what parts of
My continual purg'd body is this store
Of fat extracted?
+Doctor.+ Chiefly from your waist
And calves of your legs.
+Ping.+ And how many purges
May make my waist and legs' calves, alias, calves
Of my legs, delightful to her eye, sir?
+Doctor.+ Sir, some ten purges: that is to say, you
Must have a thousand stools to drain your treasure
Of fat _totaliter_ from ye.
+Ping.+ O love!
O Mirida, for thee I daily purge:
For thee I daily stink. I find
I must keep company with the bears, that I
May be able to endure my own stink the better.
+Doctor.+ Come, sir, I think you had best begin to run
Your heats.
+Ping.+ O me! nothing cou'd e'er a made
A footman of me but love. Well, I must
Put on my pumps.
+Phil.+ By this light, this is the
Pleasantest scene as e'er I saw.
+Ping.+ Nay, doctor,
If you mean I should run, lend me your hand
To help me up. [_Puts on nightcaps._
Now, in the name of love,
I most unwillingly start.
+Phil.+ S'death! he runs
Like a duke. [_He runs round, and sometimes goes out to untruss._
+Mir.+ His stools come very quickly upon
Him, one after another.
+Ping.+ I must run
With my breeches in my hand, my purge visits
My bum-gut so intolerably often.
+Doctor.+ Now, sir, for a cheerful loose.
+Ping.+ By my heart,
Master Doctor, I wonder at your cruelty,
To ask a cheerful loose of me; am not
I loos'd sufficiently by
Your furious purgations?
_Enter +Lean-man+ and his +Tailor+._
+Mir.+ O, here comes
My lean lover.
+Lean.+ Tailor, do I look gross
Enough now?
+Tailor.+ Yes, I'll assure you, you seem
Very corpulent.
+Lean.+ Well, I am sure if thou
Hast not made me large enough, thou wilt thy bill.
Now have at Mistress Mirida! sure, my
Person will take her. Why, how now, cousin, [_To +Ping+._
What makes you running a heat?
+Ping.+ I must not stop
To speak with you, but come run by me,
And I will tell you. Why, I see
You know nothing. Mistress Mirida has a
Great kindness for me, but cannot marry me
Before I am leaner.
+Lean.+ She fools him; her kindness is for me,
And bids me make myself fatter, before
We marry. [_Aside._
+Ping.+ But pray, coz, what makes you stuff yourself so
To appear big?
+Lean.+ Yes, I do it to please
Mistress Mirida's eye; she bid me.
+Ping.+ So she makes
An ass of him. [_Aside._
+Lean.+ Well, I won't hinder you
In your exercise,
Farewell. Now I'll to Mistress Mirida. [_Exit._
+Ping.+ Good bye, good bye.
God's fish, my purge again! O, O!
_Enter +Clown+ with a cudgel, and beats him in again._
+Clown.+ A nasty rogue, when a man's asleep,
To come and do it just in his mouth! I'll swinge ye.
+Ping.+ O, hold, good sir, 'twas the violence of my physic;
Would my paunch were out, if I saw you!
+Phil.+ Hold,
What do ye mean to beat a
Gentleman thus?
+Clown.+ Let
Him learn more manners, then, against next time.
+Ping.+ O Mistress Mirida, I have been purg'd
And beaten most extremely for your sake;
Sure, I'm lean enough now to marry you.
+Mir.+ That I cannot tell; but I have the measure
In my pocket of what compass you were
About when you first were in love with me,
And also the measure to that you must
Fall before I marry you. Here was your full
Bigness, which was three yards about: let me see;
You are fallen a yard.
+Ping.+ Well, and won't you marry me then?
+Mir.+ That you'll see presently; for here's the measure
Must compass you about before I do.
This wants a yard yet.
+Ping.+ Well, and d'ye think it's possible
For me ever to become such a grig
As that measure will meet about me?
Why, to do that you must embowel me, and then
Shave the remaining rolls of fat off from
My melting sides.
+Doctor.+ Here, pray, sir, throw this blanket
About you; you will catch your death.
+Ping.+ Look you,
Unreasonable mistress, thus am I
Fain to do every day, because I would
Melt myself into a husband for you:
You may hear my guts at this time boiling
Within me; I am confident they will
Have the same fat as a kettle full of
Black puddings that are over-boiled, and so
Broken.
+Doctor.+ Come, sir, you must needs go to bed.
+Ping.+ That is to say, I must go swim; for that
I do constantly in a sea of sweat.
+Mir.+ Ay, pray, sir, I wou'd not for all the world
You should miscarry.
+Ping.+ Indeed, I look as
If I were with child. Lady, if you have
Any thoughts of going to heaven, have
Mercy on me.
+Mir.+ Farewell, garbage.
+Ping.+ O heat! O fat! O love! what will you
Do with me? [_Exit with +Doctor+._
+Phil.+ Was there ever such sport as we have seen?
+Mir.+ Heaven send thee and I many a fair
Year to be mad together in.
+Phil.+ Ay, as
You say, give us but time enough, and when
We grow tame, let the bell toll for us.
But stay, let us return
Back to my virgins, that I may
Make my conditions with 'em,
Before they get out of prison.
_Enter all the +Ladies+ and bind them._
S'death! they
Are all got out already.
+1st Lady.+ O, have we
Met with you now, ye pair of devils? we'll lay
You fast enough. So good night to you, lie
There till we come again. [_Exit +Ladies+._
+Phil.+ Pox on't, was there
Ever such luck as this? There was a trap-
Door in the garret, which they found and got
Out at.
+Mir.+ What think ye now of this day's sport
Philidor?
+Phil.+ Plague on it, well enough; if
They had not bound us back to back together,
We might have pass'd away the time.
Malicious jades! no way of bridling us
But this? Pr'ythee turn about thy head, and let
Us try if we can kiss one another
A little.
+Mir.+ No, no, we won't
Try for fear you should put your neck out of
Joint with turning it too much of one side.
+Phil.+ Well, fortune should be more careful
Of accidents of this nature, and not
Contrive them so cross.
_Enter +Boy+._
+Phil.+ O, here comes a boy. Here, sirrah, come hither.
+Boy.+ What say you, master?
+Phil.+ Here, prythee, unbind us, I'll give thee a
Shilling.
+Boy.+ Why, sir, can't you unbind yourselves?
+Phil.+ Simple boy, thou seest we can't.
+Boy.+ And have ye a mind to be unbound?
+Phil.+ Yes, yes, we are in great torments
To lie thus.
+Boy.+ Then, sir, you shall give me a piece,
And your hat, because I have never
A one, or else farewell.
+Phil.+ Well, stay, here take it out of my pockets.
+Boy.+ Yes, that I will do, before I unbind you,
And your hat too. [_Exit._
+Phil.+ The rogue's too nimble for me.
+Mir.+ Well, Philidor, farewell, I must
Go put
On a clean handkerchief.
+Phil.+ And I
Must go see if I can find a believing
Haberdasher, else I shall be very
Ceremonious to every one I meet. [_Exit._
_Enter +Fiddler+._
+Mir.+ A fiddle! nay, then I am made again;
I'd have a dance, if I had nothing but my
Smock on. Fiddler, strike up, and play my jig,
Call'd, _I care not a pin for any man._
+Fid.+ Indeed I can't stay: I am going to
Play to some gentlemen.
+Mir.+ Nay, thou shalt stay
But a little.
+Fid.+ Give me half-a-crown then.
+Mir.+ I have no money about me. But here, take
My handkerchief. [_Dance and Exit._
ACT IV.
_Enter +Ortellus+ and +Arbatus+, as going into the
+Duke's+ bed-chamber, and the +Duke+ in bed._
+Ort.+ So, I will keep the door, whilst you
Dispatch him.
+Arb.+ My lord,
I find you truly noble. Why, duke; why, duke! I say.
Methinks my voice should wake his guilty soul,
Nothing but innocence can sleep secure;
Then why, good heaven, does he take
Such rest?
Awake, thou drowsy devil! Duke, my sister's
Wrongs do call thee from thy sleep; methinks
The sound of those should pierce thy ears. Why, duke!
+Duke.+ What bold voice is that?
+Arb.+ One that will be more
Bold with you.
+Duke.+ Who is't so impudent as
To break my sleep?
+Arb.+ 'Tis I, Arbatus, that
Will put thee into a wonder.
+Duke.+ Ha! what means
That dagger in thy hands?
+Arb.+ Canst thou ask that
Question? it is to tickle thy false heart.
+Duke.+ Ha, ha, ha! you jest, you jest.
+Arb.+ What,
Does the conceit on't make you laugh already?
I was resolved to wake thee, before
I sent thee to hell, because thou may'st know
Of whose errand thou goest.
+Duke.+ Come, come, leave
Your foolery, lest you heat my blood.
+Arb.+ If
I do, I will let it out all, and that
Will quickly cool it. I would give thee time
To say thy prayers now, but that I know
Thy sin to be so great, that heaven will
Not pardon thee.
_Enter +Artabella+._
+Ort.+ Who's that?
+Art.+ 'Tis I, my lord:
Artabella. Let me in quickly, that I
May have one stab at his false heart, before
My brother has put him past feeling.
+Ort.+ And so thou shalt, brave girl.
+Arb.+ Now, duke, good night to you, and the devil
Send you good rest.
+Art.+ Hold, brother.
+Arb.+ Who's that?
+Art.+ 'Tis I thy injur'd sister, come to make
The first hole in that base duke's heart; it is
My right.
+Arb.+ Begin, begin then, that I may
Make an end.
+Art.+ Stay, brother, not too fast,
Has he said his prayers?
+Arb.+ His pray'rs! why none
But the devil will hear them. Come, come, sister,
Give me the dagger again; you waste time.
+Art.+ And so I will, the duke shan't die.
+Arb.+ How, not die?
+Art.+ Not die, I say.
+Arb.+ Then you are his whore all this while, and wou'd
Have him live, that you may be so still.
+Art.+ Brother,
Another word so foul, I'll strike this dagger
Through your heart,
Therefore hear me speak. Know then,
'Tis I that cannot love the duke, which he
Would never tell you, knowing 'twould make you angry
With me.
+Arb.+ Nay then I'll kill you for fooling
A brother and your reputation thus.
+Duke.+ Hold, Arbatus, she says it but to save
My life. 'Tis I have fooled you both, therefore
Strike here.
+Arb.+ And so I will, then.
+Art.+ Hold, brother;
Pull not a load of sins upon your head;
'Tis I have been to blame, indeed I have,
With loving him too much.
+Arb.+ Then thou shalt die.
+Duke.+ Hold, sir, heaven will frown on you for ever,
If you shed one drop of that pure blood; upon
My word, 'tis I.
+Arb.+ Keep not my tortur'd soul
Thus in suspense. One of you tell me true,
And that quickly too, else I will destroy
You both, and that's the surest way not
To mistake.
+Duke.+ Then be assur'd 'tis I.
+Art.+ Brother,
'Tis not, 'tis I.
+Arb.+ Heyday! heyday! I know
Not what to do or say. [_Throws down his sword and goes away._
+Ort.+ So, he is dead,
I hope.
+Arb.+ No more than you are.
+Ort.+ How so?
+Arb.+ Come,
My lord, as you go, I'll tell you.
[_Exeunt +Arbatus+ and +Ortellus+._
+Duke.+ O Artabella, why didst take my sin
Upon thyself, hiding thy innocence
With a face of guilt? My death had been not
Punishment enough, because I have wrong'd
So fair a life as yours. Which way to ask
Forgiveness, I can't tell; there are no pardons for
Such sins as mine; the only way to do
Thee right, is this. [_Offers to kill himself._
+Art.+ Hold, sir, my life
Shall follow yours, if you strike.
+Duke.+ Why would'st thou
Have me live?
+Art.+ Because I love you, sir.
+Duke.+ And that's the only reason I would die.
+Art.+ Why, would it be kindly done to show
My eyes your blood?
+Duke.+ Yes, far more kind than live, and show
Thy heart no love. O Artabella, that thou wert
My sister!
Nothing but brother's love were then
Thy due; and I could richly pay thee in
That coin, a million more than ever brother did.
+Art.+ Wou'd nature then had made me so, or else
Had given me never a heart.
+Duke.+ What wou'dst
Thou have me do, poor Artabella?
+Art.+ Nothing
But love me, sir.
+Duke.+ See, what thou doest ask
A man, a god wou'd do; and yet I can't;
'Tis not thy want of beauty, but my fate.
Angels themselves, to look upon thy face,
Wou'd take a journey twice a day from heaven.
+Art.+ If you would come, though far a shorter way,
You shou'd be much more welcome.
+Duke.+ Sweet tongue, lie still, offer no more such love,
As gods themselves to have wou'd think a bliss,
Since all thy kindness does but wound my heart,
To see thine shipwreck'd in a sea of love,
And cannot give it harbour in my breast.
+Art.+ Sir, let me beg one thing of you then.
+Duke.+ With all my soul, be it my dukedom, and
'Tis thine.
+Art.+ 'Tis no such great request;
'Tis only when you meet me, say: I hate
Thee, Artabella.
+Duke.+ Why, could that word please thee?
+Art.+ No; but to hear it said by you, would bring
My death, then I wou'd thank you for my rest.
Would you not come unto my grave, sir?
+Duke.+ O yes, and make thy coffin float with a sea
Of tears.
+Art.+ Fair sir, of what?
+Duke.+ Of grief.
+Art.+ O me!
A sea of tears, and yet not one of love!
Waste not such precious drops upon my grave, it will
Not satisfy my hovering soul to see
Your eyes drop pity without love. Farewell, sir.
O for a grave, that were a resting place;
Good heart, be kind, and break apace! [_Exit._
+Duke.+ Heaven love thee for me! Base Amphelia,
Thou art the author of my horrid sin. [_Exit._
_Enter +Philidor+ and +Mirida+._
+Phil.+ Thou talk'st of sport, Mirida; if all the
Sport we have had already with our lovers,
Come not short of this, hang me. You say you have
Invited them already to my funeral.
+Mir.+ Yes, yes. [_+Philidor+ is laid out like a corpse._
+Phil.+ So, so, methinks my body lies
In great state, to see the tribe that will come
By-and-by; here will be half a dozen
Chief mourners, which should have been my wives, and
Some three or four sons and heirs, besides three
Or four hopeful daughters; these, with
The congregation of nurses, will howl me
A pleasant dirge. Mirida, you being my
Executrix, must carry yourself very gravely;
Here's my will, which you must read to 'em; I'll be
The priest myself. Hark, somebody knocks [_Knocks within._
At the gate.
_Enter +Boy+._
+Boy.+ Sir, they are all
Come.
+Phil.+ Let 'em in.--Now, Mirida, manage
Your business well.
+Mir.+ Let me alone, I'll warrant ye.
_Enter +Ladies+ and +Nurse+._
+All Ladies.+ Ah! my poor dear, dear.
+All Nurses.+ Ah! my poor dear master! ah, child,
Cry for thy poor dad. [_Kiss the hearse._
+Phil.+ What a dog-kennel's here! how they howl! [_Aside._
+Mir.+ When
The passions of your grief are over, pray
Hear me speak, because it concerns you all.
+Phil.+ Pox of thy gravity, Mirida. [_Aside._
+Mir.+ Nay, hold your tongue; if
You set me once a laughing, I shall spoil
Your funeral. [_Aside._
_Enter +Pinguister+ and +Lean-man+._
So here comes my fat lover and my
Lean one! Welcome, gentlemen, I
Was afraid I shou'd not have had your company.
+Ping.+ Really, sweet lady, I have taken a purge
To-day (as I do constantly, for love
Of you) which has retarded me,
By reason of its operation, neither can
I say it has yet finished.
+Mir.+ Sir, please you
To sit down, and you,
Master Pinguister.
+Ping.+ Lady, I shall embrace your offer, and shall
Press your chair. By my heart, madam, this chair
Was fitter for a jackdaw than [for] me.
[_Sits down and breaks the chair._
Nay, they make such chairs now-a-days, that had I
A grudge to an upholsterer, I would
Desire no greater revenge than to sit
Down upon every chair in his shop.
+Mir.+ Truly,
Sir, I am sorry for your fall.
Ladies and gentlewomen, pray give your
Attention to my dear deceas'd cousin's
Will. Poor young man! he was kill'd yesterday
By a duel:
He liv'd but two hours after he was hurt,
Which time he made use of, to settle something
On all you here, his worthy friends.
+Omnes.+ A good young man.
+Mir.+ Imprimis, I bequeath my soul, as other
People use to do, and so my body.
Item, I give to Mistress Mary, for a reason that she knows,
£500. Item, £500 to Mistress Margaret, for a reason she knows.
Item, £500 to Mistress Sarah, for a reason she knows. Item,
£500 to Mistress Martha, for a reason she knows. Item, £500 to
Mistress Alice, for a reason she knows. Item, £500 to Mistress
Eleanor, for a reason she knows. And so to all the rest. Item,
To my nurses, I leave each of them £20 a year apiece for their
lives, besides their arrears due to them for nursing. These
sums [_speaks low_] of money and legacies I leave to be rais'd
and paid out of my manor of Constantinople, in which the Great
Turk is now tenant for life.
If they should hear how their legacies [_Laughs aside._
Are to be paid, how they'd fall a-drumming on
His coffin!
Item, I leave to Master Pinguister,
A very fat man.--
+Ping.+ I am so.
+Mir.+ An infallible
Receipt to make him lean.
+Ping.+ So I hope the
Dead may do what the living cannot.
+Mir.+ I leave to a certain lean gentleman,
Whom I have seen in my cousin Mirida's
Company, a sure receipt to make him fat.
+Lean.+ I find he knew I was to marry his cousin.
+Mir.+ I desire my body to be carried to the
Grave by the six aforesaid gentlewomen.--
So, ladies, now you have heard his will,
Be pleased to take up the body: nurses,
You are to follow next; now which o' you
Will lead me?
+Ping.+ I will, madam.
+Lean.+ By my bones, but you shan't.
+Ping.+ By my fat, but I will, sir.
+Mir.+ Nay, gentlemen, pray, fall not out. Well, one
Of you lead me one half of the way. [_Exeunt._
+Ping.+ Agreed,
Sir, take you her hand first,
A very timely proposition, for my purge
Works again. Save me!
Whereabouts is the closet? [_Goes out, and comes in again._
What a loose must I run to overtake them
Now! else I shall not lead my mistress the last
Half-way. Deliver me from love and purges!
_Enter all again with a coffin; +Philidor+ and
+Mirida+ shut them into the vault._
+Phil.+ So, there let 'em converse with the dead a
While; I would rather have 'em there than above
Ground: here will I keep 'em till they have
All quitted me under their hands and seals.
+Mir.+ O, the sport that we shall have by-and-by!
Well, but I must go home a little, my
Father will miss me: where shall we meet
Again?
+Phil.+ Just here.
+Mir.+ I will not fail. [_Exeunt._
_Enter +Amarissa+ just arrived._
+Ama.+ I'm come too late, and yet too soon am here,
Since dear Zoranzo's death is now so near.
On the same block with him I'll lay my head,
That our two bodies may have but one bed.
Thus are our nuptial joys decreed by fate,
Our wedding and our burial bear one date.
Sure, I'm the first of maids that ever gave
Her body to her lover in a grave.
Alas! in cold embraces we must meet,
With icy kisses in a winding-sheet.
Yet though this life denies us time to love,
The other life will not so cruel prove;
Our souls so fast in lovers' knots we'll tie,
That when the headsman strikes, they both shall fly,
Twined in one another through the air,
And be at rest, whilst other souls despair.
_Enter +Jailor+._
This is the prison,
And here's the jailor, I believe. Pray, sir,
Do you belong unto the prison?
+Jailor.+ Belong!
Yes, I am the keeper of it.
+Ama.+ Is not
Here one Zoranzo a prisoner?
+Jailor.+ Yes,
But he won't be here long, for he is
To die anon.
+Ama.+ Ah me! sir, I am his
Sister; pray help me to him, that I may speak
With him before that cruel hour; I love
Him so, that I must needs die with him; I'll
Petition the duke that I may; sure, he'll not
Deny me that request.
+Jailor.+ I can tell you a way that you may be sure
To have that favour granted.
+Ama.+ Tell it me, and I'll thank ye.
+Jailor.+ Why, if you'll try to convey him out of prison,
As another lady has already, you may
Bear them company too.
+Ama.+ Why, has there any lady endeavour'd it?
+Jailor.+ Yes, one that is his mistress, and they are
Both to die together.
+Ama.+ Ha! what is't I hear? his mistress, say you?
+Jailor.+ Yes, mistress; they both lie as contentedly
By one another, as if they were not two.
+Ama.+ Curse him, good heaven, ye cannot throw too many
Curses on him. Here, jailor, take this,
And let me speak with the prisoner.
+Jailor.+ Madam,
You shall.
_Enter +Zoranzo+ and +Amphelia+ as in prison, in
chains._
+Zor.+ Amarissa! are my eyes false, or is it
Truly she?
+Ama.+ Your eyes are true; but 'tis your heart that's false.
+Zor.+ I am deceiv'd! that cannot be her tongue.
+Ama.+ Should it speak otherwise to thee, I'd tear
It out, devil, Zoranzo; cursed pair
Of vipers, that in chains of death can practise
Lust, as if no end were nigh. Do not
My wrongs startle thy guilty soul, to think
Of all the torments it must have, that could
With so much falseness murder love? When thou
Art gone to hell, as go thou must, 'twill be
A task for all the devils there,
To torture thee enough. Thy sin is such,
Were I thy headsman, when thou com'st to die,
I'd be a week a-cutting off thy head,
'Twixt every stroke I'd stop; and then I'd hollow
Amarissa in thy ears; thy guilt would be
An echo to my wrongs, and answer to
My cry: wrong'd Amarissa;
Which injur'd name repeated to thy ears,
Would make thy soul think hell not half such pain.
Farewell, Zoranzo, I'll come to see your
Head struck off, and your lady's.
+Zor.+ Base Amarissa, that can conclude me
False, because she saw this lady lie in
Chains by me, and could not ask me how we
Came together. Thus to revile me, and
Not know the truth: I'll scorn to tell her now!
_Enter +Duke+._
+Ama.+ O sir, be pleas'd to hear a maid's petition,
Though a stranger to you.
+Duke.+ Fair maid, what is't?
+Ama.+ Zoranzo that's condemn'd to die, may----
+Duke.+ Not
Live; if that be your request, pray do not
Ask; I shan't grant it.
+Ama.+ No, sir, 'tis that he
May have a thousand deaths, instead of one;
Or one that has more pain than thousands.
+Duke.+ What makes you thus incens'd against him?
+Ama.+ Heaven knows I have too much cause, sir. I have
Lov'd him long, and the day he was your prisoner,
Should have been our wedding. News being brought
To me in my own country, that he was
To die, in flying haste I took this tedious
Journey; with sorrow and with joy I here
Arrived; tears in my eyes for his approaching
Death, smiles on my cheeks to think of dying
With him; but when I came unto the prison gate
I met the jailor, and he told me all,
Then let me in, and to
Rejoice my eyes, I saw two devils lie
In chains together, and not half so fast
As chain'd in love.
All my intended kisses then I chang'd
Into as many curses on his heart,
Which with my eyes I spoke as well as tongue.
+Duke.+ Alas! poor injur'd maid, we must be one
Another's
Petitioners; thy fate is mine;
That woman which you saw with him has prov'd
As false to me, as he to you.
+Ama.+ For heaven's
Sake, sir, let 'em die both; no sight would please
Us like their blood; the jailor
Told me they lie as close together all day
As if they were not two.
+Duke.+ O, curse on 'em!
+Ama.+ O, the devil take 'em! pray, sir, give order
That they may be brought immediately
To execution.
+Duke.+ I will.
+Ama.+ I'll go call the jailor, sir. [_Steps to the prison._
_Enter +Jailor+._
+Duke.+ Jailor, let the prisoners be brought to
Execution straight, I'll be there myself.
+Ama.+ And I too, sir.
+Duke.+ You shall; we'll go together. [_Exeunt._
ACT V.
_Enter +All Ladies+, +Nurses+, +Pinguister+, and
+Lean-man+, as in the vault; +Philidor+ as a Crier._
+Phil.+ _O yes, O yes, O yes! did any man hear tale_
Or tidings of three nurses, called Three Flanders
Mares, with three sucking colts?--
+All Nurses.+ Hark, we are cried
In the streets.
+Phil.+ And also six maiden ladies, that should
Have been married to a certain
Promising gentleman?--
+All Ladies.+ Devil! we are
Cried too.
+Phil.+ Also a very lean gentleman,
That must be fatter before he's married?--
+Lean-man.+ Hark, that is I?
+Phil.+ And the hugest loss of
All is one Master Pinguister, a lovely
Fat gentleman, whom all that knew him, doubt him
To be dead upon some privy-house; because
He purged every day for love, by reason
Mistress Mirida would not marry him till
A certain measure that she[75] has will come
About his waist--
_Enter +Mirida+._
+Ping.+ Crier, I am here, I am here.
+Phil.+ If any can bring news of the six aforesaid
Virgin ladies, or of the three Flanders nurses
And colts, to one Master Philidor, a very
Conscientious young man--
+Omnes.+ A pox take him!
+Phil.+ They shall be extremely paid for their pains.
Again, if any can bring tidings of this
Master Pinguister to Mistress Mirida,
She will be very bountiful in her
Reward: the poor soul weeps most bitterly
For him.
+Ping.+ Does she so, poor wretch? [_Cries aloud._] Prythee, good
Crier, go tell her I am not dead, though
I have been buried a great while in the
Vault.
Mercy of my bum-gut, my purge again?
+Omnes.+ You nasty rogue, turn your breech out of the
Gate then.
[_Goes to do so, +Philidor+ kicks him down, he
roars out._
+Mir.+ Philidor, I have broke a vein
With laughing, to hear thy rogueries. I'll call
To Pinguister. Master Pinguister? My
Love, my dear, sure, I hear thy voice?
+Ping.+ Who's that,
My dear female?
+Mir.+ The same, fat love.
+Ping.+ O, prythee raise me from the dead.
+Phil.+ Well, ladies and gentlewomen, how d'ye
Like your crier now?
+Omnes.+ The devil take thee, was it you?
+Phil.+ The very same.
+2d Lady.+ Well, won't you let us out? pray howsoever,
Take away this fat gentleman from us;
For he has such a coming looseness, and
'Tis so dark here, that he has
Shit upon every one of us.
+Omnes.+ Well, but won't you let us out?
+Phil.+ Yes, if you ladies would set your hands
To this paper, to quit me as to all promises,
I will; and also, my reverend nurses,
You must set your hands to this discharge,
To quit me from all arrears of nursing:
Else farewell t'ye--
+Omnes.+ Well, well, stay; we will. [_Set their hands._
+Phil.+ So, now you may go take the air
Again; there's the key to let yourselves out.
+Omnes.+ A cheating rogue!
+Phil.+ Come, Mirida, let's run away, for if
They catch us, murder is the best we can
Hope for. [_Exit, with +Mirida+._
+1st Nurse.+ They went this way; let's run after
Them, some one way and some t'other. [_Exeunt +Women+._
+Ping.+ So you may, but if I run away, then
Hang me; I am glad of my resurrection
Howsoever. On my conscience, no green
Carcase ever stunk as I did; to my best
Remembrance I went to stool some
Threescore times in the vault, _ergo_
I was beaten threescore times; the
Unmerciful nurses, with their huge
Palm'd hands, every time I went to't,
Play'd at hot-cockles[76] all the while upon
My buttocks. Well, I hope I shall ne'er be
Buried again whilst I live, and so with
That prayer I'll go to bed.
_Enter +Mirida+._
+Mir.+ My dear fat love, little dost thou think how many
Tears I have shed for all thy sufferings; that rogue
Philidor put a trick upon us all.
+Ping.+ Well, and has physic, heats, burial,
Nor resurrection, made me yet lean
Enough to be thy husband? why, I have
Lost as much grease as would furnish
A whole city with candles for a twelvemonth
And all for the love of thee, sweet Mirida. [_Cries and sobs._
+Mir.+ Dear love, come sit thee in my lap,
And let me try if I can enclose thy world
Of fat and love within these arms:
See, I cannot nigh encompass my
Desires by a mile.
+Ping.+ How is my fat a rival to my joys! [_Cries._
Sure, I shall weep it all away.
+Mir.+ Lie still, my babe, lie still and sleep,
It grieves me sore to see thee weep:
Wer't thou but leaner, I were glad;
Thy fatness makes thy dear love sad.
What a lump of love have I in my arms!
+Ping.+ Nay, if I had not taken all these courses
To dissolve myself into thy embraces,
One would think my looking on thee
Were enough; for I never see thee but
I am like a fat piece of beef roasting
At the fire, continually drop, drop, drop.
There's ne'er a feature in thy face, or
Part about thee, but has cost me many
A pint of fat, with thinking on thee;
And yet not to be lean enough for
Thy husband--O fate! O fate!
O fat! [_She lets him fall._
+Mir.+ O Lord, sir, I have let you fall,
How shall I do to get you up again!
+Ping.+ Nay, that is more than all the world can tell.
+Mir.+ I'll e'en lie down by thee then.
+Ping.+ Nay,
But prythee lie near me; thou hadst
As good lie a league off, as that distance.
+Mir.+ Were I thy wife, fat love, I would.
_+She+ sings._
_My lodging upon the cold floor is,
And wonderful hard is my fare,
But that which troubles me more, is
The fatness of my dear.
Yet still I do cry, O, melt, love,
And I prythee now melt apace;
For thou art the man I should long for,
If 'twere not for thy grease._
_+Pinguister+ sings._
_Then prythee don't burden thy heart still,
And be deaf to my pitiful moan;
Since I do endure the smart still,
And for my fat do groan;
Then prythee now turn, my dear love,
And I prythee now turn to me;
For, alas! I am too fat still
To roll so far to thee._
+Mir.+ That were not modesty in me to turn
To you; but if you can roll to me within
This hour, I'll marry you in spite of all
Your fat.
+Ping.+ Agreed, then I shall gain thee yet;
You must lie still then.
+Mir.+ Yes, yes.
+Ping.+ Sure, I am
Sysiphus's stone, for as fast as I turn
Over, I think I turn back again, else I
Must needs have been come to my journey's end
[_He rolls to her, and she rolls from him._
By this time; for I am of such a breadth,
That every roll I give I pass over
An acre at least. Thou liest still, my love,
Dost thou not?
+Mir.+ Yes, I long to have thee here.
+Ping.+ I doubt I shan't be with thee, though,
This two hours.
+Mir.+ Then my heart will break.
+Ping.+ I'm sure mine will before I get to thee.
O woman, O woman, O woman!
They talk of woman in travail, I'm
Sure I know a man in travail at
This time, in more pain by half. [_She rises and laughs at him._
+Mir.+ Why, my most extreme fat ass, dost
Thou not find that I have fool'd thee
All this while?
+Ping.+ Why, hast thou?
+Mir.+ Yes, indeed have I.
+Ping.+ O thou woman! may'st thou grow
Fat, that thy breast and belly may
Meet together, so that all the fat
Hostesses in Christendom may appear
But eels to thee.
+Mir.+ Farewell, my lowly love.
+Ping.+ Why, wilt thou not help me up, before
You go?
+Mir.+ What to do? to run heats again for love?
+Ping.+ No, to fight with thee.
+Mir.+ Fight with me? by this light, would we
Had two swords. I'd have one pass
At all thy tripes.
_Enter +Cutler+ with two swords._
Faith, and yonder's a fellow with two swords:
Friend, lend me but thy swords one minute.
+Cut.+ I am going to carry them to two gentlemen.
+Mir.+ O, this will not hinder thee; thou shalt
See rare sport. Go, help that gentleman
Up that lies yonder, and give that sword
Into his hand. Come, are ye ready, sir?
+Ping.+ Why, you dare fight then, it seems?
Though thou art so ungodly a chit, as
To say no prayers, before thou beginn'st,
I will, I assure thee.
Good--I pray and desire ye, if I
Do miscarry in this duel, that I may
Meet with no woman in the other
World. Now, thou worst of females,
Have at thee.
+Mir.+ Come, I'll let out all your fat and love at
One thrust. [_Fight, and she disarms him._
Now ask thy life, and confess thou art an ass.
+Ping.+ I am an ass, and ask my life.
+Mir.+ Then I, thy conquering Cæsar, take my leave
With this conclusion: _veni, vidi, vici._
And so farewell. O fate, O love, O fat! [_Exit._
+Ping.+ After all my miseries, would I were
Up again, else the next man that comes
Will make a roller of me, for to roll
Bowling-greens.
[_Makes several attempts to rise, and at last gets up._
So, now I have a mile home at least,
And every toilsome step I take, I will
Curse women. [_Exit._
_Enter +Zoranzo+ and +Amphelia+ lying upon straw
together._
+Zor.+ Most bless'd of women, I must tell you truth;
And yet I fear that truth will----
+Amph.+ Will what? I doubt he loves me-- [_Aside._
Speak it, sir, nothing from you can
Be unwelcome.
+Zor.+ O yes, it will.
+Amph.+ I'll warrant you; out with it, sir.
+Zor.+ Then know, I----'Twill come no farther.
+Amph.+ Unhappy man! 'tis so, he loves me. [_Aside._
O sir, I have sadder truth to tell to you
Than yours can be to me----I dare not
Speak it.
+Zor.+ My fears are true; she loves me. [_Aside._
Pray tell me, what it is?
+Amph.+ Tell yours first, sir.
+Zor.+ Alas! you saw I tried, but could not get
It past my lips.
+Amph.+ If I should try, mine would not come so far.
+Zor.+ Would I knew yours, I could tell it for you.
+Amph.+ So could I yours, [and] yet I can't my own.
+Zor.+ Alas! she loves me. [_Aside._
+Amph.+ Poor Zoranzo! I see he loves me. [_Aside._
But, sir, consider we are going to die;
Let us die undeceiv'd in one another.
+Zor.+ O, that some one that knows each of our hearts,
Would hearken to our griefs, and bid
An angel come and speak for both!
_Enter +Jailor+._
+Jailor.+ Come, have you done your discourse? you must go
To execution.
+Zor.+ A little patience, jailor: [_To her_] see, we are
Called unto our deaths, pray tell me, what
You mean.
+Amph.+ I cannot; first do you begin.
+Zor.+ Nor I.
+Amph.+ Let us tell both together then, that one
May not blame the other.
+Zor.+ Agreed: are you ready now to speak!
+Amph.+ Yes--O no, I am not--well, now I am--
Are you?
+Zor.+ Yes, I am; begin--O, stay, I cannot yet.
+Jailor.+ Come, come, I can give you no longer time.
+Amph.+ Nay, then we must tell.
+Zor.+ Poor Amphelia! 'tis Amarissa that
I love.
+Amph.+ O Zoranzo, I love the duke!
+Zor.+ Then I am joy'd, I was afraid 'twas me
You lov'd.
+Amph.+ And so was I that you lov'd me.
Now we shall both die happy, never was
Two such friends as you and I.
+Jailor.+ Come, come.
+Amph.+ Good jailor, we go most willingly now. [_Exeunt._
_Enter as on a scaffold, +Duke+, +Amarissa+, +Ortellus+,
+Zoranzo+, +Amphelia+, +Jailor+, and +Executioner+._
+Ama.+ Jailor, why didst thou let them stay so long?
+Jailor.+ They had so much to say to one another,
That still they begged one minute, and then
Another.
+Ama.+ D'ye hear, sir? pray let the jailor
Be turn'd out of his place, for letting them speak to
One another.
+Amph.+ See, Zoranzo, where they sit
In triumph o'er our deaths.
+Ama.+ S'life, sir, they are
Whispering, d'ye see
Yonder? Executioner, why don't you
Strike off their heads, and let them whisper then.
Sir, you're melancholy.
+Duke.+ I am indeed.
+Zor.+ Now, Amphelia, to heaven and you I truly
Vow, my love is still the same to cruel Amarissa.
+Amph.+ Heaven and you witness the same for me:
My heart is still that undeserving duke's.
+Exec.+ Come, which of you will die first?
+Zor.+ Hast thou not
Skill enough to strike our heads off together?
+Ama.+ Executioner, let them not have that
Satisfaction; pray, sir, let that woman
Die first, that damned Zoranzo may have
Two deaths; it will be one to him to see
Her die; shall it be so, sir?
+Duke.+ What you please.
+Exec.+ Come, lady, you must lay down your head
First, the duke says.
+Amph.+ That word's the sharpest axe
That I shall feel.
+Exec.+ Have you said all? [_Both kneel as at prayers._
+Amph.+ To earth I have,
But not to heaven.
Farewell, dear friend, for one short minute.
+Zor.+ My soul
Shall hasten after yours.
+Ama.+ S'life! jailor, will you
Let them speak to one another again?
+Amph.+ Executioner, now I am ready.
+Duke.+ Hold,
The prisoner shall die first.
+Zor.+ With all my
Heart, I am ready.
+Duke.+ Nay, it is not you
I mean, sir; rise; 'tis I that am the prisoner,
I will make you a present, take your life,
Your love; nay, and my dukedom too: and to
Oblige you most of all, executioner,
Strike off my head, for I am weary of it.
+Amph.+ Not for ten thousand worlds, sir,
Whate'er you mean.
+Duke.+ Know then, I have lov'd you
All this while, but seeing your hate so great to me,
I have dissembled scorn to you. [_She swoons._
Why dost thou swoon, Amphelia?
+Amph.+ Did not I hear some voice just now,
That said the duke does love me still?
+Duke.+ Thou didst; 'twas he himself that said so.
+Amph.+ If 'twere from heaven, good heaven, say it again!
+Duke.+ 'Twas I myself, I tell thee--and I will
Ne'er speak another word, if that displease thee.
+Amph.+ O, I am in heaven then, it seems, and 'tis
Some god that is telling me how the duke
Loved me still.
+Duke.+ Dear Amphelia, 'tis I
That loves thee, tells thee so.
+Amph.+ Hark, now there is a god that says he loves
Me too; blest god, I'm sorry if you do.
Since I have heard the duke does love me still,
He must be your rival, indeed I cannot
Help it. O, let me fly down to the earth
Again, only to hear him say he loves me.
I cannot promise when I shall return:
That very word from him would keep me there.
+Duke.+ I must answer her no more: they say
'Twill keep 'em longer in a trance. [_He rubs her._
+Ort.+ I am but in a scurvy condition now, if
She comes to life again, for they will
Examine one another, how the mistake
Came between them, and then I am
Sure it must come to light. [_Aside._
+Amph.+ Who's that,--duke Archimedes?
+Duke.+ The same, sweet angel.
+Amph.+ O sir, I am come from heaven to see you,
Since there I heard you love me still.
+Duke.+ Dear Amphelia, thou hast dream'd all this while;
Heaven, 'tis true, is where thou art, but 'twas
My voice that said I love thee.
+Amph.+ Was not my head struck off just now?
+Duke.+ Canst thou ask that, while I have
A head and heart?
+Amph.+ Why, have you lov'd me still?
+Duke.+ With as much truth as ever lover did.
+Amph.+ So have I you with equal constancy.
+Ama.+ Well, sir, now you are satisfied, pray let
Me be so too, and let Zoranzo's head
Be struck off quickly,
I see he's mean as well as false, to quit
Me for a woman that does not love him.
+Amph.+ Hold, Amarissa, hear me speak, before
Zoranzo dies; and be assur'd he loves
You still.
+Ama.+ Would you deceive me too?
+Amph.+ Indeed I don't; when we were going to die,
You may remember that we whispered,
Then we called heaven and ourselves to witness,
That both our loves were true,
Mine to Archimedes, and his to you.
+Ama.+ You can forgive me, sir? [_Kneels._
+Zor.+ I cannot answer yet;
Thy civility has took away my speech.
+Duke.+ Dear Amphelia, how came this sad mistake
'Twixt you and I?
+Amph.+ I'll tell you, sir, in part;
When you were in this last war, my woman
Receiv'd a letter from one of the gentlemen
Of your chamber, wherein he did assure
Her that you had a new mistress in that
Country, and therefore bid her tell me
Of it, that I might by degrees wean my
Affections from so false a man as you.
+Duke.+ Here has been some foul play; for this very man
You spoke of, receiv'd a letter from your woman,
Wherein she bid him assure me, that you
Were prov'd false in my absence, and lov'd my
Cousin Ortellus. Guard, go fetch them both
Hither immediately; they shall die
Without mercy.
+Ort.+ Nay, then, I had as good
Discover, 'twill fall th' heavier on me else.
Sir, let the guard stay,
And I will tell you all.
'Tis I have sow'd the seeds of this mistake.
I long have lov'd Amphelia, for which cause
I tried this way to draw her heart from you.
I knew this gentleman of your bed-chamber
Was in love with Amphelia's woman,
Therefore I brib'd her to write to him,
To assure the duke that Amphelia lov'd me,
And that she should also charge him, to write
Another letter to her, wherein he
Should complain of the duke's falling in love
With another woman in that country.
I knew your spirits both to be so great that
Neither of you would stoop to one another,
When you were both possess'd of either's falseness:
And so it prov'd.
For when the duke heard you lov'd me, he brought
A fair new mistress over with him, to
Let you see he did contemn you; and so
Amphelia, sir, when she heard you lov'd
Another, assur'd me then that she lov'd me,
Which now I see was only to make you
Think how much she scorn'd you, though still her heart
Was true, and so was yours. Now, sir,
I humbly beg your pardon.
+Duke.+ 'Twill be in vain, my lord; I cannot grant it.
O Amphelia, how many hours of joy
We two have lost!
+Amph.+ Base lord!
_Enter +Artabella+._
+Art.+ O sir, I heard that people were to die
To-day; let me be one, I pray.
+Amph.+ Not for
The world, sweet innocent.
+Art.+ O madam, you are she
The duke loves. Pray spare your pity, sir; can
You have the heart to let me live, and see
You married to another?
+Amph.+ Have patience,
Sweet young maid, I will not marry him; you won't
Blame me, if I love him, though?
+Art.+ No;
For then I should condemn my fault in you.
+Duke.+ But sure, Amphelia, you did but jest,
In telling her you would not marry me?
+Amph.+ Indeed, sir, I am in earnest; consider
It is but justice; she loves you as well
As I: her heart was quiet till you troubled
It.
+Duke.+ All this is true; but how will your
Love show, if you refuse to marry me?
+Amph.+ Not less at all, but make my pity more.
+Duke.+ If I would marry her, I can't believe,
That she would be thus kind to you.
+Amph.+ Yes, I dare say she would; ask her and try.
+Duke.+ Well, Artabella, will you marry me?
+Art.+ You never hated me till now; can you
Believe I'd wrong so blest a woman as
Amphelia?
+Amph.+ See, sir, would it be justice now in me?
She will not wound my heart; should I kill hers?
+Duke.+ But consider, 'tis you I love, not her.
+Amph.+ That's her misfortune, sir, yet she deserves.
As much as I: I can but love you, so
Does she.
+Duke.+ Dear Amphelia, marry me.
+Amph.+ I cannot
Out of pity, sir.
+Duke.+ Talk not of pity, if
Thou wilt show me none.
+Amph.+ My pity is her due:
My love is yours.
+Duke.+ O Amphelia, this was
A cruel way to make me happy. Thou'st
Better still have kept my joys unknown, than let
The knowing of it be my death. Once more,
My dear Amphelia, marry me.
+Amph.+ Do not
Petition her; you may command in any
Thing but this.
+Duke.+ Monster of villains, thou hast caus'd
All this! Executioner, immediately strike
Off his head.
+Ort.+ I'm sure you will not let me die.
+Duke.+ Impudent villain, dispatch him straight.
+Ort.+ Hold, sir, 'tis only I can make you
Three happy, which if you do not confess,
When you have heard me speak, then let me die.
+Duke.+ Well, let's hear it.
+Ort.+ Promise me my life
First, if I do.
+Duke.+ Well, you shall have it.
+Ort.+ Then know, the lady Artabella is
Your sister.
+Duke.+ Ha!
+Ort.+ I say, your sister;
You do remember that you had one once?
+Duke.+ Yes, I do, but she was lost at three years old.
+Ort.+ 'Tis true it was thought so; but thus it is:--
When 'twas reported you were slain in th' battle,
I straight convey'd away this lady, then
A child, because she should not stand 'twixt me
And the dukedom. I being then acquainted
With the mother to Arbatus, I brought
This lady, and gave her a sum of money,
T' adopt her for her child. With willingness
My offer she embrac'd, the more, because
Her son Arbatus had been lost about
Seven years, thought to have been cast away
At sea, though afterwards returned home:
I had enjoin'd her secrecy, which she
Kept, therefore she told Arbatus 'twas his
Sister.
_Enter +Arbatus+._
+Duke.+ And is she then my sister? O
Arbatus, welcome, welcome! I've a crowd
Of joys about my heart to tell thee.
+Arb.+ What! that you have broken my sister's heart?
+Duke.+ Thou hast no sister; 'tis I [that] possess that
Blessing; Artabella is my sister.
How blest a sound is _sister_ to my ears!
I'll give command no other word but _sister_
Shall be spoke throughout my dukedom; I'll have it
Taught to infants; so that when nature lends
Their sucking tongues a means to speak one word,
They shall all babble _sister_, 'stead of _nurse._
I'll have the name engrav'd in gold [up]on
Every post and pillar in the streets, and passers-
By shall worship it.
+Arb.+ I am amazed.
_Enter +Philidor+ and +Mirida+._
+Duke.+ Welcome, Philidor.
+Phil.+ I am glad
To see joy in your looks again, sir;
The time is long since I have seen you smile.
+Duke.+ Philidor, all that is joy I have within
This breast; it overflows
And runs into my eyes. This is my sister!
(O, what a word is sister!) and this my dear
And true Amphelia.
Come, Mirida shall be thine to-day too. [_To +Philidor+._
+Mir.+ Hold, sir, I forbid that banns.
+Phil.+ Troth, so do I too; you always
Take the words out of my mouth.
You and I marry, quotha!
+Mir.+ No, faith, we'll be hang'd first. I'd
Rather hear a long sermon, than
Hear a parson ask me: _Mirida,
Will you have this man for your
Wedded husband, to have and to hold,
From this day forward_, and so forth.
+Phil.+ Right, _for better for worse, in
Sickness or in health._
+Mir.+ Ay, and perhaps after we have been
Married half a year, one's
Husband falls into a deep consumption,
And will not do one the favour to
Die neither, then we must be
Ever feeding him with caudles.
O, from a husband in a consumption
Deliver me!
+Phil.+ And think how weary I should be
Of thee, Mirida, when once we were
Chain'd together: the very name of
Wife would be a vomit to me: then
Nothing but, _where's my wife? call
My wife to dinner, call my wife to supper_;
And then at night, _come, wife, will you
Go to bed_?
+Mir.+ Ay, and that would be so troublesome
To be call'd by one's husband every night
To go to bed. O, that dull, dull
Name of husband!
+Duke.+ Indeed you two are well met,
The world has not two more such,
I am confident.
+Mir.+ The more the pity, sir.
+Phil.+ No, sir, if you please, never propose
Marrying to us, till both of us have
Committed such faults as are death
By the law; then instead of
Hanging us, marry us.
+Mir.+ And then you shall hear how
Earnestly we shall petition your
Highness to be hang'd rather than
Married.
+Duke.+ No man can judge which is the
Wildest of these two.
Now, brave Arbatus, in all my dukedom
There is but one gift worthy thy
Receiving, and that's my sister;
Here, sir, take her as freely as heaven
Gave her me.
+Arb.+ D'ye forgive me, sir?
+Duke.+ Or not myself, Arbatus.
This day Hymen shall light his torch for all.
+Phil.+ With your pardon, sir, not for me
And my female?
+Mir.+ No, faith, I'll blow it out,
If he does.
+Art.+ Sir, though in my own desires
I should have chose the man that you have given me,
Yet I beg we may not marry yet; we have
Call'd brother and sister so long, that yet
We needs must think we are so still.
+Arb.+ Pray, madam,
Let's think so as little a while as we can,
That fancy may not keep my joy in prison.
+Duke.+ Let's to the temple now, and there thank
Heaven for these unexpected joys.
Each day the gods shall lend me in this life,
I'll thank them for a sister and a wife. [_Exeunt._
FOOTNOTES:
[75] [Old copy, _he_.]
[76] [See Thoms' "Anecdotes and Traditions," 1839, p. 95.]
HISTORIA HISTRIONICA.
_EDITION._
_Historia Histrionica. An Historical Account of the
English-Stage; showing the Ancient Uses, Improvement, and
Perfection of Dramatic Representations, in this Nation. In
a Dialogue, of Plays and Players._--Olim meminisse juvabit.
_London. Printed by G. Croom, for William Haws, at the Rose
in Ludgate-Street._ 1699. 8º.
This tract is said to have been the production of James Wright of New
Inn, afterwards of the Middle Temple, Barrister-at-Law, who was the
son of Abraham Wright, a well-known miscellaneous writer (1645-70).
The former was the author of "The Antiquities of Rutlandshire," and
some poems; particularly (1) "An Essay on the Present Ruins of St
Paul's Cathedral." To which is annexed, "The Misfortunes of St Paul's
Cathedral," in heroic verse, 4º. 1668; reprinted with two other poems
under the title of (2) "Three poems of St Paul's Cathedral; viz., The
Ruins, The Rebuilding, The Choire,[77] Fo. 1697," and (3) "Phœnix
Paulina, a Poem on St Paul's Cathedral, 4º. 1709."[78] He was alive
in 1710, being mentioned by Mr Hearne in his preface to Leland's
"Itinerary," in this manner; "I could have supply'd more Lacunæ, and in
all likelyhood have render'd this performance more perfect, if I had
had the use of a very good transcript of Mr Leland's 'Itinerary,' taken
about the time of Queen Elizabeth (before the originals took wet, as is
suppos'd) and was formerly in possession of James Wright, of the Middle
Temple, Esq., the worthy author of the 'Antiquities of Rutlandshire;'
but this, with a multitude of other valuable curiosities, was unhappily
burned in the fire at the Middle Temple, in the year 1698, as Mr Wright
has been pleased to inform me." Anthony Wood says, he wrote an elegy on
the death of Mr John Goad, Master of Merchant Taylor's School, who died
1689. (See Wood's "Athenæ," vol. i. p. 839.)
FOOTNOTES:
[77] British Topography, vol. 1. p. 610.
[78] Catalogue of pamphlets in the Harleian Library, p. 140.
THE PREFACE.[79]
Much has been writ of late _pro_ and _con_ about the stage, yet the
subject admits of more, and that which has not been hitherto touched
upon; not only what that is, but what it was, about which some people
have made such a bustle. What it is we see, and I think it has been
sufficiently displayed in Mr Collier's book; what it was in former
ages, and how used in this kingdom, so far back as one may collect any
memorials, is the subject of the following dialogue. Old plays will be
always read by the curious, if it were only to discover the manners and
behaviour of several ages, and how they altered. For plays are exactly
like portraits, drawn in the garb and fashion of the time when painted.
You see one habit in the time of Charles I., another quite different
from that, both for men and women, in Queen Elizabeth's time; another
under Henry VIII. different from both; and so backward, all various.
And in the several fashions of behaviour and conversation there is as
much mutability as in that of clothes. Religion and religious matters
were once as much the mode in public entertainments as the contrary
has been in some times since. This appears in the different plays of
several ages: and to evince this the following sheets are an essay or
specimen.
Some may think the subject of this discourse trivial, and the persons
herein mentioned not worth remembering. But besides that I could name
some things contested of late with great heat, of as little or less
consequence, the reader may know that the profession of players is not
so totally scandalous, nor all of them so reprobate, but that there has
been found under that name a canonised saint in the primitive church,
as may be seen in the "Roman Martyrology" on the 29th March: his name
_Masculas_, a master of interludes (the Latin is _Archimimus_, and the
French translation _un Maître comedien_) who, under the persecution
of the Vandals in Africa by Geisericus the Aryan king, having endured
many and grievous torments and reproaches for the confession of the
truth, finished the course of this glorious combat, saith the said
"Martyrology."
It appears from this and some further instances in the following
discourse, that there have been players of worthy principles as to
religion, loyalty, and other virtues; and if the major part of them
fall under a different character, it is the general unhappiness of
mankind, that the _most_ are the _worst._
FOOTNOTES:
[79] This preface was omitted by Mr Reed, probably because his copy was
not perfect. It is reprinted from the first edition in 1699, which the
former editor had not been able to procure.--_Collier._
A DIALOGUE, &c.
+Lovewit+, +Trueman+.
+Love.+ Honest old cavalier, well met! faith, I'm glad to see
thee.
+True.+ Have a care what you call me: old is a word of disgrace
among the ladies; to be honest is to be poor and foolish (as
some think); and cavalier is a word as much out of fashion as
any of 'em.
+Love.+ The more's the pity. But what said the fortune-teller
in Ben Jonson's "Masque of Gipsies," to the then Lord Privy
Seal?--
_Honest and old!
In those the good part of a fortune is told._
+True.+ Ben Jonson! how dare you name Ben Jonson in these
times, when we have such a crowd of poets of a quite different
genius, the least of which thinks himself as well able to
correct Ben Jonson as he could a country schoolmistress that
taught to spell!
+Love.+ We have, indeed, poets of a different genius, so are
the plays; but, in my opinion, they are all of 'em (some few
excepted) as much inferior to those of former times, as the
actors now in being (generally speaking) are, compared to
Hart, Mohun, Burt, Lacy, Clun, and Shatterel; for I can reach
no farther backward.
+True.+ I can, and dare assure you, if my fancy and memory are
not partial (for men of my age are apt to be over-indulgent to
the thoughts of their youthful days), I say the actors that I
have seen before the wars--Lowin, Taylor, Pollard, and some
others--were almost as far beyond Hart and his company as those
were beyond these now in being.
+Love.+ I am willing to believe it, but cannot readily; because
I have been told that those whom I mentioned were bred up under
the others of your acquaintance, and followed their manner of
action, which is now lost: so far that, when the question has
been asked why these players do not revive the "Silent Woman"
and some other of Jonson's plays (once of highest esteem),
they have answered, "Truly, because there are none now living
who can rightly humour those parts; for all who related to the
Blackfriars (where they were acted in perfection) are now dead
and almost forgotten."
+True.+ 'Tis very true, Hart and Clun were bred up boys at
the Blackfriars, and acted women's parts. Hart was Robinson's
boy or apprentice; he acted the Duchess in the tragedy of the
"Cardinal," which was the first part that gave him reputation.
Cartwright and Wintershal belonged to the Private House in
Salisbury Court; Burt was a boy, first under Shank at the
Blackfriars, then under Beeston at the Cockpit; and Mohun and
Shatterel were in the same condition with him at the last
place. There Burt used to play the principal women's parts,
in particular Clariana, in "Love's Cruelty;" and at the same
time Mohun acted Bellamente, which part he retained after the
Restoration.
+Love.+ That I have seen, and can well remember. I wish they
had printed in the last age (so I call the times before the
Rebellion) the actors' names over against the parts they acted,
as they have done since the Restoration, and thus one might
have guessed at the action of the men by the parts which we now
read in the old plays.
+True.+ It was not the custom and usage of those days, as it
hath been since. Yet some few old plays there are that have the
names set against the parts, as "The Duchess of Malfy," "The
Picture," "The Roman Actor," "The Deserving Favourite," "The
Wild-Goose Chase" (at the Blackfriars), "The Wedding," "The
Renegado," "The Fair Maid of the West," "Hannibal and Scipio,"
"King John and Matilda" (at the Cockpit), and "Holland's
Leaguer" (at Salisbury Court).
+Love.+ These are but few indeed. But pray, sir, what
master-parts can you remember the old Blackfriar's men to act
in Jonson, Shakespeare, and Fletcher's plays?
+True.+ What I can at present recollect, I'll tell you.
Shakespeare (who, as I have heard, was a much better poet than
player), Burbage, Hemmings, and others of the older sort,
were dead before I knew the town; but in my time, before
the wars, Lowin used to act with mighty applause Falstaff,
Morose, Volpone, and Mammon in the "Alchymist," Melantius
in the "Maid's Tragedy;" and at the same time Amyntor was
played by Stephen Hammerton (who was at first a most noted
and beautiful woman-actor, but afterwards he acted with equal
grace and applause a young lover's part); Taylor acted Hamlet
incomparably well; Jago, Truewit in the "Silent Woman," and
Face in the "Alchymist." Swanston used to play Othello. Pollard
and Robinson were comedians; so was Shank, who used to act Sir
Roger in the "Scornful Lady:" these were of Blackfriars. Those
of principal note at the Cockpit were Perkins, Michael Bowyer,
Sumner, William Allan, and Bird, eminent actors, and Robins, a
comedian. Of the other companies I took little notice.
+Love.+ Were there so many companies?
+True.+ Before the wars there were in being all these
play-houses at the same time. The Blackfriars and Globe on the
Bank-side, a winter and summer house, belonging to the same
company, called the King's Servants; the Cockpit or Phœnix, in
Drury Lane, called the Queen's Servants; the Private House, in
Salisbury Court, called the Prince's Servants; the Fortune,
near Whitecross Street;[80] and the Red Bull, at the upper end
of St John's Street: the two last were mostly frequented by
citizens and the meaner sort of people. All these companies
got money, and lived in reputation, especially those of the
Blackfriars, who were men of grave and sober behaviour.
+Love.+ Which I admire at; that the town, much less than at
present, could then maintain five companies, and yet now two
can hardly subsist.
+True.+ Do not wonder, but consider that, though the town was
then, perhaps, not much more than half so populous as now, yet
then the prices were small (there being no scenes), and better
order kept among the company that came; which made very good
people think a play an innocent diversion for an idle hour
or two, the plays themselves being then, for the most part,
more instructive and moral. Whereas, of late, the play-houses
are so extremely pestered with vizard-masks and their trade
(occasioning continual quarrels and abuses), that many of the
more civilised part of the town are uneasy in the company, and
shun the theatre as they would a house of scandal. It is an
argument of the worth of the plays and actors of the last age,
and easily inferred, that they were much beyond ours in this,
to consider that they could support themselves merely from
their own merit, the weight of the matter, and goodness of the
action, without scenes and machines; whereas the present plays,
with all that show, can hardly draw an audience, unless there
be the additional invitation of a Signer Fedeli, a Monsieur
l'Abbé, or some such foreign regale expressed in the bottom of
the bill.
+Love.+ To waive this digression, I have read of one Edward
Alleyn, a man so famed for excellent action, that among
Ben Jonson's epigrams I find one directed to him, full of
encomium, and concluding thus--
_Wear this renown; 'tis just that who did give
So many poets life, by one should live._
Was he one of the Blackfriars?
+True.+ Never as I have heard (for he was dead before my time).
He was master of a company of his own, for whom he built
the Fortune Playhouse from the ground, a large round brick
building. This is he that grew so rich, that he purchased a
great estate in Surrey and elsewhere; and having no issue, he
built and largely endowed Dulwich College in the year 1619[81],
for a master, a warden, four fellows, twelve aged poor people,
and twelve poor boys, &c. A noble charity!
+Love.+ What kind of play-houses had they before the wars?
+True.+ The Blackfriars, Cockpit, and Salisbury Court were
called private houses, and were very small to what we see now.
The Cockpit was standing since the Restoration, and Rhodes's
company acted there for some time.
+Love.+ I have seen that.
+True.+ Then you have seen the other two in effect, for they
were all three built almost exactly alike for form and bigness.
Here they had pits for the gentry, and acted by candlelight.
The Globe, Fortune, and Bull were large houses, and lay partly
open to the weather, and there they always acted by daylight.
+Love.+ But prythee, Trueman, what became of these players when
the stage was put down, and the Rebellion raised?
+True.+ Most of them, except Lowin, Taylor, and Pollard (who
were superannuated) went into the king's army, and, like good
men and true, served their old master, though in a different,
yet more honourable capacity. Robinson was killed at the taking
of a place (I think Basing House) by Harrison, he that was
after hanged at Charing Cross, who refused him quarter, and
shot him in the head when he had laid down his arms; abusing
Scripture at the same time in saying, _Cursed is he that doth
the work of the Lord negligently_. Mohun was a captain, and
(after the wars were ended here) served in Flanders, where he
received pay as a major. Hart was a lieutenant of horse under
Sir Thomas Dallison, in Prince Rupert's regiment; Burt was
cornet in the same troop, and Shatterel quartermaster. Allen of
the Cockpit was a major, and quartermaster-general at Oxford.
I have not heard of one of these players; of any note that
sided with the other party, but only Swanston; and he professed
himself a Presbyterian, took up the trade of a jeweller, and
lived in Aldermanbury, within the territory of Father Calamy.
The rest either lost or exposed their lives for their king.
When the wars were over, and the Royalists totally subdued,
most of 'em who were left alive gathered to London, and for a
subsistence endeavoured to revive their old trade privately.
They made up one company out of all the scattered members of
several; and in the winter before the king's murder, 1648, they
ventured to act some plays, with as much caution and privacy as
could be, at the Cockpit. They continued undisturbed for three
or four days; but at last, as they were presenting the tragedy
of the "Bloody Brother" (in which Lowin acted Aubery: Taylor,
Rollo; Pollard, the Cook; Burt, Latorch; and, I think, Hart,
Otto), a party of foot-soldiers beset the house, surprised 'em
about the middle of the play,[82] and carried 'em away in their
habits, not admitting them to shift, to Hatton House, then a
prison, where, having detained them some time, they plundered
them of their clothes, and let 'em loose again. Afterwards,
in Oliver's time, they used to act privately, three or four
miles, or more, out of town, now here, now there: sometimes in
noblemen's houses, in particular, Holland House at Kensington,
where the nobility and gentry who met (but in no great numbers)
used to make a sum for them, each giving a broad piece, or the
like. And Alexander Goffe, the woman-actor at Blackfriars (who
had made himself known to persons of quality), used to be the
jackal, and give notice of time and place. At Christmas and
Bartholomew Fair, they used to bribe the officer who commanded
the guard at Whitehall, and were thereupon connived at to
act for a few days at the Red Bull,[83] but were sometimes,
notwithstanding, disturbed by soldiers. Some picked up a
little money by publishing the copies of plays never before
printed, but kept up in manuscript. For instance, in the year
1652, Beaumont and Fletcher's "Wild-Goose Chase" was printed
in folio, for the public use of all the ingenious, as the
title-page says, and private benefit of John Lowin and Joseph
Taylor, servants to his late majesty; and by them dedicated
to the honoured few lovers of dramatic poesy, wherein they
modestly intimate their wants, and that with sufficient cause;
for whatever they were before the wars, they were after reduced
to a necessitous condition. Lowin, in his latter days, kept an
inn, the Three Pigeons at Brentford, where he died very old,
for he was an actor of eminent note in the reign of King James
I.; and his poverty was as great as his age. Taylor died at
Richmond, and was there buried. Pollard, who lived single, and
had a competent estate, retired to some relations he had in the
country, and there ended his life. Perkins and Sumner of the
Cockpit kept house together at Clerkenwell, and were there
buried. These all died some years before the Restoration; what
followed after, I need not tell you; you can easily remember.
+Love.+ Yes; presently after the Restoration, the king's
players acted publicly at the Red Bull for some time, and
then removed to a new-built play-house in Vere Street, by
Clare Market. There they continued for a year or two, and
then removed to the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane, where they
first made use of scenes, which had been a little before
introduced upon the public stage by Sir William Davenant, at
the Duke's Old Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, but afterwards
very much improved, with the addition of curious machines,
by Mr Betterton, at the New Theatre in Dorset Garden, to the
great expense and continual charge of the players. This much
impaired their profit o'er what it was before; for I have been
informed by one of 'em, that for several years next after the
Restoration every whole sharer in Mr Hart's company got £1000
_per ann._ About the same time that scenes first entered upon
the stage at London, women were taught to act their own parts;
since when we have seen at both houses several actresses,
justly famed, as well for beauty as perfect good action.
And some plays, in particular the "Parson's Wedding," have
been presented all by women, as formerly all by men. Thus it
continued for about twenty years, when Mr Hart, and some of the
old men, began to grow weary, and were minded to leave off.
Then the two companies thought fit to unite; but of late, you
see, they have thought it no less fit to divide again, though
both companies keep the same name of His Majesty's Servants.
All this while the play-house music improved yearly, and is now
arrived to greater perfection than ever I knew it. Yet for
all these advantages, the reputation of the stage and people's
affection to it are much decayed. Some were lately severe
against it, and would hardly allow stage-plays fit to be longer
permitted. Have you seen Mr Collier's book?
+True.+ Yes, and his opposers'.
+Love.+ And what think you?
+True.+ In my mind, Mr Collier's reflections are pertinent,
and true in the main; the book ingeniously wrote, and well
intended; but he has overshot himself in some places, and his
respondents perhaps in more. My affection inclines me not to
engage on either side, but rather mediate. If there be abuses
relating to the stage--which, I think, is too apparent--let
the abuse be reformed, and not the use, for that reason only,
abolished. 'Twas an old saying, when I was a boy--
_Absit abusus, non desit totaliter usus._
I shall not run through Mr Collier's book; I will only touch a
little on two or three general notions, in which, I think, he
may be mistaken. What he urges out of the primitive councils
and fathers of the Church seems to me to be directed against
the heathen plays, which were a sort of religious worship
with them, to the honour of Ceres, Flora, or some of their
false deities. They had always a little altar on their stages,
as appears plain enough from some places in Plautus. And Mr
Collier himself, p. 235, tells us out of Livy that plays were
brought in, upon the score of religion, to pacify the gods.
No wonder, then, they forbid Christians to be present at
them, for it was almost the same as to be present at their
sacrifices. We must also observe that this was in the infancy
of Christianity, when the Church was under severe and almost
continual persecutions, and when all its true members were
of most strict and exemplary lives, not knowing when they
should be called to the stake, or thrown to wild beasts.
They communicated daily, and expected death hourly; as their
thoughts were intent upon the next world, they abstained almost
wholly from all diversions and pleasures (though lawful and
innocent) in this. Afterwards, when persecution ceased, and
the Church flourished, Christians, being then freed from their
former terrors, allowed themselves, at proper times, the lawful
recreations of conversations, and among other, no doubt, this
of shows and representations. After this time, the censures of
the Church indeed might be continued or revived upon occasion
against plays and players; though, in my opinion, it cannot
be understood generally, but only against such players who
were of vicious and licentious lives, and represented profane
subjects, inconsistent with the morals and probity of manners
requisite to Christians, and frequented chiefly by such loose
and debauched people as were much more apt to corrupt than
divert those who associated with them. I say, I cannot think
the canons and censures of the fathers can be applied to
all players, _quatenus_ players; for if so, how could plays
be continued among the Christians, as they were, of divine
subjects and scriptural stories? A late French author, speaking
of the Hotel de Bourgogne, a play-house in Paris, says that
the ancient dukes of that name gave it to the Brotherhood of
the Passion, established in the church of Trinity Hospital,
in the Rue St Denis, on condition that they should represent
here interludes of devotion; and adds, that there have been
public shows in this place six hundred years ago. The Spanish
and Portuguese continue still to have, for the most part, such
ecclesiastical stories for the subject of their plays; and if
we may believe Gage, they are acted in their churches in Mexico
and the Spanish West Indies.
+Love.+ That's a great way off, Trueman; I had rather you would
come nearer home, and confine your discourse to Old England.
+True.+ So I intend. The same has been done here in England;
for otherwise, how comes it to be prohibited in the 88th Canon,
among those passed in convocation, 1603? Certain it is that our
ancient plays were of religious subjects, and had for their
actors, if not priests, yet men relating to the Church.
+Love.+ How does that appear?
+True.+ Nothing clearer. Stow, in his "Survey of London,"
has one chapter _Of the Sports and Pastimes of old time used
in this City_; and there he tells us, that in the year 1391,
which was 15 Richard II., a stage-play was played by the parish
clerks of London, at the Skinner's Well beside Smithfield,
which play continued three days together, the king, queen, and
nobles of the realm being present. And another was played in
the year 1409, 11 Henry IV., which lasted eight days, and was
of matter from the creation of the world, whereat were present
most part of the nobility and gentry of England. Sir William
Dugdale, in his "Antiquities of Warwickshire," p. 116, speaking
of the Grayfriars or Franciscans at Coventry, says: "Before the
suppression of the monasteries, this city was very famous for
the pageants that were played therein upon Corpus-Christi Day;
which pageants, being acted with mighty state and reverence by
the friars of this house, had theatres for the several scenes
very large and high, placed upon wheels, and drawn to all
the eminent parts of the city, for the better advantage of
the spectators, and contained the story of the New Testament,
composed in old English rhyme." An ancient manuscript of the
same is now to be seen in the Cottonian Library, _Sub Effig.
Vesp. D. 8_. Since the Reformation, in Queen Elizabeth's time,
plays were frequently acted by quiristers and singing-boys; and
several of our old comedies have printed in the title-page,
"acted by the children of Paul's" (not the school, but the
church); others, "by the children of her majesty's chapel:" in
particular, "Cynthia's Revels" and "The Poetaster" were played
by them, who were at that time famous for good action. Among
Ben Jonson's epigrams you may find an epitaph on S. P. (_Sal.
Pavy_), one of the children of Queen Elizabeth's chapel, part
of which runs thus--
_Years he counted scarce thirteen,
When fates turn'd cruel,
Yet three fill'd zodiacs he had been
The stage's jewel;
And did act (what now we moan)
Old men so duly,
As, sooth, the Parcæ thought him one,
He play'd so truly._
Some of these chapel-boys, when they grew men, became actors
at the Blackfriars; such were Nathan. Field[84] and John
Underwood. Now I can hardly imagine that such plays and
players as these are included in the severe censure of the
councils and fathers; but such only who are truly within the
character given by Didacus de Tapia, cited by Mr Collier, p.
276, viz., _The infamous playhouse; a place of contradiction
to the strictness and sobriety of religion; a place hated by
God, and haunted by the devil_. And for such I have as great an
abhorrence as any man.
+Love.+ Can you guess of what antiquity the representing of
religious matters on the stage hath been in England?
+True.+ How long before the Conquest, I know not, but that it
was used in London not long after, appears by Fitz-Stephen, an
author who wrote in the reign of King Henry the Second.[85]
His words are, _Londonia pro spectaculis theatralibus, pro
ludis scenicis, ludos habet sanctiores, representationes
miraculorum, quæ sancti confessores operati sunt, seu
repræsentationes passionum quibus claruit constantia martyrum._
Of this the manuscript which I lately mentioned, in the
Cottonian library, is a notable instance. Sir William Dugdale
cites this manuscript by the title of _Ludus Coventriæ_;
but in the printed Catalogue of that library, p. 113, it is
named thus, A Collection of Plays in Old English Metre; h.
e. _Dramata sacra, in quibus exhibentur historiæ Veteris et
N. Testamenti, introductis quasi in scenam personis illic
memoratis, quas secum invicem colloquentes pro ingenio fingit
poeta. Videntur olim coram populo, sive ad instruendum, sive
ad placendum, a fratribus mendicantibus repræsentata_. It
appears by the latter end of the prologue, that these plays or
interludes were not only played at Coventry, but in the other
towns and places upon occasion. And possibly this may be the
same play which Stow tells us was played in the reign of King
Henry IV., which lasted for eight days. The book seems by the
character and language to be at least 300 years old. It begins
with a general prologue, giving the arguments of 40 pageants or
gesticulations (which were as so many several acts or scenes)
representing all the histories of both testaments, from the
creation to the choosing of St _Matthias_ to be an apostle. The
stories of the New Testament are more largely expressed, viz.,
the Annunciation, Nativity, Visitation; but more especially
all matters relating to the Passion, very particularly, the
Resurrection, Ascension, the Choice of St _Matthias_. After
which is also represented the Assumption, and Last Judgment.
All these things were treated of in a very homely style, as we
now think, infinitely below the dignity of the subject; but
it seems the _goût_ of that age was not so nice and delicate
in these matters; the plain and incurious judgment of our
ancestors being prepared with favour, and taking everything
by the right and easiest handle. For example, in the scene
relating to the Visitation:
Maria.[86] _But, husband, of oo thyng I pray you most mekely,
I have knowing that our cosyn Elizabeth with childe is,
That it please yow to go to her hastyly,
If ought we myth comfort her, it were to me blys._
Joseph. _A Gods sake, is she with child, sche?
Than will her husband Zachary be mery.
In Montana they dwelle, fer hence, so mot y[87] the,
In the city of Juda, I know it verily;
It is hence, I trowe, myles two a fifty,
We ar like to be wery, or we come at that same,
I wole with a good will, blessyd wyff Mary;
Now go we forth then in Goddys name_, &c.
A little before the Resurrection:--_Nunc dormient milites, et
veniet anima Christi de inferno, cum_ Adam _et_ Eva, Abraham,
John Baptist, _et aliis._
Anima Christi. _Come forth, Adam, and Eve with the,
And all my fryndes that herein be,
In paradys come forth with me
In blysse for to dwelle.
The fende of hell that is your foo
He shall be wrappyd and woundyn in woo:
Fro wo to welth now shall ye go,
With myrth evyrmore to melle._
Adam. _I thank the, Lord, of thy grete grace
That now is forgiven my gret trespace,
Now shall we dwellyn in blyssful place, &c._
The last scene or pageant, which represents the day of
judgment, begins thus:[88]
_Michael._ Surgite, _All men aryse_,
Venite ad judicium,
_For now is set the High Justice,
And hath assignyd the day of dome:
Rape you redyly to this grett assyse.
Both gret and small, all and sum,
And of yowr answer you now avise,
What you shall say, when that yow com, &c._
These and such like were the plays, which in former ages were
presented publicly. Whether they had any settled and constant
houses for that purpose, does not appear; I suppose not. But
it is notorious that in former times there was hardly ever any
solemn reception of princes or noble persons, but pageants,
that is, stages erected in the open street, were part of the
entertainment: on which there were speeches by one or more
persons, in the nature of scenes; and be sure one of the
speakers must be some saint of the same name with the party to
whom the honour is intended. For instance, there is an ancient
manuscript at Coventry, called the "Old Leet Book," wherein is
set down in a very particular manner, p. 168, the reception of
Queen Margaret, wife of Henry VI. who came to Coventry; and, I
think, with her young son, Prince Edward, on the Feast of the
Exaltation of the Holy Cross, 35 Hen. VI. 1456. Many pageants
and speeches were made for her welcome; out of all which I
shall observe but two or three in the old English, as it is
recorded:--
St. Edward. _Moder of mekenes, dame Margarete, princes most excellent,
I king Edward wellcome you with affection cordial,
Testefying to your highnes mekely myn entent.
For the wele of the king and you hertily pray I shall,
And for prince Edward my gostly chylde, who I love principal,
Praying the, John Evangelist, my help therein to be,
On that condition right humbly I give this ring to the._
John Evangelist. _Holy Edward, crowned king, brother in verginity,
My power plainly I will prefer thy will to amplefy.
Most excellent princes of wymen mortal, your bedeman will I be.
I know your life so vertuous that God is pleased thereby.
The birth of you unto this reme shall cause great melody:
The vertuous voice of prince Edward shall dayly well encrease,
St Edward his Godfader, and I shall prey therefore doubtlese._
St. Margaret. _Most notabul princes of wymen earthle,
Dame Margarete, the chefe myrth of this empyre,
Ye be hertely welcome to this cyte.
To the plesure of your highnesse I will set my desyre;
Both nature and gentlenesse doth me require,
Seth we be both of one name, to shew you kindnesse;
Wherefore by my power ye shall have no distresse._
_I shall pray to the prince that is endlese
To socour you with solas of his high grace_;
_He will here my petition, this is doubtlesse,
For I wrought all my life that his will wace.
Therefore, lady, when you be in any dredfull case,
Call on me boldly, therof I pray you,
And trust in me feythfully, I will do that may pay you._
In the next reign, as appears in the same book, fol. 221,
another Prince Edward, son of King Edward IV., came to Coventry
on the 28th of April, 14 Edward IV. 1474, and was entertained
with many pageants and speeches, among which I shall observe
only two; one was of St Edward again, who was then made to
speak thus:--
_Noble Prince Edward, my cousin and my knight,
And very prince of our line com yn dissent,
I St Edward have pursued for your faders imperial right,
Whereof he was excluded by full furious intent.
Unto this your chamber, as prince full excellent,
Ye be right welcome. Thanked be Crist of his sonde,
For that that was ours is now in your faders honde._
The other speech was from St George, and thus saith the book:--
"---- _Also upon the condite in the Croscheping was St George
armed, and a king's daughter kneling afore him with a lamb, and
the fader and the moder being in a towre aboven beholding St
George saving their daughter from the dragon, and the condite
renning wine in four places, and minstralcy of organ playing,
and St George having this speech underwritten_"--
_O mighty God, our all succour celestiall,
Which this royme hast given in dower
To thi moder, and to me George protection perpetuall_:
_It to defend from enimys fer and nere,
And as this mayden defended was here
By that grace from this dragons devour,
So, Lord, preserve this noble prince and ever be his socour._
+Love.+ I perceive these holy matters consisted very much of
praying; but I pity poor St Edward the Confessor who, in the
compass of a few years, was made to promise his favour and
assistance to two young princes, of the same name indeed, but
of as different and opposite interests as the two poles. I know
not how he could perform to both.
+True.+ Alas! they were both unhappy, notwithstanding these
fine shows and seeming caresses of fortune; being both
murdered, one by the hand, the other by the procurement, of
Richard, Duke of Gloucester. I will produce but one example
more of this sort of action or representations; and that is of
later time, and an instance of much higher nature than any yet
mentioned; it was at the marriage of Prince Arthur, eldest son
of King Henry VII., to the Princess Catherine of Spain, ann.
1501. Her passage through London was very magnificent, as I
have read it described in old MS. chronicle of that time.[89]
The pageants and speeches were many; the persons represented,
St Catherine, St Ursula, a senator, noblesse, virtue, an
angel, King Alphonse, Job, Boetius, &c. Among others, one is
thus described:--_"When this spech was ended, she held on
her way tyll she came unto the standard in Chepe, where was
ordeyned the fifth paygend made like an hevyn, theryn syttyng
a personage representing the fader of hevyn, beyng all formyd
of gold, and brennyng beffor his trone vii candyilis of wax
standyng in vii candylstykis of gold, the said personage beyng
environed with sundry hyrarchies off angelis, and sytting in
a cope of most rich cloth of tyssu, garnishyd wyth stoon and
perle in most sumptuous wyse. Foragain which said pagend upon
the sowth syde of the strete stood at that tyme, in a hows
wheryn that tyme dwellyd William Geffrey habyrdasher, the king,
the queene, my lady the kingys moder, my lord of Oxynfford,
wyth many other lordys and ladys, and perys of this realm, wyth
also certayn ambassadors of France lately sent from the French
king: and so passyng the said estatys, eyther guyving to other
due and convenyent saluts and countenancs, so sone as hyr grace
was approachid unto the sayd pagend, the fadyr began his spech
as folowyth"_
Hunc veneram locum, septeno lumine septum.
Dignumque Arthuri totidem astra micant.
_I am begynyng and ende, that made ech creature.
My sylfe, and for my sylfe, but man especially
Both male and female, made aftyr myne aun fygure,
Whom I joyned togydyr in matrimony,
And that in paradyse, declaring opynly
That men shall weddying in my chyrch solempnize,
Fygurid and signifyed by the erthly paradyze._
_In thys my chyrch I am allway recydent
As my chyeff tabernacle, and most chosyn place,
Among these goldyn condylstikkis, which represent
My catholyk chyrch shynyng affor my face,
With lyght of feyth, wisdom, doctryne, and grace,
And mervelously eke enflamyd toward me
Wyth the [un]extyngwible fyre of charyte._
_Wherefore, my welbelovid dowthyr Katharyn,
Syth I have made yow to myne awn semblance
In my chyrch to be maried, and your noble childryn
To regn in this land as in their enherytance,
Se that ye have me in speciall remembrance:
Love me and my chyrch yowr spiritual modyr.
For ye, dispysing that oon, dyspyse that othyr._
_Look that ye walk in my precepts, and obey them well:
And here I give you the same blyssyng, that I
Gave my well beloved chylder of Israell;
Blyssyd be the fruyt of your bely;
Yower substance and frutys I shall encrease and multyply;
Yower rebellious enimyes I shall put in yowr hand,
Encreasing in honour both yow and your land._
+Love.+ This would be censured now-a-days as profane to the
highest degree.
+True.+ No doubt on't: yet you see there was a time, when
people were not so nicely censorious in these matters, but were
willing to take things in the best sense; and then this was
thought a noble entertainment for the greatest king in Europe
(such I esteem king Henry VII. at that time) and proper for
that day of mighty joy and triumph. And I must farther observe
out of Lord Bacon's "History of Henry VII." that the chief man
who had the care of that day's proceedings was Bishop Fox, a
grave counsellor for war or peace, and also a good surveyor
of works, and a good master of ceremonies; and it seems he
approv'd it. The said Lord Bacon tells us farther that,
whosoever had those toys in compiling, they were not altogether
pedantical.
+Love.+ These things, however, are far from that which we
understand by the name of a play.
+True.+ It may be so; but these were the plays of those times.
Afterwards, in the reign of King Henry VIII., both the subject
and form of these plays began to alter, and have since varied
more and more. I have by me a thing called "A Merry Play
between the Pardoner and the Friar, the Curate and Neighbour
Pratt." Printed the 5th of April 1533, which was 24 Henry VIII.
(a few years before the dissolution of monasteries.) The design
of this play was to ridicule Friars and Pardoners. Of which
I'll give you a taste. To begin it, the Friar enters with these
words:[90]
Deus hic; _the holy trynyte
Preserve all that now here be._
_Dere bretherne, yf ye will consyder
The cause why I am com hyder,
Ye wolde be glad to knowe my entent:
For I com not hyther for mony nor for rent,
I com not hyther for meat nor for meale,
But I com hyther for your soules heale_, &c.
After a long preamble he addresses himself to preach, when the
Pardoner enters with these words:
_God and St Leonarde send ye all his grace,
As many as ben assembled in this place_, &c.
and makes a long speech, showing his bulls and his reliques, in
order to sell his pardons, for the raising some money towards
the rebuilding
_Of the holy chappell of sweet saynt Leonarde,
Which late by fyre was destroyed and marde._
Both these speaking together with continual interruption, at
last they fall together by the ears. Here the curate enters
(for you must know the scene lies in the church):
_Hold your hands; a vengeance on ye both two,
That ever ye came hyther to make this ado,
To polute my chyrche_, &c.
Friar. _Mayster Parson, I marvayll ye will give lycence
To this false knave in this audience
To publish his ragman rolles with lyes.
I desyred hym ywys more than ones or twyse
To hold his peas tyll that I had done,
But he would here no more than the man in the mone._
Pard. _Why sholde I suffre the, more than thou me?
Mayster Parson gave me lycence before the.
And I wolde thou knowest it I have relykes here,
Other maner stuffe than thou dost bere:
I wyll edefy more with the syght of it,
Than with all thy pratynge of holy wryt;
For that except that the precher himselfe lyve well,
His predycacyon wyll helpe never a dell_, &c.
Par. _No more of this wranglyng in my chyrch:
I shrewe yowr hertys bothe for this lurche.
Is there any blood shed here between these knaves?
Thanked be God they had no stavys,
Nor egotoles, for then it had ben wronge,
Well, ye shall synge another songe._
Here he calls his neighbour Prat, the constable, with design
to apprehend 'em, and set 'em in the stocks. But the Friar
and Pardoner prove sturdy, and will not be stocked, but fall
upon the poor Parson and Constable, and bang them both so
well-favouredly, that at last they are glad to let 'em go at
liberty: and so the farce ends with a drawn battle. Such as
this were the plays of that age, acted in gentlemen's halls at
Christmas or such like festival times by the servants of the
family or strollers who went about, and made it a trade. It is
not unlikely that the[91] lords in those days and persons of
eminent quality had their several gangs of players, as some
have now of fiddlers, to whom they give cloaks and badges.
The first comedy that I have seen, that looks like regular,
is "Gammer Gurton's Needle," writ,[92] I think, in the reign
of King Edward VI. This is composed of five acts, the scenes
unbroken, and the unities of time and place duly observed. It
was acted at Christ's College in Cambridge, there not being as
yet any settled and public theatres.
+Love.+ I observe, Trueman, from what you have said, that plays
in England had a beginning much like those of Greece; the
Monologues and Pageants, drawn from place to place on wheels,
answer exactly to the cart of Thespis, and the improvements
have been by such little steps and degrees as among the
ancients, till at last, to use the words of Sir George Buck
(in his "Third University of England"), "Dramatic poesy is so
lively express'd and represented upon the public stages and
theatres of this city, as Rome in the auge (the highest pitch)
of her pomp and glory, never saw it better performed, I mean
(says he) in respect of the action and art, and not of the
cost and sumptuousness." This he writ about the year 1631. But
can you inform me, Trueman, when the public theatres were first
erected for this purpose in London?
+True.+ Not certainly; but I presume about the beginning of
Queen Elizabeth's reign. For Stow, in his "Survey of London"
(which book was first printed in the year 1598), says--"Of
late years, in place of these stage-plays (_i.e._, those
of religious matters) have been used comedies, tragedies,
interludes, and histories, both true and feigned: for the
acting whereof certain public places, as the Theatre, the
Curtine, &c., have been erected." And the continuator of
"Stow's Annals," p. 1004, says that in sixty years before the
publication of that book (which was Ann. Dom. 1529), no less
than seventeen public stages, or common playhouses, had been
built in and about London. In which number he reckons five
inns or common hostelries to have been in his time turned into
playhouses--one Cockpit, Saint Paul's Singing-school, one in
the Blackfriars, one in the Whitefriars, and one in former
time at Newington Butts. And adds: Before the space of sixty
years past, I never knew, heard, or read of any such theatres,
stages, or playhouses, as have been purposely built within
man's memory.
+Love.+ After all, I have been told that stage-plays are
inconsistent with the laws of this kingdom, and players made
rogues by statute.
+True.+ He that told you so strained a point of truth. I
never met with any law wholly to suppress them: sometimes,
indeed, they have been prohibited for a season; as in times of
Lent, general mourning, or public calamities, or upon other
occasions, when the government saw fit. Thus, by proclamation
7th of April, in the first year of Queen Elizabeth, plays and
interludes were forbid until All-hallow-tide next following.
Hollinshed, p. 1184.[93] Some statutes have been made for
their regulation or information, not general suppression.
By the stat. 39 Eliz. cap. 4[94] (which was made for the
suppression of rogues, vagabonds, and sturdy beggars) it is
enacted "_That all persons that be, or utter themselves to be,
proctors, procurers, patent gatherers, or collectors for goals,
prisons, or hospitals, or fencers, bearwards, common players of
interludes and minstrels, wandering abroad (other than players
of interludes belonging to any baron of this realm, or any
other honourable personage of greater degree, to be authoris'd
to play under the hand and seal of arms of such baron or
personage) all juglers, tinkers, pedlars, and petty chapmen,
wand'ring abroad, all wand'ring persons, &c., able in body,
using loytering, and refusing to work for such reasonable wages
as is commonly given, &c. These shall be adjudged and deemed
rogues, vagabonds, and sturdy beggars, and punished as such_."
+Love.+ But this privilege of authorising or licensing is taken
away by the stat. Jac. I., ch. 7, s. 1., and therefore all of
them, as Mr Collier says, p. 242, are expressly brought under
the aforesaid penalty without distinction.
+True.+ If he means all players, without distinction, 'tis a
great mistake. For the force of the queen's statute extends
only to wandering players, and not to such as are the king or
queen's servants, and established in settled houses by royal
authority. On such the ill character of vagrant players (or,
as they are now called, strollers) can cast no more aspersion,
than the wandering proctors, in the same statute mentioned,
on those of Doctors'-Commons. By a stat. made 3 Jac. I.[95]
ch. 21, it was enacted, "_That if any person shall, in any
stage-play, interlude, shew, may-game or pageant, jestingly or
prophanely speak or use the holy name of God, Christ Jesus,
or of the Trinity, he shall forfeit for every such offence_
10_l._" The stat. 1 Charles I. ch. 1,[96] enacts, "_That no
meetings, assemblies, or concourse of people shall be out
of their own parishes, on the Lord's day, for any sports
or pastime whatsoever, nor any bear-baiting, bull-baiting,
interludes, common-plays, or other unlawful exercises and
pastimes used by any person or persons within their own,
parishes_." These are all the statutes that I can think of,
relating to the stage and players; but nothing to suppress
them totally, till the two ordinances of the Long Parliament,
one of the 22d of October 1647, the other of the 11th [9th]
of Feb. 1647;[97] by which all stage-plays and interludes are
absolutely forbid; the stages, seats, galleries, &c., to be
pulled down; all players, tho' calling themselves the king or
queen's servants, if convicted of acting within two months
before such conviction, to be punished as rogues according
to law; the money received by them to go to the poor of the
parish; and every spectator to pay five shillings to the use of
the poor. Also cock-fighting was prohibited by one of Oliver's
Acts of 31st March 1654. But I suppose nobody pretends these
things to be laws. I could say more on this subject, but I must
break off here and leave you, Lovewit; my occasions require it.
+Love.+ Farewell, old Cavalier.
+True.+ 'Tis properly said; we are almost all of us now gone
and forgotten.
FOOTNOTES:
[80] This is afterwards said to be a large round brick building.
Mr Steevens supposes, from the extent of it, that all the actors
resided within its precincts. It was pulled down about the time of the
Restoration, soon after the appearance of the following advertisement
in the _Mercurius Politicus_, Tuesday, Feb. 14, to Tuesday, Feb. 21,
1661. "The Fortune Playhouse, situate between Whitecross Street and
Golding Square, in the parish of St Giles, Cripplegate, with the ground
thereunto belonging, is to be let to be built upon; where twenty-three
tenements may be erected, with gardens; and a street may be cut through
for the better accommodation of the buildings." (See edition of
Shakespeare, 1778, i. 267.) From the following passage of "The English
Traveller," by Heywood, 1633, sig. I 3, we find there was a picture or
statue of Fortune before the building.
"I'le rather stand here
Like a statue in the forefront of your house
For ever; like the picture of Dame Fortune
Before the Fortune Play-house."
[81] The Letters Patent under the Great Seal bear date the 21st June
1619.
[82] This is confirmed by Kirkman who, in his preface to "The Wits;
or, Sport upon Sport," 1672, says, The small compositions of which his
work was made up, being scenes and parts of plays, were at this period
"liked and approved by all, and they were the fittest for the actors
to represent, there being little cost in cloaths, which often were in
great danger to be seized by the then soldiers; who, as the poet sayes,
_Enter the red coat, exit hat and cloak_, was very true, not only in
the audience but the actors too, who were commonly not only stripp'd,
but many times imprisoned, till they paid such ransom as the souldiers
would impose upon them: so that it was hazardous to act any thing that
required any good cloaths: instead of which painted cloath many times
served the turn to represent rich habits."
[83] "When the publique Theatres were shut up, and the actors forbidden
to present us with any of their tragedies, because we had enough of
that in earnest: and comedies, because the vices of the age were too
lively and smartly represented; then all that we could divert ourselves
with, were these humours and pieces of plays which, passing under
the name of a merry conceited fellow, called "Bottom the Weaver,"
"Simpleton the Smith," "John Swabber," or some such title, were
only allowed us, and that but by stealth too, and under pretence of
rope-dancing or the like; and these being all that was permitted us,
great was the confluence of the auditors; and these small things were
as profitable and as great get-pennies to the actors as any of our late
famed plays. I have seen _the Red Bull Playhouse_, which was a large
one, so full, that as many went back for want of room as had entered;
and as meanly as you may now think of these drols, they were then acted
by the best comedians then and now in being; and I may say by some that
then exceeded all now living, by name, the incomparable Robert Cox, who
was not only the principal actor, but also the contriver and author of
most of these farces."--Kirkman's Preface to "The Wits, or Sport upon
Sport," 1672.
[84] [Concerning Field the actor and dramatist, see introduction to his
"Woman is a Weathercock," &c., xi. 3-6, 89-91, and Collier's "Memoirs
of Actors," p. 206, _et seq._]
Nathaniel Field, on the authority of Roberts the player (see his answer
to Mr Pope's preface to Shakespeare), has been considered as the author
of two plays: "A Woman is a Weathercocke," 1612, and "Amends for
Ladies," 1618. He is also supposed to be the same person who assisted
Massinger in "The Fatal Dowry." I suspect that Roberts was mistaken
in these assertions, as I do not find any contemporary writer speak
of Field as an author; nor is it mentioned by Langbaine, who would
have noticed it, had he known the fact. It seems more probable that
the writer of these plays was Nathaniel Field, M.A., Fellow of New
College, Oxford, who wrote some Latin verses, printed in "Oxoniensis
Academiæ Parentalia, 1625," and who, being of the same university
with Massinger, might join with him, while there, in the composition
of the play ascribed to them. Nathaniel Field above mentioned was
celebrated in the part of "Bussy D'Ambois," first printed in 1607. On
the republication of that play in 1641, he is thus spoken of in the
Prologue:--