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 JOHN FORD.
 
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 THE MERMAID SERIES. 
 THE BEST PLAYS OF THE OLD DRAMATISTS. 
 
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 MARLOWE. Edited by HAVELOCK ELLIS. With a General 
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 MASSINGER. Edited by ARTHUR SYMONS. 
 MIDDLETON. With an Introduction by A. C. SWINBURNE. 
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 THE BEST PLAYS OF THE OLD DRAMATISTS. 
 
 JOHN FORD 
 
 EDITED WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES 
 
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 UNEXPURGATED EDITION 
 
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 " What things have we seen 
 
 Done at the Mermaid ! heard words that have been 
 So nimble, and so full of subtle flame, 
 As if that every one from whence they came 
 Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest, 
 And had resolved to live a fool the rest 
 Of his dull life." 
 
 Master Francis Beaumont to Ben Jonson. 
 
 " Souls of Poets dead and gone, 
 AVhat Elysium have ye known, 
 Happy field or mossy cavern, 
 Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern ? " 
 
 Keats. 
 
 LONDON : 
 J. S. VIRTUE AND CO., LIMITED, PRINTERS, CITY ROAD.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 JOHN FORD .... 
 THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY 
 'Tis PITY SHE'S A WHORE 
 THE BROKEN HEART . 
 LOVE'S SACRIFICE 
 PERKIN WARBECK 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 vii 
 
 93 
 
 183 
 283 
 
 377
 
 DO not know where to find in any 
 play a catastrophe so grand, so 
 solemn, and so surprising as this [of 
 The Broken Hearf\. This is in- 
 deed, according to Milton, to " de- 
 scribe high passions and high ac- 
 tions." The fortitude of the Spartan 
 boy who let a beast gnaw out his 
 bowels till he died without expres- 
 sing a groan, is a faint bodily image 
 of this dilaceration of the spirit and 
 exenteration of the inmost mind, which Calantha with a 
 holy violence against her nature keeps closely covered, 
 till the last duties of a wife and a queen are fulfilled. 
 Stories of martyrdom are but of chains and the stake ; 
 a little bodily suffering ; these torments 
 
 On the purest spirits prey 
 
 As on entrails, joints, and limbs, 
 
 With answerable pains, but more intense. 
 
 What a noble thing is the soul in its strength and in its 
 weaknesses ! Who would be less weak than Calantha ? 
 Who can be so strong ? The expression of this transcendent 
 scene almost bears me in imagination to Calvary and the 
 Cross ; and I seem to perceive some analogy between the 
 scenical sufferings which I am here contemplating, and the 
 real agonies of that final completion to which I dare no 
 more than hint a reference. 
 
 Ford was of the first order of poets. He sought for 
 sublimity, not by parcels in metaphors or visible images, 
 but directly where she has her full residence in the heart of 
 man ; in the actions and sufferings of the greatest minds. 
 There is a grandeur of the soul above mountains, seas, and 
 the elements. Even in the poor perverted reason of Gio- 
 vanni and Annabella we discover traces of that fiery 
 particle, which in the irregular starting from out of the 
 road of beaten action, discovers something of a right line 
 even in obliquity, and shows hints of an improvable great- 
 ness in the lowest descents and degradations of our nature. 
 
 CHARLES LAMB.
 
 FOT^D. 
 
 1586. John Ford was baptised at Ilsington, in Devonshire, on 
 April 1 7th. 
 
 1602. He was admitted to the Middle Temple. 
 
 1606. He published Fame's Memorial, an elegiac poem on the 
 death of the Earl of Devonshire, and dedicated it to the 
 Countess. Also, a pamphlet called Honor Triutrtphant, 
 " in honour of all faire ladies and in defence of these foure 
 positions following I, Knights in Ladies service have no 
 free-will. 2, Beauty is the mainteiner of valour. 3, Faire 
 Lady was never false. 4, Perfect lovers are onely wise." 
 
 1612. The Prince of Wales died. 
 
 1613. Ford's comedy, An ill Beginning has a good End, was 
 
 acted at the Cockpit. This was one of the plays destroyed 
 by Warburton's cook. 
 
 1615. Ford's Sir Thomas Overbury 's Life and untimely Death 
 
 (an event which had taken place two years previously), 
 probably an elegy or a pamphlet, was entered in the 
 Stationers' books. 
 
 1616. Shakespeare died. 
 
 1618. Sir Walter Raleigh executed. 
 
 1620. Ford published The Line of Life, a prose pamphlet. 
 1622. The Witch of Edmonton, a tragedy by Rowley, Dekker, 
 Ford, &c., was probably acted about this time. 
 
 1624. The Sun's Darling, a masque by Ford and Dekker, was 
 
 acted at the Cockpit. 
 
 1625. Fletcher died. 
 
 1628. The Lover's Melancholy- w.is acted at the Blackfiiars and 
 Globe theatres. 
 
 1631. Dryden born. 
 
 1632. Prynne published his Histrio-Mastix. 
 
 1633. 'Tis Pity She's a Whore, The Broken Heart, and Love's 
 
 Sacrifice were all printed in this year. 
 
 1634. Perkin Warbecb printed.
 
 viii JOHN FORD. 
 
 1635. Ben Jonson died. 
 
 1637. Hampden refused to pay ship-money. 
 
 1638. Ford's comedy, The Fancies Chaste and Noble, was printed ; 
 
 and his trn^i-comedy, The Lady's Trial, acted at the 
 Cockpit. 1 
 
 1639. Massinger died. It is probable that at about this period 
 
 Ford left London to live at his mtive place, Ilsington. 
 
 1640. Election of the Long Parliament. 
 
 1641. Actors lament their "sad and solitary conditions." " Pro- 
 
 jectors are downe, the High Commission Court is downe, 
 the Starre-Chambre is down, nnd (some think) Bishops 
 will down, and why should we then that are farre inferior to 
 any of these justly feare, least we should be downe tco." 
 (The Stage- Players-Complaint.) 
 
 1642. The Civil War began, the Register of the Master of the 
 
 Revels was closed, and en the 2nd of September was 
 published the Ordinance of the Lords and Commons com- 
 manding " that while these sad causes and ?et-times of 
 humiliation do continue, public stage plays shall cease and 
 be forborne." 
 
 "Deep in a dump John Forde was alone got, 
 With folded arms and melancholy hat." 
 
 HAT vivid touch ot portraiture 
 is the one record that has come 
 down to us concerning Ford. 
 His shy and reserved tempera- 
 ment corresponds to his artistic 
 position : he stands alone. Ot 
 himself he has nothing to tell us beyond one 
 early and perhaps not over-serious allusion, in 
 
 1 Other plays of Ford's, 01 which now only the names are 
 known, were two comedies, The London Merchant and The Royal 
 Combat, a tragedy called Beauty in a Trance, The Bristowe Mer 
 chant and The Fairy Knight, both wiitten in conjunction with 
 Dekker, and A late Murther of the Sonne upon the Mother in 
 conjunction with Webster. The three first-named plays were 
 immolated by Warburton's cook.
 
 JOHN FORD. ix 
 
 the youthful Fame's Memorial, to an unkind 
 mistress 
 
 " The goddess whom in heart I serve 
 Though never mine, blight Lycia the cruel, 
 The cruel-subtle." 
 
 Little, also, is recorded of him ; of that little 
 nothing that is not to his honour ; while the 
 tone of his dedications is manly, independent, 
 and, towards his personal friends, affectionate. 
 That he was not afraid to take a losing side is 
 shown by his Fame's Memorial, an elegy which, 
 called forth as it evidently was by the strange 
 story of the lady, Penelope, Countess of Devon- 
 shire, to whom it was dedicated, is the earliest 
 witness to Ford's interest in the problems of 
 romantic passion. 
 
 Born in the north-west of Devonshire, and 
 issuing from an old-established nest of Fords, 
 while on the mother's side he was the grand- 
 son of the Lord Chief Justice Popham, John 
 Ford came up to London at an early age to 
 be trained to the law, becoming eventually, 
 it is probable, a trusted agent for several 
 noblemen, and he refers to his business with 
 that ostentation not uncommon in people who 
 know that their true calling is elsewhere. 
 During the years of his London life he wrote 
 many plays, some of which have perished ; they 
 were received with a remarkable share of ap- 
 plause, and gained for their author a general 
 esteem among the decreasing minority who
 
 x JOHN FORD. 
 
 cared for plays. After nearly forty years spent 
 in London he seems to have retired, just before 
 the outbreak of the Civil War, to his native 
 place. According to a faint tradition he married 
 and had children, ending his days as peacefully 
 as he might; for Ilsington was in the centre 
 of a Royalist district, and is known to have 
 suffered heavily at the hands of the Parlia- 
 mentary forces. 
 
 Ford was more than forty years old when 
 the earliest surviving play written by himself 
 alone was first acted. The Lover s Melancholy, 
 although as a whole it is rather dreary, reveals 
 his peculiar style already at its highest point of 
 development. This style, with its slow, subtle 
 melody, its sudden pauses on the suspension 
 of, a long breath, its words that are gestures, 
 has nothing of the half delirious freedom of 
 Marlowe or Beaumont, those strong-winged 
 poets of an earlier and more robust age. This 
 artist wrought, laboriously, cool, lucid lines that 
 are sometimes absolutely frozen. In his second 
 extant play, 'Tis Pity She's a Whore, Ford 
 touched the highest point that he ever reached. 
 He never after succeeded in presenting an 
 image so simple, passionate, and complete, so 
 free comparatively from mixture of weak or 
 base elements, as that of the boy and girl 
 lovers who were brother and sister. The 
 tragic story is unrolled from first to last 
 with fine truth and clear perceptions. At one
 
 JOHN FORD. xi 
 
 point only is it possible to detect any failure in 
 Ford's grasp of the situation. When at the 
 climax of their histories Giovanni stabs Anna- 
 bella, her feeble exclamation, " Brother un- 
 kind ! " fails to carry the impress of truth, and 
 falls short of the tragic height of passion to 
 which we are uplifted. Such a failure of insight 
 is rare with Ford, much rarer than touches of 
 extravagant physical horror like the introduc- 
 tion of Annabella's heart on a dagger. It is 
 profitable to compare 'Tis Pity She's a Whore 
 with a rather similar play by Beaumont and 
 Fletcher, A King and no King. Dryden thought 
 that this play was the finest that Beaumont 
 and Fletcher ever wrote ; it is certainly full ot 
 splendid rhetoric, tragic or tender, always broad, 
 various and facile in style ; but for the qualities 
 of insight and sincerity, for fineness of moral 
 perception, for the sure and deliberate grasp of 
 the central situation, Ford's play is as far above 
 Beaumont and Fletcher's, with its shifty con- 
 clusion, as it is below it in all the qualities 
 which make a play effective on the stage. The 
 Broken Heart is a monument of sorrows, a Niobe 
 group of frozen griefs. There is little move- 
 ment, no definite plot or story ; only this 
 row of heart-broken figures Orgilus, Panthea, 
 Ithocles, Calantha, with many forms of minor 
 melancholy : 
 
 "And 'twere a comely music when in parts 
 One sung another's knell."
 
 xii JOHN FORD. 
 
 The unity ot the play lies in the cumulative 
 touches by which these figures are realised for 
 us, and by which we are lifted naturally to the 
 heroic self-restraint of Calantha. Into Love s 
 Sacrifice, the history of the ardent and reckless 
 Bianca, Ford has put his subtlest work, marred 
 though it is by the feeble and foolish senti- 
 ment of the conclusion. The story of the youth 
 who falls in love with his friend's wife, and 
 when he has aroused in her stronger nature a 
 passion far deeper than his own, shrinks back 
 realising his falsehood, is true to nature and 
 wrought with Ford's finest art and insight. But 
 we can only smile when we hear these lovers 
 
 " Hid in a rock of fire, 
 Guarded by ministers of flaming hell " 
 
 celebrated as miracles of chastity and truth. 
 In so complete a moral collapse as this (unless 
 we choose to regard it as intentional irony), as 
 well as in the occasional touches of forced 
 material horror with which he startles us, Ford 
 shows that he was the child of a society tainted 
 by the affectation of purity, and a court that 
 had ceased to be national and robust both soon 
 to vanish like a fantastic dream. In Per kin 
 ' Warbeck he laid aside his characteristic defects, 
 and also his characteristic merits, to achieve 
 a distinct dramatic success. It is the least 
 interesting of his plays for those who care 
 for the peculiar qualities which mark Ford's 
 genius, but it certainly ranks among our best
 
 JOHN FORD. xiii 
 
 historical dramas. Ford's interest in psycho- 
 logical problems may be detected in his im- 
 partial, even sympathetic, treatment of War- 
 beck ; but for the most part this play is an 
 exception to every generalisation that may be 
 arrived at concerning his work. It is of a mascu- 
 line temperature, with few flaws, and of fine 
 characterisation throughout. These five plays 
 embody whatever is best in Ford's work. 
 
 Of his remaining plays, The Lady's Trial con- 
 tains most that is beautiful in language and 
 character ; The Fancies Chaste and Noble has a 
 little that is characteristic, set in a weak and 
 absurd story ; The Sun's Darling, a " moral 
 masque," of which Dekker wrote the larger and 
 happier part, exhibits Ford's most level and 
 frigid manner. The Witch of Edmonton, a noble 
 and more human work of art than any of these, 
 was written in conjunction with Dekker and 
 Rowley. 1 It contains a few touches that are un- 
 mistakably Ford's, together with much that, 
 without being very characteristic, has been 
 plausibly assigned to him ; on the whole, it is 
 one of those plays, not uncommon at that time, 
 in which tw T o or more writers united to produce 
 something that was unlike their individual work, 
 and often superior to anything they produced 
 singly. Ford's early work in prose and verse 
 may be neglected. 
 
 1 The Witch of Edmonton is included with Dekker's plays in the 
 Mermaid Series.
 
 xiv JOHN FORD. 
 
 The burden of a passionate and heavy-laden 
 heart that is the centre of every picture that 
 Ford presents to us ; on the painting of it he 
 lavishes all his care. The rest of the canvas is 
 filled in with a rapid and careless hand. His 
 superior persons are generally uninteresting. 
 As to his comic figures, it is for once impos- 
 sible to go beyond the dictum of Gifford : they 
 are " a despicable set of buffoons." He is 
 reckless of consistency in action or time, indif- 
 ferent generally to dramatic effect, but when the 
 mysteries of the heart are in question he elabo- 
 rates his art to the highest point. The conflict 
 between the world's opinion and the heart's 
 desire he paints and repaints, not as a moralist 
 browbeating the cynical or conventional world, 
 but as an artist, presenting problems which he 
 does not undertake to solve save by the rough 
 methods of the tragic stage. It is the grief 
 deeper than language that he strives to express. 
 He seeks in his own words to 
 
 " Sigh out a lamentable tale of things 
 Done long ago, and ill done ; and when sighs 
 Are wearied, piece up what remains behind 
 With weeping eyes, and hearts that bleed to death." 
 
 He is a master of the brief mysterious words, so 
 calm in seeming, which well up from the depths 
 of despair. He concentrates the revelation of a 
 soul's agony into a sob or a sigh. The surface 
 seems calm ; we scarcely suspect that there is 
 anything beneath ; one gasp bubbles up from
 
 JOHN FORD. xv 
 
 the drowning heart below, and all is silence. He 
 is rich in those words and lines of sweet and 
 subtle music 
 
 " Parthenophil is lost, and I would see him; 
 For he is like to something I remember, 
 A great while since, a long, long time ago." 
 
 When we think of Ford we think of Giovanni 
 and Annabella, passionate children who had 
 given the world for love ; of the childish sophistry 
 with which they justified themselves, and of their 
 last marvellous dialogue through which pierced 
 a vague sense of guilt a lurid shadow cast from 
 the world they had contemned. We think of 
 that Bianca (she that " owned the poor style of 
 Duchess ") who had thrown such scorn on her 
 lover that he vowed never to speak to her again 
 of unlawful love, and who comes to him in his 
 sleep the night after, unclad and alone, in the 
 last abandonment of passion. We think of 
 Flavia in The Fancies Chaste and Noble, coldly 
 dismissing her first husband with the one sign 
 of tenderness as she turns at length to her new 
 husband : 
 
 " Beshrew 't, the brim of your hat 
 Struck in mine eye." 
 
 We think of Calantha, still gracious and calm 
 in the festive dance, as the leaden messages of 
 awful death are shot at slow intervals in her ear, 
 her father, her friend, her lover, still gra- 
 cious and calm until her duties are ended.
 
 xvi JOHN FORD. 
 
 " When one news straight came huddling on another, 
 Of death ! and death ! and death ! still I danced forward ; 
 But it struck home, and here, and in an instant. 
 
 * * * * # 
 
 They are the silent griefs which cut the heart-strings ; 
 Let me die smiling." 
 
 Ford is the most modern of the tribe to whom 
 he belonged. When Shelley in his last days 
 began a new drama, of which only fragments 
 remain, he reproduced with added sweetness the 
 tones and cadences of Ford's verse ; and the 
 writers to-day who seek, and in vain, to revive 
 our ancient drama on its old lines, instinctively 
 ally themselves with Ford. When we enumerate 
 his great qualities we are enumerating the 
 qualities which make him an ineffectual drama- 
 tist. Notwithstanding the ungrudging admira- 
 tion of his relatives, legal friends, and fellow 
 dramatists, and the " generally well received " 
 report of the outside public, he could at no time 
 have been a really popular playwright ; and 
 with the exception of Per kin Warbeck his plays 
 have probably never been represented in more 
 recent times. He was a sensitive observer who 
 had meditated deeply on the springs of human 
 action, especially in women. Of none of his 
 fellows, even the greatest of them, can we 
 say this. They have left us pictures of women 
 which are incomparably more tender, or pictur- 
 esque, or tragic than the searching, deliberate 
 art of Ford could compass. But they looked 
 nearly all from the outside, and were satisfied
 
 JOHN FORD. xvii 
 
 with the gracious or gorgeous stage-pictures 
 which they knew so well how to present. This 
 man writes of women not as a dramatist nor 
 as a lover, but as one who had searched inti- 
 mately and felt with instinctive sympathy the 
 fibres of their hearts. He was an analyst ; he 
 strained the limits of his art to the utmost ; he 
 foreboded new ways of expression. Thus he 
 is less nearly related to the men who wrote 
 Othello, and A Woman killed with Kindness, 
 and Valentinian, than to those poets and artists 
 of the naked human soul, the writer of Le Rouge 
 et le Noir, and the yet greater writer of Madame 
 B ovary. 
 
 HAVELOCK ELLIS. 
 
 Ford.
 
 THE 
 
 ITS 
 
 HE Bankside in Southwark was from an early 
 date, even before the days of Henry VIII., 
 one of the favourite resorts of Londoners. 
 It was a semi-rural spot, very easy of access, 
 either by walking over Old London Bridge 
 or by means ot the river, at that time a 
 delightful and much frtquented highway. 
 Swans floated beneath London Bridge; 
 magnificent barges were frequently to be 
 seen ; and in the reign of James I. (accord- 
 ing to Taylor, "the Water Poet") "the number of watermen, 
 and those that live and are maintained by them, and by the only 
 labour of the oar and scull, betwixt the bridge of Windsor and 
 Giavesend, cannot be fewer than forty thousand ; the cause of the 
 greater half of which multitude hath been the players playing on 
 the Bankside." 
 
 Various amusements sports, shows, fencings took place on the 
 Bankside long before any theatres arose there. Chief among these 
 amusements were bull-baitings and bear-baitings at Paris Garden, 
 and when the theatres began to grow up here as at a later day 
 they grew up along the opposite Strand the baitings and plays 
 were to some extent combined, the stage being movable. The 
 Rose, close to the Bear and Paris Garden, was the first theatre 
 built on the Bankside. Its origin and exact date aie not known; 
 it may have existed even before 1584, when it was called the Little 
 Rose. The Swan Theatre was at the western end of the Bankside. 
 Both the Rose and the Swan Theatres were named after existing 
 tenements mentioned in Edward the Sixth's charter, granting the 
 manor of Southwark to the City of London. The Hope Theatre, 
 which was both a bear-garden and a theatre, was erected prior to
 
 xx THE BANKSIDE AND ITS THEATRES. 
 
 the year 1600, and it was here that Ben Jonson's Bartholomew Fair 
 was fir.it acted in 1614. The building was demoli-hed in 1656 and 
 houses were built upon its site. About a year previously seven 
 of the bears belonging to the Bear Garden had been shot by order 
 of Pride, then Sheiiff of Surrey, by a company of soldiers. Pans 
 Garden itself became a theatre in 1613. In Dekker's Untrussing 
 of the Humorous Poet we find it thus alluded to : 
 
 " Tucca. Thou hast been in Paris Garden, hast not ? 
 Horace. Yes, captain, I ha' played Zulziman there." 
 
 The most famous of all the Bankside theatres was the Globe, built 
 on the site occupied by Barclay's Brewery in Park Street. A view 
 with a detailed notice of the Globe Theatre will be found in the 
 volume of The Best Plays of Webster and Tournettr. 
 
 Many pers >ns connected with the theatres lived on the Bankside 
 Beaumont and Fletcher, Henslowe, Alleyn, Kempe, Lo\vin. 
 The Falcon Inn was the favourite resort of dramatists and players ; 
 and St. Saviour's, close by, is the burial-place of Govver, Fletcher, 
 Massinger, Sir Edward Dyer, the poet, Shakespeare's younger 
 brother, Edmund, and Henslowe, the manager.
 
 THE LOVERS 
 
 ford.
 
 JR HENRY HERBERT licensed this 
 play for the stage in 1628, and it was 
 acted by the King's Servants at the 
 Blackfriars and Globe Theatres. It 
 was published in the following year, 
 and was the first play that Ford 
 printed, perhaps on account of its 
 
 success on the stage. In one of the commendatory poems 
 
 prefixed to the quarto we read : 
 
 " Nor seek I fame for thee, when thine own pen 
 Hath forced a praise long since from knowing men." 
 
 And although this appears to be Ford's earliest extant 
 play, we know trftit plays of his had been acted during 
 the previous fifteen years. For the material of the masque 
 and the passage leading up to it, Ford was indebted to 
 Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy, published a year or 
 two previously. The play was revived at Drury Lane in 
 1748 by Macklin, for his wife's benefit ; apparently without 
 success.
 
 To his "worthy Friend the A uthor. 
 MASTER JOHN FORD. 
 
 I write not to thy play : I'll not begin 
 
 To throw a censure upon what hath been 
 
 By the best approved : it can nor fear nor want 
 
 The rage or liking of the ignorant. 
 
 Nor seek I fame for thee, when thine own pen 
 
 Hath forced a praise long since from knowing men. 
 
 I speak my thoughts, and wish unto the stage 
 
 A glory from thy studies ; that the age 
 
 May be indebted to thee for reprieve 
 
 Of purer language, and that spite may grieve 
 
 To see itself outdone. When thou art read, 
 
 The theatre may hope arts are not dead, 
 
 Though long concealed ; that poet-apes may fear 
 
 To vent their weakness, mend, or quite forbear. 
 
 This I dare promise ; and keep this in store, 
 
 As thou hast done enough, thou canst do more. 
 
 WILLIAM SINGLETON.* 
 
 1 In a copy of verses prefixed to Massinger's Emperor of the 
 East, Singleton calls himself "the friend and kinsman " of that 
 poet.
 
 To my Worthily Respected Friends, 
 
 NATHANIEL FINCH, JOHN FORD, ESQUIRES, 
 
 MASTER HENRY BLUNT, MASTER ROBERT ELLICE, 
 
 and all the rest of the 
 NOBLE SOCIETY OF GRAY'S INN. 
 
 My Honoured Friends, 
 
 HE account of some leisurable hours is 
 here summed up, and offered to exami- 
 nation. Importunity of others, or 
 opinion of mine own, hath not urged on 
 any confidence of running the hazard of 
 a censure. A plurality hath reference 
 to a multitude, so I care not to please 
 many ; but where there is a parity of 
 condition, there the freedom of construction makes the best 
 music. This concord hath equally held between you the 
 patrons and me the presenter. I am cleared of all scruple 
 of disrespect on your parts ; as I am of too slack a merit in 
 myself. My presumption of coming in print in this kind * 
 hath hitherto been unreprovable, this piece being the first 
 that ever courted reader ; and it is very possible that the 
 like compliment with me may soon grow out of fashion. A 
 practice of which that I may avoid now, I commend to the 
 continuance of your loves the memory of his, who, without 
 the protestation of a service, is readily your friend. 
 
 JOHN FORD. 
 
 1 He had previously printed " Fame's Memorial,'' and, pro- 
 bably, other poems, now lost.
 
 To tell ye, gentlemen, in what true sense 
 
 The writer, actors, or the audience 
 
 Should mould their judgments for a play, might draw 
 
 Truth into rules ; but we have no such la\v. 
 
 Our writer, for himself, would have ye know 
 
 That in his following scenes he doth not owe . 
 
 To others' fancies, nor hath lain in wait 
 
 For any stolen invention, from whose height 
 
 He might commend his own, more than the right 
 
 A scholar claims, 1 may warrant for delight. 
 
 It is art's scorn, that some of late have made 
 
 The noble use of poetry a. trade. 
 
 For your parts, gentlemen, to quit his pains, 
 
 Yet you will please, that as you meet with strains 
 
 Of lighter mixture, but to cast your eye 
 
 Rather upon the main than on the bye, 
 
 His hopes stand firm, and we shall find it true, 
 
 The LOVER'S MELANCHOLY cured by you. 
 
 1 An allusion to his debt to Burton, and to the version of ihe 
 story of " the Nightingale's death," taken f om Strada's Prolusiones 
 Academic (i. I).
 
 PALADOR, Prince of Cyprus. 
 AMETHUS, Cousin to the Prince. 
 MELEANDER, an old Lord. 
 SOPHRONOS, Brother of MELEANDER. 
 MENAPHON, Son of SOPHRONOS. 
 ARETUS, Tutor to the Prince 
 CORAX, a Physician. 
 
 PELIAS, ) 
 
 \ two foolish Courtiers. 
 CUCULUS, \ 
 
 RHETIAS (a reduced Courtier), Servant to EROCLEA. 
 TROLLIO, Servant to MELEANDER. 
 GRILLA, a Page of CUCULUS, in woman's dress. 
 Officers, Attendants, &c. 
 
 THAMASTA, Sister of AMETHUS, and Cousin to the 
 
 Prince. 
 
 EROCLEA (as PARTHENOPHIL), ) Daughters of 
 CLEOPHILA, MELEANDER. 
 
 KALA, Waiting-maid to THAMASTA. 
 
 SCENE FAMAGOSTA in CYPRUS.
 
 THE LOVET^S 
 
 ACT THE FIRST. 
 
 SCENE I. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter MENAPHON and PELIAS. 
 
 EN. Dangers ! how mean you dangers ? 
 
 that so courtly 
 
 You gratulate my safe return from dan- 
 gers? 
 
 Pel. From travels, noble sir. 
 Men. These are delights ; 
 
 If my experience hath not, truant-like, 
 Misspent the time, which I have strove to use 
 For bettering my mind with observation. 
 
 Pel. As I am modest, I protest 'tis strange. 
 But is it possible ? 
 
 Men. What ? 
 
 Pel. To bestride 
 
 The frothy foams of Neptune's surging waves. 
 When blustering Boreas tosseth up the deep 
 And thumps a thunder-bounce? 
 
 Men. Sweet sir, 'tis nothing : 
 
 Straight comes a dolphin, playing near your ship, 
 Heaving his crooked back up, and present?
 
 8 THE L O VER ' S MELANCHOL Y. [ACT I. 
 
 A feather-bed to waft ye to the shore 
 As easily as if you slept i' the court. 
 
 Pel. Indeed ! is't true, I pray ? 
 
 Men. I will not stretch 
 
 Your faith upon the tenters. Prithee, Pelias, 
 Where didst thou learn this language ? 
 
 Pel. I this language ! 
 
 Alas, sir, we that study words and forms 
 Of compliment must fashion all discourse 
 According to the nature of the subject. 
 But I am silent : now appears a sun, 
 Whose shadow I adore. 
 
 Enter AMETHUS, SOPHRONOS, and Attendants. 
 
 Men. My honoured father ! 
 
 Soph. From mine eyes, son of my care, my love, 
 The joys that bid thee welcome do too much 
 Speak me a child. 
 
 Men. O princely sir, your hand. 
 
 Amet. Perform your duties where you owe them first; 
 I dare not be so sudden in the pleasures 
 Thy presence hath brought home. 
 
 Soph. Here thou still find'st 
 
 A friend as noble, Menaphon, as when 
 Thou left'st at thy departure. 
 
 Men. Yes, I know it, 
 
 To him I owe more service 
 
 Amet. Pray give leave : 
 
 He shall attend your entertainments soon, 
 Next day, and next day : for an hour or two 
 I would engross him only. 
 
 Soph. Noble lord ! 
 
 Amet. Ye're both dismissed. 
 
 Pel. Your creature and your servant. 
 
 [Exeunt all but AMETHUS and MENAPHON. 
 
 Amet. Give me thy hand. I will not say, "Thou'rt 
 welcome ; "
 
 SCENE I.] THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY. g 
 
 That is the common road of common friends. 
 I'm glad I have thee here O, I want words 
 To let thee know my heart ! 
 
 Men. 'Tis pieced to mine. 
 
 A met. Yes, 'tis ; as firmly as that holy thing 
 Called friendship can unite it. Menaphon, 
 My Menaphon, now all the goodly blessings 
 That can create a Heaven on earth dwell with thee ! 
 Twelve months we have been sundered ; but henceforth 
 We never more will part, till that sad hour 
 In which death leaves the one of us behind, 
 To see the other's funerals performed. 
 Let's now awhile be free. How have thy travels 
 Disburdened thee abroad of discontents ? 
 
 Men. Such cure as sick men find in changing beds 
 I found in change of airs : the fancy flattered 
 My hopes with ease, as theirs do : but the grief 
 Is still the same. 
 
 Amet. Such is my case at home. 
 
 Cleophila, thy kinswoman, that maid 
 Of sweetness and humility, more pities 
 Her father's poor afflictions than the tide 
 Of my complaints. 
 
 Men. Thamasta, my great mistress, 
 
 Your princely sister, hath, I hope, ere this 
 Confirmed affection on some worthy choice. 
 
 Amet. Not any, Menaphon. Her bosom yet 
 Is intermured with ice ; though, by the truth 
 Of love, no day hath ever passed wherein 
 I have not mentioned thy deserts, thy constancy, 
 Thy Come, in troth, I dare not tell thee what, 
 Lest thou mightst think I fawned upon ' a sin 
 Friendship was never guilty of ; for flattery 
 Is monstrous in a true friend. 
 
 Men. Does the court 
 
 Wear the old looks too ? 
 
 1 So the old edition ; probably equivalent to " fawned."
 
 i o THE L O VER* S MELA NCHOL Y. [ACT I . 
 
 Amet. If them mean'st the prince, 
 
 It does. He's the same melancholy man 
 He was at's father's death ; sometimes speaks sense, 
 But seldom mirth ; will smile, but seldom laugh ; 
 Will lend an ear to business, deal in none ; 
 Gaze upon revels, antic fopperies, 
 But is not moved ; will sparingly discourse, 
 Hear music ; but what most he takes delight in 
 Are handsome pictures. One so young and goodly, 
 So sweet in his own nature, any story 
 Hath seldom mentioned. 
 
 Men. Why should such as I am 
 
 Groan under the light burthen of small sorrows, 
 Whenas a prince so potent cannot shun 
 Motions of passion P 1 To be man, my lord, 
 Is to be but the exercise of cares 
 In several shapes : as miseries do grow, 
 They alter as men's forms ; but how none know. 
 
 Amet. This little isle of Cyprus sure abounds 
 In greater wonders both for change and fortune 
 Than any you have seen abroad. 
 
 Men. Than any 
 
 I have observed abroad : all countries else 
 To a free eye and mind yield something rare ; 
 And I, for my part, have brought home one jewel 
 Of admirable value. 
 
 Amet. Jewel, Menaphon ! 
 
 Men. A jewel, my Amethus, a fair youth ; 
 A youth, whom, if I were but superstitious, 
 I should repute an excellence more high 
 Than mere creations are : to add delight, 
 I'll tell ye how I found him. 
 
 Amet. Prithee do. 
 
 Men. Passing from Italy to Greece, the tales 
 Which poets of an elder time have feigned 
 
 Sorrow.
 
 SCENE i.] THE LOVER' S MELANCHOLY. 11 
 
 To glorify their Tempe, bred in me 
 
 Desire of visiting that paradise. 
 
 To Thessaly I came ; and living private, 
 
 Without acquaintance of more sweet companions 
 
 Than the old inmates to my love, my thoughts, 
 
 I day by day frequented silent groves 
 
 And solitary walks. One morning early 
 
 This accident encountered me : I heard 
 
 The sweetest and most ravishing contention 
 
 That art and nature ever were at strife in. 1 
 
 Amet. I cannot yet conceive what you infer 
 By art and nature. 
 
 Men. I shall soon resolve ye. 
 
 A sound of music touched mine ears, or rather 
 Indeed entranced my soul. As I stole nearer, 
 Invited by the melody, I saw 
 This youth, this fair-faced youth, upon his lute, 
 With strains of strange variety and harmony, 
 Proclaiming, as it seemed, so bold a challenge 
 To the clear quiristers of the woods, the birds, 
 That, as they flocked about him, all stood silent, 
 Wondering at what they heard. I wondered too. 
 
 Amet. And so do I ; good, on ! 
 
 Men. A nightingale, 
 
 Nature's best skilled musician, undertakes 
 The challenge, and for every several strain 
 The well-shaped youth could touch, she sung her own; 
 He could not run division with more art 
 Upon his quaking instrument than she, 
 The nightingale, did with her various notes 
 Reply to : for a voice and for a sound, 
 Amethus, 'tis much easier to believe 
 That such they were than hope to hear again. 
 
 Amet. How did the rivals part ? 
 
 1 Vide (Ford says) Fami. Stradam, lib. ii. Prolus. 6. Acad. 2. 
 Imitat. Claudia n. This story has been paraphrased by Crashaw, 
 Ambrose Philips, and others.
 
 12 THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY. [ACT I. 
 
 Men. You term them rightly ; 
 
 For they were rivals, and their mistress, harmony. - 
 Some time thus spent, the young man grew at last 
 Into a pretty anger, that a bird, 
 Whom art had never taught cliffs, moods, or notes, 
 Should vie with him for mastery, whose study 
 Had busied many hours to perfect practice : 
 To end the controversy, in a rapture 
 Upon his instrument he plays so swiftly. 
 So many voluntaries and so quick, 
 That there was curiosity and cunning, 
 Concord in discord, lines of differing method 
 Meeting in one full centre of delight. 
 
 Amet. Now for the bird. 
 
 Men. The bird, ordained to be 
 
 Music's first martyr, strove to imitate 
 These several sounds ; which when her warbling throat 
 Failed in, for grief down dropped she on his lute, 
 And brake her heart. It was the quaintest sadness, 
 To see the conqueror upon her hearse 
 To weep a funeral elegy of tears ; 
 That, trust me, my Amethus, I could chide 
 Mine own unmanly weakness, that made me 
 A fellow-mourner with him. 
 
 Amet. I believe thee. 
 
 Men. He looked upon the trophies of his art, 
 Then sighed, then wiped his eyes, then sighed and cried, 
 " Alas, poor creature ! I will soon revenge 
 This cruelty upon the author of it ; 
 Henceforth this lute, guilty of innocent blood, 
 Shall never more betray a harmless peace 
 To an untimely end :" and in that sorrow, 
 As he was pashing l it against a tree, 
 I suddenly stept in. 
 
 Amet. Thou hast discoursed 
 
 A truth of mirth and pity. 
 
 1 Dashing.
 
 SCENE I.] THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY. 13 
 
 Men. I reprieved 
 
 The intended execution with entreaties 
 And interruption. But, my princely friend, 
 It was not strange the music of his hand 
 Did overmatch birds, when his voice and beauty, 
 Youth, carriage, and discretion must, from men 
 Endued with reason, ravish admiration : 
 From me they did. 
 
 Amet. But is this miracle 
 
 Not to be seen ? 
 
 Men. I won him by degrees 
 
 To choose me his companion. Whence he is, 
 Or who, as I durst modestly inquire, 
 So gently he would woo not to make known ; 
 Only for reasons to himself reserved 
 He told me, that some remnant of his life 
 Was to be spent in travel : for his fortunes, 
 They were nor mean nor riotous ; his friends 
 Not published to the world, though not obscure; 
 His country Athens, and his name Parthenophil. 
 
 Amet. Came he with you to Cyprus ? 
 
 Men. Willingly. 
 
 The fame of our young melancholy prince, 
 Meleanders rare distractions, the obedience 
 Of young Cleophila, Thamasta's glory, 
 Your matchless friendship, and my desperate love, 
 Prevailed with him ; and I have lodged him privately 
 In Famagosta. 
 
 Amet. Now thou'rt doubly welcome : 
 
 I will not lose the sight of such a rarity 
 For one part of my hopes. When d'ye intend 
 To visit my great-spirited sister ? 
 
 Men. May I 
 
 Without offence ? 
 
 Amet. Without offence. Panhenophil 
 
 Shall find a worthy entertainment too. 
 Thou art not still a coward?
 
 i 4 THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY. [ACT i. 
 
 Men. She's too excellent, 
 
 And I too low in merit. 
 
 Amet. I'll prepare 
 
 A noble welcome ; and, friend, ere we part, 
 Unload to thee an overcharged heart. \Excunt. 
 
 SCENE II. Another Room in the Palace. 
 Enter RHETIAS, carelessly attired. 
 
 Rhe. I will not court the madness of the times ; 
 Nor fawn upon the riots that embalm 
 Our wanton gentry, to preserve the dust 
 Of their affected vanities in coffins 
 Of memorable shame. When commonwealths 
 Totter and reel from that nobility 
 And ancient virtue which renowns the great, 
 Who steer the helm of government, while mushrooms 
 Grow up, and make new laws to license folly; 
 Why should not I, a May-game, scorn the weight 
 Of my sunk fortunes ? snarl 1 at the vices 
 Which rot the land, and, without fear or wi 
 Be mine own antic ? 3 Tis a sport to live 
 When life is irksome, if we will not hug 
 Prosperity in others, and contemn 
 Affliction in ourselves. This rule is certain, 
 " He that pursues his safety from the school 
 Of state must learn to be madman or fool." 
 Ambition, wealth, ease, I renounce the devil 
 That damns ye here on earth. Or I will be 
 Mine own mirth, or mine own tormentor. So ! 
 Here comes intelligence; a buzz o' the court. 
 
 1 " Snarl " as well as " girl," is commonly made a dissyllable by 
 our poet : he passed his youth in the neighbourhood of Dartmoor, 
 and probably adopted the practice of that wild district. Gifford. 
 
 2 i.e. Carelessly. 
 
 3 Buffoon.
 
 SCENE ii.J THE L O I r R ' S MELA NCHOL Y. 1 5 
 
 Enter PELIAS. 
 
 Pel. Rhetias, I sought thee out to tell thee news, 
 New, excellent new news. Cuculus, sirrah, 
 That gull, that young old gull, is coming this way. 
 
 Rhe. And thou art his forerunner ? 
 
 Pel. Prithee, hear me. 
 
 Instead of a fine guarded 1 page we've got him 
 A boy, tricked up in neat and handsome fashion ; 
 Persuaded him that 'tis indeed a wench, 
 And he has entertained him : he does follow him, 
 Carries his sword and buckler, waits on's trencher, 
 Fills him his wine, tobacco ; whets his knife, 
 Lackeys his letters, does what service else 
 He would employ his man in. Being asked 
 Why he is so irregular in courtship, 2 
 His answer is, that since great ladies use 
 Gentleman ushers to go bare before them, 
 He knows no reason but he may reduce 
 The courtiers to have women wait on them ; 
 And he begins the fashion : he is laughed at 
 Most complimentally. Thou'lt burst to see him. 
 
 Rhe. Agelastus, so surnamed for his gravity, 3 was a very 
 wise fellow, kept his countenance all days of his life as 
 demurely as a judge that pronoun ceth sentence of death 
 on a poor rogue for stealing as much bacon as would 
 serve at a meal with a calf s head. Yet he smiled once, 
 and never but once : thou art no scholar? 
 
 Pel. I have read pamphlets dedicated to me. 
 Dost call him Agelastus ? Why did he laugh ? 
 
 Rhe. To see an ass eat thistles. Puppy, go study to 
 be a singular coxcomb. Cuculus is an ordinary ape; but 
 thou art an ape of an ape. 
 
 1 i.e. With a livery richly laced or turned up. 
 
 ' Court etiquette. 
 
 3 The story is in Pliny, who tells it of Crassus, the grandfather of 
 the unfortunate Crassus who fell the victim of his rapacity in 
 Parlhia. Gifford.
 
 1 6 THE L O VER ' S MELA NCHOL Y. [ACT I. 
 
 Pel. Thou hast a patent to abuse thy friends. 
 Look, look, he comes ! observe him seriously. 
 
 Enter CUCULUS followed by GRILLA, both fantastically 
 dressed. 
 
 Cue. Reach me my sword and buckler. 
 
 Gril. They are here, forsooth. 
 
 Cue. How now, minx, how now ! where is your duty, 
 your distance ? Let me have service methodically ten- 
 dered ; you are now one of us. Your curtsy. [GRILLA 
 curtsies .] Good ! remember that you are to practise 
 courtship. Was thy father a piper, sayest thou ? 
 
 Cril. A sounder of some such wind-instrument, for- 
 sooth. 1 
 
 Cue. Was he so? Hold up thy head. Be thou 
 musical to me, and I will marry thee to a dancer ; one 
 that shall ride on his footcloth, 2 and maintain thee in thy 
 muff and hood. 
 
 Gril. That will be fine indeed. 
 
 Cue. Thou art yet but simple. 
 
 Gril. D'ye think so ? 
 
 Cue. I have a brain, I have a head-piece : o' my con- 
 science, if I take pains with thee, I should raise thy under- 
 standing, girl, to the height of a nurse, or a court-midwife 
 at least : I will make thee big in time, wench. 
 
 Gril. E'en do your pleasure with me, sir. 
 
 Pel. [Coming forward] Noble, accomplished Cuculus ! 
 
 Rhe. [Coming forward] Give me thy fist, innocent. 
 
 Cue. Would 'twere in thy belly ! there 'tis. 
 
 Pel. That's well ; he's an honest blade, though he be 
 blunt. 
 
 1 Grilla's amwer is meant to intimate that her father was a sow- 
 gelder. Sow-gelders, it appears, used formerly to blow a horn. So 
 in Fletcher's Beggar's Bush, act iii. sc. i : 
 
 " Enter Higgen disguised as a sow-gelder, singing as follows, 
 Have ye any work for the sow-gelder, oh ? 
 My horn goes to high, to low, to high, to low." Dyce. 
 
 3 i.e. A horse's cloth housings.
 
 SCE\ + E ii .] THE L o VER ' $ MELANCHOL Y. \ 7 
 
 Cue. Who- cares ? We can be as blunt as he, for's life. 
 
 R]ie. Cuculus, there is, within a mile or two, a sow-pig 
 hath sucked a brach, 1 and now hunts the deer, the hare, 
 nay, most unnaturally, the wild-boar, as well as any 
 hound in Cyprus. 
 
 Cue. Monstrous sow-pig ! is't true ? 
 
 Pel. I'll be at charge of a banquet on thee for a sight 
 of her. 
 
 Rhe. Every thing takes after the dam that gave it suck. 
 Where hadst thou thy milk? 
 
 Cue. I ? Why, my nurse's husband was a most excel- 
 lent maker of shittlecocks. 
 
 Pel. My nurse was a woman-surgeon. 2 
 
 RJie. And who gave thee pap, mouse? 
 
 Gril. I never sucked, that I remember. 
 
 Rhe. La now, a shittlecock maker ! all thy brains are 
 stuck with cork and feather, Cuculus. This learned 
 courtier takes after the nurse too ; a she-surgeon ; which 
 is, in effect, a mere matcher of colours. Go learn to 
 paint and daub compliments, 'tis the next step to run 
 into a new suit. My Lady Periwinkle here never sucked : 
 suck thy master, and bring forth moon-calves, fop, do ! 
 This is good philosophy, sirs ; make use on't. 
 
 Gril. Bless us, what a strange creature this is ! 
 
 Cue. A gull, an arrant gull by proclamation. 
 
 Enter CORAX, passing over the stage. 
 
 Pel. Corax, the prince's chief physician ! 
 What business speeds his haste? Are all things well, sir? 
 
 Cor. Yes, yes, yes. 
 
 Rhe. Phew ! you may wheel about, man ; we know 
 you're proud of your slovenry and practice ; 'tis your vir- 
 tue. The prince's melancholy fit, I presume, holds still. 
 
 1 The kennel term for a bitch-hound. This anecdote is taken 
 from Burton, who took it from Giraldus Cambrensis. The late Sir 
 Harry Mildmay had a sow-pig that would apparently do all that 
 Cuculus thinks so monstrous, without having sucked a brach for the 
 matter. Gifford. 
 
 2 i.e. A dealer in paints and cosmetics for ladies. 
 
 Ford. C
 
 18 THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY. [ACT I. 
 
 Cor, So do thy knavery and desperate beggary. 
 
 Cue. Aha ! here's one will tickle the ban-dog. 1 
 
 Rhe. You must not go yet 
 
 Cor. I'll stay in spite of thy teeth. There lies my gra- 
 vity. \Throws off his gown.] Do what thoudarest; I 
 stand thee. 
 
 Rhe. Mountebanks, empirics, quack-salvers, mineralists, 
 wizards, alchemists, cast-apothecaries, old wives and bar- 
 bers, are all suppositors to the right worshipful doctor, 
 as I take it. Some of ye are the head of your art, and 
 the horns too but they come by nature. Thou livest 
 single for no other end but that thou fearest to be a 
 cuckold. 
 
 Cor. Have at thee ! Thou affectest railing only for 
 thy health ; thy miseries are so thick and so lasting, that 
 thou hast not one poor denier to bestow on opening a 
 vein : wherefore, to avoid a pleurisy, thou'lt be sure to 
 prate thyself once a month into a whipping, and bleed in 
 the breech instead of the arm. 
 
 Rhe. Have at thee again ! 
 
 Cor. Come ! 
 
 Cttc. There, there, there ! O brave doctor ! 
 
 Pel. Let 'em alone. 
 
 Rhe. Thou art in thy religion an atheist, in thy condi- 
 tion 2 a cur, in thy diet an epicure, in thy lust a goat, in 
 thy sleep a hog ; thou takest upon thee the habit of a 
 grave physician, but art indeed an impostorous empiric. 
 Physicians are the cobblers, rather the botchers, of men's 
 bodies ; as the one patches our tattered clothes, so the 
 other solders our diseased flesh. Come on. 
 
 Cue. To't, to't ! hold him to't ! hold him to't ! to't, 
 lo't, to't ! 
 
 Cor, The best worth in thee is the corruption of thy 
 mind, for that only entitles thee to the dignity of a louse, 
 
 1 A dog kept fastened up on account of its fierceness. The teim 
 was also applied to dogs employed in bull and bear baiting. 
 
 2 Disposition.
 
 SCENE ill.] THE LOVER' S MELANCHOLY. 19 
 
 a thing bred out of the filth and superfluity of ill humours. 
 Thou bitest anywhere, and any man who defends not 
 himself with the clean linen of secure honesty ; him thou 
 darest not come near. Thou art fortune's idiot, virtue's 
 bankrupt, time's dunghill, manhood's scandal, and thine 
 own scourge. Thou wouldst hang thyself, so wretchedly 
 miserable thou art, but that no man will trust thee 
 with as much money as will buy a halter ; and all thy 
 stock to be sold is not worth half as much as may pro- 
 cure it. 
 
 Rhe. Ha, ha, ha ! this is flattery, gross flattery. 
 
 Cor. I have employment for thee, and for ye all. Tut, 
 these are but good-morrows between us. 
 
 Rhe. Are thy bottles full ? 
 
 Cor. Of rich wine ; let's all suck together. 
 
 Rhe. Like so many swine in a trough. 
 
 Cor. I'll shape ye all for a device before the pnnce : 
 we'll try how that can move him. 
 
 Rhe. He shall fret or laugh. 
 
 Cue. Must I make one? 
 
 Cor. Yes, and your feminine page too. 
 
 Gril, Thanks, most egregiously. 
 
 Pel. I will not slack my part. 
 
 Cue. Wench, take my buckler. 
 
 Cor. Come all unto my chamber : the project is cast : 
 the time only we must attend. 
 
 Rhe. The melody must agree well and yield sport, 
 When such as these are, knaves and fools, consort. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. An Apartment in the House of 
 THAMASTA. 
 
 Enter AMETHUS, THAMASTA and KALA. 
 
 Amet. Does this show well ? 
 
 Tha. What would you have me do ?
 
 20 THE L O rER 1 S MELA NCHOL Y. [ACT i. 
 
 Ainel. Not like a lady of the trim, new crept 
 Out of the shell of sluttish sweat and labour 
 Into the glittering pomp of ease and wantonness, 
 Embroideries, and all these antic fashions 
 That shape a woman monstrous ; to transform 
 Your education and a noble birth 
 Into contempt and laughter. Sister, sister, 
 She who derives her blood from princes ought 
 To glorify her greatness by humility. 
 
 Tha. Then you conclude me proud ? 
 
 Amet. Young Menaphon, 
 
 My worthy friend, has loved you long and truly : 
 To witness his obedience to your scorn, 
 Twelve months, wronged gentleman, he undertook 
 A voluntary exile. Wherefore, sister, 
 In this time of his absence have you not 
 Disposed of your affections on some monarch ? 
 Or sent ambassadors to some neighbouring king 
 With fawning protestations of your graces, 
 Your rare perfections, admirable beauty ? 
 This had been a new piece of modesty 
 Would have deserved a chronicle ! 
 
 Tha. You're bitter; 
 
 And, brother, by your leave, not kindly l wise. 
 My freedom is my birth's ; I am not bound 
 To fancy your approvements, but my own. 
 Indeed, you are an humble youth ! I hear of 
 Your visits and your loving commendation 
 To your heart's saint, Cleophila, a virgin 
 Of a rare excellence. What though she want 
 A portion to maintain a portly greatness ? 
 Yet 'tis your gracious sweetness to descend 
 So low ; the meekness of your pity leads ye ! 
 She is your dear friend's sister ! a good soul ! 
 An innocent ! 
 
 Amet. Thamasta ! 
 
 1 i.e. According to kin.
 
 SCENE ill.] THE L O VER' S MELANCHOL Y. 2 1 
 
 Tha. I have given 
 
 Your Menaphon a welcome home, as fits me ; 
 For his sake entertained Parthenophil, 
 The handsome stranger, more familiarly 
 Than, I may fear, becomes me ; yet, for his part, 
 I not repent my courtesies : but you 
 
 Antet. No more, no more ! be affable to both ; 
 Time may reclaim your cruelty. 
 
 Tha. I pity 
 
 The youth ; and, trust me, brother, love his sadness : 
 He talks the prettiest stories : he delivers 
 His tales so gracefully, that I could sit 
 And listen, nay, forget my meals and sleep, 
 .To hear his neat discourses. Menaphon 
 Was well advised in choosing such a friend 
 For pleading his true love. 
 
 Amet. Now I commend thee ; 
 
 Thou'lt change at last, I hope. 
 
 Tha. I fear I shall. \Aside. 
 
 Enter MENAPHON and PARTHENOPHIL. 
 
 Amet. Have ye surveyed the garden ? 
 
 Men. 'Tis a curious, 
 
 A pleasantly contrived delight. 
 
 Tha. Your eye, sir, 
 
 Hath in your travels often met contents 
 Of more variety ? 
 
 Par. Not any, lady. 
 
 Men. It were impossible, since your fair presence 
 Makes every place, where it vouchsafes to shine, 
 More lovely than all other helps of art 
 Can equal. 
 
 Tha. What you mean by " helps of art," 
 
 You know yourself best : be they as they are ; 
 You need none, I am sure, to set me forth. 
 
 Men. 'Twould argue want of manners, more than skill, 
 Not to praise praise itself.
 
 22 THE L O VER* S MELANCHOL Y. [ACT i. 
 
 Tha. For your reward, 
 
 Henceforth I'll call you servant. 1 
 
 Amet. Excellent sister ! 
 
 Men. Tis my first step to honour. May I fall 
 Lower than shame, when I neglect all service 
 That may confirm this favour ! 
 
 Tha. Are you well, sir ? 
 
 Par. Great princess, I am well. To see a league 
 Between an humble love, such as my friend's is, 
 And a commanding virtue, such as yours is, 
 Are sure restoratives. 
 
 Tha. You speak ingeniously. 2 
 
 Brother, be pleased to show the gallery 
 To this young stranger. Use the time a while, 
 And we will all together to the court : 
 I will present ye, sir, unto the prince. 
 
 Par. You're all composed of fairness and true bounty. 
 
 Amet. Come, come. We'll wait thee, sister. This 
 
 beginning 
 Doth relish happy process. 
 
 Men. You have blessed me. 
 
 {Exeunt MENAPHON, AMETHUS, and PARTHE- 
 NOPHIL. 
 
 Tha. Kala, Kala ! 
 
 Kal. Lady? 
 
 Tha. We are private ; 
 
 Thou art my closet. 
 
 Kal. Lock your secrets close, then : 
 
 I am not to be forced. 
 
 Tha. Never till now 
 
 Could I be sensible of being traitor 
 To honour and to shame. 
 
 Kal. You are in love. 
 
 Tha. I am grown base. Parthenophil 
 
 Kul' He's handsome, 
 
 1 i.e. Acknowledge you as a lover. 2 i.e. Wittily.
 
 SCENE in.] THE L O VER' S MELA NCHOL Y. 23 
 
 Richly endowed ; he hath a lovely face, 
 A winning tongue. 
 
 Tha. If ever I must fall, 
 
 In him my greatness sinks : Love is a tyrant, 
 Resisted. Whimper in his ear, how gladly 
 I would steal time to talk with him one hour : 
 But do it honourably ; prithee, Kala, 
 Do not betray me. 
 
 Kal. Madam, I will make it 
 
 Mine own case ; he shall think I am in love with him. 
 
 Tha. I hope thou art not, Kala. 
 
 Kal. Tis for your sake : 
 
 I'll tell him so ; but, 'faith, I am not, lady. 
 
 Tha. Pray, use me kindly ; let me not too soon 
 Be lost in my new follies. 'Tis a fate 
 That overrules our wisdoms ; whilst we strive 
 To live most free, we're caught in our own toils. 
 Diamonds cut diamonds; they who will prove 
 To thrive in cunning must cure love with love. {Exeunt.
 
 ACT THE SECOND. 
 
 SCENE I. An Apartment in the Palace. 
 
 Enter SOPHRONOS and ARETUS. 
 
 sick : 'tis 
 
 OPH. Our commonwealth 
 
 more than time 
 That we should wake the head thereof, 
 
 who sleeps 
 
 In the dull lethargy of lost security. 
 The commons murmur, and the nobles 
 The court is now turned antic, and grows wild, [grieve ; 
 Whiles all the neighbouring nations stand at gaze, 
 And watch fit opportunity to wreak 
 Their just-conceived fury on such injuries 
 As the late prince, our living master's father, 
 Committed against laws of truth or honour. 
 Intelligence comes flying in on all sides ; 
 Whilst the unsteady multitude presume 
 How that you, Aretus, and I engross, 
 Out of particular ambition, 
 
 The affairs of government ; which I, for my part, 
 ' Groan under and am weary oi. 
 
 Are. Sophronos, 
 
 I am as zealous too of shaking off 
 My gay state-fetters, that I have bethought 
 Of speedy remedy ; and to that end, 
 As I have told ye, have concluded with 
 Corax, the prince's chief physician. 
 
 Soph. You should have done this sooner. An.
 
 SCENE i.] THE L O VER S MEL A NCHOL Y. 25 
 
 You were his tutor, and could best discern 
 His dispositions, to inform them rightly. 
 
 Arc. Passions of violent nature, by degrees 
 Are easiliest reclaimed. There's something hid 
 Of his distemper, which we'll now find out. 
 
 Enter CORAX, RHETIAS, PELIAS, CUCULUS, and 
 GRILLA. 
 
 You come on just appointment. Welcome, gentlemen ! 
 Have you won Rhetias, Corax ? 
 
 Cor. Most sincerely. 
 
 Cue, Save ye, nobilities ! Do your lordships take 
 notice of my page ? 'Tis a fashion of the newest edi- 
 tion, spick and span new, without example. Do your 
 honour, housewife. 
 
 Gril. There's a curtsey for you, and a curtsey for 
 you. 
 
 Soph. 'Tis excellent : we must all follow fashion, 
 And entertain she-waiters. 
 
 Are. 'Twill be courtly. 
 
 Cue. I think so ; I hope the chronicles will rear me 
 one day for a headpiece 
 
 Rhe. Of woodcock, 1 without brains in't ! Barbers 
 shall wear thee on their citterns, 2 and hucksters set thee 
 out in gingerbread. 
 
 Cue. Devil take thee ! I say nothing to thee now ; 
 can'st let me be quiet ? 
 
 Gril. You're too perstreperous, saucebox. 
 
 Cue. Good girl ! If we begin to puff once 
 
 Pel. Prithee, hold thy tongue ; the lords are in the 
 presence. 
 
 1 Simpleton. 
 
 2 It appears from innumerable passages in our old writers, that 
 barbers' shops were furnished with some musical instrument (com- 
 monly a cittern or guitar), for the amusement of such customers as 
 chose to strum upon it while waiting for their turn to be shaved, 
 &c. Gifford. "Citterns," Dyce adds, " were usually ornamented 
 M-iih g' otesque heads cat ved at the extremity of the neck and finger-
 
 26 THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY. [ACT n. 
 
 Rhe. Mum, butterfly ! 
 
 Pel. The prince ! stand and keep silence. 
 
 Cue. O, the prince ! Wench, thou shalt see the prince 
 now. [-W^ music. 
 
 Enter PALADOR with a book. 
 
 Soph. Sir! 
 
 Are. Gracious sir ! 
 
 Pal. Why all this company ? 
 
 Cor. A book ! is this the early exercise 
 I did prescribe ? instead of following health, 
 Which all men covet, you pursue disease. 
 Where's your great horse, your hounds, your set at 
 
 tennis, 
 
 Your balloon-ball, 1 the practice of your dancing, 
 Your casting of the sledge, or learning how 
 To toss a pike ? all changed into a sonnet ! 
 Pray, sir, grant me free liberty to leave 
 The court ; it does infect me with the sloth 
 Of sleep and surfeit : in the university 
 I have employments, which to my profession 
 Add profit and report ; here I am lost, 
 And in your wilful dulness held a man 
 Of neither art nor honesty. You may 
 Command my head : pray, take it, do ! 'twere better 
 For me to lose it than to lose my wits, 
 And live in Bedlam ; you will force me to't ; 
 I'm almost mad already. 
 
 Pal. I believe it. 
 
 Soph. Letters are come from Crete, which do require 
 A speedy restitution of such ships 
 As by your father were long since detained ; 
 If not, defiance threatened. 
 
 Are. These near parts 
 
 Of Syria that adjoin muster their friends ; 
 And by intelligence we learn for certain 
 
 1 A large inflated ball of leather used in a game called balloon.
 
 SCENE i.] THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY. 27 
 
 The Syrian will pretend an ancient interest 
 Of tribute intermitted. 
 
 Soph. Through your land 
 
 Your subjects mutter strangely, and imagine 
 More than they dare speak publicly. 
 
 Cor. And yet 
 
 They talk but oddly of you. 
 
 Cue. Hang 'em, mongrels. 
 
 Pal. Of me ! my subjects talk of me ! 
 
 Cor. Yes, scurvily, 
 
 And think worse, prince. 
 
 Pal. I'll borrow patience 
 
 A little time to listen to these wrongs ; 
 And from the few of you which are here present 
 Conceive the general voice. 
 
 Cor. So ! now he's nettled. [Aside. 
 
 Pal. By all your loves I charge ye, without fear 
 Or flattery, to let me know your thoughts, 
 And how I am interpreted : speak boldly. 
 
 Soph. For my part, sir, I will be plain and brief. 
 I think you are of nature mild and easy, 
 Not willingly provoked, but withal headstrong 
 In any passion that misleads your judgment : 
 I think you too indulgent to such motions 
 As spring out of your own affections ; 
 Too old to be reformed, and yet too young 
 To take fit cgunsel from yourself of what 
 Is most amiss. 
 
 Pal. So ! Tutor, your conceit ? 
 
 Arc. I think you dote with pardon let me speak 
 
 it 
 
 Too much upon your pleasures ; and these pleasures 
 Are so wrapt up in self-love, that you covet 
 No other change of fortune ; would be still 
 What your birth makes you ; but are loth to toil 
 In such affairs of state as break your sleeps. 
 
 Cor. I think you would be by the world reputed
 
 28 THE L O VER' S MELA NCHOL Y. [ACT n . 
 
 A man in every point complete ; but are 
 In manners and effect l indeed a child, 
 A boy, a very boy. 
 
 Pel. May't please your grace, 
 
 I think you do contain within yourself 
 The great elixir, soul, and quintessence 
 Of all divine perfections ; are the glory 
 Of mankind, and the only strict example 
 For earthly monarchs to square out their lives by ; 
 Time's miracle, Fame's pride ; in knowledge, wit, 
 Sweetness, discourse, arms, arts 
 
 Pal. You are a courtier. 
 
 Cue. But not of the ancient fashion, an't like your 
 highness. 'Tis I ; I that am the credit of the court, 
 noble prince ; and if thou wouldst, by proclamation 
 or patent, create me overseer of all the tailors in thy 
 dominions, then, then the golden days should appear 
 again ; bread should be cheaper, fools should have more 
 wit, knaves more honesty, and beggars more money. 
 
 Gril. I think now 
 
 Cue. Peace, you squall ! 
 
 Pal. \to RHETIAS] You have not spoken yet. 
 
 Cue. Hang him ! he'll nothing but rail. 
 
 Gril. Most abominable ; out upon him ! 
 
 Cor. Away, Cuculus ; follow the lords. 
 
 Cue. Close, page, close. 
 
 \They all silently withdraw except PALADOR and 
 RHETIAS. 
 
 Pal. You are somewhat long a' thinking. 
 
 Rhe. I do not think at all. 
 
 Pal. Am I not worthy of your thought ? 
 
 Rhe. My pity you are, but not my reprehension. 
 
 Pal. Pity! 
 
 Rhe. Yes, for i pity such to whom I owe service, who 
 exchange their happiness for a misery. 
 
 Pal. Is it a miserj' to be a prince ? 
 
 1 Qy. "Affec 1 ." Dyce.
 
 SCENE i.] THE L O VER' S MELANCHOL Y. 29 
 
 Rhe. Princes who forget their sovereignty, and yield 
 to affected passion, are weary of command. -You had a 
 father, sir. 
 
 Pal. Your sovereign, whiles he lived : but what of him ? 
 
 Rhe. Nothing. I only dared to name him ; that's all. 
 
 Pal. I charge thee, by the duty that thou ow'st us, 
 Be plain in what thou mean'st to speak : there's some- 
 thing 
 That we must know : be free ; our ears are open. 
 
 Rhe. 0, sir, I had rather hold a wolf by the ears than 
 stroke a lion : the greatest danger is the last. 
 
 Pal. This is mere trifling. Ha ! are all stol'n hence ? 
 We are alone : thou hast an honest look ; 
 Thou hast a tongue, I hope, that is not oiled 
 With flattery : be open. Though 'tis true 
 That in my younger days I oft have heard 
 Agenor's name, my father, more traduced 
 Than I could then observe ; yet I protest 
 I never had a friend, a certain friend, 
 That would inform me throughly of such errors 
 As oftentimes are incident to princes. 
 
 Rhe. All this may be. I have seen a man so curious 
 in feeling of the edge of a keen knife, that he has cut his 
 fingers. My flesh is not of proof against the metal I 
 am to handle ; the one is tenderer than the other. 
 
 Pal. I see, then, I must court thee. Take the word 
 Of a just prince ; for anything thou speakest 
 I have more than a pardon, thanks and love. 
 
 Rhe. I will remember you of an old tale that something 
 concerns you. Meleander, the great but unfortunate 
 statesman, was by your father treated with for a match 
 between you and his eldest daughter, the Lady Eroclea : 
 you were both near of an age. I presume you remember 
 a contract, and cannot forget her. 
 
 Pal. She was a lovely beauty. Prithee, forward ! 
 
 Rhe. To court was Eroclea brought ; was courted by 
 your father, not for Prince Palador, as it followed, but to
 
 30 THE L O VEK S MELANCHOL Y. [ACT II. 
 
 be made a prey' to some less noble design. With your 
 favour, I have forgot the rest. 
 
 Pal. Good, call it back again" into thy memory; 
 Else, losing the remainder, I am lost too. 
 
 Rhe. You charm * me. In brief, a rape by some bad 
 agents was attempted; by the Lord Meleander her father 
 rescued, she conveyed away; Meleander accused of 
 treason, his land seized, he himself distracted and con- 
 fined to the castle, where he yet lives. What had ensued 
 was doubtful ; but your father shortly after died. 
 
 Pal. But what became of fair Eroclea ? 
 
 Rhe. She never since was heard of. 
 
 Pal. No hope lives, then, 
 Of ever, ever seeing her again ? 
 
 Rhe. Sir, I feared I should anger thee. There was, as 
 I said, an old tale : I have now a new one, which may 
 perhaps season the first with a more delightful relish. 
 
 Pal. I am prepared to hear ; say what you please. 
 
 Rhe. My Lord Meleander failing, on whose favour 
 my fortunes relied, I furnished myself for travel, and 
 bent my course to Athens ; where a pretty accident, after 
 a while, came to my knowledge, 
 
 Pal. My ear is open to thee. 
 
 Rhe. A young lady contracted to a noble gentleman, as 
 the lady we last mentioned and your highness were, being 
 hindered by their jarring parents, stole from her home, 
 and was conveyed like a ship-boy in a merchant 2 from 
 the country where she lived, into Corinth first, afterwards 
 to Athens ; where in much solitariness she lived, like a 
 youth, almost two years, courted by all for acquaintance, 
 but friend to none by familiarity. 
 
 Pal. In habit of a man ? 
 
 Rhe. A handsome young man till, within these three 
 months or less, her sweetheart's father dying some year 
 before or more, she had notice of it, and with much joy 
 returned home, and, as report voiced it at Athens, enjoyed 
 
 1 Persuade. 2 i.e. A merchant ship.
 
 SCENE I .] THE L O VER ' S MELA NCHOL Y. 3 1 
 
 her happiness she was long an exile for. Now, noble sir, 
 if you did love the Lady Eroclea, why may not such 
 safety and fate direct her as directed the other ? 'tis not 
 impossible. 
 
 Pal. If I did love her, Rhetias ! Yes, I did. 
 Give me thy hand : as thou didst serve Meleander, 
 And art still true to these, henceforth serve me. 
 
 Rhe. My duty and my obedience are my surety ; 
 But I have been too bold. 
 
 Pal. Forget the sadder story of my father, 
 And only, Rhetias, learn to read 1 me well ; 
 For I must ever thank thee : thou'st unlocked 
 A tongue was vowed to silence ; for requital, 
 Open my bosom, Rhetias. 
 
 Rhe. What's your meaning ? 
 
 Pal To tie thee to an oath of secrecy. 
 Unloose the buttons, man : thou dost it faintly. 
 What find'st thou there ? 
 
 Rhe. A picture in a tablet. 
 
 Pal. Look well upon't. 
 
 Rhe. I do yes let me observe it 
 
 'Tis hers, the lady's. 
 
 Pal. Whose ? 
 
 Rhe. Eroclea's. 
 
 Pal. Hers that was once Eroclea. For her sake 
 Have I advanced Sophronos to the helm 
 Of government ; for her sake will restore 
 Meleander's honours to him ; will, for her sake, 
 Beg friendship from thee, Rhetias. O, be faithful, 
 And let no politic lord work from thy bosom 
 My griefs : I know thou wert put on to sift me ; 
 But be not too secure. 
 
 Rhe. I am your creature. 
 
 Pal Continue still thy discontented fashion, 
 Humour the lords, as they would humour me ; 
 I'll not live in thy debt. We are discovered. 
 
 1 Comprehend.
 
 32 THE LOVER' S MELANCHOLY. [ACT ir. 
 
 Enter AMETHUS, MENAPHON, THAMASTA, KALA, and 
 PARTHENOPHIL. 
 
 Amet. Honour and health still wait upon the prince ! 
 Sir, I am bold with favour to present 
 Unto your highness Menaphon my friend, 
 Returned from travel. 
 
 Men. Humbly on my knees 
 
 I kiss your gracious hand. 
 
 Pal. It is our duty 
 
 To love the virtuous. 
 
 Men. If my prayers or service 
 
 Hold any value, they are vowed yours ever. 
 
 Rhe. I have a fist for thee too, stripling; thou'rt 
 started up prettily since I saw thee. Hast learned any 
 wit abroad ? Canst tell news and swear lies with a 
 grace, like a true traveller ? What new ouzel's this ? 
 
 TJia. Your highness shall do right to your own judg- 
 ment 
 
 In taking more than common notice of 
 This stranger, an Athenian, named Parthenophil; 
 One who, if mine opinion do not soothe me 
 Too grossly, for the fashion of his mind 
 Deserves a dear respect. 
 
 Pal. Your commendations, 
 
 Sweet cousin, speak him nobly. 
 
 Par. All the powers 
 
 That sentinel just thrones double their guards 
 About your sacred excellence ! 
 
 Pal. What fortune 
 
 Led him to Cyprus ? 
 
 Men. My persuasions won him. 
 
 Amet. And if your highness please to hear the entrance 
 Into their first acquaintance, you will say 
 
 Tha. It was the newest, sweetest, prettiest accident 
 That e'er delighted your attention : 
 \ can discourse it, sir.
 
 SCENE I.] THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY. 33 
 
 Pal. Some other time. 
 
 How is he called ? 
 
 Tha. Parthenophil. 
 
 Pal. Parthenophil ! 
 
 We shall sort time to take more notice of him. {Exit. 
 
 Men. His wonted melancholy still pursues him. 
 
 Amet. I told you so. 
 
 Tha. You must not wonder at it. 
 
 Par. \ do not, lady. 
 
 Amet. Shall we to the castle ? 
 
 Men. We will attend ye both. 
 
 Rhe. All three, I'll go too. Hark in thine ear, 
 gallant ; I'll keep the old madman in chat, whilst thou 
 gabbiest to the girl: my thumb's upon my lips; not a word. 
 
 Amet. I need not fear thee, Rhetias. Sister, soon 
 Expect us : this day we will range the city. 
 
 Tha. Well, soon I shall expect ye. Kala ! 
 
 {Aside to KALA, 
 
 Kal. Trust me. 
 
 Rhe. Troop on ! Love, love, what a wonder thou art ! 
 {Exeunt all but PARTHENOPHIL and KALA. 
 
 Kal. May I not be offensive, sir ? 
 
 Par. Your pleasure? 
 
 Yet, pray, be brief. 
 
 Kal. Then, briefly ; good, resolve me ; 
 
 Have you a mistress or a wife? 
 
 Par. I've neither. 
 
 Kal. Nor did you ever love in earnest any 
 Fair lady, whom you wished to make your own ? 
 
 Par. Not any, truly. 
 
 Kal. What your friends or means are 
 
 I will not be inquisitive to know, 
 Nor do I care to hope for. But admit 
 A dowry were thrown down before your choice, 
 Of beauty, noble birth, sincere affection, 
 How gladly would you entertain it !' Young man, 
 I do not tempt you idly. 
 
 Ford. D
 
 34 THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY. ' [ACT II. 
 
 Par. I shall thank you, 
 
 Wheh my unsettled thoughts can make me sensible 
 Of what 'tis to be happy ; for the present 
 I am your debtor ; and, fair gentlewoman, 
 Pray give me leave as yet to study ignorance, 
 For my weak brains conceive not what concerns me. 
 Another time [Going. 
 
 Re-enter THAMASTA. 
 
 Tha. Do I break off your parley, 
 
 That you are parting ? Sure, my woman loves you : 
 Can she speak well, Parthenoph.il ? 
 
 Par. Yes, madam, 
 
 Discreetly chaste she can ; she hath much won 
 On my belief, and in few words, but pithy, 
 Much moved my thankfulness. You are her lady ; 
 Your goodness aims, I know, at her preferment ; 
 Therefore I may be bold to make confession 
 Of truth : if ever I desire to thrive 
 In woman's favour, Kala is the first 
 Whom my ambition shall bend to. 
 
 Tha. Indeed ! 
 
 But say a nobler love should interpose. 
 
 Par. Where real worth and constancy first settle 
 A hearty truth, there greatness cannot shake it ; 
 Nor shall it mine : yet I am but an infant 
 In that construction, which must give clear light 
 To Kala's merit ; riper hours hereafter 
 Must learn me how to grow rich in deserts. 
 Madam, my duty waits on you. [Exit. 
 
 Tha. Come hither : 
 
 " If ever henceforth I desire to thrive 
 In woman's favour, Kala is the first 
 Whom my ambition shall bend to." 'Twas so I 
 
 Kal. These very words he spake. 
 
 Tha. These very words 
 
 Curse thee, unfaithful creature, to thy grave. 
 Thou woo'dst him for thyself?
 
 SCENE II.] THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY. 35 
 
 KaL You said I should. 
 
 Tha. My name was never mentioned ? 
 
 Kal. Madam, no ; 
 
 We were not come to that. 
 
 Tha. Not come to that ! 
 
 Art thou a rival fit to cross my fate ? 
 Now poverty and a dishonest fame, 
 The waiting-woman's wages, be thy payment, 
 False, faithless, wanton beast ! I'll spoil your marriage. 1 
 There's not a page, a groom, nay, not a citizen 
 That shall be cast away upon ye, Kala ; 
 I'll keep thee in my service all thy lifetime, 
 Without hope of a husband or a suitor. 
 
 KaL I have not verily deserved this cruelty. 
 
 Tha. Parthenophil shall know, if he respect 
 My birth, the danger of a fond 2 neglect. [Exit. 
 
 Kal. Are you so quick ? Well, I may chance to cross 
 Your peevishness. Now, though I never meant 
 The young man for myself, yet, if he love me, 
 I'll have him, or I'll run away with him ; 
 And let her do her worst then ! What ! we're all 
 But flesh and blood ; the same thing that will do 
 My lady good will please her woman too. \Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. An Apartment in the Castle. 
 
 Enter CLEOPHILA and TROLLIO. 
 
 Cleo. Tread softly, Trollio ; my father sleeps still. 
 
 Trol. Ay, forsooth ; but he sleeps like a hare, with his 
 eyes open, and that's no good sign. 
 
 Cleo. Sure, thou art weary of this sullen living : 
 But I am not ; for I take more content 
 In my obedience here than all delights 
 The time presents elsewhere. 
 
 1 " Carriage " in the old eds. 2 Foolish.
 
 36 THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY. [ACT n. 
 
 Mel. [ Within} O ! 
 
 Cleo. Dost hear that groan ? 
 
 Trol. Hear it ! I shudder : it was a strong blast, young 
 mistress, able to root up heart, liver, lungs, and all. 
 
 Cleo, My much-wronged father ! let me view his face. 
 \Draws the arras : l MELEANDER discovered 
 in a chair, sleeping. 
 
 Trol. Lady mistress, shall I fetch a barber to steal 
 away his rough beard whiles he sleeps ? In's naps he 
 never looks in a glass and 'tis high time, on conscience, 
 for him to be trimmed ; 'has not been under the shaver's 
 hand almost these four years. 
 
 Cleo. Peace, fool ! 
 
 Trol. \Aside~\ I could clip the old ruffian ; there's hair 
 enough to stuff all the great codpieces in Switzerland. 
 'A begins to stir ; 'a stirs. Bless us, how his eyes roll ! 
 A good year keep your lordship in your right wits, I 
 beseech ye ! 
 
 Mel. Cleophila ! 
 
 Cleo, Sir, I am here; how d'ye, sir? 
 
 Trol. Sir, is your stomach up yet? get some warm 
 porridge in your belly ; 'tis a very good settle-brain. 
 
 Mel. The raven croaked, and hollow shrieks of 
 
 owls 
 
 Sung dirges at her funeral ; I laughed 
 The whiles, for 'twas no boot to weep. The girl 
 Was fresh and full of youth : but, O, the cunning 
 Of tyrants, that look big ! their very frowns 
 Doom poor souls guilty ere their cause be heard. 
 Good, what art thou ? and thou ? 
 
 Cleo. I am Cleophila, 
 
 Your woeful daughter. 
 
 Trol. I am Trollio, 
 
 Your honest implement. 
 
 1 Airas was used precisely as a curtain: it hung (on tenters or 
 lines) from the rafters, or from some temporary stay, and was 
 opened, held up, or drawn aside, as occasion required. Gifford.
 
 SCENE II.] THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY. 37 
 
 Mel. I know ye both, 'Las, why d'ye use me thus? 
 Thy sister, my Eroclea, was so gentle, 
 That turtles in their down do feed more gall 
 Than her spleen mixed with : yet, when winds and storm 
 Drive dirt and dust on banks of spotless snow, 
 The purest whiteness is no such defence 
 Against the sullying foulness of that fury. 
 So raved Agenor, that great man, mischief 
 Against the girl : 'twas a politic trick ! 
 We were too old in honour. I am lean, 
 And fall'n away extremely ; most assuredly 
 I have not dined these three days. 
 
 Cleo. Will you now, sir ? 
 
 Trol. I beseech ye heartily, sir : I feel a horrible 
 puking myself. 
 
 Mel. Am I stark mad ? 
 
 Trol. \Aside\ No, no, you are but a little staring ; 
 there's difference between staring and stark mad. You 
 are but whimsied yet ; crotcheted, conumdrumed, or so. 
 
 Mel. Here's all my care ; and I do often sigh 
 For thee, Cleophila ; we are secluded 
 From all good people. But take heed; Amethus 
 Was son to Doryla, Agenor's sister ; 
 There's some ill blood about him, if the surgeon 
 Have not been very skilful to let all out. 
 
 Cleo. I am, alas, too grieved to think of love ; 
 That must concern me least. 
 
 Mel. Sirrah, be wise ! be wise ! 
 
 Trol. Who, I ? I will be monstrous and wise imme- 
 diately. 
 
 Enter AMETHUS, MENAPHON, PARTHENOPHIL, and 
 RHETIAS. 
 
 Welcome, gentlemen ; the more the merrier. L'll lay the 
 
 cloth, and set the stools in a readiness, for I see here is 
 
 some hope of dinner now. \Exit. 
 
 Amet. My Lord Meleander, Menaphon, your kinsman,
 
 3 8 THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY. [ACT n. 
 
 Newly returned from travel, comes to tender 
 His duty t'ye ; to you his love, fair mistress. 
 
 Men. I would I could as easily remove 
 Sadness from your remembrance, sir, as study 
 To do you faithful service. My dear cousin, 
 All best of comforts bless your sweet obedience ! 
 
 Cleo. One chief of 'em, my worthy cousin, lives 
 In you and your well-doing. 
 
 Men. This young stranger 
 
 Will well deserve your knowledge. 
 
 Amct. For my friend's sake, 
 
 Lady, pray give him welcome. 
 
 Cleo. He has met it, 
 
 If sorrows can look kindly. 
 
 Par. You much honour me. 
 
 Rhe. [Aside] How he eyes the company! sure my 
 passion will betray my weakness. O my master, my noble 
 master, do not forget me ; I am still the humblest and 
 the most faithful in heart of those that serve you. 
 
 Mel. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Rhe. \Aside\ There's wormwood in that laughter ; 'tis 
 the usher to a violent extremity. 
 
 Mel. I am a weak old man. All these are come 
 To jeer my ripe calamities. 
 
 Men. Good uncle ! 
 
 Mel. But I'll outstare ye all : fools, desperate fools ! 
 You're cheated, grossly cheated ; range, range on, 
 And roll about the world to gather moss, 
 The moss of honour, gay reports, gay clothes, 
 Gay wives, huge empty buildings, whose proud roofs 
 Shall with their pinnacles even reach the stars. 
 Ye work and work like moles, blind in the paths 
 That are bored through the crannies of the earth, 
 To charge your hungry souls with such full surfeits 
 As being gorged once, make ye lean with plenty ; 
 And when ye've skimmed the vomit of your riots, 
 Ye're fat in no felicity but folly :
 
 SCENE II.] THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY. 39 
 
 Then your last sleeps seize on ye ; then the troops 
 Of worms crawl round and feast ; good cheer, rich fare, 
 Dainty, delicious ! Here's Cleophila 
 All the poor stock of my remaining thrift : 
 You, you, the prince's cousin, how d'ye like her? 
 Amethus, how d'ye like her ? 
 
 A met. My intents 
 
 Are just and honourable. 
 
 Men. Sir, believe him. 
 
 Mel. Take her. We two must part ; go to him do. 
 
 Par. This sight is full of horror. 
 
 Rhe. There is sense yet 
 
 In this distraction. 
 
 Mel. In this jewel I have given away 
 All what I can call mine. When I am dead, 
 Save charge ; let me buried in a nook : 
 No guns, no pompous whining ; these are fooleries. 
 If, whiles we live, we stalk about the streets 
 Jostled by carmen, footposts, and fine apes 
 In silken coats, unminded and scarce thought on 
 It is not comely to be haled to the earth, 
 Like high-fed jades upon a tilting-day, 
 In antic trappings. Scorn to useless tears ! 
 Eroclea was not coffined so ; she perished, 
 And no eye dropped save mine and I am childish : 
 I talk like one that dotes : laugh at me, Rhetias, 
 Or rail at me. They will not give me meat, 
 They've starved me; but I'll henceforth be mine own 
 
 cook. 
 
 Good morrow ! 'tis too early for my cares 
 To revel ; I will break my heart a little, 
 And tell ye more hereafter. Pray be merry, [Exit. 
 
 Rhe. I'll follow him. My Lord Amethus, use your 
 time respectively : few words to purpose soonest prevail : 
 study no long orations ; be plain and short. I'll follow 
 him. [Exit. 
 
 Amet. Cleophila, although these blacker clouds
 
 40 THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY. [ACT n. 
 
 Of sadness thicken and make dark the sky 
 Of thy fair eyes, yet give me leave to follow 
 The stream of my affections : they are pure, 
 Without all mixture of unnoble thoughts. 
 Can you be ever mine ? 
 
 Cleo. I am so low 
 
 In mine own fortunes and my father's woes, 
 That I want words to tell ye you deserve 
 A worthier choice. 
 
 Amet. But give me leave to hope. 
 
 Men. My friend is serious. 
 Cleo. Sir, this for answer. If I ever thrive 
 In any earthly happiness, the next 
 To my good father's wished recovery 
 Must be my thankfulness to your great merit, 
 Which I dare promise : for the present time 
 You cannot urge more from me. 
 
 Mel. [ Within} Ho, Cleophila ! 
 
 Cleo. This gentleman is moved. 
 
 Amet. Your eyes, Parthenophil, 
 
 Are guilty of some passion. 1 
 
 Men. Friend, what ails thee ? 
 
 Par. All is not well within me, sir. 
 
 Mel. [ Within] Cleophila ! 
 
 Amet. Sweet maid, forget me not ; we now must part. 
 
 Cleo. Still you shall have my prayer. 
 
 Amet. Still you my truth. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 1 Grief.
 
 
 ACT THE THIRD. 
 
 SCENE I. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enhr CUCULUS and GRILLA; the former in a black velvet 
 cap and a white feather, with a paper in his hand. 
 
 UC. Do not I look freshly, and like a 
 youth of the trim ? 
 
 Gril. As rare an old youth as ever 
 walked cross-gartered. 
 
 Cue. Here are my mistresses mustered 
 in white and black. [Reads'] " Kala, the 
 waiting-woman " I will first begin at the foot : stand 
 thou for Kala. 
 
 Gril. I stand for Kala ; do your best and your worst. 
 Cue. I must look big, and care little or nothing for 
 her, because she is a creature that stands at livery. Thus 
 I talk wisely, and to no purpose : Wench, as it is not fit 
 that thou shouldst be either fair or honest, so, considering 
 thy service, thou art as thou art, and so are thy betters, 
 let them be what they can be. Thus, in despite and 
 defiance of all thy good parts, if I cannot endure thy 
 baseness, 'tis more out of thy courtesy than my deserving ; 
 and so I expect thy answer. 
 Gril. I must confess 
 Cue. Well said. 
 
 Gril. You are 
 
 Cue. That's true too. 
 
 Gril. To speak you right, a very scurvy fellow. 
 Cue, Away, away ! dost think so ? 
 Gril. A very foul-mouthed and misshapen coxcomb. 
 Cue. I'll never believe it, by this hand.
 
 42 THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY. [ACT in. 
 
 Gril. A maggot, most unworthy to creep in 
 To the least wrinkle of a gentlewoman's 
 What d'ye call good conceit, or so, or what 
 You will else, were you not refined by courtship 
 And education, which in my blear eyes 
 Makes you appear as sweet as any nosegay, 
 Or savoury cod of musk new fall'n from the cat. 
 
 Cue. This shall serve well enough for the waiting- 
 Avoman. My next mistress is Cleophila, the old mad- 
 man's daughter. I must come "to her in whining tune; 
 sigh, wipe mine eyes, fold my arms, and blubber out my 
 speech as thus : Even as a kennel of hounds, sweet lady, 
 cannot catch a hare when they are full-paunched on the 
 carrion of a dead horse; so, even so, the gorge of my 
 affections being full-crammed with the garboils 1 of your 
 condolements doth tickle me with the prick, as it were, 
 about me, and fellow-feeling of howling outright. 
 
 Gril. This will do't, if we will hear. 
 
 Cue. Thou seest I am crying ripe, I am such another 
 tender-hearted fool. 
 
 Gril. Even as the snuff of a candle that is burnt in the 
 socket goes out, and leaves a strong perfume behind it ; 
 or as a piece of toasted cheese next the heart in a morn- 
 ing is a restorative for a sweet breath ; so, even so, the 
 odoriferous savour of your love doth perfume my heart 
 heigh-ho ! with the pure scent of an intolerable content, 
 and not to be endured. 
 
 Cue. By this hand, 'tis excellent ! Have at thee, last 
 of all, for the Princess Thamasta, she that is my mistress 
 indeed. She is abominably proud, a lady of a damnable 
 high, turbulent, and generous spirit : but I have a loud- 
 mouthed cannon of mine own to batter her, and a penned 
 speech of purpose : observe it. 
 
 Gril. Thus I walk by, hear, and mind yoft not. 
 
 Cue. \Reads\ " Though haughty as the devil or his dam 
 Thou dost appear, great mistress, yet I am 
 1 Tumult.
 
 SCENE I.] THE L O VER ' S MELANCHOL Y. 43 
 
 Like to an ugly firework, and can mount 
 Above the region of thy sweet ac count. 
 Wert thou the moon herself, yet having seen thee, 
 Behold the man ordained to move within thee." 
 Look to yourself, housewife ! answer me in strong lines, 
 you're best. 
 
 Gril. Keep off, poor fool, my beams will strike thee 
 
 blind ; 
 
 Else, if thou touch me, touch me but behind. 
 In palaces, such as pass in before 
 Must be great princes ; for at the back-door 
 Tatterdemalions wait, who know not how 
 To get admittance ; such a one art thou. 
 Cue. 'Sfoot, this is downright roaring. 
 Gril. I know how to present a big lady in her own 
 cue. But, pray, in earnest, are you in love with all 
 these ? 
 
 Cue. Pish ! I have not a rag of love about me ; 'tis 
 only a foolish humour I am possessed with, to be sur- 
 named the conqueror. I will court anything ; be in love 
 with nothing, nor no thing. 
 
 Gril. A rare man you are, I protest. 
 Cue. Yes, I know I am a rare man, and I ever held 
 myself so. 
 
 Enter PELIAS and CORAX. 
 
 Pel. In amorous contemplation, on my life ; 
 Courting his page, by Helicon ! 
 
 Cue. 'Tis false. 
 
 Gril. A gross untruth; I'll justify it, sir, 
 At any time, place, weapon. 
 
 Cue. Marry, shall she. 
 
 Cor. No quarrels, Goody Whisk ! lay-by your trum- 
 peries, and fall-to your practice. Instructions are ready 
 for you all. Pelias is your leader ; follow him : get 
 credit now or never. Vanish, doodles, vanish ! 
 
 1 The quarrelsome language of the bullies of the day.
 
 44 THE LOVER' S MELANCHOLY. [ACT in. 
 
 Cue. For the device ? 
 
 Cor. The same; get ye gone, and make no bawling. 
 
 [Exeunt all but CORAX. 
 
 To waste my time thus, drone-like, in the court, 
 And lose so many hours as my studies 
 Have hoarded up, is to be like a man 
 That creeps both on his hands and knees to climb 
 A mountain's top ; where, when he is ascended, 
 One careless slip down-tumbles him again 
 Into the bottom, whence he first began. 
 I need no prince's favour ; princes need 
 My art : then, Corax, be no more a gull ; 
 The best of 'em cannot fool thee, nay, they shall not. 
 
 Enter SOPHRONOS and ARETUS. 
 
 Soph. We find him timely now ; let's learn the cause. 
 
 Arc. 'Tis fit we should. Sir, we approve you learned. 
 And, since your skill can best discern the humours 
 That are predominant in bodies subject 
 To alteration, tell us, pray, what devil 
 This Melancholy is, which can transform 
 Men into monsters. 
 
 Cor. You're yourself a scholar, 
 
 And quick of apprehension. Melancholy 
 Is not, as you conceive, indisposition 
 Of body, but the mind's disease. So Ecstasy, 
 Fantastic Dotage, Madness, Frenzy, Rapture 
 Of mere imagination, differ partly 
 From Melancholy ; 1 which is briefly this, 
 A mere commotion of the mind, o'ercharged 
 With fear and sorrow ; first begot i' the brain, 
 The seat of reason, and from thence derived 
 As suddenly into the heart, the seat 
 Of our affection. 
 
 1 Vide (Ford says) Democritus Junior. He is alluding to Burton's 
 Anatomy of Melancholy.
 
 SCENE ii.] THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY. 45 
 
 Are. There are sundry kinds 
 
 Of this disturbance ? 
 
 Cor. Infinite ; it were 
 
 More easy to conjecture every hour 
 We have to live than reckon up the kinds 
 Or causes of this anguish of the mind. 
 
 Soph. Thus you conclude that, as the cause is doubtful, 
 The cure must be impossible ; and then 
 Our prince, poor gentleman, is lost for ever 
 As well unto himself as to his subjects. 
 
 Cor. My lord, you are too quick : thus much I dare 
 Promise and do ; ere many minutes pass 
 I will discover whence his sadness is, 
 Or undergo the censure of my ignorance. 
 
 Are. You are a noble scholar. 
 
 Soph. For reward 
 
 You shall make your own demand. 
 
 Cor. May I be sure ? 
 
 Are. We both will pledge our truth. 
 
 Cor. 'Tis soon performed : 
 
 That I may be discharged from my attendance 
 At court, and never more be sent for after ; 
 Or if I be, may rats gnaw all my books, 
 If I get home once, and come here again ! 
 Though my neck stretch a halter for't, I care not. 
 
 Soph. Come, come, you shall not fear it. 
 
 Cor. I'll acquaint ye 
 
 With what is to be done ; and you shall fashion it. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. A Room in THAMASTA'S House. 
 Enter KALA and PARTHENOPHIL. 
 
 Kal. My lady does expect ye, thinks all time 
 Too slow till you come to her : wherefore, young man,
 
 46 THE L VER ' S MELANCHOL Y. 
 
 If you intend to love me, and me only, 
 Before we part, without more circumstance, 
 Let us betroth ourselves. 
 
 Par. I dare not wrong ye ; 
 
 You are too violent. 
 
 Kal. Wrong me no more 
 
 Than I wrong you ; be mine, and I am yours : 
 I cannot stand on points. 
 
 Par. Then, to resolve 
 
 All further hopes, you never can be mine, 
 Must not, and pardon though I say you shall not. 
 
 Kal. \Aside\. The thing is sure a gelding. Shall not ! 
 
 Well, 
 
 You're best to prate unto my lady now, 
 What proffer I have made. 
 
 Par. Never, I vow. 
 
 Kal. Do, do ! 'tis but a kind heart of mine own, 
 And ill luck can undo me. Be refused ! 
 scurvy ! Pray walk on, I'll overtake ye. 
 
 \Exit PARTHENOPHIL. 
 What a green-sickness-livered boy is this ! 
 My maidenhead will shortly grow so stale 
 That, 'twill be mouldy : but I'll mar her market. 
 
 Enter MENAPHON. 
 
 Men. Parthenophil passed this way : prithee, Kala, 
 Direct me to him. 
 
 Kal. Yes, I can direct ye ; 
 
 But you, sir, must forbear. 
 
 Men. Forbear I 
 
 Kal. I said so. 
 
 Your bounty has engaged my truth : receive 
 A secret, that will, as you are a man, 
 Startle your reason ; 'tis but mere respect 
 Of what I owe to thankfulness. Dear sir, 
 The stranger whom your courtesy received 
 For friend is made your.riyal.
 
 SCENE ii.] THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY 47 
 
 Men. Rival, Kala ! 
 
 Take heed ; thou art too credulous. 
 
 Kal. My lady 
 
 Dotes on him. I will place you in a room 
 Where, though you cannot hear, yet you shall see 
 Such passages as will confirm the truth 
 Of my intelligence. 
 
 Men. 'Twill make me mad. 
 
 Kal. Yes, yes. 
 
 It makes me mad too, that a gentleman 
 Se excellently sweet, so liberal, 
 So kind, so proper, should be so betrayed 
 By a young smooth-chinned straggler : but for love's 
 
 sake, 
 
 Bear all with manly courage. Not a word ; 
 I am undone then. 
 
 Men. That were too much pity : 
 
 Honest, most honest Kala, 'tis thy care, 
 Thy serviceable care. 
 
 Kal. You have even spoken 
 
 All can be said or thought. 
 
 Men. I will reward thee : 
 
 But as for him, ungentle boy, I'll whip 
 His falsehood with a vengeance. 
 
 Kal. O, speak little. 
 
 Walk up these stairs ; and take this key : it opens 
 A chamber-door, where, at that window yonder, 
 You may see all their courtship. 
 
 Men. I am silent. 
 
 Kal. As little noise as may be, I beseech ye : 
 There is a back-stair to convey ye forth 
 Unseen or unsuspected. \Exit MENAPHON. 
 
 He that cheats 
 
 A Waiting-woman of a free good turn 
 She longs for must expect a shrewd revenge. 
 Sheep-spirited boy ! although he had not married me, 
 He might have proffered kindness in a corner,
 
 48 THE LOrER' S MELANCHOLY. [ACT in. 
 
 And ne'er have been the worse for't. They are come : 
 On goes my set of faces most demurely. 
 
 Enter THAMASTA and PARTHENOPHIL. 
 
 Tha. Forbear the room. 
 
 Kql. Yes, madam. 
 
 Tha. Whosoever 
 
 Requires access to me, deny him entrance 
 Till I call thee; aud wait without. 
 
 Kal I shall. 
 
 Sweet Venus, turn his courage to a snow-ball ; 
 I heartily beseech it ! [Aside, and exit. 
 
 Tha. I expose 
 
 The honour of my birth, my fame, my youth, 
 To hazard of much hard construction, 
 In seeking an adventure of a parley, 
 So private, with a stranger : if your thoughts 
 Censure me not with mercy, you may soon 
 Conceive I have laid by that modesty 
 Which should preserve a virtuous name unstained. 
 
 Par. Lady, to shorten long excuses, time 
 And safe experience have so throughly armed 
 My apprehension with a real taste 
 Of your most noble nature, that to question 
 The least part of your bounties, or that freedom 
 Which heaven hath with a plenty made you rich in, 
 Would argue me uncivil ; * which is more, 
 Base-bred ; and, which is most of all, unthankful. 
 
 Tha. The constant loadstone and the steel are found 
 In several mines ; yet is there such a league 
 Between these minerals as if one vein 
 Of earth had nourished both. The gentle myrtle 
 Is not engraft upon an olive's stock, 
 Yet nature hath between them locked a secret 
 Of sympathy, that, being planted near, 
 They will, both in their branches and their roots, 
 
 1 Ignorant of the language and manners of good society.
 
 SCENE II.] THE LOVER' S MELANCHOLY. 49 
 
 Embrace each other : twines of ivy round 
 
 The well-grown oak ; the vine doth court the elm ; 
 
 Yet these are different plants. Parthenophil, 
 
 Consider this aright ; then these slight creatures 
 
 Will fortify the reasons I should frame 
 
 For that ungrounded- as thou think'st affection 
 
 Which is submitted to a stranger's pity. 
 
 True love may blush, when shame repents too late 
 
 But in all actions nature yields to fate. 
 
 Par. Great lady, 'twere a dulness must exceed 
 The grossest and most sottish kind of ignorance 
 Not to be sensible of your intents ; 
 I clearly understand them. Yet so much 
 The difference between that height and lowness 
 Which doth distinguish our unequal fortunes 
 Dissuades me from ambition, that I am 
 Humbler in my desires than love's own power 
 Can any way raise up. 
 
 Tha. I am a princess, 
 
 And know no law of slavery ; to sue, 
 Yet be denied ! 
 
 Par. I am so much a subject 
 
 To every law of noble honesty, 
 That to transgress the vows of perfect friendship 
 I hold a sacrilege as foul and cursed 
 As if some holy temple had been robbed, 
 And I the thief. 
 
 Tha. Thou art unwise, young man, 
 
 T' enrage a lioness. 
 
 Par. It were unjust 
 
 To falsify a faith, and ever after, 
 Disrobed of that fair ornament, live naked, 
 A scorn to time and truth. 
 
 Tha. Remember well 
 
 Who I am, and what thou art. 
 
 Par. That remembrance 
 
 Prompts me to worthy duty. O. great lady, 
 
 Ford. p
 
 50 THE L O VER ' S MELA NCHOL Y. [ACT HI. 
 
 If some few days have tempted your free heart 
 To cast away affection on a stranger ; 
 If that affection have so overswayed 
 Your judgment, that it, in a manner, hath 
 Declined your sovereignty of birth and spirit ; 
 How can ye turn your eyes off from that glass 
 Wherein you may new-trim and settle right 
 A memorable name ? 
 
 Tha. The youth is idle. 1 
 
 Par. Days, months, and years are passed since Men- 
 
 aphon 
 
 Hath loved and served you truly ; Menaphon, 
 A man of no large distance in his blood 
 From yours ; in qualities desertful, graced 
 With youth, experience, every happy gift 
 That can by nature or by education 
 Improve a gentleman : for him, great lady, 
 Let me prevail, that you will yet at last 
 Unlock the bounty which your love and care 
 Have wisely treasured up, t'enrich his life. 
 
 T/ia. Thou hast a moving eloquence, Parthenophil ! 
 Parthenophil, in vain we strive to cross 
 The destiny that guides us. My great heart 
 Is stooped so much beneath that wonted pride 
 That first disguised it, that I now prefer 
 A miserable life with thee before 
 All other earthly comforts. 
 
 Par. Menaphon, 
 
 By me, repeats the self- same words to you : 
 You are too cruel, if you can distrust 
 His truth or my report. 
 
 Tha. Go where thou wilt, 
 
 I'll be an exile with thee ; I will learn 
 To bear all change of fortunes. 
 
 Par. For my friend 
 
 I plead with grounds of reason. 
 
 i j,e, Talks idly.
 
 SCENE II.] THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY. 51 
 
 Tha. For thy love, 
 
 Hard-hearted youth, I here renounce all thoughts 
 Of other hopes, of other entertainments, 
 
 Par. Stay, as you honour virtue. 
 
 Tha. When the proffers 
 
 Of other greatness, 
 
 Par. Lady ! 
 
 Tha. When entreats 
 
 Of friends, 
 
 Par. I'll ease your grief. 
 
 Tha. Respect of kindred, 
 
 Par. Pray, give me hearing. 
 
 Tha. Loss of fame, 
 
 Par. I crave 
 
 But some few minutes. 
 
 Tha. Shall infringe my vows, 
 
 Let heaven, 
 
 Par. My love speaks t'ye : hear, then go on. 
 
 Tha. Thy love ! why, 'tis a charm to stop a vow 
 In its most violent course. 
 
 Par. Cupid has broke 
 
 His arrows here ; and, like a child unarmed, 
 Comes to make sport between us with no weapon 
 But feathers stolen from his mother's doves. 
 
 Tha. This is mere trifling. 
 
 Par. Lady, take a secret. 
 
 I am as you are in a lower rank, 
 Else of the self-same sex a maid, a virgin. 
 And now, to use your own words, " if your thoughts 
 Censure me not with mercy, you may soon 
 Conceive I have laid by that modesty 
 Which should preserve a virtuous name unstained." 
 
 Tha. Are you not mankind, then ? 
 
 Par. When you shall read 
 
 The story of my sorrows, with the change 
 Of my misfortunes, in a letter printed 1 
 
 ) " Printed " was used in the sens" merely of " recorded,"
 
 52 THE L O VER ' S MELA NCHOL Y. [ACT in. 
 
 From my unforged relation, I believe 
 You will not think the shedding of one tear 
 A prodigality that misbecomes 
 Your pity and my fortune. 
 
 Tha. Pray, conceal 
 
 The errors of my passion. 
 
 Par. Would I had 
 
 Much more of honour as for life, I value't not 
 To venture on your secrecy ! 
 
 Tha. It will be 
 
 A hard task for my reason to relinquish 
 The affection which was once devoted thine 
 I shall awhile repute thee still the youth 
 I loved so dearly. 
 
 Par. You shall find me ever 
 
 Your ready faithful servant. 
 
 Tha. O, the powers 
 
 Who do direct our hearts laugh at our follies ! 
 We must not part yet. 
 
 Par. Let not my unworthiness ' 
 
 Alter your good opinion. 
 
 Tha. I shall henceforth 
 
 Be jealous of thy company with any : 
 My fears are strong and many. 
 
 . Re-enter KALA. 
 
 Kal. Did your ladyship 
 
 Call me ? 
 
 Tha. For what ? 
 
 KG?- Your servant Menaphon 
 
 Desires admittance. 
 
 Enter MENAPHON. 
 
 Men. With your leave, great mistress, 
 
 I come, So private ! is this well, Parthenophil ? 
 
 Par. Sir, noble sir, 
 
 Men. You are unkind and treacherous ; 
 
 This 'tis to trust a straggler !
 
 SCENE II.] THE L O VER ' S MELA NCHOL Y. 55 
 
 Tha. Prithee, servant, 
 
 Men. I dare not question you ; you are my mistress, 
 My prince's nearest kinswoman : but he 
 
 Tha, Come, you are angry. 
 
 Men. Henceforth I will bury 
 
 Unmanly passion in perpetual silence : 
 I'll court mine own distraction, dote on folly, 
 Creep to the mirth and madness of the age, 
 Rather than be so slaved again to woman, 
 Which in her best of constancy is steadiest 
 In change and scorn. 
 
 Tha. How dare ye talk to me thus ? 
 
 Men. Dare ! Were you not own sister to my friend, 
 Sister to my Amethus, I would hurl ye 
 As far off from mine eyes as from my heart ; 
 For I would never more look on ye. Take 
 Your jewel t'ye ! And, youth, keep under wing, 
 Or boy ! boy ! 
 
 Tha. If commands be of no force, 
 
 Let me entreat thee, Menaphon. 
 
 Men, 'Tis naught. 
 
 Fie, fie, Parthenophil ! have I deserved 
 To be thus used ? 
 
 Par. I do protest 
 
 Men. You shall not : 
 
 Henceforth I will be free, and hate my bondage. 
 
 Enter AMETHUS. 
 
 Amet. Away, away to court ! The prince is pleased 
 To see a masque to-night ; we must attend him : 
 'Tis near upon the time. How thrives your suit ? 
 
 Men. The judge, your sister, will decide it shortly. 
 
 Tha. Parthenophil, I will not trust you from me. 
 
 [Exeunt.
 
 54 THE LOVER' S MELANCHOLY. [ACT in. 
 
 SCENE III. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter PALADOR, SOPHRONOS, ARETUS, and CORAX ; 
 Servants with torclxs. 
 
 Cor. Lights and attendance ! I will show your high- 
 ness 
 
 A trifle of mine own brain. If you can, 
 Imagine you were now in the university, 
 You'll take it well enough ; a" scholar's fancy, 
 A quab 'tis nothing else a very quab. 1 
 
 Pal. We will observe it. 
 
 Soph. Yes > an d grace it too, sir, 
 
 For Corax else is humorous and testy. 
 
 Are. By any means ; men singular in art 
 Have always some odd whimsey more than usual. 
 
 Pal. The name of this conceit ? 
 
 Cor. Sir, it is called 
 
 The Masque of Melancholy. 2 
 
 Are. We must look for 
 
 Nothing but sadness here, then. 
 
 Cor. Madness rather 
 
 In several changes. Melancholy is 
 The root as well of every apish frenzy, 
 Laughter, and mirth, as dulness. Pray, my lord, 
 Hold, and observe the plot [Gives PALADOR a paper\ : 
 
 'tis there expressed 
 In kind, what shall be now expressed in action. 
 
 1 An unfledged bird, a nestling : metaphorically, anything in an 
 imperfect, unfinished state. In the first sense the word is still used 
 in that part of Devonshire where Ford was born, and perhaps in 
 many other places. It is undoubtedly (among other things) a small 
 fish of some kind ; but I have given it a meaning more familiar to 
 me, as I am persuaded it was to Ford. Gifford. 
 
 2 Ford has here introduced one of those interludes in which the 
 old stage so much delighted. The variolas characters of these 
 " apish frenzies," as he calls them, he has taken from Burton's 
 Anatomy of Melancholy, the book to which he refers in a former 
 scene. He cannot be said to have improved what he has borrowed, 
 which, on the contrary, reads better in Burton's pages than his own. 
 Giford.
 
 SCENE in.] THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY. 55 
 
 Enter AMETHUS, MENAPHON, THAMASTA, and PAR- 
 
 THENOPHIL. 
 
 No interruption ; take your places quickly ; 
 
 Nay, nay, leave ceremony. Sound to the entrance ! 
 
 \Flourish. 
 
 Enter RHETIAS, his face whited, with black shag hair 
 and long nails, and with a fiiece of raw meat. 
 
 Rhe. Bow, bow! wow, wow ! the moon's eclipsed; I'll 
 to the churchyard and sup. Since I turned wolf, I bark, 
 and howl, and dig up graves : I will never have the sun 
 shine again: 'tis midnight, deep dark midnight, get a 
 prey, and fall to I have catchedthee now Arre ! 
 
 Cor. This kind is called Lycanthropia, sir ; when men 
 conceive themselves wolves. 1 
 
 Pal. Here I find it. \Looking at the paper. 
 
 Enter PELIAS, with a crown of feathers and anticly rich. 
 
 Pel. I will hang 'em all, and burn my wife. Was I not 
 an emperor ? my hand was kissed, and ladies lay down 
 before me ; in triumph did I ride with my nobles about me 
 till the mad dog bit me : I fell, and I fell, and I fell. It 
 shall be treason by statute for any man to name water, or 
 wash his hands, throughout all my dominions. Break all 
 the looking-glasses ; I will not see my horns : my wife 
 cuckolds me ; she is a whore, a whore, a whore, a whore ! 
 
 Pal. Hydrophobia 2 term you this ? 
 
 Cor. And men possessed so shun all sight of water : 
 Sometimes, if mixed with jealousy, it renders them 
 Incurable, and oftentimes brings death. 
 
 1 "Lycanthropia, which Avicenna calls Cucubuth, others Lu-pi- 
 nam insa.niam or Wolf-madness, when men ran howling about 
 graves and fields in the night, and will not be perswaded but that 
 they are Wolves, or some such beasts," &c. Anat. of Mel. 
 
 Hydrophobia is a kind of madness, well known in every village, 
 which comes by the biting of a mad dog, or scratching, saith Aure- 
 lianus ; touching, or smelling alone sometimes, as Sckenkius proves 
 .... so called, because the parties affected cannot endure the sight 
 of water, or any liquor, supposing still they see a mad dog in it. 
 And which is more wonderful, though they be very dry (as in this 
 malady they are), they will rather dye than drink." Anat. of Mel.
 
 56 THE L O VER'S MELANCHOL K [ACT in. 
 
 Enter a Philosopher in black rags, with a copper chain, 
 an old gown half off, and a book. 
 
 Phi. Philosophers dwell in the moon. Speculation and 
 theory girdle the world about like a wall. Ignorance, like 
 an atheist, must be damned in the pit. I am very, very 
 poor, and poverty is the physic for the soul : my opinions 
 are pure and perfect. Envy is a monster, and I defy the 
 beast. 
 
 Cor. Delirium this is called, which is mere dotage, 1 
 Sprung from ambition first and singularity, 
 Self-love, and blind opinion of true merit. 
 
 Pal. I not dislike the course. 
 
 Enter GRILLA, in a rich gown, a great farthingale, a great 
 ruff, a muff, a fan, and a coxcomb - on her head. 
 
 Gril. Yes forsooth, and no forsooth ; is not this fine ? I 
 pray your blessing, gaffer. Here, here, here did he give 
 me a shough, 3 and cut off's tail ! Buss, buss, nuncle, and 
 there's a pum for daddy. 
 
 Cor. You find this noted there phrenitis.* 
 
 Pal True. 
 
 Cor. Pride is the ground on't ; it reigns most in women. 
 
 1 " Dotage, Fatuity, or Folly, is a common name to all the fol- 
 lowing species, as some will have it. Laurentius and Altomarus 
 comprehended Madness, Melancholy, and the rest under this name, 
 and call it the sum-mum genus of them all. If it be distinguished 
 from them, it is natural or ingenUe, which comes by some defect of 
 the organs, and over-much brain, as we see in our common fools ; 
 and is for the most part intended or remitted in particular men, and 
 thereupon some are wiser than other ; or else it is acquisite, an 
 appendix or symptome of some other disease, which comes or goes ; 
 or if it continue, a sign of Melancholy itself." Anat. of Mel. 
 
 3 A fool's cap. 3 A shock-dog, a water spaniel. 
 
 4 "Phrenitis, which the Greeks derive from the word <{>pi}v, is a 
 disease of the mind, with a continual madness or dotage, which hath 
 an acute fever annexed, or else an inflammation of the brain, or the 
 membranes or kells of it, with an acute feaver, which causeth mad- 
 ness and dotage. It differs from Melancholy and Madness, because 
 their dotage is without an ague : this continual, with waking, or 
 memory decayed, &c. Melancholy is most part silent, this clamor- 
 ous; and many such like differences are assigned by physitians." 
 Anat, oj Mel.
 
 SCENE in.] THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY. 57 
 
 Enter CUCULUS like a Bedlam, singing. 
 
 Cue. They that will learn to drink a health in hell 
 Must learn on earth to take tobacco well, 
 To take tobacco well, to take tobacco well ; 
 For in hell they drink nor wine nor ale nor beer, 
 But fire and smoke and stench, as we do here. 
 Rhe. I'll swoop thee up. 
 
 Pel. Thou'st straight to execution. 
 
 Gril. Fool, fool, fool ! catch me an thou canst. 
 Phi. Expel him the house ; 'tis a dunce. 
 Cue. \_Sings~\ 
 
 Hark ! did ye not hear a rumbling ? 
 
 The goblins are now a tumbling: 
 
 I'll tear 'em, I'll sear 'em, 
 
 I'll roar 'em, I'll gore 'em ! 
 
 Now, now, now ! my brains are a 
 
 jumbling, 
 Bounce ! the gun's off. 
 
 Pal. You name this here hypochondriacal ? 1 
 Cor. Which is a windy flatuous humour, stuffing 
 The head, and thence derived to the animal parts. 
 To be too over-curious, loss of goods 
 Or friends, excess of fear, or sorrows cause it. 
 
 Enter a Sea-Nymph big-bellied, singing and dancing. 
 
 Nymph. Good your honours, 
 
 Pray your worships, 
 
 Dear your beauties, 
 Cue. Hang thee ! 
 
 To lash your sides, 
 
 To tame your hides, 
 
 To scourge your prides ; 
 
 And bang thee. 
 Nymph. We're pretty and dainty, and I will begin : 
 
 See, how they do jeer me, deride me, and 
 grin ! 
 
 1 " The third [species of melancholy] ariseth from the bowels, 
 liver, spleen, or membrane called mesenterium, named Hypochoa-. 
 driacal or windy Melancholy," SiC.Anat. of Mel.
 
 58 THE L O VER'S MELA NCHOL Y. [ACT in. 
 
 Come sport me, come court me, your topsail 
 
 advance, 
 
 And let us conclude our delights in a dance ! 
 All. A dance, a dance, a dance ! 
 
 Cor. This is the Wanton Melancholy. Women 
 With child, possessed with this strange fury, often 
 Have danced three days together without ceasing. 1 
 
 Pal. Tis very strange : but Heaven is full of miracles. 
 
 [A Dance, after which the Masquers run out in couples. 
 
 We are thy debtor, Corax, for the gift 
 
 Of this invention ; but the plot deceives us : 
 
 What means this empty space ? [Pointing to the paper. 
 
 Cor. One kind of Melancholy 
 
 Is only left untouched : 'twas not in art 
 To personate the shadow of that fancy ; 
 'Tis named Love- Melancholy. As, for instance, 
 Admit this stranger here, young man, stand forth 
 
 [To PARTHENOPHIL. 
 Entangled by the beauty of this lady, 
 The great Thamasta, cherished in his heart 
 The weight of hopes and fears ; it were impossible 
 To limn his passions in such lively colours 
 As his own proper sufferance could express. 
 
 Par. You are not modest, sir. 
 
 Tha. Am I your mirth ? 
 
 Cor. Love is the tyrant of the heart ; it darkens 
 Reason, confounds discretion ; deaf to counsel, 
 It runs a headlong course to desperate madness. 
 
 1 " Chorus Sancti Viti, or S. Vitus' dance; the lascivious dance 
 Paracelsus calls it, because they that are taken with it can do nothing 
 but dance till they be dead or cured. It is so called, for that the 
 parties sp troubled were wont to go to S. Vitus for help, and after 
 they had danced there a while, they were certainly freed. 'Tis 
 strange to hear how long they will dance, and in what manner, over 
 stools, forms, tables ; even great-bellied women .sometimes (ami yet 
 never hurt their children) will dance so long that they can stir neither 
 hand nor foot, out seem to be quite dead." Atiat. of Mel.
 
 SCENE m.] THE LOrER'S MELANCHOLY. 53 
 
 O, were your highness but touched home and throughly 
 With this what shall I call it devil 
 
 Pal. Hold ! 
 
 Let no man henceforth name the word again. 
 Wait you my pleasure, youth. 'Tis late ; to rest ! \Exit. 
 
 Cor. My lords, 
 
 Soph. Enough ; thou art a perfect arts-man. 
 
 Cor. Panthers may hide their heads, not change the 
 
 skin ; 
 And Iqve pent ne'er so close, yet will be seen. \Exeunt.
 
 ACT THE FOURTH. 
 
 SCENE I. A Room in THAMASTA'S House. 
 
 Enter AMETHUS and MENAPHON. 
 
 MET. Dote on a stranger? 
 
 Men. Court him ; plead, and sue 
 
 to him. 
 
 Amet. Affectionately ? 
 Men. Servilely ; and pardon me 
 
 If I say basely. 
 Amet. Women, in their passions, 
 
 Like false fires, flash, to fright our trembling senses, 
 Yet in themselves contain nor light nor heat. 
 My sister do this ! she, whose pride did scorn 
 All thoughts that were not busied on a crown, 
 To fall so far beneath her fortunes now ! 
 You are my friend. 
 
 Men. What I confirm is truth. 
 
 Amet. Truth, Menaphon ? 
 
 Men. If I conceived you were 
 
 Jealous of my sincerity and plainness, 
 Then, sir, 
 
 Amet. What then, sir ? 
 
 Men. I would then resolve 
 
 You were as changeable in vows of friendship 
 As is Thamasta in her choice of love : 
 That sin is double, running in a blood, 
 Which justifies another being worse. 
 
 Amet. My Menaphon, excuse me ; I grow wild,
 
 SCENE I.] THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY. 61 
 
 And would not willingly believe the truth 
 Of my dishonour : she shall know how much 
 I am a debtor to thy noble goodness 
 By checking the contempt her poor desires 
 Have sunk her fame in. Prithee tell me, friend, 
 How did the youth receive her? 
 
 Men. With a coldness 
 
 As modest and as hopeless as the trust 
 I did repose in him could wish or merit. 
 
 Antet. I will esteem him dearly. 
 
 Enter THAMASTA and KALA. 
 
 Men. Sir, your sister. 
 
 Tha. Servant, I have employment for ye. 
 
 A met. Hark ye ! 
 
 The mask of your ambition is fall'n off ; 
 Your pride hath stooped to such an abject lowness, 
 That you have now discovered to report 
 Your nakedness in virtue, honours, shame, 
 
 Tha. You are turned satire. 1 
 
 Amet. All the flatteries 
 
 Of greatness have exposed ye to contempt. 
 
 Tha. This is mere railing. 
 
 Amet. You have sold your birth 
 
 For lust. 
 
 Tha. Lust ! 
 
 Amet. Yes ; and at a dear expense 
 
 Purchased the only glories of a wanton. 
 
 Tha. A wanton ! 
 
 Amet, Let repentance stop your mouth; 
 
 Learn to redeem your fault. 
 
 Kal. [Aside to MENAPHON.] I hope your tongue 
 Has not betrayed my honesty. 
 
 Men. [Aside to KALA.] Fear nothing. 
 
 Tha. If, Menaphon, I hitherto have strove 
 To keep a wary guard about my fame ; 
 1 Satirist.
 
 62 THE L O VER ' S MELANCHOL Y. [ACT IV. 
 
 If I have used a woman's skill to sift 
 The constancy of your protested love ; 
 You cannot, in the justice of your judgment, 
 Impute that to a coyness or neglect, 
 Which my discretion and your service aimed 
 For noble purposes. 
 
 Men. Great mistress, no. 
 
 I rather quarrel with mine own ambition, 
 That durst to soar so high as to feed hope 
 Of any least desert that might entitle 
 My duty to a pension from your favours. 
 
 Amet. And therefore, lady, pray, observe him well, 
 He henceforth covets plain equality ; 
 Endeavouring to rank his fortunes low, 
 With some fit partner, whom, without presumption, 
 Without offence or danger, he may cherish, 
 Yes, and command too, as a wife, a wife, 
 A wife, my most great lady ! 
 
 Kal [Aside} All will out. 
 
 Tha. Now I perceive the league of amity, 
 Which you have long between ye vowed and kept, 
 Is sacred and inviolable ; secrets 
 Of every nature are in common to you. 
 I have trespassed, and I have been faulty ; 
 Let not too rude a censure deem me guilty, 
 Or judge my error wilful without pardon. 
 
 Men. Gracious and virtuous mistress ! 
 
 Amet. Tis a trick ; 
 
 There is no trust in female cunning, friend. 
 Let her first purge her follies past, and clear 
 The wrong done to her honour, by some sure 
 Apparent testimony of her constancy ; 
 Or we will not believe these childish plots : 
 As you respect my friendship, lend no ear 
 To a reply, Think on't ! 
 
 Men, Pray, love your fame. 
 
 \Exeunt MENAPHON and AMETHUS,
 
 SCENE II.] THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY. 63 
 
 Tha. Gone ! I am sure awaked. Kala, I find 
 You have not been so trusty as the duty 
 You owed required. 
 
 Kal. Not I? I do protest 
 
 I have been, madam. 
 
 Tha. Be no matter what, 
 
 I'm paid in my own coin ; something I must, 
 And speedily. So ! Seek out Cuculus ; 
 Bid him attend me instantly. 
 
 Kal. That antic ! 
 
 The trim old youth shall wait ye. 
 
 TJia. Wounds may be mortal, which are wounds 
 
 indeed ; 
 But no wound's deadly till our honours bleed. {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. A Room in the Castle. 
 Enter RHETIAS and CORAX. 
 
 Rhe. Thou'rt an excellent fellow. Diabolo ! O these 
 lousy close-stool empirics, that will undertake all cures, 
 yet know not the causes of any disease ! Dog-leeches ! l 
 By the four elements, I honour thee ; could find in my 
 heart to turn knave, and be thy flatterer. 
 
 Cor. Sirrah, 'tis pity thou'st not been a scholar; 
 Thou'rt honest, blunt, and rude enough, o' conscience. 
 But for thy lord now, I have put him to't. 
 
 Rhe. He chafes hugely, fumes like a stew-pot : is he 
 not monstrously overgone in frenzy ? 
 
 Cor. Rhetias, 'tis not a madness, but his sorrows 
 Close-griping grief and anguish of the soul 
 That torture him ; he carries hell on earth 
 Within his bosom : 'twas a prince's tyranny 
 Caused his distraction ; and a prince's sweetness 
 Must qualify that tempest of his mind. 
 
 * Dog-doctors,
 
 . 64 THE L O VER ' S MELA NCHOL Y. [ACT iv. 
 
 Rhe. Corax, to praise thy art were to assure 
 The misbelieving world that the sun shines 
 When 'tis i' the full meridian of his beauty : 
 No cloud of black detraction can eclipse 
 The light of thy rare knowledge. Henceforth, casting 
 All poor disguises off, that play in rudeness, 
 Call me your servant ; only for the present, 
 I wish a happy blessing to your labours. 
 Heaven crown your undertakings ! and believe me, 
 Ere many hours can pass, at our next meeting, 
 The bonds my duty owes shall be full cancelled. 
 
 Cor. Farewell. {Exit RHETIAS. 
 
 A shrewd-brained whoreson ; there is pith 
 In his untoward plainness. 
 
 Enter TROLLIO, with a morion l on. 
 
 Now, the news ? 
 
 Trol. Worshipful Master Doctor, I have a great deal of I 
 cannot tell what to say t'ye. My lord thunders ; every 
 word that comes out of his mouth roars like a cannon ; 
 the house shook once : my young lady dares not be 
 seen. 
 
 Cor. We will roar with him, Trollio, if he roar. 
 
 Trol. He has got a great poleaxe in his hand, and 
 fences it up and down the house, as if he were to make 
 room for the pageants. I have provided me a morion 
 for fear of a clap on the coxcomb. 
 
 Cor. No matter for the morion ; here's my cap : 
 Thus I will pull it down, and thus outstare him. 
 
 \He produces a frightful mask and headpiece. 
 
 Trol. \Aside\ The physician is got as mad as my lord. 
 O brave ! a man of worship. 
 
 Cor. Let him come, Trollio. I will firk his trangdido, 
 and bounce and bounce in metal, honest Trollio. 
 
 Trol. [Aside] He vapours like a tinker, and struts 
 like a juggler. 
 
 A helmet.
 
 SCENE n.'J THE LOVER' S MELANCHOLY. 65 
 
 Mel. [ Within'] So ho, so ho ! 
 
 Trol. There, there, there ! look to your right wor- 
 shipful, look to yourself. 
 
 Enter MELEANDER with a poleaxe. 
 
 Mel. Show me the dog whose triple-throated noise 
 Hath roused a lion from his uncouth den 
 To tear the cur in pieces. 
 
 Cor, [Putting on his mask, and turning to MELEANDER. 
 
 Stay thy paws, 
 
 Courageous beast ; else, lo, the Gorgon's skull, 
 That shall transform thee to that restless stone 
 Which Sisyphus rolls up against the hill, 
 Whence, tumbling down again, it with his weight 
 Shall crush thy bones and puff thee into air. 
 
 Mel. Hold, hold thy conquering breath ; 'tis stronger 
 
 far 
 
 Than gunpowder and garlic. If the fates 
 Have spun my thread, and my spent clue of life 
 Be now untwisted, let us part like friends. 
 Lay up my weapon, Trollio, and be gone. 
 
 Trol. Yes, sir, with all my heart. 
 
 Mel. This friend and I 
 
 Will walk, and gabble wisely. 
 
 \Exit TROLLIO with the poleaxe. 
 
 Cor. I allow 
 
 The motion ; on ! \Takcs off his mask. 
 
 Mel. So politicians thrive, 
 
 That, with their crabbed faces and sly tricks, 
 Legerdemain, ducks, cringes, formal beards, 
 Crisped hairs, and punctual cheats, do wriggle in 
 Their heads first, like a fox, to rooms of state, 
 Then the whole body follows. 
 
 Cor. Then they fill 
 
 Lordships ; steal women's hearts ; with them and theirs 
 The world runs round ; yet these are square 1 men still. 
 
 i Honest. 
 Ford, F
 
 66 THE L O VER ' S MELA NCHOL Y. [ACT iv. 
 
 Mel. There are none poor but such as engross offices. 
 
 Cor. None wise but unthrifts, bankrupts, beggars, 
 rascals. 
 
 Mel. The hangman is a rare physician. 
 
 Cor. [Aside] That's not so good. It shall be granted. 
 
 Mel. All 
 
 The buzz of drugs and minerals and simples, 
 Bloodlettings, vomits, purges, or what else 
 Is conjured up by men of art, to gull 
 Liege-people, and rear golden piles, are trash 
 To a strong well-wrought halter ; there the gout, 
 The stone, yes, and the melancholy devil, 
 Are cured in less time than a pair of minutes : 
 Build me a gallows in this very plot, 
 And I'll dispatch your business. 
 
 Cor. Fix the knot 
 
 Right under the left ear. 
 
 Mel. Sirrah, make ready. 
 
 Cor. Yet do not be too sudden ; grant me leave 
 To give a farewell to a creature long 
 Absented from me : 'tis a daughter, sir, 
 Snatched from me in her youth, a handsome girl ; 
 She comes to ask a blessing. 
 
 Mel. Pray, where is she ? 
 
 I cannot see her yet. 
 
 Cor. She makes more haste 
 
 In her quick prayers than her trembling steps, 
 Which many griefs have weakened. 
 
 Mel. Cruel man ! 
 
 How canst thou rip a heart that's cleft already 
 With injuries of time ? Whilst I am frantic, 
 Whilst throngs of rude divisions huddle on, 
 And do disrank my brains from peace and sleep, 
 So long I am insensible of cares. 
 As balls of wildfire may be safely touched, 
 Not violently sundered and thrown up ;
 
 SCENE II.] THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY. 67 
 
 So my distempered thoughts rest in their rage, 
 
 Not hurried in the air of repetition, 
 
 Or memory of my misfortunes past : 
 
 Then are my griefs struck home, when they're reclaimed 
 
 To their own pity of themselves. Proceed ; 
 
 What of your daughter now ? 
 
 Cor. I cannot tell ye, 
 
 Tis now out of my head again ; my brains 
 Are crazy ; I have scarce slept one sound sleep 
 These twelve months. 
 
 Mel. 'Las, poor man ! canst thou imagine 
 
 To prosper in the task thou tak'st in hand 
 By practising a cure upon my weakness, 
 And yet be no physician for thyself? 
 Go, go, turn over all thy books once more, 
 And learn to thrive in modesty; for impudence 
 Does least become a scholar. Thou'rt a fool, 
 A kind of learned fool. 
 
 Cor. I do confess it. . 
 
 Mel. If thou canst wake with me, forget to eat, 
 Renounce the thought of greatness, tread on fate, 
 Sigh out a lamentable tale of things . 
 Done long ago, and ill done ; and, when sighs 
 Are wearied, piece up what remains behind 
 With weeping eyes, and hearts that bleed to death ; 
 Thou shalt be a companion fit for me, 
 And we will sit together, like true friends, 
 And never be divided. With what greediness 
 Do I hug my afflictions ! there's no mirth 
 Which is not truly seasoned with some madness : 
 As, for example, {Exit hastily. 
 
 Cor. What new crotchet next ? 
 
 There is so much sense in this wild distraction, 
 That I am almost out of my wits too, 
 To see and hear him : some few hours more 
 Spent here would turn me apish, if not frantic.
 
 68 THE L O VER ' S MELANCHOL Y. [ACT rv. 
 
 Re-enter MELEANDER with CLEOPHILA. 
 
 Mel. In all the volumes thou hast turned, thou man 
 Of knowledge, hast thou met with any rarity, 
 Worthy thy contemplation, like to this ? 
 The model of the heavens, the earth, the waters, 
 The harmony and sweet consent of times, 
 Are not of such an excellence, in form 
 Of their creation, as the infinite wonder 
 That dwells within the compass of this face : 
 And yet I tell thee, scholar, under this 
 Well-ordered sign is lodged such an obedience 
 As will hereafter, in another age, 
 Strike all comparison into a silence. 
 She had a sister too ; but as for her, 
 If I were given to talk, I could describe 
 A pretty piece of goodness let that pass 
 We must be wise sometimes. What would you with her? 
 
 Cor. I with her ! nothing, by your leave, sir, I ; 
 It is not my profession. 
 
 Mel. You are saucy, 
 
 And, as I take it, scurvy in your sauciness, 
 To use no more respect. Good soul, be patient; 
 We are a pair of things the world doth laugh at : 
 Yet be content, Cleophila ; those clouds, 
 Which bar the sun from shining on our miseries, 
 Will never be chased off till I am dead ; 
 And then some charitable soul will take thee 
 Into protection : I am hasting on ; 
 The time cannot be long. 
 
 Cleo. I do beseech ye, 
 
 Sir, as you love your health, as you respect 
 My safety, let not passion 1 overrule you. 
 
 Mel. It shall not ; I am friends with all the world, 
 Get me some wine ; to witness that I will be 
 An absolute good fellow, I will drink with thee. 
 
 1 Sorrow.
 
 SCENE ii.] THE L O VER ' S MELA NCHOL Y. 6g 
 
 Cor. \Aside to CLEO.] Have you prepared his cup ? 
 Cleo. [Aside to COR.] It is in readiness. 
 
 Enter CUCULUS and GRILLA. 
 
 Cue. By your leave, gallants, I come to speak with a 
 young lady, as they say, the old Trojan's daughter of the 
 house. 
 
 Mel. Your business with my lady-daughter, toss-pot ? 
 
 Gril. Toss-pot ! base ! toss-pot ! 
 
 Cue. Peace ! dost not see in what case he is ? I 
 would do my own commendations to her ; that's all. 
 
 Mel. Do. Come, my Genius, we will quaff in wine 
 Till we grow wise. 
 
 Cor. True nectar is divine. 
 
 {Exeunt MELEANDER and CORAX. 
 
 Cue. So ! I am glad he is gone, Page, walk aside. 
 Sweet beauty, I am sent ambassador from the mistress of 
 my thoughts to you, the mistress of my desires. 
 
 Cleo. So, sir ! I pray, be brief. 
 
 Cue. That you may know I am not, as they say, an 
 animal, which is, as they say, a kind of cokes, 1 which is, 
 as the learned term it, an ass, a puppy, a widgeon, a dolt, 
 a noddy, a 
 
 Cleo. As you please. 
 
 Cue. Pardon me for that, it shall be as you please in- 
 deed : forsooth, I love to be courtly and in fashion. 
 
 Cleo. Well, to your embassy. What, and from whom ? 
 
 Cue. Marry, " What " is more than I know ; for to 
 know what's what is to know what's what and for what's 
 what : but these are foolish figures and to little purpose. 
 
 Cleo. From whom, then, are you sent ? 
 
 Cue. There you come to me again. O, to be in the 
 favour of great ladies is as much to say as to be great in 
 ladies' favours. 
 
 Cleo. Good time o' day t'ye ! I can stay no longer. 
 
 Cue. By this light, but you must ; for now I come to't. 
 
 1 i.e. A simpleton.
 
 70 THE L O VER ' S MELA NCHOL Y. [ACT IV. 
 
 The most excellent, most wise, most dainty, precious, 
 loving, kind, sweet, intolerably fair lady Thamasta com- 
 mends to your little hands this letter of importance. By 
 your leave, let me first kiss, and then deliver it in fashion 
 to your own proper beauty. {Delivers a letter. 
 
 Cko. To me, from her? 'tis strange ! I dare peruse it. 
 
 [Reads. 
 
 Cue. Good. O, that I had not resolved to live a 
 single life ! Here's temptation, able to conjure up a 
 spirit with a witness. So, so ! she has read it. [Aside. 
 
 Cleo. Is't possible ? Heaven, thou art great and boun- 
 tiful. 
 
 Sir, I much thank your pains ; and to the princess 
 Let my love, duty, service, be remembered. 
 
 Cue. They shall mad-dam. 
 
 Cleo. When we of hopes or helps are quite bereaven, 
 Our humble prayers have entrance into Heaven. 
 
 Cue. That's my opinion clearly and without doubt. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter ARETUS and SOPHRONOS. 
 
 Are. The prince is throughly moved. 
 , Soph. I never saw him 
 
 So much distempered. 
 
 Are. What should this young man be? 
 
 Or whither can he be conveyed ? 
 
 Soph. 'Tis to me 
 
 A mystery ; I understand it not. 
 
 Are. Nor I. 
 
 Enter PALADOR, AMETHUS, and PELIAS. 
 
 Pal. Ye have consented all to work upon 
 The softness of my nature ; but take heed : 
 Though I can sleep in silence, and look on
 
 SCENE ill .] THE L O VER ' S MELA NCHOL Y. 7 x 
 
 The mockery ye make of my dull patience, 
 
 Yet ye shall know, the best of ye, that in me 
 
 There is a masculine, a stirring spirit, 
 
 Which, once provoked, shall, like a bearded comet, 
 
 Set ye at gaze, and threaten horror. 
 
 Pel. Good sir, 
 
 Pal. Good sir ! 'tis not your active wit or language, 
 Nor your grave politic wisdoms, lords, shall dare 
 To check-mate and control my just commands. 
 
 Enter MENAPHON. 
 
 Where is the youth, your friend ? is he found yet ? 
 
 Men. Not to be heard of. 
 
 Pal. Fly, then, to the desert, 
 
 Where thou didst first encounter this fantastic, 
 This airy apparition ; come no more 
 In sight ! Get ye all from me : he that stays 
 Is not my friend. 
 
 A met. 'Tis strange. 
 
 Are. Soph. We must obey. 
 
 \Exeunt all but PALADOR. 
 
 Pal. Some angry power cheats with rare delusions 
 My credulous sense ; the very soul of reason 
 Is troubled in me ; the physician 
 Presented a strange masque, the view of it 
 Puzzled my understanding ; but the boy 
 
 Enter RHETIAS. 
 
 Rhetias, thou art acquainted with my griefs : 
 Parthenophil is lost, and I would see him ; 
 For he is like to something I remember 
 A great while since, a long, long time ago. 
 
 Rhe. I have been diligent, sir, to pry into every corner 
 for discovery, but cannot meet with him. There is some 
 trick, I am confident. 
 
 Pal. There is ; there is some practice, sleight, or plot; 
 
 Rlic. I have apprehended a fair wench in an odd pri-
 
 72 THE LOVER' S MELANCHOLY. [ACT IV. 
 
 vate lodging in the city, as like the youth in face as can 
 by possibility be discerned. 
 
 Pal. How, Rhetias ! 
 
 Rhe. If it be not Parthenophil in long-coats, 'tis a 
 spirit in his likeness; answer I can get none from her: 
 you shall see her. 
 
 Pal. The young man in disguise, upon my life, 
 To steal out of the land. 
 
 Rhe. I'll send him t'ye. 
 
 Pal. Do, do, my Rhetias. [Exit RHETIAS. 
 
 As there is by nature 
 In everything created contrariety, 
 So likewise is there unity and league 
 Between them in their kind : but man, the abstract 
 Of all perfection, which the workmanship 
 Of Heaven hath modelled, in himself contains 
 Passions of several qualities. 
 
 \Enter behind EROCLEA (PARTHENOPHIL), 
 in female attire. 
 
 The music 
 
 Of man's fair composition best accords 
 When 'tis in consort, not in single strains : 
 My heart has been untuned these many months, 
 Wanting her presence, in whose equal love 
 True harmony consisted. Living here, 
 We are Heaven's bounty all, but Fortune's exercise. 
 
 Ero. Minutes are numbered by the fall of sands, 
 As by an hourglass ; the span of time 
 Doth waste us to our graves, and we look on it : 
 An age of pleasures, revelled out, comes home 
 At last, and ends in sorrow ; but the life, 
 Weary of riot, numbers every sand, 
 Wailing in sighs, until the last drop down ; 
 So to conclude calamity in rest. 
 
 Pal. What echo yields a voice to my complaints ? 
 Can I be nowhere private? 
 
 Ero. \_Comes forward, and kneels] Let the substance
 
 SCENE in.] THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY. 73 
 
 As suddenly be hurried from your eyes 
 As the vain sound can pass, sir, from your ear, 
 If no impression of a troth vowed yours 
 Retain a constant memory. 
 
 Pal. Stand up. \She rises. 
 
 Tis not the figure stamped upon thy cheeks, 
 The cozenage of thy beauty, grace or tongue, 
 Can draw from me a secret, that hath been 
 The only jewel of my speechless thoughts. 
 
 JEro. I am so worn away with fears and sorrows, 
 So wintered with the tempests of affliction, 
 That the bright sun of your life-quickening presence 
 Hath scarce one beam of force to warm again 
 That spring of cheerful comfort, which youth once 
 Apparelled in fresh looks. 
 
 Pal. Cunning impostor ! 
 
 Untruth hath made thee subtle in thy trade. 
 If any neighbouring greatness hath seduced 
 A free-born resolution to attempt 
 Some bolder act of treachery by cutting 
 My weary days off, wherefore, cruel-mercy, 
 Hast thou assumed a shape that would make treason 
 A piety, guilt pardonable, bloodshed 
 As holy as the sacrifice of peace ? 
 
 Ero. The incense of my love-desires are flamed 
 Upon an altar of more constant proof. 
 Sir, 0, sir, turn me back into the world, 
 Command me to forget my name, my birth, 
 My father's sadness, and my death alive, 
 If all remembrance of my faith hath found 
 A burial without pity in your scorn ! 
 
 Pal. My scorn, disdainful boy, shall soon unweave 
 The web thy art hath twisted. Cast thy shape off, 
 Disrobe the mantle of a feigned sex, 
 And so I may be gentle : as thou art, 
 There's witchcraft in thy language, in thy face, 
 In thy demeanours ; turn, turn from me, prithee,
 
 74 THE LOVER'S MELANCHOL Y. [ACT iv. 
 
 For my belief is armed else. Yet, fair subtility, 
 Before we part, for part we must, be true: 
 Tell me, thy country. 
 
 Ero. Cyprus. 
 
 Pal Ha! Thy father? 
 
 Ero. Meleander. 
 
 Pal Hast a name ? 
 
 Ero. A name of misery ; 
 
 The unfortunate Eroclea. 
 
 PaL There is danger 
 
 In this seducing counterfeit Great goodness, 
 Hath honesty and virtue left the time ? 
 Are we become so impious, that to tread 
 The path of impudence is law and justice ? 
 Thou vizard of a beauty ever sacred, 
 Give me thy name. 
 
 Ero. Whilst I was lost to memory 
 
 Parthenophil did shroud my shame in change 
 Of sundry rare misfortunes ; but, since now 
 I am, before I die, returned to claim 
 A convoy to my grave, I must not blush 
 To let Prince Palador, if I offend, 
 Know, when he dooms me, that he dooms Eroclea : 
 I am that woful maid. 
 
 Pal. Join not too fast 
 
 Thy penance with the story of my sufferings : 
 So dwelt simplicity with virgin truth, 
 So martyrdom and holiness are twins, 
 As innocence and sweetness on thy tongue. 
 But, let me by degrees collect my senses ; 
 I may abuse my trust. Tell me, what air 
 Hast thou perfumed, since tyranny first ravished 
 The contract of our hearts ? 
 
 Ero- Dear sir, in Athens 
 
 Have I been buried. 
 
 Pal Buried ! Right ; as I 
 
 la Cyrus.v-Come to trial ; if thou beest
 
 SCENE Hi.] THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY. 75 
 
 Eroclea, in my bosom I can find thee. 
 
 Ero. As I, Prince Palador in mine : this gift 
 
 [Shows him a tablet} 
 
 His bounty blessed me with, the only physic 
 My solitary cares have hourly took, 
 To keep me from despair. 
 
 Pal. We are but fools 
 
 To trifle in disputes, or vainly struggle 
 With that eternal mercy which protects us. 
 Come home, home to my heart, thou banished peace ! 
 My ecstasy of joys would speak in passion, 
 But that I would not lose that part of man 
 Which is reserved to entertain content. 
 Eroclea, I am thine ; O, let me seize thee 
 As my inheritance ! Hymen shall now 
 Set all his torches burning, to give light 
 Throughout this land, new- settled in thy welcome. 
 
 Ero. You are still gracious, sir. How I have lived, 
 By what means been conveyed, by what preserved, 
 By what returned, Rhetias, my trusty servant, 
 Directed by the wisdom of my uncle, 
 The good Sophronos, can inform at large. 
 
 Pal. Enough. Instead of music, every night, 
 To make our sleeps delightful, thou shalt close 
 Our weary eyes with some part of thy story. 
 
 Ero. O, but my father ! 
 
 Pal. Fear not ; to behold 
 
 Eroclea safe will make him young again : 
 It shall be our first task. Blush, sensual follies, 
 Which are not guarded with thoughts chastely pure : 
 There is no faith in lust, but baits of arts ; 
 'Tis Virtuous love keeps clear contracted hearts. 
 
 \_Excunt. 
 
 1 i.e. A miniature of the prince.
 
 ACT THE FIFTH. 
 
 SCENE I. A Room in the Castle. 
 Enter CORAX and CLEOPHILA. 
 OR. 'Tis well, 'tis well ; the hour is at hand, 
 Which must conclude the business, that 
 
 no art 
 Could all this while make ripe for wished 
 
 content. 
 
 O, lady, in the turmoils of our lives, 
 Men are like politic states, or troubled seas, 
 Tossed up and down with several storms and tempests, 
 Change and variety of wrecks and fortunes ; 
 Till, labouring to the havens of our homes, 
 We struggle for the calm that crowns our ends. 
 Cleo. A happy end Heaven bless us with ! 
 Cor. 'Tis well said. 
 
 The old man sleeps still soundly. 
 
 Cleo. May soft dreams 
 
 Play in his fancy, that when he awakes, 
 With comfort he may, by degrees, digest 
 The present blessings in a moderate joy I 
 
 Cor. I drenched his cup to purpose ; he ne'er stirred 
 At barber or at tailor. He will laugh 
 At his own metamorphosis, and wonder. 
 We must be watchful. Does the couch stand ready ? 
 Cleo. All, all as you commanded. 
 
 Enter TROLLIO. 
 
 What's your haste for? 
 ,Trol, A brace of big women, ushered by the young
 
 SCENE I.] THE L O VER ' S MELA NCHOL Y. 77 
 
 old ape with his she-clog at his bum, are entered the 
 castle. Shall they come on ? 
 
 Cor. By any means : the time is precious now. Lady, 
 be quick and careful. Follow, Trollio. {Exit. 
 
 Trol. I owe all sir-reverence to your right worshipful- 
 ness. [Exit. 
 
 Clco. So many fears, so many joys encounter 
 My doubtful expectations, that I waver 
 Between the resolution of my hopes 
 And my obedience : 'tis not O my fate ! 
 The apprehension of a timely blessing 
 In pleasures shakes my weakness ; but the danger 
 Of a mistaken duty that confines 
 The limits of my reason. Let me live, 
 Virtue, to thee as chaste as truth to time.! 
 
 Enter THAMASTA, speaking to some one without. 
 
 Tha. Attend me till I call. My sweet Cleophila ! 
 
 Cleo. Great princess, 
 
 Tha. I bring peace, to sue a pardon 
 
 For my neglect of all those noble virtues 
 Thy mind and duty are apparelled with : 
 I have deserved ill from thee, and must say 
 Thou art too gentle, if thou canst forget it. 
 
 Cleo. Alas, you have not wronged me ; for, indeed, 
 Acquaintance with my sorrows and my fortune 
 Were grown to such familiarity, 
 That 'twas an impudence, more than presumption, 
 To wish so great a lady as you are 
 Should lose affection on my uncle's son : 
 But that your brother, equal in your blood, 
 Should stoop to such a lowness as to love 
 A castaway, a poor despised maid, 
 Only for me to hope was almost sin ; 
 Yet, 'troth, I never tempted him. 
 
 Tha. Chide not 
 
 The grossness of my trespass, lovely sweetness,
 
 ?8 THE L O VER ' S MELA NCHOL Y. [AC T V. 
 
 In such an humble language ; I have smarted 
 Already in the wounds my pride hath made 
 Upon your sufferings : henceforth 'tis in you 
 To work my happiness. 
 
 Cleo. Call any service 
 
 Of mine a debt ; for such it is. The letter 
 You lately sent me, in the blest contents 
 It made me privy to, hath largely quitted 
 Every suspicion of your grace or goodness. 
 
 Tha. Let me embrace you with a sister's love, 
 A sister's love, Cleophila ; for should 
 My brother henceforth study to forget 
 The vows that he hath made thee, I would ever 
 Solicit ! thy deserts. 
 
 Amet. Men. [ Withiti\ We must have entrance 
 
 Tha. Must ! Who are they say must? you are unman- 
 nerly. 
 
 Enter AMETHUS and MENAPHON. 
 
 Brother, is't you ? and you too, sir ? 
 
 Amet. Your ladyship 
 
 Has had a time of scolding to your humour : 
 Does the storm hold still ? 
 
 Cleo. Never fell a shower 
 
 More seasonably gentle on the barren 
 Parched thirsty earth than showers of courtesy 
 Have from this princess been distilled on me, 
 To make my growth in quiet. of my mind 
 Secure and lasting. 
 
 Tha. You may both believe 
 
 That I was not uncivil. 
 
 Amet. Pish ! I know 
 
 Her spirit and her envy. 
 
 Cleo. Now, in troth, sir, 
 
 Pray credit me, I do not use to swear, 
 The virtuous princess hath in words and carriage 
 1 Plead.
 
 SCENE I.] THE LOVER' S MELANCHOLY. * 
 
 Been kind, so over-kind, that I do blush 
 I am not rich enough in thanks sufficient 
 For her unequalled bounty. My good cousin, 
 I have a suit to you. 
 
 Men. It shall be granted. 
 
 Cleo. That no time, no persuasion, no respects 
 Of jealousies, past, present, or hereafter 
 By possibility to be conceived, 
 Draw you from that sincerity and pureness 
 Of love which you have oftentimes protested 
 To this great worthy lady : she deserves 
 A duty more than what the ties of marriage 
 Can claim or warrant ; be for ever hers, 
 As she is yours, and Heaven increase your comforts ! 
 
 Amet. Cleophila hath played the churchman's part ; 
 I'll not forbid the banns. 
 
 Men. Are you consented ? 
 
 Tha. I have one task in charge first, which con- 
 cerns me. 
 
 Brother, be not more cruel than this lady ; 
 She hath forgiven my follies, so may you. 
 Her youth, her beauty, innocence, discretion, 
 Without additions of estate or birth, 
 Are dower for a prince, indeed. You loved her ; 
 For sure you swore you did : else, if you did not, 
 Here fix your heart ; and thus resolve, 1 if now 
 You miss this heaven on earth, you cannot find 
 In any other choice aught but a hell. 
 
 Amet. The ladies are turned lawyers, and plead hand- 
 somely 
 
 Their clients' cases : I'm an easy judge ; 
 And so shalt thou be, Menaphon. I give thee 
 My sister for a wife ; a good one, friend. 
 
 Men. Lady, will you confirm the gift ? 
 
 Tlia. The errors 
 
 Of my mistaken judgment being lost 
 1 i.e. Be certain.
 
 go THE L O VER ' S MELA NCHOL Y. [ACT v. 
 
 To your remembrance, I shall ever strive 
 In my obedience to deserve your pity. 
 
 Men: My love, my care, my all ! 
 
 Amet. What rests for me? 
 
 I'm still a bachelor. Sweet maid, resolve me, 
 May I yet call you mine? 
 
 Cleo. My lord Amethus, 
 
 Blame not my plainness ; I am young and simple, 
 And have not any power to dispose 
 Mine own will without warrant from my father 
 That purchased, I am yours. 
 
 Amet. It shall suffice me. 
 
 Enter CUCULUS, PELIAS, and TROLLIO, plucking in 
 GRILLA. 
 
 Cue. Revenge ! I must have revenge ; I will have re- 
 venge, bitter and abominable revenge ; I will have re- 
 venge. This unfashionable mongrel, this linseywolsey of 
 mortality by this hand, mistress, this she-rogue is drunk, 
 and clapper-clawed me, without any reverence to my 
 person or good garments. Why d'ye not speak, gentle- 
 men ? 
 
 Pel. Some certain blows have passed, an't like your 
 highness. 
 
 Trol. Some few knocks of friendship, some love- toys, 
 some cuffs in kindness, or so. 
 
 Gril. I'll turn him away ; he shall be my master no 
 longer. 
 
 Men. Is this your she-page, Cuculus ? 'tis a boy, sure. 
 
 Cue. A boy, an errant boy in long-coats. 
 
 Trol. He has mumbled his nose, that 'tis as big as a 
 great codpiece. 
 
 Cue. O, thou cock-vermin of iniquity ! 
 
 Tha. Pelias, take hence the wag, and school him 
 
 for't 
 
 For your part, servant, I'll entreat the prince 
 To grant you some fit place about his wardrobe.
 
 SCENE I . ] THE LOVER'S MELA NCHOL Y. 8 1 
 
 Cue. Ever after a bloody nose do I dream of good 
 luck. I horribly thank your ladyship. 
 Whilst I'm in office, the old garb shall agen 
 Grow in request, and tailors shall be men. 
 Come, Trollio, help to wash my face, prithee. 
 
 TroL Yes, and to scour it too. 
 
 {Exeunt CUCULUS, TROLLIO, PELIAS, and GRILLA. 
 
 Re-enter CORAX with RHETIAS. 
 
 Rhe. The prince and princess are at hand ; give over 
 Your amorous dialogues. Most honoured lady, 
 Henceforth forbear your sadness: are you ready 
 To practise your instructions ? 
 
 Cleo. I have studied 
 
 My part with care, and will perform it, Rhetias, 
 With all the skill I can. 
 
 Cor. I'll pass my word for her. 
 
 A flourish. Enter PALADOR, SOPHRONOS, ARETUS, and 
 EROCLEA. 
 
 Pal. Thus princes should be circled, with a guard 
 Of truly noble friends and watchful subjects. 
 O, Rhetias, thou art just ; the youth thou told'st me 
 That lived at Athens is returned at last 
 To her own fortunes and contracted love. 
 
 Rhe. My knowledge made me sure of my report, sir. 
 
 Pal. Eroclea, clear thy fears ; when the sun shines 
 Clouds must not dare to muster in the sky, 
 Nor shall they here. 
 
 [CLEOPHILA and AMETHUS kneel. 
 Why do they kneel ? -Stand up ; 
 The day and place is privileged. 
 
 Soph. Your presence, 
 
 Great sir, makes every room a sanctuary. 
 
 Pal. Wherefore does this young virgin use such 
 
 circumstance 
 In duty to us ? Rise. 
 
 Ford. G
 
 82 THE LOVER'S MELANCHOL Y. [ACT v. 
 
 Ero. 'Tis I must raise her. [.Raises CLEOPHILA. 
 
 Forgive me, sister, I have been too private, 
 In hiding from your knowledge any secret 
 That should have been in common 'twixt our souls ; 
 But I was ruled by counsel. 
 
 Cleo. That I show 
 
 Myself a girl, sister, and bewray 
 Joy in too soft a passion 'fore all these, 
 I hope you cannot blame me. 
 
 [ Weeps, and falls into the arms of EROCLEA. 
 
 Pal. We must part 
 
 The sudden meeting of these two fair rivulets 
 With the island of our arms. {Embraces EROCLEA] Cle- 
 The custom of thy piety hath built, [ophila, 
 
 Even to thy younger years, a monument 
 Of memorable fame : some great reward 
 Must wait on thy desert. 
 
 Soph. The prince speaks t'ye, niece. 
 
 Cor. Chat low, I pray ; let us about our business. 
 The good old man awakes, My lord, withdraw. 
 Rhetias, let's settle here the couch 
 
 Pal. Away, then ! {Exeunt. 
 
 Soft music. Re-enter CORAX and RHETIAS with MELE- 
 ANDER asleep on a couch, his hair and beard trimmed, 
 habit and gown changed. While they are placing the 
 couch, a Boy sings without. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Fly hence, shadows, that do keep 
 Watchful sorrows charmed in sleep ! 
 Though the eyes be overtaken, 
 Yet the heart doth ever waken 
 Thoughts, chained up in busy snares 
 Of continual woes and cares : 
 Love and griefs are so exprest 
 As they rather sigh than rest. 
 Fly hence, shadows, that do keep 
 Watchful sorrows charmed in sleep !
 
 SCENE I.] THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY. 8} 
 
 Mel. \^Awakcs\ Where am I ? ha ! What sounds are 
 
 these? Tis day, sure. 
 O, I have slept belike ; 'tis but the foolery 
 Of some beguiling dream. So, so ! I will not 
 Trouble the play of my delighted fancy, 
 But dream my dream out. 
 
 Cor. Morrow to your lordship ! 
 
 You took a jolly nap, and slept it soundly. 
 
 Mel. Away, beast ! let me alone. 
 
 \Thc music ceases. 
 
 Cor. O, by your leave, sir, 
 
 I must be bold to raise ye ; else your physic \ 
 Will turn to further sickness. 
 
 \He assists MELEANDER to sit up. 
 
 Mel. Physic, bear-leech? 1 
 
 Cor. Yes, physic ; you are mad. 
 
 Mel. Trollio! Cleophila! 
 
 Rhe. Sir, I am here. 
 
 Mel. I know thee, Rhetias ; prithee rid the room 
 Of this tormenting noise. He tells me, sirrah, 
 I have took physic, Rhetias ; physic, physic ! 
 
 Rhe. Sir, true, you have ; and this most learned 
 
 scholar 
 
 Applied 't ye. O, you were in dangerous plight 
 Before he took ye in hand. 
 
 Mel. These things are drunk, 
 
 Directly drunk Where did you get your liquor ? 
 
 Cor. I never saw a body in the wane 
 Of age so overspread with several sorts 
 Of such diseases as the strength of youth 
 Would groan under and sink. 
 
 RJie. The more your glory 
 
 In the miraculous cure. 
 
 Cor. Bring me the cordial 
 
 Prepared for him to take after his sleep ; 
 Twill do him good at heart. 
 
 Rhe. I hope it will, sir. [Exit. 
 
 1 i.e. Bear-doctor.
 
 84 THE L O I Vi A' ' S MELA NCHOL I '. [ACT \\ 
 
 Mel. What dost thou think I am, that thou shouldst 
 
 fiddle 
 
 So much upon my patience ? Fool, the weight 
 Of my disease sits on my heart so heavy, 
 That all the hands of art cannot remove 
 One grain, to ease my grief. If thou couldst poison 
 My memory, or wrap my senses up 
 Into a dulness hard and cold as flints ; 
 If thou couldst make me walk, speak, eat, and laugh 
 Without a sense or knowledge of my faculties, 
 Why, then, perhaps, at marts thou mightst make 
 
 benefit 
 
 Of such an antic motion, i and get credit 
 From credulous gazers, but not profit me. 
 Study to gull the wise ; I am too simple 
 To be wrought on. 
 
 Cor. I'll burn my books, old man, 
 
 But I will do thee good, and quickly too. 
 
 Re-enter ARETUS with a patent. 
 
 Arc. Most honoured Lord Meleander, our great master, 
 Prince Palador of Cyprus, hath by me 
 Sent you this patent, in which is, contained 
 Not only confirmation of the honours 
 You formerly enjoyed, but the addition 
 Of the marshalship of Cyprus ; and ere long 
 He means to visit you. Excuse my haste ; 
 I must attend the prince. \Exit. 
 
 Cor. There's one pill works. 
 
 Mel. Dost know that spirit ? 'tis a grave familiar, 
 And talked I know not what. 
 
 Cor. He's like, methinks, 
 
 The prince's tutor, Aretus. 
 
 Mel. Yes, yes ; 
 
 It may be I have seen such a formality ; 
 No matter where or when. 
 
 1 Puppet-show.
 
 SCENE I.] THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY, 85 
 
 Re-enter AMETHUS, with a staff. 
 
 Ame. The prince hath sent ye, 
 
 My lord, this staff of office, and withal 
 Salutes you Grand Commander of the Ports 
 Throughout his principalities. He shortly 
 Will visit you himself: I must attend him. [Exit. 
 
 Cor. D'ye feel your physic stirring yet ? 
 
 Mel. A devil 
 
 Is a rare juggler, and can cheat the eye, 
 But not corrupt the reason, in the throne 
 Of a pure soul. 
 
 Re-enter SOPHRONOS, with a tablet. 
 
 Another! I will stand thee; 
 Be what thou canst, I care not. 
 
 Soph. From the prince, 
 
 Dear brother, I present you this rich relic, 
 A jewel he hath long worn in his bosom : 
 Henceforth, he bade me say, he does beseech you 
 To call him son, for he will call you father ; 
 It is an honour, brother, that a subject 
 Cannot but entertain with thankful prayers. 
 Be moderate in your joys : he will in person 
 Confirm my errand, but commands my service. [Exit. 
 
 Cor. What hope now of your cure ? 
 
 Mel. Stay, stay ! What earthquakes 
 
 Roll in my flesh ! Here's prince, and prince, and prince ; 
 Prince upon prince ! The dotage of my sorrows 
 Revels in magic of ambitious scorn : 
 Be they enchantments deadly as the grave, 
 I'll look upon 'em. Patent, staff, and relic ! 
 To the last first. [Taking up the miniature\ Round me, 
 
 ye guarding ministers, 
 And ever keep me waking, till the cliffs 
 That overhang my sight fall off, and leave 
 These hollow spaces to be crammed with dust ! 
 
 i Miniature.
 
 36 THE L O VER ' S MELA NCHOL Y. [ACT v. 
 
 Cor. 'Tis time, I see, to fetch the cordial. Prithee, 
 Sit down ; I'll instantly be here again. [Exit. 
 
 Mel. Good, give me leave ; I will sit down : indeed, 
 Here's company enough for me to prate to. 
 
 [Looks at the picture. 
 
 Eroclea ! 'tis the same ; the cunning arts-man 
 Faltered not in a line. Could he have fashioned 
 A little hollow space here, and blown breath 
 T' have made it move and whisper, 't had been excel- 
 lent : 
 
 But, faith, 'tis well, 'tis very well as 'tis, 
 Passing, most passing well. 
 
 Re-enter CLEOPHILA leading EROCLEA, and followed 
 by RHETIAS. 
 
 Cleo. The sovereign greatness, 
 
 Who, by commission from the powers of Heaven, 
 Sways both this land and us, our gracious prince, 
 By me presents you, sir, with this large bounty, 
 A gift more precious to him than his birthright. * 
 Here let your cares take end ; now set at liberty 
 Your long-imprisoned heart, and welcome home 
 The solace of your soul, too long kept from you. 
 
 Erv. [Kneeling] Dear sir, you know me ? 
 
 Mel. Yes, thou art my daughter, 
 
 My eldest blessing. Know thee ! why, Eroclea, 
 I never did forget thee in thy absence. 
 Poor soul, how dost ? 
 
 Ero. The best of my well-being 
 
 Consists in yours. 
 
 Mel. Stand up: the gods, who hitherto 
 
 [EROCLEA rises 
 
 Have kept us both alive, preserve thee ever ! 
 Cleophila, I thank thee and the prince : 
 I thank thee too, Eroclea, that thou wouldst, 
 In pity of my age, take so much pains 
 To live, till I might once more look upon thee,
 
 SCKNE I.] THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY. 87 
 
 Before I broke my heart : O, 'twas a piece 
 Of piety and duty unexampled ! 
 
 Rhc. \_Aside\ The good man relisheth his comforts 
 
 strangely ; 
 The sight doth turn me child. 
 
 Ero. I have not words 
 
 That can express my joys. 
 
 Cleo, Nor I. 
 
 Mel. Nor I : 
 
 Yet let us gaze on one another freely, 
 And surfeit with otir eyes. Let me be plain : 
 If I should speak as much as I should speak, 
 I should talk of a thousand things at once, 
 And all of thee ; of thee, my child, of thee ! 
 My tears, like ruffling winds locked up in caves, 
 Do bustle for a vent ; on t'other side, 
 To fly out into mirth were not so comely. 
 Come hither, let me kiss thee. [To EROCLEA] With a 
 
 pride, 
 
 Strength, courage, and fresh blood, which now thy pre- 
 sence 
 
 Hath stored me with, I kneel before their altars, 
 Whose sovereignty kept guard about thy safety. 
 Ask, ask thy sister, prithee, she will tell thee 
 How I have been much mad. 
 
 Cle6. Much discontented, 
 
 Shunning all means that might procure him comfort. 
 
 Ero. Heaven has at last been gracious. 
 
 Mel. So say I : 
 
 But wherefore drop thy words in such a sloth, 
 As if thou wert afraid to mingle truth 
 With thy misfortunes ? Understand me throughly ; 
 I would not have thee to report at large, 
 From point to point, a journal of thy absence, 
 'Twill take up too much time ; I would securely 
 Engross the little remnant of my life, 
 That thou mightst every day be telling somewhat,
 
 88 THE L O VER ' S MELANCHOL Y. [ACT v. 
 
 Which might convey me to my rest with comfort. 
 Let me bethink me : how we parted first, 
 Puzzles my faint remembrance but soft 
 Cleophila, thou told'st me that the prince 
 Sent me this present. 
 
 Cleo. From his own fair hands 
 
 I did receive my sister. 
 
 Mel. To requite him, 
 
 We will not dig his father's grave anew, 
 Although the mention of him much concerns 
 The business we inquire of : as I said, 
 We parted in a hurry at the court ; 
 I to this castle, after made my jail. 
 But whither thou, dear heart ? 
 
 Rhe. Now they fall to't ; 
 
 I looked for this. 
 
 Ero. I, by my uncle's care, 
 
 Sophronos, my good uncle, suddenly 
 Was like a sailor's boy conveyed a-shipboard 
 That very night. 
 
 Mel. A policy quick and strange. 
 
 Ero. The ship was bound for Corinth ; whither fir. t, 
 Attended only with your servant Rhetias 
 And all fit necessaries, we arrived : 
 From thence, in habit of a youth, we journeyed 
 To Athens, where, till our return of late, 
 Have we lived safe. 
 
 Mel. O, what a thing is man, 
 
 To bandy factions of distempered passions 
 Against the sacred Providence above him ! 
 Here, in the legend of thy two years' exile, 
 Rare pity and delight are sweetly mixed. 
 And still thou wert a boy ? 
 
 Ero. So I obeyed 
 
 My uncle's wise command. 
 
 Mel. "Twas safely carried : 
 
 I humbly thank thy fate.
 
 SCENE I.] THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY. 89 
 
 Era. If earthly treasures 
 
 Are poured in plenty down from Heaven on mortals, 
 They rain amongst those oracles that flow 
 In schools of sacred knowledge ; such is Athens : 
 Yet Athens was to me but a fair prison : 
 The thoughts of you, my sister, country, fortunes, 
 And something of the prince, barred all contents, 
 Which else might ravish sense ; for had not Rhetias 
 Been always comfortable to me, certainly 
 Things had gone worse. 
 
 Mel. Speak low, Eroclea. 
 
 That "something of the prince" bears danger in it : 
 Yet thou hast travelled, wench, for such endowments 
 As might create a prince a wife fit for him, 
 Had he the world to guide : but touch not there. 
 HoWcam'st thou home ? 
 
 Rhe. Sir, with your noble favour, 
 
 Kissing your hand first, that point I can answer. 
 
 Mel. Honest, right honest Rhetias! 
 
 Rhe. Your grave brother 
 
 Perceived with what a hopeless love his son, 
 Lord Menaphon, too eagerly pursued 
 Thamasta, cousin to our present prince \ 
 And, to remove the violence of affection, 
 Sent him to Athens, where, for twelve months' space, 
 Your daughter, my young lady, and her cousin, 
 Enjoyed each other's griefs ; till by his father, 
 The Lord Sophronos, we were all called home. 
 
 Mel. Enough, enough : the world shall henceforth 
 
 witness 
 
 My thankfulness to Heaven and those people 
 Who have been pitiful to me and mine. 
 Lend me a looking-glass. How now ! how came I 
 So courtly, in fresh raiments ? 
 
 Rhe. Here's the glass, sir. 
 
 [Hands a glass to MELEANDER, 
 
 Mel. I'm in the trim too. O Cleophila,
 
 9 o 2 HE L O I *ER ' S MELA NCHOL Y. [ACT v. 
 
 This was the goodness of thy care and cunning. 
 
 \_Loud music. 
 Whence comes this noise ? ' 
 
 Rhe. The prince, my lord, in person. 
 
 \Thcy kneel. 
 
 Re-enter PALADOR, SOPHRONOS, ARETUS, AMETHUS, 
 MENAPHON, CORAX, THAMASTA, with KALA. 
 
 Pal. Ye shall not kneel to us ; rise all, I charge ye. 
 
 \They rise. 
 Father, you wrong your age ; henceforth my arms 
 
 \Embracing MELEAXDER. 
 
 And heart shall be you/ guard : we have o'erheard 
 All passages of your united loves. 
 Be young again, Meleander ; live to number 
 A happy generation, and die old 
 In comforts as in years ! The offices 
 And honours .which I late on thee conferred 
 Are not fantastic bounties, but thy merit : 
 Enjoy them liberally. 
 
 Mel. My tears must thank ye, 
 
 For my tongue cannot. 
 
 Cor. I have kept my promise, 
 
 And given you a sure cordial. 
 
 Mel. O, a rare one ! 
 
 Pal. Good man, we both have shared enough of sad- 
 ness, 
 
 Though thine has tasted deeper of the extreme : 
 Let. us forget it henceforth. Where's the picture 
 I sent ye ? Keep it ; 'tis a counterfeit ; 
 And, in exchange of that, I seize on this, 
 
 \Takes EROCLEA by tlic hanc.. 
 The real substance. With this other hand 
 I give away, before her father's face, 
 His younger joy, Cleophila, to thee, 
 Cousin Amethus : take her, and be to her 
 
 1 i.e. Mus'c, in which sense the word was occasionally used.
 
 SCENE I.] THE LONER'S MELANCHOLY. 91 
 
 More than a father, a deserving husband. 
 Thus robbed of both thy children in a minute, 
 Thy cares are taken off. 
 
 Mel. My brains are dulled ; 
 
 I am entranced, and know not what you mean. 
 Great, gracious sir, alas, why do you mock me ? 
 I am a weak old man, so poor and feeble, 
 That my untoward joints can scarcely creep 
 Unto the grave, where I must seek my rest. 
 
 Pal. Eroclea was, you know, contracted mine ; 
 Cleophila my cousin's, by consent 
 Of both their hearts ; we both now claim our own : 
 It only rests in you to give a blessing, 
 For confirmation. 
 
 Rhe. Sir, 'tis truth and justice. 
 
 Mel. The gods, that lent ye to me, bless your vows ! 
 O, children, children, pay your prayers to Heaven, 
 For they have showed much mercy. But, Sophronos, 
 Thou art my brother I can say no more 
 A good, good brother ! 
 
 Pal. Leave the rest to time. 
 
 Cousin Thamasta, I must give you too. 
 She's thy wife, Menaphon. Rhetias, for thee, 
 And Corax, I have more than common thanks. 
 On to the temple ! there all solemn rites 
 Performed, a general feast shall be proclaimed. 
 The LOVER'S MELANCHOLY hath found cure; 
 Sorrows are changed to bride-songs. So they thrive 
 Whom fate in spite of storms hath kept alive. {Exeunt.
 
 THE L O VER ' S MELA NCHOL Y. 
 
 To be too confident is as unjust 
 In any work as too much to distrust : 
 Who from the laws of study have not swerved 
 Know begged applauses never were deserved. 
 We must submit to censure : l so doth he 
 Whose hours begot this issue ; yet, being free, 
 For his part, if he have not pleased you, then 
 In this kind he'll not trouble you again. 
 
 1 Judgment.
 
 'TIS TITY SHE'S 
 
 WHO'VE,
 
 T is uncertain when ' T/s Pity She's d 
 Whore was written. It was acted at the 
 Phoenix in Drury Lane by the Queen's 
 Servants, and published in 1633. It was 
 one of the plays appropriated by the 
 Phoenix or Cockpit Theatre in 1639. 
 
 The foundation of the plot may possibly 
 have been taken from a slight notice in Bandello. There is 
 a story in Rosset's Histoires Tragiques de Nostre Temps 
 (1615), entitled " Des Amours Incestueuses d'un Frere et 
 d'une Soeur, et de leur fin Malheureuse et Tragique," which 
 Ford may have read ; but it has little resemblance to this 
 play. The brother and sister are named Lyzaran and Dora- 
 lice. Doralice was married to a rich old man. Subsequently, 
 having gathered together her jewels, she is taken on to her 
 brother's horse and the lovers flee together. After wander- 
 ing in many places they take refuge in Paris, are arrested, 
 condemned to death, and beheaded. This is said to have 
 actually happened in France in the reign of Henry IV. 
 
 The play was very well received, and the actors earned 
 " general commendation." 
 
 To my Friend the A uthor. 
 
 With admiration I beheld this Whore, 
 Adorned with beauty such as might restore 
 (If ever being, as thy Muse hath famed) 
 Her Giovanni, in his love unblamed : 
 The ready Graces lent their willing aid ; 
 Pallas herself now played the chambermaid, 
 And helped to put her dressings on. Secure 
 Rest thou that thy name herein shall endure 
 To the end of age ; and Annabella be 
 Gloriously fair, even in her infamy. 
 
 THOMAS ELLiCE. 1 
 
 1 Probably Thomas Ellis (or Ellys), of Wyhara, Lincolnshire, 
 \vho was made a baronet by Charles II. He was perhaps a brother 
 of Mr. Robert Ellice, one of "the three respected friends" to 
 whom Ford inscribed The Lover s Melancholy ', and also the friend 
 of Davenant.
 
 To the 7r///y Noble 
 
 JOHN, EARL OF PETERBOROUGH, LORD MOR- 
 DAUNT, BARON OF TURVEY. 1 
 
 . My Lord, 
 
 HERE a truth of merit hath a general 
 warrant, there love is but a debt, acknow- 
 ledgment a justice. Greatness cannot 
 often claim virtue by inheritance ; yet, in 
 this, yours appears most eminent, for that 
 you are not more rightly heir to your for- 
 tunes than glory shall be to your memory. Sweetness of 
 disposition ennobles a freedom of birth' ; in both your 
 lawful interest adds honour to your own name, and mercy 
 to my presumption. Your noble allowance of these first 
 fruits of my leisure in the action emboldens my confi- 
 dence of your as noble construction in this presentment ; 
 especially since my service must ever owe particular duty to 
 your favours by a particular engagement. The gravity of 
 
 1 John, first Earl of Peterborough, obtained that title in the year 
 1627-8. He was brought up in the Roman Catholic faith, but was 
 convened by a disputation at his own house between Bishop Usher 
 and a Catholic, who confessed himself silenced by the just hand of 
 God for presuming to dispute without leave from his superiors. 
 He joined the Parliamentary army in 1642, was made General of 
 the Ordnance and colonel of a regiment of foot, under E-sex, and 
 died in the same year,
 
 DEDICA TION". 
 
 97 
 
 the subject may easily excuse the lightness of the title, 
 otherwise I had been a severe judge against mine own guilt. 
 Princes have vouchsafed grace to trifles offered from a 
 purity of devotion ; your lordship may likewise please to 
 admit into your good opinion, with these weak endeavours, 
 the constancy of affection from the sincere lover of your 
 deserts in honour, 
 
 JOHN. FORD. 
 
 Ford.
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 BONAVENTURA, a Friar. 
 
 A CARDINAL, Nuncio to the Pope. 
 
 SoRANZO, a Nobleman. 
 
 FLORIO, \ . 
 
 > Citizens of Parma. 
 
 DONADO, } 
 
 GRIMALDI, a Roman Gentleman. 
 
 GIOVANNI, Son of FLORIO. 
 
 BERGETTO, Nephew of DONATO. 
 
 RICHARDETTO, a supposed Physician. 
 
 VASQUES, Servant to SORANZO. 
 
 POGGIO, Servant to BERGETTO. 
 
 Banditti, Officers, Attendants, Servants, &c. 
 
 ANNABELLA, Daughter of FLORIO. 
 HJPPOLITA, Wife of RICHARDETTO. 
 PHILOTIS, Niece of RICHARDETTO. 
 PUT-ANA, Tutoress to ANNABELLA. 
 
 SCENE PARMA.
 
 'TIS TITY SHE'S ?A WHOT^E. 
 
 ACT THE FIRST. 
 
 SCENE I. Friar BONAVENTURA'S Cell. 
 
 Enter FRIAR and GIOVANNI. 
 
 RIAR. Dispute no more in this ; for 
 
 know, young man, 
 These are no school-points ; nice 
 
 philosophy 
 
 May tolerate unlikely arguments, 
 But Heaven admits no jest : wits that 
 
 presumed 
 
 On wit too much, by striving how to prove 
 There was no God with foolish grounds of art, 
 Discovered first the nearest way to hell, 
 And filled the world with devilish atheism. 
 Such questions, youth, are fond : ' far better 'tis 
 To bless the sun than reason why it shines ; 
 Yet He thou talk'st of is above the sun. 
 No more ! I may not hear it. 
 
 Gio. Gentle father, 
 
 To you I have unclasped my burdened soul, 
 Emptied the storehouse of my thoughts and heart, 
 Made myself poor of secrets ; have not left 
 Another word untold, which hath not spoke 
 
 i V^'in.
 
 ioo 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. [ACT i. 
 
 All what I ever durst or think or know ; 
 And yet is here the comfort I shall have? 
 Must I not do what all men else may, love ? 
 
 Friar. Yes, you may love, fair son. 
 
 Gio. Must I not praise 
 
 That beauty which, if framed anew, the gods 
 Would make a god of, if they had it there, 
 And kneel to it, as I do kneel to them ? 
 
 Friar. Why, foolish madman, 
 
 Gio. Shall a peevish 1 sound, 
 
 A customary form, from man to man, 
 Of brother and of sister, be a bar 
 "Twixt my perpetual happiness and me ? 
 Say that we had one father; say one womb 
 Curse to my joys ! gave both us life and birth ; 
 Are we not therefore each to other bound 
 So much the more by nature ? by the links 
 Of blood, of reason ? nay, if you will have't, 
 Even of religion, to be ever one, 
 One soul, one flesh, one love, one heart, one all ? 
 
 Friar. Have done, unhappy youth ! for thou art lost. 
 
 Gio. Shall, then, for that I am her brother born, 
 My joys be erer banished from her bed ? 
 No, father ; in your eyes I see the change 
 Of pity and compassion ; from your age, 
 As from a sacred oracle, distils 
 The life of counsel : tell me, holy man, 
 What cure shall give me ease in these extremes ? 
 
 Friar. Repentance, son, and sorrow for this sin : 
 For thou hast moved a Majesty above 
 With thy unranged almost blasphemy. 
 
 Gio. O, do not speak of that, dear confessor ! 
 
 Friar. Art thou, my son, that miracle of wit 
 Who once, within these three months, wert esteemed 
 A wonder of thine age throughout Bononia ? 
 
 1 Tiifling.
 
 SCENE I.] 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. 101 
 
 How did the University applaud 
 
 Thy government, behaviour, learning, speech, 
 
 Sweetness, and all that could make up a man ! 
 
 I was proud of my tutelage, and chose 
 
 Rather to leave my books than part with thee ; 
 
 I did so : but the fruits of all my hopes 
 
 Are lost in thee, as thou art in thyself. 
 
 O, Giovanni ! ' hast thou left the schools 
 
 Of knowledge to converse with lust and death ? 
 
 Foj death waits on thy lust. Look through the world, 
 
 And thou shalt see a thousand faces shine 
 
 More glorious than this idol thou ador'st : 
 
 Leave her, and take thy choice, 'tis much less sin ; 
 
 Though in such games as those they lose that win. 
 
 Gio. It were more ease to stop the ocean 
 From floats and ebbs than to dissuade my vows. 
 
 Friar. Then I have done, and in thy wilful flames 
 Already see thy ruin ; Heaven is just. 
 Yet hear my counsel. 
 
 Gio. As a voice of life. 
 
 Friar. Hie to thy father's house ; there lock thee 
 
 fast 
 
 Alone within thy chamber ; then fall down 
 On both thy knees, and grovel on the ground ; 
 Cry to thy heart ; wash every word thou utter'st 
 In tears and if t be possible of blood : 
 Beg Heaven to cleanse the leprosy of lust 
 That rots thy soul ; acknowledge what thou art, 
 A wretch, a worm, a nothing ; weep, sigh, pray 
 Three times a-day and three times every night : 
 For seven days' space do this ; then, if thou find'st 
 No change in thy desires, return to me : 
 I'll think on remedy. Pray for thyself 
 
 1 Our old dramatists appear to have learned Italian entirely from 
 books; few, if any, of them pronounced it cotrectly. Giovanni is 
 here used by Ford as a quadrisyllable, as it was by Massinger and 
 others of his contempoiaries. Gifford.
 
 102 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. [ACT 1. 
 
 At home, whilst I pray for thee here. Away ! 
 My blessing with thee ! we have need to pray. 
 Gio. All this I'll do, to free me from the rod 
 Of vengeance ; else I'll swear my fate's my god. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. The Street before FLORIO'S House. 
 Enter GRIMALDI and VASQUES, with their swords drawn. 
 
 Vas. Come, sir, stand to your tackling; if you prove 
 craven, I'll make you run quickly. 
 
 Grim. Thou art no equal match for me. 
 
 Vas. Indeed, I never went to the wars to bring home 
 news ; nor cannot play the mountebank for a meal's 
 meat, and swear I got my wounds in the field. See you 
 these gray hairs? they'll not flinch for a bloody nose. 
 Wilt thou to this gear ? 
 
 Grim. Why, slave, thinkest thou I'll balance my re- 
 putation with a cast-suit ? l Call thy master ; he shall 
 know that I dare 
 
 Vas. Scold like a cot-quean ; 2 that's your profession. 
 Thou poor shadow of a soldier, I will make thee know 
 my master keeps servants thy betters in quality and per- 
 formance. Comest thou to fight or prate ? 
 
 Grim. Neither, with thee. I am a Roman and a gen- 
 tleman ; one that have got mine honour with expense of 
 blood. 
 
 Vas. You are a lying coward and a fool. Fight, or 
 by these hilts, I'll kill thee : brave my lord ! you'll 
 fight? 
 
 Grim. Provoke me not, for if thou dost 
 
 Vas. Have at you ! 
 
 [They fight ; GRIMALDI is worsted. 
 
 1 i.e. Cast-off. 
 
 2 A contemptuous term for one who concerns himself with female 
 affairs.
 
 SCENE ii.j 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. , 103 
 
 Enicr FLORIO, DONADO, and SORANZO, from opposite 
 sides 
 
 Flo. What mean these sudden broils so near my 
 
 doors ? 
 
 Have you not other places but my house 
 To vent the spleen of your disordered bloods ? 
 Must I be haunted still with such unrest 
 As not to eat or sleep in peace at home ? 
 Is this your love, Grimaldi ? Fie ! 'tis naught. 
 
 Don. And, Vasques, I may tell thee, 'tis not well 
 To broach these quarrels ; you are ever forward 
 In seconding contentions. 
 
 Enter ANNABELLA and PUTANA above. 
 
 Flo. What's the ground ? 
 
 Sor. That, with your patience, signiors, I'll resolve : 
 This gentleman, whom fame reports a soldier, 
 For else I know not, rivals me in love 
 To Signior Florio's daughter ; to whose ears 
 He still prefers his suit, to my disgrace; 
 Thinking the way to recommend himself 
 Is to disparage me in his report : 
 But know, Grimaldi, though, may be, thou art 
 My equal in thy blood, yet this bewrays 
 A lowness in thy mind, which, wert thou noble, 
 Thou wouldst as much disdain as I do thee 
 For this unworthiness : and on this ground 
 I willed my servant to correct his tongue, 
 Holding a man so base no match for me. 
 
 Vas. And had not your sudden coming prevented us, 
 I had let my gentleman blood under the gills : I should 
 have wormed you, sir, for running mad. 1 
 
 Grim. I'll be revenged, Soranzo. 
 
 1 The allusion is lo the practice of cutting what is called the 
 worm from under a dog's tongue, as a preventive of madness. 
 Gifford.
 
 104 Tf$ ^ Ty SH'$ A WHORE. [ACT l. 
 
 Vas. On a dish of warm broth to stay your stomach 
 do, honest innocence, do ! spoon-meat is a wholesomer 
 diet than a Spanish blade. 
 
 Grim. Remember this ! 
 
 Sor. I fear thee not, Grimaldi. 
 
 \Exit GRIMALDI. 
 
 Flo. My Lord Soranzo, this is strange to me, 
 Why you should storm, having my word engaged ; 
 Owing * her heart, what need you doubt her ear ? 
 Losers may talk by law of any game. 
 
 Vas. Yet the villany of words, Signior Florio, may be 
 such as would make any unspleened dove choleric. 
 Blame not my lord in this. 
 
 Flo. Be you more silent : 
 
 I would not for my wealth, my daughter's love 
 Should cause the spilling of one drop of blood. 
 Vasques, put up, let's end this fray in wine. [Exeunt. 
 
 Put. How like you this, child ? here's threatening, 
 challenging, quarrelling, and fighting on every side ; and 
 all is for your sake: you had need look to yourself, 
 charge; you'.-l be stolen away sleeping else shortly. 
 
 Ann. But, tutoress, such a life gives no content 
 To me ; my thoughts are fixed on other ends. 
 Would you would leave me ! 
 
 Put. Leave you ! no marvel else ; leave me no leaving, 
 charge ; this is love outright. Indeed, I blame you not ; 
 you have choice fit for the best lady in Italy. 
 
 Ann. Pray do not talk so much. 
 
 Put. Take the worst with the best, there's Grimaldi 
 the soldier, a very well-timbered fellow. They say he is 
 a Roman, nephew to the Duke Montferrato ; they say he 
 did good service in the wars against the Milanese ; but, 
 'faith, charge, I do not like him, an't be for nothing but for 
 being a soldier : not one amongst twenty of your skir- 
 mishing captains but have some privy maim or other that 
 mars their standing upright. I like him the worse, he 
 
 1 i.e. Owning.
 
 SCENE ii.] 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. 105 
 
 crinkles so much in the hams : though he might serve if 
 there were no more men, yet he's not the man I would 
 choose. 
 
 Ann. Fie, how thou pratest. 
 
 Put. As I am a very woman, I like Signior Soranzo 
 well ; he is wise, and what is more, rich ; and what is 
 more than that, kind ; and what is more that all this, a 
 nobleman : such a one, were I the fair Aimabella myself, 
 I would wish and pray for. Then he is bountiful ; 
 besides, he is handsome, and, by my troth, I think, 
 wholesome, and that's news in a gallant of three-and- 
 twenty; liberal, that I know; loving, that you know; and 
 a man sure, else he could never ha' purchased such a good 
 name with Hippolita. the lusty widow, in her husband's 
 lifetime : an 'twere but for that report, sweetheart, would 'a 
 were thine ! Commend a man for his qualities, but take 
 a husband as he is a plain, sufficient, naked man : such a 
 one is for your bed, and such a one is Signior Soranzo, 
 my life for't. 
 
 Ann. Sure the woman took her morning's draught too 
 soon. 
 
 Enter BERGETTO and POGGIO. 
 
 Put. But look, sweetheart, look what thing comes now ! 
 Here's another of your ciphers to fill up the number : O, 
 brave old ape in a silken coat ! Observe. 
 
 Berg. Didst thou think, Poggio, that I would spoil my 
 new clothes, and leave my dinner, to fight ? 
 
 Pog. No, sir, I did not take you for so arrant a baby. 
 
 Berg. I am wiser than so : for I hope, Poggio, thou 
 never heardst of an elder brother that was a coxcomb ; 
 didst, Poggio ? 
 
 Pqg. Never, indeed, sir, as long as they had either land 
 or money left them to inherit. 
 
 Berg. Is it possible, Poggio ? 0, monstrous ! Why, 
 I'll undertake with a handful of silver to buy a headful 
 of wit at any time : but, sirrah, I have another purchase
 
 io6 'TIS PITY SBE*$ A WHORE. [ACT i. 
 
 in hand ; I shall have the wench, mine uncle says. I 
 will but wash my face and shift socks, and then have at 
 her, i'faith ! Mark my pace, Poggio ! 
 
 [Passes over the stage, and exit. 
 
 Pog. Sir, I have seen an ass and a mule trot the 
 Spanish pavin l with a better grace, I know not how 
 often. [Aside, and follows him. 
 
 Ann. This idiot haunts me too. 
 
 Put. Ay, ay, he needs no description. The rich mag- 
 nifico that is below with your father, charge, Signior 
 Donado his uncle, for that he means to make this, his 
 cousin, 2 a golden calf, thinks that you will be a right 
 Israelite, and fall down to him presently : but I hope I 
 have tutored you better. They say a fool's bauble is a 
 lady's playfellow ; yet you, having wealth enough, you 
 need not cast upon the dearth of flesh, at any rate. Hang 
 him, jnnocent ! 3 
 
 GIOVANNI passes over the stage. 
 
 Ann. But see, Putana, see ! what blessed shape 
 Of some celestial creature now appears ! 
 What man is he, that with such sad aspect 
 Walks careless of himself ? 
 
 Put. Where? 
 
 Ann. Look below. 
 
 Put. 0, 'tis your brother, sweet. 
 . Ann. Ha ! 
 
 Put. 'Tis your brother. 
 
 Ann. Sure, 'tis not he ; this is some woful thing 
 Wrapped up in grief, some shadow of a man. 
 Alas, he beats his breast and wipes his eyes, 
 Drowned all in tears : methinks I hear him sigh : 
 
 1 "A grave and majestic dance ; the method of performing it was 
 anciently by gentlemen dressed with a cap and sword ; by those of 
 the long robe, in their gowns ; by princes, in their mantles : and by 
 ladies, in gowns with long trains, the motion whereof in the dance 
 resembled that of a peacock's tail." Hawkins. 
 
 3 i.e. Nephew. 3 Id'ot.
 
 SCENE in.] 'TIS PITY SUE'S A WHORE. id? 
 
 Let's down, Putana, and partake the cause. 
 I know my brother, in the love he bears me, 
 Will not deny me partage in his sadness. 
 My soul is full of heaviness and fear. [Aside. 
 
 [Exit above with PUTANA. 
 
 '&', 
 
 
 SCENE III. A Hall in FLORIO'S House. 
 
 Enter GIOVANNI. 
 
 Gio. Lost ! 1 am lost ! my fates have doomed my 
 
 death : 
 
 The more I strive, I love ; the more I love, 
 The less I hope : I see my ruin certain. 
 What judgment or endeavours could apply 
 To my incurable and restless wounds, 
 I throughly have examined, but in vain. 
 O, that it were not in religion sin 
 To make our love a god, and worship it ! 
 I have even wearied Heaven with prayers, dried up 
 The spring of my continual tears, even starved 
 My veins with daily fasts : what wit or art 
 Could counsel, I have practised ; but, alas, 
 I find all these but dreams, and old men's tales, 
 To fright unsteady youth ; I'm still the same : 
 Or I must speak, or burst. 'Tis not, I know, 
 My lust, but 'tis my fate that leads me on. 
 Keep fear and low faint-hearted shame with slaves ! 
 I'll tell her that I love her, though my heart 
 Were rated at the price of that attempt. 
 O me ! she comes. 
 
 Enter ANNABELLA and PUTANA. 
 
 Ann. Brother ! 
 
 Gio. [Aside] If such a thing 
 
 As courage dwell in men, ye heavenly powers, 
 Now double all that virtue in my tongue !
 
 io8 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. [ACT I. 
 
 Ann. Why, brother, 
 Will you not speak to me ? 
 
 Gio. Yes : how d'ye, sister? 
 
 Ann. Howe'er I am, methinks you are not well. 
 
 Put. Bless us ! Why are you so sad, sir ? 
 
 Gio. Let me entreat you, leave us a while, Putana. 
 Sister, I would be private with you. 
 
 Ann. Withdraw, Putana. 
 
 Put. I will. If this were any other company for her, 
 
 I should think my absence an office of some credit : but 
 
 / I will leave them together. [Aside, and exit. 
 
 Gio. Come, sister, lend your hand : let's walk to- 
 gether ! 
 
 I hope you need not blush to walk with me; 
 Here's none but you and I. 
 
 Ann. How's this ? 
 
 Gio. I'faith, 
 
 I mean no harm. 
 
 Ann. Harm ? 
 
 Gio. No, good faith. 
 
 How is't with ye ? 
 
 Ann. [Aside] I trust he be not frantic. 
 
 I am very well, brother. 
 
 Gio. Trust me, but I am sick ; I fear so sick 
 'Twill cost my life. 
 
 Ann. Mercy forbid it ! 'tis not so, I hope. 
 
 Gio. I think you love me, sister. 
 
 Ann. Yes, you know 
 
 I do. 
 
 Gio. I know't, indeed. You're very fair. 
 
 Ann. Nay, then I see you have a merry sickness. 
 
 Gio. That's as it proves. The poets feign, I read, 
 That Juno for her forehead did exceed 
 All other goddesses ; but I durst swear 
 Your forehead exceeds hers, as hers did theirs. 
 
 Ann. 'Troth, this is pretty ! 
 
 Gio. Such a pair of stars
 
 SCENE in.] '77.9 PITY SHE'S A WHORE. 109 
 
 As are thine eyes would, like Promethean fire, 
 If gently glanced, give life to senseless stones. 
 
 Ann. Fie upon ye ! 
 
 Gio. The lily and the rose, most sweetly strange, 
 Upon your dimpled cheeks do strive for change : 
 Such lips would tempt a saint ; such hands as those 
 Would make an anchorite lascivious. 
 
 Ann. D'ye mock me or flatter me? 
 
 Gio. If you would see a beauty more exact 
 Than art can counterfeit or nature frame, 
 Look in your glass, and there behold your own. 
 
 Ann. O, you are a trim youth ! 
 
 Gio. Here! \Offershisdaggertoher. 
 
 Ann. What to do ? 
 
 Gio. And here's my breast ; strike home ! 
 
 Rip up my bosom ; there thou shalt behold 
 A heart in which is writ the truth I speak. 
 Why stand ye? 
 
 Ann. Are you earnest ? 
 
 Gio. Yes, most earnest. 
 
 You cannot love ? 
 
 Ann. Whom ? 
 
 Gio. Me. My tortured soul 
 
 Hath felt affliction in the heat of death. 
 O, Annabella, I am quite undone ! 
 The love of thee, my sister, and the view 
 Of thy immortal beauty have untuned 
 All harmony both of my rest and life. 
 Why d'ye not strike ? 
 
 Ann. Forbid it, my just fears ! 
 
 If this be true, 'twere fitter I were dead. 
 
 Gio. True, Annabella ! 'tis no time to jest. 
 I have too long suppressed the hidden flames 
 That almost have consumed me : I have spent 
 Many a silent night in sighs and groans ; 
 Ran over all my thoughts, despised my fate, 
 Reasoned against the reasons of my love,
 
 no 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. [ACT I. 
 
 Done all that smoothed- cheeked virtue could advise ; 
 But found all bootless : 'tis my destiny 
 That you must either love, or I must die. 
 
 Ann, Comes this in sadness ' from you ? 
 
 Gio. Let some mischief 
 
 Befall me soon, if I dissemble aught. 
 
 Ann. You are my brother Giovanni. 
 
 Gio. You 
 
 My sister Annabella ; I know this, 
 And could afford you instance why to love 
 So much the more for this ; to which intent 
 Wise nature first in your creation meant 
 To make you mine ; else't had been sin and foul 
 To share one beauty to a double soul. 
 Nearness in birth and blood doth but persuade 
 A nearer nearness in affection. 
 I have asked counsel of the holy church, 
 Who tells me I may love you ; and 'tis just 
 That, since I may, I should ; and will, yes, will. 
 Must I now live or die ? 
 
 Ann. Live ; thou hast won 
 
 The field, and never fought : what thou hast urged 
 My captive heart had long ago resolved. 
 I blush to tell thee, but I'll tell thee now, 
 For every sigh that thou hast spent for me 
 I have sighed ten ; for every tear shed twenty : 
 And not so much for that I loved, as that 
 I durst not say I loved, nor scarcely think it. 
 
 Gio. Let not this music be a dream, ye gods, 
 For pity's sake, I beg ye ! 
 
 Ann. On my knees, \She kneels. 
 
 Brother, even by our mother's dust, I charge you, 
 Do not betray me to your mirth or hate : 
 Love me or kill me, brother. 
 
 Gio. On my knees, \He kneels. 
 
 Sister, even by my mother's dust, I charge you, 
 
 1 Earnest.
 
 SCENE IV.] ' TIS PITY SHE ' S A WHORE. 1 1 : 
 
 Do not betray me to your mirth or hate : 
 Love me or kill me, sister. 
 
 Ann. You mean good sooth, then ? 
 
 Gio. In good troth, I do ; 
 
 And so do you, I hope : say, I'm in earnest. 
 
 Ann. I'll swear it, I. 
 
 Gio, And I ; and by this kiss, 
 
 \J[isses her. 
 Once more, yet once more : now let's rise \They rise], - 
 
 by this, 
 
 I would not change this minute for Elysium, 
 What must we now do ? 
 
 Ann. What you will, 
 
 Gio. Come, then ; 
 
 After so many tears as we have wept, 
 Let's learn to court in smiles, to kiss, and sleep. 
 
 \Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE IV. ^4 Street. 
 Enter FLORIO and DONADO. 
 
 Flo. Signior Donado, you have said enough, 
 I understand you ; but would have you know 
 I will not force my daughter 'gainst her will. 
 You see I have but two, a son and her ; 
 And he is so devoted to his book, 
 As I must tell you true, I doubt his health : 
 Should he miscarry, all my hopes rely 
 Upon my girl. 1 As for worldly fortune, 
 I am, I thank my stars, blessed with enough. 
 My care is, how to match her to her liking : 
 I would not have her marry wealth, but love 
 
 1 "Girl" is here, and almost everywhere else in. these plays, a 
 dissyllable. The practice is not peculiar to our poet ; forFanshaw, 
 and others of that age, have numerous examples of it. Gifford.
 
 H2 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. [ACT i. 
 
 And if she like your nephew, let him have her. 
 Here's all that I can say. 
 
 Don. Sir, you say well, 
 
 Like a true father ; and, for my part, I, 
 If the young folks can like, 'twixt you and me, 
 Will promise to assure my nephew presently 
 Three thousand florins yearly during life, 
 And after I am dead my whole estate. 
 
 Flo. Tis a fair proffer, sir ; meantime your nephew 
 Shall have free passage to commence his suit : 
 If he can thrive, he shall have my consent. 
 So for this time I'll leave you, signior. {Exit. 
 
 Don. Well, 
 
 Here's hope yet, if my nephew would have wit ; 
 But he is such another dunce, I fear 
 He'll never win the wench. When I was young, 
 I could have done't, i'faith ; and so shall he, 
 If he will learn of me ; and, in good time, 
 He comes himself. 
 
 Enter BERGETTO and POGGIO. 
 
 How now, Bergetto, whither away so fast? 
 
 Berg. O, uncle, I have heard the strangest news that 
 ever came out of the mint ! Have I not, Poggio ? 
 
 Pog. Yes, indeed, sir. 
 
 Don. What news, Bergetto ? 
 
 Berg. Why, look ye, uncle, my barber told me just 
 now that there is a fellow come to town who undertakes 
 to make a mill go without the mortal help of any water 
 or wind, only with sand-bags: and this fellow hath a 
 strange horse, a most excellent beast, I'll assure you, 
 uncle, my barber says; whose head, to the wonder of all 
 Christian people, stands just behind where his tail is, i 
 Is't not true, Poggio ? 
 
 Pog. So the barber swore, forsooth. 
 
 Don. And you are running thither? 
 
 Berg. Ay, forsooth, uncle.
 
 SCENE iv.] TJS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. 113 
 
 Don. Wilt thou be a fool still? Come, sir, you shall 
 not go : you have more mind of a puppet-play than on 
 the business I told ye. Why, thou great baby, wilt never 
 have wit ? wilt make thyself a May-game to all the 
 world ? 
 
 Pug, Answer for yourself, master. 
 
 Berg. Why, uncle, should I sit at home still, and not 
 go abroad to see fashions like other gallants ? 
 
 Don. To see hobby-horses ! What wise talk, I pray, 
 had you with Annabella, when you were .at Signior Florio's 
 house? 
 
 Berg. O, the wench, Ud's sa'me, uncle, I tickled her 
 with a rare speech, that I made her almost burst her belly 
 with laughing. 
 
 Don. Nay, I think so ; and what speech was't ? 
 
 Berg. What did I say, Poggio ? 
 
 Pog. Forsooth, my master said, that he loved her 
 almost as well as he loved parmasent ;' and swore I'll be 
 sworn for him that she wanted but such a nose as his 
 was, to be as pretty a young woman as any was in 
 Parma. 
 
 Don. O, gross ! 
 
 Berg. Nay, uncle: then she asked me whether my 
 father had any more children than myself; and I said 
 " No ; 'twere better he should have had his brains 
 knocked out first." 
 
 Don. This is intolerable. 
 
 Berg. Then said she, " Will Signior Donado, your 
 uncle, leave you all his wealth ? " 
 
 Don. Ha ! that was good ; did she harp upon that 
 string ? 
 
 Berg. Did she harp upon that string ! ay, that she 
 did. I answered, " Leave me all his wealth ! why, 
 woman, he hath no other wit; if he had, he should 
 hear on't to his everlasting glory and confusion : I 
 
 1 i.e. Parmesan, the cheese of Parma. 
 Ford. I
 
 ii 4 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. [ACT I. 
 
 know," quoth I, "I am his -white-boy, 1 and will not be 
 gulled : " and with that she fell into a great smile, and 
 went away. Nay, I did fit her. 
 
 Don. Ah, sirrah, then I see there is no changing of 
 nature. Well, Bergetto, I fear thou wilt be a very ass 
 still. 
 
 Berg. I should be sorry for that, uncle. 
 
 Don. Come, come you home with me : since you are 
 no better a speaker, I'll have you write to her after some 
 courtly manner, and enclose some rich jewel in the 
 letter. 
 
 Berg. Ay, marry, that will be excellent. 
 
 Don. Peace, innocent ! 2 
 
 Once in my time I'll set my wits to school : 
 If all fail, 'tis but the fortune of a fool. 
 
 Berg. Poggio, 'twill do, Poggio. [Exeunt. 
 
 1 A term of endearment. It is said that this and similar terms 
 are still used in some parts of Ireland. Under the ancient Irish 
 Geilnne system of land tenure the homestead itself, in the division 
 of the family property, fell to the lot of the fifth son, who was called 
 the fair-haired or white-headed boy, geil meaning white. 
 
 3 Idiot.
 
 ACT THE SECOND. 
 
 SCENE I. An Apartment in FLORIO'S House. 
 Enter GIOVANNI and ANNABELLA. 
 
 ,IOVANNI. Come, Annabella, no more 
 
 sister now, 
 But love, a name more gracious, do 
 
 not blush, 
 Beauty's sweet wonder, but be proud to 
 
 know 
 That yielding thou hast conquered, and 
 
 inflamed 
 A heart whose tribute is thy brother's life. 
 
 Ann. And mine is his. O, how these stol'n contents 
 Would print a modest crimson on my cheeks, 
 Had any but my heart's delight prevailed ! 
 
 Gio. I marvel why the chaster of your sex 
 Should think this pretty toy called maidenhead 
 So strange a loss, when, being lost, 'tis nothing, 
 And you are still the same. 
 
 Ann. 'Tis well for you ; 
 
 Now you can talk. 
 
 Gio. Music as well consists 
 
 In the ear as in the playing. 
 
 Ann. O, you're wanton ! 
 
 Tell on't, you're best ; do. 
 
 Gio. Thou wilt chide me, then. 
 
 Kiss me : so ! Thus hung Jove on Leda's neck, 
 And sucked divine ambrosia from her lips.
 
 ii6 'TIS PITY SH'S A WHORE. [ACT 11. 
 
 I envy not the mightiest man alive ; 
 But hold myself in being king of thee, 
 More great than were I king of all the world. 
 But I shall lose you, sweetheart. 
 
 Ann. But you shall not. 
 
 Gio. You must be married, mistress. 
 
 Ann. Yes ! to whom ? 
 
 Gio. Some one must have you* 
 
 Ann. You must. 
 
 Gio. Nay, some other. 
 
 Ann. Now, prithee do not speak so : without jesting 
 You'll make me weep in earnest. 
 
 Gio. What, you will not ! 
 
 But tell me, sweet, canst thou be dared to swear 
 That thou wilt live to me, and to no other ? 
 
 Ann. By both our loves I dare ; for didst thou know, 
 My Giovanni, how all suitors seem 
 To my eyes hateful, thou wouldst trust me then. 
 
 Gio. Enough, I take thy word : sweet, we must part : 
 Remember what thou vow'st ; keep well my heart. 
 
 Ann. Will you be gone ? 
 
 Gio. I must. 
 
 Ann. When to return ? 
 
 Gio. Soon. 
 
 Ann. Look you do. 
 
 Gio. Farewell, 
 
 Ann. Go where thou wilt, in mind I'll keep thee here. 
 And where thou art, I know I shall be there 
 
 \Exit GIOVANNI. 
 Guardian ! 
 
 Enter PUTANA. 
 
 Put. Child, how is't, child ? well, thank Heaven, ha ! 
 
 Ann. O guardian, what a paradise of joy 
 Have I passed over ! 
 
 Put. Nay, what a paradise of joy have you passed 
 under ! Why, now I commend thee, charge. Fear 
 nothing, sweetheart: what though he be your brother?
 
 SCENE I.] 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. IT; 
 
 your brother's a man, I hope ; and I say still, if a young 
 wench feel the fit upon her, let her take any body, father 
 or brother, all is one. 
 
 Ann. I would not have it known for all the world. 
 
 Put. Nor I, indeed ; for the speech of the people : 
 else 'twere nothing. 
 
 Flo. [ Within'] Daughter Annabella ! 
 
 Ann. O me, my father ! Here, sir ! Reach my v.-ork. 
 
 Flo. [ Within\ What are you doing ? 
 
 Ann. So : let him come now. 
 
 Enter FLORIO, followed by RICHARDETTO as a Doctor of 
 Physic, and PHILOTIS with a lute. 
 
 Flo. So hard at work ! that's well ; you lose no time. 
 Look, I have brought you company; here's one, 
 A learned doctor lately come from Padua, 
 Much skilled in physic ; and, for that I see 
 You have of late been sickly, I entreated 
 This reverend man to visit you some time. 
 
 Ann. You're very welcome, sir. 
 
 Rich. I thank you, mistress. 
 
 Loud fame in large report hath spoke your praise 
 As well for virtue as perfection : J 
 For which I have been bold to bring with me 
 A kinswoman of mine, a maid, for song 
 And music one perhaps will give content : 
 Please you to know her. 
 
 Ann. They are parts I love. 
 
 And she for them most welcome. 
 
 Phi. Thank you, lady. 
 
 Flo. Sir, now you know my house, pray make not 
 
 strange ; 
 
 And if you find my daughter need your art, 
 I'll be your pay-master. 
 
 Rich. Sir, what I am 
 
 She shall command. 
 
 1 Beauty.
 
 n8 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. [ACT n. 
 
 Flo. Sir, you shall bind me to you. 
 
 Daughter, I must have conference with you 
 About some matters that concern us both. 
 Good Master Doctor, please you but walk in, 
 We'll crave a little of your cousin's cunning : ' 
 I think my girl hath not quite forgot 
 To touch an instrument ; she could have done't : 
 We'll hear them both. 
 
 Rich. I'll wait upon you, sir. {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. A Room in SORANZO'S House. 
 Enter SORANZO unth a back. 
 
 Sor. \Jteads\ " Love's measure is extreme, the comfort 
 
 pain, 
 
 The life unrest, and the reward disdain." 
 What's here? look't o'er again. 'Tis so; so writes 
 This smooth, licentious poet in his rhymes : 
 But, Sannazar, thou liest ; for, had thy bozom 
 Felt such oppression as is laid on mine, 
 Thou wouldst have kissed the rod that made thee 
 
 smart. 
 
 To work, then, happy Muse, and contradict 
 What Sannazar hath in his envy writ. [ Writes. 
 
 " Love's measure is the mean, sweet his annoys, 
 His pleasures life, and his reward all joys." 
 Had Annabella lived when Sannazar 
 Did, in his brief Encomium, 2 celebrate 
 
 1 i.e. Skill. 
 
 2 This is the well-known epigram, beginning 
 
 "Viderat Hadriacis Venetam Neptumis in undis 
 Stare urbem," &c. 
 
 It is given by Coryat, who thus speaks of it: "I heard in Vmice 
 that a certaine Italian poet, called Jacobus Sannazarius, had a hun- 
 dred crownes bestowed upon him by the Senate of Venice for each 
 of these verses following. I would to God my poe^call Jriend Master
 
 SCENE ii.] 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. 119 
 
 Venice, that queen of cities, he had left 
 
 That verse which gained him such a sum of gold, 
 
 And for one only look from Annabel 
 
 Had writ of her and her diviner cheeks. 
 
 O, how my thoughts are 
 
 Vas. [ WitJdii\ Pray, forbear ; In rules of civility, let 
 me give notice on't : I shall be taxed of my neglect of 
 duty and service. 
 
 Sor. What rude intrusion interrupts my peace ? 
 Can I be no where private ? 
 
 Vas. [ Within] Troth, you wrong your modesty. 
 
 Sor. What's the matter, Vasques ? who is't ? 
 
 Enter HIPPOLITA and VASQUES. 
 
 Hip. 'Tis I ; 
 
 Do you know me now ? Look, perjured man, on her 
 Whom thou and thy distracted lust have wronged^ 
 Thy sensual rage of blood hath made my youth 
 A scorn to men and angels ; and shall I 
 Be now a foil to thy unsated change ? 
 Thou know'st, false wanton, when my modest fa' 
 Stood free from stain or scandal, all the charms 
 Of hell or sorcery could not prevail 
 Against the honour of my chaster bosom. 
 Thine eyes did plead in tears, thy tongue in oaths, 
 Such and so many, that a heart of steel 
 Would have been wrought to pity, as was mine : 
 And shall the conquest of my lawful bed, 
 My husband's death, urged on by his disgrace, 
 My loss of womanhood, be ill-rewarded 
 With hatred and contempt? No ; know, Soranzo, 
 I have a spirit doth as much distaste 
 The slavery of fearing thce, as thou 
 Dost loathe the memory of what hath passed. 
 
 Benjamin Johnson were so well rewarded for his poems here in Eng- 
 land, seeing he hath made many as good vertex (in my opinion) as 
 these of Sannazarins."< Gifford.
 
 j;o 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. [ACT 11, 
 
 ."jr. Nay, clear Hippolita, 
 
 Hip. Call me not dear, 
 
 Nor think with supple words to smooth the grossness 
 Of my abuses : 'tis not your new mistress, 
 Your goodly madam-merchant, shall triumph 
 On my dejection ; tell her thus from me, 
 My birth was nobler and by much more free. 
 
 Sor. You are too violent. 
 
 Hip. You are too double 
 
 In your dissimulation. Seest thou this, 
 This habit, these black mourning weeds of care ? 
 'Tis thou art cause of this and hast divorced 
 My husband from his life, and me from him, 
 And made me widow in my widowhood. 
 
 Sor. Will you yet hear? 
 
 Hip. More of thy perjuries ? 
 
 Thy soul is drowned too deeply in those sins ; 
 Thou need'st not add to the number. 
 
 Sor. Then I'll leave you ; 
 
 You're past all rules of sense. 
 
 Hip. And thou of grace. 
 
 Vas. Fie, mistress, you are not near the limits of 
 reason : if my lord had a resolution as noble as virtue 
 itself, you take the course to unedge it all. Sir, I be- 
 seech you do not perplex her ; griefs, alas, will have a 
 vent: I dare undertake Madam Hippolita will now freely 
 hear you. 
 
 Sor. Talk to a woman frantic ! Are these the fruits 
 of your love ? 
 
 Hip. They are the fruits of thy untruth, false man ! 
 Didst thou not swear, whilst yet my husband lived, 
 That thou wouldst wish no happiness on earth' 
 More than to call me wife? didst thou not vow, 
 When he should die, to marry me ? for which 
 The devil in my blood, and thy protests, 
 Caused me to counsel him to undertake 
 A voyage to Ligorne, for that we heard
 
 SCENE II.] 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. 121 
 
 His brother there was dead, and left a daughter 
 
 Young and unfriended, who, with much ado, 
 
 I wished him to bring hither : he did so, 
 
 And went ; and, as thou know'st, died on the way. 
 
 Unhappy man, to buy his death so dear, 
 
 With my advice ! yet thou, for whom I did it, 
 
 Forgett'st thy vows, and leav'st me to my shame. 
 
 Sor, Who could help this? 
 
 Hip. Who ! perjured man, thou couldst, 
 
 If thou hadst faith or love. 
 
 Sor. You are deceived : 
 
 The vows I made, if you remember well, 
 Were wicked and unlawful ; 'twere more sin 
 To keep them than to break them : as for me, 
 I cannot mask my penitence. Think thou 
 How much thou hast digressed from honest shame 
 In bringing of a gentleman to death 
 Who was thy husband ; such a one as he, 
 So noble in his quality, condition, 
 Learning, behaviour, entertainment, love, 
 As Parma could not show a braver man. 
 
 Vas. You do not well ; this was not your promise. 
 
 Sor. I care not ; let her know her monstrous life. 
 Ere I'll be servile to so black a sin, 
 I'll be a curse. Woman, come here no more ; 
 Learn to repent, and die ; for, by my honour, 
 I hate thee and thy lust : you've been too foul. [Exit. 
 
 Vas. [Aside] This part has been scurvily played. 
 
 Hip. How foolishly this beast contemns his fate, 
 And shuns the use of that which I more scorn 
 Than I once loved, his love ! But let him go ; 
 My vengeance shall give comfort to his woe. 1 [Going. 
 
 Vas. Mistress, mistress, Madam Hippolita ! pray, a 
 word or two. 
 
 Hip. With me, sir ? 
 
 Vas. With you, if you please. 
 
 1 i e. To the woe occasioned hv his falsehood.
 
 i>2 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. [ACT n. 
 
 Hip. Whatis't? 
 
 Vas. I know you are infinitely moved now, and you 
 think you have cause : some I confess you have, but sure 
 not so much as you imagine. 
 
 Hip. Indeed ! 
 
 Vas. O, you were miserably bitter, which you followed 
 even to the last syllable ; 'faith, you were somewhat too 
 shrewd : by my life, you could not have took my lord in 
 a worse time since I first knew him ; to-morrow you 
 shall find him a new man. 
 
 Hip. Well, I shall wait his leisure. 
 
 Vas. Fie, this is not a hearty patience ; it comes sourly 
 from you : 'troth, let me persuade you for once. 
 
 Hip. \Aside\ I have it, and it shall be so ; thanks, 
 opportunity ! Persuade me ! to what ? 
 
 Vas. Visit him in some milder temper. O, if you could 
 but master a little your female spleen, how might you win 
 him ! 
 
 Hip. He will never love me. Vasques, thou hast been 
 a too trusty servant to such a master, and I believe thy 
 reward in the end will fall out like mine. 
 
 Vas. So perhaps too. 
 
 Hip. Resolve 1 thyself it will. Had I one so true, so 
 truly honest, so secret to my counsels, as thou hast been 
 to him and his, I should think it a slight acquittance, 
 not only to make him master of all I have, but even of 
 myself. 
 
 Vas. O, you are a noble gentlewoman ! 
 
 Hip. Wilt thou feed always upon hopes ? well, I know 
 thou art wise, and seest the reward of an old servant 
 daily, what it is. 
 
 Vas. Beggary and neglect. 
 
 Hip. True ; but, Vasques, wert thou mine, and wouldst 
 be private to me and my designs, I here protest, myself 
 and all what I can else call mine should be at thy dis- 
 pose. 
 
 1 Assure.
 
 SCENE in.] 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. 123 
 
 Fas. [Aside] Work you that way, old mole ? then I 
 have the wind of you. I were not worthy of it by any 
 desert that could lie within my compass : if I could 
 
 Hip. What then ? 
 
 Vas. I should then hope to live in these my old years 
 with rest and security. 
 
 Hip. Give me thy hand : now promise but thy si- 
 lence, 
 
 And help to bring to pass a plot I have, 
 And here, in sight of heaven, that being done, 
 I make the lord of me and mine estate. 
 
 Vas. Come, you are merry ; this is such a happiness 
 that I can neither think or believe. 
 
 Hip. Promise thy secrecy, and 'tis confirmed. 
 
 Vas. Then here I call our good genii for witnesses, 
 whatsoever your designs are, or against whomsoever, I 
 will not only be a special actor therein, but never dis- 
 close it till it be effected. 
 
 Hip. I take thy word, and, with that, thee for mine ; 
 Come, then, let's more confer of this anon. 
 On this delicious bane my thoughts shall banquet ; 
 Revenge shall sweeten what my griefs have tasted. 
 
 [Aside, and exit with VASQUES. 
 
 SCENE III. The Street. 
 
 Enter RICHARDETTO and PHILOTIS. 
 
 Rich. Thou seest, my lovely niece, these strange mis- 
 haps, 
 
 How all my fortunes turn to my disgrace ; 
 Wherein I am but as a looker-on, 
 Whiles others act my shame, and I am silent. 
 
 Phi. But, uncle, wherein can this borrowed shape 
 Give you content? 
 
 Rich. I'll tell thee, gentle niece :
 
 124 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. [ACT n. 
 
 Thy wanton aunt in her lascivious riots 
 Lives now secure, thinks I am surely dead 
 In my late journey to Ligorne for you, 
 As I have caused it to be rumoured out. 
 Now would I see with what an impudence 
 She gives scope to her loose adultery, 
 And how the common voice allows hereof : 
 Thus far I have prevailed. 
 
 Phi. Alas, I fear 
 
 You mean some strange revenge. 
 
 Rich. O, be not troubled ; 
 
 Your ignorance shall plead for you in all : 
 But to our business. What ! you learned for certain 
 How Signor Florio means to give his daughter 
 In marriage to Soranzo? 
 
 Phi. Yes, for certain. 
 
 Rich. But how find you young Annabella's love 
 Inclined to him ? 
 
 Phi. For aught' I could perceive, 
 
 She neither fancies him or any else. 
 
 Rich. There's mystery in *W. which time must show. 
 She used you kindly? 
 
 Phi. Yes. 
 
 Rich. And craved your company ? 
 
 Phi. Often. 
 
 Rich. Tis well ; it goes as I could wish. 
 
 I am the doctor now ; and as for you, 
 None knows you : if all fail not, we shall thrive. - 
 But who comes here ? I know him ; 'tis Grimaldi, 
 A Roman and a soldier, near allied 
 Unto the Duke of Montferrato, one 
 Attending on the nuncio of the pope 
 That now resides in Parma ; by which means 
 He hopes to get the love of Annabella. 
 
 Enter GRIMALDI. 
 Grim. Save you, sir.
 
 SCENE in.] 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. 125 
 
 Rich. And you, sir. 
 
 Grim. I have heard 
 
 Of your approved skill, which through the city 
 Is freely talked of, and would crave your aid. 
 
 Rich. For what, sir ? 
 
 Grim. Marry, sir, for this 
 But I would speak in private. 
 
 Rich. Leave us, cousin. 1 \Exit PHILOTIS. 
 
 Grim. I love fair Annabella, and would know 
 Whether in art there may not be receipts 
 To move affection. 
 
 Rich. Sir, perhaps there may ; 
 
 But these will nothing profit you. 
 
 Grim. Not me ? 
 
 Rich. Unless I be mistook, you are a man 
 Greatly in favour with the cardinal. 
 
 Grim. What of that ? 
 
 Rich. In duty to his grace, 
 
 I will be bold to tell you, if you seek 
 To marry Florio's daughter, you must first 
 Remove a bar 'twixt you and her. 
 
 Grim. Who's that ? 
 
 Rich. Soranzo is the man that hath her heart ; 
 And while he lives, be sure you cannot speed. 
 
 Grim. Soranzo ! what, mine enemy ? is't he ? 
 
 Rich. Is he your enemy? 
 
 Grim. The man I hate 
 
 Worse than confusion ; I will to him straight. 
 
 Rich. Nay, then, take mine advice, 
 Even for his grace's sake the cardinal : 
 I'll find a time when he and she do meet, 
 Of which I'll give you notice ; and, to be sure 
 He shall not 'scape you, I'll provide a poison 
 To dip your rapier's point in : if he had 
 As many heads as Hydra had, he dies. 
 
 Grim. But shall I trust thee, doctor ? 
 
 1 " Cousin " was frequently used for nephew or niece.
 
 126 'TIS PITY SHZ'S A WHORE. [ACT H. 
 
 Rich. As yourself; 
 
 Doubt not in aught. \Exit GRIMALDI.] Thus shall 
 
 the fates decree 
 By me Soranzo falls, that ruined me. \_Exit. 
 
 SCENE IN Another part of the Street. 
 
 Enter DONADO with a letter, BERGETTO, and POGGIO. 
 
 Don. Well, sir, I must be content to be both your 
 secretary and your messenger myself. I cannot tell what 
 this letter may work ; but, as sure as I am alive, if thou 
 come once to talk with her, I fear thou wilt mar whatso- 
 ever I make. 
 
 Ber. You make, uncle ! why, am not I big enough to 
 carry mine own letter, I pray ? 
 
 Don. Ay, ay, carry a fool's head o' thy own ! why, 
 thou dunce, wouldst thou write a letter, and carry it 
 thyself? 
 
 Ber. Yes, that I would, and read it to her with my 
 own mouth ; for you must think, if she will not believe 
 me myself when she hears me speak, she will not believe 
 another's handwriting. O, you think I am a blockhead, 
 uncle. No, sir, Poggio knows I have indited a letter 
 myself; so I have. 
 
 Pog. Yes, truly, sir; I havfc it in my pocket. 
 
 Don. A sweet one, no doubt ; pray let's see't. 
 
 Ber. I cannot read my own hand very well, Poggio ; 
 read it, Poggio. 
 
 Don. Begin. 
 
 Pog. [Reads] "Most dainty and honey-sweet mistress; 
 I could call you fair, and lie as fast as any that loves 
 you ; but my uncle being the elder man, I leave it to 
 him, as more fit for his age and the colour of his beard. 
 I am wise enough to tell you I can bourd l where I see 
 
 1 Jest.
 
 SCENE V.] 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. 127 
 
 occasion ; or if you like my uncle's wit better than mine 
 you shall marry me ; if you like mine better than his, 
 I will marry you, in spite of your teeth. So, commend- 
 ing my best parts to you, I rest 
 
 Yours upwards and downwards, or you may choose, 
 
 Bergetto." 
 
 Ber. Ah, ha ! here's stuff, uncle ! 
 
 Don. Here's stuff indeed to shame us all. Pray, 
 whose advice did you take in this learned letter ? 
 
 Pog. None, upon my word, but mine own, 
 
 Ber, And mine, uncle, believe it, nobody's else ; 'twas 
 mine own brain, I thank a good wit for't. 
 
 Don. Get you home, sir, and look you keep within 
 doors till I return. 
 
 Ber. How ! that were a jest indeed ! I scorn it, i'faith. 
 
 Don. What ! you do not ? 
 
 Ber. Judge me, but I do now. 
 
 Pog, Indeed, sir, 'tis very unhealthy. 
 
 Don. Well, sir, if I hear any of your apish running to 
 motions 1 and fopperies, till I come back, you were as 
 good no ; look to't. \_Exit. 
 
 Ber. Poggio, shall's steal to see this horse with the 
 head in's tail ? 
 
 Pog. Ay, but you must take heed of whipping. 
 
 Ber. Dost take me for a child, Poggio ? Come, 
 honest Poggio. \Excuni. 
 
 SCENE V. Friar BONAVENTURA'S Cell. 
 
 Enter Friar and GIOVANNI. 
 
 Friar. Peace ! thou hast told a tale whose every word 
 Threatens eternaLslaughter to the soul ; 
 I'm sorry I have heard it : would mine ears 
 Had been one minute deaf, befor the hour 
 
 1 Puppet-shows.
 
 128 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. [ACT il. 
 
 That them cam'st to me ! O young man, castaway, 
 By the religious number l of mine order, 
 I day and night have waked my aged eyes 
 Above my strength, to weep on thy behalf; 
 But Heaven is angry, and be thou resolved 2 
 Thou art a man remarked 3 to taste a mischief. 
 Look for't ; though it come late, it will come sure, 
 
 Gio. Father, in this you are uncharitable ; 
 What I have done I'll prove both fit and good. 
 It is a principle which you have taught, 
 When I was yet your scholar, that the frame 
 And composition of the mind doth follow 
 The frame and composition of the body : 
 So, where the body's furniture is beauty, 
 The mind's must needs be virtue ; which allowed, 
 Virtue itself is reason but refined, 
 And love the quintessence of that : this proves, 
 My sister's beauty being rarely fair 
 Is rarely virtuous ; chiefly in her love, 
 And chiefly in that love, her love to me : 
 If hers to me, then so is mine to her ; 
 Since in like causes are effects alike. 
 
 Friar. O ignorance in knowledge ! Long ago, 
 How often have I warned thee this before ! 
 Indeed, if we were sure there were no Deity, 
 Nor Heaven nor Hell, then to be led alone 
 By Nature's light as were philosophers 
 Of elder times might instance some defence. 
 But 'tis not so : then, madman, thou wilt find 
 That Nature is in Heaven's positions blind. 
 
 Gio. Your age o'errules you ; had you youth like mine, 
 You'd make her love your heaven, and her divine. 
 
 Friar. Nay, then I see thou'rt too far sold to hell : 
 It lies not in the compass of my prayers 
 To call thee back, yet let me counsel thee ; 
 Persuade thy sister to some marriage. 
 
 1 Gifford proposed " founder." " Satisfied. 3 Marked out.
 
 SCENE v.] 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. 129 
 
 Gio. Marriage ! why, that's to damn her ; that's to 
 
 prove 
 Her greedy variety of lust. 
 
 Friar. O, fearful ! if thou wilt not, give me leave 
 To shrive her, lest she should die unabsolved. 
 
 Gio. At your best leisure, father : then she'll tell you . 
 How dearly she doth prize my matchless love ; 
 Then you will know what pity 'twere we two 
 Should have been sundered from each other's arms. 
 View well her face, and in that little round 
 You may observe a world of variety ; 
 For colour, lips ; for sweet perfumes, her breath ; 
 For jewels, eyes : for threads of purest gold, 
 Hair ; for delicious choice of flowers, cheeks ; 
 Wonder in every portion of that form. 1 
 Hear her but speak, and you will swear the spheres 
 Make music to the citizens in Heaven. 
 But, father, what is else for pleasure framed 
 Lest I offend your ears, shall go unnamed. 
 
 Friar. The more I hear, I pity thee the more, 
 That one so excellent should give those parts 
 All to a second death. What I can do 
 Is but to pray; and yet I could advise thee, 
 Woukkt thou be ruled. 
 
 Gio. In what ? 
 
 Friar. Why leave her yet ; 
 
 The throne of mercy is above your trespass ; 
 Yet time is left you both 
 
 Gio. To embrace each other, 
 
 Else let all time be struck quite out of number : 
 She is like me, and I like her, resolved. 
 
 Friar. No more ! I'll visit her. This grieves me most, 
 Things being thus, a pair of souls are lost. {Exeunt. 
 
 1 " Throne " in the old edition. 

 
 ijo 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. [ACT II. 
 
 SCENE VI. A Room in FLORIO'S House. 
 Enter FLORIO, DONADO, ANNABELLA, and PUTANA. 
 
 Flo. Where's Giovanni ? 
 
 Ann. Newly walked abroad. 
 
 And, as I heard him say, gone to the friar, 
 His reverend tutor. 
 
 Flo. That's a blessed man, 
 
 A man made up of holiness : I hope 
 He'll teach him how to gain another world. 
 
 Don. Fair gentlewoman, here's a letter sent 
 To you from my young cousin ; I dare swear 
 He loves you in his soul : would you could hear 
 Sometimes what I see daily, sighs and tears, 
 As if his breast were prison to his heart ! 
 
 Flo. Receive it, Annabella. 
 
 Ann. Alas, good man ! [Takes the letter. 
 
 Don. What's that she said ? 
 
 Put. An't please you, sir, she said, "Alas, good man !" 
 Truly I do commend him to her every night before her 
 first sleep, because I would have her dream of him ; and 
 she hearkens to that most religiously. 
 
 Don. Sayestso? God-a'-mercy, Putana! there's some- 
 thing for thee [Gives her money~\ : and prithee do what 
 thou canst on his behalf; 'shall not be lost labour, take 
 my word for't. 
 
 Put. Thank you most heartily, sir : now I have a feel- 
 ing of your mind, let me alone to work. 
 
 Ann. Guardian, 
 
 Put. Did you call ? 
 
 Ann. Keep this letter. 
 
 Don. Signior Florio, in any case bid her read it in- 
 stantly. 
 
 Flo. Keep it ! for what? pray, read it me hereright. 
 
 Ann. I shall, sir. [She reads the letter. 
 
 Don. How d'ye find her inclined, signior ? 
 
 Flo. Troth, sir, I know not how \ not all so well
 
 SCENE vi.] 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. 131 
 
 As I could wish. 
 
 Ann. Sir, I am bound to rest your cousin's debtor. 
 The jewel I'll return; for if he love, 
 I'll count that love a jewel. 
 
 Don. Mark you that ? 
 
 Nay, keep them both, sweet maid. 
 
 Ann. . You must excuse me, 
 
 Indeed I will not keep it. 
 
 Flo. Where's the ring, 
 
 That which your mother, in her will, bequeathed, 
 And charged you on her blessing not to give 't 
 To any but your husband ? send back that. 
 
 Ann. I have it not. 
 
 Flo. Ha ! have it not ! where is't ? 
 
 Ann. My brother in the morning took it from me, 
 Said he would wear't to day. 
 
 Flo. Well, what do you say 
 
 To young Bergetto's love ? are you content to 
 Match with him ? speak. 
 
 Don. There is the point, indeed. 
 
 Ann. \Aside\ What shall I do ? I must say some- 
 thing now. 
 
 Flo. What say ? why d'ye not speak ? 
 
 Ann. Sir, with your leave 
 
 Please you to give me freedom ? 
 
 Flo. Yes, you have it. 
 
 Ann. Signior Donado, if your nephew mean 
 To raise his better fortunes in his match, 
 The hope of me will hinder such a hope : 
 Sir, if you love him, as I know you do, 
 Find one more worthy of his choice than me : 
 In short, I'm sure I shall not be his wife. 
 
 Don. Why, here's plain dealing ; I commend thee 
 
 for't ; 
 
 And all the worst I wish thee is, Heaven bless thee ! 
 Your father yet and I will still be friends : 
 Shall we not, Signior Florio?
 
 132 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. [ACT II. 
 
 Flo. Yes ; why not ? 
 
 Look, here your cousin comes. 
 
 Enler BERGETTO and POGGIO. 
 
 Don. [Aside] O, coxcomb ! what doth he make here ? 
 
 Ber. Where's my uncle, sirs ? 
 
 Don. What's the news now? 
 
 Ber. Save you, uncle, save you ! You must not think 
 I come for nothing, masters. And how, and how is't? 
 what, you have read my letter? ah, there 1 tickled you, 
 i'faith. 
 
 Pog. [Aside to BERGETTO] But 'twere better you had 
 tickled her in another place. 
 
 Ber. Sirrah sweetheart, I'll tell thee a good jest ; and 
 riddle what 'tis. 
 
 Ann. You say you'll teli me. 
 
 Ber. As I was walking just now in the street, I met a 
 swaggering fellow would needs take the wall of me ; and 
 because he did thrust me, I very valiantly called him 
 rogue. He hereupon bade me draw ; I told him I had 
 more wit than so ; but when he saw that I would not, he 
 did so maul me with the hilts of his rapier, that my head 
 sung whilst my feet capered in the kennel. 
 
 Don. [Aside] Was ever the like ass seen ! 
 
 Ann. And what did you all this while ? 
 
 Ber. Laugh at him for a gull, till I saw the blood run 
 about mine ears, and then I could not choose but find 
 in my heart to cry ; till a fellow with a broad beard 
 they say he is a new-come doctor called me into his 
 house, and gave me a plaster, look you, here 'tis : and, 
 sir, there was a young wench washed my face and hands 
 most excellently; i' faith, I shall love her as long as I 
 live for't. Did she not, Poggio ? 
 
 Pog. Yes, and kissed him too. 
 
 Ber. Why, la, now, you think I tell a lie, uncle, I 
 warrant. 
 
 Don. Would he that beat thy blood out of thy head
 
 SCENE vi.] 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. 133 
 
 had beaten some wit into it ! for I fear thou never wilt 
 have any. 
 
 Ber. O, uncle, but there was a wench would have 
 done a man's heart good to have looked on her. By this 
 light, she had a face methinks worth twenty of you, 
 Mistress Annabella. 
 
 Don. \Asidc\ Was ever such a fool born ! 
 
 Ann. I am glad she liked 1 you sir. 
 
 Bcr. Are you so ? by my troth, I thank you, forsooth. 
 
 Flo. Sure, 'twas the doctor's niece, that was last day 
 with us here. 
 
 Ber. 'Twas she, 'twas she. 
 
 Don. How do you know that, simplicity ? 
 
 Bcr. Why, does not he say so? if I should have said 
 no, I should have given him the lie, uncle, and so have 
 deserved a dry beating again : I'll none of that. 
 
 Flo. A very modest well-behaved young maid 
 As I 'have seen. 
 
 Don. Is she indeed? 
 
 Flo. Indeed she is, if I have any judgment. 
 
 Don. Well, sir, now you are free : you need not care 
 for sending letters now ; you are dismissed, your mistress 
 here will none of you. 
 
 Bcr. No ! why, what care I for that? I can have 
 wenches enough in Parma for half-a-crown a-piece : 
 cannot I, Poggio ? 
 
 Pog. I'll warrant you, sir. 
 
 Don. Signior Florio, 
 
 I thank you for your free recourse you gave 
 For my admittance : and to you, fair maid, 
 That jewel I will give you 'gainst your marriage. 
 Come, will you go, sir ? 
 
 Bcr. Ay, marry, will I. Mistress, farewell, mistress ; 
 I'll come again to-morrow ; farewell, mistress. 
 
 {Exeunt DONADO, BERGETTO, and POGGIO. 
 
 1 i.e. Pieased.
 
 134 *TJS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. [ACT n. 
 
 Enter GIOVANNI. 
 
 Flo. Son, where have you been ? what, alone, alone 
 
 still? 
 
 I would not have it so ; you must forsake 
 This over-bookish humour. Well, your sister 
 Hath shook the fool off. 
 
 Gio. 'Twas no match for her. 
 
 Flo. Twas not indeed ; I meant it nothing less ; 
 Soranzo is the man I only like : 
 Look on him, Annabella. Come, 'tis supper-time, 
 And it grows late. [Exit. 
 
 Gio. Whose jewel's that ? 
 
 Ann. Some sweetheart's. 
 
 Gio. So I think. 
 
 Ann. A lusty youth, 
 
 Signior Donado, gave it me to wear 
 Against my marriage. 
 
 Gio. But you shall not wear it : 
 
 Send it him back again. 
 
 Ann. What, you are jealous ? 
 
 Gio. That you shall know anon, at better leisure. 
 Welcome sweet night ! the evening crowns the day. 
 
 [Exeunt.
 
 ACT THE THIRD. 
 
 SCENE I. A Room in DONADO'S House. 
 Enter BERGETTO and POGGIO. 
 
 ERGETTO. Does my uncle think to 
 make me a baby still ? No, Poggio ; he 
 shall know I have a sconce 1 now. 
 
 Peg. Ay, let him not bob you off like 
 an ape with an apple. 
 
 Ber. 'Sfoot, I will have the wench, if 
 he were ten uncles, in despite of his nose, Poggio. 
 
 Pog. Hold him to the grindstone, and give not a jot 
 of ground : she hath in a manner promised you already. 
 Ber. True, Poggio ; and her uncle, the doctor, swore 
 I should marry her. 
 
 Pog. He swore ; I remember. 
 
 Ber. And I will have her, that's more : didst see the 
 codpiece-point she gave me and the box of marmalade ? 
 Pog. Very well ; and kissed you, that my chops watered 
 at the sight on't. There's no way but to clap-up a mar- 
 riage in hugger-mugger. 
 
 Ber. I will do't; for I tell thee, Poggio, I begin to 
 grow valiant methinks, and my courage begins to rise. 
 Pog. Should you be afraid of your uncle ? 
 Ber. Hang him, old doting rascal ! no : I say I will 
 have her. 
 
 Pog. Lose no time, then. 
 
 Ber. I will beget a race of wise men and constables 
 
 Her.cl.
 
 J3 6 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. [ACT in. 
 
 that shall cart whores at their own charges ; and break 
 the duke's peace ere I have done myself. Come away. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. A Room in FLORIO'S House. 
 
 Enter FLORIO, GIOVANNI, SORANZO, ANNABELLA, 
 PUTANA, and VASQUES. 
 
 Flo. My Lord Soranza, though I must confess 
 The proffers that are made me have been great 
 In marriage of my daughter, yet the hope 
 Of your still rising honours have prevailed 
 Above all other jointures : here she is ; 
 She knows my mind ; speak for yourself to her, 
 And hear, you, daughter, see you use him nobly : 
 For any private speech I'll give you time. 
 Come, son, and you the rest ; let them alone ; 
 Agree they as they may. 
 
 Sor. I thank you, sir. 
 
 Gio. [Aside to ANNABELIA]. Sister, be not all woman] 
 think on me. 
 
 Sor. Vasques, 
 
 Vas. My lord ? 
 
 Sor. Attend me without. 
 
 [Exeunt all but SORANZO and ANNABELLA. 
 
 Ann. Sir, what's your will with me ? 
 
 Sor, Do you not know 
 
 What I should tell you ? 
 
 Ann. Yes ; you'll say you love me. 
 
 Sor. And I will swear it too ; will you believe it ? 
 
 Ann. Tis no point of faith. 
 
 Enter GIOVANNI in the Gallery above. 
 
 Sor. Have you not will to love ? 
 
 Ann. Not you. 
 
 Sor. Whom then ?
 
 SCENE I.] 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. 137 
 
 Ann. That's as the fates infer. 
 
 Gio. [Aside] Of those I'm regent now. 
 
 Sor. What mean you, sweet ? 
 
 Ann. To live and die a maid. 
 
 Sor. O, that's unfit. 
 
 Gio. [Aside] Here's one can say that's but a woman's 
 note. 
 
 Sor. Did you but see my heart, then would you 
 swear 
 
 Ann. That you were dead. 
 
 Gio. [Aside] That's true, or somewhat near it. 
 
 Sor. See you these true love's tears ? 
 
 Ann. No. 
 
 Gio. [Aside] Now she winks. 
 
 Sor. They plead to you for grace. 
 
 Ann. Yet nothing speak. 
 
 Sor. 0, grant my suit ! 
 
 Ann. What is it ? 
 
 Sor. To let me live 
 
 Ann, Take it. 
 
 Sor. Still yours. 
 
 Ann. That is not mine to give. 
 
 Gio. [Aside] One such another word would kill his 
 hopes. 
 
 Sor. Mistress, to leave those fruitless strifes of wit, 
 Know I have loved you long and loved you truly : 
 Not hope of what you have, but what you are, -, 
 Hath drawn me on ; then let me not in vain 
 Still feel the rigour of your chaste disdain : 
 I'm sick, and sick to the heart. 
 
 Ann. Help, aqua-vitae ! 
 
 Sor. What mean you ? 
 
 Ann. Why, I thought you had been sick. 
 
 Sor. Do you mock my love ? 
 
 Gio. [Aside] There, sir, she was too nimble. 
 
 Sor. {Aside] 'Tis plain she laughs at me. These 
 scornful taunts
 
 138 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE, [ACT in. 
 
 Neither become your modesty or years. 
 
 Ann. You are no looking-glass : or if you were, 
 I'd dress my language by you. 
 
 Gio. \Aside\ I'm confirmed. 
 
 Ann. To put you out of doubt, my lord, methinks 
 Your common sense should make you understand 
 That if I loved you, or desired your love, 
 Some way I should have given you better taste : 
 But since you are a nobleman, and one 
 I would not wish should spend his youth in hopes, 
 Let me advise you to forbear your suit, 
 And think I wish you well, I tell you this. 
 
 Sor. Is't you speak this ? 
 
 Ann. Yes, I myself ; yet know, 
 
 Thus far I give you comfort, if mine eyes 
 Could have picked out a man amongst all those 
 That sued to me to make a husband of, 
 You should have been that man : let this suffice ; 
 Be noble in your secrecy and wise. 
 
 Gio. \Aside\ Why, now I see she loves me. 
 
 Ann. One word more. 
 
 As ever virtue lived within your mind, 
 As ever noble courses were your guide, 
 As ever you would have me know you loved me, 
 Let not my father know hereof by you : 
 If I hereafter find that I must marry, 
 It shall be you or none. 
 
 Sor. I take that promise. 
 
 Ann. O, O my head ! 
 
 Sor. What's the matter ? not well ? 
 
 Ann. O, I begin to sicken ! 
 
 Gio. Heaven forbid ! 
 
 {Aside, and exit from above. 
 
 Sor. Help, help, within there, ho ! 
 
 Re-enter FLORIO, GIOVANNI, and PUTANA. 
 Look to your daughter, Signior Florio.
 
 SCENE in.] 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. 139 
 
 Flo. Hold her up, she swoons. 
 Gio. Sister, how d'ye ? 
 
 Ann. Sick, brother, are you there? 
 
 Flo. Convey her to her bed instantly, whilst I send for 
 a physician : quickly, I say. 
 
 Put. Alas, poor child ! [Exeunt all but SORANZO. 
 
 Re-enter VASQUES. 
 
 Vas. My lord, 
 
 Sor. O, Vasques, now I doubly am undone 
 Both in my present and my future hopes ! 
 She plainly told me that she could not love, 
 And thereupon soon sickened ; and I fear 
 Her life's in danger. 
 
 Vas. \Asidc\ By'r lady, sir, and so is yours, it you 
 knew all. 'Las, sir, I am sorry for that : may be 'tis but 
 the maid's-sickness, an over-flux of youth ; and then, sir, 
 there is no such present remedy as present marriage. 
 But hath she given you an absolute denial ? 
 
 Sor. She hath, and she hath not ; I'm full of grief: 
 But what she said I'll tell thee as we go. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. Another Room in the same. 
 Enter GIOVANNI and PUTANA. 
 
 Put. 0, sir, we are all undone, quite undone, utterly 
 undone, and shamed for ever ! your sister, O, your 
 sister ! 
 
 Gio. What of her? for Heaven's sake, speak; how 
 does she ? 
 
 Put. O, that ever I was born to see this day ! 
 
 Gio. She is not dead, ha ? is she ? 
 
 Put. Dead ! no, she is quick ; 'tis worse, she is with 
 child. You know what you have done ; Heaven forgive 
 ye ! 'tis too late to repent now, Heaven help us ! 
 
 Gio. With child ? how dost thou know't ?
 
 HO 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. [ACT in. 
 
 Put. How do I know't ! am I at these years ignorant 
 what the meanings of qualms and water-pangs be? of 
 changing of colours, queasiness of stomachs, pukings, 
 and another thing that I could name ? Do not, for her 
 and your credit's sake, spend the time in asking how, and 
 which way, 'tis so : she is quick, upon my word : if you 
 let a physician see her water, you're undone. 
 
 Gio. But in what case is she ? 
 
 Put. Prettily amended : 'twas but a fit, which I soon 
 espied, and she must look for often henceforward. 
 
 Gio. Commend me to her, bid her take no care ; * 
 Let not the doctor visit her, I charge you ; 
 Make some excuse, till I return. O, me ! 
 I have a world of business in my head. 
 Do not discomfort her. 
 How do these news perplex me ! If my father 
 Come to her, tell him she's recovered well ; 
 Say 'twas but some ill diet d'ye hear, woman? 
 Look you to't. 
 
 Put. I will, sir. ^ \Excunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. Another Hoom in t/ie same. 
 
 Enter FLORIO and RICHARDETTO. 
 
 Flo. And how d'ye find her, sir? 
 
 Rich. Indifferent well ; 
 
 I see no danger, scarce perceive she's sick, 
 But that she told me she had lately eaten 
 Melons, and, as she thought, those disagreed 
 With her young stomach. 
 
 Flo. Did you give her aught ? 
 
 Rich. An easy surfeit-water, nothing else. 
 You need not doubt her health : I rather think 
 Her sickness is a fulness of the blood, 
 You understand me ? 
 
 1 Not be too anxious.
 
 SCENE iv.] ' TIS PITY SHE' S A WHORE. 141 
 
 Flo. I do ; you counsel well; 
 
 And once, within these few days, will so order 't 
 She shall be married ere she know the time. 
 
 Rich. Yet let not haste, sir, make unworthy choice ; 
 That were dishonour. 
 
 Flo. Master Doctor, no ; 
 
 I will not do so neither: in plain words, 
 My Lord Soranzo is the man I mean. 
 
 Rich. A noble and a virtuous gentleman. 
 
 Flo. As any is in Parma. Not far hence 
 Dwells Father Bonaventure, a grave friar, 
 Once tutor to my son.: now at his cell 
 I'll have 'em married. 
 
 Rich. You have plotted wisely. 
 
 Flo. I'll send one straight to speak with him to-night. 
 
 Rich. Soranzo's wise ; he will delay no time. 
 
 Flo. It shall be so. 
 
 Enter Friar and GIOVANNI. 
 
 Friar. Good peace be here and love ! 
 
 Flo. Welcome, religious friar ; you are one 
 That still bring blessing to the place you come to. 
 
 Gio. Sir, with what speed I could, I did my best 
 To draw this holy man from forth his cell 
 To visit my sick sister; that with words 
 Of ghostly comfort, in this time of need, 
 He might absolve her, whether she live or die. 
 
 Flo. 'Twas well done, Giovanni ; thou herein 
 Hast showed a Christian's care, a brother's love. 
 Come, father, I'll conduct you to her chamber, 
 And one thing would entreat you. 
 
 Friar. Say on, sir. 
 
 Flo. I have a father's dear impression 
 And wish, before I fall into my grave, 
 That I might see her married, as 'tis fit : 
 A word from you, grave man, will win her more 
 Than all our best persuasions. 
 
 Friar. Gentle sir, 
 
 All this I'll say, that Heaven may prosper her. {Exeunt,
 
 I 4 2 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. [ACT HI. 
 
 SCENE V.-A Room in RICHARDETTO'S House, 
 
 Enter GRIMALDI. 
 
 Grim. Now if the doctor keep his word, Soranzo, 
 Twenty to one you miss your bride. I know 
 Tis an unnoble act, and not becomes 
 A soldier's valour ; but in terms of love, 
 Where merit cannot sway, policy must : 
 I am resolved, if this physician 
 Play not on both hands, then Soranzo falls. 
 
 Enter RICHARDETTO. 
 
 Rich. You're come as I could wish ; this very night 
 Soranzo, 'tis ordained, must be affied l 
 To Annabella, and, for aught I know, 
 Married. 
 
 Grim. How ! 
 
 Rich. Yet your patience : 
 
 The place, 'tis Friar Bonaventure's cell. 
 Now I would wish you to bestow this night 
 In watching thereabouts ; 'tis but a night : 
 If you miss now, to-morrow I'll know all. 
 
 Grim. Have you the poison ? 
 
 Rich. Here 'tis, in this box : 
 
 Doubt nothing, this will do't ; in any case, 
 As you respect your life, be quick and sure. 
 
 Grim. I'll speed him. 
 
 Rich. Do. Away ; for 'tis not safe 
 
 You should be seen much here. Ever my love ! 
 
 Grim. And mine to you. \Exit, 
 
 Rich. So ! if this hit, I'll laugh and hug revenge ; 
 And they that now dream of a wedding-feast 
 May chance to mourn the lusty bridegroom's ruin. 
 But to my other business. Niece Philotis ! 
 
 Enter PHILOTIS. 
 Phi. Uncle? 
 
 1 Contracted.
 
 SCENE vi.J 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHQRE. 143 
 
 Rich. My lovely niece ! 
 You have bethought ye ? 
 
 Phi. Yes, and, as you counselled, 
 
 Fashioned my heart to love him : but he swears 
 He will to-night be married : for he fears 
 His uncle else, if he should know the drift, 
 Will hinder all, and call his coz to shrift. 
 
 Rich. To-night ! why, best of all : but, let me see 
 Ay ha ! yes, so it shall be in disguise 
 We'll early to the friar's ; I have thought on't. 
 
 Phi. Uncle, he comes. 
 
 Enter BERGETTO and POGGIO. 
 
 Rich. Welcome, my worthy coz. 
 
 Ber. Lass, pretty lass, come buss, lass ! A-ha, 
 Poggio ! \Kisses her. 
 
 Rich. [Aside.] There's hope of this yet. 
 You shall have time enough ; withdraw a little ; 
 We must confer at large. 
 
 Ber. Have you not sweetmeats or dainty devices for 
 me? 
 
 Phi. You shall have enough, sweetheart. 
 
 Ber. Sweetheart ! mark that, Poggio. By my troth, I 
 cannot choose but kiss thee once more for that word, 
 "sweetheart." Poggio, I have a monstrous swelling 
 about my stomach, whatsoever the matter be. 
 
 Pog. You shall have physic for't, sir. 
 
 Rich. Time runs apace. 
 
 Ber. Time's a blockhead. 
 
 Rich. Be ruled : when we have done what's fit to do, 
 Then you may kiss your fill, and bed her too. '[Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. ANNABELLA'S Chamber. 
 A table with wax lights ; ANNABELLA at confession before 
 
 the Friar ; she weeps and wrings her hands. 
 Friar. I'm glad to see this penance ; for, believe me,
 
 i 4 4 ' TIS PITY SHE ' S A WHORE. [ACT in. 
 
 You have unripped a soul so foul and guilty, 
 As, I must tell you true, I marvel how 
 The earth hath borne you up : but weep, weep on, 
 These tears may do you good ; weep faster yet, 
 Whiles I do read a lecture. 
 
 Ann. Wretched creature ! 
 
 Friar. Ay, you are wretched, miserably wretched, 
 Almost condemned alive. There is a place, 
 List, daughter ! in a black and hollow vault, 
 Where day is never seen ; there shines no' sun, 
 But flaming horror of consuming fires, 
 A lightless sulphur, choked with smoky fogs 
 Of an infected darkness : in this place 
 Dwell many thousand thousand sundry sorts 
 Of never-dying deaths : there damned souls 
 Roar without pity ; there are gluttons fed 
 With toads and adders ; there is burning oil 
 Poured down the drunkard's throat ; the usurer 
 Is forced to sup whole draughts of molten gold : 
 There is the murderer for ever stabbed, 
 Yet can he never die ; there lies the wanton 
 On racks of burning steel, whiles in his soul 
 He feels the torment o his raging lust. 
 
 Ann. Mercy ! O, mercy 1 
 
 Friar. There stand these wretched things 
 
 Who have dreamed out whole years in lawless sheets 
 And secret incests, cursing one another. 
 Then you will wish each kiss your brother gave 
 Had been a dagger's point ; then you shall hear 
 How he will cry, " O, would my wicked sister 
 Had first been damned, when she did yield to lust ! '' 
 But soft, methinks I see repentance work 
 New motions in your heart : say, how is't with you ? 
 
 Ann. Is there no way left to redeem my miseries ? 
 
 Friar. There is, despair not ; Heaven is merciful, 
 And offers grace even now. 'Tis thus agreed : 
 First, for your honour's safety, that you marry
 
 SCENE vii.] 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. 145 
 
 My Lord Soranzo ; next, to save your soul, 
 Leave off this life, and henceforth live to him. 
 
 Ann. Ay me ! 
 
 Friar. Sigh not ; I know the baits of sin 
 
 Are hard to leave ; O, 'tis a death to do't : 
 Remember what must come. Are you content ? 
 
 Ann. I am. 
 
 Friar. I like it well ; we'll take the time. 
 
 Who's near us there ? 
 
 Enter FLORIO and GIOVANNI. 
 
 Flo. Did you call, father ? 
 
 Friar. Is Lord Soranzo come ? 
 
 Flo. He stays below. 
 
 Friar. Have you acquainted him at full ? 
 
 Flo. I have, 
 
 And he is overjoyed. 
 
 Friar. And so are we. 
 
 Bid him come near. 
 
 Gio. [Aside\ My sister weeping ! Ha ! 
 
 I fear this friar's falsehood. I will call him. \_Exit 
 
 Flo. Daughter, are you resolved ? 
 
 Ann. Father, I am. 
 
 Re-enter GIOVANNI with SORANZO and VASQUES. 
 
 > Flo. My Lord Soranzo, here 
 
 Give me your hand ; for that I give you this. 
 
 '[Joins their hands. 
 Sor. Lady, say you so too ? 
 Ann. I do, and vow 
 
 To live with you and yours. 
 
 Friar. Timely resolved : 
 
 My blessing rest on both ! More to be done, 
 
 You may perform it on the morning sun. [Exeunt. 
 
 ford.
 
 : 4 6 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. [ACT in. 
 
 SCENE Nil. The Street before the Monastery. 
 Enter GRIMALDI with his rapier drawn and a dark lantern. 
 
 Grim. 'Tis early night as yet, and yet too soon 
 To finish such a work ; here I will lie 
 To listen who comes next. \He lies down. 
 
 Enter BERGETTO and PHILOTIS disguised, followed at a 
 
 short distance by RICHARDETTO and POGGIO. 
 Ber. We are almost at the place, I hope, sweetheart. 
 Grim. [Aside] I hear them near, and heard one say 
 
 " sweetheart." 
 
 'Tis he ; now guide my hand, some angry justice, 
 Home to his bosom ! Now have at you, sir ! 
 
 [Stabs BERGETTO and exit. 
 
 Ber. O, help, help ! here's a stitch fallen in my guts : 
 for a flesh -tailor quickly ! Poggio ! 
 Phi. What ails my love ? 
 
 Ber. I am sure I cannot piss forward and backward, 
 and yet I am wet before and behind. Lights ! lights ! 
 ho, lights ! 
 
 Phi. Alas, some villain here has slain my love ! 
 Rich. O, Heaven forbid it ! Raise up the next neigh- 
 bours 
 
 Instantly, Poggio, and bring lights. [Exit POGGIO. 
 
 How is't, Bergetto ? slain ! It cannot be ; 
 Are you sure you're hurt ? 
 
 Ber. O, my belly seethes like a porridge-pot ! Some 
 cold water, I shall boil over else ; my whole body is in 
 a sweat, that you may wring my shirt ; feel here. Why, 
 Poggio ! 
 
 Re-enter POGGIO with Officers and lights. 
 Pog. Here. Alas, how do you ? 
 Rich. Give me a light. What's here? all blood ! 0, 
 
 sirs, 
 Signior Donado's nephew now is slain.
 
 SCENE viii.] 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. 147 
 
 Follow the murderer with all the haste 
 Up to the city, he cannot be far hence : 
 Follow, I beseech you. 
 
 Officers. Follow, follow, follow ! \_Exeunt. 
 
 Rich. Tear off thy linen, coz, to stop his wounds. 
 Be of good comfort, man. 
 
 Ber. Is all this mine own blood ? nay, then, good 
 night with me. Poggio, commend me to my uncle, 
 dost hear? bid him, for my sake, make much of this 
 wench. 0, I am going the wrong way sure, my belly 
 aches so. 0, farewell, Poggio ! 0, ! [Dies. 
 
 Phi. O, he is dead ! 
 
 Pog. How ! dead ! 
 
 Rich. He's dead indeed ; 
 
 'Ti's now too late to weep : let's have him home, 
 And with what speed we may find out the murderer. 
 
 Pog. 0, my master ! my master ! my master ! 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VIII. A Room in HIPPOLITA'S House. 
 Enter VASQUES and HIPPOLITA. 
 
 Hip. Betrothed? 
 
 Vas. I saw it. 
 
 Hip. And when's the marriage-day ? 
 
 Vas. Some two days hence. 
 
 Hip. Two days ! why, man, I would but wish two 
 
 hours 
 
 To send him to his last and lasting sleep ; 
 And, Vasques, thou shalt see I'll do it bravely. 
 
 Vas. I do not doubt your wisdom, nor, I trust, you 
 my secrecy ; I am infinitely yours. 
 
 Hip. I will be thine in spite of my disgrace. 
 So soon ? O wicked man, I durst be sworn 
 He'd laugh to see me weep.
 
 148 '77S PITY SHE'S A WHORE. [ACT in. 
 
 Vas. And that's a villanous fault in him. 
 
 Hip. No, let him laugh; I'm armed in my resolves: 
 
 Be thou still true. 
 
 Vas. I should get little by treachery against so hopeful 
 
 a preferment as I am like to climb to. 
 
 Hip. Even to my bosom, Vasques. Let my youth 
 
 Revel in these new pleasures : if we thrive, 
 
 He now hath but a pair of days to live. {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IX. The Street before the Cardinal's Gates. 
 
 Enter FLORID, DONADO, RICHARDETTO, POGGIO, and 
 Officers. 
 
 Flo. Tis bootless now to show yourself a child, 
 Signior Donado ; what is done, is done : 
 Spend not the time in tears, but seek for justice. 
 
 Rich. I must confess somewhat I was in fault 
 That had not first acquainted you what love 
 Passed 'twixt him and my niece ; but, as I live, 
 His fortune grieves me as it were mine own. 
 
 Don. Alas, poor creature ! he meant no man harm, 
 That I am sure of. 
 
 Flo. I believe that too. 
 
 But stay, my masters : are you sure you saw 
 The murderer pass here ? 
 
 ist Off. An it please you, sir, we are sure we saw a 
 ruffian, with a naked weapon in his hand all bloody, get 
 into my lord cardinal's grace's gate ; that we are sure of ; 
 but for fear of his grace bless us ! we durst go no 
 farther. 
 
 Don. Know you what manner of man he was ? 
 
 ist Off. Yes, sure, I know the man; they say he is a 
 soldier ; he that loved your daughter, sir, an't please ye ; 
 'twas he for certain. 
 
 Flo. Grimaldi, on my life !
 
 SCENE ix.] 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. 149 
 
 ist Off. Ay, ay, the same. 
 
 Rich. The cardinal is noble ; he no doubt 
 Will give true justice. 
 
 Don. Knock some one at the gate. 
 
 Pog. I'll knock, sir. {Knocks. 
 
 Serv. [Within. ~\ What would ye ? 
 
 Flo. We require speech with the lord cardinal 
 About some present business : pray inform 
 His grace that we are here. 
 
 Enter the Cardinal, followed by GRIMALDI. 
 
 Car. Why, how now, friends ! what saucy mates are 
 
 you 
 
 That know nor duty nor civility ? 
 Are we a person fit to be your host ; 
 Or is our house become your common inn, 
 To beat our doors at pleasure ? What such haste 
 Is yours, as that it cannot wait fit times ? 
 Are you the masters of this commonwealth, 
 And know no more discretion? O, your news 
 Is here before you ; you have lost a nephew, 
 Donado, last night by Grimaldi slain : 
 Is that your business ? well, sir, we have knowledge on't ; 
 Let that suffice. 
 
 Grim. In presence of your grace, 
 
 In thought I never meant Bergetto harm : 
 But, Florio, you can tell with how much scorn 
 Soranzo, backed with his confederates, 
 Hath often wronged me ; I to be revenged, 
 For that I could not win him else to fight, 
 Had thought by way of ambush to have killed him, 
 But was unluckily therein mistook ; 
 Else he had felt what late Bergetto did : 
 And though my fault to him were merely chance, 
 Yet humbly I submit me to your grace, \Kneeling. 
 
 To do with me as you please. 
 
 Car. Rise up, Grimaldi. \He rises.
 
 ISO 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. [ACT in. 
 
 You citizens of Parma, if you seek 
 
 For justice, know, as nuncio from the pope. 
 
 For this offence I here receive Grimaldi 
 
 Into his holiness' protection : 
 
 He is no common man, but nobly born, 
 
 Of princes' blood, though you, Sir Florio, 
 
 Thought him too mean a husband for your daughter. 
 
 If more you seek for, you must go to Rome, 
 
 For he shall thither : learn more wit, for shame. 
 
 Bury your dead. Away, Grimaldi ; leave 'em ! 
 
 [Exeunt Cardinal and GRIMALDI. 
 
 Don. Is this a churchman's voice ? dwells justice here ? 
 
 Flo. Justice is fled to Heaven, and comes no nearer. 
 Soranzo ! was't for him ? O, impudence ! 
 Had he the face to speak it, and not blush ? 
 
 Come, come, Donado, there's no help in this, 
 
 When cardinals think murder's not amiss. 
 
 Great men may do their wills, we must obey ; 
 
 But Heaven will judge them for't another day. \_Exennt. 

 
 ACT THE FOURTH. 
 
 SCENE I. A Room in FLORIO'S House. 
 
 A banquet set out ; hautboys. Enter the Friar, GIOVANNI, 
 ANNABELLA, PHILOTIS, SORANZO, DONADO, FLORID, 
 
 RlCHARDETTO, PUTANA, and VASQUES. 
 
 RIAR. These holy rites performed, now 
 
 take your times 
 To spend the remnant of the day in 
 
 feast : 
 Such fit repasts are pleasing to the 
 
 saints, 
 
 Who are your guests, though not with 
 To be beheld. Long prosper in this day, [mortal eyes 
 You happy couple, to each other's joy ! 
 
 Sor. Father, your prayer is heard ; the hand of good- 
 ness 
 
 Hath been a shield for me against my death : 
 And, more to bless me, hath enriched my life 
 With this most precious jewel; such a prize 
 As earth hath not another like to this. 
 Cheer up, my love : and, gentlemen my friends, 
 Rejoice with me in mirth : this day we'll crown 
 With lusty cups to Annabella's health. 
 
 Gio. \^Aside\ O torture ! were the marriage yet undone, 
 Ere I'd endure this sight, to see my love 
 Clipt l by another, I would dare confusion, 
 And stand the horror of ten thousand deaths. 
 1 Embraced.
 
 152 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. [ACT iv. 
 
 Vas. Are you not well, sir ? 
 
 Gio. Prithee, fellow, wait ; 
 
 I need not thy officious diligence. 
 
 Flo. Signior Donado, come, you must forget 
 Your late mishaps, and drown your cares in wine. 
 
 Sor. Vasques ! 
 
 Vas. My lord ? 
 
 Sor. Reach me that weighty bowl. 
 
 Here, brother Giovanni, here's to you ; 
 Your turn come next, though now a bachelor ; 
 Here's to your sister's happiness and mine ! 
 
 [Drinks and offers him the bowl. 
 
 Gio. I cannot drink. 
 
 Sor. What ! 
 
 Gio. 'Twill indeed offend me. 
 
 Ann. Pray, do not urge him, if he be not willing. 
 
 [Hautboys. 
 
 Flo. How now ! what noise * is this ? 
 
 Vas. 0, sir, I had forgot to tell you ; certain young 
 maidens of Parma, in honour to Madam Annabella's 
 marriage, have sent their loves to her in a Masque, for 
 which they humbly crave your patience and silence. 
 
 Sor. We are much bound to them ; so much the more 
 As it comes unexpected : guide them in. 
 
 Enter HIPPOLITA, followed by Ladies in white robes with 
 garlands of ivillows, all masked. Music and a dance. 
 
 Thanks, lovely virgins ! now might we but know 
 To whom we've been beholding for this love, 
 We shall acknowledge it. 
 
 Hip. Yes, you shall know. \Unmasks. 
 
 What think you now ? 
 
 All. Hippolita ! 
 
 Hip. 'Tis she ; 
 
 Be not amazed ; nor blush, young lovely bride ; 
 I come not to defraud you of your man : 
 
 1 Music.
 
 SCENE I.] 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. 153 
 
 'Tis now no time to reckon-up the talk 
 
 What Parma long hath rumoured of us both : 
 
 Let rash report run on ; the breath that vents it 
 
 Will, like a bubble, break itself at last. 
 
 But now to you, sweet creature ; lend's your hand ; 
 
 Perhaps it hath been said that I would claim 
 
 Some interest in Soranzo, now your lord ; 
 
 What I have right to do, his soul knows best : 
 
 But in my duty to your noble worth, 
 
 Sweet Annabella, and my care of you, 
 
 Here, take, Soranzo, take this hand from me; 
 
 I'll once more join what by the holy church 
 
 Is finished and allowed. Have I done well ? 
 
 Sor. You have too much engaged us. 
 Hip. One thing more. - 
 
 That you may know my single 1 charity, 
 Freely I here remit all interest 
 I e'er could claim, and give you back your vows ; 
 And to confirm't, reach me a cup of wine, 
 
 [VASQUES gives Jier a poisoned cup. 
 My Lord Soranzo, in this draught I drink 
 Long rest t'ye ! \She drinks'}. {Aside to VASQUES] Look 
 to it, Vasques. 
 
 Vas. {Aside to HIPPOLITA] Fear nothing. 
 
 Sor. Hippolita, I thank you ; and will pledge 
 This happy union as another life. 
 Wine, there ! 
 
 Vas. You shall have none ; neither shall you pledge 
 her. 
 
 Hip. How ! 
 
 Vas. Know now, Mistress She-devil, yo'ur own mis- 
 chievous treachery hath killed you; I must not marry 
 you. 
 
 Hip. Villain! 
 
 All. What's the matter? 
 
 Vas. Foolish woman, thou art now like a firebrand 
 
 1 Single-minded.
 
 154 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. [ACT IV. 
 
 that hath kindled others and burnt thyself: troppo sperar, 
 inganna, 1 thy vain hope hath deceived thee ; thou art 
 but dead ; if thou hast any grace, pray. 
 Hip. Monster ! 
 
 Fas. Die in charity, for shame. This thing of malice, 
 this woman, had privately corrupted me with promise of 
 marriage, under this politic reconciliation, to poison my 
 lord, whiles she might laugh at his confusion on his mar- 
 riage-day. I promised her fair; but I knew what my 
 reward should have been, and would willingly have 
 spared her life, but that I was acquainted with the danger 
 of her disposition ; and now have fitted her a just pay- 
 ment in her own coin : there she is, she hath yet 2 
 and end thy days in peace, vile woman ; as for life, there's 
 no hope; think not on't. 
 
 All. Wonderful justice ! 
 
 Rich. Heaven, thou art righteous. 
 
 Hip. 0, 'tis true ; 
 
 I feel my minute coming. Had that slave 
 Kept promise, O, my torment ! thou this hour 
 Hadst died, Soranzo ; heat above hell-fire ! 
 Yet, ere I pass away, cruel, cruel flames ! 
 Take here my curse amongst you : may thy bed 
 Of marriage be a rack unto thy heart, 
 Burn blood, and boil in vengeance ; O, my heart, 
 My flame's intolerable ! mayst thou live 
 To father bastards ; may her womb bring forth 
 Monsters, and die together in your sins, 
 Hated, scorned, and unpitied ! O, O ! [Dies. 
 
 Flo. Was e'er so vile a creature ! 
 
 Rich. Here're the end 
 
 Of lust and pride. 
 
 Ann. It is a fearful sight. 
 
 Sor. Vasques, I know thee now a trusty servant, 
 
 Too much hope brings disappointment. 
 
 2 The old copy has a considerable double break here, probably 
 from some defect in the MS.
 
 SCENE II.] 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. 155 
 
 And never will forget thee. Come, my love, 
 We'll home, and thank the heavens for this escape. 
 Father and friends, we must break up this mirth ; 
 It is too sad a feast. 
 
 Don. Bear hence the body. 
 
 Friar. [Aside to GIOVANNI] Here's an ominous 
 
 change ! 
 Mark this, my Giovanni, and take heed ! 
 
 I fear the event : that marriage seldom's good 
 
 Where the bride-banquet so begins in blood. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. A Room hi RICHARDETTO'S House. 
 Enter RICHARDETTO and PHILOTIS. 
 
 Rich. My wretched wife, more wretched in her shame 
 Than in her wrongs to me, hath paid too soon 
 The forfeit of her modesty and life. 
 And I am sure, my niece, though vengeance hover, 
 Keeping aloof yet from Soranzo's fall, 
 Yet he will fall, and sink with his own weight. 
 I need not now my heart persuades me so 
 To further his confusion ; there is One 
 Above begins to work : for, as I hear, 
 Debates already 'twixt his wife and him 
 Thicken and run to head ; she, as 'tis said, 
 Slightens his love, and he abandons hers : 
 Much talk I hear. Since things go thus, my niece, 
 In tender love and pity of your youth, 
 My counsel is, that you should free your years 
 From hazard of these woes by flying hence 
 To fair Cremona, there to vow your soul 
 In holiness, a holy votaress : 
 Leave me to see the end of these extremes. 
 All human worldly courses are uneven ; 
 No life is blessed but the way to Heaven.
 
 156 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. [ACT IV. 
 
 Phi. Uncle, shall I resolve to be a nun? 
 
 Rich. Ay, gentle niece ; and in your hourly prayers 
 Remember me, your poor unhappy uncle. 
 Hie to Cremona now, as fortune leads, 
 Your home your cloister, your best friends your beads : 
 Your chaste and single life shall crown your birth : 
 Who dies a virgin lives a saint on earth. 
 
 Phi. Then farewell, world, and worldly thoughts, 
 
 adieu ! 
 Welcome, chaste vows ; myself I yield to you. {Exeunt. 
 
 I 
 
 SCENE III. A Chamber in SORANZO'S House. 
 Enter SORANZO unbraced, and dragging in ANNABELLA. 
 
 Sor.. Come, strumpet, famous whore ! were every drop 
 Of blood that runs in thy adulterous veins 
 A life, this sword dost see't ? should in one blow 
 Confound them all. Harlot, rare, notable harlot, 
 That with thy brazen face maintain'st thy sin, 
 Was there no man in Parma to be bawd 
 To your loose cunning whoredom else but I ? 
 Must your hot itch and plurisy of lust, 
 The heyday of your luxury, 1 be fed 
 Up to a surfeit, and could none but I 
 Be picked out to be cloak to your close tricks, 
 Your belly sports ? Now I must be the dad 
 To all that gallimaufry that is stuffed 
 In thy corrupted bastard -bearing womb ! 
 Say, must I ? 
 
 Ann. Beastly man ! why, 'tis thy fate. 
 
 I sued not to thee ; for, but that I thought 
 Your over-loving lordship would have run 
 Mad on denial, had ye lent me time, 
 I would have told ye in what case I was : 
 But you would needs be doing. 
 
 1 Luxury was commonly used in the sense of lust.
 
 SCENE in.] 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. 157 
 
 Sor. Whore of whores ! 
 
 Barest thou tell me this ? 
 
 Ann. O, yes ; why not ? 
 
 You were deceived in me ; 'twas not for love 
 I chose you, but for honour : yet know this, 
 Would you be patient yet, and hide your shame, 
 I'd see whether I could love you. 
 
 Sor. Excellent quean ! 
 
 Why, art thou not with child ? 
 
 Ann. What needs all this, 
 
 When 'tis superfluous ? I confess I am. 
 
 Sor. Tell me by whom. 
 
 Ann. Soft ! 'twas not in my bargain. 
 
 Yet somewhat, sir, to stay your longing stomach, 
 I am content t' acquaint you with; the man, 
 The more than man, that got this sprightly boy, 
 For 'tis a boy, and therefore glory, sir, 
 Your heir shall be a son 
 
 Sor. Damnable monster ! 
 
 Ann. Nay, an you will not hear, I'll speak no more. 
 
 Sor. Yes, speak, and speak thy last. 
 
 Ann. A match ! a match ! 
 
 This noble creature was in every part 
 So angel-like, so glorious, that a woman 
 Who had not been but human, as was I, 
 Would have kneeled to him, and have begged for love. 
 You ! why, you are not worthy once to name 
 His name without true worship, or, indeed, 
 Unless you kneeled, to hear another name him. 
 
 Sor. What was he called ? 
 
 Ann. We are not come to that ; 
 
 Let it suffice that you shall have the glory 
 To father what so brave a father got. 
 In brief, had not this chance fall'n out as't doth, 
 I never had been troubled with a thought 
 That you had been a creature : but for marriage, 
 I scarce dream yet of that.
 
 158 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. [ACT iv. 
 
 Sor. Tell me his name. 
 
 Ann. Alas, alas, there's all ! will you believe ? 
 
 Sor. What? 
 
 Ann. You shall never know. 
 
 Sor. How ! 
 
 Ann. Never : if 
 
 You do, let me ,cursed ! 
 
 Sor. Not know it, strumpet ! I'll rip up thy heart, 
 And find it there. 
 
 Ann. Do, do. 
 
 Sor. And with my teeth 
 
 Tear the prodigious lecher joint by joint. 
 
 Ann. Ha, ha, ha ! the man's merry. 
 
 Sor. Dost thou laugh? 
 
 Come, whore, tell me your lover, or, by truth, 
 I'll hew thy flesh to shreds ; who is't ? 
 
 Ann. \Sings\ Che morte piu dolce che morire per 
 amore ? 1 
 
 Sor. Thus will I pull thy hair, and thus I'll drag 
 Thy lust-be-lepered body through the dust. 
 
 {Hales her up and down. 
 Yet tell his name. 
 
 Ann. \Sings\ Morendo in grazia dee morire senza 
 dolore? 
 
 Sor. Dost thou triumph? The treasures of the 
 
 earth 
 
 Shall not redeem thee ; were there kneeling kings 
 Did beg thy life, or angels did come down 
 To plead in tears, yet should not all prevail 
 Against my rage : dost thou not tremble yet ? 
 
 Ann. At what ? to die ! no, be a gallant hangman ; 3 
 I dare thee to the worst : strike, and strike home ; 
 I leave revenge behind, and thou shalt feel't. 
 
 Sor. Yet tell me ere thou diest, and tell me truly, 
 Knows thy old father this ? 
 
 1 What death sweeter than to die for love ? 
 3 To die in grace is to die without sorrow. 
 3 Executioner.
 
 SCENE in.] 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. 159 
 
 Ann. No, by my life. 
 
 Sor. Wilt thou confess, and I will spare thy life ? 
 Ann. My life ! I will not buy my life so dear. 
 Sor, I will not slack my vengeance. 
 
 [.Draws his sword. 
 
 Enter VASQUES. 
 
 Fas. What d'ye mean, sir? 
 
 Sor. Forbear, Vasques ; such a damned whore 
 Deserves no pity. 
 
 Vas. Now the gods forfend ! 
 
 And would you be her executioner, and kill her in your 
 rage too ? O, 'twere most unmanlike. She is your wife : 
 what faults have been done by her before she married 
 you were not against you : alas, poor lady, what hath 
 she committed, which any lady in Italy, in the like case, 
 would not ? Sir, you must be ruled by your reason, and 
 not by your fury ; that were unhuman, and beastly. 
 
 Sor. She shall not live. 
 
 Vas. Come, she must. You would have her confess 
 the author of her present misfortunes, I warrant ye ; 'tis 
 an unconscionable demand, and she should lose the esti- 
 mation that I, for my part, hold of her worth, if she had 
 done it : why, sir, you ought not, of all men living, to 
 know it. Good sir, be reconciled : alas, good gentle- 
 woman ! 
 
 Ann. Pish, do not beg for me ; I prize my life 
 As nothing ; if the man will needs be mad, 
 Why, let him take it. 
 
 Sor. Vasques, hear'st thou this? 
 
 Vas. Yes, and commend her for it ; in this she shows 
 the nobleness of a gallant spirit, and beshrew my heart, 
 but it becomes her rarely. \Aside to SORANZO] Sir, in 
 any case, smother your revenge ; leave the scenting-out 
 your wrongs to me : be ruled, as you respect your 
 honour, or you mar all. [Atoud] Sir, if ever my service 
 were of any credit with you, be not so violent in your
 
 160 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. [ACT iv. 
 
 distractions: you are married now; what a triumph 
 might the report of this give to other neglected suitors ! 
 Tis as manlike to bear extremities as godlike to forgive. 
 
 Sor. O, Vasques, Vasques, in this piece of flesh, 
 This faithless face of hers, had I laid up 
 The treasure of my heart ! Hadst thou been virtuous, 
 Fair, wicked woman, not the matchless joys 
 Of life itself had made me wish to live 
 With any saint but thee : deceitful creature, 
 How hast thou mocked my hopes, and in the shame 
 Of thy lewd womb even buried me alive ! 
 I did too dearly love thee. 
 
 Vas. [Aside to SORANZO] This is well ; follow this 
 temper with some passion : be brief and moving ; 'tis for 
 the purpose. 
 
 Sor. Be witness to my words thy soul and thoughts ; 
 And tell me, didst not think that in my heart 
 I did too superstitiously adore thee? 
 
 Ann. I must confess I know you loved me well. 
 
 Sor. And wouldst thou use me thus ! O Annabella, 
 Be thou assured, whoe'er the villain was 
 That thus hath tempted thee to this disgrace, 
 Well he might lust, but never loved like me : 
 He doted on the picture that hung out 
 Upon thy cheeks to please his humorous eye ; 
 Not on the part I loved, which was thy heart, 
 And, as I thought, thy virtues. 
 
 Ann. O, my lord ' 
 
 These words wound deeper than your sword ould do. 
 
 Vas. Let me not ever take comfort, but I begin to 
 weep myself, so much I pity him : why, madam, I knew, 
 when his rage was over-past, what it would come to. 
 
 Sor. Forgive me, Annabella. Though thy youth 
 Hath tempted thee above thy strength to folly, 
 Yet will not I forget what I should be, 
 And what I am a husband ; in that name 
 Is hid divinity : if I do find
 
 SCENE in.] >77S PITY SHE'S A WHORE. 161 
 
 That thou wilt yet be true, here I remit 
 
 All former faults, and take thee to my bosom. 
 
 Vas. By my troth, and that's a point of noble charity. 
 
 Ann. Sir, on my knees, 
 
 Sor. Rise up, you shall not kneel. 
 
 Get you to your chamber ; see you make no show 
 Of alteration ; I'll be with you straight: 
 My reason tells me now that " 'tis as common 
 To err in frailty as to be a woman." 
 Go to your chamber. [Exit ANNABELLA. 
 
 Vas. So ! this was somewhat to the matter : what do 
 you think of your heaven of happiness now, sir ? 
 
 Sor. I carry hell about me ; all my blood 
 Is fired in swift revenge. 
 
 Vas. That may be ; but know you how, or on whom ? 
 Alas, to marry a great woman, being made great in the 
 stock to your hand, is^a usual sport in these days; but to 
 know what ferret it was that hunted your cony-berry, 
 there's the cunning. 
 
 Sor. I'll make her tell herself, or 
 
 Vas. Or what ? you must not do so ; let me yet per- 
 suade your sufferance a little while : go to her, use her 
 mildly; win her, if it be possible, to a voluntary, to a 
 weeping tune : for the rest, if all hit, I will not miss my 
 mark. Pray, sir, go in : the next news I tell you shall be 
 wonders. 
 
 Sor. Delay in vengeance gives a heavier blow. \Exit. 
 
 Vas. Ah, sirrah, here's work for the nonce ! I had a 
 suspicion of a bad matter in my head a pretty whiles 
 ago ; but after my madam's scurvy looks here at home, 
 her waspish perverseness and loud fault-finding, then I 
 remembered the proverb, that "where hens crow, and 
 cocks hold their peace, there are sorry houses." 'Sfoot, 
 if the lower parts of a she-tailor's cunning can cover such 
 a swelling in the stomach, I'll never blame a false stitch 
 in a shoe whiles I live again. Up, and up so quick? 
 and so quickly too ? 'twere a fine policy to learn by 
 
 Ford. M
 
 1 62 'TSS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. [ACT iv. 
 
 whom : this must be known ; and I have thought 
 
 on't : 
 
 Enter PUTANA in tears. 
 
 Here's the way, or none. What, crying, old mistress ! 
 alas, alas, I cannot blame, ye; we have a lord, Heaven 
 help us, is so mad as the devil himself, the more shame 
 for him. 
 
 Put. O, Vasques, that ever I was born to see this 
 day ! Doth he use thee so too sometimes, Vasques ? 
 
 Vas. Me? why he makes a dog of me : but if some 
 were of my mind, I know what we would do. As sure 
 as I am an honest man, he will go near to kill my lady 
 with unkindness : say she be with child, is that such a 
 matter for a young woman of her years to be blamed for? 
 
 Put. Alas, good heart, it is against her will full sore. 
 
 Vas. I durst be sworn all his madness is for that she 
 will not confess whose 'tis, which he will know; and 
 when he doth know it, I am so well acquainted with his 
 humour, that he will forget all straight. Well, I could 
 wish she would in plain terms tell all, for that's the way, 
 indeed. 
 
 Put. Do you think so? 
 
 Vas. Foh, I know't ; provided that he did not win 
 her to 't by force. He was once in a mind that you 
 could tell, and meant to have wrung it out of you ; but I 
 somewhat pacified him for that : yet, sure, you know a 
 great deal. 
 
 Put. Heaven forgive us all ! I know a little, Vasques, 
 
 Vas. Why should you not ? who else should ? Upon 
 my conscience, she loves you dearly ; and you would not 
 betray her to any affliction for the world. 
 
 Put. Not for all the world, by my faith arid troth, 
 Vasques. 
 
 Vas. Twere pity of your life if you should ; but in 
 this you should both relieve her present discomforts, 
 pacify my lord, and gain yourself everlasting love and 
 preferment.
 
 SCENE in.] 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. 163 
 
 Put. Dost think so, Vasques ? 
 
 Vas. Nay, I know't ; sure 'twas some near and entire 
 friend. 
 
 Put. 'Twas a dear friend indeed ; but 
 
 Vas. But what ? fear not to name him ; my life between 
 you and danger : 'faith, I think 'twas no base fellow. 
 
 Put. Thou wilt stand between me and harm ? 
 
 Vas. 'Ud's pity, what else ? you shall be rewarded 
 too, trust me. 
 
 Put. 'Twas even no worse than her own brother. 
 
 Vas. Her brother Giovanni, I warrant ye ! 
 
 Put. Even -he, Vasques ; as brave a gentleman as ever 
 kissed fair lady. O, they love most perpetually. 
 
 Vas. A brave gentleman indeed ! why, therein I com- 
 mend her choice. \Aside\ Better and better. You are 
 sure 'twas he ? 
 
 Put. Sure ; and you shall see he will not be long from 
 her too. 
 
 Vas. He were to blame if he would : but may I believe 
 thee? 
 
 Put. Believe me ! why, dost think I am a Turk or a 
 Jew? No, Vasques, I have known their dealings too 
 long to belie them now. 
 
 Vas. Where are you there ? within, sirs ! 
 
 Enter Banditti. 
 
 Put. How now! what are these? 
 
 Vas. You shall know presently. Come, sirs, take me 
 this old damnable hag, gag her instantly, and put out her 
 eyes, quickly, quickly! 
 
 Put. Vasques ! Vasques ! 
 
 Vas. Gag her, I say ; 'sfoot, d'ye suffer her to prate ? 
 what d'ye fumble about? let me come to her. I'll help 
 your old gums, you toad-bellied bitch ! \They gag her.] 
 Sirs, carry her closely into the coal-house, and put out 
 her eyes instantly ; if she roars, slit her nose : d'ye hear, 
 be speedy and sure. {Exeunt Banditti with PUTANA.]
 
 164 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. [ACT iv. 
 
 Why, this is excellent and above expectation her own 
 brother ! O, horrible ! to what a height of liberty in 
 damnation hath the devil trained our age ! her brother, 
 well ! there's yet but a beginning ; I must to my lord, 
 and tutor him better in his points of vengeance : now I 
 see how a smooth tale goes beyond a smooth tail. But 
 'soft! what thing comes next? Giovanni! as I would 
 wish : my belief is strengthened, 'tis as firm as winter and 
 summer. 
 
 Enter GIOVANNI. 
 
 Gio. Where's my sister ? 
 
 Vas. Troubled with a new sickness, my lord; she's 
 somewhat ill. 
 
 Gio. Took too much of the flesh, I believe. 
 
 Vas. Troth, sir, and you, I think, have e'en hit it : 
 but my virtuous lady - ( 
 
 Gio. Where's she? 
 
 Vas. In her chamber ; please you visit her ; she is 
 alone. [GIOVANNI gives him money.] Your liberality 
 hath doubly made me your servant, and ever shall, ever. 
 
 [Exit GIOVANNI. 
 Re-enter SORANZO. 
 
 Sir, I am made a man ; I have plied my cue with cun- 
 ning and success : I beseech you let's be private. 
 
 Sor. My lady's brother's' come ; now he'll know all. 
 
 Vas. Let him know't ; I have made some of them fast 
 enough. How have you dealt with my lady? 
 
 Sor. Gently, as thou hast counselled ; O, my soul 
 Runs circular in sorrow for revenge : 
 But, Vasques, thou shalt know 
 
 Vas. Nay, I will know no more, for now comes your 
 turn to know : I would not talk so openly with you. 
 [Aside] Let my young master take time enough, and go 
 at pleasure ; he is sold to death, and the devil shall not 
 ransom him. Sir, I beseech you, your privacy. 
 
 Sor. No conquest can gain glory of my fear. [Exeunt.
 
 ACT THE FIFTH. 
 
 SCENE I. The Street before SORANZO'S House. 
 ANNABELLA appears at a window above. 
 
 NN. Pleasures, farewell, and all ye 
 
 thriftless minutes 
 Wherein false joys have spun a weary 
 
 life! 
 To these my fortunes now I take my 
 
 leave. 
 
 Thou, precious Time, that swiftly rid'st 
 Over the world, to finish-up the race [in post 
 
 Of my last fate, here stay thy restless course, 
 And bear to ages that are yet unborn 
 A wretched, woeful woman's tragedy ! 
 My conscience now stands up against my lust 
 With depositions charactered in guilt, 
 
 Enter Friar below. 
 
 And tells me I am lost : now I confess 
 
 Beauty that clothes the outside of the face 
 
 Is cursed if it be not clothed with grace. 
 
 Here like a turtle mewed-up in a cage, 
 
 Unmated, I converse with air and walls, 
 
 And descant on my vile un happiness. 
 
 0, Giovanni, thou hast had the spoil 
 
 Of thine own virtues and my modest fame, 
 
 Would thou hadst been less subject to those stars 
 
 That luckless reigned at my nativity ! 
 
 O, would the scourge due to my black offence
 
 1 66 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. [ACT 
 
 Might pass from thee, that I alone might feel 
 The torment of an uncontrolled flame ! 
 
 Friar [Aside :] What's this I hear ? 
 
 Ann. That man, that blessed friar, 
 
 Who joined in ceremonial knot my hand 
 To him whose wife I now am, told me oft 
 I trod the path to death, and showed me how. 
 But they who sleep in lethargies of lust 
 Hug their confusion, making Heaven unjust ; 
 And so did I. 
 
 Friar [Aside.] Here's music to the soul ! 
 
 Ann. Forgive me, my good genius, and this once 
 Be helpful to my ends : let some good man 
 Pass this way, to whose trust I may commit 
 This paper, double-lined with tears and blood ; 
 Which being granted, here I sadly vow 
 Repentance, and a leaving- of that life 
 I long have died in. 
 
 Friar. Lady, Heaven hath heard you, 
 
 And hath by providence ordained that I 
 Should be his minister for your behoof. 
 
 Ann. Ha, what are you ? 
 
 Friar. Your brother's friend, the friar ; 
 
 Glad in my soul that I have lived to hear 
 This free confession 'twixt your peace and you. 
 What would you, or to whom ? fear not to speak. 
 
 Ann. Is Heaven so bountiful ? then I have found 
 More favour than I hoped. Here, holy man : 
 
 [Throws down a letter. 
 
 Commend me to my brother ; give him that, 
 That letter ; bid him read it, and repent. 
 Tell him that I, imprisoned in my chamber, 
 Barred of all company, even of my guardian, 
 Who gives me cause of much suspect, have time 
 To blush at what hath passed ; bid him be wise, 
 And not believe the friendship of my lord : 
 I fear much more than I can speak : good father,
 
 SCENE II.] 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. 167 
 
 The place is dangerous, and spies are busy. 
 I must break off. You'll do't ? 
 
 Friar. Be sure I will, 
 
 And fly with speed. My blessing ever rest 
 With thee, my daughter ; live, to die more blest ! \Exit. 
 
 Ann. Thanks to the heavens, who have prolonged my ' 
 To this good use ! now I can welcome death. [breath 
 
 [ Withdraws from the window. 
 
 SCENE II. A Room in SORANZO'S House. 
 Enter SORANZO and VASQUES. 
 
 Vas. Am I to be believed now ? first marry a strumpet, 
 that cast herself away upon you but to laugh at your 
 horns, to feast on your disgrace, riot in your vexations, 
 cuckold you in your bride-bed, waste your estate upon 
 panders and bawds ! 
 
 Sor. No more, I say, no more ! 
 
 Vas. A cuckold is a goodly tame beast, my lord. 
 
 Sor. I am resolved ; urge not another word ; 
 My thoughts are great, and all as resolute 
 As thunder : in mean time I'll cause our lady 
 To deck herself in all her bridal robes ; 
 Kiss her, and fold her gently in my arms. 
 Begone, yet, hear you, are the banditti ready 
 To wait in ambush. 
 
 Vas. Good sir, trouble not yourself about other busi- 
 ness than your own resolution : remember that time lost 
 cannot be recalled. 
 
 Sor. With all the cunning words thou canst, invite 
 The states l of- Parma to my birthday's feast : 
 Haste to my brother-rival and his father, 
 Entreat them gently, bid them not to fail. 
 Be speedy, and return. 
 
 1 i.e. Nobles.
 
 1 68 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. [ACT V. 
 
 Vas. Let not your pity betray you till my coming 
 back ; think upon incest and cuckoldry. 
 
 Sor. Revenge is all the ambition I aspire ; 
 To that I'll climb or fall : my blood's on fire. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. A Room in FLORIO'S House. 
 Enter GIOVANNI. 
 
 Gio. Busy opinion is an idle fool, 
 That, as a school-rod keeps a child in awe, 
 Frights the unexperienced temper of the mind : 
 So did it me, who, ere my precious sister 
 Was married, thought all taste of love would die 
 In such a contract; but I find no change 
 Of pleasure in this formal law of sports. 
 She is still one to me, and every kiss 
 As sweet and as delicious as the first . 
 I reaped, when yet the privilege of youth 
 Entitled her a virgin. O, the glory 
 Of two united hearts like hers and mine ! 
 Let poring book -men dream of other worlds; 
 My world and all of happiness is here, 
 And I'd not change it for the best to come : 
 A life of pleasure is elysium. 
 
 Enter Friar. 
 
 Father, you enter on the jubilee 
 Of my retired delights : now I can tell you, 
 The hell you oft have prompted is nought else 
 But slavish and fond superstitious fear ; 
 And I could prove it too 
 
 friar. Thy blindness slays thee : 
 
 Look there, 'tis writ to thee. [Gives him the letter. 
 
 Gio. From whom ? 
 
 friar. Unrip the seals and see ; 
 The blood's yet seething hot, that will anon
 
 SCENE in.] 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. 169 
 
 Be frozen harder than congealed coral. 
 Why d'ye change colour, son ? 
 
 Gio. 'Fore Heaven, you make 
 
 Some petty devil factor 'twixt my love 
 And your religion-masked sorceries. 
 Where had you this ? 
 
 Friar. Thy conscience, youth, is seared, 
 
 Else thou wouldst stoop to warning. 
 
 Gio. 'Tis her hand, 
 
 I know't ; and 'tis all written in her blood. 
 She writes I know not what. Death ! I'll not fear 
 An armed thunderbolt aimed at my heart. 
 She writes, we are discovered : Pox on dreams 
 Of low faint-hearted cowardice ! discovered ? 
 The devil we are ! which way is't possible ? 
 Are we grown traitors to our own delights ? 
 Confusion take such dotage ! 'tis but forged : 
 This is your peevish chattering, weak old man ! 
 
 Enter VASQUES. 
 
 Now, sir, what brings you ? 
 
 Vas. My lord, according to his yearly custom, keeping 
 this day a feast in honour of his birthday, by me -invites 
 you thither. Your worthy father, with the pope's reverend 
 nuncio, and other magnificoes of Parma, have promised 
 their presence : will't please you to be of the number ? 
 
 Gio. Yes, tell him I dare come. 
 
 Vas. " Dare come* " 
 
 Gio. So I said ; and tell him more, I will come. 
 
 Vas. These words are strange to me. 
 
 Gio. Say, I will come. 
 
 Vas. You will not miss ? 
 
 Gio. Yet more! I'll come, sir. Are you answered? 
 
 Vas. So I'll say. My service to you. \_Exit. 
 
 Friar. You will not go, I trust. ' 
 
 Gio. Not go ! for what ? 
 
 Friar. O, do not go : this feast, I'll gage my life,
 
 170 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. [ACT v. 
 
 Is but a plot to train you to your ruin. 
 Be ruled, you shall not go. 
 
 Gio. Not go ! stood Death 
 
 Threatening his armies of confounding plagues, 
 With hosts of dangers hot as blazing stars, 
 I would be there : not go ! yes, and resolve 
 To strike as deep in slaughter as they all ; 
 For I will go. 
 
 Friar. Go where thou wilt : I see 
 
 The wildness of thy fate draws to an end, 
 To a bad fearful end. I must not stay 
 To know thy fall : back to Bononia I 
 With speed will haste, and shun this coming blow. 
 Parma, farewell ; would I had never known thee, 
 Or aught of thine ! Well, young man, since no prayer 
 Can make thee safe, I leave thee to despair. [Exit. 
 
 Gio. Despair, or tortures of a thousand hells ; 
 All's one to me : I have set up my rest. 1 
 Now, now, work serious thoughts on baneful plots ; ' 
 Be all a man, my soul ; let not the curse 
 Of old prescription rend from me the gall 
 Of courage, which enrols a glorious death : 
 If I must totter like a well-grown oak, 
 Some under-shrubs shall in my weighty fall 
 Be crushed to splits ; with me they all shall perish ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. A Hall in SORANZO'S House. 
 Enter SORANZO, VASQUES with masks, and Banditti. 
 
 Sor. You will not fail, or shrink in the attempt ? 
 
 Fas. I will undertake for their parts. Be sure, my 
 masters, to be bloody enough, and as unmerciful as if you 
 were preying upon a rich booty on the very mountains 
 
 1 i.e. I have taken my resolution.
 
 SCENE iv.] 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. 171 
 
 of Liguria : for your pardons trust to my lord ; but for 
 reward you shall trust none but your own pockets. 
 
 Band. We'll make a murder. 
 
 Sor. Here's gold [Gives than money\ ; here's more ; 
 
 want nothing ; what you do 
 Is noble, and an act of brave revenge : 
 I'll make ye rich, banditti, and all free. 
 
 Band. Liberty ! liberty ! 
 
 Vas. Hold, take every man a vizard [Gives them 
 masks\ : when ye are withdrawn, keep as much silence 
 as you can possibly. You know the watchword ; till 
 which be spoken, move not; but when you hear that, 
 rush in like a stormy flood ; I need not instruct ye in 
 your own profession. 
 
 Band. No, no, no. 
 
 Vas. In, then: your ends are profit and preferment: 
 away ! \ \Exennt Banditti. 
 
 Sor. The guests will all come, Vasques ? 
 
 Vas. Yes, sir. And now let me a little edge your 
 resolution : you see nothing is unready to this great work, 
 but a great mind in you ; call to your remembrance 
 your disgraces, your loss of honour, Hippolita's blood, 
 and arm your courage in your own wrongs ; so shall you 
 best right those wrongs in vengeance, which you may 
 truly call your own. 
 
 Sor. 'Tis well : the less I speak, the more I burn. 
 And blood shall quench that flame. 
 
 Vas. Now you begin to turn Italian. This beside : 
 when my young incest-monger comes, he will be sharp set 
 on his old bit : give him time enough, let him have your 
 chamber and bed at liberty; let my hot hare have law 
 ere he be hunted to his death, that, if it be possible, he 
 post to hell in the very act of his damnation. 
 
 Sor. It shall be so ; and see, as we would wish, 
 He comes himself first. 
 
 Enter GIOVANNI. 
 Welcome, my much-loved brother :
 
 1 72 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. [ACT v. 
 
 Now I perceive you honour me ; you're welcome. 
 But where's my father ? 
 
 Gio. With the other states, 1 
 
 Attending on the nuncio of the pope, 
 To wait upon him hither. How's my sister? 
 
 Sor. Like a good housewife, scarcely ready yet ; 
 You're best walk to her chamber. 
 
 Gio. If you will. 
 
 Sor. I must expect my honourable friends ; 
 Good brother, get her forth. 
 
 Gio. You're busy, sir. [Exit. 
 
 Vas. Even as the great devil himself would have it ! 
 let him go and glut himself in his own destruction. 
 [Flourish.} Hark, the nuncio is at hand : good sir, be 
 ready to receive him. 
 
 Enter Cardinal, FLORIO, DONADO, RICHARDETTO, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 Sor. Most reverend lord, this grace hath made me 
 
 proud, 
 
 That you vouchsafe my house ; I ever rest 
 Your humble servant for this noble favour. 
 
 Car. You are our friend, my lord : his holiness 
 Shall understand how zealously you honour 
 Saint Peter's vicar in his substitute : 
 Our special love to you. 
 
 Sor. Signiors, to you 
 
 My welcome, and my ever best of thanks 
 For this so memorable courtesy. 
 Pleaseth your grace walk near ? 
 
 Car. My lord, we come 
 
 To celebrate your feast with civil mirth, 
 As ancient custom teacheth : we will go. 
 
 Sor. Attend his grace there ! Signiors, keep your way. . 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 1 Nobles.
 
 SCENE v.] 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. 173 
 
 SCENE V. ANNABELLA'S Bed-chamber in the same. 
 
 ANNABELLA richly dressed and GIOVANNI discovered 
 lying on a bed. 
 
 Gio. What, changed so soon ! hath your new sprightly 
 
 lord 
 
 Found out a trick in night-games more than we 
 Could know in our simplicity? Ha ! is't so ? 
 Or does the fit come on you, to prove treacherous 
 To your past vows and oaths ? 
 
 Ann. Why should you jest 
 
 At my calamity, without all sense 
 Of the approaching dangers you are in ? 
 
 Gio. What danger's half so great as thy revolt? 
 Thou art a faithless sister, else thou know'st, 
 Malice, or any treachery beside, 
 Would stoop to my bent brows : why, I hold fate 
 Clasped in my fist, and could command the course 
 Of time's eternal motion, hadst thou been 
 One thought more steady than an ebbing sea. 
 And what ? you'll now be honest, that's resolved ? 
 
 Ann. Brother, dear brother, know what I have been, 
 And know that now there's but a dining-time 
 'Twixt us and our confusion : let's not waste 
 These precious hours in vain and useless speech. 
 Alas, these gay attires were not put on 
 But to some end ; this sudden solemn feast 
 Was not ordained to riot in expense ; 
 I, that have now been chambered here alone, 
 Barred of my guardian or of any else, 
 Am not for nothing at an instant freed 
 To fresh access. Be not deceived, my brother ; 
 This banquet is an harbinger of death 
 To you and me ; resolve yourself it is, 
 And be prepared to welcome it. 
 
 Gio. Well, then ;
 
 PITY $ HE ' S A WHORE. [ ACT v - 
 
 i 74 
 
 The schoolmen teach that all this globe of earth 
 Shall be consumed to ashes in a minute. 
 
 Ann. So I have read too. 
 
 Gio. But 'twere somewhat strange 
 
 To see the waters burn : could I believe 
 This might be true, I could believe as well 
 There might be hell or Heaven. 
 
 Ann. That's most certain. 
 
 Gio. A dream, a dream ! else in this other world 
 We should know one another. 
 
 Ann. So we shall. 
 
 Gio. Have you heard so ? 
 
 Ann. For certain. 
 
 Gio. But d'ye think 
 
 That I shall see you there ? You look on me. 
 May we kiss one another, prate or laugh, 
 Or do as we do here ? 
 
 Ann. I know not that. 
 
 But, brother, for the present, what d'ye mean 
 To free yourself from danger ? some way think 
 How to escape : I'm sure the guests are come. 
 
 Gio. Look up, look here ; what see you in my face ? 
 
 Ann. Distraction and a troubled conscience. 
 
 Gio. Death, and a swift repining wrath : yet look ; 
 What see you in mine eyes ? 
 
 Ann. Methinks you weep. 
 
 Gio. I do indeed : these are the funeral tears 
 Shed on your grave ; these furrowed-up my cheeks 
 When first I loved and knew not how to woo. 
 Fair Annabella, should I here repeat 
 The story of my life, we might lose time. 
 Be record all the spirits of the air, 
 And all things else that are, that day and night, 
 Early and late, the tribute which my heart 
 Hath paid to Annabella's sacred love 
 Hath been these tears, which are her mouruers now ! 
 Never till now did Nature do her best
 
 SCENE v.] 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. 175 
 
 To show a matchless beauty to the world, 
 Which in an instant, ere it scarce was seen, 
 The jealous Destinies required again. 
 Pray, Annabella, pray ! Since we must part, 
 Go thou, white in thy soul, to fill a throne 
 Of innocence and sanctity in Heaven. 
 Pray, pray, my sister ! 
 
 Ann. Then I see your drift. 
 
 Ye blessed angels, guard me ! 
 
 Gio. So say I. 
 
 Kiss me. If ever after-times should hear 
 Of our fast-knit affections, though perhaps 
 The laws of conscience and of civil use 
 May justly blame us, yet when they but know 
 Our loves, that love will wipe away that rigour 
 Which would in other incests be abhorred. 
 Give me your hand : how sweetly life doth run 
 In these well-coloured veins ! how constantly 
 These palms do promise health ! but I could chide 
 With Nature for this cunning flattery. 
 Kiss me again : forgive me. 
 
 Ann. With my heart. 
 
 Gio. Farewell ! 
 
 Ann. Will you be gone ? 
 
 Gio. Be dark, bright sun, 
 
 And make this mid-day night, that thy gilt rays 
 May not behold a deed will turn their splendour 
 More sooty than the poets feign their Styx ! 
 One other kiss, my sister. 
 
 Ann. What means this ? 
 
 Gio. To save thy fame, and kill thee in a kiss. 
 
 \Stabs her, 
 
 Thus die, and die by me, and by my hand ! 
 Revenge is mine ; honour doth love command. 
 
 Ann. O, brother, by your hand ! 
 
 Gio. . When thou art dead 
 
 I'll give my reasons for't ; for to dispute
 
 176 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. [ACT v. 
 
 With thy even in thy death most lovely beauty, 
 Would make me stagger to perform this act, 
 Which I most glory in. 
 
 Ann. Forgive him, Heaven and me my sins ! Fare- 
 Brother unkind, unkind Mercy, great Heaven ! [well, 
 O, O ! [Dies. 
 
 Gio. She's dead, alas, good soul ! The hapless fruit 
 That in her womb received its life from me 
 Hath had from me a cradle and a grave. 
 I must not dally. This sad marriage-bed, 
 In all her best, bore her alive and dead. 
 Soranzo, thou hast missed thy aim in this : 
 I have prevented now thy reaching plots, 
 And killed a love, for whose each drop of blood 
 I would have pawned my heart. Fair Annabella, 
 How over-glorious art thou in thy wounds, 
 Triumphing over infamy and hate ! 
 Shrink not, courageous hand, stand up, my heart, 
 And boldly act my last and greater part ! 
 
 [The scene closes. 
 
 SCENE VI. A Banqueting-room * in the same. 
 
 A banquet set out. Enter the Cardinal, FLORID, DONADO*, 
 SORANZO, RICHARDETTO, VASQUES, and Attendants. 
 
 Vas. [Aside to SORANZO] Remember, sir, what you 
 have to do ; be wise and resolute. 
 
 Sor. [Aside to VASQUES] Enough : my heart is fixed. 
 
 Pleaseth your grace 
 
 To taste these coarse confections : though the use 
 Of such set entertainments more consists 
 In custom than in cause, yet, reverend sir, 
 
 1 They had dined in another room, and, according to the usual 
 practice, repaired to the apartment in which the confectionery was 
 set out. Gifford.
 
 SCENE vi.] 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. 177 
 
 I am still made your servant by your presence. 
 Car. And we your friend. 
 Sor. But where's my brother Giovanni ? 
 
 Enter GIOVANNI with a heart upon Ms dagger. 
 
 Gio. Here, here, Soranzo ! trimmed in reeking blood, 
 That triumphs over death, proud in the spoil 
 Of love and vengeance ! Fate, or all the powers 
 That guide the motions of immortal souls, 
 Could not prevent me. 
 
 Car. What means this ? 
 
 Flo. Son Giovanni ! 
 
 Sor. \_Aside\ Shall I be forestalled ? 
 
 Gio. Be not amazed : if your misgiving hearts 
 Shrink at an idle sight, what bloodless fear 
 Of coward passion would have seized your senses, 
 Had you beheld the rape of life and beauty 
 Which I have acted ! My sister, O, my sister ! 
 
 Flo. Ha ! what of her ? 
 
 Gio. The glory of my deed 
 
 Darkened the mid-day sun, made noon as night. 
 You came to feast, my lords, with dainty fare : 
 I came to feast too ; but I digged for food 
 In a much richer mine than gold or stone 
 Of any value balanced ; 'tis a heart, 
 A heart, my lords, in which is mine entombed : 
 Look well upon't ; d'ye know't ? 
 
 Vas. \^Aside\ What strange riddle's this? 
 
 Gio. 'Tis Annabella's heart, 'tis : why d'ye startle ? 
 I vow 'tis hers : this dagger's point ploughed up 
 Her fruitful womb, and left to me the fame 
 Of a most glorious executioner. 
 
 Flo. Why, madman, art thyself? 
 
 Gio. Yes, father; and, that times to come may know 
 How, as my fate, I honoured my revenge, 
 List, father ; to your ears I will yield up 
 How much I have deserved to be your son. 
 
 Ford. N
 
 178 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. [ACTV.- 
 
 Flo. What is't thou say'st ? 
 
 Gio. Nine moons have had their changes 
 
 Since I first throughly viewed and truly loved 
 Your daughter and my sister, 
 
 Flo. How ! Alas, my lords, 
 
 He is a frantic madman ! 
 
 Gio. Father, no. 
 
 For nine months' space in secret I enjoyed 
 Sweet Annabella's sheets ; nine months I lived 
 A happy monarch of her heart and her. 
 Soranzo, thou know'st this : thy paler cheek 
 Bears the confounding print of thy disgrace ; 
 For her too-fruitful womb too soon bewrayed 
 The happy passage of our stol'n delights, 
 And made her mother to a child unborn. 
 Car. Incestuous villain ! 
 
 Flo. O, his rage belies him. 
 
 Gio. It does not, 'tis the oracle of truth ; 
 I vow it is so. 
 
 Sor. I shall burst with fury, 
 
 Bring the strumpet forth ! 
 
 Vas. I shall, sir. \Exit. 
 
 Gio. Do, sir. Have you all no faith 
 
 To credit yet my triumphs ? Here I swear 
 By all that you call sacred, by the love 
 I bore my Annabella whilst she lived, 
 These hands have from her bosom ripped this heart. 
 
 Re-enter VASQUES. 
 Is't true, or no, sir? 
 
 Vas. 'Tis most strangely true. 
 
 Flo. Cursed man ! Have I lived to [Dies, 
 
 Car. Hold up, Florio. 
 
 Monster of children ! see what thou hast done, 
 Broke thy old father's heart. Is none of you 
 Dares venture on him ? 
 
 Gio. Let 'em ! O, my father,
 
 SCENE vi.] 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. 179 
 
 How well his death becomes him in his griefs ! 
 Why, this was done with courage : now survives 
 None of our house but I, gilt in the blood 
 Of a fair sister and a hapless father. 
 
 Sor. Inhuman scorn of men, hast thou a thought 
 T' outlive thy murders ? '[Draws. 
 
 Gio. Yes, I tell thee, yes ; 
 
 For in my fists I bear the twists of life. 
 Soranzo, see this heart, which was thy wife's ; 
 Thus I exchange it royally for thine. [They fight. 
 
 And thus, and thus ! [SORANZO /#//.$. 
 
 Now brave revenge is mine. 
 
 Vas. I cannot hold any longer. You, sir, are you 
 grown insolent in your butcheries ? have at you ! 
 
 Gio. Come, I am armed to meet thee. [They fight. 
 
 Vas. No ! will it not be yet ? if this will not, another 
 shall. Not yet ? I shall fit you anon. Vengeance ! 
 
 Tlic Banditti rush in. 
 
 Gio. Welcome ! come more of you ; whate'er you be, 
 I dare your worst. [They surround and wound him. 
 
 O, I can stand no longer ! feeble arms, 
 Have you so* soon lost strength? [Falls. 
 
 Vas. Now you are welcome, sir ! [Aside to Banditti.] 
 Away, my masters, all is done ; shift for yourselves, your 
 reward is your own ; shift for yourselves. 
 
 Band. Away, away ! {Exeunt. 
 
 Vas. How d'ye, my lord ? See you this ? {Pointing to 
 GIOVANNI.] How is't ? 
 
 Sor. Dead ; but in death well pleased that I have lived 
 To see my wrongs revenged on that black devil. 
 O, Vasques, to thy bosom let me give 
 My last of breath ; let not that lecher live. 
 O ! [Dies. 
 
 Vas. The reward of peace and rest be with him, my 
 ever dearest lord and master ! 
 
 1 The watchword previously agreed on.
 
 i8o 'TIS PHY SHE'S A WHORE. [ACT v. 
 
 Gio. Whose hand gave me this wound ? 
 Vas. Mine, sir ; I was your first man : have you 
 Gio. I thank thee ; thou hast done for me [enough ? 
 But what I would have else done on myself. 
 Art sure thy lord is dead ? 
 
 Vas. O, impudent slave ! 
 
 As cure as I am sure to see thee die. 
 
 Car. Think on thy life and end, and call for mercy. 
 Gio. Mercy ! why, I have found it in this justice. 
 Car. Strive yet to cry to Heaven. 
 Gio. O, I bleed fast ! 
 
 Death, thou'rt a guest long looked for ; I embrace 
 Thee and thy wounds : O, my last minute comes ! 
 Where'er I go, let me enjoy this grace, 
 Freely to view my Annabella's face. [Dies. 
 
 Don. Strange miracle of justice ! 
 Car. Raise up the city; we shall be murdered all ! 
 Vas. You need not fear, you shall not : this strange 
 task being ended, I have paid the duty to the son which 
 I have vowed to the father. 
 
 Car. Speak, wretched villain, what incarnate fiend 
 Hath led thee on to this ? 
 
 Vas. Honesty, and pity of my master's wrongs : for 
 know, my lord, I am by birth a Spaniard, brought forth 
 my country in my youth by Lord Soranzo's father, whom 
 whilst he lived I served faithfully: since whose death I 
 have been to this man as I was to him. What I have 
 done was duty, and I repent nothing, but that the loss of 
 my life had not ransomed his. 
 
 Car. Say, fellow, know'st thou any yet unnamed 
 Of counsel in this incest ? 
 
 Vas. Yes, an old woman, sometimes 1 guardian to this 
 murdered lady. 
 
 Car. And what's become of her ? 
 
 Vas. Within this room she is ! whose eyes, after her 
 
 confession, I caused to be put out, but kept alive, to 
 
 1 i.e. Formerly.
 
 SCENE vi.] 'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE. 181 
 
 confirm what from Giovanni's own mouth you have heard. 
 Now, my lord, what I have done you may judge of; and 
 let your own wisdom be a judge in your own reason. 
 
 Car. Peace ! First this woman, chief in these effects, 
 My sentence is, that forthwith she be ta'en 
 Out of the city, for example's sake, 
 There to be burnt to ashes. 
 
 Don. 'Tis most just. 
 
 Car. Be it your charge, Donado, see it done. 
 
 Don. I shall. 
 
 Vas. What for me ? if death, 'tis welcome : I have 
 been honest to the son, as I was to the father. 
 
 Car. Fellow, for thee, since what thou didst was done 
 Not for thyself, being no Italian, 
 We banish thee for ever ; to depart 
 Within three days : in this we do dispense 
 With grounds of reason, not of thine offence. 
 
 Vas. 'Tis well : this conquest is mine, and I rejoice 
 that a Spaniard outwent an Italian in revenge. \_Exit. 
 
 Car. Take up these slaughtered bodies, see them 
 And all the gold and jewels, or whatsoever, [buried ; 
 
 Confiscate by the canons of the church, 
 We seize upon to the pope's proper use. 
 
 Rich. \Discovers himself. ~\ Your grace's pardon: thus 
 
 long I lived disguised, 
 To see the effect of pride and lust at once 
 Brought both to shameful ends. 
 
 Car. What ! Richardetto, whom we thought for dead? 
 
 Don. Sir, was it you 
 
 Rich. Your friend. 
 
 Car. We shall have time 
 
 To talk at large of all : but never yet 
 
 Incest and murder have so strangely met. 
 
 Of one so young, so rich in nature's store, 
 
 Who could not say, 'Tis PITY SHE'S A WHORE? 
 
 [Sxettni.
 
 
 THE 
 
 HE A 7(T.
 
 O account remains of the first appear- 
 ance of this play, or of its success. 
 It was acted by the King's servants 
 at the Blackfriars Theatre, and was 
 published in 1633. It is said in the 
 Prologue that the story the scene of 
 which is curiously placed in Sparta 
 had some foundation in fact. It may 
 have been taken from an Italian novel. 

 
 To the most worthy deserverof the noblest titles in honour, 
 
 WILLIAM, LORD CRAVEN, BARON OF HAMP- 
 
 STEAD-MARSHALL. 1 
 
 My Lord, 
 
 HE glory of a great name, acquired by a 
 greater glory of action, hath in all ages 
 lived the truest chronicle to his own 
 memory. In the practice of which 
 argument your growth to perfection, 
 even in youth, hath appeared so sin- 
 cere, so unflattering a penman, that posterity cannot 
 with more delight read the merit of noble endeavours 
 than noble endeavours merit t thanks from posterity to be 
 read with delight. Many nations, many eyes have been 
 witnesses of your deserts, and loved them : be pleased, 
 
 1 " William, first Baron and Earl Craven " (according to Coliins's 
 Peerage], "the eldest son of Sir W. Craven, Lord Mayor, was 
 much affected with military exercises from his youth, and signalised 
 himself in Germany and in the Netherlands under Henry, Prince of 
 Orange. In which valiant adventures he gained such honour, that 
 on his return he was first knighted at Newmarket, March 4, 1626, 
 and in the year after deservedly raised to the dignity of Lord Craven 
 of Hampstead-Marshall. In 1631 he was one of the commanders 
 of those forces sent to the assistance of the great Gustavus Adolphus, 
 and was wounded in the assault upon the strong fortress of Kreutz- 
 nach. He died, after a very active and chequered life, April 9, 
 1697, at the advanced age of 88. He is now chiefly remembered 
 for his romantic attachment to the Queen of Bohemia, daughter of 
 James I., to whom it is generally supposed he was privately mar- 
 ried." " One may be pardoned for remembering," Ward adds, " that 
 the chivalrous knight-errant and (as is thought) secret husband of 
 Eli/.abeth of Bohemia survived her for nearly a quarter of a century."
 
 i86 
 
 THE BROKEN HEART. 
 
 then, with the freedom of your own name, to admit one 
 amongst all, particularly into the list of such as honour 
 a fair example of nobility. There is a kind of humble 
 ambition, not uncommendable, when the silence of study 
 breaks forth into discourse, coveting rather encouragement 
 than applause ; yet herein censure commonly is too severe 
 an auditor, without the moderation of an able patronage. 
 I have ever been slow in courtship of greatness, not igno- 
 rant of such defects as are frequent to opinion : but the 
 justice of your inclination to industry emboldens my weak- 
 ness of confidence to relish an experience of your mercy, 
 as many brave dangers have tasted of your courage. Your 
 Lordship strove to be known to the world, when the world 
 knew you least, by voluntary but excellent attempts : like 
 allowance I plead of being known to your Lordship (in this 
 low presumption), by tendering, to a favourable entertain- 
 ment, a devotion offered from a heart that can be as truly 
 sensible of any least respect as ever profess the owner in 
 my best, my readiest services, a lover of your natural love 
 to virtue. 
 
 JOHN FORD.
 
 OUR scene is Sparta. He whose best of art 
 
 Hath drawn this piece calls it THE BROKEN HEART. 
 
 The title lends no expectation here 
 
 Of apish laughter, or of some lame jeer 
 
 At place or persons ; no pretended clause 
 
 Of jests fit for a brothel courts applause 
 
 From vulgar admiration : such low songs, 
 
 Tuned to unchaste ears, suit not modest tongues. 
 
 The virgin-sisters then deserved fresh bays 
 
 When innocence and sweetness crowned their lays ; 
 
 Then vices gasped for breath, whose whole commerce 
 
 Was whipped to exile by unblushing verse. 
 
 This law we keep in our presentment now, 
 
 Not to take freedom more than we allow ; 
 
 What may be here thought Fiction, when time's youth 
 
 Wanted some riper years, was known a Truth : 
 
 In which, if words have clothed the subject right, 
 
 You may partake a pity with delight.
 
 DRAMATIS PERSON JE. 
 
 AMYCLAS, King of Laconia. 
 ITHOCLES, a Favourite. 
 ORGILUS, Son of Crotolon. 
 BASSANES, a jealous Nobleman. 
 ARMOSTES, a Counsellor of State 
 CROTOLON, another Counsellor. 
 PROPHILUS, Friend of Ithocles. 
 NEARCHUS, Prince of Argos. 
 TECNICUS, a Philosopher. 
 
 HEMOPHIL, ) 
 
 Courtiers. 
 GRONEAS, j 
 
 AMELUS, Friend of Nearchus. 
 PHULAS, Servant to Bassanes. 
 Lords, Courtiers, Officers, Attendants, &c. 
 
 CALANTHA, Daughter of Amyclas. 
 
 PENTHEA, Sister of Ithocles and Wife of Bassanes. 
 
 EUPHRANEA, Daughter of Crotolon, a Maid of honour. 
 
 CHRISTALLA, ) _ . 
 
 | Maids of honour. 
 PHILEMA, j 
 
 GRAUSIS, Overseer of Penthea. 
 
 SCENE SPARTA.
 
 THE 
 
 ACT THE FIRST. 
 
 SCENE I. A Room m CROTOLON'S Hoiise. 
 
 Enter CROTOLON and ORGILUS. 
 
 ROT. Dally not further; I will know 
 
 the reason 
 That speeds thee to this journey. 
 
 Org. Reason ! good sir? 
 
 I can yield many. 
 
 Crot. Give me one, a good one ; 
 
 Such I expect, and ere we part must 
 Athens ! pray, why to Athens? you intend not [have : 
 To kick against the world, turn cynic, stoic, 
 Or read the logic-lecture, or become 
 An Areopagite, and judge in cases 
 Touching the commonwealth ; for, as I take it, 
 The budding of your chin cannot prognosticate 
 So grave an honour. 
 
 Org. All this I acknowledge. 
 
 Crot. You do ! then, son, if books and love of know- 
 ledge 
 
 Inflame you to this travel, here in Sparta 
 You may as freely study. , 
 
 Org. 'Tis not that, sir. 
 
 Crot. Not that, sir ! As a father, I command thee 
 T' acquaint me with the truth.
 
 1 90 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT i. 
 
 Org. Thus I obey ye. 
 
 After so many quarrels as dissension, 
 Fury, and rage had broached in blood, and sometimes 
 With death to such confederates as sided 
 With now-dead Thrasus and yourself, my lord ; 
 Our present king, Amyclas, reconciled 
 Your eager swords and sealed a gentle peace : 
 Friends you professed yourselves ; which to confirm, 
 A resolution for a lasting league 
 Betwixt your families was entertained, 
 By joining in a Hymenean bond 
 Me and the fair Penthea, only daughter 
 To Thrasus. 
 
 Crot. What of this ? 
 
 Org. Much, much, dear sir. 
 
 A freedom of converse, an interchange 
 Of holy and chaste love, so fixed our souls 
 In a firm growth of union, that no time 
 Can eat into the pledge : we had enjoyed 
 The sweets our vows expected, had not cruelty 
 Prevented all those triumphs we prepared for, 
 By Thrasus his untimely death. 
 
 Crot. Most certain. 
 
 Org. From this time sprouted-up that poisonous stalk 
 Of aconite, whose ripened fruit hath ravished 
 All health, all comfort of a happy life ; 
 For Ithocles, her brother, proud of youth, 
 And prouder in his power, nourished closely 
 The memory of former discontents, 
 To glory in revenge. By cunning partly, 
 Partly by threats, he woos at once, and forces 
 His virtuous sister to admit a marriage 
 With Bassanes, a nobleman, in honour 
 And riches, I confess, beyond my fortunes. 
 
 Crot. All this is no sound reason to importune 
 My leave for thy departure. 
 
 Org. Now it follows.
 
 SCENE i.] THE BROKEN HEART. 191 
 
 Beauteous Penthea, wedded to this torture 
 By an insulting brother, being secretly 
 Compelled to yield her virgin freedom up 
 To him, who never can usurp her heart, 
 Before contracted mine, is now so yoked 
 To a most barbarous thraldrom, misery, 
 Affliction, that he savours not humanity, 
 Whose sorrow melts not into more than pity 
 In hearing but her name. 
 
 Crot. As how, pray? 
 
 Org. Bassanes, 
 
 The man that calls her wife, considers truly 
 What heaven of perfections he is lord of 
 By thinking fair Penthea his : this thought 
 Begets a kind of monster-love, which love 
 Is nurse unto a fear so strong and servile 
 As brands all dotage with a jealousy : 
 All eyes who gaze upon that shrine of beauty 
 He doth resolve l do homage to the miracle ; 
 Some one, he is assured, may now or then, 
 If opportunity but sort, prevail : 
 So much, out of a self-unworthiness, 
 His fears transport him ; not that he finds cause 
 In her obedience, but his own distrust. 
 
 Crot. You spin-out your discourse. 
 
 Org. My griefs are violent : 
 
 For, knowing how the maid was heretofore 
 Courted by me, his jealousies grow wild 
 That I should steal again into her favours, 
 And undermine her virtues ; which the gods 
 Know I nor dare nor dream of. Hence, from hence, 
 I undertake a voluntary exile ; 
 First, by my absence to take off the cares 
 Of jealous Bassanes; but chiefly, sir, 
 To free Penthea from a hell on earth ; 
 Lastly, to lose the memory of something 
 
 1 i.e. Convince himself.
 
 i 9 2 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT i. 
 
 Her presence makes to live in me afresh. 
 
 Crot. Enough, my Orgilus, enough. To Athens, 
 I give a full consent. Alas, good lady ! 
 We shall hear from thee often ? 
 
 Org. Often. 
 
 Crot. See, 
 
 Thy sister comes to give a farewell. 
 
 Enter EUPHRANEA. 
 
 Euph. Brother ! 
 
 Org. Euphranea, thus upon thy cheeks I print 
 A brother's kiss ; more careful of thine honour, 
 Thy health, and thy well-doing, than my life. 
 Before we part, in presence of our father, 
 I must prefer a suit t' ye. , 
 
 Euph. You may style it, 
 
 My brother, a command. 
 
 Org. That you will promise 
 
 Never to pass to any man, however 
 Worthy, your faith, till, with our father's leave, 
 I give a free consent. 
 
 Crot. An easy motion ! 
 
 I'll promise for her, Orgilus. 
 
 Org. Your pardon ; 
 
 Euphranea's oath must yield me satisfaction. 
 
 Euph. By Vesta's sacred fires I swear. 
 
 Crot. And I, 
 
 By great Apollo's beams, join in the vow, 
 Not without thy allowance to bestow her 
 On any living. 
 
 Org. Dear Euphranea, 
 
 Mistake me not : far, far 'tis from my thought, 
 As far from any wish of mine, to hinder 
 Preferment to an honourable bed 
 Or fitting fortune ; thou art young and handsome ; 
 And 'twere injustice, more, a tyranny, 
 Not to advance thy merit : trust me, sister, 

 
 SCENE ir.] THE BROKEN HEART. 193 
 
 It shall be my first care to see thee matched 
 As may become thy choice and our contents. 
 I have your oath. 
 
 Euph. You have. , But mean you, brother, 
 
 To leave us, as you say ? 
 
 Crot. Ay, ay, Euphranea : 
 
 He has just grounds direct him. I will prove 
 A father and a brother to thee. 
 
 Euph. Heaven 
 
 Does look into the secrets of all hearts : 
 Gods, you have mercy with ye, else 
 
 Crot. Doubt nothing ; 
 
 Thy brother- will return in safety to us. 
 
 Org. Souls sunk in sorrows never are without 'em ; 
 They change fresh airs, but bear their griefs about 'em. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Flourish. Enter AMYCLAS, ARMOSTES, PROPHILUS, 
 Courtiers, and Attendants. 
 
 Amy. The Spartan gods are gracious ; our humility 
 Shall bend before their altars, and perfume 
 Their temples with abundant sacrifice. 
 See, lords, Amyclas, your old king, is entering 
 Into his youth again ! I shall shake off 
 This silver badge of age, and change this snow 
 For hairs as gay as are Apollo's locks ; 
 Our heart leaps in new vigour. 
 
 Arm. May old time 
 
 Run back to double your long life, great sir ! 
 
 Amy. It will, it must, Armostes : thy bold nephew, 
 Death-braving Ithocles, brings to our gates 
 Triumphs and peace upon his conquering sword. 
 Laconia is a monarchy at length ; 
 
 Ford. O
 
 i 94 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT i. 
 
 Hath in this latter war trod under foot 
 Messene's pride ; Messene bows her neck 
 To Lacedaemon's royalty. O, 'twas 
 A glorious victory, and doth deserve 
 More than a chronicle a temple, lords, 
 A temple to the name of Ithocles. 
 Where didst thou leave him, Prophilus ? 
 
 Pro. At Pephon, 
 
 Most gracious sovereign ; twenty of the noblest 
 Of the Messenians there attend your pleasure, 
 For such conditions as you shall propose 
 In settling peace, and liberty of life. 
 
 Amy. When comes your friend the general ? 
 
 Pro. He promised 
 
 To follow with all speed convenient. 
 
 Enter CALANTHA, EUPHRANEA; CHRISTALLA and 
 PHILEMA with a garland ; and CROTOLON. 
 
 Amy. Our daughter ! Dear Calantha, the happy news, 
 The conquest of Messene, hath already 
 Enriched thy knowledge. 
 
 Cal. With the circumstance 
 
 And manner of the fight, related faithfully 
 By Prophilus himself. But, pray, sir, tell me 
 How doth the youthful general demean 
 His actions in these fortunes ? 
 
 Pro. Excellent princess, 
 
 Your own fair eyes may soon report a truth 
 Unto your judgment, with what moderation, 
 Calmness of nature, measure, bounds, and limits 
 Of thankfulness and joy, he doth digest 
 Such amplitude of his success as would 
 In others, moulded of a spirit less clear, 
 Advance 'em to comparison with heaven : 
 But Ithocles 
 
 Cal. Your friend 
 
 He is so, madam,
 
 SCENE II.] THE BROKEN HEART. 195 
 
 In which the period of my fate consists : 
 He, in this firmament of honour, stands^ 
 Like a star fixed, not moved with any thunder 
 Of popular applause or sudden lightning 
 Of self-opinion ; he hath served his country, 
 And thinks 'twas but his duty. 
 
 Crot. You describe 
 
 A miracle of man. 
 
 Amy, Such, Crotolon, 
 
 On forfeit of a king's word, thou wilt find him. 
 
 {Flourish. 
 Hark, warning of his coming ! all attend him. 
 
 Enter ITHOCLES, ushered in by t)ie Lords, and followed by 
 HEMOPHIL and GRONEAS. 
 
 Return into these arms, thy home, thy sanctuary, 
 Delight of Sparta, treasure of my bosom, 
 Mine own, own Ithocles ! 
 
 Ith. Your humblest subject. 
 
 Arm. Proud of the blood I claim an interest in, 
 As brother to thy mother, I embrace thee, 
 Right noble nephew. 
 
 ////. Sir, your love's too partial. 
 
 Crot. Our country speaks by me, who by thy valour, 
 Wisdom, and service, shares in this great action ; 
 Returning thee, in part of thy due merits, 
 A general welcome. 
 
 Ith. You exceed in bounty. 
 
 Cat. Christalla, Philema, the chaplet. \Takesthechaplet 
 
 from them.~\ Ithocles, 
 Upon the wings of fame the singular 
 And chosen fortune of an high attempt 
 Is borne so past the view of common sight, 
 That I myself with mine own hands have wrought, 
 To crown thy temples, this provincial garland * : 
 
 1 i.e. The laurel wreath conferred on those who added a province 
 to the empire.
 
 196 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT i. 
 
 Accept, wear, and enjoy it as our gift 
 Deserved, not purchased. 
 
 Ith. . You're a royal maid. 
 
 Amy. She is in all our daughter. 
 
 Ith. Let me blush, 
 
 Acknowledging how poorly I have served, 
 What nothings I have done, compared with the honours 
 Heaped on the issue of a willing mind ; 
 In that lay mine ability, that only : 
 For who is he so sluggish from his birth, 
 So little worthy of a name or country, 
 That owes not out of gratitude for life 
 A debt of service, in what kind soever 
 Safety or counsel of the commonwealth 
 Requires, for payment ? 
 
 CaL He speaks truth. 
 
 Ith. Whom heaven 
 
 Is pleased to style victorious, there to such 
 Applause runs madding, like the drunken priests 
 In Bacchus' sacrifices, without reason 
 Voicing the leader-on a demi-god ; 
 Whenas, indeed, each common soldier's blood 
 Drops down as current coin in that hard purchase 
 As his whose much more delicate condition 
 Hath sucked the milk of ease : judgment commands, 
 But resolution executes. I use not, 
 Before this royal presence, these fit slights 1 
 As in contempt of such as can direct ; 
 My speech hath other end ; not to attribute 
 All praise to one man's fortune, which is strengthened 
 By many hands : for instance, here is Prophilus, 
 A gentleman I cannot flatter truth 
 Of much desert ; and, though in other rank, 
 Both Hemophil and Groneas were not missing 
 To wish their country's peace ; for, in a word, 
 All there did strive their best, and 'twas our duty. 
 
 1 i.e. Slight words fitting slight services.
 
 SCENE ii.] THE BROKEN HEART. 197 
 
 Amy. Courtiers turn soldiers ! We vouchsafe our hand. 
 [HEMOPHIL and GRONEAS kiss his hand. 
 Observe our great example. 
 
 Hem. With all diligence. 
 
 Gron. Obsequiously a,nd hourly. 
 
 Amy. Some repose 
 
 After these toils is needful. We must think on 
 Conditions for the conquered ; they expect 'em. 
 On ! Come, my Idiocies. 
 
 Euph. Sir, with your favour, 
 
 I need not a supporter. 
 
 Pro. Fate instructs me. 
 
 [Exit AMYCLAS attended, ITHOCLES, CALANTHA, 
 &c. As CHRISTALLA and PHILEMA are fol- 
 lowing CALANTHA they are detained by HEMO- 
 PHIL and GRONEAS. 
 
 Chris. With me ? 
 
 Phil. Indeed I dare not stay. 
 
 Hem. Sweet lady. 
 
 Soldiers are blunt, your lip. [Kisses her. 
 
 Chris. Fie, this is rudeness : 
 
 You went not hence such creatures. 
 
 Gro. Spirit of valour 
 
 Is of a mounting nature. 
 
 Phil. It appears so. 
 
 Pray, in earnest, how many men apiece 
 Have you two been the death of? 
 
 Gro. 'Faith, not many ; 
 
 We were composed of mercy. 
 
 Hem. For our daring, 
 
 You heard the general's approbation 
 Before the king. 
 
 Chris. You " wished your country's peace ;' 
 
 That showed your charity : where are your spoils, 
 Such as the soldier fights for ? 
 
 Phil. They are coming. 
 
 Chris. By the next carrier, are they not ?
 
 198 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT I. 
 
 Gro. Sweet Philema, 
 
 When I was in the thickest of mine enemies, 
 Slashing off one man's head, another's nose, 
 Another's arms and legs, 
 
 Phil. And all together. 
 
 Gro. Then would I with a sigh remember thee, 
 And cry " Dear Philema, 'tis for thy sake 
 I do these deeds of wonder ! " dost not love me 
 With all thy heart now ? 
 
 Phil. Now as heretofore. 
 
 I have not put my love to use ; the principal 
 Will hardly yield an interest. 
 
 Gro. By Mars, 
 
 I'll marry thee ! 
 
 Phil. By Vulcan, you're forsworn, 
 
 Except my mind do alter strangely. 
 
 Gro. One word. 
 
 Chris. You lie beyond all modesty : forbear me. 
 
 Hem. I'll make thee mistress of a city; 'tis 
 Mine own by conquest. 
 
 Chris. By petition ; sue for't 
 
 In forma pauperis. City ! kennel. Gallants ! 
 Off with your feathers, put on aprons, gallants ; 
 Learn to reel, thrum, 1 or trim a lady's dog, 
 And be good quiet souls of peace, hobgoblins ! 
 
 Hem. Christalla ! 
 
 Chris. Practise to drill hogs, in hope 
 
 To share in the acorns. Soldiers ! corncutters, 
 But not so valiant ; they ofttimes draw blood, 
 Which you durst never do. When you have practised 
 More wit or more civility, we'll rank ye 
 I' the list of men : till then, brave things-at-arms, 
 Dare not to speak to us, most potent Groneas ! 
 
 Phil. And Hemophil the hardy ! at your services. 
 
 {Exeunt CHRISTALLA and PHILEMA. 
 
 Gro. They scorn us, as they did before we went. 
 
 1 Weave. Thrum is, properly, the tuft at the end of the warp.
 
 SCENE in.] THE BROKEN HEART. 199 
 
 Hem. Hang 'em ! let us scorn them, and be revenged. 
 
 Gro. Shall we ? 
 
 Hem. We will : and when we slight them thus, 
 
 Instead of following them, they'll follow us ; 
 It is a woman's nature. 
 
 Gro. 'Tis a scurvy one. {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. The Gardens of the Palace. A Grove. 
 
 Enter TECNICUS, and ORGILUS disguised like one of his 
 Scholars. 
 
 Tec. Tempt not the stars ; young man, thou canst not 
 With the severity of fate : this change [pl a y 
 
 Of habit and disguise in outward view 
 Hides not the secrets of thy soul within thee 
 From their quick-piercing eyes, which dive at all times 
 Down to thy thoughts : in thy aspect I note 
 A consequence of danger. 
 
 Org. Give me leave, 
 
 Grave Tecnicus, without foredooming destiny, 
 Under thy roof to ease my silent griefs, 
 By applying to my hidden wounds the balm 
 Of thy oraculous lectures. If my fortune 
 Run such a crooked by-way as to wrest 
 My steps to ruin, yet thy learned precepts 
 Shall call me back and set my footings straight. 
 I will not court the world. 
 
 Tec. Ah, Orgilus, 
 
 Neglects in young men of delights and life 
 Run often to extremities ; they care not 
 For harms to others who contemn their own. 
 
 Org. But I, most learned artist, am not so much 
 At odds with nature that I grudge the thrift 
 Of any true deserver ; nor doth malice 
 Of present hopes so check them with despair 
 As that I yield to thought of more affliction
 
 200 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT i. 
 
 Than what is incident to frailty : wherefore 
 Impute not this retired course of living 
 Some little time to any other cause 
 Than what I justly render, the information 
 Of an unsettled mind ; as the effect 
 Must clearly witness. 
 
 Tec. Spirit of truth inspire thee ! 
 
 On these conditions I conceal thy change, 
 And willingly admit thee for an auditor. 
 I'll to my study. 
 
 Org. I to contemplations 
 
 In these delightful walks. [Exit TECNICUS. 
 
 Thus metamorphosed, 
 I may without suspicion hearken after 
 Penthea's usage and Euphranea's faith. 
 Love, thou art full of mystery ! the deities 
 Themselves are not secure 1 in searching out 
 The secrets of those flames, which, hidden, waste 
 A breast made tributary to the laws 
 Of beauty : physic yet hath never found 
 A remedy to cure a lover's wound. 
 Ha ! who are those that cross yon private walk 
 Into the shadowing grove in amorous foldings ? 
 
 PROPHILUS /0.Mr by, supporting EUPHRANEA and 
 whispering. 
 
 My sister ! 0, my sister ! 'tis Euphranea 
 With Prophilus : supported too ! I would 
 It -were an apparition ! Prophilus 
 Is Ithocles his friend : it strangely puzzles me. 
 
 Re-enter PROPHILUS and EUPHRANEA. 
 
 Again ! help me, my book ; this scholar's habit 
 Must stand my privilege : my mind is busy, 
 Mine eyes and ears are open. 
 
 [ Walks aside, pretending to read. 
 1 Certain.
 
 SCENE in.] THE BROKEN HEART. 201 
 
 Pro. Do not waste 
 
 The span of this stol'n time, lent by the gods 
 For precious use, in niceness. 1 Bright Euphranea, 
 Should I repeat old vows, or study new, 
 For purchase of belief to my desires. 
 
 Org. \Aside\ Desires ! 
 
 Pro. My service, my integrity, 
 
 Org. [Asitff} That's better. 
 
 Pro. I should but repeat a lesson 
 
 Oft conned without a prompter but thine eyes : 
 My love is honourable. 
 
 Org. [Aside\ So was mine 
 
 To my Penthea, chastely honourable. 
 
 Pro. Nor wants there more addition to my wish 
 'Of happiness than having thee a wife ; 
 Already sure of Rhodes, a friend 
 Firm and unalterable. 
 
 Org. \_Aside\ But a brother 
 
 More cruel than the grave. 
 
 Euph. What can you look for, 
 
 In answer to your noble protestations, 
 From an unskilful maid, but language suited 
 To a divided mind ? 
 
 Org. \_Aside\ Hold out, Euphranea ! 
 
 Euph. Know, Prophilus, I never undervalued, 
 From the first time you mentioned worthy love, 
 Your merit, means, or person : it had been 
 A fault of judgment in me, and a dulness 
 In my affections, not to weigh and thank 
 My better stars that offered me the grace 
 Of so much blissfulness. For, to speak truth, 
 The law of my desires kept equal pace 
 With yours ; nor have I left that resolution : 
 But only, in a word, whatever choice 
 Lives nearest in my heart must first procure 
 Consent both from my father and my brother, 
 
 1 Preciseness.
 
 202 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT i. 
 
 Ere he can own me his. 
 
 Org. [Aside] She is forsworn else. 
 
 Pro. Leave me that task. 
 
 Euph. My brother, ere he parted 
 
 To Athens, had my oath. 
 
 Org. [Aside] Yes, yes, he had, sure. 
 
 Pro. I doubt not, with the means the court supplies, 
 But to prevail at pleasure. 
 
 Org. [Aside] Very likely ! 
 
 Pro. Meantime, best, dearest, I may build my hopes 
 On the foundation of thy constant sufferance 
 In any opposition. 
 
 Euph. Death shall sooner 
 
 Divorce life and the joys I have in living 
 Than my chaste vows from truth. 
 
 Pro. On thy fair hand 
 
 I seal the like. 
 
 Org. [Aside] There is no faith in woman. 
 Passion, O, be contained ! my very heart-strings 
 Are on the tenters. 
 
 Euph. Sir, we are overheard. 
 
 Cupid protect us ! 'twas a stirring, 
 Of some one near. 
 
 Pro. Your fears are needless, lady ; 
 
 None have access into these private pleasures 
 Except some near in court, or bosom-student 
 From Tecnicus his oratory, granted 
 By special favour lately from the king 
 Unto the grave philosopher. 
 
 Euph. Methinks 
 
 I hear one talking to himself, I see him. 
 
 Pro. 'Tis a poor scholar, as I told you, lady. 
 
 Org. [Aside] I am discovered. [Half aloud to him- 
 self, as if studying} Say it ; is it possible, 
 With a smooth tongue, a leering countenance, 
 Flattery, or force of reason I come t'ye, sir 
 To turn or to appease the raging sea ?
 
 SCENE in.] THE BROKEN HEART. 203 
 
 Answer to that. Your art ! what art? to catch 
 And hold fast in a net the sun's small atoms ? 
 No, no ; they'll out, they'll out : ye may as easily 
 Outrun a cloud driven by a northern blast 
 As fiddle-faddle so ! Peace, or speak sense. 
 
 Etiph. Call you this thing a scholar ? 'las, he's lunatic. 
 
 Pro. Observe him, sweet ; 'tis but his recreation. 
 
 Org. But will you hear a little ? You're so tetchy, 
 You keep no rule in argument : philosophy 
 Works not upon impossibilities, 
 But natural conclusions. Mew ! absurd ! 
 The metaphysics are but speculations 
 Of the celestial bodies, or such accidents 
 As not mixed perfectly, in the air engendered, 
 Appear to us unnatural ; that's all. 
 Prove it ; yet, with a reverence to your gravity, 
 I'll balk illiterate sauciness, submitting 
 My sole opinion to the touch of writers. 
 
 Pro. Now let us fall in with him. 
 
 \They come forward. 
 
 Org. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 These apish boys, when they but taste the grammates 
 And principles of theory, imagine 
 They can oppose their teachers. Confidence 
 Leads many into errors. 
 
 Pro. By your leave, sir. 
 
 Euph. Are you a scholar, friend ? 
 
 Org. I am, gay creature, 
 
 With pardon of your deities, a mushroom 
 On whom the dew of heaven drops now and then ; 
 The sun shines on me too, I thank his beams ! 
 Sometime I feel their warmth ; and eat and sleep. 
 
 Pro. Does Tecnicus read to thee ? 
 
 Org. Yes, forsooth, 
 
 He is my master surely ; yonder door 
 Opens upon his study. 
 
 Pro. Happy creatures !
 
 204 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT I. 
 
 Such people toil not, sweet, in heats of state, 
 Nor sink in thaws of greatness ; their affections 
 Keep order with the limits of their modesty ; 
 Their love is love of virtue. What's thy name ? 
 
 Org. Aplotes, sumptuous master, a poor wretch. 
 
 Euph. Dost thou want anything ? 
 
 Org. Books, Venus, books. 
 
 Pro. Lady, a new conceit comes in my thought, 
 And most available for both our comforts. 
 
 Euph. My lord, 
 
 Pro. Whiles I endeavour to deserve 
 
 Your father's blessing to our loves, this scholar 
 May daily at some certain hours attend, 
 What notice I can write of my success, 
 Here in this grove, and give it to your hands ; 
 The like from you to me : so can we never, 
 Barred of our mutual speech, want sure intelligence, 
 And thus our hearts may talk when our tongues cannot. 
 
 Euph. Occasion is most favourable ; use it. 
 
 Pro. Aplotes, wilt thou wait us twice a-day, 
 At nine i' the morning and at four at night, 
 Here in this bower, to convey such letters 
 As each shall send to other ? Do it willingly, 
 Safely, and secretly, and I will furnish 
 Thy study, or what else thou canst desire. 
 
 Org. Jove, make me thankful, thankful, I beseech 
 
 thee, 
 
 Propitious Jove ! I will prove sure and trusty : 
 You will not fail me books ? 
 
 Pro. Nor aught besides 
 
 Thy heart can wish. This lady's name's Euphranea, 
 Mine Prophilus. 
 
 Org. I have a pretty memory ; 
 
 It must prove my best friend. I will not miss 
 One minute of the hours appointed. 
 
 Pro. Write 
 
 The books thou wouldst have bought thee in a note,
 
 SCEXE in.] THE BROKEN HEART. 205 
 
 Or take thyself some money. 
 
 Org. No, no, money ; 
 
 Money to scholars is a spirit invisible, 
 We dare not finger it : or books, or nothing. 
 
 Pro. Books of what sort thou wilt : do not forget 
 Our names. 
 
 Org. I warrant ye, I warrant ye. 
 
 Pro. Smile, Hymen, on the growth of our desires ; 
 We'll feed thy torches with eternal fires ! 
 
 {Exeunt PROPHILUS and EUPHRANEA. 
 
 Org. Put out thy torches, Hymen, or their light 
 Shall meet a darkness of eternal night ! 
 Inspire me, Mercury, with swift deceits. 
 Ingenious Fate has leapt into mine arms, 
 Beyond the compass of my brain. Mortality 
 Creeps on the dung of earth, and cannot reach 
 The riddles which are purposed by the gods. 
 Great arts best write themselves in their own stories ; 
 They die too basely who outlive their glories. {Exit.
 
 ACT THE SECOND. 
 
 SCENE I. A Room in BASSANES' House. 
 
 Enter BASSANES and PHULAS. 
 
 7 ASS. I'll have that window next the street 
 
 dammed up ; 
 
 It gives too full a prospect to tempta- 
 tion, 
 And courts a gazer's glances : there's a 
 
 lust 
 
 Committed by the eye, that sweats and 
 travails, 
 
 Plots, wakes, contrives, till the deformed bear-whelp, 
 Adultery, be licked into the act, 
 The very act : that light shall be dammed up ; 
 D'ye hear, sir ? 
 
 Phu. I do hear, my lord ; a mason 
 
 Shall be provided suddenly. 
 
 Bass. Some rogue, 
 
 Some rogue of your confederacy, factor 
 For slaves and strumpets ! to convey close packets 
 From this spruce springal ' and the t'other youngster ; 
 That gaudy earwig, or my lord your patron, 
 Whose pensioner you are. I'll tear thy throat out, 
 Son of a cat, ill-looking hound's-head, rip-up 
 Thy ulcerous maw, if I but scent a paper, 
 A scroll, but half as big as what can cover 
 A wart upon thy nose, a spot, a pimple, 
 
 1 Youth.
 
 SCENE I.] THE BROKEN HEART. 207 
 
 Directed to my lady ; it may prove 
 A mystical preparative to lewdness. 
 
 Phu. Care shall be had : I will turn every thread 
 About me to an eye. \Aside\ Here's a sweet life ! 
 
 Bass, The city housewives, cunning in the traffic 
 Of chamber merchandise, set all at price 
 By wholesale ; yet they wipe their mouths and simper, 
 Cull, 1 kiss, and cry " sweetheart," and stroke the head 
 Which they have branched ; and all is well again ! 
 Dull clods of dirt, who dare not feel the rubs 
 Stuck on their foreheads. 
 
 Phu. Tis a villainous world ; 
 
 One cannot hold his own in't. 
 
 Bass. Dames at court, 
 
 Who flaunt in riots, run another bias ; 
 Their pleasure heaves the patient ass that suffers 
 Up on the stilts of office, titles, incomes ; 
 Promotion justifies the shame, and sues for't. 
 Poor honour, thou art stabbed, and bleed'st to death 
 By such unlawful hire ! The country mistress 
 Is yet more wary, and in blushes hides 
 Whatever trespass draws her troth to guilt. 
 But all are false : on this truth I am bold, 
 No woman but can fall, and doth, or would. 
 Now for the newest news about the city ; 
 What blab the voices, sirrah ? 
 
 Phu. O, my lord, 
 
 The rarest, quaintest, strangest, tickling news 
 That ever 
 
 Bass. Hey-day ! up and ride me, rascal ! 
 What is't ? 
 
 Phu. Forsooth, they say the king has mewed 3 
 All his gray beard, instead of which is budded 
 Another of a pure carnation colour, 
 Speckled with green and russet. 
 
 Bass. Ignorant block ! 
 
 1 Embrace. 2 Shed. A term in falconry.
 
 2o8 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT n. 
 
 Phu. Yes, truly ; and 'tis talked about the streets, 
 That since Lord Ithocles came home, the lions 
 Never left roaring, at which noise the bears 
 Have danced their very hearts out. 
 
 Bass. Dance out thine too. 
 
 Phu. Besides, Lord Orgilus is fled to Athens 
 Upon a fiery dragon, and 'tis thought 
 He never can return. 
 
 Bass. Grant it, Apollo ! 
 
 Phu. Moreover, please your lordship, 'tis reported 
 For certain, that whoever is found jealous 
 Without apparent proof that's wife is wanton 
 Shall be divorced : but this is but she-news ; 
 I had it from a midwife. I have more yet. 
 
 Bass. Antic, no more ! idiots and stupid fools 
 Grate my calamities. Why to be fair 
 Should yield presumption of a faulty soul 
 Look to the doors. 
 
 Phu. The horn of plenty crest him ! 
 
 \Aside, and exit. 
 
 Bass. Swarms of confusion huddle in my thoughts 
 In rare distemper. Beauty ! O, it is 
 An unmatched blessing or a horrid curse. 
 She comes, she comes ! so shoots the morning forth, 
 Spangled with pearls of transparent dew. 
 The way to poverty is to be rich, 
 As I in her am wealthy ; but for her, 
 In all contents a bankrupt. 
 
 Enter PENTHEA and GRAUSIS. 
 
 Loved Penthea ! 
 How fares my heart's best joy ? 
 
 Grau. In sooth, not well, 
 
 She is so over-sad. 
 
 Bass. Leave chattering, magpie. 
 
 Thy brother is returned, sweet, safe, and honoured 
 With a triumphant victory ; thou shalt visit him :
 
 SCENE I.] THE BROKEN HEART. 209 
 
 We will to court, where, if it be thy pleasure, 
 Thou shalt appear in such a ravishing lustre 
 Of jewels above value, that the dames 
 Who brave it there, in rage to be outshined, 
 Shall hide them in their closets, and unseen 
 Fret in their tears ; whiles every wondering eye 
 Shall crave none other brightness but thy presence. 
 Choose thine own recreations ; be a queen 
 Of what delights thou fanciest best, what company, 
 What place, what times ; do anything, do all things 
 Youth can command, so thou wilt chase these clouds 
 From the pure firmament of thy fair looks. 
 
 Grau. Now 'tis well said, my lord. What, lady! laugh, 
 Be merry ; time is precious. 
 
 Bass. \Aside\ Furies whip thee ! 
 
 Pen. Alas, my lord, this language to your hand-maid 
 Sounds as would music to the deaf; I need 
 No braveries nor cost of art to draw 
 The whiteness of my name into offence : 
 Let such, if any such there are, who covet 
 A curiosity of admiration, 
 By laying-out their plenty to full view, 
 Appear in gaudy outsides ; my attires 
 Shall suit the inward fashion of my mind ; 
 From which, if your opinion, nobly placed, 
 Change not the livery your words bestow, 
 My fortunes with my hopes are at the highest. 
 
 Bass. This house, methinks, stands somewhat too much 
 
 inward, 
 
 It is too melancholy ; we'll remove 
 Nearer the court : or what thinks my Penthea 
 Of the delightful island we command ? 
 Rule me as thou canst wish. 
 
 Pen. I am no mistress : 
 
 Whither you please, I must attend ; all ways 
 Are alike pleasant to me. 
 
 Grau. Island ! prison ; 
 
 Ford. p
 
 210 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT n. 
 
 A prison is as gaysome : we'll no islands ; 
 Marry, out upon 'em ! whom shall we see there ? 
 Sea-gulls, and porpoises, and water-rats, 
 And crabs, and mews, and dog-fish ; goodly gear 
 For a young lady's dealing, or an old one's ! 
 On no terms islands ; I'll be stewed first. 
 
 Bass. [Aside to GRAUSIS] Grausis, 
 
 You are a juggling bawd. This sadness, sweetest, 
 Becomes not youthful blood.- [Aside to GRAUSIS] I'll 
 
 have you pounded. 
 
 For my sake put on a more cheerful mirth ; 
 Thou'lt mar thy cheeks, and make me old in griefs. 
 [Aside to GRAUSIS] Damnable bitch-fox ! 
 
 Grau. I am thick of hearing, 
 
 Still, when the wind blows southerly. What think ye, 
 If your fresh lady breed young bones, my lord ! 
 Would not a chopping boy d'ye good at heart ? 
 But, as you said 
 
 Bass. [Aside to GRAUSIS] I'll spit thee on a stake, 
 Or chop thee into collops ! 
 
 Grau. Pray, speak louder. 
 
 Sure, sure the wind blows south still. 
 
 Pen. Thou prat'st madly. 
 
 Bass. 'Tis very hot ; I sweat extremely. 
 
 Re-enter PHULAS. 
 
 Now ? 
 
 Phu. A herd of lords, sir. 
 
 Bass. Ha ! 
 
 Phu. A flock of ladies. 
 
 Bass. Where ? 
 
 Phu. Shoals of horses. 
 
 Bass. Peasant, how ? 
 
 Phu. Caroches l 
 
 In drifts ; the one enter, the other stand without, sir : 
 And now I vanish. [Exit. 
 
 1 Coaches.
 
 SCENE I.] THE BROKEN HEART. 211 
 
 Enter PROPHILUS, HEMOPHIL, GRONEAS, CHRISTALLA, 
 and PHILEMA. 
 
 Pro, Noble Bassanes ! 
 
 Bass. Most welcome, Prophilus ; ladies, gentlemen, 
 To all my heart is open ; you all honour me, 
 \Aside\ A tympany swells in my head already, 
 Honour me bountifully. \_Aside\ How they flutter, 
 Wagtails and jays together ! 
 
 Pro. From your brother 
 
 By virtue of your love to him, I require 
 Your instant presence, fairest. 
 
 Pen. He is well, sir ? 
 
 Pro. The gods preserve him ever ! Yet, dear beauty, 
 I find some alteration in him lately, 
 Since his return to Sparta. My good lord, 
 I pray, use no delay. 
 
 Bass. We had not needed 
 
 An invitation, if his sister's health 
 Had not fall'n into question. Haste, Penthea, 
 Slack not a minute. Lead the way, good Prophilus ; 
 I'll follow step by step. 
 
 Pro. Your arm, fair madam. 
 
 {Exeunt all but BASSANES and GRAUSIS. 
 
 Bass. One word with your old bawdship : th' hadst 
 
 been better 
 
 Railed at the sins l thou worshipp'st than have thwarted 
 My will : I'll use thee cursedly 
 
 Grau. You dote, 
 
 You are beside yourself. A politician 
 In jealousy ? no, you're too gross, too vulgar. 
 Pish, teach not me my trade ; I know my cue : 
 My crossing you sinks me into her trust, 
 By which I shall know all ; my trade's a sure one. 
 
 Bass. Forgive me, Grausis, 'twas consideration 
 I relished, not ; but have a care now. 
 
 1 Altered by Gifford to " saints."
 
 212 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT n. 
 
 Grau. Fear not, 
 
 I am no new- come-to' t. 
 
 Bass. Thy life's upon it, 
 
 And so is mine. My agonies are infinite. \_Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. The Palace. ITHOCLES' Apartment. 
 Enter ITHOCLES. 
 
 Ith. Ambition ! 'tis of vipers' breed : it gnaws 
 A passage through the womb that gave it motion. 
 Ambition, like a seeled * dove, mounts upward, 
 Higher and higher still, to perch on clouds, 
 But tumbles headlong down with heavier ruin. 
 So squibs and crackers fly into the air, 
 Then, only breaking with a noise, they vanish 
 / In stench and smoke. Morality, applied 
 To timely practice, keeps the soul in tune, 
 At whose sweet music all our actions dance : 
 But this is formed of books and school-tradition ; 
 It physics not the sickness of a mind 
 Broken with griefs : strong fevers are not eased 
 With counsel, but with best receipts and means ; 
 Means, speedy means and certain ; that's the cure. 
 
 Enter ARMOSTES and CROTOLON. 
 
 Arm. You stick, Lord Crotolon, upon a point 
 Too nice and too unnecessary ; Prophilus 
 Is every way desertful. I am confident 
 Your wisdom is too ripe to need instruction 
 From your son's tutelage. 
 
 Crot. Yet not so ripe, 
 
 My Lord Armostes, that it dare to dote 
 Upon the painted meat 2 of smooth persuasion, 
 Which tempts me to a breach of faith. 
 
 1 Blinded by sewing up the eye-lids. - ? Bait.
 
 SCENE ii.] THE BROKEN HEART. 213 
 
 Ith. Not yet 
 
 Resolved, my lord ? Why, if your son's consent 
 Be so available, we'll write to Athens 
 For his repair to Sparta : the king's hand 
 Will join with our desires ; he has been moved to't. 
 
 Arm. Yes, and the king himself imp6rtuned Crotolon 
 For a dispatch. 
 
 Crot. Kings may command ; their wills 
 
 Are laws not to be questioned. 
 
 Ith. By this marriage 
 
 You knit an union so devout, so hearty, 
 Between your loves to me and mine to yours, 
 As if mine own blood had an interest in it ; 
 For Prophilus is mine, and I am his. 
 
 Crot. My lord, my lord ! 
 
 ////. What, good sir ? speak your thought. 
 
 Crot. Had this sincerity been real once, 
 My Orgilus had not been now unwived, 
 Nor your lost sister buried in a bride-bed : 
 Your uncle here, Armostes, knows this truth ; 
 For had your father Thrasus lived, tut peace 
 Dwell in his grave ! I've done. 
 
 Arm. You're bold and bitter. 
 
 Ith. [Aside]. He presses home the injury; it smarts. 
 No reprehensions, uncle ; I deserve 'em, 
 Yet, gentle sir, consider what the heat 
 Of an unsteady youth, a giddy brain, 
 Green indiscretion, flattery of greatness, 
 Rawness of judgment, wilfulness in folly, 
 Thoughts vagrant as the wind and as uncertain, 
 Might lead a boy in years to : 'twas a fault, 
 A capital fault ; for then I could not dive 
 Into the secrets of commanding love ; 
 Since when experience, by the extremes in others, 
 Hath forced me collect and, trust me, Crotolon, 
 I will redeem those wrongs with any service 
 Your satisfaction can require for current.
 
 2i 4 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT n. 
 
 Arm. The acknowledgment is satisfaction : 
 What would you more ? 
 
 Crot. I'm conquered : if Euphranea 
 
 Herself admit the motion, let it be so ; 
 I doubt not my son's liking. 
 
 ////. Use my fortunes, 
 
 Life, power, sword, and heart, all are your own. 
 
 Arm, The princess, with your sister. 
 
 Enter CALANTHA, PENTHEA, EUPHRANEA, CHRISTALLA, 
 PHILEMA, GRAUSIS, BASSANES, and PROPHILUS. 
 
 Cal, I present ye 
 
 A stranger here in court, my lord ; for did not 
 Desire of seeing you draw her abroad, 
 We had not been made happy in her company. 
 
 Ith. You are a gracious princess.- Sister, wedlock 
 Holds too severe a passion in your nature, 
 Which can engross all duty to your husband, 
 Without attendance on so dear a mistress. 
 [To BASSANES] 'Tis not my brother's pleasure, I presume, 
 T' immure her in a chamber. 
 
 Bass. 'Tis her will ; 
 
 She governs her own hours. Noble Ithocles, 
 We thank the gods for your success and welfare : 
 Our lady has of late been indisposed, 
 Else we had waited on you with the first. 
 
 Ith, How does Penthea now ? 
 
 Pen, You best know, brother, 
 
 From whom my health and comforts are derived. 
 
 Bass. [Aside.] I like the answer well ; 'tis sad and 
 
 modest. 
 There may be tricks yet, tricks. Have an eye, Grausis ! 
 
 Cal. Now, Crotolon, the suit we joined in must not 
 Fall by too long demur. 
 
 Crot. 'Tis granted, princess, 
 
 For my part. 
 
 Arm. With condition, that his son 
 
 Favour the contract.
 
 SCENE II.] THE BROKEN HEART. 215 
 
 Cat. Such delay is easy. 
 
 The joys of marriage make thee, Prophilus, 
 A proud deserver of Euphranea's love, 
 And her of thy desert ! 
 
 Pro. Most sweetly gracious ! 
 
 .Bass. The joys of marriage are the heaven on earth, 
 Life's paradise, great princess, the soul's quiet, 
 Sinews of concord, earthly immortality, 
 Eternity oifpleasures ; no restoratives^ 
 Like to a constant woman ! \Aside\ But where is she ? 
 'Twould puzzle all the gods but to create 
 Such a new monster. I can speak by proof, 
 For I rest in Elysium ; 'tis my happiness. 
 
 Crot. Euphranea, how are you resolved, speak freely, 
 In your affections to this gentleman ? 
 
 Euph. Nor more nor less than as his love assures me ; 
 Which if your liking with my brother's warrants 
 I cannot but approve in all points worthy. 
 
 Crot. So, so ! \To PROPHILUS] I know your answer. 
 
 Ith. 'T had been pity 
 
 To sunder hearts so equally consented. 
 
 Enter HEMOPHIL. 
 
 Hem. The king, Lord Ithocles, commands your pre- 
 sence ; 
 And, fairest princess, yours. 
 
 Cal. We will attend him. 
 
 Enter GRONEAS. 
 
 Gro. Where are the lords ? all must unto the king 
 Without delay : the Prince of Argos 
 
 Cal. Well, sir ? 
 
 Gro. Is coming to the court, sweet lady. 
 
 Cal. How 
 
 The Prince of Argos ? 
 
 Gro. 'Twas my fortune, madam, 
 
 T' enjoy the honour of these happy tidings.
 
 216 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT 1 1. 
 
 ////. Penthea! 
 
 Pen. Brother ? 
 
 Ith. Let me an hour hence 
 
 Meet you alone within the palace-grove ; 
 I have some secret with you. Prithee, friend, 
 Conduct her thither, and have special care 
 The walks be cleared of any to disturb us. 
 
 Pro. I shall. 
 
 Bass. [Aside] How's that ? 
 
 Ith. Alone, pray be alone. 
 
 I am your creature, princess. On, my lords ! 
 
 [Exeunt all but BASSANES. 
 
 Bass. Alone ! alone ! what means that word " alone " ? 
 Why might not I be there ? hum ! he's her brother. 
 Brothers and sisters are but flesh and blood, 
 And this same whoreson court-ease is temptation 
 To a rebellion in the veins ; besides, 
 His fine friend Prophilus must be her guardian : 
 Why may not he dispatch a business nimbly 
 Before the other come ? or pandering, pandering 
 For one another, be't to sister, mother, 
 Wife, cousin, anything, 'mongst youths of mettle 
 Is in request ; it is so stubborn fate ! 
 But if I be a cuckold, and can know it, . 
 I will be fell, and fell. 
 
 Re-enter GRONEAS. 
 
 Gro. My lord, you're called for. 
 
 Bass. Most heartily I thank ye. Where's my wife, 
 pray? 
 
 Gro. Retired amongst the ladies. 
 
 Bass. Still I thank ye. 
 
 There's an old waiter with her ; saw you her too ? 
 
 Gro. She sits i' the presence-lobby fast asleep, sir. 
 
 Bass. Asleep ! asleep, sir ! 
 
 Gro. Is your lordship troubled ? 
 
 You will not to the king ?
 
 SCENE in.] THE BROKEN HEART. - 217 
 
 Bass. Your humblest vassal. 
 
 Gro. Your servant, my good lord. 
 Bass. I wait your footsteps. 
 
 \_Exennt. 
 
 SCENE III. -The Gardens of 'the Palace. A Grove. 
 Enter PROPHILUS and PENTHEA. 
 
 Pro. In this walk, lady, will your brother find you : 
 And, with your favour, give me leave a little 
 To work a preparation. In his fashion 
 I have observed of late some kind of slackness 
 To such alacrity as nature once 
 And custom took delight in ; sadness grows 
 Upon his recreations, which he hoards 
 In such a willing silence, that to question 
 The grounds will argue little skill in friendship, 
 And less good manners. 
 
 Pen. Sir, I'm not inquisitive 
 
 Of secrecies without an invitation. 
 
 Pro. With pardon, lady, not a syllable 
 Of mine implies so rude a sense ; the drift 
 
 Enter ORGILUS, disguised as before. 
 
 [To Org.} Do thy best 
 
 To make this lady merry for an hour. 
 
 Org. Your will shall be a law, sir. '\Exit PROPHILUS. 
 
 Pen. Prithee, leave me ; 
 
 I have some private thoughts I would account with ; 
 Use thou thine own. 
 
 Org. Speak on, fair nymph ; our souls 
 
 Can dance as well to music of the spheres 
 As any's who have feasted with the gods. 
 
 Pen. Your school-terms are too troublesome. 
 
 Org. What Heaven 
 
 Refines mortality from dross of earth
 
 218 *" THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT II. 
 
 But such as uncompounded beauty hallows 
 With glorified perfection ? 
 
 Pen. Set thy wits 
 
 In-a less wild proportion. 
 
 Org. Time can never 
 
 On the white table of unguilty faith 
 Write counterfeit dishonour ; turn those eyes, 
 The arrows of pure love, upon that fire, 
 Which once rose to a flame, perfumed with vows 
 As sweetly scented as the incense smoking 
 
 On Vesta's altars, 
 
 . . . the holiest odours, virgin's tears, 
 
 . . . . sprinkled, like dews, to feed them 
 
 And to increase their fervour. 
 
 Pen. Be not frantic, 
 
 Org. All pleasures are but mere imagination, 
 Feeding the hungry appetite with steam 
 And sight of banquet, whilst the body pines, 
 Not relishing the real taste of food : 
 Such is the leanness of a heart divided 
 From intercourse of troth-contracted loves ; 
 No horror should deface that precious figure 
 Sealed with the lively stamp of equal souls. 
 
 Pen. Away ! some Fury hath bewitched thy tongue : 
 The breath of ignorance, that flies from thence, 
 Ripens a knowledge in me of afflictions 
 Above all sufferance. Thing of talk, begone ! 
 Begone, without reply ! 
 
 Org. Be just, Penthea, 
 
 In thy commands ; when thou send'st forth a doom 
 Of banishment, know first on whom it lights. 
 Thus I take off the shroud, in which my cares 
 
 1 This passage is corrupt ; it was amended by Gifford ; the old 
 copy reads, 
 
 " as the incense smoking 
 The holiest artars, virgin tears (like 
 On Vesta's odours) sprinkled dews to feed 'em, 
 And to increase," &c.
 
 SCENE in .] THE BR OKEN HEART. 2 1 9 
 
 Are folded up from view of common eyes. 
 
 [Throws off his Scholar's dress. 
 What is thy sentence next ? 
 
 Pen. Rash man ! thou lay'st 
 
 A blemish on mine honour, with the hazard 
 Of thy too-desperate life : yet I profess, 
 By all the laws of ceremonious wedlock, 
 I have not given admittance to one thought 
 Of female change since cruelty enforced 
 Divorce betwixt my body and my heart. 
 Why would you fall from goodness thus ? 
 
 Org. O, rather 
 
 Examine me, how I could live to say 
 I have been much, much wronged. Tis for thy sake 
 I put on this imposture : dear Penthea, 
 If thy soft bosom be not turned to marble, 
 Thou'lt pity our calamities ; my interest 
 Confirms me thou art mine still. 
 
 Pen. Lend your hand ; 
 
 With both of mine I clasp it thus, thus kiss it, 
 Thus kneel before ye. [PENTHEA kneels. 
 
 Org. You instruct my duty. [ORGILUS kneels. 
 
 Pen. We may stand up. [They rise. ~\ Have you aught 
 
 else to urge 
 
 Of new demand ? as for the old, forget it ; 
 'Tis buried in an everlasting silence, 
 And shall be, shall be ever : what more would ye ? 
 
 Org. I would possess my wife ; the equity 
 Of very reason bids me. 
 
 Pen. Is that all ? 
 
 Org. Why, 'tis the all of me, myself. 
 
 Pen. Remove 
 
 Your steps some distance from me : at this space 
 A few words I dare change ; but first put on 
 Your borrowed shape. 
 
 Org. You are obeyed ; 'tis done. 
 
 [He resumes his disguise.
 
 220 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT n. 
 
 Pen. How, Orgilus, by promise I was thine 
 The heavens do witness ; they can witness too 
 A rape done on my truth : how I do love thee 
 Yet, Orgilus, and yet, must best appear 
 In tendering thy freedom ; for I find 
 The constant preservation of thy merit, 
 ' By thy not daring to attempt my fame 
 With injury of any loose conceit, 
 Which might give deeper wounds to discontents. 
 Continue this fair race : then, though I cannot 
 Add to thy comfort, yet I shall more often 
 Remember from what fortune I am fall'n, 
 And pity mine own ruin. Live, live happy, 
 Happy in thy next choice, that thou mayst people 
 This barren age with virtues in thy issue ! 
 And 0, when thou art married, think on me 
 With mercy, not contempt ! I hope thy wife, 
 Hearing my story, will not scorn my fall. 
 Now let us part. 
 
 Org. Part ! yet advise thee better : 
 
 Penthea is the wife to Orgilus, 
 And ever shall be. 
 
 Pen. Never shall nor will. 
 
 Org. How ! 
 
 Pen. Hear me ; in a word I'll tell thee why. 
 
 The virgin-dowry which my birth bestowed 
 Is ravished by another ; my true love 
 Abhors to think that Orgilus deserved 
 No better favours than a second bed. 
 
 Org. I must not take this reason. 
 
 Pen. To confirm it ; 
 
 Should I outlive my bondage, let me meet 
 Another worse than this and less desired, 
 If, of all men alive, thou shouldst but touch 
 My lip or hand again ! 
 
 Org. Penthea, now 
 
 I tell ye, you grow wanton in my sufferance : 
 Come, sweet, thou'rt mine.
 
 SCENE in.] THE BROKEN HEART. 221 
 
 Pen. Uncivil sir, forbear ! 
 
 Or I can turn affection into vengeance ; 
 Your reputation, if you value any, 
 Lies bleeding at my feet. Unworthy man, 
 If ever henceforth thou appear in language, 
 Message, or letter, to betray my frailty, 
 I'll call thy former protestations lust, 
 And curse my stars for forfeit of my judgment. 
 Go thou, fit only for disguise, and walks, 
 To hide thy shame : this once I spare thy life. 
 I laugh at mine own confidence ; my sorrows 
 By thee are made inferior to my fortunes. 
 If ever thou didst harbour worthy love, 
 Dare not to answer. My good genius guide me, 
 That I may never see thee more ! Go from me ! 
 
 Org. I'll tear my veil of politic French off, 
 And stand up like a man resolved to do : 
 Action, not words, shall show me. O Penthea ! [xit. 
 
 Pen. He sighed my name, sure, as he parted from 
 
 me : 
 
 I fear I was too rough. Alas, poor gentleman ! 
 He looked not like the ruins of his youth, 
 But like the ruins of those ruins. Honour, 
 How much we fight with weakness to preserve thee ! 
 
 [ Walks aside. 
 Enter BASSANES and GRAUSIS. 
 
 Bass Fie on thee ! damn thee, rotten maggot, damn 
 
 thee ! 
 
 Sleep? sleep at court ? and now? Aches, 1 convulsions, 
 Imposthumes, rheums, gouts, palsies, clog thy bones 
 A dozen years more yet ! 
 
 Grau. Now you're in humours. 
 
 Bass. She's by herself, there's hope of that ; she's sad 
 
 too ; 
 
 She's in strong contemplation ; yes, and fixed : 
 The signs are wholesome. 
 
 1 The word was pronounced as a dissyllable, aitches.
 
 222 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT n. 
 
 Gau. Very wholesome, truly. 
 
 Bass. Hold your chops, nightmare ! Lady, come ; 
 
 your brother 
 Is carried to his closet ; you must thither. 
 
 Pen. Not well, my lord ? 
 
 Bass. A sudden fit ; 'twill off ! 
 
 Some surfeit or disorder. How dost, dearest ? 
 
 Pen. Your news is none o' the best. 
 
 Re-enter PROPHILUS. 
 
 Pro. The chief of men, 
 
 The excellentest Ithocles, desires 
 Your presence, madam. 
 
 Bass. We are hasting to him. 
 
 Pen. In vain we labour in this course of life 
 To piece our journey out at length, or crave 
 Respite of breath : our home is in the grave. 
 
 Bass, Perfect philosophy ! 
 
 Pen, Then let us care 
 
 To live so, that our reckonings may fall even 
 When we're to make account. 
 
 Pro. He cannot fear 
 
 Who builds on noble grounds : sickness or pain 
 Is the deserver's exercise ; and such 
 Your virtuous brother to the world is known. 
 Speak comfort to him, lady ; be all gentle : 
 Stars fall but in the grossness of our sight ; 
 A good man dying, the earth doth lose a light. 
 
 {Exeunt.
 
 ACT THE THIRD. 
 
 SCENE I. The Study 0/TECNicus. 
 Enter TECNICUS, and ORGILUS in his usual dress. 
 
 EC. Be well advised ; let not a resolu- 
 tion 
 
 Of giddy rashness choke the breath 
 of reason. 
 
 Org. It shall not, most sage master. 
 Tec. I am jealous ; * 
 
 For if the borrowed shape so late put 
 
 Inferred a consequence, we must conclude 
 Some violent design of sudden nature 
 Hath shook that shadow off, to fly upon 
 A new-hatched execution. Orgilus, 
 Take heed thou hast not, under our integrity, 
 Shrouded unlawful plots ; our mortal eyes 
 Pierce not the secrets of your heart, the gods 
 Are only privy to them. 
 
 Org. Learned Tecnicus, 
 
 Such doubts are causeless ; and, to clear the truth 
 From misconceit, the present state commands me. 
 The Prince of Argos comes himself in person 
 In quest of great Calantha for his bride, 
 Our kingdom's heir ; besides, mine only sister, 
 Euphranea, is disposed to Prophilus ; 
 Lastly, the king is sending letters for me 
 To Athens, for my quick repair to court : 
 
 1 Suspicious. 
 
 [on
 
 224 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT in. 
 
 Please to accept these reasons. 
 
 Tec. Just ones, Orgilus, 
 
 Not to be contradicted : yet beware 
 Of an unsure foundation ; no fair colours 
 Can fortify a building faintly jointed. 
 I have observed a growth in thy aspe'ct 
 Of dangerous extent, sudden, and look to't 
 I might add, certain 
 
 Org. My aspe'ct ! could art 
 
 Run through mine inmost thoughts, it should not sift 
 An inclination there more than what suited 
 With justice of mine honour. 
 
 Tec. I believe it. 
 
 But know then, Orgilus, what honour is : 
 Honour consists not in a bare opinion 
 By doing any act that feeds content, 
 Brave in appearance, 'cause we think it brave ; 
 Such honour comes by accident, not nature, 
 Proceeding from the vices of our passion, 
 Which makes our reason drunk : but real honour 
 Is the reward of virtue, and acquired 
 By justice, or by valour which for basis 
 Hath justice to uphold it. He then fails 
 In honour, who for lucre or revenge 
 Commits thefts, murders, treasons, and adulteries, 
 With suchlike, by intrenching on just laws, 
 Whose sovereignty is best preserved by justice. 
 Thus, as you see how honour must be grounded 
 On knowledge, not opinion, for opinion 
 Relies on probability and accident, 
 But knowledge on necessity and truth, 
 I leave thee to the fit consideration 
 Of what becomes the grace of real honour, 
 Wishing success to all thy virtuous meanings. 
 
 Org. The gods increase thy wisdom, reverend oracle, 
 And in thy precepts make me ever thrifty ! 
 
 Tec. I thank thy wish. [Exit ORGILUS.
 
 SCENE I.] THE BROKEN HEART. 225 
 
 I 
 
 Much mystery of fate 
 Lies hid in that man's fortunes ; curiosity 
 May lead his actions into rare attempts : 
 But let the gods be moderators still ; 
 No human power can prevent their will. 
 
 Enter ARMOSTES with a casket. 
 
 From whence come ye ? 
 
 Ann. From King Amyclas, pardon 
 
 My interruption of your studies. Here, 
 In this sealed box, he sends a treasure to you, 
 Dear to him as his crown : he prays your- gravity, 
 You would examine, ponder, sift, and bolt 
 The pith and circumstance of every tittle 
 The scroll within contains. 
 
 Tec. What is't, Armostes ? 
 
 Arm. It is the health of Sparta, the king's life, 
 Sinews and safety of the commonwealth ;' 
 The sum of what the oracle delivered 
 When last he visited the prophetic temple 
 At Delphos : what his reasons are, for which, 
 After so long a silence, he requires 
 Your counsel now, grave man, his majesty 
 Will soon himself acquaint you with. 
 
 Tec. Apollo [He takes the casket. 
 
 Inspire my intellect ! The Prince of Argos 
 Is entertained ? 
 
 Arm. He is ; and has demanded 
 
 Our princess for his wife ; which I conceive 
 One special cause the king importunes you 
 For resolution of the oracle. 
 
 Tec. My ddty to the king, good peace to Sparta, 
 And fair day to Armostes ! 
 
 Ann. Like to Tecnicus ! \Exeunt. 
 
 Ford.
 
 226 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT HI. 
 
 SCENE \\.-ThePalace. ITHOCLES' Apartment. 
 
 Soft music. A song within, during which PROPHILUS, 
 BASSANES, PENTHEA, and GRAUSIS pass over the 
 stage. BASSANES and GRAUSIS re-enter softly, and 
 listen in different places. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Can you paint a thought ? or number 
 Every fancy in a slumber ? 
 Can you count soft minutes roving 
 From a dial's point by moving ? 
 Can you grasp a sigh ? or, lastly, 
 Rob a virgin's honour chastely ? 
 
 No, O, no ! yet you may 
 Sooner do both that and this, 
 This and that, and never miss, 
 
 Than by any praise display 
 Beauty's beauty ; such a glory, 
 As beyond all fate, all story, 
 All arms, all arts, 
 All loves, all hearts, 
 Greater than those or they, 
 Do, shall, and must obey. 
 
 JBass. All silent, calm, secure. Grausis, no creaking ? 
 No noise ? dost hear nothing ? 
 
 Grau. Not a mouse, 
 
 Or whisper of the wind. 
 
 Bass. The floor is matted ; 
 
 The bedposts sure are steel or marble. Soldiers 
 Should not affect, methinks, strains so effeminate : 
 Sounds of such delicacy are but fawnings 
 Upon the sloth of luxury, they heighten 
 Cinders of covert lust up to a flame. 
 
 Grau. What do you mean, my lord ? speak low ; that 
 
 gabbling 
 Of yours will but undo us.
 
 SCENE II.] THE BROKEN HEART. 227 
 
 Bass. Chamber-combats 
 
 Are felt, not heard. 
 
 Pro. [ Within] He wakes. 
 
 Bass. What's that ? 
 
 ////. [ Within] Who's there ? 
 
 Sister ? All quit the room else. 
 
 Bass. "Tis consented ! 
 
 Re-enter PROPHILUS. 
 
 Pro. Lord Bassanes, your brother would be private, 
 We must forbear ; his sleep hath newly left him. 
 Please ye withdraw. 
 
 Bass. By any means ; 'tis fit. 
 
 Pro. Pray, gentlewoman, walk too. 
 
 Grau. Yes, I will, sir. [Exeunt. 
 
 The scene opens ; ITHOCLES is discovered in a chair, and 
 PENTHEA beside him. 
 
 Ith. Sit nearer, sister to me; nearer yet : 
 We had one father, in one womb took life, 
 Were brought up twins together, yet have lived 
 At distance, like two strangers : I could wish 
 That the first pillow whereon I was cradled 
 Had proved to me a grave. 
 
 Pen. You had been happy : v 
 
 Then had you never known that sin of life 
 Which blots all following glories with a vengeance, 
 For forfeiting the last will of the dead, 
 From whom you had your being. 
 
 ////. Sad Penthea, 
 
 Thwi canst not be too cruel ; my rash spleen 
 Hath with a violent hand plucked from thy bosom 
 A love-blest heart, to grind it into dust ; 
 For which mine's now a-breaking. 
 
 Pen. Not yet, Heaven, 
 
 I do beseech thee ! first let some wild fires 
 Scorch, not consume it ! may the heat be cherished
 
 228 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT ill. 
 
 With desires infinite, but hopes impossible ! 
 
 ////. Wronged soul, thy prayers are heard. 
 
 Pen. Here, lo, I breathe, 
 
 A miserable creature, led to ruin 
 By an unnatural brother ! 
 
 Ith. I consume 
 
 In languishing affections for that trespass ; 
 Yet cannot die. 
 
 Pen. The handmaid to the wages 
 
 Of country toil drinks the untroubled streams 
 With leaping kids and with the bleating lambs, 
 And so allays her thirst secure ; whiles I 
 Quench my hot sighs with fleetings of my tears. 
 
 Ith. The labourer doth eat his coarsest bread, 
 Earned with his sweat, and lies him down to sleep ; 
 While every bit I touch turns in digestion 
 To gall as bitter as Penthea's curse. 
 Put me to any penance for my tyranny, 
 And I will call thee merciful. 
 
 Pen. Pray kill me, 
 
 Rid me from living with a jealous husband ; 
 Then we will join in friendship, be again 
 Brother and sister. Kill me, pray ; nay, will ye ? 
 
 Ith. How does thy lord esteem thee ? 
 
 Pen. Such an one 
 
 As only you have made me ; a faith -breaker, 
 A spotted whore : forgive me, I am one 
 In act, not in desires, the gods must witness. 
 
 1th. Thou dost belie thy friend. 
 
 Pen. I do not, Ithocles ; 
 
 For she that's wile to Orgilus, and lives 
 In known adultery with Bassanes, 
 Is at the best a whore. Wilt kill me now ? 
 The ashes of our parents will assume 
 Some dreadful figure, and appear to charge 
 Thy bloody guilt, that hast betrayed their name 
 To infamy in this reproachful match.
 
 SCENE ii.] THE BROKEN HEART. 229 
 
 ////. After my victories abroad, at home 
 I meet despair ; ingratitude of nature 
 Hath made my actions monstrous : thou shalt stand 
 A deity, my sister, and be worshipped 
 For thy resolved martyrdom ; wronged maids 
 And married wives shall to thy hallowed shrine 
 Offer their orisons, and sacrifice 
 Pure turtles, crowned with myrtle ; if thy pity 
 Unto a yielding brother's pressure lend 
 One finger but to ease it. 
 
 Pen. O, no more ! 
 
 ///;. Death waits to waft me to the Stygian banks, 
 And free me from this chaos of my bondage ; 
 And till thou wilt forgive, I rmist endure. 
 
 Pen. Who is the saint you serve ? 
 
 Ith. Friendship, or nearness 
 
 Of birth to any but my sister, durst not 
 Have moved that question ; 'tis a secret, sister, 
 I dare not murmur to myself. 
 
 Pen. Let me, 
 
 By your new protestations I conjure ye, 
 Partake her name. 
 
 ////. Her name ? 'tis 'tis I dare not. 
 
 Pen. All your respects are forged. 
 
 ////. They are not. Peace ! 
 
 Calantha is the princess the king's daughter 
 Sole heir of Sparta.- Me, most miserable ! 
 Do I now love thee ? for my injuries 
 Revenge thyself with bravery, and gossip 
 My treasons to the king's ears, do : Calantha 
 Knows it not yet, nor Prophilus, my nearest. 
 
 Pen. Suppose you were contracted to her, would it 
 
 not 
 
 Split even your very soul to see her father 
 Snatch her out of your arms against her will, 
 And force her on the Prince of Argos ? 
 
 ////. Trouble not
 
 2 3 o THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT HI. 
 
 The fountains of mine eyes 'with thine own story ; 
 I sweat in blood for't. 
 
 Pen. We are reconciled. 
 
 Alas, sir, being children, but two branches 
 Of one stock, 'tis not fit we should divide : 
 Have comfort, you may find it. 
 
 Ith. Yes, in thee ; 
 
 Only in thee, Penthea mine. 
 
 Pen. If sorrows 
 
 Have not too much dulled my infected brain, 
 I'll cheer invention for an active strain. 
 
 Ith. Mad man ! why have I wronged a maid so 
 excellent ! 
 
 BASSANES rushes in with *a poniard, followed by PRO- 
 PHILUS, GRONEAS, HEMOPHIL, and GRAUSIS. 
 
 Bass. I can forbear no longer ; more, I will not : 
 Keep off your hands, or fall upon my point. 
 Patience is tired ; for, like a slow-paced ass, 
 Ye ride my easy nature, and proclaim 
 My sloth to vengeance a reproach and property. 
 
 Ith. The meaning of this rudeness ? 
 
 Pro. He's distracted. 
 
 Pen. O, my grieved lord ! 
 
 Grau. Sweet lady, come not near him ; 
 
 He holds his perilous weapon in his hand 
 To prick he cares not whom nor where, see, see, see ! 
 
 Bass. My birth is noble : though the popular blast 
 Of vanity, as giddy as thy youth, 
 Hath reared thy name up to bestride a cloud, 
 Or progress * in the chariot of the sun, 
 I am no clod of trade, to lackey pride, 
 
 1 This passage is not without curiosity as tending to prove that 
 some of the words now supposed to be Americanisms were in use 
 among our ancestors, and crossed the Atlantic with them. It is 
 not, generally known that Ford's county (Devonshire) supplied a 
 very considerable number of the earlier settlers in the Colonies. 
 Gifford.
 
 SCENE II.] THE BROKEN HEART. 231 
 
 Nor, like your slave of expectation, wait 
 The bawdy hinges of your doors, or whistle 
 For mystical conveyance to your bed-sports. 
 
 Gro, Fine humours ! they become him. 
 
 Hem, How he stares, 
 
 Struts, puffs, and sweats ! most admirable lunacy ! 
 
 Ith. But that I may conceive the spirit of wine 
 Has took possession of your soberer custom, 
 I'd say you were unmannerly. 
 
 Pen. Dear brother ! 
 
 Bass. Unmannerly ! mew, kitling ! smooth formality 
 Is usher to the rankness of the blood, 
 But impudence bears up the train. Indeed, sir, 
 Your fiery mettle, or your springal blaze 
 Of huge renown, is no sufficient royalty 
 To print upon my forehead the scorn, "cuckold." 
 
 Ith. His jealousy has robbed him of his wits ; 
 He talks he knows not what. 
 
 Bass. Yes, and he knows 
 
 To whom he talks ; to one that franks his lust 
 In swine-security * of bestial incest. 
 
 ////. Ha, devil ! 
 
 Bass. I will haloo't ; though I blush more 
 
 To name the filthiness than thou to act it. 
 
 Ith. Monster ! [Draws his sword. 
 
 Pro. Sir, by our friendship 
 
 Pen. By our bloods 
 
 Will you quite both undo us, brother ? 
 
 Grau. Out on him ! 
 
 These are his megrims, firks, 2 and melancholies. 
 
 Hem. Well said, old touch-hole. 
 
 Gro. Kick him out of doors. 
 
 1 Bassanes alludes to the small enclosures " franks," as dis- 
 tinguished from " styes"- in which boars were fattened. As these 
 animals were dangerous when full-fed, it was necessary to shut them 
 up alone. Gifford. 
 
 Freaks.
 
 232 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT in. 
 
 Pen. With favour, let me speak. My lord, what slack- 
 ness 
 
 In my obedience hath deserved this rage ? 
 Except humility and silent duty 
 Have drawn on your unquiet, my simplicity 
 Ne'er studied your vexation. 
 
 Bass. Light of beauty, 
 
 Deal not ungently with a desperate wound ! 
 No breach of reason dares make war with her 
 Whose looks are sovereignty, whose breath is balm : 
 O, that I could preserve thee in fruition 
 As in devotion ! 
 
 Pen. Sir, may every evil 
 
 Locked in Pandora's box shower, in your presence, 
 On my unhappy head, if, since you made me 
 A partner in your bed, I have been faulty 
 In one unseemly thought against your honour ! 
 
 Ith. Purge not his griefs, Penthea. 
 
 J3ass. Yes, say on, 
 
 Excellent creature ! \To ITHOCLES.] Good, be not a 
 
 hindrance 
 
 To peace and praise of virtue. O, my senses 
 Are .charmed with sounds celestial ! On, dear, on : 
 I never gave you one ill word ; say, did I ? 
 Indeed I did not. 
 
 Pen. Nor, by Juno's forehead, 
 
 Was I e'er guilty of a wanton error. 
 
 Bass. A goddess ! let me kneel. 
 
 Grau. Alas, kind animal ! 
 
 Ith. No ; but for penance. 
 
 Bass. Noble sir, what is it ? 
 
 With gladness I embrace it ; yet, pray let not 
 My rashness teach you to be too unmerciful. 
 
 Ith. When you shall show good proof that manly 
 
 wisdom, 
 
 Not overswayed by passion or opinion, 
 Knows how to lead your judgment, then this lady,
 
 SCENE ii.] THE BROKEN HEART. 233 
 
 Your wife, my sister, shall return in safety 
 Home, to be guided by you ; but, till first 
 I can out of clear evidence approve it, 
 She shall be my care. 
 
 Bass. Rip my bosom up, 
 
 I'll stand the execution with a constancy; 
 This torture is insufferable. 
 
 ////. Well, sir, 
 
 I dare not trust her to your fury. 
 
 Bass. But 
 
 Penthea says not so. 
 
 Pen. She needs no tongue 
 
 To plead excuse who never purposed wrong. 
 
 \_Exit with ITHOCLES and PROPHILUS. 
 
 Hem. Virgin of reverence and antiquity, 
 Stay you behind. 
 
 [To GRAUSIS, who is following PENTHEA. 
 
 Gro. The court wants not your diligence. 
 
 \_Exeunt HEMOPHIL and GRONEAS. 
 
 Gran. What will you do, my lord ? my lady's gone 
 I am denied to follow. 
 
 Bass. I may see her, 
 
 Or speak to her once more ? 
 
 Grau. And feel her too, man ; 
 
 Be of good cheer, she's your own flesh and bone. 
 
 Bass. Diseases desperate must find cures alike. 
 She swore she has been true. 
 
 Grau. True, on my modesty. 
 
 Bass. Let him want truth who credits not her vows ! 
 Much wrong I did her, but her brother infinite ; 
 Rumour will voice me the contempt of manhood, 
 Should I run on thus : some way I must try 
 To outdo art, and jealousy decry. [Exeunt.
 
 234 THE BROKBN HEART. [ACT in. 
 
 SCENE III. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Flourish. Enter AMYCLAS, NEARCHUS, leading CALAN- 
 THA, ARMOSTES, CROTOLON, EUPHRANEA, CHRISTALLA, 
 PHILEMA, a//AMELUS. 
 
 Amy. Cousin of Argos, what the heavens have pleased, 
 In their unchanging counsels, to conclude 
 For both our kingdoms' weal, we must submit to : 
 Nor can we be unthankful to their bounties, 
 Who, when we were even creeping to our grave, 
 Sent us a daughter, in whose birth our hope 
 Continues of succession. As you are 
 In title next, being grandchild to our aunt, 
 So we in heart desire you may sit nearest 
 Calantha's love ; since we have ever vowed 
 Not to enforce affection by our will, 
 But by her own choice to confirm it gladly. 
 
 Near. You speak the nature of a right just father. 
 I come not hither roughly to demand 
 My cousin's thraldom, but to free mine own : 
 Report of great Calantha's beauty, virtue, 
 Sweetness, and singular perfections, courted 
 All ears to credit what I find was published 
 By constant truth ; from which, if any service 
 Of my desert can purchase fair construction, 
 This lady must command it. 
 
 Cal. Princely sir, 
 
 So well you know how to profess observance, 
 That you instruct your hearers to become 
 Practitioners in duty ; of which number 
 I'll study to be chief. 
 
 Near. Chief, glorious virgin, 
 
 In my devotion, as in all men's wonder. 
 
 Amy. Excellent cousin, we deny no liberty ; 
 Use thine own opportunities. Armostes, 
 We must consult with the philosophers ; 
 The business is of weight.
 
 SCENE ill.] THE BROKEN HEART. 235 
 
 Arm. Sir, at your pleasure. 
 
 Amy. You told me, Crotolon, your son's returned 
 From Athens : wherefore comes he not to court. 
 As we commanded ? 
 
 Crot. He shall soon attend 
 
 Your royal will, great sir. 
 
 Amy. The marriage 
 
 Between young Prophilus and Euphranea 
 Tastes of too much delay. 
 
 Crot. My lord, 
 
 Amy. Some pleasures 
 
 At celebration of it would give life 
 To the entertainment of the prince our kinsman ; 
 Our court wears gravity more than we relish. 
 
 Arm. Yet the heavens smile on all your high at- 
 tempts, 
 Without a cloud. 
 
 Crot. So may the gods protect us ! 
 
 Cal. A prince a subject ? 
 
 Near. Yes, to beauty's sceptre ; 
 
 As all hearts kneel, so mine. 
 
 Cal. You are too courtly. 
 
 Enter ITHOCLES, ORGILUS, and PROPHILUS. 
 
 Ith. Your safe return to Sparta is most welcome : 
 I joy to meet you here, and, as occasion 
 Shall grant us privacy, will yield you reasons 
 Why I should covet to deserve the title 
 Of your respected friend ; for, without compliment, 
 Believe it, Orgilus, 'tis my ambition. 
 
 Org. Your lordship may command me, your poor 
 servant. 
 
 ////. [Aside] So amorously close! so soon! my 
 heart ! 
 
 Pro. What sudden change is next ? 
 
 Ith. Life to the king ! 
 
 To whom I here present this noble gentleman,
 
 236 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT in. 
 
 New come from Athens : royal sir, vouchsafe 
 Your gracious hand in favour of his merit. 
 
 \The King gives ORGILUS his hand to kiss. 
 
 Crot. \Aside\ My son preferred by Ithocles ! 
 
 Amy. Our bounties 
 
 Shall open to thee, Orgilus ; for instance, 
 Hark in thine ear, if, out of those inventions 
 Which flow in Athens, thou hast there engrossed 
 Some rarity of wit, to grace the nuptials 
 Of thy fair sister, and renown our court 
 In the eyes of this young prince, we shall be debtor 
 To thy conceit : think on't. 
 
 Org. Your highness honours me. 
 
 Near. My tongue and heart are twins. 
 
 Cal, A noble birth, 
 
 Becoming such a father, Worthy Orgilus, 
 You are a guest most wished for. 
 
 Org. May my duty 
 
 Still rise in your opinion, sacred princess ! 
 
 Ith. Euphranea's brother, sir ; a gentleman 
 Well worthy of your knowledge. 
 
 Near. We embrace him, 
 
 Proud of so dear acquaintance. 
 
 Amy. All prepare 
 
 For revels and disport ; the joys of Hymen, 
 Like Phoebus in his lustre, put to flight 
 All mists of dulness, crown the hours with gladness : 
 No sounds but music, no discourse but mirth ! 
 
 Cal. Thine arm, I prithee, Ithocles. Nay, good 
 My lord, keep on your way ; I am provided. 
 
 Near. I dare not disobey, 
 
 ///;. Most heavenly lady ! 
 
 \Exciint.
 
 SCENE iv.] THE BROKEN HEAR1. 237 
 
 SCENE IV. A Room in the House of CROTOLOX. 
 
 Enter CROTOLON and ORGILUS. 
 
 Crot. The king hath spoke his mind. 
 
 Org. His will he hath ; 
 
 But were it lawful to hold plea against 
 The power of greatness, not the reason, haply 
 Such tmdershrubs as subjects sometimes might 
 Borrow of nature justice, to inform 
 That license sovereignty holds without check 
 Over a meek obedience. 
 
 Crot. How resolve you 
 
 Touching your sister's marriage ? Prophilus 
 Is a deserving and a hopeful youth. 
 
 Org. I envy not his merit, but applaud it ; 
 Could wish him thrift in all his best desires, 
 And with a willingness inleague our blood 
 With his, for purchase of full growth in friendship. 
 He never touched on any wrong that maliced 
 The honour of our house nor stirred our peace : 
 Yet, with your favour, let me not forget 
 Under whose wing he gathers warmth and comfort, 
 Whose creature he is bound, made, and must live so. 
 
 Crot. Son, son, I find in thee a harsh condition ; 3 
 No courtesy can win it, 'tis too rancorous. 
 
 Org. Good sir, be not severe in your construction ; 
 I am no stranger to such easy calms 
 As sit in tender bosoms : lordly Ithocles 
 Hath graced my entertainment in abundance ; 
 Too humbly hath descended from that height 
 Of arrogance and spleen which wrought the rape 
 On grieved Penthea's purity ; his scorn 
 Of my untoward fortunes is reclaimed 
 Unto a courtship, almost to a fawning : 
 I'll kiss his foot, since you will have it so. 
 
 Crot. Since I will have it so ! friend, I will have it so, 
 1 i.e. Disposition.
 
 238 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT ill. 
 
 Without our ruin by your politic plots, 
 Or wolf of hatred snarling in your breast. 
 You have a spirit, sir, have ye ? a familiar 
 That posts i' the air for your intelligence ? 
 Some such hobgoblin hurried you from Athens, 
 For yet you come unsent for. 
 
 Org. If unwelcome, 
 
 I might have found a grave there. 
 
 Crot. Sure, your business 
 
 Was soon dispatched, or your mind altered quickly. 
 
 Org. 'Twas care, sir, of my health cut short my journey ; 
 For there a general infection 
 Threatens a desolation. 
 
 Crot. And I fear 
 
 Thou hast brought back a worse infection with thee, 
 Infection of thy mind ; which, as thou say'st, 
 Threatens the desolation of our family. 
 
 Org. Forbid it, our dear genius ! I will rather 
 Be made a sacrifice on Thrasus' monument, 
 Or kneel to Ithocles his son in dust, 
 Than woo a father's curse. My sister's marriage 
 With Prophilus is from my heart confirmed ; 
 May I live hated, may I die despised, 
 If I omit to further it in all 
 That can concern me ! 
 
 Crot. I have been too rough. 
 
 My duty to my king made me so earnest ; 
 Excuse it, Orgilus. 
 
 Org. Dear sir ! 
 
 Crot. Here comes 
 
 Euphranea, with Prophilus and Ithocles. 
 
 Enter PROPHILUS, EUPHRANEA, ITHOCLES, GRONEAS 
 and HEMOPHIL. 
 
 Org. Most honoured ! ever famous ! 
 
 Ith. Your true friend ;- 
 
 On earth not any truer. With smooth eyes
 
 SCENE iv.] THE BROKEN HEART. 239 
 
 Look on this worthy couple ; your consent 
 Can only make them one. 
 
 Org. They have it. Sister, 
 
 Thou pawnedst to me an oath, of which engagement 
 I never will release thee, if thou aim'st 
 At any other choice than this. 
 
 Euph. Dear brother, 
 
 At him, or none. 
 
 Crot. To which my blessing's added. 
 
 Org. Which, till a greater ceremony perfect, 
 Euphranea, lend thy hand, here, take her, Prophilus : 
 Live long a happy man and wife ; and further, 
 That these in presence may conclude an omen. 
 Thus for a bridal song I close my wishes : 
 
 (Sings) Comforts lasting, loves increasing, 
 Like soft hours never ceasing : 
 Plenty's pleasure, peace complying, 
 Without jars, or tongues envying ; 
 Hearts by holy union wedded, 
 More than theirs by custom bedded ; 
 Fruitful issues ; life so graced, 
 Not by age to be defaced, 
 Budding, as the year ensu'th, 
 Every spring another youth : 
 All what thought can add beside 
 Crown this bridegroom and this bride ! 
 
 Pro. You have sealed joy close to my soul. Euphranea 
 Now I may call thee mine. 
 
 ////. I but exchange 
 
 One good friend for another. 
 
 Org. If these gallants 
 
 Will please to grace a poor invention 
 By joining with me in some slight device, 
 I'll venture on a strain my younger days 
 Have studied for delight. 
 
 Hem. With thankful willingness 
 
 I offer my attendance.
 
 240 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT in. 
 
 Gro. No endeavour 
 
 Of mine shall fail to show itself. 
 
 ////. We will 
 
 All join to wait on thy directions, Orgilus. 
 
 Org. 0, my good lord, your favours flow towards 
 A too unworthy worm ; but as you please ; 
 I am what you will shape me. 
 
 Ith. A fast friend. 
 
 Crot. I think thee, son, for this acknowledgment ; 
 It is a sight of gladness. 
 
 Org. But my duty. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. CALANTHA'S Apartment in the Palace. 
 
 Enter CALANTHA, PENTHEA, CHRISTALLA, and 
 PHILEMA. 
 
 Cal. Whoe'er would speak with us, deny his entrance ; 
 Be careful of our charge. 
 
 Chris. We shall, madam. 
 
 Cal. Except the king himself, give none admittance ; 
 Not any. 
 
 Phil. Madam, it shall be our care. 
 
 [Exeunt CHRISTALLA and PHILEMA. 
 
 Cal. Being alone, Penthea, you have granted 
 The opportunity you sought, and might 
 At all times have commanded. 
 
 Pen. Tis a benefit 
 
 Which I shall owe your goodness even in death for : 
 My glass of life, sweet princess, hath few minutes 
 Remaining to run down ; the sands are spent ; 
 For by an inward messenger I feel 
 The summons of departure short and certain. 
 
 Cal. You feel too much your melancholy. 
 
 Pen. Glories 
 
 Of human greatness are but pleasing dreams
 
 SCENE v.] THE BROKEN HEART. 241 
 
 And shadows soon decaying : on the stage 
 Of my mortality my youth hath acted 
 Some scenes of vanity, drawn out at length 
 By varied pleasures, sweetened in the mixture, 
 But tragical in issue : beauty, pomp, 
 With every sensuality our giddiness 
 Doth frame an idol, are unconstant friends, 
 When any troubled passion makes assault 
 On the unguarded castle of the mind. 
 
 Cal. Contemn not your condition for the proof 
 Of bare opinion only : to what end 
 Reach all these moral texts ? 
 
 Pen. To place before ye 
 
 A perfect mirror, wherein you may see 
 How weary I am of a lingering life, 
 Who count the best a misery. 
 
 Cal. Indeed 
 
 You have no little cause ; yet none so great 
 As to distrust a remedy. 
 
 Pen. That remedy 
 
 Must be a winding-sheet, a fold of lead, 
 And some untrod-on corner in the earth. 
 Not to detain your expectation, princess, 
 I have an humble suit. 
 
 Cal. Speak ; I enjoy it. 
 
 Pen. Vouchsafe, then, to be my executrix, 
 And take that trouble on ye to dispose 
 Such legacies as I bequeath impartially ; 
 I have not much to give, the pains are easy ; 
 Heaven will reward your piety, and thank it 
 When I am dead ; for sure I must not live ; 
 I hope I cannot. 
 
 Cal. Now, beshrew thy sadness, 
 
 Thou turn'st me too much woman. [ Weeps. 
 
 Pen. \Aside\ Her fair eyes 
 
 Melt into passion. Then I have assurance 
 Encouraging my boldness. In this paper 
 
 Ford. R
 
 242 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT m. 
 
 My will was charactered ; which you, with pardon, 
 Shall now know from mine own mouth. 
 
 CaL Talk on, prithee ; 
 
 It is a pretty earnest. 
 
 Pen. I have left me 
 
 But three poor jewels to bequeath. The first is 
 My youth ; for though I am much old in griefs, 
 In years I am a child. 
 
 CaL To whom that jewel? 
 
 Pen. To virgin-wives, such as abuse not wedlock 
 By freedom of desires, but covet chiefly 
 The pledges of chaste beds for ties of love, 
 Rather than ranging of their blood ; and next 
 To married maids, such as prefer the number 
 Of honourable issue in their virtues 
 Before the flattery of delights by marriage : 
 May those be ever young ! 
 
 CaL A second jewel 
 
 You mean to part with ? 
 
 Pen. 'Tis my fame, I trust 
 
 By scandal yet untouched : this I bequeath 
 To Memory, and Time's old daughter, Truth. 
 If ever my unhappy name find mention 
 When I am fall'n to dust, may it deserve 
 Beseeming charity without dishonour ! 
 
 CaL How handsomely thou play'st with harmless 
 
 sport 
 
 Of mere imagination ! speak the last. 
 I strangely like thy will. 
 
 Pen. This jewel, madam, 
 
 Is dearly precious to me ; you must use 
 The best of your discretion to employ 
 This gift as I intend it. 
 
 CaL Do not doubt me. 
 
 Pen. 'Tis long agone since first I lost my heart : 
 Long I have lived without it, else for certain 
 I should have given that too ; but instead
 
 SCENE v.] THE BROKEN HEART. 243 
 
 Of it, to great Calantha, Sparta's heir, 
 By service bound and by affection vowed, 
 I do bequeath, in holiest rites of love, 
 Mine only brother, Ithocles. 
 
 Cat. What saidst thou ? 
 
 Pen. Impute not, heaven-blest lady, to ambition 
 A faith as humbly perfect as the prayers 
 Of a devoted suppliant can endow it : 
 Look on him, princess, with an eye of pity ; 
 How like the ghost of what he late appeared 
 He moves before you. 
 
 Cat. Shall I answer here, 
 
 Or lend my ear too grossly ? 
 
 Pen. First his heart 
 
 Shall fall in cinders, scorched by your disdain, 
 Ere he will dare, poor man, to ope an eye 
 On these divine looks, but with low-bent thoughts 
 Accusing such presumption ; as for words, 
 He dares not utter any but of service : 
 Yet this lost creature loves ye. Be a princess 
 In sweetness as in blood ; give him his doom, 
 Or raise him up to comfort. 
 
 Cal. What new change 
 
 Appears in my behaviour, that thou dar'st 
 Tempt my displeasure ? 
 
 Pen. I must leave the world 
 
 To revel in Elysium, and 'tis just 
 To wish my brother some advantage here ; 
 Yet, by my best hopes, Ithocles is ignorant 
 Of this pursuit : but if you please to kill him, 
 Lend him one angry look or one harsh word, 
 And you shall soon conclude how strong a power 
 Your absolute authority holds over 
 His life and end. 
 
 Cal. You have forgot, Penthea, 
 
 How still I have a father. 
 
 Pen* But remember
 
 244 
 
 THE BROKEN HEART. 
 
 [ACT III. 
 
 I am a sister, though to me this brother 
 
 Hath been, you know, unkind, O, most unkind ! 
 
 Cal. Christalla, Philema, where are ye ? Lady, 
 Your check lies in my silence. 
 
 Re-enter CHRISTALLA and PHILEMA. 
 
 Chris, and Phil. Madam, here. 
 
 Cal. I think ye sleep, ye drones : wait on Penthea 
 Unto her lodging. [Aside\ Ithocles ? wronged lady ! 
 Pen. My reckonings are made even ; death or fate 
 Can now nor strike too soon nor force too late. 
 
 \Exeunt. 

 
 ACT THE FOURTH. 
 
 SCENE I. The Palace. ITHOCLES' Apartment. 
 Enter ITHOCLES and ARMOSTES. 
 
 TH. Forbear your inquisition : curiosity 
 Is of too subtle and too searching 
 
 nature, 
 In fears of love too quick, too slow of 
 
 credit. 
 I am not what you doubt me. 
 
 Arm. Nephew, be, then, 
 
 As I would wish ; all is not right. Good heaven 
 Confirm your resolutions for dependence 
 On worthy ends, which may advance your quiet ! 
 
 Ith. I did the noble Orgilus much injury, 
 But grieved Penthea more : I now repent it, 
 Now, uncle, now ; this "now" is now too late. 
 So provident is folly in sad issue, 
 That after-wit, like bankrupts' debts, stands tallied, 
 Without all possibilities of payment. 
 Sure, he's an honest, very honest gentleman ; 
 A man of single ' meaning. 
 
 Arm. I believe it : 
 
 Yet, nephew, 'tis the tongue informs our ears ; 
 Our eyes can never pierce into the thoughts, 
 For they are lodged too inward : but I question 
 No truth in Orgilus. The princess, sir. 
 ////. The princess ! ha ! 
 Arm. With her the Prince of Argos. 
 
 1 Sincere.
 
 246 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT iv. 
 
 Enter NEARCHUS, leading CALANTHA ; AMELUS, 
 CHRISTALLA, PHILEMA. 
 
 Near. Great fair one, grace my hopes with any 
 
 instance 
 
 Of livery, 1 from the allowance of your favour ; 
 This little spark \Attempts to take a ring from her fingtr. 
 
 Cal. A toy ! 
 
 Near. Love feasts on toys, 
 
 For Cupid is a child ; vouchsafe this bounty : 
 It cannot be denied. 
 
 Cal. You shall not value, 
 
 Sweet cousin, at a price, what I count cheap ; 
 So cheap, that let him take it who dares stoop for't, 
 And give it at next meeting to a mistress : 
 She'll thank him for't, perhaps. 
 
 [ Casts the ring before ITHOCLES, who takes it up. 
 
 Ame. The ring, sir, is 
 
 The princess's ; I could have took it up. 
 
 Ith. Learn manners, prithee. To the blessed owner, 
 Upon my knees \Kneek and offers it to CALANTHA. 
 
 Near. You're saucy. 
 
 Cal. This is pretty ! 
 
 I am, belike, " a mistress " wondrous pretty I- 
 Let the man keep his fortune, since he found it ; 
 He's worthy on't. On, cousin ! 
 
 {Exeunt NEARCHUS, CALANTHA, CHRISTALLA, 
 and PHILEMA. 
 
 Ith. [to AMELUS] Follow, spaniel ; 
 
 I'll force ye to a fawning else. 
 
 Ame. You dare not. \Exit. 
 
 Arm. My lord, you were too forward. 
 
 Ith. Look ye, uncle, 
 
 Some such there are whose liberal contents 
 Swarm without care in every sort of plenty ; 
 
 1 This was the language of courtship, and was derived from the 
 practice of distinguishing the followers and retainers of great 
 families by the badge or crest of the house. Gifford.
 
 SCENE I.] THE BROKEN HEART. 247 
 
 Who after full repasts can lay them down 
 
 To sleep ; and they sleep, uncle : in which silence 
 
 Their very dreams present 'em choice of pleasures, 
 
 Pleasures observe me, uncle of rare object; 
 
 Here heaps of gold, there increments of honours, 
 
 Now change of garments, then the votes of people ; 
 
 Anon varieties of beauties, courting, 
 
 In flatteries of the night, exchange of dalliance : 
 
 Yet these are still but dreams. Give me felicity 
 
 Of which my senses waking are partakers, 
 
 A real, visible, material happiness ; 
 
 And then, too, when I stagger in expectance 
 
 Of the least comfort that can cherish life. 
 
 I saw it, sir, I saw it ; for it came 
 
 From her own hand. 
 
 Ann, The princess threw it t'ye. 
 
 ////. True ; and she said well I remember what 
 Her cousin prince would beg it. 
 
 Arm, Yes, and parted 
 
 In anger at your taking on't. 
 
 ////. Panthea, 
 
 O, thou hast pleaded with a powerful language ! 
 I want a fee to gratify thy merit ; 
 But I will do 
 
 Arm, What is't you say ? 
 
 ////. In anger ! 
 
 In anger let him part ; for could his breath, 
 Like whirlwinds, toss such servile slaves as lick 
 The dust his footsteps print into a vapour, 
 It durst not stir a hair of mine, it should not ; ^ 
 I'd rend it up by the roots first To be anything 
 Calantha smiles on, is to be a blessing 
 More sacred than a petty prince of Argos 
 Can wish to equal or in worth or title. 
 
 Arm, Contain yourself, my lord : Ixion, aiming 
 To embrace Juno, bosomed but a cloud, 
 And begat Centaurs ; 'tis an useful moral :
 
 248 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT iv. 
 
 Ambition hatched in clouds of mere opinion 
 Proves but in birth a prodigy. 
 
 ////. I thank ye ; 
 
 Yet, with your license, I should seem uncharitable 
 To gentler fate, if, relishing the dainties 
 Of a soul's settled peace, I were so feeble 
 Not to digest it. 
 
 Arm. He deserves small trust 
 
 Who is not privy-counsellor to himself. 
 
 Re-enter NEARCHUS and AMELUS, with ORGILUS. 
 
 Near. Brave me ? 
 
 Org. Your excellence mistakes his temper - } 
 
 For Ithocles in fashion of his mind 
 Is beautiful, soft, gentle, the clear mirror 
 Of absolute perfection. 
 
 Ame. Was't your modesty 
 
 Termed any of the prince's servants " spaniel " ? 
 Your nurse, sure, taught you other language. 
 
 ////. Language 1 
 
 Near. A gallant man-at-arms is here, a doctor 
 In feats of chivalry, blunt and rough-spoken, 
 Vouchsafing not the fustian of civility, 
 Which less rash spirits style good manners. 
 
 ft/i. Manners ! 
 
 Org. No more, illustrious sir ; 'tis matchless Ithocles. 
 
 Near. You might have understood who I am. 
 
 ////. Yes, 
 
 I did ; else but the presence calmed the affront 
 You're cousin to the princess. 
 
 Near. To the king too ; 
 
 A certain instrument that lent supportance 
 To you colossic greatness to that king too, 
 You might have added. 
 
 It/i. There is more divinity 
 
 In beauty than in majesty. 
 
 Arm. O fie, fie !
 
 SCENE I.] THE BROKEN HEART. 249 
 
 Near. This odd youth's pride turns heretic in loyalty. 
 Sirrah ! low mushrooms never rival cedars. 
 
 {Exeunt NEARCHUS and AMELUS. 
 
 ////. Come back ! What pitiful dull thing am I 
 So to be tamely scolded at ! come back I- 
 Let him come back, and echo once again 
 That scornful sound of mushroom ! painted colts 
 Like heralds' coats gilt o'er with crowns and sceptres 
 May bait a muzzled lion. 
 
 Arm. Cousin, cousin, 
 
 Thy tongue is not thy friend. 
 
 Org. In point of honour 
 
 Discretion knows no bounds. Amelus told me 
 'Twas all about a little ring. 
 
 ////. A ring 
 
 The princess threw away, and I took up : 
 Admit she threw't to me, what arm of brass 
 Can snatch it hence ? No could he grind the hoop 
 To powder, he might sooner reach my heart 
 Than steal and wear one dust on't. Orgilus, 
 I am extremely wronged. 
 
 Org. A lady's favour 
 
 Is not to be so slighted. 
 
 ////. Slighted ! 
 
 Ann. Quiet 
 
 These vain unruly passions, which will render ye 
 Into a madness. 
 
 Org. Griefs will have their vent. 
 
 Enter TECNICUS with a scroll. 
 
 Arm. Welcome ; thou com'st in season, reverend man, 
 To pour the balsam of a suppling patience 
 Into the festering wound of ill-spent fury. 
 
 Org. [Aside] What makes he here ? 
 
 Tec. The hurts are yet but mortal, 
 
 Which shortly will prove deadly. To the king, 
 Armostes, see in safety thou deliver
 
 250 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT iv. 
 
 This sealed-up counsel ; bid him with a constancy 
 Peruse the secrets of the gods. O Sparta, 
 
 Lacedsemon ! double-named, but one 
 
 In fate : when kingdoms reel, mark well my saw, 
 Their heads must needs be giddy. Tell the king 
 That henceforth he no more must inquire after 
 My aged head ; Apollo wills it so : 
 
 1 am for Delphos. 
 
 Arm. Not without some conference 
 
 With our great master ? 
 
 Tec. Never more to see him : 
 
 A greater prince commands me. Ithocles, 
 
 " When youth is ripe, and age from time doth part, 
 The lifeless trunk shall wed the broken heart." 
 
 Ith. What's this, if understood ? 
 
 Tec. List, Orgilus 
 
 Remember what I told thee long before, 
 These tears shall be my witness. 
 
 Arm. 'Las, good man ! 
 
 Tec. " Let craft with courtesy a while confer, 
 Revenge proves its own executioner." 
 
 Org. Dark sentences are for Apollo's priests ; 
 I am not CEdipus. 
 
 Tec. My hour is come ; 
 
 Cheer up the king ; farewell to all. O Sparta, 
 O Lacedsemon ! {Exit. 
 
 Arm. If prophetic fire 
 
 Have warmed this old man's bosom, we might construe 
 His words to fatal sense. 
 
 Ith. Leave to the powers 
 
 Above us the effects of their decrees ; 
 My burthen lies within me : servile fears 
 Prevent no great effects Divine Calantha ! 
 
 Arm. The gods be still propitious ! 
 
 {Exeunt ITHOCLES and ARMOSTES. 
 
 Org. Something oddly 
 
 The book-man prated, yet he talked it weeping
 
 SCENE II.] THE BROKEN HEART. 251 
 
 " Let craft with courtesy a while confer, 
 Revenge proves its own executioner." 
 Con it again ; for what ? It shall not puzzle me 
 'Tis dotage of a withered brain. Penthea 
 Forbade me not her presence ; I may see her, 
 And gaze my fill. Why see her, then, I may, 
 When, if I faint to speak I must be silent. \Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. A Room in BASSANES' House. 
 Enter BASSANES, GRAUSIS, and PHULAS. 
 
 Bass. Pray, use your recreations, all the service 
 I will expect is quietness amongst ye ; 
 Take liberty at home, abroad, at all times, 
 And in your charities appease the gods, 
 Whom I, with my distractions, have offended. 
 
 Grau. Fair blessings on thy heart ! 
 
 Phu. \Aside\ Here's a rare change ! 
 
 My lord, to cure the itch, is surely gelded ; 
 The cuckold in conceit hath cast his horns. 
 
 Bass. Betake ye to your several occasions ; 
 And wherein I have heretofore been faulty, 
 Let your constructions mildly pass it over ; 
 Henceforth I'll study reformation, more 
 I have not for employment. 
 
 Grau. O, sweet man ! 
 
 Thou art the very " Honeycomb of Honesty." 
 
 Phu. The "Garland of Good-will, "i -Old lady, hold up 
 Thy reverend snout, and trot behind me softly, 
 As it becomes a moil 2 of ancient carriage. 
 
 {Exeunt GRAUSIS and PHULAS. 
 
 Bass. Beasts, only capable of sense, enjoy 
 
 1 The Honeycomb of Honesty, like the Garland of Goodwill, was 
 probably one of the popular miscellanies of the day. Gifford. 
 
 2 i.e. Mule.
 
 252 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT iv. 
 
 The benefit of food and ease with thankfulness ; 
 
 Such silly creatures, with a grudging, kick not 
 
 Against the portion nature hath bestowed : 
 
 But men, endowed with reason and the use 
 
 Of reason, to distinguish from the chaff 
 
 Of abject scarcity the quintessence, 
 
 Soul, and elixir of the earth's abundance, 
 
 The treasures of the sea, the air, nay, heaven, 
 
 Repining at these glories of creation 
 
 Are verier beasts than beasts ; and of those beasts 
 
 The worst am I : I, who was made a monarch 
 
 Of what a heart could wish for, a chaste wife, 
 
 Endeavoured what in me lay to pull down 
 
 That temple built for adoration only, 
 
 And level't in the dust of causeless scandal. 
 
 But, to redeem a sacrilege so impious, 
 
 Humility shall pour, before the deities 
 
 I have incensed, a largess of more patience 
 
 Than their displeased altars can require : 
 
 No tempests of commotion shall disquiet 
 
 The calms of my composure. 
 
 Enter OROILUS. 
 
 Org. I have found thee, 
 
 Thou patron of more horrors than the bulk 
 Of manhood, hooped about with ribs of iron, 
 Can cram within thy breast : Penthea, Bassanes, 
 Cursed by thy jealousies, more, by thy dotage, 
 Is left a prey to words. 
 
 Bass. Exercise 
 
 Your trials for addition to my penance ; 
 I am resolved. 
 
 Org. Play not with misery 
 
 Past cure : some angry minister of fate hath 
 Deposed the empress of her soul, her reason, 
 From its most proper throne ; but, what's the miracle 
 More new, I, I have seen it, and yet live !
 
 SCENE II.] 'THE BROKEN HEART. 253 
 
 Bass. You may delude my senses, not my judgment ; 
 Tis anchored into a firm resolution ; 
 Dalliance of mirth or wit can ne'er unfix it : 
 Practise L yet further. 
 
 Org. May thy death of love to her 
 
 Damn all thy comforts to a lasting fast 
 From every joy of life ! Thou barren rock, 
 By thee we have been split in ken of harbour. 
 
 Enlcr PENTHEA with her hair loose, ITHOCLES, ARMOSTES, 
 PHILEMA, and CHRISTALLA. 
 
 ////. Sister, look up ; your Ithocles, your brother, 
 Speaks t'ye; why do you weep? dear, turn not from me. 
 Here is a killing sight ; lo, Bassanes, 
 A lamentable object ! 
 
 Org. Man, does see't ? 
 
 Sports are more gamesome ; am I yet in merriment ? 
 Why dost not laugh ? 
 
 Bass. Divine and best of ladies, 
 
 Please to forget my outrage ; mercy ever 
 Cannot but lodge under a roof so excellent : 
 I have cast off that cruelty of frenzy 
 Which once appeared imposture, and then juggled 
 To cheat my sleeps of rest. 
 
 Org. Was I in earnest ? 
 
 Pen. Sure, if we were all Sirens, we should sing pitifully, 
 And 'twere a comely music, when in parts 
 One sung another's knell : the turtle sighs 
 When he hath lost his mate ; and yet some say 
 He must be dead first : 'tis a fine deceit 
 To pass away in a dream ! indeed, I've slept 
 With mine eyes open a great while. No falsehood . 
 Equals a broken faith ; there's not a hair 
 Sticks on my head but, like a leaden plummet, 
 It sinks me to the grave : I must creep thither ; 
 The journey is not long. 
 
 1 i.e. Practise on my patience.
 
 254 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT IV. 
 
 Ith. But thou, Penthea, 
 
 Hast many years, I hope, to number yet, 
 Ere thou canst travel that way. 
 
 Bass. Let the sun first 
 
 Be wrapped up in an everlasting darkness, 
 Before the light of nature, chiefly formed 
 For the whole world's delight, feel an eclipse 
 So universal ! 
 
 Org. Wisdom, look ye, begins 
 
 To rave ! art thou mad too, antiquity? 
 
 Pen. Since I was first a wife, I might have been 
 Mother to many pretty prattling babes ; 
 They would have smiled when I smiled, and for certain 
 I should have cried when they cried : truly, brother, 
 My father would have picked me out a husband, 
 And then my little ones had been no bastards ; 
 But 'tis too late for me to marry now, 
 I am past child-bearing ; 'tis not my fault. 
 
 Bass. Fall on me, if there be a burning ^tna, 
 And bury me in flames ! sweats hot as sulphur 
 Boil through my pores ! affliction hath in store 
 No torture like to this. 
 
 Org. Behold a patience ! 
 
 Lay-by thy whining gray dissimulation, 1 
 Do something worth a chronicle ; show justice 
 Upon the author of this mischief ; dig out 
 The jealousies that hatched this thraldom first 
 With thine own poniard : every antic rapture 
 Can roar as thine does. 
 
 Ith. Orgilus, forbear. 
 
 Bass. Disturb him not ; it is a talking motion ~ 
 Provided for my torment. What a fool am I 
 
 1 Gifford remarks that this beautiful expression is happily adopted 
 by Milton, the great plunderer of the poetical hive ol our old 
 dramatists ; 
 
 " He ended here ; and Satan, bowing low 
 His gray dissimulation," &c. Par. Reg. 
 
 2 Puppet.
 
 SCENE II.] THE BROKEN HEART. 255 
 
 To bandy passion ! ere I'll speak a word, 
 I will look on and burst. 
 
 Pen. I loved you once. [To ORGILUS. 
 
 Org. Thou didst, wronged creature : in despite of 
 
 malice, 
 For it I love thee ever. 
 
 Pen. Spare your hand ; 
 
 Believe me, I'll not hurt it. 
 
 Org. My heart too. 
 
 Pen. Complain not though I wring it hard : I'll kiss it ; 
 O, 'tis a fine soft palm ! hark, in thine ear ; 
 Like whom do I look, prithee ? nay, no whispering. 
 Goodness ! we had been happy ; too much happiness 
 Will make folk proud, they say but that is he 
 
 [Pointing to ITHOCLES. 
 And yet he paid for't home ; alas, his heart 
 Is crept into the cabinet of the princess ; 
 We shall have points 1 and bride-laces. Remember, 
 When we last gathered roses in the garden, 
 I found my wits ; but truly you lost yours. 
 That's he, and still 'tis he. 
 
 [Again pointing to ITHOCLES. 
 
 2th. Poor soul, how idly 
 
 Her fancies guide her tongue ! 
 
 Bass. [Aside\ Keep in, vexation, 
 
 And break not into clamour. 
 
 Org. [Aside] She has tutored me, 
 
 Some powerful inspiration checks my laziness. 
 Now let me kiss your hand, grieved beauty. 
 
 Pen. Kiss it. 
 
 Alack, alack, his lips be wondrous cold ; 
 Dear soul, 'has lost his colour : have ye seen 
 A straying heart ? all crannies ! every drop 
 Of blood is turned to an amethyst, 
 Which married bachelors hang in their ears. 
 
 Org. Peace usher her into Elysium ! 
 
 1 Tagged laces.
 
 256 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT iv. 
 
 If this be madness, madness is an oracle. 
 
 [Aside, and exit. 
 
 Ith. Christalla, Philema, when slept my sister, 
 Her ravings are so wild ? 
 
 Chris. Sir, not these ten days. 
 
 Phil. We watch by her continually ; besides, 
 We can not any way pray her to eat. 
 
 Bass. O, misery of miseries ! 
 
 Pen. Take comfort ; 
 
 You may live well, and die a good old man : 
 By yea and nay, an oath not to be broken, 
 If you had joined our hands once in the temple, 
 'Twas since my father died, for had he lived 
 He would have done't, I must have called you father. 
 O, my wrecked honour ! ruined by those tyrants, 
 A cruel brother and a desperate dotage. 
 There is no peace left for a ravished wife 
 Widowed by lawless marriage ; to all memory 
 Penthea's, poor Penthea's name is strumpeted : 
 But since her blood was seasoned by the forfeit 
 Of noble shame with mixtures of pollution, 
 Her blood 'tis just be henceforth never heightened 
 With taste of sustenance ! starve ; let that fulness 
 Whose plurisy hath fevered faith and modesty 
 Forgive me ; O, I faint ! 
 
 [Falls into the arms of her Attendants. 
 Arm. Be not so wilful, 
 
 Sweet niece, to work thine own destruction. 
 
 Ith. Nature 
 
 Will call her daughter monster ! What ! not eat ? 
 Refuse the only ordinary means 
 Which are ordained for life ? Be not, my sister, 
 A murderess to thyself. Hear'st thou this, Bassanes ? 
 
 Bass. Foh ! I am busy ; for I have not thoughts 
 Enow to think : all shall be well anon. 
 'Tis tumbling in my head ; there is a mastery 
 In art to fatten and keep smooth the outside,
 
 SCENE IL] THE BROKEN HEART. 257 
 
 Yes, and to comfort-up the vital spirits 
 Without the help of food, fumes or perfumes, 
 Perfumes or fumes. Let her alone; I'll search out 
 The trick on't. 
 
 Pen. Lead me gently ; heavens reward ye. 
 
 Griefs are sure friends ; they leave without control 
 Nor cure nor comforts for a leprous soul. 
 
 [Exit, supported by CHRISTALLA and PHILEMA. 
 
 ass. I grant ye ; and will put in practice instantly 
 What you shall still admire : 'tis wonderful, 
 'Tis super-singular, not to be matched ; 
 Yet, when I've done't, I've done't : ye shall all thank 
 me. [Exit. 
 
 Arm. The sight is full of terror., 
 
 ////. On my soul 
 
 Lies such an infinite clog of massy dulness, 
 As that I have not sense enough to feel it. 
 See, uncle, the angry thing returns again ; 
 ShalPs welcome him with thunder ? we are haunted, 
 And must use exorcism to conjure down 
 This spirit of malevolence. 
 
 Ann. Mildly, nephew. 
 
 Enter NEARCHUS and AMELUS. 
 
 Near. I come not, sir, to chide your late disorder, 
 Admitting that the inurement to a roughness 
 In soldiers of your years and fortunes, chiefly 
 So lately prosperous, hath not yet shook off 
 The custom of the war in hours of leisure ; 
 Nor shall you need excuse, since you're to render 
 Account to that fair excellence, the princess, 
 Who in her private gallery expects it 
 From your own mouth alone : I am a messenger 
 But to her pleasure. 
 
 Ith. Excellent Nearchus, 
 
 Be prince still of my services, and conquer 
 Without the combat of dispute ; I honour ye. 
 
 Ford. S
 
 2 5 8 E BROKEN HEART. [ACT IV. 
 
 Near. The king is on a sudden indisposed, 
 Physicians are called for; 'twere fit, Armostes, 
 You should be near him. 
 
 Arm. Sir, I kiss your hands. 
 
 \Exeunt ITHOCLES and ARMOSTES. 
 
 Near. Amelus, I perceive Calantha's bosom 
 Is warmed with other fires than such as can 
 Take strength from any fuel of the love 
 I might address to her : young Ithocles, 
 Or ever I mistake, is lord ascendant 
 Of her devotions ; one, to speak him truly, 
 In every disposition nobly fashioned. 
 
 Ante. But can your highness brook to be so rivalled, 
 Considering the inequality of the persons ? 
 
 Near. I can, Amelus ; for affections injured 
 By tyranny or rigour of compulsion, 
 Like tempest-threatened trees unfirmly rooted, 
 Ne'er spring to timely growth : observe, for instance, 
 Life-spent Penthea and unhappy Orgilus. 
 
 Ame. How does your grace determine ? 
 
 Near. To be jealous 
 
 In public of what privately I'll further ; 
 And though they shall not know, yet they shall find it. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. An Apartment in the Palace. 
 
 Enter AMYCLAS, led by HEMOPHIL and GRONEAS, followed 
 by ARMOSTES with a box, CROTOLON, and PROPHILUS. 
 AMYCLAS is placed in a chair. 
 
 Amy. Our daughter is not near ? 
 Arm. She is retired, sir, 
 
 Into her gallery. 
 
 Amy. Where's the prince our cousin ? 
 
 Pro. New walked into the grove, my lord.
 
 SCENE in.] THE BROKEN HEART, 259 
 
 Amy, All leave us 
 
 Except Armostes, and you, Crotolon ; 
 We would be private. 
 
 Pro, Health unto your majesty ! 
 
 {Exeunt PROPHILUS, HEMOPHIL, and GRONEAS. 
 Amy, What ! Tecnicus is gone ? 
 Arm, He is to Delphos ; 
 
 And to your royal hands presents this box. 
 
 Amy. Unseal it, good Armostes ; therein lie 
 The secrets of the oracle ; out with it : 
 
 [ARMOSTES takes out the scroll, 
 Apollo live our patron ! Read, Armostes. 
 
 Arm, \Reads\ " The plot in which the vine takes root 
 Begins to dry from head to foot ; 
 The stock, soon withering, want of sap 
 Doth cause to quail the budding grape ; 
 But from the neighbouring elm a dew 
 Shall drop, and feed the plot anew." 
 
 Amy, That is the oracle : what exposition 
 Makes the philosopher ? 
 
 Arm, This brief one only. 
 
 {Reads] " The plot is Sparta, the dried vine the king ; 
 The quailing grape his daughter ; but the thing 
 Of most importance, not to be revealed, 
 Is a near prince, the elm : the rest concealed. 
 
 TECNICUS." 
 
 Amy. Enough ; although the opening of this riddle 
 Be but itself a riddle, yet we construe 
 How near our labouring age draws to a rest : 
 But must Calantha quail too ? that young grape 
 Untimely budded ! I could mourn for her ; 
 Her tenderness hath yet deserved no rigour 
 So to be crossed by fate. 
 
 Arm. You misapply, sir, 
 
 With favour let me speak it, what Apollo 
 Hath clouded in hid sense : I here conjecture
 
 260 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT iv. 
 
 Her marriage with some neighbouring prince, the dew 
 Of which befriending elm shall ever strengthen 
 Your subjects with a sovereignty of power. 
 
 Crot. Besides, most gracious lord, the pith of oracles 
 Is to be then digested when the events 
 Expound their truth, not brought as soon to light 
 As uttered ; Truth is child of Time : and herein 
 I find no scruple, rather cause of comfort, 
 With unity of kingdoms. 
 
 Amy. May it prove so, 
 
 For weal of this dear nation ! Where is Ithocles ? 
 Armostes, Crotolon, when this withered vine 
 Of my frail carcass, on the funeral pile 
 Is fired into its ashes, let that young man 
 Be hedged about still with your cares and loves : 
 Much owe I to his worth, much to his service. 
 Let such as wait come in now. 
 
 Arm. All attend here ! 
 
 Enter CALANTHA, ITHOCLES, PROPHILUS, ORGILUS, 
 EUPHRANEA, HEMOPHIL, a/M' GRONEAS. 
 
 Cal. Dear sir ! king ! father ! 
 
 Ith. O, my royal master ! 
 
 Amy. Cleave not my heart, sweet twins of my life's 
 
 solace, 
 
 With your forejudging fears ; there is no physic 
 So cunningly restorative to cherish 
 The fall of age, or call back youth and vigour, 
 As your consents in duty : I will shake off 
 This languishing disease of time, to quicken 
 Fresh pleasures in these drooping hours of sadness. 
 Is fair Euphranea married yet to Prophilus ? 
 
 Crot. This morning, gracious lord. 
 
 Org. This very morning ; 
 
 Which, with your highness' leave, you may observq 
 
 too. 
 Our sister looks, methinks, mirthful and sprightly,
 
 SCENE in.] THE BROKEN HEART. 261 
 
 As if her chaster fancy could already 
 Expound the riddle of her gain in losing 
 A trifle maids know only that they know not. 
 Pish ! prithee, blush not ; 'tis but honest change 
 Of fashion in the garment, loose for strait, 
 And so the modest maid is made a wife : 
 Shrewd business is't not, sister ? 
 
 Euph. You are pleasant. 
 
 Amy. We thank thee, Orgilus ; this mirth becomes 
 
 thee. 
 
 But wherefore sits the court in such a silence ? 
 A wedding without revels is not seemly. 
 
 Cal. Your late indisposition, sir, forbade it. 
 
 Amy. rfe it thy charge, Calantha, to set forward 
 The bridal sports, to which I will be present ; 
 If not, at least consenting. Mine own Ithocles, 
 I have done little for thee yet. 
 
 ////. You've built me 
 
 To the full height I stand, in. 
 
 Cal. [Aside] Now or never ! 
 
 May I propose a suit ? 
 
 Amy. Demand, and have it. 
 
 Cal. Pray, sir, give me this young man, and no further 
 Account him yours than he deserves in all things 
 To be thought worthy mine : I will esteem him 
 According to his merit. 
 
 Amy. Still thou'rt my daughter, 
 
 Still grow'st upon my heart. \To ITHOCLES] Give me 
 
 thine hand ; 
 
 Calantha, take thine own : in noble actions 
 Thou'lt find him firm and absolute. I would not 
 Have parted with thee, Ithocles, to any 
 But to a mistress who is all what I am. 
 
 Ith. A change, great king, most wished for, 'cause the 
 same. 
 
 Cal. [Aside to ITHOCLES] Thou'rt mine. Have I now 
 kept my word ?
 
 262 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT iv. 
 
 ////. [Aside to CALANTHA] Divinely. 
 
 Org. Rich fortunes guard, the favour of a princess 
 Rock thee, brave man, in ever-crowned plenty ! 
 You're minion of the time ; be thankful for it. 
 [Aside\ Ho! here's a swing in destiny apparent! 
 The youth is up on tiptoe, yet may stumble. 
 
 Amy. On to your recreations. Now convey me 
 Unto my bed-chamber : none on his forehead 
 Wear a distempered look. 
 
 AIL The gods preserve ye ! 
 
 Cal. [Aside to ITHOCLES] Sweet, be not from my 
 sight. 
 
 Ith. [Aside to CALANTHA] My whole felicity ! 
 
 [AMYCLUS is carried out. E^kunt all but 
 
 ITHOCLES , who is detained by ORGILUS. 
 
 Org. Shall I be bold, my lord ? 
 
 Ith. Thou canst not, Orgilus. 
 
 Call me thine own ; for Prophilus must henceforth 
 Be all thy sister's : friendship, though it cease not 
 In marriage, yet is oft at less command 
 Than when a single freedom can dispose it. 
 
 Org. Most right, my most good lord, my most great 
 
 lord, 
 My gracious princely lord, I might add, royal. 
 
 ////. Royal ! a subject royal? 
 
 Org. Why not, pray, sir ? 
 
 The sovereignty of kingdoms in their nonage 
 Stooped to desert, not birth ; there's as much merit 
 In clearness of affection as in puddle 
 Of generation : you have conquered love 
 Even in the loveliest ; if I greatly err not, 
 The son of Venus hath bequeathed his quiver 
 To Ithocles his manage, by whose arrows 
 Calantha's breast is opened. 
 
 ////. Can't be possible ? 
 
 Org. I was myself a piece of suitor once, 
 And forward in preferment too ; so forward,
 
 SCENE in.] THE BROKEN HEART. 263 
 
 That, speaking truth, I may without offence, sir, 
 Presume to whisper that my hopes, and hark ye 
 My certainty of marriage stood assured 
 With as firm footing by your leave as any's 
 Now at this very instant but 
 
 Ith. Tis granted : 
 
 And for a league of privacy between us, 
 Read o'er my bosom and partake a secret ; 
 The princess is contracted mine. 
 
 Org. Still, why not ? 
 
 I now applaud her wisdom : when your kingdom 
 Stands seated in your will secure and settled, 
 I dare pronounce you will be a just monarch; 
 Greece must admire and tremble. 
 
 Ith. Then the sweetness 
 
 Of so imparadised a comfort, Orgilus ! 
 It is to banquet with the gods. 
 
 Org. The glory 
 
 Of numerous children, potency of nobles, 
 Bent knees, hearts paved to tread on ! 
 
 ////. With a friendship 
 
 So dear, so fast as thine. 
 
 Org. I am unfitting 
 
 For office ; but for service 
 
 Ith. We'll distinguish 
 
 Our fortunes merely in the title; partners 
 In all respects else but the bed. 
 
 Org. The bed ! 
 
 Forfend it Jove's own jealousy ! till lastly 
 We slip down in the common earth together; 
 And there our beds are equal ; save some monument 
 To show this was the king, and this the subject. 
 
 \Soft sad music. 
 List, what sad sounds are these, extremely sad ones? 
 
 Ith. Sure, from Penthea's lodgings. 
 
 Org. Hark ! a voice too.
 
 264 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT iv. 
 
 SONG within. 
 O, no more, no more, too late 
 
 Sighs are spent ; the burning tapers 
 Of a life as chaste as fate, 
 
 Pure as are unwritten papers, 
 Are burnt out : no heat, no light 
 Now remains ; 'tis ever night. 
 
 Love is dead ; let lovers' eyes, 
 
 Locked in endless dreams, 
 
 Th' extremes of all extremes, 
 Ope no more, for now Love dies, 
 
 Now Love dies, implying 
 
 Love's martyrs must be ever, ever dying. 
 
 ////. O, my misgiving heart ! 
 
 Org. A horrid stillness 
 
 Succeeds this deathful air ; let's know the reason : 
 Tread softly ; there is mystery in mourning. {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. PENTHEA'S Apartment in the Palace. 
 
 PENTHEA discovered in a cfiair, veiled; CHRISTALLA and 
 PHILEMA at her feet mourning. Enter two Servants 
 with two other chairs, one with an engine? 
 
 Enter ITHOCLES and ORGILUS. 
 
 \st Ser. [Aside to ORGILUS] "Tis done ; that on her 
 
 right hand.' 
 Org. Good : begone. 
 
 {Exeunt Servants. 
 Ith. Soft peace enrich this room ! 
 Org. How fares the lady? 
 
 1 This "engine," as it is heie called, in correspondence with the 
 homely properties of our old theatres, was merely a couple of 
 movable arms added to the common chair. The contrivance itself 
 is of early date, and, if Pausanias (Attica, c. 20) is to be trusted, of
 
 SCENE iv.] THE BROKEN HEART. 265 
 
 Phil. Dead ! 
 
 Chris, Dead ! 
 
 Phil. Starved ! 
 
 Chris. Starved ! 
 
 ////. Me miserable ! 
 
 Org. Tell us 
 
 How parted she from life. 
 
 Phil. She called for music, 
 
 And begged some gentle voice to tune a farewell 
 To life and griefs : Christalla touched the lute ; 
 I wept the funeral song. 
 
 Chris. Which scarce was ended 
 
 But her last breath sealed-up these hollow sounds, 
 " O, cruel Ithocles and injured Orgilus ! " 
 So down she drew her veil, so died. 
 
 It/i. So died ! 
 
 Org. Up !. you are messengers of death ; go from us ; 
 [CHRISTALLA and PHILEMA rise. 
 Here's woe enough to court without a prompter : 
 Away ; and hark ye till you see us next, 
 No syllable that she is dead. Away, 
 Keep a smooth brow. 
 
 {Exeunt CHRISTALLA and PHILEMA. 
 My lord, 
 
 ////. Mine only sister ! 
 
 Another is not left me. 
 
 Org. Take that chair ; 
 
 I'll seat me here in this : between us sits 
 The object of our sorrows ; some few tears 
 
 celestial origin. Vulcan, he tells us, in. order to be revenged of 
 Juno for turning him out of heaven, insidiously presented her with 
 a golden throne with hidden springs, which prevented her, after 
 being seated upon it, from rising up again. Ford, however, brought 
 no golden chair from Olympus : he found his simple contrivance 
 not only on the stage, but (where his predecessors probably found 
 it) in Bandello, Nov. i. Parte iv. vol. ix. p. 13, td. Milano, 1814, 
 where it is described at length, and Deodati is entrapped by il 
 Turchi, precisely as Ithocles is here by Orgilus, and then stabbed 
 with a dagger.- Gijford.
 
 266 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT iv. 
 
 We'll part among us : I perhaps can mix 
 One lamentable story to prepare 'em. 
 There, there ; sit there, my lord. 
 
 It/i. Yes, as you please. 
 
 [Sits down, the chair closes upon him, 
 What means this treachery ? 
 
 Org. Caught ! you are caught, 
 
 Young master ; 'tis thy throne of coronation, 
 Thou fool of greatness ! See, I take this veil off; 
 Survey a beauty withered by the flames 
 Of an insulting Phaeton, her brother. 
 
 Ith. Thou mean'st to kill me basely ? 
 
 Org. I foreknew 
 
 The last act of her life, and trained thee hither 
 To sacrifice a tyrant to a turtle. 
 You dreamt of kingdoms, did ye ? how to bosom 
 The delicacies of a youngling princess ; 
 How with this nod to grace that subtle courtier, 
 How with that frown to make this noble tremble, 
 And so forth ; whiles Penthea's groans and tortures, 
 Her agonies, her miseries, afflictions, 
 Ne'er touched upon your thought : as for my injuries, 
 Alas, they were beneath your royal pity ; 
 But yet they lived, thou proud man, to confound thee. 
 Behold thy fate ; this steel ! [Draws a dagger. 
 
 Ith. Strike home ! A courage 
 
 As keen as thy revenge shall give it welcome : 
 But prithee faint not ; if the wound close up, 
 Tent l it with double force, and search it deeply. 
 Thou look'st that I should whine and beg compassion, 
 As loth to leave the vainness of my glories ; 
 A statelier resolution arms my confidence, 
 To cozen thee of honour ; neither could I 
 With equal trial of unequal fortune 
 By hazard of a duel ; 'twere a bravery 
 Too mighty for a slave intending murder. 
 1 Probe.
 
 SCENE iv.] THE BROKEN HEART. 267 
 
 On to the execution, and inherit 
 A conflict with thy horrors. 
 
 Org. By Apollo, 
 
 Thou talk'st a goodly language ! for requital 
 I will report thee to thy mistress richly : 
 And take this peace along ; some few short minutes 
 Determined, my resolves shall quickly follow 
 Thy wrathful ghost ; then, if we tug for mastery, 
 Penthea's sacred eyes shall lend new courage. 
 Give me thy hand : be healthful in thy parting 
 From lost mortality ! thus, thus I free it. [Stabs him.* 
 
 Ith. Yet, yet, I scorn to shrink. 
 
 Org. Keep up thy spirit : 
 
 I will be gentle even in blood ; to linger 
 Pain, which I strive to cure, were to be cruel. 
 
 \Stabs him again. 
 
 Ith. Nimble in vengeance, I forgive thee. Follow 
 Safety, with best success : 0, may it prosper ! 
 Penthea, by thy side thy brother bleeds ; 
 The earnest of his wrongs to thy forced faith. 
 Thoughts of ambition, or delicious banquet 
 With beauty, youth, and love, together perish 
 In my last breath, which on the sacred altar 
 Of a long-looked-for peace now moves to heaven. 
 
 [Dies. 
 
 Org. Farewell, fair spring of manhood ! henceforth 
 
 welcome 
 
 Best expectation of a noble sufferance. 
 I'll lock the bodies safe, till what must follow 
 Shall be approved. Sweet twins, shine stars for ever ! 
 
 In vain they build their hopes whose life is shame : 
 
 No monument lasts but a happy name. 
 
 [Locks the door, and exit.
 
 ACT THE FIFTH. 
 
 SCENE I. A Room in BASSANES' Flouse. 
 
 Enter BASSANES. 
 
 ASS. Athens to Athens I have sent, 
 
 the nursery 
 Of Greece for learning and the fount of 
 
 knowledge ; 
 For here in Sparta there's not left 
 
 amongst us 
 
 One wise man to direct ; we're all 
 turned madcaps. 
 
 'Tis said Apollo is the god of herbs, 
 Then certainly he knows the virtue of 'em : 
 To Delphos I have sent too. If there can be 
 A help for nature, we are sure yet. 
 
 Enter ORGILUS. 
 
 Org. Honour 
 
 Attend thy counsels ever ! 
 
 Bass. I beseech thee 
 
 With all my heart, let me go from thee quietly ; 
 I will not aught to do with thee, of all men. 
 The doubles of a hare, or, in a morning, 
 Salutes from a splay-footed witch, to drop 
 Three drops of blood at th' nose just and no more, 
 Croaking of ravens, or the screech of owls, 
 Are not so boding mischief as thy crossing
 
 SCENE I.] THE BROKEN HEART. 269 
 
 My private meditations : shun me, prithee ; 
 And if I cannot love thee heartily, 
 I'll love thee as well as I can. 
 
 Org. Noble Bassanes, 
 
 Mistake me not. 
 
 Hass. Phew ! then we shall be troubled. 
 
 Thou wert ordained my plague heaven make me 
 
 thankful, 
 And give me patience too, heaven, I beseech thee. 
 
 Org. Accept a league of amity ; for henceforth, 
 I vow, by my best genius, in a syllable, 
 Never to speak vexation : I will study 
 Service and friendship, with a zealous sorrow 
 For my past incivility towards ye. 
 
 JBass. Hey-day, good words, good words ! I must 
 
 believe 'em, 
 And be a coxcomb for my labour. 
 
 Org. Use not 
 
 So hard a language ; your misdoubt is causeless : 
 For instance, if you promise to put on 
 A constancy of patience, such a patience 
 As chronicle or history ne'er mentioned, 
 As follows not example, but shall stand 
 A wonder and a theme for imitation, 
 The first, the index 1 pointing to a second, 
 I will acquaint ye with an unmatched secret, 
 Whose knowledge to your griefs shall set a period. 
 
 Bass. Thou canst not, Orgilus ; 'tis in the power 
 Of the gods only : yet, for satisfaction, 
 Because I note an earnest in thine utterance, 
 Unforced and naturally free, be resolute ~ 
 The virgin-bays shall not withstand the lightning 
 With a more careless danger than my constancy 
 The full of thy relation ; could it move 
 Distraction in a senseless marble statue, 
 
 1 i.e. The index-hand cofmon on the margin of old books. 
 ? Satisfied.
 
 270 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT v. 
 
 It should find me a rock : I do expect now 
 Some truth of unheard moment. 
 
 Org. To your patience 
 
 You must add privacy, as strong in silence 
 As mysteries locked-up in Jove's own bosom. 
 
 ass. A skull hid in the earth a treble age 
 Shall sooner prate. 
 
 Org. Lastly, to such direction 
 
 As the severity of a glorious action 
 Deserves to lead your wisdom and your judgment, 
 You ought to yield obedience. 
 
 Bass. With assurance 
 
 Of will and thankfulness. 
 
 Org. With manly courage 
 
 Please, then, to follow me. 
 
 Bass. Where'er, I fear not. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. 1 A State-room in the Palace. 
 
 A flourish. Enter EUPHRANEA, led by GRONEAS and 
 HEMOPHIL ; PROPHILUS, led by CHRISTALLA and 
 PHILEMA ; NEARCHUS supporting CALANTHA ; CRO- 
 TOLON and AMELUS. 
 
 Cal. We miss our servant Ithocles and Orgilus ; 
 On whom attend they? 
 
 Crot. My son, gracious princess, 
 
 Whispered some new device, to which these revels 
 Should be but usher : wherein I conceive 
 Lord Ithocles and he himself are actors. 
 
 Cal. A fair excuse for absence : as for Bassanes, 
 Delights to him are troublesome ; Armostes 
 Is with the king ? 
 
 Crot. He is. 
 
 i Hazlitt pointed out that this scene was suggested by the mask- 
 scene in Marston's Malcontent.
 
 SCENE II.] THE BROKEN HEART. 271 
 
 Cal. On to the dance I- 
 
 Dear cousin, hand you the bride ; the bridegroom 
 
 must be 
 
 Intrusted to my courtship. Be not jealous, 
 Euphranea ; I shall scarcely prove a temptress. 
 Fall to our dance. 
 
 THE REVELS. 
 
 Music. NEARCHUS dances with EUPHRANEA, PROPHILUS 
 with CALANTHA, CHRISTALLA with HEMOPHIL, PHI- 
 LEMA with GRONEAS. 
 
 They dance the first change; during which ARMOSTES enters. 
 
 Arm. [ Wliispers CALANTHA] The king your father's 
 
 dead. 
 
 Cal. To the other change. 
 Arm. Is't possible ? 
 
 They dance the second change. 
 
 Enter BASSANES. 
 
 Bass. [ Whispers CALANTHA] 0, madam ! 
 
 Penthea, poor Penthea's starved. 
 
 Cal. Beshrew thee ! 
 
 Lead to the next. 
 
 Bass, Amazement dulls my senses. 
 
 They dance the third change. 
 
 Enter ORGILUS. 
 
 Org. [ Whispers CALANTHA] Brave Ithocles is mur- 
 dered, murdered cruelly, 
 Cal. How dull this music sounds ! Strike up more 
 
 sprightly ; 
 
 Our footings are not active like our heart, 
 Which treads the nimbler measure. 
 . Org. I am thunderstruck. 
 
 The last change.
 
 272 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT v. 
 
 Cal, So ! let us breathe awhile. [Music ceases.] 
 
 Hath not this motion 
 Raised fresher colour on our cheeks ? 
 
 Near. Sweet princess, 
 
 A perfect purity of blood enamels 
 The beauty of your white. 
 
 CaL We all look cheerfully : 
 
 And, cousin, 'tis methinks a rare presumption 
 In any who prefer our lawful pleasures 
 Before their own sour censure, t' interrupt 
 The custom of this ceremony bluntly. 
 
 Near. None dares, lady. 
 
 Cal. Yes, yes ; some hollow voice delivered to me 
 How that the king was dead. 
 
 Arm. The king is dead : 
 
 That fatal news was mine ; for in mine arms 
 He breathed his last, and with his crown bequeathed 
 
 ye 
 Your mother's wedding-ring : which here I tender. 
 
 Crot. Most strange ! 
 
 Cal. Peace crown his ashes ! We are queen, then. 
 
 Near. Long live Calantha ! Sparta's sovereign queen ! 
 
 All. Long live the queen ! 
 
 Cal. What whispered Bassanes ? 
 
 Bass. That my Penthea, miserable soul, 
 Was starved to death. 
 
 Cal. She's happy ; she hath finished 
 
 A long and painful progress. A third murmur 
 Pierced mine unwilling ears. 
 
 Org. That Ithocles 
 
 Was murdered ; rather butchered, had not bravery 
 Of an undaunted spirit, conquering terror, 
 Proclaimed his last act triumph over ruin. 
 
 Arm. How ! murdered ! 
 
 Cal. By whose hand ? 
 
 Org. By mine ; this weapon 
 
 Was instrument to my revenge : the reasons
 
 SCENE 11.] THE BROKEN HEART. 273 
 
 Are just, and known ; quit hini of these, and then 
 Never lived gentleman of greater merit, 
 Hope or abiliment to steer a kingdom. 
 Crot. Fie, Orgilus ! 
 Euph. Fie, brother ! 
 
 Cal. You have done it ? 
 
 J3ass, How it was done let him report, the forfeit 
 Of whose allegiance to our laws doth covet 
 Rigour of justice ; but that done it is 
 Mine eyes have been an evidence of credit 
 Too sure to be convinced. 1 Armostes, rend not 
 Thine arteries with hearing the bare circumstances 
 Of these calamities ; thou'st lost a nephew, 
 A niece, and I a wife : continue man still ; 
 Make me the pattern of digesting evils, 
 Who can outlive my mighty ones, not shrinking 
 At such a pressure as would sink a soul 
 Into what's most of death, the worst of horrors. 
 But I have sealed a covenant with sadness, 
 And entered into bonds without condition, 
 To stand these tempests calmly ; mark me, nobles, 
 I do not shed a tear, not for Penthea ! 
 Excellent misery ! 
 
 Cal. , We begin our reign 
 
 With a first act of justice : thy confession, 
 Unhappy Orgilus, dooms thee a sentence ; 
 But yet thy father's or thy sister's presence 
 Shall be excused. Give, Crotolon, a blessing 
 To thy lost son ; -Euphranea, take a farewell ; 
 And both be gone. 
 
 Crot. {To ORGILUS.] Confirm thee noble sorrow 
 In worthy resolution ! 
 
 Euph. Could my tears speak, 
 
 My griefs were slight. 
 
 Org. All goodness dwell amongst ye ! 
 
 1 i.e. Confuted. 
 
 Ford. T
 
 274 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT v. 
 
 Enjoy my sister, Prophilus : my vengeance 
 Aimed never at thy prejudice. 
 
 Cal. Now withdraw. 
 
 {Exeunt CROTOLON, PROPHILUS, and EUPHRANEA. 
 Bloody relater of thy stains in blood, 
 For that thou hast reported him, whose fortunes 
 And life by thee are both at once snatched from him, 
 With honourable mention, make thy choice 
 Of what death likes thee best ; there's all our bounty. 
 But to excuse delays, let me, dear cousin, 
 Intreat you and these lords see execution 
 Instant before ye part. 
 
 Near. Your will commands us 
 
 Org. One suit, just queen, my last: vouchsafe your 
 
 clemency, 
 
 That by no common hand I be divided 
 From this my humble frailty. 
 
 Cal. To their wisdoms 
 
 Who are to be spectators of thine end 
 I make the reference : those that are dead 
 Are dead ; had they not now died, of necessity 
 They must have paid the debt they owed to nature 
 One time or other. Use dispatch, my lords ; 
 We'll suddenly prepare our coronation. 
 
 [Exeunt CALANTHA, PHILEMA, and CHRISTALLA. 
 
 Arm. 'Tis strange these tragedies should never touch 
 
 on 
 Her female pity. 
 
 Bass. She has a masculine spirit ; 
 
 And wherefore should I pule, and, like a girl, 
 Put finger in the eye ? let's be all toughness, 
 Without distinction betwixt sex and sex. 
 
 Near. Now, Orgilus, thy choice ? 
 
 Org. To bleed to death. 
 
 Arm. The executioner? 
 
 Org. Myself, no surgeon ; 
 
 I am well skilled in letting blood. Bind fast
 
 SCENE II.] THE BROKEN HEART. 275 
 
 This arm, that so the pipes may from their conduits 
 Convey a full stream ; l here's a skilful instrument : 
 
 [Shows his dagger 
 
 Only I am a beggar to some charity 
 To speed me in this execution 
 By lending th' other prick to the tother arm, 
 When this is bubbling life out. 
 
 Bass. I am for ye ; 
 
 It most concerns my art, my care, my credit. 
 Quick fillet both his arms. 
 
 Org. Grammercy, friendship ! 
 
 Such courtesies are real which flow cheerfully 
 Without an expectation of requital. 
 Reach me a staff in this hand. [They give him a staff. \ 
 
 If a proneness 
 
 Or custom in my nature from my cradle 
 Had been inclined to fierce and eager bloodshed, 
 A coward guilt, hid in a coward quaking, 
 Would have betrayed me to ignoble flight 
 And vagabond pursuit of dreadful safety : 
 But look upon my steadiness, and scorn not 
 The sickness of my fortune, which since Bassanes 
 Was husband to Penthea had lain bed-rid. 
 We trifle time in words : thus I show cunning 
 In opening of a vein too full, too lively. 
 
 [Pierces the vein with his dagger. 
 
 Arm. Desperate courage ! 
 
 Near. Honourable infamy ! 
 
 Hem. I tremble at the sight. 
 
 Gro. Would I were loose ! 
 
 Bass. It sparkles like a lusty wine new broached ; 
 The vessel must be sound from which it issues. 
 Grasp hard this other stick I'll be as nimble 
 But prithee, look not pale have at ye ! stretch out 
 
 1 In performing the operation of bleeding, formerly so common, 
 the arm was bound above the spot selected in order to distend the 
 veins. For the same reason the patient grasped a staff.
 
 276 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT v. 
 
 Thine arm with vigour and with unshook virtue. 
 
 \Opens the vein. 
 
 Good ! O, I envy not a rival, fitted 
 To conquer in extremities : this pastime 
 Appears majestical; some high-tuned poem 
 Hereafter shall deliver to posterity 
 The writer's glory and his subject's triumph. 
 How is't, man ? droop not yet. 
 
 Org. I feel no palsies. 
 
 On a pair-royal do I wait in death ; 
 My sovereign, as his liegeman; on my mistress, 
 As a devoted servant ; and on Ithocles, 
 As if no brave, yet no unworthy enemy : 
 Nor did I use an engine to entrap 
 His life, out of a slavish fear to combat 
 Youth, strength, or cunning; l but for that I durst not 
 Engage the goodness of a cause on fortune, 
 By which his name might have outfaced my vengeance. 
 O, Tecnicus, inspired with Phoebus' fire ! 
 I call to mind thy augury, 'twas perfect ; 
 " Revenge proves its own executioner." 
 When feeble man is bending to his mother, 
 The dust he was first framed on, thus he totters. 
 
 ass. Life's fountain is dried up. 
 
 Org. So falls the standard 
 
 Of my prerogative in being a creature ! 
 A mist hangs o'er mine eyes, the sun's bright splendour 
 Is clouded in an everlasting shadow; 
 Welcome, thou ice, that sitt'st about my heart 
 No 'heat can ever thaw thee. [Dies. 
 
 Near. Speech hath left him. 
 
 Hass. He has shook hands with time ; his funeral urn 
 Shall be my charge : remove the bloodless body. 
 The coronation must require attendance ; 
 That past, my few days can be but one mourning. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 i Skill.
 
 SCENE in.] THE BR OKEN HE A RT. 2 / / 
 
 SCENE III. A Temple. 
 
 An altar covered with ivliitc; two lights of virgin wax upon 
 it. Recorders l play, during which enter Attendants 
 bearing ITHOCLES on a hearse (in a rich robe, ivith a 
 crown on his head] and place him on one side of the 
 altar. Afterwards enter CALANTHA in white, crowned, 
 attended by EUPHRANEA, PHILEMA, and CHRISTALLA, 
 also in white ; NEARCHUS, ARMOSTES, CROTOLON, 
 PROPHILUS, AMELUS, BASSANES, HEMEPHIL, and 
 GRONEAS. 
 
 CALANTHA kneels before the altar, the Ladies kneeling 
 behind her, the rest stand off. The recorders cease 
 during her devotions. Soft music. CALANTHA and 
 the rest rise, doing obeisance to the altar. 
 
 Cal. Our orisons are heard ; the gods are merciful. 
 Now tell me, you whose loyalties' pay tribute 
 To us your lawful sovereign, how unskilful 
 Your duties or obedience is to render 
 Subjection to the sceptre of a virgin, 
 Who have been ever fortunate in princes 
 Of masculine and stirring composition. 
 A woman has enough to govern wisely 
 Her own demeanours, passions, and divisions. 
 A nation warlike and inured to practice 
 Of policy and labour cannot brook 
 A feminate authority : we therefore 
 Command your counsel, how you may advise us 
 In choosing of a husband, whose abilities 
 Can better guide this kingdom. 
 
 Near. Royal lady, 
 
 Ypur law is in your will. 
 
 Arm. We have seen tokens 
 
 Of constancy too lately to mistrust it. 
 
 Crot. Yet, if your highness settle on a choice 
 By your own judgment both allowed and liked of, 
 
 1 A kind of flutes or flageolets.
 
 278 THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT v. 
 
 Sparta may grow in power, and proceed 
 To an increasing height. 
 
 CaL Hold you the same mind ? 
 
 Bass. Alas, great mistress, reason is so clouded 
 With the thick darkness of my infinite woes, 
 That I forecast nor dangers, hopes, or safety. 
 Give me some corner of the world to wear out 
 The remnant of the minutes I must number, 
 Where I may hear no sounds but sad complaints 
 Of virgins who have lost contracted partners ; 
 Of husbands howling that their wives were ravished 
 By some untimely fate ; of friends divided 
 By churlish opposition ; or of fathers 
 Weeping upon their children's slaughter'd carcases ; 
 Or daughters groaning o'er their fathers' hearses ; 
 And I can dwell there, and with these keep consort 
 As musical as theirs. What can you look for 
 From an old, foolish, peevish, doting man 
 But craziness of age ? 
 
 CaL Cousin of Argos, 
 
 Near. Madam ? 
 
 CaL Were I presently 
 
 To choose you for my lord, I'll open freely 
 What articles I would propose to treat on 
 Before our marriage. 
 
 Near. Name them, virtuous lady. 
 
 CaL I would presume you would retain the royalty 
 Of Sparta in her own bounds ; then in Argos 
 Armostes might be viceroy ; in Messene 
 Might Crotolon bear sway; and Bassanes 
 
 Bass. I, queen ! alas, what I ? 
 
 CaL Be Sparta's marshal : 
 
 The multitudes of high employments could not 
 But set a peace to private griefs. These gentlemen, 
 Groneas and Hemophil, with worthy pensions, 
 Should wait upon your person in your chamber. 
 I would bestow Christalla on Amelus.
 
 SCENE in.] THE BROKEN HEART. 279 
 
 She'll prove a constant wife ; and Philema 
 Should into Vesta's Temple. 
 
 Bass. This is a testament ! 
 
 It sounds not like conditions on a marriage. 
 
 Near. All this should be performed. 
 
 Cal. Lastly, for Prophilus, 
 
 He should be, cousin, solemnly invested 
 In all those honours, titles, and preferments 
 Which his dear friend and my neglected husband 
 Too short a time enjoyed. 
 
 Pro. I am unworthy 
 
 To live in your remembrance. 
 
 Euph. Excellent lady! 
 
 Near. Madam, what means that word, "neglected hus- 
 band"? 
 
 Cal. Forgive me : now I turn to thee, thou shadow 
 Of my contracted lord ! Bear witness all, 
 I put my mother's wedding-ring upon 
 His finger; 'twas my father's last bequest. 
 
 \_Places a ring on the finger of ITHOCLES. 
 Thus I new-many him whose wife I am ; 
 Death shall not separate us. O, my lords, 
 I but deceived your eyes with antic gesture, 
 When one news straight came huddling on another 
 Of death ! and death ! and death ! still I danced forward ; 
 But it struck home, and here, and in an instant. 
 Be such mere women, who with shrieks and outcries 
 Can vow a present end to all their sorrows, 
 Yet live to court new pleasures, and outlive them : 
 They are the silent griefs which cut the heart-strings; 
 Let me die smiling. 
 
 Near. 'Tis a truth too ominous. 
 
 Cal. One kiss on these cold lips, my last! \Kisses 
 
 ITHOCLES.] Crack, crack ! 
 Argos now's Sparta's king. Command the voices 
 Which wait at the altar now to sing the song 
 I fitted for my end.
 
 28o THE BROKEN HEART. [ACT v. 
 
 Near. Sirs, the song ! 
 
 , DIRGE. 
 CJior. Glories, pleasures, pomps, delights, and ease, 
 
 Can but please 
 
 The outward senses, when the mind 
 Is or untroubled or by peace refined. 
 \st. Voice. Crowns may flourish and decay, 
 
 Beauties shine, but fade away. 
 znd Voice. Youth may revel, yet it must 
 
 Lie down in a bed of dust. 
 yd Voice. Earthly honours flow and waste, 
 
 Time alone doth change and last. 
 Chor. Sorrows mingled with contents prepare 
 
 Rest far care ; 
 
 Love only reigns in death ; though art 
 Can find no comfort for a broken heart. 
 
 [CALANTHA dies. 
 Arm. Look to the queen ! 
 
 Bass. Her heart is broke indeed. 
 
 O, royal maid, would thou hadst missed this part ! 
 Yet 'twas a brave one. I must weep to see 
 Her smile in death. 
 
 Arm. Wise Tecnicus ! thus said he; 
 
 " When youth is ripe, and age from time doth part, 
 The Lifeless Trunk shall wed the Broken Heart." 
 'Tis here fulfilled. 
 Near. I am your king. 
 
 All. Long live 
 
 Nearchus, King of Sparta ! 
 
 Near. Her last will 
 
 Shall never be digressed from : wait in order 
 Upon these faithful lovers, as becomes us. 
 The counsels of the gods are never known 
 Till men can call the effects of them their own. \Exeunt.
 
 THE BR OKEN HE A R T. 
 
 281 
 
 WHERE noble judgments and clear eyes are fixed 
 
 To grace endeavour, there sits truth, not mixed 
 
 With ignorance ; those censures may command 
 
 Belief which talk not till they understand. 
 
 Let some say, "This was flat; " some, " Here the scene 
 
 Fell from its height ; " another, " That the mean 
 
 Was ill observed in such a growing passion 
 
 As it transcended either state or fashion : " 
 
 Some few may cry, " 'Twas pretty well," or so, 
 
 " But " and there shrug in silence : yet we know 
 
 Our writer's aim was in the whole addrest 
 
 Well to deserve of all, but please the best ; 
 
 Which granted, by the allowance of this strain 
 
 The BROKEN HEART may be pieced-up again.
 
 LOVE'S ScAC^IFICE.
 
 OVE'S SACRIFICE was acted at the 
 Phoenix in Drury Lane, and published in 
 1633, as "a tragedy received generally 
 well." The source of the story is unknown. 
 The passages in which D'Avolos excites 
 the jealousy of the Duke were evidently 
 suggested by Othello. The words in 
 which D'Avolos bids farewell to his 
 
 judges resemble, as Ward points out, those of Marinelli 
 
 in Lessing's Emilia Galotti. 
 
 ' To -my Friend, Master John Ford. 
 
 Unto this altar, rich with thy own spice, 
 I bring one grain to thy LOVE'S SACRIFICE ; 
 And boast to see thy flames ascending, while 
 Perfumes enrich our air from thy sweet pile. 
 Look here, thou that hast malice to the stage, 
 And impudence enough for the whole age ; 
 " Voluminously "-ignorant, be vext 
 To read this tragedy, and thy own be next. 
 
 JAMES SHIRLF.Y. 
 
 Thou cheat'st us, Ford : mak'st one seem two by art : 
 What is Love's Sacrifice but the Broken Heart ? 
 
 RICHARD CRASHAw. 1 
 
 1 This appeared in Crashaw's Delights of the Muses (1646). It 
 is interesting to note the evident regard which the religious poet and 
 mystic felt for the dramatist.
 
 To my Truest Friend, my Worthiest Kinsman, 
 JOHN FORD, OF GRAY'S INN, ESQ. 
 
 HE title of this little work, my good cousin, 
 is in sense but the argument of a dedica- 
 tion ; which being in most writers a 
 custom, in many a compliment, I question 
 not but your clear knowledge of my intents 
 will, in me, read as the earnest of affec- 
 tion. My ambition herein aims at a fair 
 flight, borne up on the double wings of 
 gratitude for a received, and acknowledg- 
 ment for a continued love. It is not so frequent to number 
 many kinsmen, and amongst them some friends, as to pre- 
 sume on some friends, and amongst them little friendship. 
 But in every fulness of these particulars I do not more 
 partake through you, my cousin, the delight than enjoy the 
 benefit of them. This inscription to your name is only a 
 faithful deliverance to memory of the truth of my respects 
 to virtue, and to the equal in honour with virtue, desert. 
 The contempt thrown on studies of this kind by such as 
 dote on their own singularity ' hath almost so outfaced in- 
 vention and proscribed judgment, that it is more safe, more 
 wise, to be suspectedly silent than modestly confident of 
 opinion herein. Let me be bold to tell the severity of cen- 
 surers how willingly I neglect their practice, so long as I 
 digress from no becoming thankfulness. Accept, then, my 
 cousin, this witness to posterity of my constancy to your 
 merits ; for no ties of blood, no engagements of friendship, 
 shall more justly live a precedent than the sincerity of both 
 in the heart of 
 
 JOHN FORD. 
 
 1 Here is an allusion to Prynne, also referred to by Shirley in the 
 verses prefixed to this play. Piynne had just produced his Histrio- 
 mastix, or Actor's Tragedy, and was at this time before the Star- 
 Chamber for a supposed insult to the Queen by his reflection on 
 women-players. A few days before Hittriomastix appeared the 
 Queen and her ladies had acted in a pastoral at Whitehall.
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 PHILIPPO CARAFFA, Duke of Pavia. 
 PAULO BAGLIONE, Uncle of the Duchess. 
 FERNANDO, Favourite of the Duke. 
 FERENTES, a wanton Courtier. 
 ROSEILLI, a young Nobleman. 
 PETRUCHIO, 
 
 , two Counsellors of State. 
 
 NlBRASSA, 
 
 RODERICO D'AVOLOS, Secretary to the Duke. 
 
 MAURUCCIO, an old Buffoon. 
 
 GlACOPO, Servant to Mauruccio. 
 
 Abbot of Monaco. 
 
 Courtiers, Officers, Friars, Attendants, &c. 
 
 BIANCA, the Duchess. 
 FIORMONDA, the Duke's Sister. . 
 COLONA, Daughter of Petruchio. 
 JULIA, Daughter of Nibrassa. 
 MORONA, a Widow. 
 
 SCENE PAVIA.
 
 LOVE'S SzACT^IFICE. 
 
 ACT THE FIRST. 
 
 SCENE I. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 i 
 Enter ROSEILLI and RODERICO D'AVOLOS. 
 
 OS. Depart the court? 
 
 D'Av. Such was the duke's com- 
 mand. 
 
 Ros. You're secretary to the state 
 and him, [honest. 
 
 Great in his counsels, wise, and, I think, 
 Have you, in turning over old records, 
 Read but one name descended of the house 
 Of Lesui in his loyalty remiss ? 
 D'Av. Never, my lord. 
 Ros. Why, then, should I now, now when glorious 
 
 peace 
 
 Triumphs in change of pleasures, be wiped off, 
 Like to a useless moth, from courtly ease ? 
 And whither must I go ? 
 
 D 'Av. You have the open world before you. 
 Ros. Why, then 'tis like I'm banished ? 
 D' Av. Not so : my warrant is only to command you 
 from the court ; within five hours to depart after notice 
 taken, and not to live within thirty miles of it, until it be 
 thought meet by his excellence to call you back. Now
 
 288 LOVE'S SA CRIF1CE. [ACT I . 
 
 I have warned you, my lord, at your peril be it, if you 
 disobey. I shall inform the duke of your discontent. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Ros. Do, politician, do ! I scent the plot 
 Of this disgrace ; 'tis Fiormonda, she, 
 That glorious widow, whose commanding check 
 Ruins my love : like foolish beasts, thus they 
 Find danger that prey too near the lions' d'en. 
 
 Enter FERNANDO and PETRUCHIO. 
 
 Fern. My noble lord, Roseilli ! 
 
 Ros. Sir, the joy 
 
 I should have welcomed you with is wrapt up 
 In clouds of my disgrace ; yet, honoured sir, 
 Howsoe'er frowns of great ones cast me down, 
 My service shall pay tribute in my lowness 
 To your uprising virtues. 
 
 Fern. . Sir, I know 
 
 .You are so well acquainted with your own, 
 You need not flatter mine : trust me, my lord, 
 I'll be a suitor for you. 
 
 Pet. And I'll second 
 
 My nephew's suit with importunity., 
 
 Ros. You are, my Lord Fernando, late returned 
 From travels ; pray instruct me : since the voice 
 Of most supreme authority commands 
 My absence, I determine to bestow 
 Some time in learning languages abroad ; 
 Perhaps the change of air may change in me 
 Remembrance of my wrongs at home : good sir, 
 Inform me ; say I meant to live in Spain, 
 What benefit of knowledge might I treasure ? 
 
 Fern. Troth, sir, I'll freely speak as I have found. 
 In Spain you lose experience ; 'tis a climate 
 Too hot to nourish arts ; l the nation proud, 
 
 1 It was the age of Velasquez and Calderon, but Spain was not 
 popular in England. at this period. Ford was probably indebted 
 in part to Howell for this description.
 
 SCENE i.] LOVE'S SACRIFICE. 289 
 
 X 
 
 And in their pride unsociable ; the court 
 More pliable to glorify itself 
 Than do a stranger grace : if you intend 
 To traffic like a merchant, 'twere a place 
 Might better much your trade ; but as for me, 
 I soon took surfeit on it. 
 
 Ros. What for France ? 
 
 Fern. France I more praise and love. You are, my 
 
 lord, 
 
 Yourself for horsemanship much famed ; and there 
 You shall have many proofs to show your skill. 1 
 The French are passing courtly, ripe of wit, 
 Kind, but- extreme dissemblers ; you shall have 
 A Frenchman ducking lower than your knee, 
 At the instant mocking even your very shoe-ties. 
 To give the country due, it is on earth 
 A paradise ; and if you can neglect 
 Your own appropriaments, but praising that 
 In others wherein you excel yourself, 
 You shall be much beloved there. 
 
 Ros. Yet methought 
 
 I heard you and the duchess, two night since, 
 Discoursing of an island thereabouts, 
 Called let me think 'twas 
 
 Fern. England ? 
 
 Ros. That : pray, sir 
 
 You have been there, methought I heard you praise 
 it. 
 
 Fern. I'll tell you what I found there ; men as neat, 
 As courtly as the French, but in condition 2 
 Quite opposite. Put case that you, my lord, 
 Could be more rare on horseback than you are, 
 
 1 It seems that about this period the English were surpassed by 
 most nations in this noble art : nor was it till James I. wisely en- 
 couraged horse-races, that we thought of improving the old, heavy, 
 short-winded breed of horses, by the introduction of Barbary and 
 other stallions. Gijford. 
 
 2 Disposition. 
 
 Ford. U
 
 2 9 o LOVE'S SA CRIFICE. [ACT i. 
 
 If there as there are many one excelled 
 You in your art as much as you do others, 
 Yet will the English think their own is nothing 
 Compared with you, a stranger ; in their habits 
 They are not more fantastic than uncertain ; 
 In short, their fair abundance, manhood, beauty, 
 No nation can disparage but itself. 
 
 Ros. My lord, you have much eased me ; I resolve. 
 
 Fern. And whither are you bent ? 
 
 Ros. My lord, for travel ; 
 
 To speed or England. 
 
 Fern. No, my lord, you must not : 
 
 I have yet some private conference 
 T' impart unto you for your good ; at night 
 I'll meet you at my Lord Petruchio's house : 
 Till then be secret. 
 
 Ros. Dares my cousin trust me ? 
 
 Pet. Dare I, my lord ! yes, 'less your fact were greater 
 Than a bold woman's spleen. 
 
 Ross. The duke's at hand, 
 
 And I must hence : my service to your lordships. [xit. 
 
 Pet. Now, nephew, as I told you, since the duke 
 Hath held the reins of state in his own hand, 
 Much altered from the man he was before, 
 
 As if he were transformed in his mind, 1 
 To soothe him in his pleasures, amongst whom 
 Is fond Ferentes ; one whose pride takes pride 
 In nothing more than to delight his lust ; 
 And he with grief I speak it hath, I fear, 
 Too much besotted my unhappy daughter, 
 My poor Colona ; whom, for kindred's sake, 
 As you are noble, as you honour virtue, 
 Persuade to love herself: a word from you 
 May win her more than my entreaties or frowns, 
 
 1 One or more lines, the purport of which may easily be gathered, 
 have dropped out here.
 
 SCENE i.] LOVE'S SACRIFICE. 291 
 
 Fern. Uncle, I'll do my best : meantime, pray tell 
 
 me, 
 
 Whose mediation wrought the marriage 
 Betwixt the duke and duchess, who was agent. 
 
 Pet. His roving eye and her enchanting face, 
 The only dower nature had ordained 
 T' advance her to her bride-bed. She was daughter 
 Unto a gentleman of Milan no better 
 Preferred to serve i' the Duke of Milan's court; 
 Where for her beauty she was greatly famed : 
 And passing late from thence to Monaco 
 To visit there her uncle, Paul Baglione 
 The Abbot, Fortune queen to such blind matches 
 Presents her to the duke's eye, on the way, 
 As he pursues the deer : in short, my lord, 
 He saw her, loved her, wooed her, won her, matched 
 
 her ; 
 No counsel could divert him. 
 
 Fern. She is fair. 
 
 Pet. She is ; and, to speak truth, I think right noble 
 In her conditions. 1 
 
 Fern. If, when I should choose, 
 
 Beauty and virtue were the fee proposed, 
 I should not pass 2 for parentage. 
 
 Pet. The duke 
 
 Doth come. 
 
 Fern. Let's break-off talk. \Aside~\ If ever, now, 
 Good angel of my soul, protect my truth ! 
 
 Enter the Duke, BIANCA, FIORMONDA, NIBRASSA, 
 FERENTES, JULIA, and D'AVOLOS. 
 
 Duke. Come, my Bianca, revel in mine arms ; 
 Whiles I, wrapt in my admiration, view 
 Lilies and roses growing in thy cheeks. 
 Fernando ! O, thou half myself 1 no joy 
 Could make my pleasure full without thy presence : 
 
 1 Disposition, 3 i.e. Care.
 
 392 LOVE'S SACRIFICE. [ACT I, 
 
 I am a monarch of felicity, 
 
 Proud in a pair of jewels, rich and beautiful, 
 
 A perfect friend, a wife above compare. 
 
 Fern. Sir, if a man so low in rank may hope, 
 By loyal duty and devoted zeal, 
 To hold a correspondency in friendship 
 With one so mighty as the Duke of Pavy, ' 
 My uttermost ambition is to climb 
 To those deserts may give the style of servant. 
 
 Duke. Of partner in my dukedom, in my heart, 
 As freely as the privilege of blood 
 Hath made them mine ; Philippo and Fernando 
 Shall be without distinction. Look, Bianca, 
 On this good man ; in all respects to him 
 Be as to me : only the name of husband, 
 And reverent observance of our bed, 
 Shall differ us in person, else in soul 
 We are all one. 
 
 Bian. I shall, in best of love, 
 
 Regard the bosom- partner of my lord. 
 
 Fior. \Aside to FERENTES] Ferentes, 
 
 Feren. \Aside to FIORMONDA] Madam ? 
 
 Fior. \Aside to FERENTES] You are one loves courtship 
 He hath some change of words, 2 'twere no lost labour 
 To stuff your table-books ; 3 the man speaks wisely ! 
 
 Fercn. \_Aside to FIORMONDA] I'm glad your highness 
 is so pleasant. 
 
 Duke. Sister, 
 
 Fior. My lord and brother ? 
 
 Duke. You are too silent, 
 
 Quicken 4 your sad remembrance, though the loss 
 Of your dead husband be of more account 
 Than slight neglect, yet 'tis a sin against 
 The state of princes to exceed a mean 
 In mourning for the dead. 
 
 Pavia. s Memorandum book. 
 
 2 i.e. He is a ready talker. 4 Enliven.
 
 SCENE I .] LOVE'S SA CRIFICE. 293 
 
 Fior. Should form, my lord, 
 
 Prevail above affection ? no, it cannot. 
 You have yourself here a right noble duchess, 
 Virtuous at least ; and should your grace now pay 
 Which Heaven forbid ! the debt you owe to nature, 
 I dare presume she'd not so soon forget 
 A prince that thus advanced her. Madam, could 
 you? 
 
 D'Av. [Aside] Bitter and shrewd. 
 
 Bian. Sister, I should too much bewray my weakness, 
 To give a resolution on a passion 
 I never felt nor feared. 
 
 Xib. A modest answer. 
 
 Fern. If credit may be given to a face, 
 My lord, I'll undertake on her behalf; 
 : Her words are trusty heralds to her mind. 
 
 Fior. [Aside to D'AVOLOS] Exceeding good ; the man 
 
 will " undertake" ! 
 Observe it, D'Avolos. 
 
 D'Av. {Aside to FIORMONDA] Lady, I do ; 
 'Tis a smooth praise. 
 
 Duke. Friend, in thy judgment I approve thy love, 
 And love thee better for thy judging mine. 
 Though my gray-headed senate in the laws 
 Of strict opinion and severe dispute 
 Would tie the limits of our free affects, 1 
 Like superstitious Jews, to match with none 
 But in a tribe of princes like ourselves, 
 Gross-nurtured slaves, who force their wretched souls 
 To crouch to profit ; nay, for trash and wealth 
 Dote on some crooked or misshapen form ; 
 Hugging wise nature's lame deformity, 
 Begetting creatures ugly as themselves : 
 But why should princes do so, that command 
 The storehouse of the earth's hid minerals ? 
 No, my Bianca, thou'rt to me as dear 
 
 1 i.e. Affections.
 
 294 LOVE'S SACRIFICE. [ACT i. 
 
 As if thy portion had been Europe's riches ; 
 Since in thine eyes lies more than these are worth. 
 Set on ; they shall be strangers to my heart 
 That envy thee thy fortunes. Come, Fernando, 
 My but divided self ; what we have done 
 We are only debtor to Heaven for. On ! 
 
 Fior. {Aside to D'AvoLOS.] Now take thy time, or 
 
 never, D'Avolos ; 
 Prevail, and I will raise thee high in grace. 
 
 D'Av. [Aside to FIORMONDA.] Madam, I will omit no 
 art. 
 
 {Exeunt all but D'AVOLOS, who recalls FERNANDO. 
 My honoured Lord Fernando ! 
 
 Fern. To me, sir ? 
 
 D'Av. Let me beseech your lordship to excuse me, in 
 the nobleness of your wisdom, if I exceed good manners : 
 I am one, my lord, who in the admiration of your perfect 
 virtues do so truly honour and reverence your deserts, 
 that there is not a creature bears life shall more faithfully 
 study to do you service in all offices of duty and vows of 
 due respect. 
 
 Fern. Good sir, you bind me to you : is this all ? 
 
 D'Av. I beseech your ear a little ; good my lord, what 
 I have to speak concerns your reputation and best 
 fortune. 
 
 Fern. How's that ! my reputation ? lay aside 
 Superfluous ceremony ; speak ; what is't ? 
 
 D'Av. I do repute myself the blessedest man alive, 
 that I shall be the first gives your lordship news of your 
 perpetual comfort. 
 
 Fern. As how ? 
 
 D' Av. If singular beauty, unimitable virtues, honour, 
 yduth, and absolute goodness be a fortune, all those are 
 at once offered to your particular choice. 
 
 Fern. Without delays, which way ? 
 
 D' Av. The great and gracious Lady Fiormonda loves 
 you, infinitely loves you. But, my lord, as ever you
 
 SCENE i.] LOVE'S SACRIFICE. 295 
 
 tendered a servant to your pleasures, let me not be re- 
 vealed that I gave you notice on't. 
 
 Fern. Sure, you are strangely out of tune, sir. 
 
 D'Av. Please but to speak to her; be but courtly- 
 ceremonious with her, use once but the language of affec- 
 tion, if I misreport aught besides my knowledge, let me 
 never have place in your good opinion. O, these women, 
 my lord, are as brittle metal as your glasses, as smooth, 
 as slippery, their very first substance was quicksands : l 
 let 'em look never so demurely, one fillip chokes them. 
 My lord, she loves you ; I know it. But I beseech your 
 lordship not to discover me ; I would not for the world 
 she should that you know it by me. 
 
 Fern. I understand you, and to thank your care 
 Will study to requite it ; and I vow 
 She never shall have notice of your news 
 By me or by my means. And, worthy sir, 
 Let me alike enjoin you not to speak 
 A word of that I understand her love ; 
 And as for me, my word shall be your surety 
 I'll not as much as give her cause to think 
 I ever heard it. 
 
 D' Av. Nay, my lord, whatsoever I infer, you may 
 break with her in it, if you please ; for, rather than silence 
 should hinder you one step to such a fortune, I will 
 expose myself to any rebuke for your sake, my good 
 lord. 
 
 Fern. You shall not indeed, sir; I am still your friend, 
 and will prove so. For the present I am forced to attend 
 the duke : good hours befall ye ! I must leave you. \_Exit. 
 
 D'Av. Gone already? 'sfoot, I ha' marred all! this is 
 worse and worse ; he's as cold as hemlock. If her high- 
 ness knows how I have gone to work she'll thank me 
 scurvily : a pox of all dull brains ! I took the clean con- 
 
 1 In allusion to the traditionary stories of the first discovery of 
 glass by the Phoenician mariners in consequence of their lighting a 
 fire on the sand. Gifford.
 
 296 L O VE ' S SA CRIFICE. [ACT i . 
 
 trary course. There is a mystery in this slight careless- 
 ness of his ; I must sift it, and I will find it. Ud's me, 
 fool myself out of my wit ! well, I'll choose some fitter 
 opportunity to inveigle him, and till then smooth her up 
 that he is a man overjoyed with the report. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. Another Room in the Palace. 
 Enter FERENTES and COLONA. 
 
 Per en. Madam, by this light I vow myself your servant ; 
 only yours, in especially yours. Time, like a turncoat, 
 may order and disorder the outward fashions of our 
 bodies, but shall never enforce a change on the con- 
 stancy of my mind. Sweet Colona, fair Colona, young 
 and sprightful lady, do not let me in the best of my youth 
 languish in my earnest affections. 
 
 Col. Why should you seek, my lord, to purchase glory 
 By the disgrace of a silly maid. 
 
 Feren. That I confess too. I am every way so un- 
 worthy of the first-fruits of thy embraces, so far beneath 
 the riches of thy merit, that it can be no honour to thy 
 fame to rank me in the number of thy servants; yet prove 
 me how true, how firm I will stand to thy pleasures, to thy 
 command ; and, as time shall serve, be ever thine. Now, 
 prithee, dear Colona, 
 
 Col. Well, well, my lord, I have no heart of flint ; 
 Or if I had, you know by cunning words 
 How to outwear it : but 
 
 Feren. But what? do not pity thy own gentleness, 
 lovely Colona. Shall I ? Speak, shall I ? say but ay, 
 and our wishes are made up. 
 
 Col. How shall I say ay, when my fears say no ? 
 
 Feren. You will not fail to meet me two hours hence, 
 sweet?
 
 SCENE ii.] LOVE'S SA ORIFICE. 297 
 
 Col. No; 
 Yes, yes, I would have said : how my tongue trips ! 
 
 Per en. I take that promise and that double "yes" as 
 an assurance of thy faith. In the grove ; good sweet, 
 remember ; in any case alone,^ d'ye mark, love ? not 
 as much as your duchess' little dog; you'll not for- 
 get? two hours hence think on't, and miss not: till 
 then 
 
 Col. O, if you should prove false, and love another ! 
 
 Fercn. Defy me, then ! I'll be all thine, and a servant 
 only to thee, only to thee. \Exit COLONA] Very passing 
 good ! three honest women in our courts here of Italy 
 are enough to discredit a whole nation of that sex. He 
 that is not a cuckold or a bastard is a strangely happy 
 man ; for a chaste wife, or a mother that never stepped 
 awry, are wonders, wonders in Italy. 'Slife ! I have got 
 the feat on't, and am every day more active in my trade : 
 'tis a sweet sin, this slip of mortality, and I have tasted 
 enough for one passion of my senses. Here comes more 
 work for me, 
 
 Enter JULIA. 
 
 And how does my own Julia ? Mew upon this sadness ! 
 what's the matter you are melancholy ? Whither away, 
 wench ? 
 
 Jul. Tis well ; the time has been when your smooth 
 
 tongue 
 
 Would not have mocked my griefs ; and had I been 
 More chary of mine honour, you had- still 
 Been lowly as you were. 
 
 Feren. Lowly ! why, I am sure I cannot be much 
 more lowly than I am to thee ; thou bringest me on my 
 bare knees, wench, twice in every four-and-twenty hours, 
 besides half-turns instead of bevers. 1 What must we next 
 do, sweetheart? 
 
 Jul. Break vows on your side ; I expect no other, 
 
 1 A slight repast, usually between breakfast and dinner.
 
 2g8 L O KE* S SA ORIFICE. [ACT I. 
 
 But every day look when some newer choice 
 May violate your honour and my trust. 
 
 Feren. Indeed, forsooth ! how say ye by that, la ? I 
 hope I neglect no opportunity to your nunqttam satis, to 
 be called in question for. Go, thou art as fretting as an 
 old grogram: 1 by this hand, I love thee for't; it becomes 
 thee so prettily to be angry. Well, if thou shouldst die, 
 farewell all love with me for ever ! go ; I'll meet thee 
 soon in thy lady's back-lobby, I will, wench ; look for 
 me. 
 
 Jul. But shall I be resolved 3 you will be mine ? 
 
 Feren. All thine ; I will reserve my best ability, my 
 heart, my honour only to thee, only to thee. Pity of my 
 blood, away ! I hear company coming on : remember, 
 soon I am all thine, I will live perpetually only to thee : 
 away ! \Exit JULIA] 'Sfoot ! I wonder about what time 
 of the year I was begot ; sure, it was when the moon was 
 in conjunction, and all the other planets drunk at a 
 morris-dance : I am haunted above patience ; my mind 
 is not as infinite to do as my occasions are proffered of 
 doing. Chastity ! I am an eunuch if I think there be any 
 such thing ; or if there be, 'tis amongst us men, for I 
 never found it in a woman thoroughly tempted yet. I 
 have a shrewd hard task coming on ; but let it pass. 
 Who comes now ? My lord, the duke's friend ! I will 
 strive to be inward with him. 
 
 Enter FERNANDO. 
 My noble Lord Fernando ! 
 
 Fern. My Lord Ferentes, I should change some words 
 Of consequence with you ; but since I am, 
 For this time, busied in more serious thoughts, 
 I'll pick some fitter opportunity. 
 
 Feren. I will wait your pleasure, my lord. Good-day 
 to your lordship. [xit. 
 
 1 A coarse kind of silk taffety, usually stiffened with gum, and 
 easily losing its gloss. 
 
 2 Assured.
 
 SCENE ii.] LOVE'S SACRIFICE. 299 
 
 Fern. Traitor to friendship, whither shall I run, 
 That, lost to reason, cannot sway the float 
 Of the unruly faction in my blood ? 
 The duchess, O, the duchess ! in her smiles 
 Are all my joys abstracted. Death to my thoughts ! 
 My other plague comes to me. 
 
 Enter FIORMONDA and JULIA. 
 
 Fior. My Lord Fernando, what, so hard at study ! 
 You are a kind companion to yourself, 
 That love to be alone so. 
 
 Fern. Madam, no ; 
 
 I rather chose this leisure to admire 
 The glories of this little world, the court, 
 Where, like so many stars, on several thrones 
 Beauty and greatness shine in proper orbs ; 
 Sweet matter for my meditation. 
 
 Fior. So, so, sir ! Leave us, Julia [Exit JULIA] your 
 
 own proof, 
 
 By travel and prompt observation, 
 Instructs you how to place the use of speech. 
 But since you are at leisure, pray let's sit : 
 We'll pass the time a little in discourse. 
 What have you seen abroad ? 
 
 Fern. No wonders, lady, 
 
 Like these I see at home. 
 
 Fior. At home ! as how ? 
 
 Fern. Your pardon, if my tongue, the voice of truth, 
 Report but what is warranted by sight. 
 
 Fior. What sight ? 
 
 Fern. Look in your glass, and you shall see 
 
 A miracle. 
 
 Fior. What miracle ? 
 
 Fern. Your beauty, 
 
 So far above all beauties else abroad 
 As you are in your own superlative. 
 
 Fior. Fie, fie ! your wit hath too much edge.
 
 300 LOVE'S SA CRIFICE. [ACT i . 
 
 Fern. Would that, 
 
 Or any thing that I could challenge mine, 
 Were but of value to express how much 
 I serve in love the sister of my prince ! 
 
 Fior. Tis for your prince's sake, then, not for 
 mine ? 
 
 Fern. For you in him, and much for him in you. 
 I must acknowledge, madam, I observe 
 In your affects l a thing to me most strange, 
 Which makes me so much honour you the more. 
 
 Fior. Pray, tell it. 
 
 Fern. Gladly, lady: 
 
 I see how opposite to youth and custom 
 You set before you, in the tablature 
 Of your remembrance, the becoming griefs 
 Of a most loyal lady for the loss 
 Of so renowned a prince as was your lord. 
 
 Fior. Now, good my lord, no more of him. 
 
 Fern. Of him ! 
 
 I know it is a needless task in me 
 To set him forth in his deserved praise ; 
 You better can record it ; for you find 
 How much more he exceeded other men 
 In most heroic virtues of account, 
 So much more was your loss in losing him. 
 Of him ! his praise should be a field too large, 
 Too spacious, for so mean an orator 
 As I to range in. 
 
 Fior. Sir, enough : 'tis true 
 
 He well deserved your labour. On his deathbed 
 This ring he gave me, bade me never part 
 With this but to the man I loved as dearly 
 As I loved him : yet since you know which way 
 To blaze his worth so rightly, in return 
 To your deserts wear this for him and me. 
 
 \Offers him the ring. 
 1 Affections.
 
 SCENE ii.] LOVE'S SACRIFICE. 301 
 
 Fern. Madam ! 
 
 Fior. Tis yours, 
 
 Fern. Methought you said he charged you 
 
 Not to impart it but to him you loved 
 As dearly as you loved him. 
 
 Fior. True, I said so, 
 
 Fern. O, then, far be it my unhallowed hand 
 With any rude intrusion should annul 
 A testament enacted by the dead ! 
 
 Fior. Why, man, that testament is disannulled 
 And cancelled quite by us that live. Look here, 
 My blood is not yet freezed; for better instance, 
 Be judge yourself; experience is no danger 
 Cold are my sighs ; but, feel, my lips are warm. 
 
 \_Kisses him. 
 
 Fern. What means the virtuous marquess ? 
 
 Fior. To new-kiss 
 
 The oath to thee, which whiles he lived was his : 
 Hast thou yet power to love ? 
 
 Fern. To love ! 
 
 Fior. To meet 
 
 Sweetness of language in discourse as sweet ? 
 
 Fern. Madam, 'twere dulness past the ignorance 
 Of common blockheads not to understand 
 Whereto this favour tends ; and 'tis a fortune 
 So much above my fate, that I could wish 
 No greater happiness on earth : but know 
 Long since I vowed to live a single life. 
 
 Fior. What was't you said ? 
 
 Fern. I said I made a vow 
 
 Enter BIANCA, PETRUCHIO, COLONA, and D'AvoLos. 
 
 [Aside] Blessed deliverance ! 
 
 Fior. [Aside.] Prevented? mischief on this interrup 
 tion ! 
 
 Bian. My Lord Fernando, you encounter fitly 
 I have a suit t'ye.
 
 302 L O VE'S SA CRIFICE. [ACT i. 
 
 Fern. 'Tis my duty, madam, 
 
 To be commanded. 
 
 Bian. Since my lord the duke 
 
 Is now disposed to mirth, the time serves well 
 For mediation, that he would be pleased 
 To take the Lord Roseilli to his grace. 
 He is a noble gentleman ; I dare 
 Engage my credit, loyal to the state ; 
 And, sister, one that ever strove, methought, 
 By special service and obsequious care, 
 To win respect from you : it were a part 
 Of gracious favour, if you pleased to join 
 With us in being suitors to the duke 
 For his return to court. 
 
 Fior. To court ! indeed, 
 
 You have some cause to speak; he undertook, 
 Most champion-like, to win the prize at tilt, 
 In honour of your picture; marry, did he. 
 There's not a groom o' the querry could have matched 
 The jolly riding-man : pray, get him back ; 
 I do not need his service, madam, I. 
 
 Bian. Not need it, sister ? why, I hope you think 
 'Tis no necessity in me to move it, 
 More than respect of honour. 
 
 Fior. Honour ! puh ! 
 
 Honour is talked of more than known by some. 
 
 Bian. Sister, these words I understand not. 
 
 Fern. \Aside^\ Swell not, unruly thoughts ! 
 Madam, the motion you propose proceeds 
 From the true touch of goodness; 'tis a plea 
 Wherein my tongue and knee shall jointly strive 
 To beg his highness for Roseilli's cause. 
 Your judgment rightly speaks him ; there is not 
 In any court of Christendom a man 
 For quality or trust more absolute. 
 
 Fior. \Aside.\ How ! is't even so ? 
 
 Pet. I shall for ever bless
 
 SCENE n.] LOVE'S SACRIFICE. 303 
 
 Your highness for your gracious kind esteem 
 Of my disheartened kinsman ; and to add 
 Encouragement to what you undertake, 
 I dare affirm 'tis no important fault 
 Hath caused the duke's distaste. 
 
 Bian. I hope so too. 
 
 D'Av. Let your highness, and you all, my lords, take 
 advice how you motion his excellency on Roseilli's be- 
 half; there is more danger in that man than is fit to be 
 publicly reported. I could wish things were otherwise 
 or his own sake ; but I'll assure ye, you will exceedingly 
 alter his excellency's disposition he now is in, if you but 
 mention the name of Roseilli to his ear ; I am so much 
 acquainted in the process of his actions. 
 
 Bian. If it be so, I am the sorrier, sir : 
 I'm loth to move my lord unto offence ; 
 Yet I'll adventure chiding. 
 
 Fern. [Aside.] O, had I India's gold, I'd give it all 
 T' exchange one private word, one minute's breath, 
 With this heart-wounding beauty ! 
 
 Enter the Duke, FERENTES, and NIBRASSA. 
 
 Duke. Prithee, no more, Ferentes ; by the faith 
 I owe to honour, thou hast made me laugh 
 Beside my spleen. 1 Fernando, hadst thou heard 
 The pleasant humour of Mauruccio's dotage 
 Discoursed, how in the winter of his age 
 He is become a lover, thou wouldst swear 
 A morris-dance were but a tragedy 
 Compared to that : well, we will see the youth. 
 What council hold you now, sirs? 
 
 Bian. We, my lord, 
 
 Were talking of the horsemanship in France, 
 Which, as your friend reports, he thinks exceeds 
 All other nations. 
 
 1 i.e. Beyond my nature, the spleen being regarded as the source 
 of any sudden and violent ebullition.
 
 304 LOVE'S SACRIFICE. [ACT I. 
 
 Duke. How ! why, have not we 
 
 As gallant riders here ? 
 
 Fern. None that I know. 
 
 Duke. Pish, your affection leads you ; I dare wage 
 A thousand ducats, not a man in France 
 Outrides Roseilli. 
 
 Fior. [Aside.] I shall quit this wrong. 
 
 Bian. I said as much, my lord. 
 
 Fern. I have not seen 
 
 His practice since my coming back. 
 
 Duke. Where is he? 
 
 How is't we see him not? 
 
 Pet. [Aside.] What's this ? what's this ? 
 
 Fern. I hear he was commanded from the court. 
 
 D'Av. [Aside.] O, confusion on this villainous occa- 
 sion ! 
 
 Duke. True ; but we meant a day or two at most 
 Should be his furthest term. Not yet returned ? 
 Where's D'Avolos ? 
 
 D'Av. \Advancing^\ My lord ? 
 
 Duke. You know our mind : 
 
 How comes it thus to pass we miss Roseilli ? 
 
 D'Av. My lord, in a sudden discontent I hear he 
 departed towards Benevento, determining, as I am given 
 to understand, to pass to Seville, minding to visit his 
 cousin, Don Pedro de Toledo, in the Spanish court. 
 
 Duke. The Spanish court ! now by the blessed bones 
 Of good Saint Francis, let there posts be sent 
 To call him back, or I will post thy head 
 Beneath my foot : ha, you ! you know my mind ; 
 Look that you get him back : the Spanish court ! 
 And without our commission ! 
 
 Pet. [Aside.] Here's fine juggling ! 
 
 Bian. Good sir, be not so moved. 
 
 Duke. Fie, fie, Bianca, 
 
 'Tis such a gross indignity ; I'd rather
 
 SCENE ii.] LOVE'S SACRIFICE. 305 
 
 Have lost seven years' revenue : the Spanish court ! 
 How now, what ails our sister ? 
 
 Fior. On the sudden 
 
 I fall a-bleeding ; 'tis an ominous sign, 
 Pray Heaven it turn to good ! Your highness' leave. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Duke. Look to her. Come, Fernando, come, 
 
 Bianca, 
 
 Let's strive to overpass this choleric heat. 
 Sirrah, see that you trifle not. [To D'AvoLOs] How 
 
 we 
 
 Who sway the manage oY authority 
 May be abused by smooth officious agents ! 
 But look well to our sister. 
 
 [Exeunt all but PETRUCHIO and FERNANDO. 
 
 Pet. Nephew, please you 
 
 To see your friend to-night ? 
 
 Fern. Yes, unqle, yes. [Exit PETRUCHIO. 
 
 Thus bodies walk unsouled ! mine eyes but follow 
 My heart entombed in yonder goodly shrine : 
 Life without her is but death's subtle snares, 
 And I am but a coffin to my cares. [Exit. 
 
 Ford.
 
 ACT THE SECOND. 
 
 SCENE I. A Room in MAURUCCIO'S House. 
 
 MAURUCCIO looking in a glass, trimming his beard; 
 GIACOPO brushifig him. 
 
 T AUR. Beard, be confined to neatness, 
 
 that no hair 
 May stover up 1 to prick my mistress' 
 
 lip, 
 
 More rude than bristles of a porcupine. 
 Giacopo ! 
 
 My lord ? 
 
 Am I all sweet behind ? 
 
 Gia. 
 Mau. 
 
 Gia. I have no poulterer's nose ; but your apparel 
 sits about you most debonairly. 
 
 Mau. But, Giacopo, with what grace do my words 
 proceed out of my mouth ? Have I a moving counte- 
 nance? is there harmony in my voice ? canst thou per- 
 ceive, as it were, a handsomeness of shape in my very 
 breath, as it is formed into syllables, Giacopo ? 
 
 Enter above Duke, BIANCA, FIORMONDA. FERNANDO, 
 Courtiers, and Attendants. 
 
 Gia. Yes, indeed, sir, I do feel a savour as pleasant as 
 a glister-pipe 2 [Aside] calamus, or civet. 
 
 Duke. Observe him, and be silent. 
 
 Mau. Hold thou the glass, Giacopo, and mark me 
 with what exceeding comeliness I could court the lady 
 marquess, if it come to the push. 
 
 1 Bristle up : a west country word. 2 Enema syringe.
 
 SCEXE i.] LOVE'S SACRIFICE, 307 
 
 Duke, Sister, you are his aim. 
 
 Fior, A subject fit 
 
 To be the stale of laughter I 1 
 
 Bian. That's your music. 
 
 Mau. Thus I reverse my pace, and thus stalking in 
 courtly gait, I advance one, two, and three. Good ! I 
 kiss my hand, make my congee, settle my countenance, 
 and thus begin. Hold up the glass higher, Giacopo. 
 
 Gia. Thus high, sir ? 
 
 Man, 'Tis well ; now mark me. 
 
 " Most excellent marquess, most fair la-dy, 
 Let not old age or hairs that are sil-ver 
 Disparage my desire ; for it may be 
 
 I am than other green youth nimble-er. 
 Since I am your gra-cd's servant so true, 
 Great lady, then, love me for my vir-tue." 
 
 O, Giacopo, Petrarch was a dunce, Dante a jig-maker, 
 Sanazzar a goose, and Ariosto a puck-fist, 2 to me ! I 
 tell thee, Giacopo, I am rapt with fury ; and have been 
 for these six nights together drunk with the pure liquor 
 of Helicon, 
 
 Gia. I think no less, sir; for you look as wild, and 
 talk as idly, as if you had not slept these nine years. 
 
 J)nke. What think you of this language, sister ? 
 
 Fior. Sir, 
 
 I think in princes' courts no age nor greatness 
 But must admit the fool ; in me 'twere folly 
 To scorn what greater states 3 than I have been. 
 
 Bian. O, but you are too general 
 
 Fior. A fool ! 
 
 I thank your highness : many a woman's wit 
 Have thought themselves much better was much worse. 
 
 Bian. You still mistake me. 
 
 1 Laughing stock. 
 
 2 i.e. An empty boaster, from the fungus better known as puff- 
 ball. 
 
 3 i.e. Persons of state.
 
 308 L O VE ' S SA CRIFICE. [ACT n. 
 
 Duke. Silence ! note the rest. 
 
 Man. God-a'mercy, brains ! Giacopo, I have it, 
 
 Gia. What, my lord ? 
 
 Man. A conceit, Giacopo, and a fine one down on 
 thy knees, Giacopo, and worship my wit. Give me both 
 thy ears. Thus it is ; I will have my picture drawn most 
 composituously, in a square table * of some two foot 
 long, from the crown of the head to the waist downward, 
 no further. 
 
 Gia. Then you'll look like a dwarf, sir, being cut off 
 by the middle. 
 
 Mau. Speak not thou, but wonder at the conceit that 
 follows. In my bosom, on my left side, I will have a leaf 
 of blood-red crimson velvet as it were part of my 
 doublet open ; which being opened, Giacopo, now 
 mark ! I will have a clear and most transparent crystal 
 in the form of a heart. Singular-admirable ! When I 
 have framed this, I will, as some rare outlandish piece of 
 workmanship, bestow it on the most fair and illustrious 
 Lady Fiormonda. 
 
 Gia. But now, sir, for the conceit. 
 
 Mau. Simplicity and ignorance, prate no more ! block- 
 head, dost not understand yet? Why, this being to 
 her instead of a looking-glass, she shall no oftener 
 powder her hair, surfel 2 her cheeks, cleanse her teeth, or 
 conform the hairs of her eyebrows, but having occasion 
 to use this glass which for the rareness and richness of 
 it she will hourly do but she shall as often gaze on my 
 picture, remember me, and behold the excellence of her 
 excellency's beauty in the prospective and mirror, as it 
 were, in my heart. 
 
 Gia. Ay, marry, sir, this is something. 
 
 1 The board or canvas on which the picture was to be painted. 
 
 To "surfel" or " surphule " the cheeks is to wash them with 
 mercurial or sulphur water, as it was called, one of those pernicious 
 compounds which, under the name of cosmetics, found their way to 
 the ladies' toilets. They were generally rubbed in with Spanish 
 wool or a piece of scarlet cloth. Gifford.
 
 SCENE I.] LOVE'S SACRIFICE. 309 
 
 All above except Fior. Ha, ha, ha ! \Exit FiORMONCA. 
 
 Bian. My sister's gone in anger. 
 
 Mau. Who's that laughs? search with thine eyes, 
 Giacopo. 
 
 Gia. O, my lord, my lord, you have gotten an ever- 
 lasting fame! the duke's grace, and the duchess' grace, 
 and my Lord Fernando's grace, with all' the rabble of 
 courtiers, have heard every word ; look where they stand ! 
 Now you shall be made a count for your wit, and 1 lord 
 for my counsel. 
 
 Duke. Beshrew the chance ! we are discovered. 
 
 M'au. Pity O, my wisdom ! I must speak to them. 
 O, duke most great, and most renowned duchess ! 
 Excuse my apprehension, which not much is ; 
 'Tis love, my lord, that's all the hurt you see ; 
 Angelica herself doth plead for me. 
 
 Duke. We pardon you, most wise and learned lord ; 
 And, that we may all glorify your wit, 
 Entreat your wisdom's company to-day 
 To grace our table with your grave discourse : 
 What says your mighty eloquence ? 
 
 Mau. Giacopo, help me; 'his grace has put me out 
 of my own bias, and I know not what to answer in 
 form. 
 
 Gia. Ud's me, tell him you'll come. 
 
 Mau. Yes, I will come, my lord the duke, I will. 
 
 Duke. We take your word, and wish your honour 
 
 health. 
 
 Away, then ! come, Bianca, we have found 
 A salve for melancholy, mirth and ease. 
 
 \Exit the T)\.\ke followed by all but BIANCA 
 and FERNANDO. 
 
 Bian. I'll see the jolly lover and his glass 
 Take leave of one another. 
 
 Mau. Are they gone? 
 
 Gia. 0, my lord, I do now smell news. 
 
 Mau. What news, Giacopo ?
 
 3 TO LOVE'S SA ORIFICE. [ACT II . 
 
 Gia, The duke has a smackering towards you, and you 
 shall clap-up with his sister the widow suddenly. 
 
 Man. She is mine, Giacopo, she is mine ! Advance 
 the glass, Giacopo, that I may practise, as I pass, to walk 
 a portly grace like a marquis, to which degree I am now 
 a-climbing. 
 
 Thus do we march to honour's haven of bliss, 
 
 To ride in triumph through Persepolis. 1 
 
 {Exit GIACOPO, going backward with the glass, 
 followed by MAURUCCIO complimenting.- 
 
 Bian. Now, as I live, here's laughter 
 Worthy our presence ! I'll not lose him so. [Going. 
 
 Fern. Madam, 
 
 Bian. To me, my lord ? 
 
 Fern. Please but to hear 
 
 The story of a castaway in love ; 
 And, O, let not the passage of a jest 
 Make slight a sadder subject, who hath placed 
 All happiness in your diviner eyes ! 
 
 Bian. My lord, the time 
 
 Fern. The time ! yet hear me speak 
 
 For I must speak or burst : I have a soul 
 So anchored down with cares in seas of woe, 
 That passion and the vows I owe to you 
 Have changed me to a lean anatomy: 3 
 Sweet princess of my life, 
 
 Bian. Forbear, or I shall 
 
 Fern. Yet, as you honour virtue, do not freeze 
 My hopes to more discomfort than as yet 
 My fears suggest ; no beauty so adorns 
 The composition of a well-built mind 
 As pity : hear me out. 
 
 Bian. No more ! I spare 
 
 To tell you what you are, and must confess 
 
 1 Mauruccio is here quoting Marlowe's Tamlurlaine. 
 8 i.e. Practising the airs of a courtier. 
 Skeleton.
 
 SCENE ii.] L O VE ' S SA CRIFICE. 311 
 
 Do almost hate my judgment, that it once 
 
 Thought goodness dwelt in you. Remember now, 
 
 It is the third time since your treacherous tongue 
 
 Hath pleaded treason to my ear and fame ; 
 
 Yet, for the friendship 'twixt my lord and you, 
 
 I have not voiced your follies : if you dare 
 
 To speak a fourth time, you shall rue your lust ; 
 
 'Tis all no better : learn and love yourself. {Exit. 
 
 Fern. Gone ! O, my sorrows ! how am I undone I 
 Not speak again ? no, no, in her chaste breast 
 Virtue and resolution have discharged 
 All female weakness : I have sued and sued, 
 Knelt, wept, and begged ; but tears and vows and 
 
 words 
 
 Move her no more than summer-winds a rock. 
 J must resolve to check this rage of blood, 
 And will : she is all icy to my fires, 
 Yet even that ice inflames in me desires. {Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. A Room in PETRUCHIO'S House. 
 Enter PETRUCHIO and ROSEILLI. 
 
 Rose. Is't possible the duke should be so moved ? 
 
 Pet. 'Tis true ; you Have no enemy at court 
 But her for whom you pine so much in love ; 
 Then master your affections : I am sorry 
 You hug your ruin so. 
 What say you to the project I proposed? 
 
 Rose. I entertain it with a greater joy 
 Than shame can check. 
 
 Enter FERNANDO. 
 
 Pet. You're come as I could wish 
 
 My cousin is resolved.
 
 3 i2 LOVE'S SACRIFICE. [ACT n. 
 
 Fern. Without delay 
 
 Prepare yourself, and meet at court anon, 
 Some half-hour hence ; and Cupid bless your joy ! 
 
 Rose. If ever man was bounden to a friend, 
 
 Fern. No more ; away ! 
 
 {Exeunt PETRUCHIO and ROSEILLI. 
 
 Love's rage is yet unknown ; 
 In his ay me ! too well I feel my own ! 
 So, now I am alone ; now let me think. 
 She is the duchess ; say she be ; a creature 
 Sewed-up in painted cloth might so be styled ; 
 That's but a name : she's married too ; she is, 
 And therefore better might distinguish love : 
 She's young and fair ; why, madam, that's the bait 
 Invites me more to hope : she's the duke's wife ; 
 Who knows not this ? she's bosomed to my friend ; 
 There, there, I am quite lost : will not be won ; 
 Still worse and worse : abhors to hear me speak ; 
 Eternal mischief ! I must urge no more ; 
 For, were I not be-lepered in my soul, 
 Here were enough to quench the flames of hell. 
 What then ? pish ! if I must not speak, I'll write. 
 Come, then, sad secretary to my plaints, 
 Plead thou my faith, for words are turned to sighs. 
 What says this paper? \Takes out a letter, and reads. 
 
 Enter D'AvOLOS behind with two pictures. 
 
 &AV. [Aside\ Now is the time. Alone? reading a 
 letter ? good ; how now ! striking his breast ! what, in the 
 name of policy, should this mean ? tearing his hair ! 
 passion ; by all the hopes of my life, plain passion ! now 
 I perceive it. If this be not a fit of some violent affec- 
 tion, I am an ass in understanding ; why, 'tis plain, 
 plainer and plainer ; love in the extremest. O, for the 
 party who, now ! The greatness of his spirits is too high 
 chejished to be caught with some ordinary stuff, and if it 
 be my Lady Fiormonda, I am strangely mistook. Well,
 
 HCKXEII.] LOVE'S SACRIFICE. 313 
 
 that I have fit occasion soon to understand. I have here 
 two pictures newly drawn, to be sent for a present to the 
 Abbot of Monaco, the duchess' uncle, her own and my 
 lady's : I'll observe which of these may, perhaps, bewray 
 him he turns about. My noble lord ! 
 
 Fern. You're welcome, sir ; I thank you. 
 
 D'Av. Me, my lord ! for what, my lord ? 
 
 Peru. Who's there ? I cry you mercy, D'Avolos, 
 I took you for another ; pray, excuse me. 
 What is't you bear there ? 
 
 D 'Av. No secret, my lord, but may be imparted to 
 you : a couple of pictures, my good lord, please you see 
 them ? 
 
 Fern. I care not much for pictures; but whose are 
 they? 
 
 D'Av. The one is for my lord's sister, the other is the 
 duchess. 
 
 Fern. Ha, D'Avolos ! the duchess's ? 
 
 D'Av. Yes, my lord. \Aside~\ Sure, the word startled 
 him : observe that. 
 
 Fern. You told me, Master Secretary, once, 
 You owed me love. 
 
 D'Av. Service, my honoured lord ; howsoever you 
 please to term it. 
 
 Fern. 'Twere rudeness to be suitor for a sight ; 
 Yet trust me, sir, I'll be all secret. 
 
 D'Av. I beseech your lordship .; they are, as I am, 
 constant to your pleasure. [Shows FIORMONDA'S picttire^ 
 This, my lord, is the widow marquess's, as it now newly 
 came from the picture-drawer's, the oil yet green : a sweet 
 picture; and, in my judgment, art hath not been a niggard 
 in striving to equal the life. Michael Angelo himself 
 needed not blush to own the workmanship. 
 
 Fern. A very pretty picture ; but, kind signior, 
 To whose use is it ? 
 
 D'Av. For the duke's, my lord, who determines to 
 send it with all speed as a present to Paul Baglione, uncle
 
 3H LOVE'S SACRIFICE. [ACT.II. 
 
 to the duchess, that he may see the riches of two such 
 lustres as shine in the court of Pavy. 
 
 Fern. Pray, sir, the other? 
 
 D'Av. [Shows BIANCA'S picture] This, my lord, is for 
 the duchess Bianca: a wondrous sweet picture, if you 
 well observe with what singularity the artsman hath 
 strove to set forth each limb in exquisitest proportion, not 
 missing a hair. 
 
 Fern. A hair ! 
 
 D'Av. She cannot more formally, or if it may be 
 lawful to use the word more really, behold her own 
 symmetry in her glass than in taking a sensible view of 
 this counterfeit. When I first saw it, I verily almost was 
 of a mind that this was her very lip. 
 
 Fern. Lip ! 
 
 D'Av. \^Aside\ How constantly he dwells upon this 
 portraiture ! Nay, I'll assure your lordship there is no 
 defect of cunning 2 \Aside\ His eye is fixed as if it were 
 incorporated there. Were not the party herself alive to 
 witness that there is a creature composed of flesh and 
 blood as naturally enriched with such harmony of admi- 
 rable beauty as is here artificially counterfeited, a very 
 curious eye might repute it as an imaginary rapture of 
 some transported conceit, to aim at an impossibility ; 
 whose very first gaze is of force almost to persuade a sub- 
 stantial love in a settled heart. 
 
 Fern. Love ! heart ! 
 
 D'Av. My honoured lord, 
 
 Fern. O Heavens ! 
 
 D'Av. [Aside] I am confirmed. What ails your 
 lordship? 
 
 Fern. You need not praise it, sir; itself is praise. 
 \Aade\ How near had I forgot myself ! I thank you. 
 'Tis such a picture as might well become 
 The shrine of some famed Venus ; I am dazzled 
 With looking on't : pray, sir, convey it hence. 
 
 1 Skill.
 
 SCENE II .] LOVE >S SA CRIFICE. 3 1 5 
 
 D'Ar. I am all your servant. [Aside] Blessed, blessed 
 discovery ! Please you to command me ? 
 
 Fern. No, gentle sir. [Aside] I'm lost beyond my 
 
 senses. 
 D'ye hear, sir ? good, where dwells the picture-maker ? 
 
 D' 'At'. By the castle's farther drawbridge, near Gali- 
 azzo's statue ; his name is Alphonso Trinultio. [Aside] 
 Happy above all fate ! 
 
 Fern. You say enough ; my thanks t'ye ! [Exit 
 
 D'AVOLOS.] Were that picture 
 But rated at my lordship, 'twere too cheap. 
 I fear I spoke or did I know not what ; 
 All sense of providence was in mine eye. 
 
 Enter FERENTES, MAURUCCIO, and GIACOPO. 
 
 Feren. [Aside] Youth in threescore years and ten ! 
 Trust me, my Lord Mauruccio, you are now younger in 
 the judgment of those that compare your former age with 
 your latter by seven-and-twenty years than you were 
 three years ago : by all my fidelity, 'tis a miracle ! the 
 ladies wonder at you. 
 
 Man. Let them wonder; I am wise as I am courtly. 
 
 Gia. The ladies, my lord, call him the green broom 
 of the court, he sweeps all before him, and swear he 
 has a stabbing wit : it is a very glister to laughter. 
 
 Mau. Nay, I know I can tickle 'em at my pleasure ; I 
 am stiff and strong, Ferentes. 
 
 Gia. [Aside] A radish-root is a spear of steel in com- 
 parison of I know what. 
 
 Feren. The marquess doth love you. 
 
 Mau. She doth love me. 
 
 Feren. And begins to do you infinite grace, Mauruccio, 
 infinite grace. 
 
 Fern. I'll take this time. [Comes forward] Good 
 hour, my lords, to both ! 
 
 Mau. Right princely Fernando, the best of the Fer- 
 nandos ; by the pith of generation, the man I look for.
 
 316 LOVE'S SACRIFICE. [ACT II. 
 
 His highness hath sent to find you out : he is determined 
 to weather his own proper individual person for two 
 days' space in my Lord Nibrassa's forest, to hunt the 
 deer, the buck, the roe, and eke the barren doe. 
 
 Fern. Is his highness preparing to hunt ? 
 
 Mau. Yes, my lord, and resolved to lie forth for the 
 breviating the prolixity of some superfluous transmigra- 
 tion of the sun's double cadence to the western horizon, 
 my most perspicuous good lord. 
 
 Fern. O, sir, let me beseech you to speak in your own 
 mother tongue. [Aside] Two days' absence, well. My 
 Lord Mauruccio, I have a suit t'ye, 
 
 Mau. My Lord Fernando, I have a suit to you. 
 
 Fern. That you will accept from me a very choice 
 token of my love : will you grant it ? 
 
 Mau. Will you grant mine ? 
 
 Fern. What is't ? 
 
 Mau. Only to know what the suit is you please to 
 prefer to me. 
 
 Fern. Why, 'tis, my lord, a tool. 
 
 Mau. A fool ! 
 
 Fern. As very a fool as your lordship is hopeful to 
 see in any time of your life. 
 
 Gia. Now, good my lord, part not with the fool on 
 any terms. 
 
 Mau. I beseech you, my lord, has the fool qualities ? 
 
 Fern. Very rare ones : you shall not hear him speak 
 one wise word in a month's converse ; passing temperate 
 of diet, for, keep him from meat four-and-twenty hours, 
 and he will fast a whole day and a night together ; unless 
 you urge him to swear, there seldom comes an oath from 
 his mouth ; and of a fool, my lord, to tell ye the plain 
 truth, had he but half as much wit as you, my lord, he 
 would be in short time three-quarters as arrant wise as 
 yout lordship. 
 
 Mau. Giacopo, these are very rare elements in a crea- 
 ture of little understanding. O, that I long to see him !
 
 SCENE ii.] LOVE'S SA CRIFICE. 3 1 7 
 
 Fern. A very harmless idiot ; and, as you could wish, 
 look where he comes. 
 
 Enter PETRUCHIO, and ROSEILLI dressed like a Fool. 1 
 
 Pet. Nephew, here is the thing you sent for. Come 
 hither, fool ; come, 'tis a good fool. 
 
 Fern. Here, my lord, J freely give you the fool ; pray 
 use him well for my sake. 
 
 Man. I take the fool most thankfully at your hands, 
 my lord. Hast any qualities, my pretty fool ? wilt dwell 
 with me? 
 
 Ros. A, a, a, a, ay. 
 
 Pet. I never beheld a more natural creature in my 
 life. 
 
 Fern. Uncle, the duke, I hear, prepares to hunt ; 
 Let's in and wait. Farewell, Mauruccio. 
 
 {Exeunt FERNANDO and PETRUCHIO. 
 
 Man. Beast that I am, not to ask the fool's name ! 'tis 
 no matter fool is a sufficient title to call the greatest 
 lord in the court by, if he be no wiser than he. 
 
 Gia. O, my lord, what an arrant excellent pretty crea- 
 ture 'tis ! Come, honey, honey, honey, come ! 
 
 Fercn. You are beholding to my Lord Fernando for 
 this gift. 
 
 Man. True. O, that he could but speak methodically ! 
 Canst speak, fool? 
 
 Ros. Can speak ; de e e e 
 
 Feren. Tis a present for an emperor. What an excel- 
 lent instrument were this to purchase a suit or a mono- 
 poly from the duke's ear ! 
 
 Man. I have it, I am wise and fortunate. Giacopo, I 
 will leave all conceits, and instead of my picture, offer 
 the lady marquess this mortal man of weak brain. 
 
 Gia. My lord, you have most rarely bethought you ; 
 for so shall she no oftener see the fool but she shall 
 remember you better than by a thousand looking-glasses. 
 
 1 i.e. In the long petticoats with which innocents, or idiots, were 
 furnished for the sake of decency. Gijford.
 
 3 1 8 LOVE'S SA CRIFICE. [ACT n. 
 
 Feren. She will most graciously entertain it. 
 
 Mau. I may tell you, Ferentes, there's not a great 
 woman amongst forty but knows how to make sport with 
 a fool. Dost know how old thou art, sirrah? 
 
 Ros. Dud a clap cheek for nown sake, gaffer ; 
 hee e e e e. 
 
 Feren. Alas, you must ask him no questions, but clap 
 him on the cheek ; I understand his language : your fool 
 is the tender-heartedest creature that is. 
 
 Enter FIORMONDA and D'AVOLOS in close conversation. 
 
 Fior. No more ; thou hast in this discovery 
 Exceeded all my favours, D'Avolos. 
 Is't Mistress Madam Duchess ? brave revenge ! 
 
 D'Av. But had your grace seen the infinite appetite of 
 lust in the piercing adultery of his eye, you would 
 
 Fior. Or change him, or confound him : prompt dis- 
 sembler ! 
 
 Is here the bond of his religious vow ? 
 And that, " now when the duke is rid abroad, 
 My gentleman will stay behind, is sick or so" ? 
 
 D'Av. "Not altogether in health; " it was the excuse 
 he made. 
 
 Mau. \Seeing theni\ Most fit opportunity ! her grace 
 comes just i' the nick ; let me study. 
 
 Feren. Lose no time, my lord. 
 
 Gia. To her, sir. 
 
 Mau. Vouchsafe to stay thy foot, most Cynthian 
 hue, 
 
 And from a creature ever vowed thy servant 
 Accept this gift, most rare, most fine, most new ; 
 
 The earnest penny of a love so fervent. 
 
 Fior. What means the jolly youth? 
 
 Mau. Nothing, sweet princess, but only to present 
 your grace with this sweet-faced fool ; please you to accept 
 him to make you merry : I'll assure your grace he is a 
 very wholesome fool.
 
 SCENE II.] LOVE'S SA CRIFICE. 319 
 
 Fior. A fool ! you might as well ha' given yourself. 
 Whence is he? 
 
 Mau. Now, just very now, given me out of special 
 favour by the Lord Fernando, madam. 
 
 Fior. By him? well, I accept him; thank you for't: 
 And, in requital, take that toothpicker; 
 'Tis yours. 
 
 Mau, A toothpicker ! I kiss your bounty : no quibble 
 now ? And, madam, 
 
 If I grow sick, to make my spirits quicker, 
 
 I will revive them with this sweet toothpicker. 
 
 Fior. Make use on't as you list. Here D'Avolos, 
 Take in the fool. 
 
 D 'Av. Come, sweetheart, wilt along with me ? 
 
 jRos. U u umh, u u mh, wonnot, wonnot u u umh. 
 
 Fior. Wilt go with me, chick ? 
 
 Ros. Will go, te e e go will go 
 
 Fior. Come D'Avolos, observe to-night; 'tis late: 
 Or I will win my choice, or curse my fate. 
 
 \Exeunt FIORMONDA, ROSEILLI, and 
 D'AVOLOS. 
 
 Feren. This was wisely done, now. 'Sfoot, you pur- 
 chase a favour from a creature, my lord, the greatest king 
 of the earth would be proud of. 
 
 Mau. Giacopo ! 
 
 Gia. My lord ? 
 
 Mau. Come behind me, Giacopo : I am big with con- 
 ceit, and must be delivered of poetry in the eternal com- 
 mendation of this gracious toothpicker : but, first, I hold 
 it a most healthy policy to make a slight supper 
 k For meat's the food that must preserve our lives, 
 
 And now's the time when mortals whet their knives 
 on thresholds, shoe-soles, cart-wheels, &c. Away, Gia- 
 copo ! \Exeunt.
 
 320 LOVE'S SA CRIFICE. [ACT n . 
 
 SCENE III. The Palace. BlANCA's Apartment. 
 
 Enter COLONA with lights, BIANCA, FIORMONDA, JULIA, 
 FERNANDO, and D'AVOLOS ; COLON A places the lights 
 on a table, and sets down a chess-board. 
 
 Bian. Tis yet but early night, too soon to sleep : 
 Sister, shall's have a mate at chess ? 
 
 Fior. A mate ! 
 
 No, madam, you are grown too hard for me ; 
 My Lord Fernando is a fitter match. 
 
 Bian. He's a well-practised gamester : well, I care not 
 How cunning soe'er he be. To pass an hour 
 I'll try your skill, my lord : reach here the chess-board. 
 
 D'Av. \Aside\ Are you so apt to try his skill, madam 
 duchess ? Very good ! 
 
 Fern. I shall bewray too much my ignorance 
 In striving with your highness ; 'tis a game 
 I lose at still by oversight. 
 
 Bian. Well, well, 
 
 I fear you not; let's to't. 
 
 Fior. You need not, madam. 
 
 D'Av. {Aside to FIORMONDA] Marry, needs she not; 
 how gladly will she to't! 'tis a rook to a queen she 
 heaves a pawn to a knight's place; by'r lady, if all be 
 truly noted, to a duke's place ; and that's beside the 
 play, I can tell ye. [FERNANDO and BIANCA flay. 
 
 Fior. Madam, I must entreat excuse ; I feel 
 The temper of my body not in case 
 To judge the strife. 
 
 Bian. Lights for our sister, sirs ! 
 
 Good rest t'ye; I'll but end my game and follow. 
 
 Fior. \Aside to D'AVOLOS] Let 'em have time enough; 
 
 and, as thou canst, 
 Be near to hear their courtship, D'Avolos. 
 
 D'Av. \Aside to FIORMONDA] Madam, I shall observe 
 'em with all cunning secrecy. 
 
 Bian. Colona, attend our sister to her chamber.
 
 SCENE in.] LOVE'S SA CRIFICE. 32 1 
 
 Col. I shall, madam. 
 
 {Exit FiORMONDA,/<?//0w</ by COLONA, JULIA, 
 and D'AVOLOS. 
 
 Bian. Play. 
 
 Fern. I must not lose the advantage of the game : 
 Madam, your queen is lost. 
 
 Bian. My clergy help me ! 
 
 My queen ! and nothing for it but a pawn ? 
 Why, then, the game's lost too : but play. 
 
 Fern, What, madam ? 
 
 [FERNANDO often looks about. 
 
 Bian. You must needs play well, you are so studious. 
 Fie upon't ! you study past patience : 
 What do you dream on ? here is demurring 
 Would weary out a statue ! Good, now, play. 
 
 Fern. Forgive me ; let my knees for ever stick 
 
 \Kneels. 
 
 Nailed to the ground, as earthy as my fears, 
 Ere I arise, to part away so cursed 
 In my unbounded anguish as the rage 
 Of flames beyond all utterance of words 
 Devour me, lightened by your sacred eyes. 
 
 Bian. What means the man ? 
 
 Fern. To lay before your feet 
 
 In lowest vassalage the bleeding heart 
 That sighs the tender of a suit disdained. 
 Great lady, pity me, my youth, my wounds ; 
 And do not think that I have culled this time 
 From motion's swiftest measure to unclasp 
 The book of lust : if purity of love 
 Have residence in virtue's breast, lo here, 
 Bent lower in my heart than on my knee, 
 I beg compassion to a love as chaste 
 As softness of desire can intimate. 
 
 Re-enter D'AVOLOS behind. 
 D'Av. [Aside] At it already L admirable haste ! 
 Bian. Am I again betrayed ? bad man !
 
 322 LOVE' S SA CRIFICE. [ACT n, 
 
 Fern. Keep in 
 
 Bright angel, that severer breath, to cool 
 That heat of cruelty which sways the temple 
 Of your too stony breast : you cannot urge 
 One reason to rebuke my trembling plea, 
 Which I have not with many nights' expense 
 Examined ; but, O, madam, still I find 
 No physic strong to cure a tortured mind, 
 But freedom from the torture it sustains. 
 
 D ' Av. [Aside] Not kissing yet ? still on your knees ? 
 O, for a plump bed and clean sheets, to comfort the 
 aching of his shins! We shall have 'em clip 1 anon and 
 lisp kisses ; here's ceremony with a vengeance ! 
 
 Bian. Rise up ; we charge you, rise ! [He rises. 
 
 Look on our face : 
 
 What see you there that may persuade a hope 
 Of lawless love ? Know, most unworthy man, 
 So much we hate the baseness of thy lust, 
 As, were none living of thy sex but thee, 
 We had much rather prostitute our blood 
 To some envenomed serpent than admit 
 Thy bestial dalliance. Couldst thou dare to speak 
 Again, when we forbade? no, wretched thing, 
 Take this for answer : if thou henceforth ope 
 Thy leprous mouth to tempt our ear again, 
 We shall not only certify our lord 
 Of thy disease in friendship, but revenge 
 Thy boldness with the forfeit of thy life. 
 Think on't. 
 
 D'Av. [Aside] Now, now, now the game is a-foot ! 
 your gray jennet with the white face is curried, forsooth ; 
 please your lordship leap up into the saddle, forsooth. 
 - Poor duke, how does thy head ache now ! 
 
 Fern. Stay; go not hence in choler, blessed woman ! 
 You've schooled me ; lend me hearing : though the float 
 Of infinite desires swell to a tide 
 
 1 Embrace.
 
 SCENE in.] LOVE'S SA CRIFICE. 323 
 
 Too high so soon to ebb, yet, by this hand, 
 
 \Kisses her hand. 
 This glorious, gracious hand of yours, 
 
 D'Av. \_Aside^\ Ay, marry, the match is made; clap 
 hands and to't, ho ! 
 
 Fern. I swear, 
 
 Henceforth I never will as much in word, 
 In letter, or in syllable, presume 
 To make a repetition of my griefs. 
 Good-night t'ye ! If, when I am dead, you rip 
 This coffin of my heart, there shall you read 
 With constant eyes, what now my tongue defines, 
 Bianca's name carved out in bloody lines. 
 For ever, lady, now good-night ! 
 
 Bian. Good-night ! 
 
 Rest in your goodness. Lights there ! 
 
 Enter Attendants with lights. 
 
 Sir, good-night ! 
 \Exeunt BIANCA and FERNANDO sundry ways, 
 
 with Attendants.] 
 
 D'Av. So, via ! To be cuckold mercy and provi- 
 dence is as natural to a married man as to eat, sleep, or 
 wear a nightcap. Friends ! I will rather trust mine arm 
 in the throat of a lion, my purse with a courtesan, my 
 neck with the chance on a die, or my religion in a syna- 
 gogue of Jews, than my wife with a friend. Wherein do 
 princes exceed the poorest peasant that ever was yoked to 
 a sixpenny strumpet but that the horns of the one are 
 mounted some two inches higher by a choppine * than 
 
 1 i.e. Clogs or pattens, of cork or light framework covered with 
 leather, and worn under the shoe. The practice never prevailed in 
 this country, but seems to have been fashionable at Venice, and 
 places where walking was not required, for which choppines were 
 totally unfit, as no woman could drag them after her; at least, if 
 we may trust Lessels, who says that he has often seen them of " a 
 full half-yard high." Ford's choppines, however, are of a very 
 moderate description, and do not icach the altitude of the high- 
 heeled shoes which were fashionable in this country in the last 
 century. They derive their origin, as well as their name, from Spain, 
 the region of cork. Gifford.
 
 3 2 4 LOVE'S SACRIFICE. [ACT n. 
 
 the other ? O Actseon ! the goodliest-headed beast of the 
 forest amongst wild cattle is a stag ; and the goodliest 
 beast among tame fools in a corporation is a cuckold. 
 
 Re-enter FIORMONDA. 
 
 Fior. Speak, D'Avolos, how thrives intelligence ? 
 
 D'Av. Above the prevention of fate, madam. I saw 
 him kneel, make pitiful faces, kiss hands and forefingers, 
 rise, and by this time he is up, up, madam. Doubtless 
 the youth aims to be duke, for he is gotten into the 
 duke's seat an hour ago. 
 
 Fior. Is't true ? 
 
 D'Av. Oracle, oracle ! Siege was laid, parley admitted, 
 composition offered, and the fort entered ; there's no 
 interruption. The duke will be at home to-morrow, 
 gentle animal ! what d'ye resolve ? 
 
 Fior. To stir-up tragedies as black as brave, 
 
 And send the lecher panting to his grave. {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. A Bedchamber in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Bi ANCA, her hair loose, in her night-mantle. She draws 
 a curtain, and FERNANDO is discovered in bed, sleep- 
 ing; she sets down the candle, and goes to the bedside. 
 
 Bian. Resolve, and do ; 'tis done. What ! are those 
 
 eyes, 
 
 Which lately were so overdrowned in tears, 
 So easy to take rest ? O happy man ! 
 How sweetly sleep hath sealed up sorrows here ! 
 But I will call him. What, my lord, my lord, 
 My Lord Fernando ! 
 
 Fern. Who calls me ? 
 
 Bian. My lord, 
 
 Sleeping or waking? 
 
 Fern. Ha ! who is't ?
 
 SCENE iv.] LOVE'S SACRIFICE. 325 
 
 Bian. 'Tis I : 
 
 Have you forgot my voice ? or is your ear 
 But useful to your eye ? 
 
 Fern. Madam, the duchess ! 
 
 Bian. She, 'tis she ; sit up, 
 
 Sit up and wonder, whiles my sorrows swell : 
 The nights are short, and I have much to say. 
 
 Fern. Is't possible 'tis you ? 
 
 Bian. 'Tis possible : 
 
 Why do you think I come ? 
 
 Fern. Why ! to crown joys, 
 
 And make me master of my best desires. 
 
 Bian. 'Tis true, you guess aright ; sit up and listen. 
 With shame and passion now I must confess, 
 Since first mine eyes beheld you, in my heart 
 You have been only king ; if there can be 
 A violence in love, then I have felt 
 That tyranny : be record to my soul 
 The justice which I for this folly fear ! 
 Fernando, in short words, howe'er my tongue 
 Did often chide thy love, each word thou spak'st 
 Was music to my ear ; was never poor, 
 Poor wretched woman lived that loved like me, 
 So truly, so unfeignedly. 
 
 Fern. O, madam ! 
 
 Bian. To witness that I speak is truth, look here ! 
 Thus singly l I adventure to thy bed, 
 And do confess my weakness : if thou tempt'st 
 My bosom to thy pleasures, I will yield. 
 Fern. Perpetual happiness ! 
 Bian. Now hear me out. 
 
 When first Caraffa, Pavy's duke, my lord, 
 Saw me, he loved me ; and without respect 
 Of dower took me to his bed and bosom ; 
 Advanced me to the titles I possess, 
 
 1 In allusion probably (as Gifford pointed out) not to the absence 
 cf attendants, but to the single garment in which she was clad.
 
 326 LOVE'S SACRIFICE. [ACT n. 
 
 Not moved by counsel or removed by greatness ; 
 
 Which to requite, betwixt my soul and Heaven 
 
 I vowed a vow to live a constant wife : 
 
 I have done so ; nor was there in the world 
 
 A man created could have broke that truth 
 
 For all the glories of the earth but thou, 
 
 But thou, Fernando ! Do I love thee now ? 
 
 Fern. Beyond imagination. 
 
 Bian. True, I do, 
 
 Beyond imagination : if no pledge 
 Of love can instance what I speak is true 
 But loss of my best joys, here, here, Ferriando, 
 Be satisfied and ruin me. 
 
 Fern. What d'ye mean ? 
 
 Bian. To give my body up to thy embraces, 
 A pleasure that I never wished to thrive in 
 Before this fatal minute. Mark me now ; 
 If thou dost spoil me of this robe of shame, 
 By my best comforts, here I vow again, 
 To thee, to Heaven, to the world, to time, 
 Ere yet the morning shall new-christen day, 
 I'll kill myself! 
 
 Fern. How, madam, how ! 
 
 Bian. I will : 
 
 Do what thou wilt, 'tis in thy choice : what say ye ? 
 
 Fern. Pish ! do you come to try me ? tell me, first, 
 Will you but grant a kiss ? 
 
 Bian. Yes, take it ; that, 
 
 Or what thy heart can wish : I am all thine. 
 
 [FERNANDO kisses her. 
 
 Fern. O, me ! Come, come ; how many women, pray, 
 Were ever heard or read of, granted love, 
 And did as you protest you will ? 
 
 Bian. Fernando, 
 
 Jest not at my calamity. I kneel : [Kneels. 
 
 By these dishevelled hairs, these wretched tears, 
 By all that's good, if what I speak my heart
 
 SCENE iv.] LOVE'S SA CRIFICE. 327 
 
 Vows not eternally, then think, my lord, 
 
 Was never man sued to me I denied, 
 
 Think me a common and most cunning whore ; 
 
 And let my sins be written on my grave, 
 
 My name rest in reproof! \Rises ^\ Do as you list. 
 
 Fern. I must believe ye, yet I hope l anon, 
 When you are parted from me, you will say 
 I was a good, cold, easy-spirited man, 
 Nay, laugh at my simplicity : say, will ye ? 
 
 Bian. No, by the faith I owe my bridal vows ! 
 But ever hold thee much, much dearer far 
 Than all my joys on earth, by this chaste kiss. 
 
 \Kisses him. 
 
 Fern. You have prevailed ; and Heaven forbid that I 
 Should by a wanton appetite profane 
 This sacred temple ! 'tis enough for me 
 You'll please to call me servant. 
 
 Bian. Nay, be thine : 
 
 Command my power, my bosom ; and I'll write 
 This love within the tables of my heart. 
 
 Fern. Enough : I'll master passion, and triumph 
 In being conquered ; adding to it this, 
 In you my love as it begun shall end. 
 
 Bian. The latter I new-vow. But day comes on ; 
 What now we leave unfinished of content, 
 Each hour shall perfect up : sweet, let us part. 
 
 Fern. This kiss, best life, good rest ! \Kisses Jier. 
 
 Bian. All mine to thee ! 
 
 Remember this, and think I speak thy words ; 
 " When I am dead, rip up my heart, and read 
 With constant eyes, what now my tongue defines, 
 Fernando' s name carved out in bloody lines," 
 Once more, good rest, sweet ! 
 
 Fern. Your most faithful servant ! 
 
 BIANCA Scene closes. 
 
 Expect.
 
 ACT THE THIRD. 
 
 SCENE I. An Apartment in the Palace. 
 
 Enter NIBRASSA chafing, followed by JULIA weeping. 
 
 IB. Get from me, strumpet, infamous 
 whore, leprosy of my blood ! make thy 
 moan to ballad-singers and rhymers ; 
 they'll jig-out thy wretchedness and 
 abominations to new tunes : as for me, 
 I renounce thee ; thou'rt no daughter 
 
 of mine; I disclaim the legitimation of thy birth, and 
 curse the hour of thy nativity. 
 
 Jul. Pray, sir, vouchsafe me hearing. 
 
 Nib. With child ! shame to my grave ! O, whore, 
 wretched beyond utterance or reformation, what wouldst 
 say? 
 
 Jul. Sir, by the honour of my mother's hearse, 
 He has protested marriage, pledged his faith ; 
 If vows have any force, I am his wife. 
 
 Nib. His faith ! Why, thou fool, thou wickedly-cre- 
 dulous fool, canst thou imagine luxury * is observant of 
 religion ? no, no ; it is with a frequent lecher as usual to 
 forswear as to swear ; their piety is in making idolatry a 
 worship ; their hearts and their tongues are as different 
 as thou, thou whore ! and a virgin. 
 
 Jul. You are too violent ; his truth will prove 
 His constancy, and so excuse my fault. 
 
 Nib. Shameless woman ! this belief will damn thee. 
 How will thy lady marquess justly reprove me for prefer - 
 
 1 Lust.
 
 SCENE I.] LOVE'S SACRIFICE. 329 
 
 ring to her service a monster of so lewd and impudent a 
 life ! Look to't ; if thy smooth devil leave thee to thy 
 infamy, I will never pity thy mortal pangs, never lodge 
 thee under my roof, never own thee for my child ; mercy 
 be my witness ! 
 
 Enter PETRUCHIO, leading COLONA. 
 
 Pet. Hide not 1 thy folly by unwise excuse, 
 Thou art undone, Colona ; no entreaties, 
 No warning, no persuasion, could put off 
 The habit of thy dotage on that man 
 Of much deceit, Ferentes. Would thine eyes 
 Had seen me in my grave, ere I had known 
 The stain of this thine honour ! 
 
 Col. Good my lord, 
 
 Reclaim your incredulity : my fault 
 Proceeds from lawful composition 
 Of wedlock ; he hath sealed his oath to mine 
 To be my husband. 
 
 Nib. Husband ! hey-day ! is't even so ? nay, then, we 
 have partners in affliction : if my jolly gallant's long 
 clapper have struck on both sides, all is well. Petruchio, 
 thou art not wise enough to be a paritor : 1 come hither, 
 man, come hither ; speak softly ; is thy daughter with 
 child ? 
 
 Pet. With child, Nibrassa ! 
 
 Nib. Foh ! do not trick me off ; I overheard your 
 gabbling. Hark in thine ear, so is mine too. 
 
 Pet. Alas, my lord, by whom ? 
 
 Nib. Innocent ! by whom ? what an idle question is 
 that ! One cock hath trod both our hens : Ferentes, 
 Ferentes ; who else ? How dost take it ? methinks thou 
 art wondrous patient : why, I am mad, stark mad. 
 
 Pet. How like you this, Colona ? 'tis too true : 
 Did not this man protest to be your husband ? . 
 
 1 An inferior officer who summoned delinquents (including prosti- 
 tutes) to a spiritual court.
 
 330 LOVE'S SA CRIFICE. [ACT in. 
 
 Col. Ay me ! to me he did. 
 
 Nib. What else, what else, Petruchio ? and, madam, 
 my quondam daughter, I hope h'ave passed some huge 
 words of matrimony to you too. 
 
 Jul. Alas ! to me he did. 
 
 Nib. And how many more the great incubus ot hell 
 knows best. Petruchio, give me your hand ; mine own 
 daughter in this arm, and yours, Colona, in this : 
 there, there, sit ye down together. [JULIA and COLONA sit 
 down^\ Never rise, as you hope to inherit our blessings, 
 till you have plotted some brave revenge ; think upon it 
 to purpose, and you shall want no seconds to further it ; 
 be secret one to another. Come, Petruchio, let 'em 
 alone : the wenches will demur on't, and for the process 
 we'll give 'em courage. 
 
 Pet. You counsel wisely ; I approve your plot. Think 
 on your shames, and who it was that wrought 'em. 
 
 Nib. Ay, ay, ay, leave them alone. To work, wenches, 
 to work ! \Exeunt NIBRASSA and PETRUCHIO. 
 
 Col. We are quite ruined. 
 
 Jul. True, Colona, 
 
 Betrayed to infamy, deceived, and mocked, 
 By an unconstant villain : what shall's do ? 
 I am with child. 
 
 Col. Heigh-ho ! and so am I : 
 
 But what shall's do now ? 
 
 Jul. This : with cunning words 
 
 First prove his love ; he knows I am with child. 
 Col. And so he knows I am ; I told him on't 
 Last meeting in the lobby, and, in troth, 
 The false deceiver laughed. 
 
 Jul. Now, by the stars, 
 
 He did the like to me, and said 'twas well 
 I was so happily sped. 
 
 Col. ' Those very words 
 
 He used to me : it fretted me to the heart : 
 I'll be revenged.
 
 SCENE i.] LOVE'S SA CRIFICE. 331 
 
 Jul. Peace ! here's a noise, methinks. 
 
 Let's rise ; we'll take a time to talk of this. 
 
 \They rise, and walk aside. 
 
 Enter FERENTES and MORONA. 
 
 Feren. Will ye hold ? death of my delights, have ye 
 lost all sense of shame? You're best roar about the 
 court that I have been your woman's-barber and trimmed 
 ye, kind Morona. 
 
 Mor. Defiance to thy kindness ! thou'st robbed me of 
 my good name ; didst promise to love none but me, me, 
 only me ; sworest like an unconscionable villain, to marry 
 me the twelfth day of the month two months since ; didst 
 make my bed thine own, mine house thine own, mine all 
 and everything thine own. I will exclaim to the world 
 on thee, and beg justice of the duke himself, villain ! I 
 will. 
 
 Feren. Yet again ? nay, an if you be in that mood, 
 shut up your fore-shop, I'll be your journeyman no 
 longer. Why, wise Madam Dryfist, could your mouldy 
 brain be so addle to imagine I would marry a stale widow 
 at six-and-forty ? Marry gip ! are there not varieties 
 enough of thirteen ? come, stop your clap-dish, 1 or I'll 
 purchase a carting for you. By this light, I have toiled 
 more with this tough carrion hen than with ten quails 
 scarce grown into their first feathers. 
 
 Mor. O, treason to all honesty or religion ! Speak, 
 thou perjured, damnable, ungracious defiler of women, 
 who shall father my child which thou hast begotten ? 
 
 Feren. Why, thee, countrywoman ; thou'st a larger 
 purse to pay for the nursing. Nay, if you'll needs have 
 the world know how you, reputed a grave, matron-like, 
 motherly madam, kicked up your heels like a jennet whose 
 mark is new come into her mouth, e'en do, do ! the worst 
 
 1 Two or three cen'uries ago, diseased or infectious wretches 
 wandered up and down with a clap-dish, a wooden vessel with a 
 movable cover, to give the charitable warning at once of their 
 necessities and their infectious condition. Gifford.
 
 332 LOVE'S SACRIFICE. [ACT in. 
 
 can be said of me is, that I was ill advised to dig for gold 
 in a coal-pit. Are you answered ? 
 
 Mor. Answered ! 
 
 Jul. Let's fall amongst 'em. [Comes forward with 
 COLONA] Love, how is't, chick ? ha ? 
 
 Col. My dear Ferentes, my betrothed lord ! 
 
 Feren. [Aside] Excellent ! O, for three Barbary stone- 
 horses to stop three Flanders mares ! Why, how now, 
 wenches ! what means this ? 
 
 Mor. Out upon me-! here's more of his trulls. 
 
 Jul. Love, you must go with me. 
 
 Col. Good love, let's walk. 
 
 Feren. [Aside] I must rid my hands of 'em, or they'll 
 ride on my shoulders. By your leave, ladies ; here's 
 none but is of common counsel one with another ; in 
 short, there are three of ye with child, you tell me, by me. 
 All of you I cannot satisfy, nor, indeed, handsomely any 
 of ye. You all hope I should marry you ; which, for that 
 it is impossible to be done, I am content to have neither 
 of ye : for your looking big on the matter, keep your own 
 counsels, I'll not bewray ye ! but for marriage, Heaven 
 bless ye, and me from ye ! This is my resolution. 
 
 Col. How, not me ! 
 
 Jul. Not me ! 
 
 Mor. Not me ! 
 
 Feren. Nor you, nor you, nor you : and to give you 
 some satisfaction, I'll yield ye reasons. You, Colona, 
 had a pretty art in your dalliance; but your fault was, you 
 were too suddenly won. You, Madam Morona, could 
 have pleased well enough some three or four-and-thirty 
 years ago ; but you are too old. You, Julia, were young 
 enough, but your fault is, you have a scurvy face. Now, 
 everyone knowing her proper defect, thank me that I ever 
 vouchsafed you the honour of my bed once in your lives. 
 If you want clouts, all I'll promise is to rip up an old 
 shirt or two. So, wishing a speedy deliverance to all 
 your burdens, I commend you to your patience. [Exit.
 
 SCENE ii.] LOVE'S SACRIFICE. 333 
 
 Mor. Excellent ! 
 JuL . Notable! 
 
 Col. Unmatched villain ! 
 
 Jul. Madam, though strangers, yet we understand 
 Your wrongs do equal ours ; which to revenge, 
 Please but to join with us, and we'll redeem 
 Our loss of honour by a brave exploit. 
 
 Mor: I embrace your motion, ladies, with gladness, 
 and will strive by any action to rank with you in any 
 danger. 
 
 Col. Come, gentlewomen, let's together, then. 
 
 Thrice happy maids that never trusted men ! {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. The State-room in the Palace. 
 Enter the Duke, BIANCA supported by FERNANDO, FIOR- 
 MONDA, PETRUCHIO, NIBRASSA, FERENTES, and 
 D'AvoLOS. 
 
 Duke. Roseilli will not come, then ! will not ? well ; 
 His pride shall ruin him. Our letters speak 
 The duchess' uncle will be here to-morrow, 
 To-morrow, D'Avolos. 
 
 D'Av. To-morrow night, my lord, but not to make 
 more than one day's abode here ; for his Holiness has 
 commanded him to be at Rome the tenth of this month, 
 the conclave of cardinals not being resolved to sit till his 
 coming. 
 
 Duke. Your uncle, sweetheart, at his next return 
 Must be saluted cardinal. Ferentes, 
 Be it your charge to think on some device 
 To entertain the present 1 with delight. . 
 
 Fern. My lord, in honour to the court of Pavy 
 I'll join with you. Ferentes, not long since 
 I saw in Brussels, at my being there, 
 
 1 i.e. The present time.
 
 334 LOVE'S SA CRIFICE. [ACT iu r 
 
 The Duke of Brabant welcome the Archbishop 
 
 Of Mentz with rare conceit, even on a sudden, 
 
 Performed by knights and ladies of his court, 
 
 In nature of an antic ; l which meth ought 
 
 For that I ne'er before saw women-antics 
 
 Was for the newness strange, and much commended. 
 
 Bian. Now, good my Lord Fernando, further this 
 In any wise ; it cannot but content. 
 
 Fior. \Aside\ If she entreat, 'tis ten to one the man 
 Is won beforehand. 
 
 Duke. Friend, thou honour'st me : 
 
 But can it be so speedily performed ? 
 
 Fern. I'll undertake it, if the ladies please, 
 To exercise in person only that : 
 And we must have a fool, or such an one 
 As can with art well act him. 
 
 Fior. I shall fit ye ; 
 
 I have a natural. 2 
 
 Fern. Best of all, madam : 
 
 Then nothing wants. You must make one, Ferentes. 
 
 Feren. With my best service and dexterity, 
 My lord. 
 
 Pet. [Aside to NIBRASSA] This falls out happily, Ni- 
 brassa. 
 
 Nib. [Aside to PETRUCHIO] We could not wish it 
 
 better : 
 Heaven is an unbribed justice. 
 
 Duke. We'll meet our uncle in a solemn grace 
 Of zealous presence, as becomes the church : 
 See all the choir be ready, D'Avolos. 
 
 D'Av. I have already made your highness' pleasure 
 known to them. 
 
 Bian. Your lip, my lord ! 
 
 Fern. Madam? 
 
 1 i.e. Of an anti-masque, which was always of a burlesque 
 character. 
 
 2 An idiot.
 
 SCENE ii.] LOVE'S SA CRIFICE. 335 
 
 Bian. Perhaps your teeth have bled : wipe't with my 
 handkercher : give me, I'll do't myself. \_Aside to FER- 
 NANDO] Speak, shall I steal a kiss ? believe me, my lord, 
 I long. 
 
 Fern. Not for the world. 
 
 Fior. \Aside\ Apparent impudence ! 
 
 D'Av. Beshrew my heart, but that's not so good. 
 
 Duke. Ha, what's that thou mislikest, D'Avoios ? 
 
 D ' Av. Nothing, my lord ; but I was hammering a 
 conceit of my own, which cannot, I find, in so short a 
 time thrive as a day's practice. 
 
 Fior. [Aside\ Well put off, secretary. 
 
 Duke. We are too sad ; methinks the life of mirth 
 Should still be fed where we are : where' s Mauruccio ? 
 
 Feren. An't please your highness, he's of late grown 
 so affectionately inward with my lady marquess's fool, 
 that I presume he is confident there are few wise men 
 worthy of his society, who are not as innocently harmless 
 as that creature. It is almost impossible to separate 
 them, and 'tis a question which of the two is the wiser 
 man. 
 
 Duke. 'Would he were here ! I have a kind of dul- 
 
 ness 
 
 Hangs on me since my hunting, that I feel 
 As 'twere a disposition to be sick ; 
 My head is ever aching. 
 
 D'Av. A shrewd ominous token ; I like not that 
 neither. 
 
 Duke. Again ! what is't you like not ? 
 
 D'Av. I beseech your highness excuse me ; I am so 
 busy with this frivolous project, and can bring it to no 
 shape, that it almost confounds my capacity. 
 
 Bian. My lord, you were best to try a set at maw. 1 
 I and your friend, to pass away the time, 
 Will undertake your highness and your sister. 
 
 1 A game which bore apparently some icsemblance to " reversi," 
 a burlesque of whist.
 
 336 LOVE'S SACRIFICE. [ACT in. 
 
 Duke. The game's too tedious. 
 
 Fior. 'Tis a peevish play ; 
 
 Your knave will heave the queen out or your king ; 
 Besides, 'tis all on fortune. 
 
 Enter MAURUCCIO .with ROSEILLI disguised as before, and 
 GIACOPO. 
 
 Man. Bless thee, most excellent duke ! I here present 
 thee as worthy and learned a gentleman as ever I and 
 yet I have lived threescore years conversed with. Take 
 it from me, I have tried him, and he is worthy to be privy- 
 counsellor to the greatest Turk in Christendom ; of a most 
 apparent and deep understanding, slow of speech, but 
 speaks to the purpose. Come forward, sir, and appear 
 before his highness in your own proper elements. 
 
 Ros. Will tye to da new toate sure la now. 
 
 Gia. A very senseless gentleman, and, please your 
 highness, one that has a great deal of little wit, as they 
 say. 
 
 Man. O, sir, had you heard him, as I did, deliver whole 
 histories in the Tangay tongue, you would swear there 
 were not such a linguist breathed again ; and did I but 
 perfectly understand his language, I would be confident 
 in less than two hours to distinguish the meaning of bird, 
 beast, or fish naturally as I myself speak Italian, my lord. 
 Well, he has rare qualities ! 
 
 Duke. Now, prithee, question him, Mauruccio. 
 
 Mau. I will, my lord. 
 
 Tell me, rare scholar, which, in thy opinion, 
 
 Doth cause the strongest breath, garlic or onion. 
 
 Gia. Answer him, brother-fool ; do, do ; speak thy 
 mind, chuck, do. 
 
 Ros. Have bid seen all da fine knack, and de, e, 
 naghtye tat-tle of da kna-ve, dad la have so. 
 
 Duke. We understand him not. 
 
 Mau. Admirable, I protest duke ; mark, O, duke, 
 mark ! What did I ask him, Giacopo ?
 
 SCENE II.] LOVE'S SA ORIFICE. 337 
 
 Gia. What caused the strongest breath, garlic or 
 onions, I take it, sir. 
 
 Mau. Right, right, by Helicon ! and his answer is, 
 that a knave has a stronger breath than any of 'em : 
 wisdom -or I am an ass in the highest ; a direct figure ; 
 put it down, Giacopo. 
 
 Duke. How happy is that idiot whose ambition 
 Is but to eat and sleep, and shun the rod ! 
 Men that have more of wit, and use it ill, 
 Are fools in proof. 
 
 Bian. True, my lord, there's many 
 
 Who think themselves most wise that are most fools. 
 
 D'Av. Bitter girds, 1 if all were known ; but 
 
 Duke. But what? speak out; plague on your muttering, 
 
 grumbling ! 
 I hear you, sir ; what is't ? 
 
 D'Av. Nothing, I protest, to your highness pertinent 
 to any moment. 
 
 Duke. Well, sir, remember. Friend, you promised 
 
 study. 
 
 I am not well in temper. Come, Bianca. 
 Attend our friend, Ferentes. 
 
 {Exeunt all but FERNANDO, ROSEILLI, FERENTES 
 and MAURUCCIO. 
 
 Fern. Ferentes, take Mauruccio in with you ; 
 He must be one in action. 
 
 Feren. Come, my lord, 
 
 I shall entreat your help. 
 
 Fern. I'll stay the fool, 
 
 And follow instantly. 
 
 Mau. Yes, pray, my lord. 
 
 {Exeunt FERENTES and MAURUCCIO. 
 
 Ft.rn. How thrive your hopes now, cousin ? 
 
 Ros. Are we safe ? 
 
 Then let me cast myself beneath thy foot, 
 True, virtuous lord. Know, then, sir, her proud heart 
 
 1 i.e. Sarcasms. 
 Ford. Z
 
 338 LOVE'S SACRIFICE. [ACT in. 
 
 Is only fixed on you, in such extremes 
 Of violence and passion, that I fear, 
 Or she'll enjoy you, or she'll ruin you. 
 
 Fern. Me, coz ? by all the joys I wish to taste, 
 She is as far beneath my thought as I 
 In soul above her malice. 
 
 Ros. I observed 
 
 Even now a kind of dangerous pretence 1 
 In an unjointed phrase from D'Avolos. 
 I know not his intent ; but this I know, 
 He has a working brain, is minister 
 To all my lady's counsels ; and, my lord, 
 Pray Heaven there have not anything befall'n 
 Within the knowledge of his subtle art 
 To do you mischief ! 
 
 Fern. Pish ! should he or hell 
 
 Affront me in the passage of my fate, 
 I'd crush them into atomies. 
 
 Ros. I do admit you could : meantime, my lord, 
 Be nearest to yourself; what I can learn, 
 You shall be soon informed of : here is all 
 
 We fools can catch the wise in, to unknot, 
 
 By privilege of coxcombs, 2 what they plot. \_Excunt. 
 
 SCENE III. Another Room in the Palace. 
 Enter DUKE and D'AVOLOS. 
 
 Duke. Thou art a traitor : do not think the gloss 
 Of smooth evasion, by your cunning jests 
 And coinage of your politician's brain, 
 Shall jig me off ; I'll know't, I vow I will. 
 Did not I note your dark abrupted ends 
 Of words half-spoke ? your " wells, if all were known " ? 
 Your short " I like not that " ? your girds and " buts " ? 
 
 1 Design. 2 Fools'-caps.
 
 SCENE in.] LOVE'S SA ORIFICE. 339 
 
 Yes, sir, I did ; such broken language argues 
 More matter than your subtlety shall hide : 
 Tell me, what is't ? by honour's self I'll know. 
 
 D' AT. What would you know, my lord ? I confess I 
 owe my life and service to you, as to my prince ; the one 
 you have, the other you may take from me at your plea- 
 sure. Should I devise matter to feed your distrust, or 
 suggest likelihoods without appearance ? what would you 
 have me say ? I know nothing. 
 
 Duke. Thou liest, dissembler ! on thy brow I read 
 Distracted horrors figured in thy looks. 
 On thy allegiance, D'Avolos, as e'er 
 Thou hop'st to live in grace with us, unfold 
 What by the parti-halting of thy speech 
 Thy knowledge can discover. By the faith 
 We bear to sacred justice, we protest, 
 Be it or good or evil, thy reward 
 Shall be our special thanks and love untermed : ! 
 Speak, on thy duty ; we, thy prince, command. 
 
 D' AT. O, my disaster ! my lord, I am so charmed by 
 those powerful repetitions of love and duty, that I cannot 
 conceal what I know of your dishonour. 
 
 Duke. Dishonour ! then my soul is cleft with fear ; 
 I half presage my misery : say on, 
 Speak it at once, for I am great with grief. 
 
 D' AT. I trust your highness will pardon me ; yet I 
 will not deliver a syllable which shall be less innocent 
 than truth itself. 
 
 Duke. By all our wish of joys, we pardon thee. 
 
 D' AT. Get from me, cowardly servility ! my service is 
 noble, and my loyalty an armour of brass : in short, my 
 lord, and plain discovery, you are a cuckold. 
 
 Duke. Keep in the word, a " cuckold ! " 
 
 D" ' Av. Fernando is your rival, has stolen your duchess' 
 heart, murdered friendship, horns your head, and laughs 
 at your horns. 
 
 1 Interminable.
 
 340 LOVE'S SA CRIFICE. [ACT m. 
 
 Duke. My heart is split ! 
 
 jyAv. Take courage, be a prince in resolution : I knew 
 it would nettle you in the fire of your composition, and 
 was loth to have given the first report of this more than 
 ridiculous blemish to all patience or moderation : but,. O, 
 my lord, what would not a subject do to approve his 
 loyalty to his sovereign ? Yet, good sir, take it as quietly 
 as you can : I must needs say 'tis a foul fault ; but what 
 man is he under the sun that is free from the career of his 
 destiny ? May be she will in time reclaim the errors of 
 her youth ; or 'twere a great happiness in you, if you 
 could not believe it; that's the surest way, my lord, in my 
 poor counsel. 
 
 Duke. The icy current of my frozen blood 
 Is kindled up in agonies as hot 
 As flames of burning sulphur. O, my fate ! 
 A cuckold ! had my dukedom's whole inheritance 
 Been rent, mine honours levelled in the dust, 
 So she, that wicked woman, might have slept 
 Chaste in my bosom, 't had been all a sport. 
 And he, that villain, viper to my heart, 
 That he should be the man ! death above utterance ! 
 Take heed you prove this true. 
 
 D'Av. My lord, 
 
 Duke. If not, 
 
 I'll tear thee joint by joint. Phew ! methinks 
 It should not be : Bianca ! why, I took her 
 From lower than a bondage : hell of hells ! - 
 See that you make it good. 
 
 D'Av. As for that, 'would it were as good as I would 
 make it ! I can, if you will temper your distractions, but 
 bring you where you shall see it ; no more. 
 
 Duke. See it ! 
 
 D'Av. Ay, see it, if that be proof sufficient. I, for 
 my part, will slack no service that may testify my sim- 
 plicity. 
 
 Duke. Enough.
 
 SCENE IV.] LOVE'S SACRIFICE. 341 
 
 Enter FERNANDO. 
 
 What news, Fernando ? 
 
 Per. Sir, the abbot 
 
 Is now upon arrival ; all your servants 
 Attend your presence. 
 
 Duke. We will give him welcome 
 
 As shall befit our love and his respect. 
 Come, mine own best Fernando, my dear friend. 
 
 \Exitwith FERNANDO. 
 
 D ' Av. Excellent ! now for a horned moon. [Music 
 within.] But I hear the preparation for the entertainment 
 of this great abbot. Let him come and go, that matters 
 nothing to this ; whiles he rides abroad in hope to pur- 
 chase a purple hat, our duke shall as earnestly heat the 
 pericranion of his noddle with a yellow hood at home. I 
 hear 'em coming. 
 
 Loud music. Enter Servants with torches ; then the Duke, 
 followed by FERNANDO, BIANCA, FIORMONDA, PE- 
 TRUCHIO, and NIBRASSA, at one side ; two Friars, the 
 Abbot and Attendants at the other. The Duke ana 
 Abbot meet and salute ; BIANCA and the rest salute, 
 and are saluted ; they rank themselves, and pass over 
 the stage ; the Choir singing. 
 
 On to your victuals; some of ye, I know, feed upon 
 wormwood. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. Another Apartment in the Palace. 
 
 Enter PETRUCHIO and NIBRASSA with napkins, as from 
 supper. 
 
 Pet. The duke's on rising : are you ready ? ho ! 
 
 [ Within.} All ready. 
 
 Nib. Then, Petruchio, arm thyself with courage and
 
 342 LOVE'S SA ORIFICE. [ACT in . 
 
 resolution ; and do not shrink from being stayed on thy 
 own virtue. 
 
 Pet. I am resolved. Fresh lights ! I hear 'em coming. 
 
 Enter Attendants with lights, before the Duke, Abbot, 
 
 BlANCA, FlORMONDA, FERNANDO, and D'AVOLOS. 
 
 Duke. Right reverend uncle, though our minds be 
 
 scanted 
 
 In giving welcome as our hearts would wish, 
 Yet we will strive to show how much we joy 
 Your presence with a courtly show of mirth. 
 Please you to sit. 
 
 Abbot. Great duke, your worthy honours 
 
 To me shall still have place in my best thanks : 
 Since you in me so much respect the church, 
 Thus much I'll promise, at my next return 
 His holiness shall grant you an indulgence 
 Both large and general. 
 
 Duke. Our humble duty ! 
 
 Seat you, my lords. Now let the masquers enter. 
 
 Enter, in an antic fashion, FERENTES, ROSEILLI, and 
 MAURUCCIO at several doors ; they dance a short time. 
 Suddenly enter to them COLONA, JULIA, and MORONA 
 in odd shapes, and dance : the men gaze at them, and 
 are invited by the women to dance. They dance to- 
 gether sundry changes; at last FERENTES is closed in, 
 MAURUCCIO and ROSEILLI being shook off, stand at 
 different ends of the stage gazing. The women join 
 hands and dance round FERENTES with divers com- 
 plimental offers of courtship ; at length they suddenly 
 fall upon him and stab him ; he falls, and they run 
 out at several doors. The music ceases. 
 
 Per en. Uncase me ; I am slain in jest. A pox upon 
 your outlandish feminine antics ! pull off my visor ; I 
 shall bleed to death ere I have time to feel where I
 
 SCENE iv.] LOVE'S SA CRIFICE. 343 
 
 am hurt. Duke, I am slain : off with my visor; for 
 heaven's sake, off with my visor ! 
 
 Duke. Slain! Take his visor off \They unmask 
 
 FERENTES] : we are betrayed : 
 Seize on them ! two are yonder : hold Ferentes : 
 Follow the rest : apparent treachery ! 
 
 Abbot. Holy Saint Bennet, what a sight is this ! 
 
 Re-enter JULIA, COLONA, and MORONA unmasked, each 
 with a child in her arms. 
 
 Jul. Be not amazed, great princes, but vouchsafe 
 Your audience : we are they have done this deed. 
 Look here, the pledges of this false man's lust, 
 Betrayed in our simplicities : he swore, 
 And pawned his truth, to marry each of us ; 
 Abused us all ; unable to revenge 
 Our public shames but by his public fall, 
 Which thus we have contrived : nor do we blush 
 To call the glory of this murder ours ; 
 We did it, and we'll justify the deed ; 
 For when in sad complaints we claimed his vows, 
 His answer was reproach : Villain, is't true ? 
 
 Col. I was " too quickly won," you slave ! 
 
 Mor. I was " too old," you dog ! 
 
 Jul. I, and I never shall forget the wrong, 
 I was " not fair enough ; " not fair enough 
 For thee, thou monster ! let me cut his gall 
 Not fair enough ! O, scorn ! not fair enough ! 
 
 [Stabs him. 
 
 Feren. O, O, ! 
 
 Duke. Forbear, you monstrous women ! do not add 
 Murder to lust : your lives shall pay this forfeit. 
 
 Feren. Pox upon all cod-piece extravagancy ! I am pep- 
 pered O, O, O ! Duke, forgive me ! Had I rid any 
 tame beasts but Barbary wild colts, I had not been thus 
 jerked out of the saddle. My forfeit was in my blood ; 
 and my life hath answered it. Vengeance on all wild
 
 344 
 
 LOVE'S SACRIFICE. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 whores, I say ! O, 'tis true farewell, generation of 
 hackneys ! O ! [Dies. 
 
 Duke. He is dead. 
 To prison with those monstrous strumpets ! 
 
 Pet. Stay ; 
 
 I'll answer for my daughter. 
 
 Nib. And I for mine. 
 
 O, well done, girls ! 
 
 Fern. I for yon gentlewoman, sir. 
 
 Man. Good my lord, I am an innocent in the busi- 
 ness. 
 
 Duke. To prison with him ! Bear the body hence. 
 
 Abbot. Here's fatal sad presages : but 'tis just 
 He dies by murder that hath lived in lust. ^Exeunt.
 
 ACT THE FOURTH. 
 SCENE I. An Apartment in the Palace. 
 Enter Duke, FIORMONDA, and D'AVOLOS. 
 
 IOR. Art thou Caraffa ? is there in thy 
 
 veins 
 One drop of blood that issued from the 
 
 loins 
 Of Pavy's ancient dukes ? or dost thou 
 
 sit 
 
 On great Lorenzo's seat, our glorious father, 
 And canst not blush to be so far beneath 
 The spirit of heroic ancestors ? 
 Canst thou engross ! a slavish shame, which men 
 Far, far below the region of thy state 
 Not more abhor than study to revenge ? 
 Thou an Italian ! I could burst with rage 
 To think I have a brother so befooled 
 In giving patience to a harlot's lust. 
 
 D'Ar. One, my lord, that doth so palpably, so appa- 
 rently make her adulteries a trophy, whiles the potirig- 
 stick - to her unsatiate and more than goatish abomination 
 jeers at and flouts your sleepish, and more than sleepish, 
 security. 
 
 Fior. What is she but the sallow-coloured brat 
 Of some unlanded bankrupt, taught to catch 
 The easy fancies of young prodigal bloods 
 
 1 Possess. 
 
 2 Or poking-stick, a slender rod of bone or steel, for setting the 
 plaits of ruffs, cuffs, &c., after starching.
 
 346 LOVE'S SA CRIFICE. [ACT iv. 
 
 In springes of her stew-instructed art ? 
 
 Here's your most virtuous duchess ! your rare piece ! 
 
 D'Ar. More base in the infiniteness of her sensuality 
 than corruption can infect : to clip and inveigle your 
 friend too ! O, unsufferable ! a friend ! how of all men 
 are you most unfortunate ! to pour out your soul into 
 the bosom of such a creature as holds it religion to make 
 your own trust a key to open the passage to your own 
 wife's womb, to be drunk in the privacies of your bed ! 
 think upon that, sir. 
 
 Dttke. Be gentle in your tortures, e'en for pity ; 
 For pity's cause I beg it. 
 
 Fior. Be a prince ! 
 
 Th'adst better, duke, thou hadst, been born a peasant. 
 Now boys will sing thy scandal in the streets, 
 Tune ballads to thy infamy, get money 
 By making pageants of thee, and invent 
 Some strangely-shaped man-beast, that may for horns 
 Resemble thee, and call it Pavy's Duke. 
 Duke. Endless immortal plague ! 
 D'Av. There's the mischief, sir : in the meantime you 
 
 shall be sure to have a bastard of whom you did not so 
 
 much as beget a little toe, a left ear, or half the further 
 
 side of an upper lip inherit both your throne and name : 
 
 this would kill the soul of very patience itself. 
 Duke. Forbear ; the ashy paleness of my cheek 
 
 Is scarleted in ruddy flakes of wrath ; 
 
 And like some bearded meteor shall suck up, 
 
 With swiftest terror, all those dusky mists 
 
 That overcloud compassion in our breast. 
 
 You've roused a sleeping lion, whom no art, 
 
 No fawning smoothness shall reclaim, but blood. 
 
 And sister thou, thou, Roderico, thou, 
 
 From whom I take the surfeit of my bane, 
 
 Henceforth no more so eagerly pursue 
 
 To whet my dulness : you shall see Caraffa 
 
 Equal his birth, and matchless in revenge.
 
 SCENE i]. LOVE'S SA CRIFICE. 347 
 
 Fior. Why, now I hear you speak in majesty. 
 
 D'Av. And it becomes my lord most princely. 
 
 Duke. Does it ? Come hither, sister. Thou art near 
 In nature, and as near to me in love : 
 I love thee, yes, by yon bright firmament, 
 I love thee dearly. But observe me well : 
 If any private grudge or female spleen, 
 Malice or envy, or such woman's frailty, 
 Have -spurred thee on to set my soul on fire 
 Without apparent certainty, I vow, 
 And vow again, by all our princely blood, 
 Hadst thou a double soul, or were the lives 
 Of fathers, mothers, children, or the hearts 
 Of all our tribe in thine, I would unrip 
 That womb of bloody mischief with these nails 
 Where such a cursed plot as this was hatched. 
 But, D'Avolos, for thee no more ; to work 
 A yet more strong impression in my brain 
 You must produce an instance to mine eye 
 Both present and apparent nay, you shall or 
 
 Fior. Or what ? you will be mad ? be rather wise ; 
 Think on Ferentes first, and think by whom 
 The harmless youth was slaughtered : had he lived, 
 He would have told you tales : Fernando feared it ; 
 And to prevent him, under show, forsooth, 
 Of rare device, most trimly cut him off. 
 Have you yet eyes, duke ? 
 
 Duke. Shrewdly urged, 'tis piercing. 
 
 Fior. For looking on a sight shall split your soul, 
 You shall not care : I'll undertake myself 
 To do't some two days hence ; for need, to-night, 
 But that you are in court. 
 
 D'Av. Right. Would you desire, my lord, to see 
 them exchange kisses, sucking one another's lips, nay, 
 begetting an heir to the dukedom, or practising more 
 than the very act of adultery itself? Give but a little 
 way by a feigned absence, and you shall find 'em I
 
 348 LOVE'S SACRIFICE. [ACT iv. 
 
 blush to speak doing what : I am mad to think on't ; 
 you are most shamefully, most sinfully, most scornfully 
 cornuted. 
 
 Duke. D'ye play upon me ? as I am your prince, 
 There's some shall roar for this ! Why, what was I, 
 Both to be thought or made so vile a thing ? 
 Stay, madam marquess, ho, Roderico, you, sir, 
 Bear witness that if ever I neglect 
 One day, one hour, one minute, to wear out 
 With toil of plot or practice of conceit 
 My busy skull, till I have found a death 
 More horrid than the bull of Phalaris, 
 Or all the fabling poets' dreaming whips ; 
 If ever I take rest, or force a smile 
 Which is not borrowed from a royal vengeance, 
 Before I know which way to satisfy 
 Fury and wrong, nay, kneel down \They kncel\, \Q\. 
 
 me die 
 
 More wretched than despair, reproach, contempt, 
 Laughter, and poverty itself can make me ! 
 Let's rise on all sides friends \They rise] : now all's 
 
 agreed : 
 If the moon serve, some that are safe shall bleed. 1 
 
 Enter BIANCA, FERNANDO, and MORONA. 
 
 Bian. My lord the duke, 
 
 Duke. Bianca ! ha, how is't ? 
 
 How is't, Bianca? What, Fernando ! come, 
 Shall's shake hands, sirs? 'faith, this is kindly done. 
 Here's three as one : welcome, dear wile, sweet friend ! 
 
 D'Av. [Aside to FIORMONDA] I do not like this now ; 
 it shows scurvily to me. 
 
 Bian. My lord, we have a suit ; your friend and I 
 
 Duke. \Aside\ She puts my friend before, most kindly 
 still. 
 
 1 Certain states of the moon were considered especially favour- 
 able for the operation of bleeding. 

 
 SCENE I.] L VE ' S SA CRIF1CE. 349 
 
 ian. Must join- 
 
 Duke. What, "must"? 
 
 Bian. My lord ! 
 
 Duke. Must join, you say 
 
 Bian. That you will please to set Mauruccio 
 
 At liberty ; this gentlewoman here 
 
 Hath, by agreement made betwixt them two, 
 
 Obtained him for her husband : good my lord, 
 
 Let me entreat ; I dare engage mine honour 
 
 He's innocent in any wilful fault. 
 
 Duke. Your honour, madam ! now beshrew you for't, 
 
 T' engage your honour on so slight a ground : 
 
 Honour's a precious jewel, I can tell you ; 
 
 Nay, 'tis, Bianca ; go to ! D'Avolos, 
 
 Bring us Mauruccio hither. 
 
 DAv. I shall, my lord. [Exit. 
 
 Mor. I humbly thank your grace, 
 
 Fern. And, royal sir, since Julia and Colona, 
 
 Chief actors in Ferentes' tragic end, 
 
 Were, through their ladies' mediation, 
 
 Freed by your gracious pardon ; I, in pity, 
 
 Tendered this widow's friendless misery ; 
 
 For whose reprieve I shall, in humblest duty, 
 
 Be ever thankful. 
 
 Re-enter D'AVOLOS with MAURUCCIO in rags, and 
 GIACOPO weeping. 
 
 Mau. Come you, my learned counsel, do not roar ; 
 If I must hang, why, then, lament therefore : 
 You may rejoice, and both, no doubt, be great 
 To serve your prince, when I am turned worms'-meat. 
 I fear my lands and all I have is begged; * 
 Else, woe is me, why should I be BO ragged ? 
 
 D ' Av. Come on, sir ; the duke stays for you. 
 
 Mau. O, how my stomach doth begin to puke, 
 When I do hear that only word, the duke ! 
 
 1 i t i. As a condemned person.
 
 350 LOVE'S SA CRIFICE. [ACT iv. 
 
 Duke. You, sir, look on that woman : are you pleased, 
 If we remit your body from the gaol, 
 To take her for your wife ? 
 
 Man. On that condition, prince, with all my heart. 
 
 Mor. Yes, I warrant your grace he is content. 
 
 Duke. Why, foolish man, hast thou so soon forgot 
 The public shame of her abused womb, 
 Her being mother to a bastard's birth ? 
 Or canst thou but imagine she will be 
 True to thy bed who to herself was false ? 
 
 Gia. [To MAURUCCIO] Phew, sir, do not stand upon 
 that ; that's a matter of nothing, you know. 
 
 Man. Nay, an't shall please your good grace, an it 
 come to that, I care not ; as good men as I have lain in 
 foul sheets, I am sure ; the linen has not been much the 
 worse for the wearing a little : I will have her with all 
 my heart. 
 
 Duke. And shall. Fernando, thou shalt have the 
 
 grace 
 To join their hands ; put 'em together, friend. 
 
 Bian. Yes, do, my lord ; bring you the bridegroom 
 
 hither ; 
 I'll give the bride myself. 
 
 D'Av. [Aside] Here's argument to jealousy as good 
 as drink to the dropsy ; she will share any disgrace with 
 him : I could not wish it better. 
 
 Duke. Even so : well, do it. 
 
 Fern. Here, Mauruccio; 
 
 Long live a happy couple ! 
 
 [FERNANDO and BIANCA join their hands. 
 
 Duke. 'Tis enough ; 
 
 Now know our pleasure henceforth. 'Tis our will, 
 If ever thou, Mauruccio, or thy wife, 
 Be seen within a dozen miles o' the court, 
 We will recall our mercy ; no entreat 
 Shall warrant thee a minute of thy life : 
 We'll have no servile slavery of lust
 
 SCENE i.] L O VE ' S SA CRIFICE. 35 1 
 
 Shall breathe near us ; dispatch, and get ye hence. 
 Bianca, come with me. [Aside.~\ O, my cleft soul ! 
 
 {Exeunt Duke and BIANCA. 
 
 Man. How's that ? must I come no more near the 
 court ? 
 
 Gia. O, pitiful ! not near the court, sir ! 
 
 D' Av. Not by a dozen miles, indeed, sir. Your only 
 course, I can advise you, is to pass to Naples, and set 
 up a house of carnality : there are very fair and frequent 
 suburbs, and you need not fear the contagion of any 
 pestilent disease, for the worst is very proper to the place. 
 
 Fern. 'Tis a strange sentence. 
 
 Fior. 'Tis, and sudden too, 
 
 And not without some mystery. 
 
 D'Av. Will you go, sir ? 
 
 Man. Not near the court ! 
 
 Mor. What matter is it, sweetheart ? fear nothing, love ; 
 you shall have new change of apparel, good diet, whole- 
 some attendance ; and we will live like pigeons, my 
 lord. 
 
 Mau. Wilt thou forsake me, Giacopo ? 
 
 Gia. I forsake ye ! no, not as long as I have a whole 
 ear on my head, come what will come. 
 
 Fior. Mauruccio, you did once proffer true love 
 To me, but since you are more thriftier sped, 
 For old affection's sake here take this gold ; 
 Spend it for my sake. 
 
 Fern. Madam, you do nobly, 
 
 And that's for me, Mauruccio. \They give him money. 
 
 D'Av. Will ye go, sir ? 
 
 Mau. Yes, I will go ; and I humbly thank your lord- 
 ship and ladyship. Pavy, sweet Pavy, farewell ! 
 Come, wife, come, Giacopo : 
 
 Now is the time that we away must lag, 
 
 And march in pomp with baggage and with bag. 
 
 O poor Mauruccio ! what hast thou misdone, 
 
 To end thy life when life was new begun ?
 
 352 LOVE'S SA CRIFICE. [ACT IV. 
 
 Adieu to all ; for lords and ladies see 
 
 My woeful plight and squires of low degree ! 
 
 D'Av. Away, away, sirs ! 
 
 {Exeunt all but FIORMONDA and FERNANDO. 
 
 Fior. My Lord Fernando, 
 
 Fern. Madam ? 
 
 Fior. Do you note 
 
 My brother's odd distractions ? You were wont 
 To bosom in his counsels : I am sure 
 You know the ground of it. 
 
 Fern. Not I, in troth. 
 
 Fior. Is't possible ? What would you say, my lord 
 If he, out of some melancholy spleen, 
 Edged-on by some thank-picking parasite, 
 Should now prove jealous ? I mistrust it shrewdly. ' 
 
 Fern. What, madam ! jealous ? 
 
 Fior. Yes ; for but observe, 
 
 A prince whose eye is chooser to his heart 
 Is seldom steady in the lists of love, 
 Unless the party he affects do match 
 His rank in equal portion or in friends : 
 I never yet, out of report, or else 
 By warranted description, have observed 
 The nature of fantastic jealousy, 
 If not in him ; yet, on my conscience now, 
 He has no cause. 
 
 Fern. Cause, madam ! by this light, 
 
 I'll pledge my soul against a useless rush. 
 
 Fior. I never thought her less ; yet, trust me, sir, 
 No merit can be greater than your praise : 
 Whereat I strangely wonder, how a man 
 Vowed, as you told me, to a single life, 
 Should so much deify the saints from whom 
 You have disclaimed devotion. 
 
 Fern. Madam, 'tis true ; 
 
 From them I have, but from their virtues never. 
 
 Fior. You are too wise, Fernando. To be plain,
 
 SCENE II.] LOVE'S SACRIFICE. 353 
 
 You are in love ; nay, shrink not, man, you are ; 
 Bianca is your aim : why do you blush ? 
 She is, I know she is. 
 
 Fern. My aim ! 
 
 Fior. Yes, yours ; 
 
 I hope I talk no news. Fernando, know 
 Thou runn'st to thy confusion, if in time 
 Thou dost not wisely shun that Circe's charm. 
 Unkindest man ! I have too long concealed 
 My hidden flames, when still in silent signs 
 I courted thee for love, without respect 
 To youth or state ; and yet thou art unkind. 
 Fernando, leave that sorceress, if not 
 For love of me, for pity of thyself. 
 
 Fern. [Walks aside]. Injurious woman, I defy thy lust. 
 'Tis not your subtle sifting that shall creep 
 Into the secrets of a heart unsoiled. 
 You are my prince's sister, else your malice 
 Had railed itself to death : but as for me, 
 
 Be record all my fate, I do detest 
 
 Your fury or affection : judge the rest. \Exit. 
 
 Fior. What, gone ! well, go thy ways : I see the more 
 I humble my firm love, the more he shuns 
 Both it and me. So plain ! then 'tis too late 
 To hope ; change, peevish passion, to contempt ! 
 
 Whatever rages in my blood I feel, 
 
 Fool, he shall know I was not born to kneel. \Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. Another Room in the Palace. 
 Enter D'AvoLOS and JULIA. 
 
 U 'Av. Julia, mine own, speak softly. What, hast thou 
 learned out any thing of this pale widgeon ? speak soft ; 
 what does she say ? 
 
 Jul. Foh, -more than all ; there's not an hour shall pass 
 
 Ford. A A
 
 354 LOVE'S SA CRIFICE. [ACT i v. 
 
 But I shall have intelligence, she swears. 
 
 Whole nights you know my mind ; I hope you'll give 
 
 The gown you promised me. 
 
 D 'Av. Honest Julia, peace ; thou'rt a woman worth a 
 kingdom. Let me never be believed now but I think it 
 will be my destiny to be thy husband at last : what though 
 thou have a child, or perhaps two ? 
 
 Jul. Never but one, I swear. 
 
 D' Av. Well, one ; is that such a matter ? I like thee 
 the better for't ! it shows thou hast a good tenantable and 
 fertile womb, worth twenty of your barren, dry, bloodless 
 devourers of youth. But come, I will talk with thee 
 more privately ; the duke has a journey in hand, and will 
 not be long absent : see, he has come already let's pass 
 away easily. ^Exeunt, 
 
 Enter Duke and BIANCA. 
 
 Duke. Troubled ? yes, I have cause. O, Bianca ! 
 Here was my fate engraven in thy brow, 
 This smooth, fair, polished table ; in thy cheeks 
 Nature summed up thy dower : 'twas not wealth, 
 The miser's god, or royalty of blood, 
 Advanced thee to my bed ; but love, and hope 
 Of virtue that might equal those sweet looks : 
 If, then, thou shouldst betray my trust, thy faith, 
 To the pollution of a base desire, 
 Thou wert a wretched woman. 
 
 Bian. Speaks your l.ove 
 
 Or fear, my lord ? 
 
 Duke. Both, both. Bianca, know, 
 
 The nightly languish of my dull unrest 
 Hath stamped a strong opinion ; for, methought, 
 Mark what I say, as I in glorious pomp 
 Was sitting on my throne, whiles I had hemmed 
 My best-beloved Bianca in mine arms, 
 She reached my cap of state, and cast it down 
 'Beneath her foot, and spurned it in the dust ;
 
 SCENE ii.] LOVE'S SACRIFICE. 355 
 
 Whiles I O, 'twas a dream too full of fate ! 
 
 Was stooping down to reach it, on my head 
 
 Fernando, like a traitor to his vows, 
 
 Clapt, in disgrace, a coronet of horns. 
 
 But, by the honour of anointed kings, 
 
 Were both of you hid in a rock of fire, 
 
 Guarded by ministers of flaming hell, 
 
 I have a sword 'tis here should make my way 
 
 Through fire, through darkness, death, and hell, and 
 
 all, 
 
 To hew your lust-engendered flesh to shreds, 
 Pound you to mortar, cut your throats, and mince 
 Your flesh to mites : I will, start not, I will. 
 
 Bian. Mercy protect me, will ye murder me ? 
 
 Duke. Yes. O, I cry thee mercy ! How the rage 
 Of my own dreamed-of wrongs made me forget 
 All sense of sufferance ! Blame me not, Bianca ; 
 One such another dream would quite distract 
 Reason and self-humanity : yet tell me, 
 Was't not an ominous vision ? 
 
 Bian. 'Twas, my lord, 
 
 Yet but a vision : for did such a guilt 
 Hang on mine honour, 'twere no blame in you, 
 If you did stab me to the heart. 
 
 Duke. The heart ! 
 
 Nay, strumpet, to the soul ; and tear it off 
 From life, to damn it in immortal death. 
 
 Bian. Alas ! what do you mean, sir ? 
 
 Duke. I am mad. 
 
 Forgive me, good Bianca ; still methinks 
 I dream and dream anew : now, prithee, chide me. 
 Sickness and these divisions so distract 
 My senses, that I take things possible 
 As if they were ; which to remove, I mean 
 To speed me straight to Lucca, where, perhaps, 
 Absence and bathing in those healthful springs 
 May soon recover me ; meantime, dear sweet,
 
 356 LOVE'S SACRIFICE. [ACT iv. 
 
 Pity my troubled heart ; griefs are extreme : 
 
 Yet, sweet, when I am gone, think on my dream. 
 
 Who waits without, ho ! 
 
 Enter PETRUCHIO, NIBRASSA, FIORMONDA, D'AVOLOS, 
 ROSEILLI disguised as before, and FERNANDO. 
 
 Is provision ready, 
 To pass to Lucca ? 
 
 Pet. It attends your highness, 
 
 Duke. Friend, hold ; take here from me this jewel, 
 this : [Gives BIANCA to FERNANDO. 
 
 Be she your care till my return from Lucca, 
 Honest Fernando. Wife, respect my friend. 
 Let's go : but hear ye, wife, think on my dream. 
 
 {Exeunt all but ROSEILLI and PETRUCHIO. 
 
 Pet. Cousin, one word with you : doth not this 
 
 cloud 
 
 Acquaint you with strange novelties ? The duke 
 Is lately much distempered : what he means 
 By journeying now to Lucca, is to me 
 A riddle ; can you clear my doubt ; 
 
 Ros. O, sir, 
 
 My fears exceed my knowledge, yet I note 
 No less than you infer ; all is not well ; 
 Would 'twere ! whosoe'er thrive, I shall be sure 
 Never to rise to my unhoped desires. 
 But, cousin, I shall tell you more anon : 
 Meantime, pray send my Lord Fernando to me ; 
 I covet much to speak with him. 
 
 Pet. And see, 
 
 He comes himself; I'll leave you both together. \Exit. 
 
 Re-enter FERNANDO. 
 
 Fern. The duke is horsed for Lucca, How now, 
 
 coz, 
 How prosper you in love ?
 
 SCENE II.] LOVE'S SA CRIFICE. 357 
 
 Ros. As still I hoped. 1 
 
 My lord, you are undone. 
 
 Fern. Undone ! in what ? 
 
 Ros. Lost ; and I fear your life is bought and sold ; 
 I'll tell you how. Late in my lady's chamber 
 As I by chance lay slumbering on the mats, 
 In comes the lady marquess, and with her 
 Julia and D'Avolos ; where sitting down, 
 Not doubting me, " Madam," quoth D'Avolos, 
 " We have discovered now the nest of shame." 
 In short, my lord, for you already know 
 As much as they reported, there was told. 
 The circumstance of all your private love 
 And meeting with the duchess ; when, at last, 
 False D'Avolos concluded with an oath, 
 " We'll make," quoth he, " his heart-strings crack for 
 this." 
 
 Fern. Speaking of me ? 
 
 Ros. Of you ; " Ay," quoth the marquess, 
 
 " Were not the duke a baby, he would seek 
 Swift vengeance ; for he knew it long ago." 
 
 Fern. Let him know it ; yet I vow 
 She is as loyal in her plighted faith 
 As is the sun in Heaven : but put case 
 She were not, and the duke did know she were not ; 
 This sword lifted up, and guided by this arm, 
 Shall guard her from an armed troop of fiends 
 And all the earth beside. 
 
 Ros. You are too safe 
 
 In your destruction. 
 
 Fern. Damn him ! he shall feel 
 
 But peace ! who comes ? 
 
 Enter COLONA. 
 
 Col. My lord, the duchess craves 
 
 A word with you. 
 
 1 Expected.
 
 358 
 
 LOVE'S SACRIFICE. 
 
 Where is she ? 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Fern. 
 
 Col. In her chamber. 
 
 Ros. Here, have a plum for ie'ee 
 
 Col. Come, fool, I'll give thee plums enow ; come, fool. 
 
 Fern. Let slaves in mind be servile to their fears ; 
 
 Our heart is high instarred in brighter spheres. 
 
 {Exeunt, FERNANDO and COLON A. 
 Ros. I see him lost already. 
 If all prevail not, we shall know too late 
 No toil can shun the violer.< e of fate.
 
 ACT THE FIFTH. 
 SCENE l.-The Palace. The Duchess's Bedchamber. 
 
 BIANCA discovered in her night-attire, leaning on a cushion 
 at a table, holding FERNANDO by the hand. Enter 
 above FIORMONDA. 
 
 IOR. \Aside\ Now fly, Revenge, and 
 
 wound the lower earth, 
 That I, insphered above, may cross 
 
 the race 
 Of love despised, and triumph o'er 
 
 their graves 
 Who scorn the low-bent thraldom of my heart ! 
 
 Bian. Why shouldst thou not be mine ? why should 
 The iron laws of ceremony, bar [the laws, 
 
 Mutual embraces ? what's a vow ? a vow ? 
 Can there be sin in unity ? could I 
 As well dispense with conscience as renounce 
 The outside of my titles, the poor style 
 Of duchess, I had rather change my life 
 With any waiting-woman in the land 
 To purchase one night's rest with thee, Fernando, 
 Than be Caraffa's spouse a thousand years. 
 
 Fior. \Aside\ Treason to wedlock ! this would make 
 
 you sweat. 
 Fern. Lady of all 1 as before, 
 
 1 This is the largest lacuna in Ford's works, 
 appear to have fallen out. 
 
 Several lines
 
 360 LOVE'S SA CRIFICE. [ACT v. 
 
 . . . what I am, . . . 
 
 To survive you, or I will see you first 
 
 Or widowed or buried : if the last, 
 
 By all the comfort I can wish to taste, 
 
 By your fair eyes, that sepulchre that holds 
 
 Your coffin shall incoffin me alive ; 
 
 I sign it with this seal. [Kisses her. 
 
 Fior. [Aside] Ignoble strumpet ! 
 
 Bian. You shall not swear ; take off that oath again, 
 Or thus I will enforce it. \Kisses him. 
 
 Fern. Use that force, 
 
 And make me perjured ; for whiles your lips 
 Are made the book, it is a sport to swear, 
 And glory to forswear. 
 
 Fior. [Aside] Here's fast and loose ! 
 
 Which, for a ducat, now the game's on foot ? 
 
 Whilst they are kissing, the Duke and D'AVOLOS, with 
 their swords drawn, appear at the door, followed by 
 PETRUCHIO, NIBRASSA, and a Guard. 
 
 Col. [ Within} Help, help ! madam, you are betrayed, 
 madam ; help, help ! 
 
 D'Av. [Aside to Duke] Is there confidence in credit, 
 now, sir ? belief in your own eyes ? do you see ? do you 
 see, sir ? can you behold it without lightning ? 
 
 Col. [ Within] Help, madam, help ! 
 
 Fern. What noise is that ? I heard one cry. 
 
 Duke [Comes forward] Ha, did you? 
 
 Know you who I am ? 
 
 Fern. Yes ; thou'rt Pavy's duke, 
 
 Dressed like a hangman : see, I am unarmed, 
 Yet do not fear thee ; though the coward doubt 
 Of what I could have done hath made thee steal 
 The advantage of this time, yet, duke, I dare 
 Thy worst, for murder sits upon thy cheeks : 
 To't, man ! 
 
 Duke. I am too angry in my rage
 
 SCENE I.] LOVE'S SACRIFICE. 361 
 
 To scourge thee unprovided. Take him hence ; 
 
 Away with him ! \The Guard seize FERNANDO. 
 
 Fern. Unhand me ! 
 
 D'Av. You must go, sir. 
 
 Fern. Duke, do not shame thy manhood to lay hands 
 On that most innocent lady. 
 
 Duke. Yet again ! 
 
 Confine him to his chamber. 
 
 {Exeunt D'AVOLOS and the Guard with FERNANDO. 
 
 Leave us all ; 
 None stay, not one ; shut up the doors. 
 
 \_Exeunt PETRUCHIO and NIBRASSA. 
 
 Fior. Now show thyself my brother, brave Caraffa. 
 
 Duke. Woman, stand forth before me ; wretched 
 What canst thou hope for ? [whore, 
 
 Bian. Death ; I wish no less. 
 
 You told me you had dreamt ; and, gentle duke, 
 Unless you be mistook, you're now awaked. 
 
 Duke. Strumpet, I am ; and in my hand hold up 
 The edge that must uncut thy twist of life : 
 Dost thou not shake ? 
 
 Bian. For what ? to see a weak, 
 
 Faint, trembling arm advance a leaden blade ? 
 Alas, good man ! put up, put up ; thine eyes 
 Are likelier much to weep than arms to strike : 
 What would you do now, pray ? 
 
 Duke. What ! shameless harlot ! 
 
 Rip up the cradle of thy cursed womb, 
 In which the mixture of that traitor's lust 
 Imposthumes for a birth of bastardy. , 
 Yet come, and if thou think'st thou canst deserve 
 One mite of mercy, ere the boundless spleen 
 Of just-consuming wrath o'erswell my reason, 
 Tell me, bad woman, tell me what could move 
 Thy heart to crave variety of youth. 
 
 Bian. I'll tell ye, if you needs would be resolved ; 
 I held Fernando much the properer man.
 
 362 LOVE'S SA CRIFICE. [ACT v. 
 
 Duke. Shameless, intolerable whore ! 
 
 Bian. What ails you ? 
 
 Can you imagine, sir, the name of duke 
 Could make a crooked leg, a scambling l foot, 
 A tolerable face, a wearish 3 hand, 
 A bloodless lip, or such an untrimmed beard 
 As yours, fit for a lady's pleasure ? no : 
 I wonder you could think 'twere possible, 
 When I had once but looked on your Fernando, 
 I ever could love you again ; fie, fie ! 
 Now, by my life, I thought that long ago 
 Y' had known it, and been glad you had a friend 
 Your wife did think so well of. 
 
 Duke. O my stars ! 
 
 Here's impudence above all history. 
 Why, thou detested reprobate in virtue, 
 Dar'st thou, without a blush, before mine eyes 
 Speak such immodest language ? 
 
 Bian. Dare ! yes, 'faith, 
 
 You see I dare : I know what you would say now ; 
 You would fain tell me how exceeding much 
 I am beholding to you, that vouchsafed 
 Me, from a simple gentlewoman's place, 
 The honour of your bed : 'tis true, you did ; 
 But why ? 'twas but because you thought I had 
 A spark of beauty more than you had seen. 
 To answer this, my reason is the like ; 
 The self-same appetite which led you on 
 To marry me led me to love your friend : 
 O, he's a gallant man ! if ever yet 
 Mine eyes beheld a miracle composed 
 Of flesh and blood, Fernando has my voice. 
 I must confess, my lord, that for a prince 
 Handsome enough you are, and and no more ; 
 But to compare yourself with him ! trust me, 
 You are too much in fault. Shall I advise you ? 
 
 1 Sprawling. * Withered.
 
 SCENE I.] LOVE'S SA CRIFICE. 363 
 
 Hark in your ear ; thank Heaven he was so slow 
 As not to wrong your sheets ; for, as I live, 
 The fault was his, not mine. 
 
 Fior. Take this, take all. 
 
 Duke. Excellent, excellent ! the pangs of death 
 Are music to this. 
 
 Forgive me, my good genius ; I had thought 
 I matched a woman, but I find she is 
 A devil, worser than the worst in hell. 
 Nay, nay, since we are in, e'en come, say on ; 
 I mark you to a syllable : you say 
 The fault was his, not yours ; why, virtuous mistress, 
 Can you imagine you have so much art 
 Which may persuade me you and your close markman 
 Did not a little traffic in my right ? 
 
 Bian. Look, what I said, 'tis true ; for, know it now, 
 I must confess I missed no means, no time, 
 To win him to my bosom ; but so much, 
 So holily, with such religion, 
 He kept the laws of friendship, that my suit 
 Was held but, in comparison, a jest ; 
 Nor did I ofter urge the violence 
 Of my affection, but as oft he urged 
 The sacred vows of faith 'twixt friend and friend : 
 Yet be assured, my lord, if ever language 
 Of cunning servile flatteries, entreaties, 
 Or what in me is, could procure his love, 
 I would not blush to speak it. 
 
 Duke. Such another 
 
 As thou art, miserable creature, would 
 Sink the whole sex of women : yet confess 
 What witchcraft used the wretch to charm the heart 
 Of the once spotless temple of thy mind ? 
 For without witchcraft it could ne'er be done. 
 
 Bian. Phew! an you be in these tunes, sir, I'll leave; 1 
 You know the best and worst and all. 
 
 1 i.e. Leave off, say no more.
 
 364 LOVE'S SA CRIFICE. [ACT v. 
 
 Duke. Nay, then, 
 
 Thou tempt'st me to thy ruin. Come, black angel, 
 Fair devil, in thy prayers reckon up 
 The sum in gross of all thy veined l follies ; 
 There, amongst others, weep in tears of blood 
 For one above the rest, adultery ! 
 Adultery, Bianca ! such a guilt 
 As, were the sluices of thine eyes let up, 
 Tears cannot wash it off : 'tis not the tide 
 Of trivial wantonness from youth to youth, 
 But thy abusing of thy lawful bed, 
 Thy husband's bed ; his in whose breast thou sleep'st, 
 His that did prize thee more than all the trash 
 Which hoarding worldlings make an idol of. 
 When thou shalt find the catalogue enrolled 
 Of thy misdeeds, there shall be writ in text 
 Thy bastarding the issues of a prince. 
 Now turn thine eyes into thy hovering soul, 
 And do not hope for life ; would angels sing 
 A requiem at my hearse but to dispense 
 With my revenge on thee, 'twere all in vain : 
 Prepare to die ! 
 
 Bian. \Opens her bosoni\ I do ; and to the point 
 Of thy sharp sword with open breast I'll run 
 Half way thus naked ; do not shrink, Carafifa ; 
 This daunts not me : but in the latter act 
 Of thy revenge, 'tis all the suit I ask 
 At my last gasp, to spare thy noble friend ; 
 For life to me without him were a death. 
 
 Duke. Not this ; I'll none of this ; 'tis not so 
 
 fit- 
 Why should I kill her ? she may live and change, 
 Or [ Throws down Ms sivord. 
 
 Fior. Dost thou halt ? faint coward, dost thou wish 
 To blemish all thy glorious ancestors ? 
 Is this thy courage ? 
 
 1 i.e. In the blood.
 
 SCENE II.] LOVE'S SACRIFICE. 365 
 
 Duke. Ha ! say you so too ? 
 
 Give me thy hand, Bianca. 
 
 JBian. Here. 
 
 Duke. Farewell ; 
 
 Thus go in everlasting sleep to dwell ! 
 
 [Draws his dagger and stabs her. 
 Here's blood for lust, and sacrifice for wrong. 
 
 JBian. Tis bravely done; thou hast struck home at 
 
 once : 
 
 Live to repent too late. Commend my love 
 To thy true friend, my love to him that owes l it ; 
 My tragedy to thee ; my heart to to Fernando. 
 O O ! [Dies. 
 
 Duke. Sister, she's dead. 
 
 Fior. Then, whiles thy rage is warm 
 
 Pursue the causer of her trespass. 
 
 Duke. Good : 
 
 I'll slack no time whiles I am hot in blood. 
 
 [ Takes up his sword and exit. 
 
 Fior. Here's royal vengeance ! this becomes the state 
 
 Of his disgrace and my unbounded hate. [Exit above. 
 
 SCENE II. An Apartment in the Palace. 
 Enter FERNANDO, NIBRASSA, and PETRUCHIO. 
 
 Pet. May we give credit to your words, my lord ? 
 Speak, on your honour. 
 
 Fern. Let me die accursed, 
 
 If ever, through the progress of my life, 
 I did as much as reap the benefit 
 Of any favour from her save a kiss : 
 A better woman never blessed the earth. 
 
 Nib. Beshrew my heart, young lord, but I believe thee : 
 alas, kind lady, 'tis a lordship to a dozen of points 2 but 
 
 1 Owns. 2 Tagged laces.
 
 366 LOVE'S SA CRIFICE. [ACT v. 
 
 the jealous madman will in his fury offer her some 
 violence. 
 
 Pet. If it be thus, 'twere fit you rather kept 
 A guard about you for your own defence 
 Than to be guarded for security 
 Of his revenge ; he is extremely moved. 
 
 Nib. Passion of my body, my lord, if he come in his 
 odd fits to you, in the case you are, he might cut your 
 throat ere you could provide a weapon of defence : nay, 
 rather than it shall be so, hold, take my sword in your 
 hand ; 'tis none of the sprucest, but 'tis a tough fox l will 
 not fail his master, come what will come. Take it ; I'll 
 answer't, I : in the mean time Petruchio and I will back to 
 the duchess' lodging. [Gives FERNANDO his sword. 
 
 Pet. Well thought on ; and, despite of all his rage, 
 Rescue the virtuous lady. 
 
 Nib. Look to yourself, my lord ! the duke comes. 
 
 Enter the Duke, a sword in one hand, and a bloody dagger 
 in the other. 
 
 Duke. Stand, and behold thy executioner, 
 Thou glorious traitor ! I will keep no form 
 Of ceremonious law to try thy guilt : 
 Look here, 'tis written on my poniard's point, 
 The bloody evidence of thy untruth, 
 Wherein thy conscience and the wrathful rod 
 Of Heaven's scourge for lust at once give up 
 The verdict of thy crying villainies. 
 I see thou'rt armed : prepare, I crave no odds 
 Greater than is the justice of my cause ; 
 Fight, or I'll kill thee. 
 
 Fern. Duke, I fear thee not : 
 
 But first I charge thee, as thou art a prince, 
 Tell me how hast thou used thy duchess ? 
 
 Duke. How ! 
 
 To add affliction to thy trembling ghost, 
 Look on my dagger's crimson dye, and judge, 
 1 Sword.
 
 SCENE ii.] LOVE'S SA CRIFICE. 367 
 
 Fern. Not dead ? 
 
 Duke. Not dead ! yes, by my honour's truth : why, 
 
 fool, 
 
 Dost think I'll hug my injuries ? no, traitor ! 
 I'll mix your souls together in your deaths, 
 As you did both your bodies in her life. 
 Have at thee ! 
 
 Fern. Stay ; I yield my weapon up. 
 
 \He drops his sword. 
 
 Here, here's my bosom : as thou art a duke, 
 Dost honour goodness, if the chaste Bianca 
 Be murdered, murder me. 
 
 Duke. Faint-hearted coward, 
 
 Art thou so poor in spirit ! Rise and fight ; 
 Or, by the glories of my house and name, 
 I'll kill thee basely. 
 
 Fern. Do but hear me first : 
 
 Unfortunate Caraffa, thou hast butchered 
 An innocent, a wife as free from lust 
 As any terms of art can deify. 
 
 Duke. Pish, this is stale dissimulation ; 
 I'll hear no more. 
 
 Fern. If ever I unshrined 
 
 The altar of her purity, or tasted 
 More of her love than what without control 
 Or blame a brother from a sister might, 
 Rack me to atomies. I must confess 
 I have too much abused thee ; did exceed 
 In lawless courtship ; 'tis too true, I did : 
 But, by the honour which I owe to goodness, 
 For any actual folly I am free. 
 
 Duke. 'Tis false : as much in death for thee she spake. 
 
 Fern. By yonder starry roof, 'tis true. O duke ! 
 Couldst thou rear up another world like this, 
 Another like to that, and more, or more, 
 Herein thou art most wretched ; all the wealth 
 Of all those worlds could not redeem the loss
 
 368 LOVE-S SA CRIFICE. [ACT v. 
 
 Of such a spotless wife. Glorious Bianca, 
 Reign in the triumph of thy martyrdom ; 
 Earth was unworthy of thee ! 
 
 Nib. and Pet. Now, on our lives, we both believe him. 
 
 Duke. Fernando, dar'st thou swear upon my sword 
 To justify thy words ? 
 
 Fern. I dare ; look here. \Kisses the sword. 
 
 'Tis not the fear of death doth prompt my tongue, 
 For I would wish to die ; and thou shalt know, 
 Poor miserable duke, since she is dead, 
 I'll hold all life a hell. 
 
 Duke. Bianca chaste ! 
 
 Fern. As virtue's self is good. 
 
 Duke. Chaste, chaste, and killed by me ! to her 
 I offer up this remnant of my 
 
 {Offers to stab himself, and is stayed by FERNANDO. 
 
 Fern. Hold ! 
 
 Be gentler to thyself. 
 
 Pet. Alas, my lord, 
 
 Is this a wise man's carriage ? 
 
 Duke. Whither now 
 
 Shall I run from the day, where never man, 
 Nor eye, nor eye of Heaven may see a dog 
 So hateful as I am ? Bianca chaste ! 
 Had not the fury of some hellish rage 
 Blinded all reason's sight, I must have seen 
 Her clearness in her confidence to die. 
 Your leave 
 
 \Kneels, holds up his hands, and, after sneaking 
 to himself a little, rises. 
 'Tis done : come, friend, now for her love, 
 Her love that praised thee in the pangs of death, 
 I'll hold thee dear. Lords, do not care for me, 
 I am too wise to die yet. O, Bianca ! 
 
 Enter D'AvoLOS. 
 D'Av. The Lord Abbot of Monaco, sir, is, in his
 
 SCENE in.] L OrE'S SA CRIFICE. 369 
 
 return from Rome, lodged last night late in the city, very 
 privately ; and hearing the report of your journey, only 
 intends to visit your duchess to-morrow. 
 
 Duke. Slave, torture me no more ! note, him, my 
 
 lords ; 
 
 If you would choose a devil in the shape 
 Of man, an arch -arch -devil, there stands one.' 
 We'll meet our uncle. Order straight, Petruchio, 
 Our duchess may be coffined ; 'tis our will 
 She forthwith be interred, with all the speed 
 And privacy you may, i' the college-church 
 Amongst Caraffa's ancient monuments : 
 Some three days hence we'll keep her funeral. 
 Damned villain ! bloody villain ! O, Bianca ! 
 
 No counsel from our cruel wills can win us ; 
 
 But ills once done, we bear our guilt within us. 
 
 {Exeunt all but D'AvoLOS. 
 
 D'Av. Good b'wi'ye ! " Arch-arch-devil ! " why, I am 
 paid. Here's bounty for good service ! beshrew my 
 heart, it is a right princely reward. Now must I say my 
 prayers, that I have lived to so ripe an age to have 
 my head stricken off. I cannot tell ; 't may be my Lady 
 Fiormonda will stand on my behalf to the duke : that's 
 but a single hope ; a disgraced courtier oftener finds 
 enemies to sink him when he is falling than friends to 
 relieve him. I must resolve to stand to the hazard of all 
 brunts now. Come what may, I will not die like a 
 coward ; and the world shall know it. \Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. Another Apartment in the Palace. 
 
 Enter FIORMONDA, and ROSEILLI discovering himself. 
 
 Ros. Wonder not, madam ; here behold the man - 
 Whom your disdain hath metamorphosed. 
 Thus long have I been clouded in this shape, 
 
 Ford. E B
 
 3 70 LOVE'S SA ORIFICE. [ACT v. 
 
 Led on by love ; and in that love, despair : 
 If not the sight of our distracted court, 
 Nor pity of my bondage, can reclaim 
 The greatness of your scorn, yet let me know 
 My latest doom from you. 
 
 Fior. Strange miracle ! 
 
 Roseilli, I must honour thee : thy truth, 
 Like a transparent mirror, represents 
 My reason with my errors. Noble lord, 
 That better dost deserve a better fate, 
 Forgive me : if my heart can entertain 
 Another thought of love, it shall be thine. 
 
 Ros. Blessed, for ever blessed be the words ! 
 In death you have revived me. 
 
 Enter D'AvoLOS. 
 
 D'A-v. \Aside\ Whom have we here ? Roseilli, the 
 supposed fool ? 'tis he ; nay, then, help me a brazen 
 face ! My honourable lord ! 
 
 Ros. Bear off, bloodthirsty man ! come not near me, 
 
 D 'Av. Madam, I trust the service 
 
 Fior. Fellow, learn to new-live : the way to thrift 
 
 For thee in grace is a repentant shrift. 
 
 Ros. Ill has thy life been, worse will be thy end : 
 
 Men fleshed in blood know seldom to amend. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Ser. His highness commends his love to you, and 
 expects your presence ; he is ready to pass to the church, 
 only staying for my lord abbot to associate him. Withal, 
 his pleasure is, that you, D'Avolos, forbear to rank in this 
 solemnity in the place of secretary ; else to be there as a 
 private man. Pleaseth you to go ? 
 
 {Exeunt all but D'AVOLOS. 
 
 D' Av. As a private man ! what remedy ? This way 
 they must come.; and here I will stand, to fall amongst 
 'em in the rear,
 
 sc KNE in.] L O VE ' S SA CRIFICE, 371 
 
 A solemn strain of soft music. The Scene opens, and dis~ 
 covers the Church, with a tomb in the background. 
 
 Enter Attendants with torches, after them two Friars ; then 
 the Duke in mourning manner ; after him the Abbot, 
 
 FlORMONDA, COLONA, JULIA, ROSEILLI, PETRUCHIO, 
 
 NIBRASSA, and a Guard. D'AvoLOS/ottows. When 
 the procession approaches the tomb they all kneel. The 
 Duke goes to the tomb, and lays his hand on it. The 
 music ceases. 
 
 Duke. Peace and sweet rest sleep here ! Let not the 
 
 touch 
 
 Of this my impious hand profane the shrine 
 Of fairest purity, which hovers yet 
 About those blessed bones inhearsed within. 
 If in the bosom of this sacred tomb, 
 Bianca, thy disturbed ghost doth range, 
 Behold, I offer up the sacrifice 
 Of bleeding tears, shed from a faithful spring, 
 Pouring oblations of a mourning heart 
 To thee, offended spirit ! I confess 
 I am Caraffa, he, that wretched man, 
 That butcher, who, in my enraged spleen, 
 Slaughtered the life of innocence and beauty. 
 Now come I to pay tribute to those wounds 
 Which I digged up, and reconcile the wrongs 
 My fury wrought and my contrition mourns. 
 So chaste, so dear a wife was never man 
 But I enjoyed ; yet in the bloom and pride 
 Of all her years untimely took her life. 
 Enough : set ope the tomb, that I may take 
 My last farewell, and bury griefs with her. 
 
 [T/ie tomb is opened, out of which rises FERNANDO 
 in his winding-sheet, his face only uncovered ; 
 as the Duke is going in he p^^ts him back. 
 
 Fern. Forbear ! what art thou that dost rudely press 
 Into the confines of forsaken graves ?
 
 3 7 2 ' LOVE'S SA CRIFICE. [ACT v. 
 
 Has death no privilege ? Com'st thou, Caraffa, 
 
 To practise yet a rape upon the dead ? 
 
 Inhuman tyrant ! 
 
 Whats'ever thou intendest, know this place 
 
 Is pointed out for my inheritance ; 
 
 Here lies the monument of all my hopes : 
 
 Had eager lust intrunked my conquered soul, 
 
 I had not buried living joys in death. 
 
 Go, revel in thy palace, and be proud 
 
 To boast thy famous murders ; let thy smooth, 
 
 Low-fawning parasites renown thy act : 
 
 Thou com'st not here. 
 
 Duke. Fernando, man of darkness, 
 
 Never till now, before these dreadful sights, 
 Did I abhor thy friendship : thou hast robbed 
 My resolution of a glorious name. 
 Come out, or, by the thunder of my rage, 
 Thou diest a death more fearful than the scourge 
 Of death can whip thee with. 
 
 Fern. Of death ! poor duke ! 
 
 Why, that's the aim I shoot at ; 'tis not threats 
 Maugre thy power, or the spite of hell 
 Shall rend that honour : let life-hugging slaves, 
 Whose hands imbrued in butcheries like thine 
 Shake terror to their souls, be loth to die ! 
 See, I am clothed in robes that fit the grave : 
 I pity thy defiance. 
 
 Duke. , Guard, lay hands, 
 
 And drag him out. 
 
 Fern. Yes, let 'em ; here's my shield ; 
 
 Here's health to victory ! 
 
 [As the Guard go to seize him, he drinks-ofjf 
 a phial of poison. 
 
 Now do thy worst. 
 
 Farewell, duke ! once I have outstripped thy plots ; 
 Not all the cunning antidotes of art 
 Can warrant me twelve minutes of my life :
 
 SCENE in.] LOVE'S SA CRIFICE. 3 73 
 
 It works, it works already, bravely ! bravely ! 
 Now, now I feel it tear 'each several joint. 
 
 royal poison ! trusty friend ! split, split 
 Both heart and gall asunder, excellent bane ! 
 Roseilli, love my memory. Well searched out, 
 Swift, nimble venom ! torture every vein. 
 
 1 come, Bianca cruel torment, feast, 
 
 Feast on, do Duke, farewell. Thus I hot flames ! 
 Conclude my love, and seal it in my bosom ! 
 
 ! [Dies. 
 Abbot. Most desperate end ! 
 
 Duke. None stir ; 
 
 Who steps a foot steps to his utter ruin. 
 And art thou gone, Fernando ? art thou gone ? 
 Thou wert a friend unmatched ; rest in thy fame. 
 Sister, when I have finished my last days, 
 Lodge me, my wife, and this unequalled friend, 
 All in one monument. Now to my vows. 
 Never henceforth let any passionate l tongue 
 Mention Bianca's and Caraffa's name, 
 But let each letter in that tragic sound 
 Beget a sigh, and every sigh a tear ; 
 Children unborn, and widows whose lean cheeks 
 Are furrowed up by age, shall weep whole nights, 
 Repeating but the stoiy of our fates ; 
 Whiles in the period, closing up their tale, 
 They must conclude how for Bianca's love 
 Caraffa, in revenge of wrongs to her, 
 Thus on her altar sacrificed his life. [Stabs himself. 
 
 Abbot. O, hold the duke's hand ! 
 
 Fior. Save my brother, save him ! 
 
 Duke. Do, do ; I was too willing to strike home 
 To be prevented. Fools, why, could you dream 
 
 1 would outlive my outrage ? Sprightful flood, 
 Ru:i out in rivers ! O, that these thick streams 
 Could gather head, and make a standing pool. 
 
 1 Sorrow.ul.
 
 374 LOVE' S SA CRIJUCJ1. [ACT v. 
 
 That jealous husbands here might bathe in blood ! 
 
 So ! I grow sweetly empty ; all the pipes 
 
 Of life unvessel life. Now heavens, Wipe out 
 
 The writing of my sin ! Bianca, thus 
 
 I creep to thee to thee to thee, Bi -an- -ca. [Dies. 
 
 Ros. He's dead already, madam. 
 
 D'Av. [Aside} Above hope ! here's labour saved ; I 
 could bless the destinies. 
 
 Abbot. 'Would I had never seen it ! 
 
 Fior. Since 'tis thus, 
 
 My Lord Roseilli, in the true requital 
 Of your continued love, I here possess 
 You of the dukedom, and with it of me. 
 In presence of this holy abbot. 
 
 Abbot. Lady, then, 
 
 From my hand take your husband ; long enjoy 
 
 [Joins their hands. 
 Each to each other's comfort and content ! 
 
 All. Long live Roseilli ! 
 
 Ros. First, thanks to Heaven ; next, lady, to your love ; 
 Lastly, my lords, to all : and that the entrance 
 Into this principality may give 
 Fair hopes of being worthy of our place, 
 Our first work shall be justice. D'Avolos. 
 Stand forth. 
 
 U 1 Av. My gracious lord ! 
 
 Ros. No, graceless villain ! 
 
 I am no lord of thine. Guard, take him hence, 
 Convey him to the prison's top ; in chains 
 Hang him alive ; whosoe'er lends a bit 
 Of bread to feed him dies. Speak not against it, 
 I will be deaf to mercy. Bear him hence ! 
 
 D* Av. Mercy, new duke ; here's my comfort, I make 
 but one in the number of the tragedy of princes. 
 
 [He is led off. 
 
 Ros. Madam, a second charge is to perform 
 Your brother's testament ; we'll rear a tomb 

 
 SCENE in. LOVERS SACRIFICE. 375 
 
 To those unhappy lovers, which shall tell 
 
 Their fatal loves to all posterity. 
 
 Thus, then, for you ; henceforth I here dismiss 
 
 The mutual comforts of our marriage-bed : 
 
 Learn to new-live, my vows unmoved shall stand ; 
 And since your life hath been so much uneven, 
 Bethink in time to make your peace with Heaven. 
 Fior. O. me ! is this your love ? 
 Ros. 'Tis your desert ; 
 
 Which no persuasion shall remove. 
 
 Abbot. 'Tis fit ; 
 
 Purge frailty with repentance. 
 
 Fior. I embrace it : 
 
 Happy too late, since lust hath made me foul, 
 
 Henceforth I'll dress my bride-bed in my soul. 
 
 Ros. Please you to walk, lord abbot ? 
 
 Abbot. Yes, set on. 
 
 No age hath heard, nor chronicle can say, 
 
 That ever here befell a sadder day. \Exeunt.
 
 WzAT^ECK.
 
 ERKIN WARBECR was acted at 
 the Phoenix and published in 1634 
 as "a chronicle history." Ford 
 founded it on Bacon's Life of 
 Henry VII. 
 
 The play was reprinted in 1714, a 
 period at which there were insurrec- 
 tionary movements in Scotland. In 
 
 the memorable year of 1745, when the young Pretender ap- 
 peared, Ford's play was revived (at the time that two 
 other plays appeared on the same subject, by Macklin and 
 Elderton), at Goodman's Fields Theatre, but so sym- 
 pathetic a picture of a pretender could scarcely have 
 appealed to the public of that period. 
 
 Schiller left behind him the sketch of a drama called 
 War beck.
 
 To his worthy Friend, Master John Ford, ufion his 
 Ferkin Warbeck. 
 
 Let men who are writ poets lay a claim 
 To the Phcebean hill, I have no name 
 Nor art in verse : true, I have heard some tell 
 Of Aganippe, but ne'er knew the well ; 
 Therefore have no ambition with the times 
 To be in print, for making of ill rhymes ; 
 But love of thee, and justice to thy pen, 
 Hath drawn me to this bar with other men. 
 To justify, though against double laws, 
 Waving the subtle business of his cause, 
 The glorious Perkin, and thy poet's art, 
 Equal with his in playing the king's part. 
 
 RA. EURE, baroiiis primogenitusl 
 
 To my Friend and Kinsman, Master John Ford, the 
 A uthor. 
 
 Dramatic poets, as the times go now, 
 Can hardly write what others will allow ; 
 The cynic snarls, the critic howls and barks, 
 And ravens croak to drown the voice of larks : 
 Scorn those stage-harpies ! This I'll boldly say, 
 Many may imitate, few match thy play. 
 
 JOHN FORD, Graiensis? 
 
 1 The son of William, Lord Euve. 
 
 2 This is the cousin to whom Ford dedicated Love's Sacrifice.
 
 To the Rightly Honourable 
 
 WILLIAM CAVENDISH, 
 
 EARL OF NEWCASTLE, VISCOUNT MANSFIELD, LORD 
 BOLSOVER AND OGLE. 1 
 
 My Lord, 
 
 UT of the darkness of a former age, en- 
 lightened by a late both learned and an 
 honourable pen, 2 I have endeavoured 
 to personate a great attempt, and in it 
 a greater danger. In other labours 
 you may read actions of antiquity dis- 
 coursed ; in this abridgment find the 
 actors themselves discoursing, in some kind practised as 
 well what to speak as speaking why to do. Your lordship 
 is a most competent judge in expressions of such credit ; 
 commissioned by your known ability in examining, and. 
 enabled by your knowledge in determining, the monuments 
 of time. Eminent titles may, indeed, inform who their 
 owners are, not often what. To yours the addition of that 
 information in both cannot in any application be observed 
 flattery, the authority being established by truth. I can 
 only acknowledge the errors in writing mine own ; the 
 worthiness of the subject written being a perfection in the 
 story and of it. The custom of your lordship's entertain- 
 ments even to strangers is rather an example than a 
 fashion : in which consideration I dare not profess a 
 curiosity ; but am only studious that your lordship will 
 please, amongst such as best honour your goodness, to 
 admit into your noble construction 
 
 JOHN FORD. 
 
 1 William Cavendish (nephew to the first Earl of Devonshire), 
 was born in the year 1592, and was early in lavour with James 1. 
 He continued in favour with Charles I., sud engaged on ihe 
 Royalist side during the civil war. He was created Duke of 
 Newcastle in 1665, and died in 1676, at the advanced age of 84. 
 
 2 i.e. That of Lord Bacon.
 
 STUDIES have of this nature been of late 
 
 So out of fashion, so unfollowed, that 
 
 It is become more justice to revive 
 
 The antic follies of the times than strive 
 
 To countenance wise industry : no want 
 
 Of art doth render wit or lame or scant 
 
 Or slothful in the purchase of fresh bays ; 
 
 But want of truth in them who give the praise 
 
 To their self-love, presuming to out-do 
 
 The writer, or for need the actors too. 
 
 But such this author's silence best befits, 
 
 Who bids them be in love with their own wits. 
 
 From him to clearer judgments we can say 
 
 He shows a history couched in a play ; 
 
 A history of noble mention, known, 
 
 Famous, and true ; most noble, 'cause our own ; 
 
 Not forged from Italy, from France, from Spain, 
 
 But chronicled at home ; as rich in strain 
 
 Of brave attempts as ever fertile rage 
 
 In action could beget to grace the stage. 
 
 We cannot limit scenes, for the whole land 
 
 Itself appeared too narrow to withstand 
 
 Competitors for kingdoms ; nor is here 
 
 Unnecessary mirth forced to endear 
 
 A multitude : on these two rests the fate 
 
 Of worthy expectation, truth and state.
 
 DRAMA ns PERSONS. 
 
 HENRY VII. 
 Lord DAWBENEY. 
 
 Sir WILLIAM STANLEY, Lord Chamberlain. 
 Earl of OXFORD. 
 Earl of SURREY. 
 Fox, Bishop of Durham. 
 URSWICK, Chaplain to the King. 
 Sir ROBERT CLIFFORD. 
 LAMBERT SIMNEL. 
 HlALAS, a Spanish Agent. 
 JAMES IV., King of Scotland. 
 Earl of HUNTLEY. 
 Earl of CRAWFORD. 
 Lord DALYELL. 
 MARCHMONT, a Herald. 
 PERKIN WARBECK. 
 STEPHEN FRION, his Secretary. 
 JOHN A- WATER, Mayor of Cork. 
 HERON, a Mercer. 
 SKELTON, a Tailor. 
 ASTLEY, a Scrivener. 
 
 Sheriff, Constable, Officers, Messenger, Guards, 
 Soldiers, Masquers, and Attendants. 
 
 Lady KATHERINE GORDON. 
 
 Countess of CRAWFORD. 
 
 JANE DOUGLAS, Lady Katherine's attendant. 
 
 SCENE Partly in ENGLAND, partly in SCOTLAND
 
 W^AT^BECK. 
 
 ACT THE FIRST. 
 
 SCENE I. Westminster. The royal Presence-chamber. 
 
 Enter King HENRY, supported to the throne by the Bishop 
 of DURHAM and Sir WILLIAM STANLEY; Earls of 
 OXFORD and SURREY, and Lord DAWBENEY. A 
 Guard. 
 
 ING HEN. Still to be haunted, still 
 
 to be pursued, 
 
 Still to be frightened with false appari- 
 tions 
 Of pageant majesty and new-coined 
 
 greatness, 
 As if we were a mockery king in state, 
 Only ordained to lavish sweat and blood, 
 In scorn and laughter, to the ghosts of York, 
 Is all below our merits : ! yet, my lords, 
 My friends and counsellors, yet we sit fast 
 In our own royal birthright ; the rent face 
 
 1 " At this time the king began again to be haunted with sprites 
 by the magic and curious arts of the Lady Margaret, who raised up 
 the ghost of Richard, Duke of York, second son to King Edward 
 the Fourth, to walk and vex the king," &c. Bacon's Henry VII.
 
 384 PERKIN WARBECK. [ACT i. 
 
 And bleeding wounds of England's slaughtered people 
 Have been by us as by the best physician, 
 At last both throughly cured and set in safety ; 
 And yet, for all this glorious work of peace, 
 Ourselves is scarce secure. 
 
 Dur. The rage of malice 
 
 Conjures fresh spirits with the spells of York. 
 For ninety years ten English kings and princes, 
 Threescore great dukes and earls, a thousand lords 
 And valiant knights, two hundred fifty thousand 
 Of English subjects have in civil wars 
 Been sacrificed to an uncivil thirst 
 Of discord and ambition : this hot vengeance 
 Of the just powers above to utter ruin 
 And desolation had rained on, but that 
 Mercy did gentlv sheathe the sword of justice, 
 In lending to this blood-shrunk commonwealth 
 A new soul, new birth, in your sacred person. 
 
 Daw. Edward the Fourth, after a doubtful fortune, 
 Yielded to nature, leaving to his sons, 
 Edward and Richard, the inheritance 
 Of a most bloody purchase : these young princes, 
 Richard the tyrant, their unnatural uncle, 
 Forced to a violent grave : so just is Heaven, 
 Him hath your majesty by your own arm, 
 Divinely strengthened, pulled from his boar's sty, 1 
 And struck the black usurper to a carcass. 
 Nor doth the house of York decay in honours, 
 Though Lancaster doth repossess his right ; 
 For Edward's daughter is King Henry's queen, 
 A blessed union, and a lasting blessing 
 For this poor panting island, if some shreds, 
 Some useless remnant of the house of York 
 Grudge not at this content. 
 
 Oxf. Margaret t>f Burgundy 
 
 Blows fresh coals of division. 
 
 1 An allusion to the armoiial bearings of Richard III,
 
 SCENE L] PERKIN WAR BECK:. 385 
 
 Painted fires, 
 Without or heat to scorch or light to cherish. 
 
 Daw. York's headless trunk, her father; Edward's 
 
 fate, 
 
 Her brother, king ; the smothering of her nephews 
 By tyrant Gloster, brother to her nature ; 
 Nor Gloster 's own confusion, all decrees 
 Sacred in heaven, can move this woman-monster, 
 But that she still, from the unbottomed mine 
 Of devilish policies, doth vent the ore 
 Of troubles and sedition. 
 
 Oxf. In her age 
 
 Great sir, observe the wonder i she grows fruitful, 
 Who in her strength of youth was always barren : 
 Nor are her births as other mothers' are, 
 At nine or ten months' end ; she has been with child 
 Eight, or seven years at least ; whose twins being born, 
 A prodigy in nature, even the youngest 
 Is fifteen years of age at his first entrance, 
 As soon as known i' the world ; tall striplings, strong 
 And able to give battle unto kings, 
 Idols of Yorkish malice. 
 
 Daw. And but idols ; 
 
 A steely hammer crushes 'em to pieces. 
 
 K. Hen. Lambert, the eldest, lords, is in our service, 
 Preferred by an officious care of duty 
 From the scullery to a falconer ; 2 strange example ! 
 Which shows the difference between noble natures 
 And the base-born : but for the upstart duke, 
 
 1 "It is the strangest thing in the world," said Henry's ambas- 
 sador to the archduke, " that the Lady Margaret should now, when 
 she is old, at the time when other women give-over child-bearing, 
 bring forth two such monsters, being not the births of nine or ten 
 months, but of many years. And whereas other natural mothers 
 bring forth children weak and not able to help themselves, she 
 bringeth forth tall striplings, able soon after their coming into the 
 world to bid battle to mighty kings." 
 
 * Lambert Simnel, taken prisoner at the battle of Newark, bad 
 been made a turnspit in the king's kitchen, and was afterwards pro- 
 moted to the office of under-falconer. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 cc
 
 386 PERKJN WARBECK. [ACT i. 
 
 The new-revived York, Edward's second son, 
 Murdered long since i' the Tower, he lives again, 
 And vows to be your king. 
 
 Stan. The throne is filled, sir. 
 
 K. Hen. True, Stanley ; and the lawful heir sits on it : 
 A guard of angels and the holy prayers 
 Of loyal subjects are a sure defence 
 Against all force and council of intrusion. 
 But now, my lords, put case, some of our nobles, 
 Our great ones, should give countenance and courage 
 To trim Duke Perkin ; you will all confess 
 Our bounties have unthriftily been scattered 
 Amongst unthankful men. 
 
 Daw. Unthankful beasts, 
 
 Dogs, villains, traitors ! 
 
 K. Hen. Dawbeney, let the guilty 
 
 Keep silence ; I accuse none, though I know 
 Foreign attempts against a state and kingdom 
 Are seldom without some great friends at home. 
 
 Stan. Sir, if no other abler reasons else 
 Of duty or allegiance could divert 
 A headstrong resolution, yet the dangers 
 So lately passed by men of blood and fortunes 
 In Lambert Simnel's party must command 
 More than a fear, a terror to conspiracy. 
 The high-born Lincoln, son to De la Pole, 
 The Earl of Kildare, the Lord Geraldine, 
 Francis Lord Lovell, and the German baron 
 Bold Martin Swart, with Broughton and the rest, 
 Most spectacles of ruin, some of mercy, 
 Are precedents sufficient to forewarn 
 The present times, or any that live in them, 
 What folly, nay, what madness, 'twere to lift 
 A finger up in all defence but yours, 
 Which can be but imposturous in a title. 
 
 K. Hen. Stanley, we know thou lov'st us, and thy heart 
 Is figured on thy tongue ; nor think we less
 
 SCENE I.] PERKIN WARBECK. 387 
 
 Of any's here. How closely we have hunted 
 
 This cub, since he unlodged, from hole to hole, 
 
 Your knowledge is our chronicle : first Ireland, 
 
 The common stage of novelty, presented 
 
 This gewgaw to oppose us ; there the Geraldines 
 
 And Butlers once again stood in support 
 
 Of this colossic statue : Charles of France 
 
 Thence called him into his protection, 
 
 Dissembled him the lawful heir of England ; 
 
 Yet this was all but French dissimulation, 
 
 Aiming at peace with us ; which being granted 
 
 On honourable terms on our part, suddenly 
 
 This smoke of straw was packed from France ligain, 
 
 T' infect some grosser air : and now we learn 
 
 Maugre the malice of the bastard Nevill, 
 
 Sir Taylor, and a hundred English rebels 
 
 They're all retired to Flanders, to the dam 
 
 That nursed this eager whelp, Margaret of Burgundy. 
 
 But we will hunt him there too ; we will hunt him. 
 
 Hunt him to death, even in the beldam's closet, 
 
 Though the archduke were his buckler ! 
 
 Snr. She has styled him 
 
 11 The fair white rose of England." 
 
 Daw. Jolly gentleman ! 
 
 More fit to be a swabber to the Flemish 
 After a drunken surfeit. 
 
 Enter URSWICK. with a paper. 
 
 Urs. Gracious sovereign, 
 
 Please you peruse this paper. \The King reads. 
 
 Dur. The king's countenance 
 
 Gathers a sprightly blood. 
 
 Daw. Good news ; believe it. 
 
 K. Hen. Urswick, thine ear. 1 Thou'st lodged him? 
 
 C/rs. Strongly safe, sir. 
 
 1 Christopher Urswick was at this time almoner to the king. He 
 possessed several high offices in the Church.
 
 388 PERKIN WARBECK. [ACT I. 
 
 K, Hen. Enough : is Barley come too ? 
 
 Urs. No, my lord. 
 
 K. Hen. No matter phew ! he's but a running weed, 
 At pleasure to be plucked-up by the roots : 
 But more of this anon. I have bethought me, 
 My lords, for reasons which you shall partake, 
 It is our pleasure to remove our court 
 From Westminster to the Tower : we will lodge 
 This very night there ; give, Lord Chamberlain, 
 A present order for 't. 
 
 Stan. [Aside} The Tower ! I shall, sir. 
 
 K. Hen. Come, my true, best, fast friends : these clouds 
 
 will vanish, 
 The sun will shine at full ; the heavens are clearing. 
 
 [Flourish. Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. Edinburgh. An Apartment in the Earl of 
 HUNTLEY'S House. 
 
 Enter Earl of HUNTLEY and Lord DALYELL. 
 
 Hunt. You trifle time, sir. 
 
 Dal. . 0, my noble lord, 
 
 You construe my griefs to so hard a sense, 
 That where the text is argument of pity, 
 Matter of earnest love, your gloss corrupts it 
 With too much, ill-placed mirth. 
 
 Hunt. Much mirth ! Lord Dalyell ; ! 
 
 Not so, I vow. Observe me, sprightly gallant. 
 I know thou art a noble lad, a handsome, 
 Descended from an honourable ancestry, 
 Forward and active, dost resolve to wrestle 
 And ruffle in the world by noble actions 
 For a brave mention to posterity : 
 
 1 There were two persons of the name of Dalzell, William r.nJ 
 Robert, grandsons ot Sir John Dalzell.
 
 SCENE II.] PERKIN WARBECK. 389 
 
 I scorn not thy affection to my daughter, 
 
 Not I, by good Saint Andrew ; but this bugbear, 
 
 This whoreson tale of honour, honour, Dalyell ! 
 
 So hourly chats and tattles in mine ear 
 
 The piece of royalty that is stitched-up 
 
 In my Kate's blood, 1 that 'tis as dangerous 
 
 For thee, young lord, to perch so near an eaglet 
 
 As foolish for my gravity to admit it : 
 
 I have spoke all at once. 
 
 Dal. Sir, with this truth 
 
 You mix such wormwood, that you leave no hope 
 For my disordered palate e'er to relish 
 A wholesome taste again : alas, I know, sir, 
 What an unequal distance lies between 
 Great Huntley's daughter's birth and Daiyell's fortunes ; 
 She's the king's kinswoman, placed near the crown, 
 A princess of the blood, and I a subject. 
 
 Hunt. Right ; but a noble subject ; put in that too. 
 
 Dal. I could add more ; and in the rightest line 
 Derive my pedigree from Adam Mure, 
 A Scottish knight ; whose daughter was the mother 
 To him who first begot the race of Jameses, 
 That sway the sceptre to this very day. 
 But kindreds are not ours when once the date 
 Of many years have swallowed up the memory 
 Of their originals ; so pasture-fields 
 Neighbouring too near the ocean are swooped-up, 
 And known no more ; for stood I in my first 
 And native greatness, if my princely mistress 
 Vouchsafed me not her servant, 'twere as good 
 I were reduced to clownery, to nothing, 
 As to a throne of wonder. 
 
 Hunt. [Aside] Now, by Saint Andrew, 
 
 A spark of mettle ! he has a brave fire in him : 
 I would he had my daughter, so I knew't not. 
 But 't must not be so, must not. Well, young lord, 
 
 1 The Earl of Huntley ma'ried Annabella, daughter of James I.
 
 390 PERKIN WARBECK. [ACT \. 
 
 This will not do yet : if the girl be headstrong, 
 And will not hearken to good counsel, steal her, 
 And run away with her ; dance galliards, 1 do, 
 And frisk about the world to learn the languages : 
 'Twill be a thriving trade ; you may set up by't. 
 
 Dal. With pardon, noble Gordon, this disdain 
 Suits not your daughter's virtue or my constancy. 
 
 Hunt. You're angry. [Aside] Would he would beat 
 
 me, I deserve it. 
 
 Dalyell, thy hand ; we're friends : follow thy courtship, 
 Take thine own time and speak ; if thou prevail'st 
 With passion more than I can with my counsel, 
 She's thine ; nay, she is thine : 'tis a fair match, 
 Free and allowed. I'll only use my tongue, 
 Without a father's power ; use thou thine : 
 Self do, self have : no more words ; win and wear her. 
 
 Dal. You bless me : I am now too poor in thanks 
 To pay the debt I owe you. 
 
 Hunt. Nay, thou'rt poor 
 
 Enough, [Aside] I love his spirit infinitely. 
 Look ye, she comes : to her now, to her, to her ! 
 
 Enter Lady KATHERINE and JANE. 
 
 Kath. The king commands your presence, sir. 
 
 Hunt. The gallant 
 
 This, this, this lord, this servant, Kate, of yours, 
 Desires to be your master. 
 
 Kath. I acknowledge him 
 
 A worthy friend of mine. 
 
 Dal. Your humblest creature. 
 
 Hunt. [Aside] So, so ! the game's a-foot ; I'm in cold 
 
 hunting ; 
 The hare and hounds are parties. 
 
 Dal. Princely lady, 
 
 How most unworthy I am to employ 
 My services in honour of your virtues, 
 1 Quick and lively dances.
 
 SCENE II.] PERKIN WARBECK. 391 
 
 How hopeless my desires are to enjoy 
 
 Your fair opinion, and much more your love, 
 
 Are only matter of despair, unless 
 
 Your goodness give large warrant to my boldness, 
 
 My feeble-winged ambition. 
 
 Hunt. [Aside] This is scurvy. 
 
 Kath. My lord, I interrupt you not. 
 
 Hunt. [Aside] Indeed ! 
 
 Now, on my life, she'll court him. Nay, nay, on, sir. 
 
 Dal. Oft have I tuned the lesson of my sorrows 
 To sweeten discord and enrich your pity ; 
 But all in vain : here had my comforts sunk, 
 And never risen again to tell a story 
 Of the despairing lover, had not now, 
 Even now, the earl your father 
 
 Hunt. [Aside] He means me, sure. 
 
 Dal. After some fit disputes of your condition, 
 Your highness and my lowness, given a license 
 Which did not more embolden than encourage 
 My faulting tongue. 
 
 Hunt. How, how ? how's that ? embolden ! 
 
 Encourage ! I encourage ye ! d'ye hear, sir ? 
 A subtle trick, a quaint one : will you hear, man ? 
 What did I say to you ? come, come, to the point. 
 
 Kath. It shall not need, my lord. 
 
 Hunt. Then hear me, Kate. 
 
 Keep you on that hand of her, I on this. 
 Thou stand'st between a father and a suitor, 
 Both striving for an interest in thy heart : 
 He courts thee for affection, I for duty ; 
 He as a servant pleads, but by the privilege 
 Of nature though I might command, my care 
 Shall only counsel what it shall not force. 
 Thou canst but make one choice ; the ties of marriage 
 Are tenures not at will, but during life. 
 Consider whose thou art, and who ; a princess, 
 A princess of the royal blood of Scotland,
 
 392 PERKIN WARBECK. [ACT i. 
 
 In the full spring of youth and fresh in beauty. 
 The king that sits upon the throne is young, 
 And yet unmarried, forward in attempts 
 On any least occasion to endanger 
 His person : wherefore, Kate, as I am confident 
 Thou dar'st not wrong thy birth and education 
 By yielding to a common servile rage 
 Of female wantonness, so I am confident 
 Thou wilt proportion all thy thoughts to side l 
 Thy equals, if not equal thy superiors. 
 My Lord of Dalyell, young in years, is old 
 In honours, but nor eminent in titles 
 Nor in estate, that may support or add to 
 The expectation of thy fortunes. Settle 
 Thy will and reason by a strength of judgment : 
 For, in a word, I give thee freedom ; take it. 
 If equal fates have not ordained to pitch 
 Thy hopes above my height, let not thy passion 
 Lead thee to shrink mine honour in oblivion : 
 Thou art thine own ; I have done. 
 
 Dal. O, you're all oracle, 
 
 The living stock and root of truth and wisdom ! 
 
 Kath. My worthiest lord and father, the indulgence 
 Of your sweet composition thus commands 
 The lowest of obedience ; you have granted 
 A liberty so large, that I want skill 
 To choose without direction of example : 
 From which I daily learn, by how much more 
 You take off from the roughness of a father, 
 By so much more I am engaged to tender 
 The duty of a daughter. For respects 
 Of birth, degrees of title, and advancement, 
 I nor admire nor slight them ; all my studies 
 Shall ever aim at this perfection only, 
 To live and die so, that you may not blush 
 In any course of mine to own me yours. 
 1 i.e. Keep pace with.
 
 SCENE IT.] PERKIN WARE EC K. 393 
 
 Hunt, Kate, Kate, thou grow'st upon my heart like 
 Creating every other hour a jubilee. [peace, 
 
 Kath. To you, my lord of Dalyell, I address 
 Some few remaining words : the general fame 
 That speaks your merit, even in vulgar tongues 
 Proclaims it clear ; but in the best, a precedent. 
 
 Hunt. Good wench, good girl, i' faith ! 
 
 Kath. For my part, trust me, 
 
 I value mine owp worth at higher rate 
 'Cause you are pleased to prize it : if the stream 
 Of your protested service as you term it 
 Run in a constancy more than a compliment, 
 It shall be my delight that worthy love 
 Leads you to worthy actions, and these guide ye 
 Richly to wed an honourable name : 
 So every virtuous praise in after-ages 
 Shall be your heir, and I in your brave mention 
 Be chronicled the mother of that issue, 
 That glorious issue. 
 
 Hunt. O, that I were young again ! 
 
 Sh'd make me court proud danger, and suck spirit 
 From reputation. 
 
 Kath. To the present motion 
 
 Here's all that I dare answer : when a ripeness 
 Of more experience, and some use of time, 
 Resolves to treat the freedom of my youth 
 Upon exchange of troths, I shall desire 
 No surer credit of a match with virtue 
 Than such as lives in you : mean time my hopes are 
 Preserved secure in having you a friend. 
 
 Dal. You are a blessed lady, and instruct 
 Ambition no.t to soar a farther flight 
 Than in the perfumed air of your soft voice. 
 My noble Lord of Huntley, you have lent 
 A full extent of bounty to this parley ; 
 And for it shall command your humblest servant. 
 
 Hunt. Enough : we are still friends, and will continue
 
 394 PERKIN WARBECK. [ACT i. 
 
 A hearty love. O, Kate, thou art mine own ! 
 No more : my Lord of Crawford. 
 
 Enter Earl of CRAWFORD. 
 
 Craw. From the king 
 
 I come, my Lord of Huntley, who in council 
 Requires your present aid. 
 
 Hunt. Some weighty business ? 
 
 Craw. A secretary from a Duke of York, 
 The second son to the late English Edward, 
 Concealed, I know jiot where, these fourteen years, 
 Craves audience from our master ; and 'tis said 
 The duke himself is following to the court. 
 
 Hunt. Duke upon duke ; 'tis well, 'tis well ; here's 
 
 bustling 
 For majesty. My lord, I will along with ye. 
 
 Craw? My service, noble lady ! 
 
 Kath. Please ye walk, sir ? 
 
 Dal. \_Aside\ Times have their changes ; sorrow makes 
 
 men wise ; 
 
 The sun itself must set as well as rise ; 
 Then, why not I ? Fair madam, I wait on ye. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. London. An Apartment in the Tower. 
 
 Enter the Bishop of DURHAM, Sir ROBERT CLIFFORD, and 
 URSWICK. Lights. 
 
 Dur. You find, Sir Robert Clifford, how securely 
 King Henry, our great master, doth commit 
 His person to your loyalty ; you taste 
 His bounty and his mercy even in this, 
 That at a time of night so late, a place 
 So private as his closet, 'he is pleased 
 T' admit you to his favour. Do not falter 
 In your discovery ; but as you covet
 
 SCENE in.] PERKIN WARBECK. 395 
 
 A liberal grace, and pardon for your follies, 
 
 So labour to deserve 't by laying open 
 
 All plots, all persons that contrive against it. 
 
 Urs. Remember not the witchcraft or the magic, 
 The charms and incantations, which the sorceress 
 Of Burgundy hath cast upon your reason : 
 Sir Robert, be your own friend now, discharge 
 Your conscience freely ; all of such as love you 
 Stand sureties for your honesty and truth. 
 Take heed you do not dally with the king ; 
 He's wise as he is gentle. 
 
 Clif. I am miserable, 
 
 If Henry be not merciful, 
 
 Urs, The king comes. 
 
 Enter King HENRY. 
 
 K. Hen. Clifford ! 
 
 Clif. [Kneels} Let my weak knees root on the earth, 
 If I 'appear as leperous in my treacheries 
 Before your royal eyes, as to mine own 
 I seem a monster by my breach of truth. 
 
 K. Hen. Clifford, stand up ; for instance of thy safety, 
 I offer thee my hand. 
 
 Clif. A sovereign balm 
 
 For my bruised soul, I kiss it with a greediness. 
 
 [Kisses the King's hand, and rises. 
 Sir, you're a just master, but I 
 
 K.Hen. Tell me, 
 
 Is every circumstance thou hast set down 
 With thine own hand within this paper true ? 
 Is it a sure intelligence of all 
 The progress of our enemies' intents 
 Without corruption ? 
 
 Clif. True, as I wish Heaven, 
 
 Or my infected honour white again. 
 
 K. Hen. We know all, Clifford, fully, since this meteor, 
 This airy apparition first discradled
 
 396 PERK1N WARBECK. [ACT i. 
 
 From Tournay into Portugal, and thence 
 
 Advanced his fiery blaze for adoration 
 
 To the superstitious Irish ; since the beard 
 
 Of this wild comet, conjured into France, 
 
 Sparkled in antic flames in Charles his court ; 
 
 But shrunk again from thence, and, hid in darkness, 
 
 Stole into Flanders flourishing the rag 
 
 Of painted power on the shore of Kent, 
 
 Whence he was beaten back with shame and scorn, 1 
 
 Contempt, and slaughter of some naked outlaws : 
 
 But tell me what new course now shapes Duke Perkin ? 
 
 Clif. For Ireland, mighty Henry ; so instructed 
 By Stephen Frion, 2 sometimes secretary 
 In the French tongue unto your sacred excellence, 
 But Perkin's tutor now. 
 
 K. Hen. A subtle villain, 
 
 That Frion, Frion, You, my Lord of Durham, 
 ' Knew well the man. 
 
 Dur. French both in heart and actions. 
 
 K. Hen. Some Irish heads work in this mine of trea- 
 son ; 
 Speak 'em. 
 
 Clif. Not any of the best ; your fortune 
 Hath dulled their spleens. Never had counterfeit 
 Such a confused rabble of lost bankrupts 
 For counsellors : first Heron, a broken mercer, 
 Then John a-Water, sometimes Mayor of Cork, 
 Skelton a tailor, and a scrivener 
 Called Astley : and whate'er these list to treat of, 
 Perkin must hearken to ; but Frion, cunning 
 Above these dull capacities, still prompts him 
 To fly to Scotland to young James the Fourth. 
 
 1 Perkin did not land but sent some of his followers on shore at 
 Sandwich ; they were defeated by the Kentisli men. '\ he prisoners, 
 mostly foreigners, were executed, " some of them at London and 
 AVapping, and the rest at divers places upon the seacoast of Kent, 
 Sussex, and Norfolk, for sea-marks or lighthouses to teach Perkin's 
 people to avoid the coast." Bacon. 
 
 2 An active agent in the hands of ihe Duchess of Burgundy.
 
 SCENE in.] PERKIN WARBECIC 397 
 
 And sue for aid to him : this is the latest 
 Of all their resolutions. 
 
 K. Hen. Still more Frion ! 
 
 Pestilent adder, he will hiss-out poison 
 As dangerous as infectious : we must match him. 
 Clifford, thou hast spoke home ; we give thee life : 
 But, Clifford, there are people of our own 
 Remain behind untold ; who are they, Clifford ? 
 Name those, and we are friends, and will to rest ; 
 'Tis thy last task. 
 
 Clif. O, sir, here I must break 
 
 A most unlawful oath to keep a just one. 
 
 K. Hen. Well, well, be brief, be brief. 
 
 Clif. The first in rank 
 
 Shall be John Ratcliffe, Lord Fitzwater, then 
 Sir Simon Mountford and Sir Thomas Thwaites, 
 With William Dawbeney, Chessoner, Astwood, 
 Worseley the Dean of Paul's, two other friars, 
 And Robert Ratcliffe. 1 
 
 K. Hen. Churchmen are turned devils. 
 
 These are the principal ? 
 
 Clif. One more remains 
 
 Unnamed, whom I could willingly forget. 
 
 K. Hen. Ha, Clifford ! one more ? 
 
 Clif. Great sir, do not hear him ; 
 
 For when Sir William Stanley, your lord chamberlain, 
 Shall come into the list, as he is chief, 
 I shall lose credit with ye ; yet this lord 
 Last named is first against you. 
 
 K. Hen. Urswick, the light ! 
 
 View well my face, sirs ; is there blood left in it ? 
 
 Dur. You alter strangely, sir. 
 
 K. Hen. Alter, lord bishop ! 
 
 Why, Clifford stabbed me, or I dreamed he stabbed 
 me. 
 
 1 All these except Worseley and the two Dominicans, perished 
 on the scaffold.
 
 398 PERKIN WARBECK. [ACT i. 
 
 Sirrah, it is a custom with the guilty 
 
 To think they set their own stains oft by laying 
 
 Aspersions on some nobler than themselves ; 
 
 Lies wait on treasons, as I find it here. 
 
 Thy life again is forfeit ; I recall 
 
 My word of mercy, for I know thou dar'st 
 
 Repeat the name no more. 
 
 Clif. I dare, and once more, 
 
 Upon my knowledge, name Sir William Stanley 
 Both in his counsel and his purse the chief 
 Assistant to the feigned Duke of York. 
 
 Dur. Most strange ! 
 
 Urs. Most wicked ! 
 
 K. Hen. Yet again, once more. 
 
 Clif, Sir William Stanley is your secret enemy, 
 And, if time fit, will openly profess it. 
 
 K. Hen. Sir William Stanley ! W T ho ? Sir William 
 
 Stanley ! 
 
 My chamberlain, my counsellor, the love, 
 The pleasure of my court, my bosom-friend, 
 The charge and the controlment of my person, 
 The keys and secrets of my treasury, 
 The all of all I am ! I am unhappy. 
 Misery of confidence, let me turn traitor 
 To mine own person, yield my sceptre up 
 To Edward's sister and her bastard duke ! 
 
 Dur. You lose your constant temper. 
 
 K. Hen. Sir William Stanley ! 
 
 O, do not blame me ; he, 'twas only he, 
 Who, having rescued me in Bos worth-field 
 From Richard's bloody swerd, snatched from his head 
 The kingly crown, and placed it first on mine. 
 He never failed me : what have I deserved 
 To lose this good man's heart, or he his own ? 
 
 Urs. The night doth waste ; this passion ill becomes 
 
 ye; 
 Provide against your danger.
 
 SCENE III.] PERKIN WARBECK. 399 
 
 K. Hen. Let it be so. 
 
 Urswick, command straight Stanley to his chamber ;- 
 'Tis well we are i' the Tower ; set a guard on him. 
 Clifford, to bed ; you must lodge here to-night ; 
 We'll talk with you to-morrow. My sad soul 
 Divines strange troubles. 
 
 Daw. [ Within} Ho ! the king, the king ! 
 
 I must have entrance. 
 
 K. Hen. Dawbeney's voice ; admit him. 
 
 What new combustions huddle next, to keep 
 Our eyes from rest ? 
 
 Enter .Lord DAWBENEY. 
 
 The news ? 
 
 Daw. Ten thousand Cornish, 
 
 Grudging to pay your subsidies, have gathered 
 A head ; led by a blacksmith and a lawyer, 
 They make for London, and to them is joined 
 Lord Audley : as they march, their number daily 
 Increases ; they are 
 
 K. Hen. Rascals ! talk no more ; 
 
 Such are not worthy of my thoughts to-night. 
 To bed ; and if I cannot sleep, I'll wake. 
 When counsels fail, and there's in man no trust, 
 Even then an arm from Heaven fights for the just. 
 
 \_Exeunt.
 
 ACT THE SECOND. 
 
 SCENE l.EdinbTtrgh. The Presence-chamber in the 
 Pa /ace. 
 
 Enter above the Countess of CRAWFORD, Lady KATHE- 
 RINE, JANE DOUGLAS, and other Ladies. 
 
 JOUNTESS OF C. Come, ladies, here's 
 
 a solemn preparation 
 For entertainment of this English 
 
 prince ; 
 The king intends grace more than 
 
 ordinary : 
 'Twere pity now if he should prove a counterfeit. 
 
 Kath. Bless the young man, our nation would be 
 
 laughed at 
 
 For honest souls through Christendom ! My father 
 Hath a weak stomach to the business, madam, 
 But that the king must not be crossed. 
 
 Countess of C. He brings 
 
 A goodly troop, they say, of gallants with him ; 
 But very modest people, for they strive not 
 To fame their names too much ; their godfathers 
 May be beholding to them, but their fathers 
 Scarce owe them thanks : they are disguised princes, 
 Brought up, it seems, to honest trades ; no matter, 
 They will break forth in season. 
 
 Jane. Or break out ; 
 
 For most of 'em are broken by report. [A flourish. 
 The king ! 
 
 Kath. Let us observe 'em and be silent.
 
 SCENE I.] PERKIN WARBECK. 401 
 
 Enter King JAMES, Earls of HUNTLEY and CRAWFORD, 
 Lord DALYELL, and other Noblemen. 
 
 K. Ja. The right of kings, my lords, extends not only 
 To the safe conservation of their own, 
 But also to the aid of such allies 
 As change of time and state hath oftentimes 
 Hurled down from careful crowns to undergo 
 An exercise of sufferance in both fortunes : 
 So English Richard, surnamed Cceur-de-Lion, 
 So Robert Bruce, our royal ancestor, 
 Forced by the trial of the wrongs they felt, 
 Both sought and found supplies from foreign kings, 
 To repossess their own. Then grudge not, lords, 
 A much distressed prince : King Charles of France 
 And Maximilian of Bohemia both 
 Have ratified his credit by their letters ; 
 Shall we, then, be distrustful ? No ; compassion 
 Is one rich jewel that shines in our crown, 
 And we will have it shine there. 
 
 Hunt. Do your will, sir. 
 
 K. Ja. The young duke is at hand : Dalyell, from us 
 First greet him, and conduct him on ; then Crawford 
 Shall meet him next ; and Huntley, last of all, 
 Present him to our arms. \_Exit Lord DALYELL.] 
 
 Sound sprightly music, 
 Whilst majesty encounters majesty. [Hautboys. 
 
 Re-enter Lord DALYELL with PERKIN WARBECK, followed 
 at a distance by FRION, HERON, SKELTON, ASTLEY, 
 and JOHN A- WATER. The Earl of CRAWFORD ad- 
 vances, and salutes PERKIN at the door, and afterwards 
 the Earl of HUNTLEY, who presents him to the King : they 
 embrace ; the Noblemen slightly salute his Followers. 
 
 War. Most high, most mighty king ! 1 that now there 
 stands 
 
 1 In Bacon this speech begins thus : " High and mighty king ! 
 your grace, and these your nobles here present, may be pleased 
 Ford. D D
 
 402 PERKIN WARBECK. [ACT n. 
 
 Before your eyes, in presence of your peers, 
 
 A subject of the rarest kind of pity 
 
 That hath in any age touched noble hearts, 
 
 The vulgar story of a prince's ruin 
 
 Hath made it too apparent : Europe knows, 
 
 And all the western world, what persecution 
 
 Hath raged in malice against us, sole heir 
 
 To the great throne of old Plantagenets. 
 
 How from our nursery we have been hurried 
 
 Unto the sanctuary, from the sanctuary 
 
 Forced to the prison, from the prison haled 
 
 By cruel hands to the tormentor's fury, 
 
 Is registered already in the volume 
 
 Of all men's tongues ; whose true relation draws 
 
 Compassion, melted into weeping eyes 
 
 And bleeding souls : but our misfortunes since 
 
 Have ranged a larger progress through strange lands, 
 
 Protected in our innocence by Heaven. 
 
 Edward the Fifth, our brother, in his tragedy 
 
 Quenched their hot thirst of blood, whose hire to murder 
 
 Paid them their wages of despair and horror ; 
 
 The softness of my childhood smiled upon 
 
 The roughness of their task, and robbed them farther 
 
 Of hearts to dare, or hands to execute. 
 
 Great king, they spared my life, the butchers spared it ; 
 
 Returned the tyrant, my unnatural uncle, 
 
 A truth of my dispatch : I was conveyed 
 
 With secrecy and speed to Tournay ; fostered 
 
 By obscure means, taught'to unlearn myself : 
 
 But as I grew in years, I grew in sense 
 
 Of fear and of disdain ; fear of the tyrant 
 
 Whose power swayed the throne then : when disdain 
 
 Of living so unknown, in such a servile 
 
 benignly to bow your eats to hear the tragedy of a young man .... 
 tossed from misery to misery .... You see here before you the 
 spectacle of a Plantagenet, who hath been carried from the nursery 
 to the sanctuary, from the sanctuary to the direful prison, from the 
 prison to the hand of the cruel tormentor," &c.
 
 SCENE I.] PERKIN WARBECK. 403 
 
 And abject lowness, prompted me to thoughts 
 
 Of recollecting who I was, I shook off 
 
 My bondage, and made haste to let my aunt 
 
 Of Burgundy acknowledge me her kinsman, 
 
 Heir to the crown of England, snatched by Henry 
 
 From Richard's head ; a thing scarce known i' the world. 
 
 K. Ja, My lord, it stands not with your counsel now 
 To fly upon invectives : if you can 
 Make this apparent what you have discoursed 
 In every circumstance, we will not study 
 An answer, but are ready in your cause. 
 
 War, You are a wise and just king, by the powers 
 Above reserved, beyond all other aids, 
 To plant me in mine own inheritance, 
 To marry these two kingdoms in a love 
 Never to be divorced while time is time. 
 As for the manner, first of my escape, 
 Of my conveyance next, of my life since, 
 The means and persons who were instruments, 
 Great sir, 'tis fit I over-pass in silence ; 
 Reserving the relation to the secrecy 
 Of your own princely ear, since it concerns 
 Some great ones living yet, and others dead, 
 Whose issue, might be questioned. For your bounty, 
 Royal magnificence to him that seeks it, 
 We vow hereafter to demean ourself 
 As if we were your own and natural brother, 
 Omitting no occasion in our person 
 T' express a gratitude beyond example. 
 
 K. Ja. He must be more than subject who can utter 
 The language of a king, and such is thine. 
 Take this for answer : be what'er thou art, 
 Thou never shalt repent that thou hast put 
 Thy cause and person into my protection. 
 Cousin of York, thus once more we embrace thee ; 
 Welcome to James of Scotland ! for thy safety, 
 Know, such as love thee not shall never wrong thee.
 
 404 PERKIN WARBECK. [ACT n. 
 
 Come, we will taste a while our court-delights, 
 
 Dream hence affliction past, and then proceed 
 
 To high attempts of honour. On, lead on ! 
 
 Both thou and thine are ours, and we will guard ye. 
 
 Lead on ! {Exeunt all but the Ladies above. 
 
 Countess of C. I have not seen a gentleman 
 Of a more brave aspect or goodlier carriage ; 
 His fortunes move not him. Madam, you're passionate. 1 
 
 Kath. Beshrew me, but his words have touched me 
 
 home, 
 
 As if his cause concerned me : I should pity him, 
 If he should prove another than he seems. 
 
 Re-enter Earl of CRAWFORD. 
 
 Craw. Ladies, the king commands your presence in- 
 For entertainment of the duke. [stantly 
 
 Kath. The duke 
 
 Must, then, be entertained, the king obeyed ; 
 It is our duty. 
 
 Countess of C. We will all wait on him. {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. London. The Tower. 
 
 A flourish. Enter King HENRY, the Earls of Oxford, and 
 Surrey, and th Bishop of Durham. 
 
 K. Hen. Have ye condemned my chamberlain? 
 
 Dur. His treasons 
 
 Condemned him, sir; which were as clear and manifest 
 As foul and dangerous : besides, the guilt 
 Of his conspiracy pressed him so nearly, 
 That it drew from him free confession 
 Without an importunity. 
 
 K. Hen. O, lord bishop, 
 
 This argued shame and sorrow for his folly, 
 1 Distressed.
 
 SCENE ii.J PERKIN WARBECK. 405 
 
 And must not stand in evidence against 
 
 Our mercy and the softness of our nature : 
 
 The rigour and extremity of law 
 
 Is sometimes too-too bitter; but we carry 
 
 A chancery of pity in our bosom. 
 
 I hope we may reprieve him from the sentence 
 
 Of death ; I hope we may. 
 
 Dur. You may, you may ; 
 
 And so persuade your subjects that the title 
 Of York is better, nay, more just and lawful, 
 Than yours of Lancaster ! so Stanley holds : 
 Which if it be not treason in the highest, 
 Then we are traitors all, perjured and false, 
 Who have took oath to Henry and the justice 
 Of Henry's title ; Oxford, Surrey, Dawbeney, 
 With all your other peers of state and church, 
 Forsworn, and Stanley true alone to Heaven 
 And England's lawful heir ! 
 
 Oxf. By Vere's old honours, 
 
 I'll cut his throat dares speak it. 
 
 Sur. 'Tis a quarrel 
 
 T' engage a soul in. 
 
 K. Hen. What a coil is here 
 
 To keep my gratitude sincere and perfect ! 
 Stanley was once my friend, and came in time 
 To save my life ; yet, to say truth, my lords, 
 The man stayed long enough t' endanger it : l 
 But I could see no more into his heart 
 Than what his outward actions did present ; 
 And for 'em have rewarded him so fully, 
 As that there wanted nothing in our gift 
 To gratify his merit, as I thought, 
 Unless I should divide my crown with him, 
 
 1 " As a little leaven of new distaste doth commonly sour the 
 whole lump of former merits, the king's wit began now to suggest 
 unto his passion that Stanley at Bosworth-field, though he came 
 time enough to save his life, yet he stayed long enougli to endanger 
 it." Bacon.
 
 406 PERKIN WARBECK. [ACT II. 
 
 And give him half ; though now I well perceive 
 'Twould scarce have served his turn without the whole. 
 But I am charitable, lords ; let justice 
 Proceed in execution, whiles I mourn 
 The loss of one whom I esteemed a friend. 
 
 Dur. Sir, he is coming this way. 
 
 K. Hen. If he speak to me, 
 
 I could deny him nothing ; to prevent it, 
 I must withdraw. Pray, lords, commend my favours 
 To his last peace, which I with him will pray for : 
 That done, it doth concern us to consult 
 Of other following troubles. \Exit. 
 
 Oxf. I am glad 
 
 He's gone : upon my life, he would have pardoned 
 The traitor, had he seen him. 
 
 Sur. 'Tis a king 
 
 Composed of gentleness. 
 
 Dur. Rare and unheard of: 
 
 But every man is nearest to himself; 
 And that the king observes ; 'tis fit he should. 
 
 Enter Sir WILLIAM STANLEY, Executioner, Confessor, 
 URSWICK, and Lord DAWBENEY. 
 
 Stan. May I not speak with Clifford ere I shake 
 This piece of frailty off ? 
 
 Daw. You shall ; he's sent for. 
 
 Stan. I must not see the king ? 
 
 Dur. From him, Sir William, 
 
 These lords and I am' sent ; he bade us say 
 That he commends his mercy to your thoughts ; 
 Wishing the laws of England could remit 
 The forfeit of your life as willingly 
 As he would in the sweetness of his nature 
 Forget your trespass : but howe'er your body 
 Fall into dust, he vows, the king himself 
 Doth vow, to keep a requiem for your soul, 
 As for a friend close treasured in his bosom.
 
 SCENE II.] PERKIN WARBECK. 407 
 
 Oxf. Without remembrance of your errors past, 
 I come to take my leave, and wish you Heaven. 
 
 Sur. And I ; good angels guard ye ! 
 
 Stan. 0, the king, 
 
 Next to my soul, shall be the nearest subject 
 Of my last prayers. My grave Lord of Durham, 
 My Lords of Oxford, Surrey, Dawbeney, all, 
 Accept from a poor dying man a farewell. 
 I was as you are once, great, and stood hopeful 
 Of many flourishing years ; but fate and time 
 Have wheeled about, to turn me into nothing. 
 
 Daw. Sir Robert Clifford comes, the man, Sir William, 
 You so desire to speak with. 
 
 Dur. Mark their meeting. 
 
 Enter Sir ROBERT CLIFFORD. 
 
 Clif. Sir William Stanley, I am glad your conscience 
 Before your end hath emptied every burthen 
 Which charged it, as that you can clearly witness 
 How far I have proceeded in a duty 
 That both concerned my truth and the state's safety. 
 
 Stan. Mercy, how dear is life to such as hug it ! 
 Come hither ; by this token think on me ! 
 
 \_Makes a cross on CLIFFORD'S face with his finger. 
 
 Clif. This token ! What ! I am abused ? 
 
 Stan. You are not. 
 
 I wet upon your cheeks a holy sign, 
 The cross, the Christian's badge, the traitor's infamy : 
 Wear, Clifford, to thy grave this painted emblem ; 
 Water shall never wash it off; all eyes 
 That gaze upon thy face shall read there written 
 A state-informer's character ; more ugly 
 Stamped on a noble name than on a base. 
 The heavens forgive thee ! Pray, my lords, no change 
 Of words ; this man and I have used too many. 
 
 Clif. Shall I be disgraced 
 Without reply ?
 
 408 PERKIN WARBECK. [ACT n. 
 
 Dur. Give losers leave to talk ; 
 
 His loss is irrecoverable. 
 
 Stan. Once more, 
 
 To all a long farewell ! The best of greatness 
 Preserve the king ! My next suit is, my lords, 
 To be remembered to my noble brother, 
 Derby, my much-grieved brother : O, persuade him 
 That I shall stand no blemish to his house 
 In chronicles writ in another age. 
 My heart doth bleed for him and for his sighs : 
 Tell him, he must not think the style of Derby, 
 Nor being husband to King Henry's mother, 
 The league with peers, the smiles of fortune, can 
 Secure his' peace above the state of man. 
 I take my leave, to travel to my dust : 
 Subjects deserve their deaths whose kings are just. 
 Come, confessor. On with thy axe, friend, on ! 
 
 \He is led off to execution. 
 
 Clif. Was I called hither by a traitor's breath 
 To be upbraided ? Lords, the king shall know it. 
 
 Re-enter King HENRY with a white staff. 
 
 K. Hen. The king doth know it, sir ; the king hath 
 
 heard 
 
 What he or you could say. We have given credit 
 To every point of Clifford's information, 
 The only evidence 'gainst Stanley's head : 
 He dies for't ; are you pleased ? 
 
 Clif. I pleased, my lord ! 
 
 K. Hen. No echoes : for your service, we dismiss 
 Your more attendance on the court , take ease, 
 And live at home ; but, as you love your life, 
 Stir not from London without leave from us. 
 We'll think on your reward : away ! 
 
 Clif. I go, sir. \^Exit. 
 
 K. Hen. Die all our griefs with Stanley ! Take this staff 
 Of office, Dawbeney ; henceforth be our chamberlain.
 
 SCENE li.] PERKIN WARBECK. 
 
 409 
 
 Daw. I am your humble servant. 
 
 K. Hen. We are followed 
 
 By enemies at home, that will not cease 
 To seek their own confusion : 'tis most true 
 The Cornish under Audley are marched on 
 As far as Winchester ; but let them come, 
 Our forces are in readiness ; we'll catch 'em 
 In their own toils. 
 
 Daw. Your army, being mustered, 
 
 Consists in all, of horse and foot, at least 
 In number six-and-twenty thousand ; men 
 Daring and able, resolute to fight, 
 And loyal in their truths. 
 
 K. Hen. We know it, Dawbeney : 
 
 For them we order thus ; Oxford in chief, 
 Assisted by bold Essex and the Earl 
 Of Suffolk, shall lead on the first battalia ; 
 Be that your charge. 
 
 Oxf. I humbly thank your majesty. 
 
 K. Hen. The next division we assign to Dawbeney : 
 These must be men of action, for on those 
 The fortune of our fortunes must rely. 
 The last and main ourself commands in person ; 
 As ready to restore the fight at all times 
 As to consummate an assured victory. 
 
 Daw. The king is still oraculous. 
 
 K. Hen. But, Surrey, 
 
 We have employment of more toil for thee : 
 For our intelligence comes swiftly to us, 
 That James of Scotland late hath entertained 
 Perkin the counterfeit with more than common 
 Grace and respect, nay, courts him with rare favours. 
 The Scot is young and forward ; we must look for 
 A sudden storm to England from the north ; 
 Which to withstand, Durham shall post to Norham, 
 To fortify the castle and secure 
 The frontiers against an invasion there.
 
 4 io PERKIN WARBECK. [ACT n. 
 
 Surrey shall follow soon, with such an army 
 As may relieve the bishop, and encounter 
 On all occasions the death-daring Scots. 
 You know your charges all ; 'tis now a time 
 To execute, not talk : Heaven is our guard still. 
 War must breed peace : such is the fate of kings. 
 
 \_Excunt. 
 
 1 " 
 
 SCENE III. Edinburgh. An Apartment in the 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Earl of CRAWFORD and Lord DALYELL. 
 
 Craw. 'Tis more than strange ; my reason cannot 
 
 answer 
 
 Such argument of fine imposture, couched 
 In witchcraft of persuasion, that it fashions 
 Impossibilities, as if appearance 
 Could cozen truth itself : this dukeling mushroom 
 Hath doubtless charmed the king. 
 
 Dal. He courts the ladies, 
 
 As if his strength of language chained attention 
 By power of prerogative. 
 
 Craw. It madded 
 
 My very soul to hear our master's motion : 
 What surety both of amity and honour 
 Must of necessity ensue upon 
 A match betwixt some noble of our nation 
 And this brave prince, forsooth ! 
 
 Dal. 'Twill prove too fatal ; 
 
 Wise Huntley fears the threatening. Bless the lady 
 From such a ruin ! 
 
 Craw. How the counsel privy 
 
 Of this young Phaethon do screw their faces 
 Into a gravity their trades, good people, 
 Were never guilty of ! the meanest of 'em 
 Dreams of at least an office in the state.
 
 SCENE in.] PERKIN WARBECK. 411 
 
 Dal. Sure, not the hangman's ; 'tis bespoke already 
 For service to their rogueships Silence ! 
 
 Enter King JAMES and Earl of HUNTLEY. 
 
 K. Ja. Do not 
 
 Argue against our will ; we have descended 
 Somewhat as we may term it too familiarly 
 From justice of our birthright, to examine 
 The force of your allegiance, sir, we have, 
 But find it short of duty. 
 
 Hunt. Break my heart, 
 
 Do, do, king ! Have my services, my loyalty, 
 Heaven knows untainted ever, drawn upon me 
 Contempt now in mine age, when I but wanted 
 A minute of a peace not to be troubled, 
 My last, my long one ? Let me be a dotard, 
 A bedlam, a poor sot, or what you please 
 To have me, so you will not stain your blood, 
 Your own blood, royal sir, though mixed with mine, 
 By marriage of this girl J to a straggler : 
 Take, take my head, sir ; whilst my tongue can wag, 
 It cannot name him other. 
 
 K. Ja. Kings are counterfeits 
 
 In your repute, grave oracle, not presently 
 Set on their thrones with sceptres in their fists. 
 But use your own detraction : 'tis our pleasure 
 To give our cousin York for wife our kinswoman, 
 The Lady Katherine : instinct of sovereignty 
 Designs the honour, though her peevish father 
 Usurps our resolution. 
 
 Hunt. O, 'tis well, 
 
 Exceeding well ! I never was ambitious 
 Of using congees to my daughter-queen 
 
 1 " To put it out of doubt that he took him (Perkin) to be a 
 great prince, and not a representation only, he (King James) gave 
 consent that this duke should take to wife the Lady Kaiheiine 
 Gordon, daughter to the Earl of Huntley, being a near kinswoman 
 to the king himself, and a young virgin of excellent beauty and 
 virtue." Bacon.
 
 4 i2 PERK1N WARBECK. [ACT n. 
 
 A queen ! perhaps a quean ! Forgive me, Dalyell, 
 Thou honourable gentleman ; none here 
 Dare speak one work of comfort ? 
 
 Dal. Cruel misery ! 
 
 Craw. The lady, gracious prince, may-be hath settled 
 Affection on some former choice. 
 
 Dal. Enforcement 
 
 Would prove but tyranny. 
 
 Hunt. I thank ye heartily. 
 
 Let any yeoman of our nation challenge 
 An interest in the girl, then the king 
 May add a jointure of ascent in titles, 
 Worthy a free consent ; now he pulls down 
 What old desert hath builded. 
 
 K. Ja. Cease persuasions. 
 
 I violate no pawns of faith, intrude not 
 On private loves : that I have played the orator 
 For kingly York to virtuous Kate, her grant 
 Can justify, referring her contents 
 To our provision. The Welsh Harry henceforth 
 Shall therefore know, and tremble to acknowledge, 
 That not the painted idol of his policy 
 Shall fright the lawful owner from a kingdom. 
 We are resolved. 
 
 Hunt. Some of thy subjects' hearts, 
 
 King James, will bleed for this. 
 
 K. Ja. Then shall their bloods 
 
 Be nobly spent. No more disputes ; he is not 
 Our friend who contradicts us. 
 
 Hunt. Farewell, daughter ! 
 
 My care by one is lessened, thank the king for't : 
 I and my griefs will dance now. 
 
 Enter PERKIN WARBECK, leading^ and compli menting with, 
 Lady KATHERINE ; Countess of CRAWFORD, JANE 
 DOUGLAS, FRION, JOHN A-WATER, ASTLEY, HERON, 
 and SKELTON.
 
 SCENE in.] PERKIN WARBECK. 413 
 
 Look, lords, look; 
 Here's hand in hand already ! 
 
 K. fa. Peace, old frenzy ! 
 
 How like a king he looks ! Lords, but observe 
 The confidence of his aspect ; dross cannot 
 Cleave to so pure a metal royal youth ! 
 Plantagenet undoubted ! 
 
 Hunt. [Aside] Ho, brave! Youth, 
 
 But no Plantagenet, by'r lady, yet, 
 By red rose or by white. 
 
 War. An union this way 
 
 Settles possession in a monarchy 
 Established rightly, as is my inheritance : 
 Acknowledge me but sovereign of this kingdom, 
 Your heart, fair princess, and the hand of providence 
 Shall crown you queen of me and my best fortunes. 
 
 Kath. Where my obedience is, my lord, a duty 
 Love owes true service. 
 
 War. Shall I ? 
 
 K. fa. Cousin, yes, 
 
 Enjoy her; from my hand accept your bride; 
 
 \Hejoins their hands. 
 And may they live at enmity with comfort 
 Who grieve at such an equal pledge of troths ! 
 You are the prince's wife now. 
 
 Kath. By your gift, sir. 
 
 War. Thus I take seizure of mine own. 
 
 Kath. I miss yet 
 
 A father's blessing. Let me find it ; humbly 
 Upon my knees I seek it. 
 
 Hunt. I am Huntley, 
 
 Old Alexander Gordon, a plain subject, 
 Nor more nor less ; and, lady, if you wish for 
 A blessing, you must bend your knees to Heaven ; 
 For Heaven did give me you. Alas, alas, 
 What would you have me say? May all the happiness 
 My prayers ever sued to fall upon you
 
 414 PERKIN WARBECK. [ACT n. 
 
 Preserve you in your virtues ! -Prithee, Dalyell, 
 Come with me ; for I feel thy griefs as full 
 As mine ; let's steal away, and cry together. 
 
 Dal. My hopes are in their ruins. 
 
 \Exeunt Earl of HUNTLEY and Lord DALYELL. 
 
 K. Ja. Good, kind Huntley 
 
 Is overjoyed: a fit solemnity 
 Shall perfect these delights. Crawford, attend 
 Our order for the preparation. 
 
 \_Exetmt all but FRION, HERON, SKELTOX, 
 JOHN A- WATER, and ASTLEY. 
 
 Fri. Now, worthy gentlemen, have I not followed 
 My undertakings with success? Here's entrance 
 Into a certainty above a hope. 
 
 Her. Hopes are but hopes ; I was ever confident, 
 when I traded but in remnants, that my stars had reserved 
 me to the title of a viscount at least : honour is honour, 
 though cut out of any stuffs. 1 
 
 Skel. My brother Heron hath right wisely delivered 
 his opinion; for he that threads his needle with the 
 sharp eyes of industry shall in time go through-stitch 
 with the new suit of preferment. 
 
 Ast. Spoken to the purpose, my fine-witted brother 
 Skelton; for as no indenture but has its counterpane, no 
 noverint but his condition or defeasance ; so no right but 
 may have claim, no claim but may have possession, any 
 act of parliament to the contrary notwithstanding. 
 
 Fri. You are all read in mysteries of state, 
 And quick of apprehension, deep in judgment, 
 Active in resolution ; and 'tis pity 
 Such counsel should lie buried in obscurity. 
 But why, in such a time and cause of triumph, 
 Stands the judicious Mayor of Cork so silent? 
 Believe it, sir, as English Richard prospers, 
 You must not miss employment of high nature. 
 
 1 Heron, or Herne, as Bacon calls him, was a mercer ; Skelton 
 was a tailor ; and Astley a scrivener : they were all men of broker} 
 fortunes. Gifford.
 
 SCENE in.] PERKIN WARBECK. 415 
 
 J. a- Wat. If men may be credited in their, mortality, 
 which I dare not peremptorily aver but they may or not 
 be, presumptions by this marriage are then, in sooth, 
 of fruitful expectation. Or else I must not justify other 
 men's belief, more than other should rely on mine. 
 
 Fri. Pith of experience * those that have borne office 
 Weigh every word before it can drop from them. 
 But, noble counsellors, since now the present 
 Requires in point of honour, pray, mistake not, 
 Some service to our lord, 'tis fit the Scots 
 Should not engross all glory to themselves 
 At this so grand and eminent solemnity. 
 
 Skel. The Scots ! the motion is defied : I had rather, 
 for my part, without trial of my country, suffer persecution 
 under the pressing-iron of reproach ; or let my skin be 
 punched full of eyelet-holes with the bodkin of derision. 
 
 Ast. I will sooner lose both my ears on the pillory of 
 forgery. 
 
 Her. Let me first live a bankrupt, and die in the lousy 
 Hole ' of hunger, without compounding for sixpence in 
 the pound. 
 
 J. a- Wat. If men fail not in their expectations, there 
 may be spirits also that digest no rude affronts, Master 
 Secretary Frion, or I am cozened ; which is possible, I 
 grant. 
 
 Fri. Resolved like men of knowledge : at this feast, 
 
 then, 
 
 In honour of the bride, the Scots, I know, 
 Will in some show, some masque, or some device, 
 Prefer their duties : now it were uncomely 
 That we be found less forward for our prince 
 Than they are for their lady ; and by how much 
 We outshine them in persons of account, 
 By so much more will our endeavours meet with 
 A livelier applause. Great emperors 
 
 1 That part of the Counter prison in which the poorer prisoners 
 were confined.
 
 416 PERKIN WARBECK. [ACT n. 
 
 Have for their recreations undertook 
 
 Such kind of pastimes : as for the conceit, 
 
 Refer it to my study ; the performance 
 
 You all shall share a thanks in : 'twill be grateful. 
 
 Her. The motion is allowed : I have stole to a dancing 
 school when I was a prentice. 
 
 Ast. There have been Irish hubbubs, when I have 
 made one too. 
 
 Skel. For fashioning of shapes and cutting a cross- 
 caper, turn me off to my trade again. 
 
 J. a- Wat. Surely there is, if I be not deceived, a kind 
 of gravity in merriment ; as there is, or perhaps ought to 
 be, respect of persons in the quality of carriage, which is 
 as it is construed, either so or so, 
 
 Fri. Still you come home to me ; upon occasion 
 I find you relish courtship with discretion ; 
 And such are fit for statesmen of your merits. 
 Pray ye wait the prince, and in his ear acquaint him 
 With this design ; I'll follow and direct ye. 
 
 \Exeunt all but FRION. 
 O, the toil 
 
 Of humouring this abject scum of mankind, 
 Muddy-brained peasants ! princes feel a misery 
 Beyond impartial sufferance, whose extremes 
 Must yield to such abettors : yet 1 our tide 
 Runs smoothly, without adverse winds : run on ! 
 
 Flow to a full sea ! time alone debates 
 
 Quarrels forewritten in the book of fates. \Exit. 
 
 1 i.e. As yet.
 
 ACT THE THIRD. 
 
 SCENE I. Westminster. The Palace. 
 
 Enter King HENRY, with Ids gorget on, Ids sword, plume 
 of feathers, and truncheon, followed by URSWICK. 
 
 HEN. How runs the time of day? 
 Urs. Past ten, my lord. 
 
 K. Hen. A bloody hour will it prove to 
 ?^J5^O some, 
 
 Whose disobedience, like the sons o' the 
 
 earth, 
 
 Throws a defiance 'gainst the face of heaven. 
 Oxford, with Essex and stout De la Pole, 
 Have quieted the Londoners, I hope, 
 And set them safe from fear. 
 
 Urs. They are all silent. 
 
 K. Hen. From their own battlements they may behold 
 Saint George's-fields o'erspread with armed men ; 
 Amongst whom our own royal standard threatens 
 Confusion to opposers : we must learn 
 To practise war again in time of peace, 
 Or lay our crown before our subjects' feet ; 
 Ha, Urswick, must we not ? 
 
 Urs. The powers who seated 
 
 King Henry on his lawful throne will ever 
 Rise up in his defence. 
 
 K. Hen. Rage shall not fright 
 
 The bosom of our confidence : in Kent 
 
 Ford. K E
 
 4 i8 PERKIN WARBECK. [ACT III. 
 
 Our Cornish rebels, cozened of their hopes, 
 
 Met brave resistance by that country's earl, 
 
 George Abergeny, Cobham, Poynings, Guilford, 
 
 And other loyal hearts ; now, if Blackheath 
 
 Must be reserved the- fatal tomb to swallow 
 
 Such stiff-necked abjects as with weary marches 
 
 Have travelled from their homes, their wives, and children, 
 
 To pay, instead of subsidies, their lives, 
 
 We may continue sovereign. Yet, Urswick, 
 
 We'll not abate one penny what in parliament 
 
 Hath freely been contributed ; we must not ; 
 
 Money gives soul to action. Our competitor, 
 
 The Flemish counterfeit, with James of Scotland, 
 
 Will prove what courage need and want can nourish, 
 
 Without the food of fit supplies : but, Urswick, 
 
 I have a charm in secret that shall loose 
 
 The witchcraft wherewith young King James is bound, 
 
 And free it at my pleasure without bloodshed. 
 
 Urs. Your majesty's a wise king, sent from heaven, 
 Protector of the just. 
 
 K. Hen. Let dinner cheerfully 
 
 Be served in ; this day of the week is ours, 
 Our day of providence ; for Saturday 
 Yet never failed in all my undertakings 
 To yield me rest at night. [A flourish.] What means 
 
 this warning ? 
 Good fate, speak peace to Henry ! 
 
 Enter Lord DAWBENEY, Earl of OXFORD, and Attendants. 
 
 Daw. Live the king. 
 
 Triumphant in the ruin of his enemies ! 
 
 Oxf. The head of strong rebellion is cut off, 
 The body hewed in pieces. 
 
 K. Hen. Dawbeney, Oxford, 
 
 Minions to noblest fortunes, how yet stands 
 The comfort of your wishes ? 
 
 Daw. Briefly thus :
 
 SCENE I.] PERKIN WAR BECK:. 419 
 
 The Cornish under Audley, disappointed 
 
 Of flattered expectation, from the Kentish 
 
 Your majesty's right-trusty liegemen flew, 
 
 Feathered by rage and heartened by presumption, 
 
 To take the field even at your palace-gates, 
 
 And face you in your chamber-royal : arrogance 
 
 Improved their ignorance ; for they, supposing, 
 
 Misled by rumour, that the day of battle 
 
 Should fall on Monday, rather braved your forces 
 
 Than doubted any onset ; yet- this morning, 
 
 When in the dawning I, by your direction, 
 
 Strove to get Deptford-strand bridge, there I found 
 
 Such a resistance as might show what strength 
 
 Could make : here arrows hailed in showers upon us 
 
 A full yard long at least ; but we prevailed. 
 
 My Lord of Oxford, with his fellow peers 
 
 Environing the hill, fell fiercely on them 
 
 On the one side, I on the other, till, great sir, 
 
 Pardon the oversight, eager of doing 
 
 Some memorable act, I was engaged 
 
 Almost a prisoner, but was freed as soon 
 
 As sensible of danger : now the fight 
 
 Began in heat, which quenched in the blood of 
 
 Two thousand rebels, and as many more 
 
 Reserved to try your mercy, have returned 
 
 A victory with safety. 
 
 K> Hen. Have we lost 
 
 An equal number with them ? 
 
 Oxf. In the total 
 
 Scarcely tour hundred. Audley, Flammock, Joseph, 
 The ringleaders of this commotion, 
 Railed l in ropes, fit ornaments for traitors, 
 Wait your determinations. 
 
 1 As the R is very indistinct, I should have been inclined, per- 
 haps, to make " Haled " out of it, had I not found the expression 
 in Bacon ; " they were brought to London all railed in ropes, like 
 a team of horses in a cart." Gifford.
 
 4 2o PERKIN WARBECK. [ACT HI. 
 
 K. Hen. We must pay 
 
 Our thanks where they are only due : O, lords, 
 Here is no victory, nor shall our people 
 Conceive that we can triumph in their falls. 
 Alas, poor souls ! let such as are escaped 
 Steal to the country back without pursuit : 
 There's not a drop of blood spilt but hath drawn 
 As much of mine; their swords could have wrought 
 
 wonders 
 
 On their king's part, who faintly were unsheathed 
 Against their prince, but wounded their own breasts. 
 Lords, we are debtors to your care ; our payment 
 Shall be both sure and fitting your deserts. 
 
 Daw. Sir, will you please to see those rebels, heads 
 Of this wild monster-multitude ? 
 
 K. Hen. Dear friend, 
 
 My faithful Dawbeney, no ; on them our justice 
 Must frown in terror ; I will not vouchsafe 
 An eye of pity to them. Let false Audley 
 Be drawn upon an hurdle from the Newgate 
 To Tower-hill in his own coat of arms 
 Painted on paper, with the arms reversed, 
 Defaced and torn ; there let him lose his head. 1 
 The lawyer and the blacksmith shall be hanged, 
 Quartered ; their quarters into Cornwall sent 
 Examples to the rest, whom we are pleased 
 To pardon and dismiss from further quest. 
 My Lord of Oxford, see it done. 
 
 Oxf. I shall, sir. 
 
 K. Hen. Urswick ! 
 
 Urs. My lord ? 
 
 K. Hen. To Dinham, our high-treasurer, 
 
 Say, we command commissions be new granted 
 For the collection of our subsidies 
 
 1 " The Lord Audley was led from Newgate to Tower-hill, in a 
 paper coat painted with his own arms, the arms reversed, the coat 
 torn, and at Tower-hill beheaded." Bacon.
 
 SCENE II.] PERKIN WARBECK. 421 
 
 Through all the west, and that speedily. 
 Lords, we acknowledge our engagements due 
 For your most constant services. 
 
 Daw. Your soldiers 
 
 Have manfully and faithfully acquitted 
 Their several duties. 
 
 K. Hen. For it we will throw 
 
 A largess free amongst them, which shall hearten 
 And cherish-up their loyalties. More yet 
 Remains of like employment ; not a man 
 Can be dismissed, till enemies abroad, 
 More dangerous than these at home, have felt 
 The puissance of our arms. O, happy kings 
 Whose thrones are raised in their subjects' hearts ! 
 
 \_Exewit. 
 
 SCENE \\.-Edinburgh. The Palace. 
 Enter Earl of HUNTLEY and Lord DALYELL. 
 Hunt. Now, sir, a modest word with you, sad gen- 
 tleman : 
 
 Is not this fine, I trow, to see the gambols, 
 To hear the jigs, observe the frisks, be enchanted 
 With the rare discord of bells, pipes, and tabors, 
 Hotch-potch of Scotch and Irish twingle-twangles, 
 Like to so many quiristers of Bedlam 
 Trolling a catch ! The feasts, the manly stomachs, 
 The healths in usquebaugh and bonny-clabber, 1 
 The ale in dishes never fetched from China, 
 The hundred-thousand knacks not to be spoken of, 
 And all this for King Oberon and Queen Mab, 
 Should put a soul into ye. Look ye, good man, 
 How youthful I am grown : but, by your leave, 
 This new queen-bride must henceforth be no more 
 
 1 A common name for curds-and-whey, or sour buttermilk ; a 
 favourite drink both with the Scotch and Irish.
 
 422 PERKIN WARBECK. [ACT HI. 
 
 My daughter ; no, by'r lady, 'tis unfit : 
 And yet you see how I do bear this change, 
 Methinks courageously : then shake off care 
 In such a time of jollity. 
 
 Dal. Alas, sir, 
 
 How can you cast a mist upon your griefs ? 
 Which, howsoe'er you shadow, but present 
 To any judging eye the perfect substance, 
 Of which mine are but counterfeits. 
 
 Hunt, Foh, Dalyell ! 
 
 Thou interrupt'st the part I bear in music 
 To this rare bridal-feast ; let us be merry, 
 Whilst flattering calms secure us against storms : 
 Tempests, when they begin to roar, put out 
 The light of peace, and cloud the sun's bright eye 
 In darkness of despair ; yet we are safe. 
 
 Dal, I wish you could as easily forget 
 The justice of your sorrows as my hopes 
 Can yield to destiny. 
 
 Hunt. Pish ! then I see 
 
 Thou dost not know the flexible condition 
 Of my apt nature : I can laugh, laugh heartily, 
 When the gout cramps my joints ; let but the stone 
 Stop in my bladder, I am straight a-singing ; 
 The quartan-fever, shrinking every limb, 
 Sets me a-capering straight ; do but betray me, 
 And bind me a friend ever : what ! I trust 
 The losing of a daughter, though I doted 
 On every hair that grew to trim her head, 
 Admits not any pain like one of these. 
 Come, thou'rt deceived in me : give me a blow, 
 A sound blow on the face, I'll thank thee for't ; 
 I love my wrongs : still thou'rt deceived in me. 
 
 Dal, Deceived ! O, noble Huntley, my few years 
 Have learnt experience of too ripe an age 
 To forfeit fit credulity : forgive 
 My rudeness, I am bold.
 
 SCENE ii.] PERKIN WARBECK. 423 
 
 Hunt. Forgive me first 
 
 A madness of ambition ; by example 
 Teach me humility, for patience scorns 
 Lectures, which schoolmen use to read to boys 
 Uncapable of injuries : though old, 
 I could grow tough in fury, and disclaim 
 Allegiance to my king ; could fall at odds 
 With all my fellow-peers that durst not stand 
 Defendants 'gainst the rape done on mine honour : 
 But kings are earthly gods, there is no meddling 
 With their anointed bodies ; for their actions 
 They only are accountable to heaven. 
 Yet in the puzzle of my troubled brain 
 One antidote's reserved against the poison 
 Of my distractions ; 'tis in thee t' apply it. 
 
 Dal. Name it ; O, name it quickly, sir ! 
 
 Hunt. A pardon 
 
 For my most foolish slighting thy deserts ; 
 I have culled out this time to beg it : prithee, 
 Be gentle ; had I been so, thou hadst owned 
 A happy bride, but now a castaway, 
 And never child of mine more. 
 
 Dal. Say not so, sir ; 
 
 It is not fault in her. 
 
 Hunt. The world would prate 
 
 How she was handsome ; young I know she was, 
 Tender, and sweet in her obedience : 
 But lost now : what a bankrupt am I made 
 Of a full stock of blessings ! Must I hope 
 A mercy from thy heart ? 
 
 Dal. A love, a service, 
 
 A friendship to posterity. 
 
 Hunt. Good angels 
 
 Reward thy charity ! I have no more 
 But prayers left me now. 
 
 Dal. I'll lend you mirth, sir, 
 
 If you will be in consort,
 
 424 PERKIN WARBECK. [ACT in. 
 
 Hunt. Thank you truly : 
 
 I must ; yes, yes, I must ; here's yet some ease, 
 A partner in affliction! : look not angry. 
 
 Dal. Good, noble sir ! \Flourish, 
 
 Hunt. O, hark ! we may be quiet, 
 
 The King and all the others come ; a meeting 
 Of gaudy sights : this day's the last of revels ; 
 To-morrow sounds of war ; then new exchange ; 
 Fiddles must turn to swords. Unhappy marriage ! 
 
 A flourish. Enter King JAMES, PERKIN WARBECK lead- 
 ing Lady KATHERINE, Earl of CRAWFORD and his 
 Countess ; JANE DOUGLAS, and other Ladies. Earl 
 of HUNTLEY and Lord DALYELL fall in among them. 
 
 K. Ja. Cousin of York, you and your princely bride 
 Have liberally enjoyed such soft delights 
 As a new-married couple could forethink ; 
 Nor has our bounty shortened expectation : 
 But after all those pleasures of repose, 
 Of amorous safety, we must rouse the ease 
 Of dalliance with achievements of more glory 
 Than sloth and sleep can furnish : yet, for farewell, 
 Gladly we entertain a truce with time, 
 To grace the joint endeavours of our servants. 
 
 War. My royal cousin, in your princely favour 
 The extent of bounty hath been so unlimited, 
 As only an acknowledgment in words 
 Would breed suspicion in our state and quality. 
 When we shall, in the fulness of our fate, 
 Whose minister, necessity, will perfect, 
 Sit on our own throne ; then our arms, laid open 
 To gratitude, in sacred memory 
 Of these large benefits, shall twine them close, 
 Even to our thoughts and heart, without distinction. 
 Then James and Richard, being in effect 
 One person, shall unite and rule one people, 
 Divisible in titles only.
 
 SCENE ii.] PERKIN WARBECK. 425 
 
 K. Ja. Seat ye. 
 
 Are the presenters ready? 
 
 Craw. All are entering. 
 
 Hunt. Dainty sport toward, Dalyell ! sit ; come, sit, 
 Sit and be quiet; here are kingly bug's-words ! l 
 
 Enter at one door Four Scotch Antics, accordingly habited; 
 at another, WARBECK'S followers, disguised as Four 
 Wild Irish in trowses? long-haired, and accordingly 
 habited. Music. A dance by the Masquers. 
 
 K. Ja. To all a general thanks ! 
 
 War. In the next room 
 
 Take your own shapes again ; you shall receive 
 Particular acknowledgment. {Exeunt the Masquers. 
 
 K. Ja. Enough 
 
 Of merriments. Crawford, how far's our army 
 Upon the march? 
 
 Craw. At Hedon-hall, great king ; 
 
 Twelve thousand, well-prepared. 
 
 K.Ja. Crawford, to-night 
 
 Post thither. We in person, with the prince, 
 By four o'clock to-morrow after dinner 
 Will be wi' ye ; speed away ! 
 
 Craw. I fly, my lord. [Exit. 
 
 K. Ja. Our business grows to head now : where's your 
 
 secretary, 
 That he attends ye not to serve? 
 
 War. With Marchmont, 
 
 Your herald. 
 
 K. Ja. Good : the proclamation's ready ; 
 
 By that it will appear how the English stand 
 Affected to your title. Huntley, comfort 
 Your daughter in her husband's absence ; fight 
 With prayers at home for us, who for your honours 
 Must toil in fight abroad. 
 
 1 Alarming words ; " bug " means a hobgoblin. 
 
 2 Tight-fitting drawers.
 
 426 PERKIN WARS EC K. [ACT in. 
 
 Hunt. Prayers are the weapons 
 
 Which men so near their graves as I do use ; 
 I've little else to do. 
 
 K. Ja. To rest, young beauties ! 
 
 We must be early stirring ; quickly part : 
 A kingdom's rescue craves both speed and art. 
 Cousins, good-night. \A flourish. 
 
 War, Rest to our cousin-king. 
 
 Kath. Your blessing, sir. 
 
 Hunt, Fair blessings on your highness ! sure, you need 
 'em. 
 
 {Exeunt all but WARBECK, Lady KATHERINE, 
 and JANE. 
 
 War, Jane, set the lights down, and from us return 
 To those in the next room this little purse ; 
 Say we'll deserve their loves. 
 Jane, It shall be done, sir. \Exit. 
 
 War. Now, dearest, ere sweet sleep shall seal those 
 
 eyes, 
 
 Love's precious tapers, give me leave to use 
 A parting ceremony ; for to-morrow 
 It would be sacrilege t' intrude upon 
 The temple of thy peace : swift as the morning 
 Must I break from the down of thy embraces, 
 To put on steel, and trace the paths which lead 
 Through various hazards to a careful throne. 
 
 Kath. My lord, I'd fain go wi' ye ; there's small fortune 
 In staying here behind. 
 
 War. The churlish brow 
 
 Of war, fair dearest, is a sight of horror 
 For ladies' entertainment : if thou hear'st 
 A truth of my sad ending by the hand 
 Of some unnatural subject, thou withal 
 Shalt hear how I died worthy of my right, 
 By falling like a king ; and in the close, 
 Which my last breath shall sound, thy name, thou fairest, 
 Shall sing a requiem to my soul, unwilling
 
 SCENE II.] PERKIN WARBECK. 427 
 
 Only of greater glory, 'cause divided 
 
 From such a Heaven on earth as life with thee. 
 
 But these are chimes for funerals : my business 
 
 Attends on fortune of a sprightlier triumph ; 
 
 For love and majesty are reconciled, 
 
 And vow to crown thee empress of the west. 
 
 Kath. You have a noble language, sir; your right 
 In me is without question, and however 
 Events of time may shorten my deserts 
 In others' pity, yet it shall not stagger 
 Or constancy or duty in a wife. 
 You must be king of me ; and my poor heart 
 Is all I can call mine. 
 
 War. But we will live, 
 
 Live, beauteous virtue, by the lively test 
 Of our own blood, to let the counterfeit 
 Be known the world's contempt. 
 
 Kath. Pray, do not use 
 
 That word ; it carries fate in't. The first suit 
 I ever made, I trust your love will grant. 
 
 War. Without denial, dearest. 
 
 Kath. That hereafter, 
 
 If you return with safety, no adventure 
 May sever us in tasting any fortune : 
 I ne'er can stay behind again. 
 
 War. You're lady 
 
 Of your desires, and shall command your will ; 
 Yet 'tis too hard to promise. 
 
 Kath. What our destinies 
 
 Have ruled-out in their books we must not search, 
 But kneel to. 
 
 War. Then to fear when hope is fruitless, 
 
 Were to be desperately miserable ; 
 Which poverty our greatness dares not dream of, 
 And much more scorns to stoop to : some few minutes 
 Remain yet ; let's be thrifty in our hopes. \Exeunt.
 
 428 PERKIN WARE EC K. [ACT in. 
 
 SCENE III. The Palace at Westminster. 
 
 Enter King HENRY, HIALAS, and URSWICK. 
 
 K. Hen. Your name is Pedro Hialas, 1 a Spaniard ? 
 
 Hial. Sir, a Castilian born. 
 
 A", Hen. King Ferdinand, 
 
 With wise Queen Isabel his royal consort, 
 Write ye a man of worthy trust and candour. 
 Princes are dear to heaven who meet with subjects 
 Sincere in their employments ; such I find 
 Your commendation, sir. Let me deliver 
 How joyful I repute the amity 
 With your most fortunate master, who almost 
 Comes near a miracle in his success 
 Against the Moors, who had devoured his country, 
 Entire now to his sceptre. We, for our part, 
 Will imitate his providence, in hope 
 Of partage in the use on't : we repute 
 The privacy of his advisement to us 
 By you, intended an ambassador 
 To Scotland, for a peace between our kingdoms, 
 A policy of love, which well becomes 
 His wisdom and our care. 
 
 Hial. Your majesty 
 
 Doth understand him rightly. 
 
 K. Hen. Else 
 
 Your knowledge can instruct me; wherein, sir, 
 To fall on ceremony would seem useless, 
 Which shall not need ; for I will be as studious 
 Of your concealment in our conference 
 As any council shall advise. 
 
 1 "Amongst these troubles came into England from Spain Peter 
 Hialas, some call him Elias (surely he was the forerunner of the 
 good hap that we enjoy at this day ; for his ambajsage set the trace 
 between England and Scotland ; the truce drew on the peace ; the 
 peace the marriage ; and the marriage the union of the kingdoms) ; 
 a man of great wisdom, and, as those times were, not unlearned." 
 Bacon.
 
 SCENE ill.] PERKIN WARBECK. 429- 
 
 Hial. Then, sir, 
 
 My chief request is, that on notice given 
 At my dispatch in Scotland, you will send 
 Some learned man of power and experience 
 To join entreaty with me. 
 
 K. Hen. I shall do it, 
 
 Being that way well provided by a servant 
 Which may attend ye ever. 
 
 Hial. If King James, 
 
 By any indirection, should perceive 
 My coming near your court, I doubt the issue 
 Of my employment. 
 
 K. Hen. Be not your own herald : 
 
 I learn sometimes without a teacher. 
 
 Hial. Good days 
 
 Guard all your princely thoughts ! 
 
 K. Hen. Urswick, no further 
 
 Than the next open gallery attend him. 
 A hearty love go with you ! 
 
 Hial. Your vowed beadsman. 1 
 
 \_Exeunt URSWICK and Hi ALAS. 
 
 K. Hen. King Ferdinand is not so much a fox, 
 But that a cunning huntsman may in time 
 Fall on the scent: in honourable actions 
 Safe imitation best deserves a praise. 
 
 Re-enter URSWICK. 
 
 What, the Castilian's passed away? 
 
 Urs. He is, 
 
 And undiscovered ; the two hundred marks 
 Your majesty conveyed, he gently pursed 
 With a right modest gravity. 
 
 K. Hen. What was't 
 
 ffe muttered i* the -earnest of his wisdom ? 
 He spoke not to be heard ; 'twas about 
 
 1 Servant ; literally one bodnd to pray for his benefactor.
 
 430 PERKIN WARBECK. [ACT in. 
 
 Urs. Warbeck : 
 
 How if King Henry were but sure of subjects, 
 Such a wild runagate might soon be caged, 
 No great ado withstanding. 
 
 K. Hen. Nay, nay; something 
 
 About my son Prince Arthur's match. 
 
 Urs. Right, right, sir: 
 
 He hummed it out, how that King Ferdinand 
 Swore that the marriage 'twixt the Lady Katherine 
 His daughter and the Prince of Wales your son 
 Should never be consummated as long 
 As any Earl of Warwick lived in England, 
 Except by new creation. 
 
 K. Hen. I remember 
 
 'Twas so, indeed : the king his master swore it ? 
 
 Urs. Directly, as he said. 
 
 K. Hen. An Earl of Warwick ! 
 
 Provide a messenger for letters instantly 
 To Bishop Fox. Our news from Scotland creeps ; 
 It comes so slow, we must have airy spirits ; 
 Our time requires dispatch. \Aside\ The Earl of War- 
 wick ! 
 
 Let him be son to Clarence, younger brother 
 To Edward ! Edward's daughter is, I think, 
 Mother to our Prince Arthur. Get a messenger. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IN Before the Castle of Nor ham. 
 
 Enter King JAMES, PERKIN WARBECK, Earl of CRAW- 
 FORD, Lord DALYELL, HERON, ASTLEY, JOHN..A- 
 WATER, SKELTON, and Soldiers. 
 
 K.Ja. We trifle time against these castle-walls; 
 The English prelate will not yield : once more 
 Give him a summons. [A parley is sounded.
 
 SCENE iv.] PERKIN WARBECK. 431 
 
 Enter on the walls the Bishop of DURHAM, armed, a trun- 
 cheon in his hand, with Soldiers. 
 
 War. See, the jolly clerk 
 
 Appears, trimmed like a ruffian ! 
 
 K. Ja. Bishop, yet 
 
 Set ope the ports, and to your lawful sovereign, 
 Richard of York, surrender up this castle, 
 And he will take thee to his grace ; else Tweed 
 Shall overflow his banks with English blood, 
 And wash the sand that cements those hard stones 
 From their foundation. 
 
 Dur. Warlike King of Scotland, 
 
 Vouchsafe a few words from a man enforced 
 To lay his book aside, and clap on arms 
 Unsuitable to my age or my profession. 
 Courageous prince, consider on what grounds 
 You rend the face of peace, and break a league 
 With a confederate king that courts your amity , 
 For whom too ? for a vagabond, a straggler, 
 Not noted in the world by birth or name, 
 An obscure peasant, by the rage of hell 
 Loosed from his chains to set great kings at strife. 
 What nobleman, what common man of note, 
 What ordinary subject hath come in, 
 Since first you footed on our territories, 
 To only feign a welcome ? Children laugh at 
 Your proclamations, and the wiser pity 
 So great a potentate's abuse by one 
 Who juggles merely with the fawns and youth 
 Of an instructed compliment : such spoils, 
 Such slaughters as the rapine of your soldiers 
 Already have committed, is enough 
 To show your zeal in a conceited justice. 
 Yet, great king, wake not yet my master's vengeance 
 But shake that viper off which gnaws your entrails. 
 I and my fellow-subjects are resolved,
 
 432 PERKIN WARBECK. [ACT in. 
 
 If you persist, to stand your utmost fury, 
 Till our last blood drop from us. 
 
 War. O, sir, lend 
 
 No ear to this traducer of my honour ! 
 What shall I call thee, thou gray-bearded scandal, 
 That kick'st against the sovereignty to which 
 Thou ow'st allegiance ? Treason is bold-faced 
 And eloquent in mischief: sacred king, 
 Be deaf to his known malice. 
 
 Dur. Rather yield 
 
 Unto those holy motions which inspire 
 The sacred heart of an anointed body. 
 It is the surest policy in princes 
 To govern well their own than seek encroachment 
 Upon another's right. 
 
 Craw. The king is serious, 
 
 Deep in his meditations. 
 
 Dal. Lift them up 
 
 To Heaven, his better genius ! 
 
 War. Can you study 
 
 While such a devil raves? O, sir! 
 
 K.Ja. Well, bishop, 
 
 You'll not be drawn to mercy? 
 
 Dur. Construe me 
 
 In like case by a subject of your own : 
 My resolution's fixed: King James, be counselled, 
 A greater fate waits on thee. 
 
 {Exeunt Bishop of DURHAM and Soldiers 
 from the walls. 
 
 K. Ja. Forage through 
 
 The country ; spare no prey of life or goods. 
 
 War. O, sir, then give me leave to yield to nature ; 
 I am most miserable : had I been 
 Born what this clergyman would by defame 
 Baffle belief with, I had never sought 
 The truth of mine inheritance with rapes 
 Of women or of infants murdered, virgins
 
 SCENE iv.] PERKIN WARBECK. 433 
 
 Deflowered, old men butchered, dwellings fired, 
 My land depopulated, and my people 
 Afflicted with a kingdom's devastation : 
 Show more remorse, great king, or I shall never 
 Endure to see such havoc with dry eyes ; 
 Spare, spare, my dear, dear England ! 
 
 K. Ja. You fool your piety 
 
 Ridiculously careful of an interest 
 Another man possesseth. Where's your faction? 
 Shrewdly the bishop guessed of your adherents, 
 When not a petty burgess of some town, 
 No, not a villager hath yet appeared 
 In your assistance : that should make ye whine, 
 And not your country's sufferance, as you term it. 
 
 Dal. The king is angry. 
 
 Crew. And the passionate duke 
 
 Effeminately dolent. 
 
 War. The experience 
 
 In former trials, sir, both of mine own 
 Or other princes cast out of their thrones, 
 Have so acquainted me how misery 
 Is destitute of friends or of relief, 
 That I can easily submit to taste 
 Lowest reproof without contempt or words. 
 
 K. Ja. An humble-minded man ! 
 
 Enter FRION. 
 
 Now, what intelligence 
 Speaks Master Secretary Frion ? 
 
 Fri. Henry 
 
 Of England hath in open field o'erthrown 
 The armies who opposed him in the right 
 Of this young prince. 
 
 K. Ja. His subsidies, you mean : 
 
 More, if you have it ? 
 
 Fri. Howard, Earl of Surrey, 
 
 Backed by twelve earls and barons of the north, 
 
 t ord. F K
 
 434 PERKIN WARBECK. [ACT in. 
 
 An hundred knights and gentlemen of name, 
 And twenty thousand soldiers, is at hand 
 To raise your siege. Brooke, with a goodly navy, 
 Is admiral at sea ; and Dawbeney follows , 
 With an unbroken army for a second. 
 
 War. Tis false ! they come to side with us. 
 
 K. Ja. Retreat ; 
 
 We shall not find them stones and walls to cope with. 
 Yet, Duke of York, for such thou sayst thou art, 
 I'll try thy fortune to the height : to Surrey, 
 By Marchmont, I will send a brave defiance 
 For single combat ; once a king will venture 
 His person to an earl, with condition 
 Of spilling lesser blood : Surrey is bold, 
 And James resolved. 
 
 War. O, rather, gracious sir, 
 
 Create me to this glory, since my cause 
 Doth interest this fair quarrel ; valued least, 
 I am his equal. 
 
 K. Ja. I will be the man. 
 
 March softly off : where victory can reap 
 
 A harvest crowned with triumph, toil is cheap. {Exeunt.
 
 ACT THE FOURTH. 
 
 SCENE I. The English Camp near Ay ton, on the 
 Borders. 
 
 Enter Earl of SURREY, Bishop of DURHAM, Soldiers, with 
 drums and colours. 
 
 iUR. Are all our braving enemies shrunk 
 
 back, 
 Hid in the fogs of their distempered 
 
 climate, 
 
 Not daring to behold our colours wave 
 In spite of this infected air ? Can they 
 Look on the strength of Cundrestine defaced ? 
 The glory of Hedon-hall devasted ? that 
 Of Edington cast dows ? the pile of Fulden 
 O'erthrown ? and this the strongest of their forts, 
 Old Ayton-castle, 1 yielded and demolished ? 
 And yet not peep abroad ? The Scots are bold, 
 Hardy in battle ; but it seems the cause 
 They undertake, considered, appears 
 Unjointed in the frame on't. 
 
 Dur. Noble Surrey, 
 
 Our royal master's wisdom is at all times 
 His fortune's harbinger ; for when he draws 
 His sword to threaten war, his providence 
 Settles on peace, the crowning of an empire. 
 
 [A trumpet within. 
 
 1 At that time considered one of the strongest places between 
 Berwick and Edinburgh.
 
 436 PERKIN WARBECK. [ACT IV. 
 
 Sur. Rank all in order : 'tis a herald's sound ; 
 Some message from King James : keep a fixed station. 
 
 Enter MARCHMONT and another in Heralds' coats. 
 
 March. From Scotland's awful majesty we come 
 Unto the English general. 
 
 Sur. To me? 
 
 Say on. 
 
 March. Thus, then ; the waste and prodigal 
 Effusion of so much guiltless blood 
 As in two potent armies of necessity 
 Must glut the earth's dry womb, his sweet compas- 
 sion 
 
 Hath studied to prevent ; for which to thee, 
 Great Earl of Surrey, in a single fight 
 He offers his own royal person ; fairly 
 Proposing these conditions only, that 
 If victory conclude our master's right, 
 The earl shall deliver for his ransom 
 The town of Berwick' to him, with the fishgarths ; 
 If Surrey shall prevail, the king will pay 
 A thousand pounds down present for his freedom, 
 And silence further arms : so speaks King James. 
 
 Sur. So speaks King James ! so like a king he speaks. 
 Heralds, the English general returns 
 A sensible devotion from his heart, 
 His very soul, to this unfellowed grace : 
 For let the king know, gentle heralds, truly, 
 How his descent from his great throne, to honour 
 A stranger subject with so high a title 
 As his compeer in arms, hath conquered more 
 Than any sword could do ; for which my loyalty 
 Respected I will serve his virtues ever 
 In all humility : but Berwick, say, 
 Is none of mine to part with ; in affairs 
 Of princes subjects cannot traffic rights 
 Inherent to the crown. My life is mine,
 
 SCENE i.] PERKIN WARBECK. 437 
 
 That I dare freely hazard ; and with pardon 
 To some unbribed vainglory if his majesty 
 Shall taste a change of fate, his liberty 
 Shall meet no articles. If I fall, falling 
 So bravely, I refer me to his pleasure 
 Without condition ; and for this dear favour, 
 Say, if not countermanded, I will cease 
 Hostility, unless provoked. 
 
 March. This answer 
 
 We shall relate impartially. 
 
 Dur. With favour, 
 
 Pray have a little patience. \Aside to SURREY] Sir, you 
 
 find 
 
 By these gay flourishes how wearied travail 
 Inclines a willing rest ; here's but a prologue, 
 However confidently uttered, meant 
 For some ensuing acts of peace : consider 
 The time of year, unseasonableness of weather, 
 Charge, barrenness of profit ; and occasion 
 Presents itself for honourable treaty, 
 Which we may make good use of. I will back, 
 As sent from you, in point of noble gratitude 
 Unto King James, with these his heralds : you 
 Shall shortly hear from me, my lord, for order 
 Of breathing or proceeding ; and King Henry, 
 Doubt not, will thank the service. 
 
 Sur. {Aside to DURHAM] To your wisdom, 
 
 Lord Bishop, I refer it. 
 
 Dur. [ Aside to SURREY] Be it so, then. 
 
 Sur. Heralds, accept this chain and these few crowns. 
 
 March. Our duty, noble general. 
 
 Dur. In part 
 
 Of retribution for such princely love, 
 My lord the general is pleased to show 
 The king your master his sincerest zeal, 
 By further treaty, by no common man : 
 I will myself return with you.
 
 438 PERKIN WARBECK. [ACT iv. 
 
 Sur. Y' oblige 
 
 My faithfullest affections t'ye, Lord Bishop. 
 
 March. All happiness attend your lordship ! 
 
 [Exit with Herald. 
 
 Sur. Come, friends 
 
 And fellow-soldiers ; we, I doubt, shall meet 
 No enemies but woods and hills to fight with ; 
 Then 'twere as good to feed and sleep at home : 
 We may be free from danger, not secure. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. The Scottish Camp. 
 
 Enter PERKIN WARBECK and FRION. 
 
 War. Frion, O, Frion, all my hopes of glory 
 Are at a stand ! the Scottish king grows dull, 
 Frosty, and wayward, since this Spanish agent 
 Hath mixed discourses with him ; they are private. 
 I am not called to council now : confusion 
 On all his crafty shrugs ! I feel the fabric 
 Of my designs are tottering. 
 
 Fri. Henry's policies 
 
 Stir with too many engines. 
 
 War. Let his mines, 
 
 Shaped in the bowels of the earth, blow up 
 Works raised for my defence, yet can they never 
 Toss into air the freedom of my birth, 
 Or disavow my blood Plantagenet's : 
 I am my father's son still. But, O, Frion, 
 When I bring into count with my disasters 
 My wife's compartnership, my Kate's, my life's, 
 Then, then my frailty feels an earthquake. Mischief 
 Damn Henry's plots ! I will be England's king, 
 Or let my aunt of Burgundy report 
 My fall in the attempt deserved our ancestors 1
 
 SCENE II.] PERKIN WARBECK. 439 
 
 Fri. You grow too wild in passion : if you will 
 Appear a prince indeed, confine your will 
 To moderation. 
 
 War. What a saucy rudeness 
 
 Prompts this distrust! If? If I will appear! 
 Appear a prince ! death throttle such deceits 
 Even in their birth of utterance ! cursed cozenage 
 Of trust ! Ye make me mad : 'twere best, it seems, 
 That I should turn impostor to myself, 
 Be mine own counterfeit, belie the truth 
 Of my dear mother's womb, the sacred bed 
 Of a prince murdered and a living baffled ! 
 
 Fri. Nay, if you have no ears to hear, I have 
 No breath to spend in vain. 
 
 War. Sir, sir, take heed ! 
 
 Gold and the promise of promotion rarely 
 Fail in temptation. 
 
 Fri. Why to me this ? 
 
 War. Nothing. 
 
 Speak what you will ; we are not sunk so low 
 But your advice may piece again the heart 
 Which many cares have broken : you were wont 
 In all extremities to talk of comfort ; 
 Have ye none left now? I'll not interrupt ye. 
 Good, bear with my distractions ! If King James 
 Deny us dwelling here, next whither must I ? 
 I prithee, be not angry. 
 
 Fri. Sir, I told ye 
 
 Of letters come from Ireland ; how the Cornish 
 Stomach their last defeat, and humbly sue 
 That with such forces as you could partake 
 You would in person land in Cornwall, where 
 Thousands will entertain your title gladly. 
 
 War. Let me embrace thee, hug thee; thou'st re- 
 vived 
 
 My comforts ; if my cousin-king will fail, 
 Our cause will never.
 
 440 PERKIN WARBECK. [ACT iv. 
 
 Enter JOHN A- WATER, HERON, ASTLEY, 
 
 Welcome, my tried friends ! 
 You keep your brains awake in our defence. 
 Frion, advise with them of these affairs, 
 In which be wondrous secret ; I will listen 
 What else concerns us here : be quick and wary. [Exit. 
 
 Ast. Ah, sweet young prince! Secretary, my fellow- 
 counsellors and I have consulted, and jump all in one 
 opinion directly ; an if these Scotch garboils l do not fadge 
 to our minds, we will pell-mell run amongst the Cornish 
 choughs presently and in a trice. 
 
 Skel. 'Tis but going to sea and leaping ashore, cut ten 
 or twelve thousand unnecessary throats, fire seven or 
 eight towns, take half a dozen cities, get into the market- 
 place, crown him Richard the Fourth, and the business is 
 finished. 
 
 J. a- Wat. I grant ye, quoth I, so far forth as men may 
 do, no more than men may do ; for it is good to con- 
 sider when consideration may be to the purpose, other- 
 wise still you shall pardon me little said is soon 
 amended. 
 
 Fri. Then you conclude the Cornish action surest? 
 
 Her. We do so, and doubt not but to thrive abundantly. 
 Ho, my masters, had we known of the commotion when 
 we set sail out of Ireland, the land had been ours ere this 
 time. 
 
 Skel. Pish, pish ! 'tis but forbearing being an earl or a 
 duke a month or two longer. I say, and say it again, if 
 the work go not on apace, let me never see new fashion 
 more. I warrant ye, I warrant ye ; we will have it so, 
 and so it shall be. 
 
 Ast. This is but a cold phlegmatic country, not stirring 
 enough for men of spirit. Give me the heart of England 
 for my money ! 
 
 Skel. A man may batten there in a week only, with 
 hot loaves and butter, and a lusty cup of muscadine and 
 1 Tumults,
 
 SCENE in.] PERKIN WARBECK. 441 
 
 sugar at breakfast, though he make never a meal all the 
 month after. 
 
 J a- Wat. Surely, when I bore office I found by expe- 
 rience that to be much troublesome was to be much wise 
 and busy: ;I have observed how niching and bragging 
 has been the best service in these last wars ; and there- 
 fore conclude peremptorily on the design in England. 
 If things and things may fall out, as who can tell what or 
 how but the end will show it. 
 
 Fri. Resolved like men of judgment ! Here to linger 
 More time is but to lose it : cheer the prince 
 And haste him on to this ; on this depends 
 Fame in success, or glory in our ends. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. Another part of the same. 
 Enter King JAMES, the Bishop of DURHAM, and HIALAS. 
 
 Hial. France, Spain, and Germany combine a league 
 Of amity with England : nothing wants 
 For settling peace through Christendom,' but love 
 Between the British monarchs, James and Henry. 
 
 Dur. The English merchants, sir, have been received 
 With general procession into Antwerp ; 
 The emperor confirms the combination. 
 
 Hial. The king of Spain resolves a marriage 
 For Katherine his daughter with Prince Arthur. 
 
 Dur. France courts this early contract. 
 
 Hial. What can hinder 
 
 A quietness in England ? 
 
 Dur. But your suffrage 
 
 To such a silly creature, mighty sir, 
 As is but in effect an apparition, 
 A shadow, a mere trifle ? 
 
 Hial. To this union 
 
 The good of both the church and commonwealth 
 Invite ye.
 
 442 PERKIN WARBECK. [ACT iv. 
 
 Dur. To this unity, a mystery 
 Of providence points out a greater blessing 
 For both these nations than our human reason 
 Can search into. King Henry hath a daughter, 
 The Princess Margaret ; I need not urge 
 What honour, what felicity can follow 
 On such affinity 'twixt two Christian kings 
 Inleagued by ties of blood ; but sure I am, 
 If you, sir, ratify the peace proposed, 
 I dare both motion and effect this marriage 
 For weal of both the kingdoms. 
 
 K. Ja. Dar'st thou, lord bishop ? 
 
 Dur. Put it to trial, royal James, by sending 
 Some noble personage to the English court 
 By way of embassy. 
 
 Hial. Part of the business 
 
 Shall suit my mediation. 
 
 K. Ja. Well; what Heaven 
 
 Hath pointed out to be, must be : you two 
 Are ministers, I hope, of blessed fate. 
 But herein only I will stand acquitted, 
 No blood of innocents shall buy my peace : 
 For Warbeck, as you nick him, came to me, 
 Commended by the states of Christendom, 
 A prince, though in distress ; his fair demeanour, 
 Lovely behaviour, unappalled spirit, 
 Spoke him not base in blood, however clouded. 
 The brute beasts have both rocks and caves to fly to, 
 And men the altars of the church ; to us 
 He came for refuge : kings come near in nature 
 Unto the gods in being touched with pity. 
 Yet, noble friends, his mixture with our blood, 
 Even with our own, shall no way interrupt 
 A general peace ; only I will dismiss him 
 From my protection, throughout my dominions, 
 In safety; but not ever to return. 
 
 Hial, You are a just king.
 
 SCENE in.] PERKIN WARBECK. 443 
 
 Dur. Wise, and herein happy. 
 
 K. Ja. Nor will we dally in affairs of weight : 
 Huntley, lord bishop, shall with you to England 
 Ambassador from us : we will throw down 
 Our weapons ; peace on all sides ! Now repair 
 Unto our council ; we will soon be with you. 
 
 Hial. Delay shall question no dispatch ; Heaven crown 
 it. \Exeimt Bishop of DURHAM and HIALAS. 
 
 K. Ja. A league with Ferdinand ! a marriage 
 With English Margaret ! a free release 
 From restitution for the late affronts ! 
 Cessation from hostility ! and all 
 For Warbeck, not delivered, but dismissed ! 
 We could not wish it better. Dalyell ! 
 
 Enter Lord DALYELL. 
 
 Dal. Here sir. 
 
 K. Ja. Are Huntley and his daughter sent for ? 
 
 Dal. Sent for 
 
 And come, my lord. 
 
 K. Ja. Say to the English prince, 
 
 We want his company. 
 
 Dal. He is at hand, sir. 
 
 Enter PERKIN WARBECK, Lady KATHERINE, JANE, FRION, 
 HERON, SKELTON, JOHN A- WATER, and ASTLEY. 
 
 K. Ja. Cousin, our bounty, favours, gentleness, 
 Our benefits, the hazard of our person, 
 Our people's lives, our land, hath evidenced 
 How much we have engaged on your behalf : 
 How trivial and how dangerous our hopes 
 Appear, how fruitless our attempts in war, 
 How^windy, rather smoky, your assurance 
 Of party shows, we might in vain repeat : 
 But now obedience to the mother church, 
 A father's care upon his country's weal, 
 The dignity of state, direct our wisdom
 
 444 PERKIN WARBECK. [ACT iv. 
 
 To seal an oath of peace through Christendom ; 
 To which we're sworn already : it is you 
 Must only seek new fortunes in the world, 
 And find an harbour elsewhere. As I promised 
 On your arrival, you have met no usage 
 Deserves repentance in your being here ; 
 But yet I must live master of mine own : 
 However, what is necessary for you 
 At your departure, I am well content 
 You be accommodated with, provided 
 Delay prove not my enemy. 
 
 War. It shall not 
 
 Most glorious prince. The fame of my designs 
 Soars higher than report of ease and sloth 
 Can aim at : I acknowledge all your favours 
 Boundless and singular; am only wretched 
 In words as well as means to thank the grace 
 That flowed so liberally. Two empires firmly 
 You're lord of, Scotland and Duke Richard's heart : 
 My claim to mine inheritance shall sooner 
 Fail than my life to serve you, best of kings ; 
 And, witness Edward's blood in me ! I am 
 More loth to part with such a great example 
 Of virtue than all other mere respects. 
 But, sir, my last suit is, you will not force 
 From me what you have given, this chaste lady, 
 Resolved on all extremes. 
 
 Kath. I am your wife ; 
 
 No human power can or shall divorce 
 My faith from duty. 
 
 War. Such another treasuie 
 
 The earth is bankrupt of. 
 
 K. Ja. I gave her, cousin, 
 
 And must avow the gift ; will add withal 
 A furniture becoming her high birth 
 And unsuspected constancy ; provide 
 For your attendance : we will part good friends. 
 
 with Lord DALYELL
 
 SCENE in.] PERKIN WARBECK. 445 
 
 War. The Tudor hath been cunning in his plots : 
 His Fox of Durham would not fail at last. 
 But what? our cause and courage are our own : 
 Be men, my friends, and let our cousin-king 
 See how we follow fate as willingly 
 As malice follows us. Ye're all resolved 
 For the west parts of England ? 
 
 All. Cornwall, Cornwall ! 
 
 Fri. The inhabitants expect you daily. 
 
 War. Cheerfully 
 
 Draw all our ships out of the harbour, friends ; 
 Our time of stay doth seem too long, we must 
 Prevent intelligence ; about it suddenly. 
 
 AIL A prince, a prince, a prince ! 
 
 [Exeunt HERON, SKELTON, ASTLEY, and JOHN 
 A- WATER. 
 
 War. Dearest, admit not into thy pure thoughts 
 The least of scruples, which may charge their softness 
 With burden of distrust. Should I prove wanting 
 To noblest courage now, here were the trial : 
 But I am perfect, sweet ; I fear no change, 
 More than thy being partner in my sufferance. 
 
 Kath. My fortunes, sir, have armed me to encounter 
 What chance soe'er they meet with. Jane, 'tis fit 
 Thou stay behind, for whither wilt thou wander ? 
 
 Jane. Never till death will I forsake my mistress, 
 Nor then in wishing to die with ye gladly. 
 
 Kath. Alas, good soul ! 
 
 Fri. Sir, to your aunt of Burgundy 
 
 I will relate your present undertakings : 
 From her expect on all occasions welcome. 
 You cannot find me idle in your services. 
 
 War. Go, Frion, go : wise men know how to soothe 
 Adversity, not serve it : thou hast waited 
 Too long on expectation ; never yet 
 Was any nation read of so besotted 
 In reason as t' adore the setting sun.
 
 446 PERKIN WARE EC K. [ACT iv. 
 
 Fly to the archduke's court ; say to the duchess, 
 
 Her nephew, with fair Katherine his wife, 
 
 Are on their expectation to begin 
 
 The raising of an empire : if they fail, 
 
 Yet the report will never. Farewell, Frion ! 
 
 [Exit FRION. 
 
 This man, Kate, has been true, though now of late 
 I fear too much familiar with the Fox. 
 
 Re-enter Lord DALYELL with the Earl of HUNTLEY. 
 
 Hunt. I come to take my leave : you need not 
 
 doubt 
 
 My interest in this sometime child of mine ; 
 She's all yours now, good sir. O, poor lost creature, 
 Heaven guard thee with much patience ! if thou canst 
 Forget thy title to old Huntley's family, 
 As much of peace will settle in thy mind 
 As thou canst wish to taste but in thy grave. 
 Accept my tears yet, prithee ; they are tokens 
 Of charity as true as of affection. 
 
 Kath. This is the cruell'st farewell ! 
 
 Hunt. Love, young gentleman, 
 
 This model of my griefs ; she calls you husband ; 
 Then be not jealous of a parting kiss, 
 It is a father's, not a lover's offering ; 
 Take it, my last \Kisses her\. I am too much a child. 
 Exchange of passion is to little use, 
 So I should grow too foolish : goodness guide thee ! 
 
 \Exit. 
 
 Kath. Most miserable daughter ! Have you aught 
 To add, sir, to our sorrows ? 
 
 Dal. I resolve, 
 
 Fair lady, with your leave, to wait on all 
 Your fortunes in my person, if your lord 
 Vouchsafe me entertainment. 
 
 War. We will be bosom-friends, most noble 
 Dalyell;
 
 SCENE IV.] PERKIN WARBECK. 447 
 
 For I accept this tender of your love 
 
 Beyond ability of thanks to speak it. 
 
 Clear thy drowned eyes, my fairest : time and industry 
 
 Will show us better days, or end the worst. \Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IN .The Palace at Westminster. 
 Enter Earl of OXFORD and Lord DAWBENEY. 
 
 Oxf. No news from Scotland yet, my lord ? 
 
 Daw. Not any 
 
 But what King Henry knows himself : I thought 
 Our armies should have marched that way ; his mind, 
 It seems, is altered. 
 
 Oxf. Victory attends 
 
 His standard everywhere. 
 
 Daw. Wise princes, Oxford, 
 
 Fight not alone with forces. Providence 
 Directs and tutors strength ; else elephants 
 And barbed horses might as well prevail 
 As the most subtle stratagems of war. 
 
 Oxf. The Scottish king showed more than common 
 
 bravery 
 
 In proffer of a combat hand to hand 
 With Surrey. 
 
 Daw. And but showed it : northern bloods 
 
 Are gallant being fired ; but the cold climate, 
 Without good store of fuel, quickly freezeth 
 The glowing flames. 
 
 Oxf. Surrey, upon my life, 
 
 Would not have shrunk an hair's-breadth. 
 
 Daw. May he forfeit 
 
 The honour of an English name and nature, 
 Who would not have embraced it with a greediness 
 As violent as hunger runs to food ! 
 'Twas an addition any worthy spirit
 
 448 PERKIN WARBECK. [ACT IV. 
 
 Would covet, next to immortality, 
 
 Above all joys of life : we all missed shares 
 
 In that great opportunity. 
 
 Enter King HENRY, in close conversation with URSWICK. 
 
 Oxf. The king ! 
 
 See, he comes smiling. 
 
 Daw. O, the game runs smooth 
 
 On his side, then, believe it : cards well shuffled 
 And dealt with cunning bring some gamester thrift, 
 But others must rise losers. 
 
 K. Hen. The train takes ? 
 
 Urs. Most prosperously. 
 
 K. Hen. I knew it should not miss. 
 
 He fondly angles who will hurl his bait 
 Into the water 'cause the fish at first 
 Plays round about the line and dares not bite. 
 Lords, we may reign your king yet : Dawbeney, Oxford, 
 Urswick, must Perkin wear the crown ? 
 
 Daw. A slave ! 
 
 Oxf. A vagabond ! 
 
 Urs. A glow-worm ! 
 
 K. Hen. Now, if Frion, 
 
 His practised politician, wear a brain 
 Of proof, King Perkin will in progress ride 
 Through all his large dominions ; let us meet him, 
 And tender homage : ha, sirs ! liegemen ought 
 To pay their fealty. 
 
 Daw. Would the rascal were, 
 
 With all his rabble, within twenty miles 
 Of London ! 
 
 K. Hen. Farther off is near enough 
 To lodge him in his home : I'll wager odds, 
 Surrey and all his men are either idle 
 Or hasting back ; they have not work, I doubt, 
 To keep them busy. 
 
 Daw. 'Tis a strange conceit, sir.
 
 SCENE iv.] PERKIN WARBECK. 449 
 
 K. Hen. Such voluntary favours as our people 
 In duty aid us with, we never scattered 
 On cobweb parasites, or lavished out 
 In riot or a needless hospitality : 
 No undeserving favourite doth boast 
 His issues from our treasury ; our charge 
 Flows through all Europe, proving us but steward 
 Of every contribution which provides 
 Against the creeping canker of disturbance. 
 Is it not rare, then, in this toil of state 
 Wherein we are embarked, with breach of sleep, 
 Cares, and the noise of trouble, that our mercy 
 Returns nor thanks nor comfort ? Still the West 
 Murmur and threaten innovation, 
 Whisper our government tyrannical, 
 Deny us what is ours, nay, spurn their lives, 
 Of which they are but owners by our gift : 
 It must not be. 
 
 Oxf, It must not, should not. 
 
 Enter Messenger with a packet. 
 
 K. Hen. So then 
 
 To whom ? 
 
 Mess. This packet to your sacred majesty. 
 
 jK. Hen. Sirrah, attend without. \Exit Messenger. 
 
 Oxf. News from the North, upon my life. 
 
 Daw. Wise Henry 
 
 Divines aforehand of events ; with him 
 Attempts and executions are one act. 
 
 K. Hen. Urswick, thine ear : Frion is caught ; the 
 
 man 
 
 Of cunning is outreached ; we must be safe. 
 Should reverend Morton, our archbishop, move 
 To a translation higher yet, I tell thee 
 My Durham owns a brain deserves that see; 
 He's nimble in his industry, and mounting 
 Thou hear'st me ? 
 
 Ford. G G
 
 450 PERKIN WARBECK. [ACT iv. 
 
 Urs. And conceive your highness fitly. 
 
 K. Hen. Dawbeney and Oxford, since our army stands 
 Entire, it were a weakness to admit 
 The rust of laziness to eat amongst them : 
 Set forward toward Salisbury; the plains 
 Are most commodious for their exercise. 
 Ourself will take a muster of them there ; 
 And or disband them with reward, or else 
 Dispose as best concerns us. 
 
 Daw . Salisbury ! 
 
 Sir, all is peace at Salisbury. 
 
 K. Hen. Dear friend, 
 
 The charge must be our own ; we would a little 
 Partake the pleasure with our subjects' ease. 
 Shall I entreat your loves ? 
 
 Oxf. Command our lives. 
 
 K. Hen. Ye're men know how to do, not to forethink. 
 My bishop is a jewel tried and perfect ; 
 A je\\ el, lords. The post who brought these letters 
 Must speed another to the Mayor of Exeter ; 
 Urswiek, dismiss him not. 
 
 Ur<>. He waits your pleasure. 
 
 K. Hen. Perkin a king ? a king ! 
 
 Urs, My gracious lord, 
 
 K. Hen. Thoughts busied in the sphere of royalty 
 Fix not on creeping worms without their stings, 
 Mere excrements of earth. The use of time 
 Is thriving safety, and a wise prevention 
 Of ills expected. We're resolved for Salisbury. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. The Coast of Cornwall. 
 A general stwut within. Enter PERKIN WARBECK, Lord 
 
 DALYELL, Lady KATHERINE, and JANE. 
 War. After so many storms as wind and seas
 
 SCENE v.] PERKIN WARBECK. 451 
 
 Have threatened to our weather-beaten ships, 
 
 At last, sweet fairest, we are safe arrived 
 
 On our dear mother earth, ingrateful only 
 
 To heaven and us in yielding sustenance 
 
 To sly usurpers of our throne and right. 
 
 These general acclamations are an omen 
 
 Of happy process to their welcome lord : 
 
 They flock in troops, and from all parts with wings 
 
 Of duty fly to lay their hearts before us. 
 
 Unequalled pattern of a matchless wife, 
 
 How fares my dearest yet ? 
 
 Kath, Confirmed in health, 
 
 By which I may the better undergo 
 The roughest face of change ; but I shall learn 
 Patience to hope, since silence courts affliction, 
 For comforts, to this truly noble gentleman, 
 Rare unexampled pattern of a friend ! 
 And my beloved Jane, the willing follower 
 Of all misfortunes. 
 
 Dal, Lady, I return 
 
 But barren crops of early protestations, 
 Frost-bitten in the spring of fruitless hopes. 
 
 June, I wait but as the shadow to the body ; 
 For madam, without you let me be nothing. 
 
 War. None talk of sadness we are on the way 
 Which leads to victory : keep cowards thoughts 
 With desperate sullenness ! The lion faints not 
 Locked in a grate, but loose disdains all force 
 Which bars his prey, and we are lion-hearted, 
 Or else no king of beasts. \Another general shout within.'] 
 
 Hark, how they shout, 
 Triumphant in our cause ! bold confidence 
 Marches on bravely, cannot quake at danger. 
 
 Enter SKELTON. 
 
 Skel. Save King Richard the Fourth ! save thee, king 
 of hearts ! The Cornish blades are men of mettle ; have
 
 452 PERKIN WARBECK. [ACT iv. 
 
 proclaimed, through Bodmin and the whole county, my 
 sweet prince Monarch of England: four thousand tall 
 yeomen, with bow and sword, already vow to live and 
 die at the foot of King Richard, 
 
 Enter ASTLEY. 
 
 Ast. The mayor, our fellow-counsellor, is servant for 
 an emperor. Exeter is appointed for the rendezvous, 
 and nothing wants to victory but courage and resolution. 
 Sigillatum et datum decimo Septembris, anno regni regis 
 primo, et ctztera ; confirmatum est. All's cock-sure, 
 
 War. To Exeter ! to Exeter, march on ! 
 Commend us to our people : we in person 
 Will lend them double spirits ; tell them so. 
 
 Skel. and Ast. King Richard, King Richard ! 
 
 {Exeunt K. ELTON and ASTLEY. 
 
 War. A thousand blessings guard our lawful arms ! 
 A thousand horrors pierce our enemies' souls ! 
 Pale fear unedge their weapons' sharpest points ! 
 And when they draw their arrows to the head, 
 Numbness shall strike their sinews ! Such advantage 
 Hath Majesty in its pursuit of justice, 
 That on the proppers-up of Truth's old throne 
 It both enlightens counsel and gives heart 
 To execution ; whiles the throats of traitors 
 Lie bare before our mercy. O, divinity 
 Of royal birth ! how it strikes dumb the tongues 
 Whose prodigality of breath is bribed 
 By trains to greatness ! Princes are but men 
 Distinguished in the fineness of their frailty, 
 Yet not so gross in beauty of the mind ; 
 For there's a fire more sacred purifies 
 The dross of mixture. Herein stand the odds, 
 Subjects are men on earth, kings men and gods. 
 
 \Exeunti
 
 ACT THE FIFTH. 
 
 SCENE I. St. Michael's Mount, Cornwall. 
 
 Enter Lady KATHERINE and JANE in riding-suits, with 
 one Servant. 
 
 ADY KATH. It is decreed; and we 
 
 must yield to fate, 
 Whose angry justice, though it threaten 
 
 ruin, 
 
 Contempt, and poverty, is all but trial 
 Of a weak woman's constancy in suffering. 
 Here, in a stranger's and an enemy's land, 
 Forsaken and unfurnished of all hopes 
 But such as wait on misery, I range, 
 To meet affliction wheresoe'er I tread. 
 My train and pomp of servants is reduced 
 To one kind gentlewoman and this groom. 
 Sweet Jane, now whither must we ? 
 
 Jane. To your ships, 
 
 Dear lady, and turn home. 
 
 Kath. Home ! I have none. 
 
 Fly thou to Scotland ; thou hast friends will weep 
 For joy to bid thee welcome ; but, O, Jane, 
 My Jane ! my friends are desperate of comfort, 
 As I must be of them : the common charity, 
 Good people's alms and prayers of the gentle, 
 Is the revenue must support my state. 
 As for my native country, since it once 
 Saw me a princess in the height of greatness
 
 454 PERKIN WARBECK. [ACT v. 
 
 My birth allowed me, here I make a vow 
 Scotland shall never see me being fall'n 
 Or lessened in my fortunes. Never, Jane, 
 Never to Scotland more will I return. 
 Could I be England's queen, a glory, Jane, 
 I never fawned on, yet the king who gave me 
 Hath sent me with my husband from his presence, 
 Delivered us suspected to his nation, 
 Rendered us spectacles to time and pity ; 
 And is it fit I should return to such 
 As only listen after our descent 
 From happiness enjoyed to misery 
 Expected, though uncertain ? Never, never ! 
 Alas, why dost thou weep ? and that poor creature 
 Wipe his wet cheeks too ? let me feel alone 
 Extremities, who know to give them harbour ; 
 Nor thou nor he has cause : you may live safely. 
 
 Jane. There is no safety whiles your dangers, madam, 
 Are every way apparent. 
 
 Serv. Pardon, lady, 
 
 I cannot choose but show my honest heart ; 
 You were ever my good lady. 
 
 Kath. O, dear souls, 
 
 Your shares in grief are too-too much ! 
 
 Enter Lord DALYELL. 
 
 Dal. I bring, 
 
 Fair princess, news of further sadness yet 
 Than your sweet youth hath been acquainted with. 
 
 Kath. Not more, my lord, than I can welcome : speak 
 
 it; 
 The worst, the worst I look for. 
 
 Dal. All the Cornish 
 
 At Exeter were by the citizens 
 Repulsed, encountered by the Earl of Devonshire 
 And other worthy gentlemen of the country. 
 Your husband marched to Taunton, and was there
 
 SCENE I.] PERKIN WARBECK. 455 
 
 Affronted l by King Henry's chamberlain ; 
 
 The king himself in person with his army 
 
 Advancing nearer, to renew the fight 
 
 On all occasions : but the night before 
 
 The battles were to join, your husband privately, 
 
 Accompanied with some few horse, departed 
 
 From out the camp, and posted none knows whither. 
 
 Kath. Fled without battle given ? 
 
 Dal Fled, but followed 
 
 By Dawbeney ; all his parties left to taste 
 King Henry's mercy, for to that they yielded, 
 Victorious without bloodshed. 
 
 Kath. O, my sorrows ! 
 
 If both our lives had proved the sacrifice 
 To Henry's tyranny, we had fall'n like princes, 
 And robbed him of the glory of his pride. 
 
 Dal. Impute it not to faintness or to weakness 
 Of noble courage, lady, but to foresight ; 
 For by some secret friend he had intelligence 
 Of being bought and sold by his base followers. 
 Worse yet remains untold. 
 
 Kath. No, no, it cannot. 
 
 Dal. I fear you are betrayed : the Earl of Oxford 
 Runs hot in your pursuit. 2 
 
 Kath. He shall not need ; 
 
 We'll run as hot in resolution gladly 
 To make the earl our jailor. 
 
 Jane. Madam, madam, 
 
 They come, they come ! 
 
 Enter Earl of OXFORD with his Followers. 
 
 Dal. Keep back ! or he who dares 
 
 Rudely to violate the law of honour 
 
 1 Confronted. 
 
 2 " There were also sent with all speed some horse to St. 
 Michael's Mount in Cornwall, where the Lady Katherine Gordon 
 was left by her husband, whom in all fortunes she entiiely loved, 
 adding the virtues of a wife to the virtues of her sex." Bacon.
 
 456 PERKIN WARBECK. [ACT v 
 
 Runs on my sword. 
 
 Kath. Most noble sir, forbear. 
 
 What reason draws you hither, gentlemen ? 
 Whom seek ye? 
 
 Oxf. All stand off ! With favour, lady, 
 
 From Henry, England's king, I would present 
 Unto the beauteous princess, Katherine Gordon, 
 The tender of a gracious entertainment. 
 
 Kath. We are that princess, whom your master-king 
 Pursues with reaching arms to draw into 
 His power : let him use his tyranny, 
 We shall not be his subject. 
 
 Oxf. My commission 
 
 Extends no further, excellentest lady, 
 Than to a service ; 'tis King Henry's pleasure 
 That you, and all that have relation t'ye, 
 Be guarded as becomes your birth and greatness ; 
 For, rest assured, sweet princess, that not aught 
 Of what you do call yours shall find disturbance, 
 Or any welcome other than what suits 
 Your high condition. 
 
 Kath. By what title, sir, 
 
 May I acknowledge you ? 
 
 Oxf. Your servant, lady, 
 
 Descended from the line of Oxford's earls, 
 Inherits what his ancestors before him 
 Were owners of. 
 
 Kath. Your king is herein royal, 
 
 That by a peer so ancient in desert 
 As well as blood commands us to his presence. 
 
 Oxf. Invites ye, princess, not commands. 
 
 Kath. Pray use 
 
 Your own phrase as you list : to your protection 
 Both I and mine submit. 
 
 Oxf. There's in your number 
 
 A nobleman whom fame hath bravely spoken. 
 To him the king my master bade me say
 
 SCENE ii.] PERKIN WARBECK. 457 
 
 How willingly he courts his friendship ; far 
 From an enforcement, more than what in terms 
 Of courtesy so great a prince may hope for. 
 
 Dal. My name is Dalyell. 
 
 Ox/. "Pis a name hath won 
 
 Both thanks and wonder from report, my lord : 
 The court of England emulates your merit, 
 And covets to embrace you. 
 
 Dal. I must wait on 
 
 The princess in her fortunes. 
 
 Ox/. Will you please, 
 
 Great lady, to set forward ? 
 
 Kath. Being driven 
 
 By fate, it were in vain to strive with Heaven. {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE \\.-Salisbury. 
 
 Enter King HENRY, Earl of SURREY, URSWICK, and a 
 guard of Soldiers. 
 
 K. Hen. The counterfeit, King Perkin, is escaped : 
 Escaped ! so let him ; he is hedged too fast 
 Within the circuit of our English pale 
 To steal out of our ports, or leap the walls 
 Which guard our land ; the seas are rough and wider 
 Than his weak arms can tug with. Surrey, henceforth 
 Your king may reign in quiet ; turmoils past, 
 Like some unquiet dream, have rather busied 
 Our fancy than affrighted rest of state. 
 But, Surrey, why, in articling a peace 
 With James of Scotland, was not restitution 
 Of losses which our subjects did sustain 
 By the Scotch inroads questioned ? 
 
 Sur. Both demanded 
 
 And urged, my lord ; to which the king replied, 
 In modest merriment, but smiling earnest,
 
 458 PERKIN WARBECK. [ACT v. 
 
 How that our master Henry was much abler 
 To bear the detriments than he repay them. 
 
 K. Hen. The young man, I believe, spake honest truth ; 
 He studies to be wise betimes. Has, Urswick, 
 Sir Rice ap Thomas, and Lord Brook our steward, 
 Returned the Western gentlemen full thanks 
 From us for their tried loyalties ? 
 
 Urs. They have ; 
 
 Which, as if health and life had reigned amongst 'em, 
 With open hearts they joyfully received. 
 
 K. Hen. Young Buckingham is a fair-natured prince, 
 Lovely in hopes, and worthy of his father ; 
 Attended by an hundred knights and squires 
 Of special name he tendered humble service, 
 Which we must ne'er forget : and Devonshire's wounds, 
 Though slight, shall find sound cure in our respect. 
 
 Enter Lord DAWBENEY with a Guard, leading in PERKIN 
 WARBECK, HERON, JOHN A- WATER, ASTLEY, and 
 SKELTON, chained. 
 
 Daw. Life to the king, and safety fix his throne ! 
 I here present you, royal sir, a shadow 
 Of majesty, but in effect a substance 
 Of pity , a young man, in nothing grown 
 To ripeness but the ambition of your mercy, 
 Perkin, the Christian world's strange wonder. 
 
 K. Hen. Dawbeney, 
 
 We observe no wonder : I behold, 'tis true, 
 An ornament of nature, fine and polished, 
 A handsome youth indeed, but not admire him. 
 How came he to thy hands ? 
 
 Daw. From sanctuary 
 
 At Bewley, near Southampton ; registered, 
 With these few followers, for persons privileged. 
 
 K. Hen. I must not thank you, sir; you were to blame 
 T' infringe the liberty of houses sacred : 
 Dare we be irreligious ?
 
 SCENE ii.] PERKIN WARBECK. 459 
 
 Dam. Gracious lord, 
 
 They voluntarily resigned themselves 
 Without compulsion. 
 
 K. Hen. So ? 'twas very well ; 
 
 'Twas very, very well. Turn now thine eyes, 
 Young man, upon thyself and thy past actions ; 
 What revels in combustion through our kingdom 
 A frenzy of aspiring youth hath danced, 
 Till, wanting breath, thy feet of pride have slipt 
 To break thy neck ! 
 
 War. But not my heart ; my heart 
 
 Will mount till every drop of blood be frozen 
 By death's perpetual winter : if the sun 
 Of majesty be darkened, let the sun 
 Of life be hid from me in an eclipse 
 Lasting and universal. Sir, remember 
 There was a shooting-in of light when Richmond, 
 Not aiming at a crown, retired, and gladly, 
 For comfort to the Duke of Bretaine's court. 
 Richard, who swayed the sceptre, was reputed 
 A tyrant then ; yet then a dawning glimmered 
 To some few wandering remnants, promising day 
 When first they ventured on a frightful shore 
 At Milford Haven ; 
 
 Daw. Whither speeds his boldness ? 
 
 Check his rude tongue, great sir. 
 
 K. Hen. O, let him range : 
 
 The player's on the stage still, 'tis his part ; 
 He does but act. What followed ? 
 
 War. Bosworth Field ; 
 
 Where, at an instant, to the world's amazement, 
 A morn to Richmond, and a night to Richard, 
 Appeared at once : the tale is soon applied ; 
 Fate, which crowned these attempts when least assured, 
 Might have befriended others like resolved. 
 K. Hen. A pretty gallant ! Thus your aunt of Bur- 
 gundy,
 
 460 PERKIN WARS EC JT. [ACT V. 
 
 Your duchess-aunt, informed her nephew ; so, 
 
 The lesson prompted and well conned, was moulded 
 
 Into familiar dialogue, oft rehearsed, 
 
 Till, learnt by heart, 'tis now received for truth. 
 
 War. Truth, in her pure simplicity, wants art 
 To put a feigned blush on : scorn wears only 
 Such fashion as commends to gazers' eyes 
 Sad ulcerated novelty, far beneath 
 The sphere of majesty : in such a court 
 Wisdom and gravity are proper robes, 
 By which the sovereign is best distinguished 
 From zanies to his greatness. 
 
 K. Hen. Sirrah, shift 
 
 Your antic pageantry, and now appear 
 In your own nature, or you'll taste the danger 
 Of fooling out of season. 
 
 War. I expect 
 
 No less than what severity calls justice, 
 And politicians safety ; let such beg 
 As feed on alms : but if there can be mercy 
 In a protested enemy, then may it 
 Descend to these poor creatures, whose engagements, 
 To the bettering of their fortunes, have incurred 
 A loss of all ; to them if any charity 
 Flow from some noble orator, in death 
 I owe the fee of thankfulness. 
 
 K. Hen. So brave ! 
 
 What a bold knave is this ! Which of these rebels 
 Has been the Mayor of Cork ? 
 
 Daw. This wise formality. 
 
 Kneel to the king, ye rascals ! [ They kneel. 
 
 K. Hen. Canst thou hope 
 
 A pardon, where thy guilt is so apparent? 
 
 f. a- Wat. Under your good favours, as men are men, 
 they may err ; for I confess, respectively, in taking great 
 parts, the one side prevailing, the other side must go 
 down : herein the point is clear, if the proverb hold, that
 
 SCENE ii.] PERKIN WARBECK. 461 
 
 hanging goes by destiny, that it is to little purpose to 
 say, this thing or that shall be thus or thus ; for, as the 
 Fates will have it, so it must be ; and who can help it ? 
 
 Daw, 0, blockhead! thou a privy-counsellor? 
 Beg life, and cry aloud, "Heaven save King Henry!" 
 
 J, a- Wat, Every man knows what is best, as it hap- 
 pens ; for my own part, I believe it is true, if I be not 
 deceived, that kings must be kings and subjects subjects; 
 but which is which, you shall pardon me for that : whether 
 we speak or hold our peace, all are mortal ; no man 
 knows his end. 
 
 K. Hen. We trifle time with follies. 
 
 Her. John a- W. Ast. Skel. Mercy, mercy ! 
 
 K. Hen. Urswick, command the dukeling and these 
 fellows \They rise, 
 
 To Digby, the lieutenant of the Tower : 
 With safety let them be conveyed to London. 
 It is our pleasure no uncivil outrage, 
 Taunts or abuse be suffered to their persons ; 
 They shall meet fairer law than they deserve. 
 Time may restore their wits, whom vain ambition 
 Hath many years distracted. 
 
 War. Noble thoughts 
 
 Meet freedom in captivity : the Tower, 
 Our childhood's dreadful nursery ! 
 
 K. Hen, No more ! 
 
 Urs. Come, come, you shall have leisure to bethink ye. 
 [Exit URSWICK with PERKIN WARBECK and 
 his Followers, guarded. 
 
 K. Hen. Was ever so much impudence in forgery? 
 The custom, sure, of being styled a king 
 Hath fastened in his thought that he is such ; 
 But we shall teach the lad another language : 
 'Tis good we have him fast. 
 
 Daw. The hangman's physic 
 
 Will purge this saucy humour. 
 
 K. Hen. Very likely ;
 
 462 PKfCLY irARBECK. r\. 
 
 Yet we could temper mercy with extremity. 
 Being not too far provoked. 
 
 Enter Earl of OXFORD, Lady KATHERINE in her /. 
 attire^ Lord DALYI-'I.L, JANK, <///</ Attendants. 
 
 c : .x '. Great sir, be pleased, 
 
 With your accustomed grace to entertain 
 The Princess Katherine Gordon. 
 
 K. Hen. ( Oxford, herein 
 
 We must beshrew thy knowledge of our nature. 
 A lady of her birth and virtues could not 
 Have found us so unfurnished of good manners 
 As not, on notice given, to have met her 
 Halfway in point of love. Excuse, fair cousin. 
 The oversight: O, fie! you may not kneel ; 
 'Tis most unfitting : first, vouchsafe this welcome, 
 A welcome to your own ; for you shall find us 
 But guardian to your fortune and your honours. 
 
 Kath. My fortunes and mine honours are weak 
 
 champions, 
 
 As both are now befriended, sir : however, 
 Both bow before your clemency. 
 
 K. Hen. Our arms 
 
 Shall circle them from malice. A sweet lady ! 
 Beauty incomparable ! here lives majesty 
 At league with love. 
 
 Kath. O, sir, I have a husband. 
 
 K. Hen. We'll prove your father, husband, friend, and 
 
 servant, 
 
 Prove what you wish to grant us. Lords, be careful 
 A patent presently be drawn for issuing 
 A thousand pounds from our exchequer yearly 
 During our cousin's life. Our queen shall be 
 Your chief companion, our own court your home, 
 Our subjects all your servants. 
 
 Kath. But my husband ? 
 
 K. Hen. By all descriptions, you are noble Dalyell,
 
 SCENE in.] PERKIN WARBECK. 463 
 
 Whose generous truth hath famed a rare observance. 
 We thank ye ; 'tis a goodness gives addition 
 To every title boasted from your ancestry, 
 In all most worthy. 
 
 Dal, Worthier than your praises, 
 
 Right princely sir, I need not glory in. 
 
 K. Hen. Embrace him, lords. Whoever calls you 
 
 mistress 
 
 Is lifted in our charge. A goodlier beauty 
 Mine eyes yet ne'er encountered. 
 
 Kath. Cruel misery 
 
 Of fate ! what rests to hope for ? 
 
 K. Hen. Forward, lords, 
 
 To London. Fair, ere long I shall present ye 
 With a glad object, peace, and Huntley's blessjng. 
 
 \_Exfunt. 
 
 SCENE III. London: The-Tower-hill. 
 
 Enter Constable and Officers, PERKIN WARBECK, URS- 
 WICK, and LAMBERT SIMNEL as a Falconer, followed 
 by the rabble. 
 
 Const. Make room there ! keep off, I require ye ; and 
 none come within twelve foot of his majesty's new stocks, 
 upon pain of displeasure. Bring forward the malefactors. 
 Friend, you must to this gear, no remedy. Open the 
 hole, and in with his legs, just in the middle hole ; there, 
 that hole. [WARBECK is put in the stocks.] Keep off, or 
 I'll commit you all : shall not a man in authority be 
 obeyed ! So, so, there ; 'tis as it should be : put on the 
 padlock, and give me the key. Off, I say, keep off! 
 
 Urs. Yet, Warbeck, clear thy conscience : thou hast 
 
 tasted 
 
 King Henry's mercy liberally ; the law 
 Has forfeited thy life ; an equal jury
 
 464 PER KIN WARBECK. [ACT v. 
 
 Have doomed thee to the gallows ; twice most wickedly, 
 Most desperately, hast thou escaped the Tower, 
 Inveigling to thy party with thy witchcraft 
 Young Edward Earl of Warwick, son to Clarence, 
 Whose head must pay the price of that attempt ; 
 Poor gentleman, unhappy in his fate, 
 And ruined by thy cunning ! so a mongrel 
 May pluck the true stag down. Yet, yet. confess 
 Thy parentage ; for yet the king has mercy. 
 
 Sim. You would be Dick the Fourth ; very likely ! 
 Your pedigree is published ; * you are known 
 For Osbeck's son of Tournay, a loose runagate, 
 A landloper ;'- your father was a Jew, 
 Turned Christian merely to repair his miseries : 
 Where's now your kingship ? 
 
 War. Baited to my death ? 
 
 Intolerable cruelty ! I laugh at 
 The Duke of Richmond's practice on my fortunes : 
 Possession of a crown ne'er wanted heralds. 
 
 Sim. You will not know who I am ? 
 
 Urs. Lambert Simnel, 
 
 Your predecessor in a dangerous uproar ; 
 But, on submission, not alone received 
 To grace, but by the king vouchsafed his service. 
 
 Simn. I would be Earl of Warwick, toiled and ruffled 
 Against my master, leaped to catch the moon, 
 Vaunted my name Plantagenet, as you do ; 
 An earl, forsooth ! whenas in truth I was, 
 
 1 " Thus therefore it came to pass. There was a townsman of 
 Toumay . . . whose name was John Osbeck, a converted Jew, 
 married to Katherine de Faro, whose business drew him to live for 
 a time with his wife at London, in King Edward the IVth's days. 
 During which time he had a son by her; and being known in 
 court, the king . . . did him the honour as to be godfather to his 
 child, and named him Peter. But afterwards proving a dainty and 
 effeminate youth, he was commonly called by the diminutive of his 
 name, Peter-kin or Perkin." Bacon. 
 
 2 " He (Perkin) had been from his childhood such a wanderer, 
 or, as the king called it, such a landloper, as it was extreme hard 
 to hunt out his nest." Bacon.
 
 SCENE ill.] PERKIN WARBECK. 465 
 
 As you are, a mere rascal : yet his majesty, 
 
 A prince composed of sweetness, Heaven protect him ! 
 
 Forgave me all my villainies, reprieved 
 
 The sentence of a shameful end, admitted 
 
 My surety of obedience to his service, 
 
 And I am now his falconer ; live plenteously, 
 
 Eat from the king's purse, and enjoy the sweetness 
 
 Of liberty and favour ; sleep securely : 
 
 And is not this, now, better than to buffet 
 
 The hangman's clutches, or to brave the cordage 
 
 Of a tough halter which will break your neck ? 
 
 So, then, the gallant totters ! prithee, Perkin, 
 
 Let my example lead thee ; be no longer 
 
 A counterfeit ; confess, and hope for pardon. 
 
 War. For pardon ! hold, my heart-strings, whiles con- 
 Of injuries, in scorn, may bid defiance [tempt 
 
 To this base man's foul language ! Thou poor vermin, 
 How dar'st thou creep so near me ? thou an earl ! 
 Why, thou enjoy'st as much of happiness 
 As all the swing of slight ambition flew at. 
 A dunghill was thy cradle. So a puddle, 
 By virtue of the sunbeams, breathes a vapour 
 T' infect the purer air, which drops again 
 Into the muddy womb that first exhaled it. 
 Bread and a slavish ease, with some assurance 
 From the base beadle's whip, crowned all thy hopes : 
 But, sirrah, ran there in thy veins one drop 
 Of such a royal blood as f^ows in mine, 
 Thou wouldst not change condition, to be second 
 In England's state, without the crown itself. 
 Coarse creatures are incapable of excellence : 
 But let the world, as all to whom I am 
 This day a spectacle, to time deliver, 
 And by tradition fix posterity 
 Without another chronicle than truth, 
 How constantly my resolution suffered 
 A martyrdom of majesty. 
 
 Ford- H H
 
 466 EERKIN WARBECK. [ACT v. 
 
 Simn. He's past 
 
 Recovery ; a Bedlam cannot cure him. 
 
 Urs. Away, inform the king of his behaviour. 
 
 Simn. Perkin, beware the rope ! the hangman's coming. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Urs. If yet thou hast no pity of thy body, 
 Pity thy soul ! 
 
 Enter Lady KATHERINE, JANE, Lord DALYELL, and 
 Earl of OXFORD. 
 
 Jane. Dear lady ! 
 
 Oxf. Whither will ye, 
 
 Without respect of shame ? 
 
 Kath. Forbear me, sir, 
 
 And trouble not the current of my duty. 
 O, my loved lord ! can any scorn be yours 
 In which I have no interest Some kind hand 
 Lend me assistance, that I may partake 
 The infliction of this penance. My life's dearest, 
 Forgive me ; I have stayed too long from tendering 
 Attendance on reproach ; yet bid me welcome. 
 
 War. Great miracle of constancy ! my miseries 
 Were never bankrupt of their confidence 
 In worst afflictions, till this ; now I feel them. 
 Report and thy deserts, thou best of creatures, 
 Might to eternity have stood a pattern 
 For every virtuous wife without this conquest. 
 Thou hast outdone belief ; yet may their ruin 
 In after- marriages be never pitied, 
 To whom thy story shall appear a fable ! 
 Why wouldst thou prove so much unkind to greatness 
 To glorify thy vows by such a servitude ? 
 I cannot weep ; but trust me, dear, my heart 
 Is liberal of passion. Harry Richmond, 
 A woman's faith hath robbed thy fame of triumph 
 
 Oxf. Sirrah, leave-off your juggling, and tie up 
 The devil that ranges in your tongue.
 
 SCENE in.] PERKIN WARBECK. 46; 
 
 Urs. Thus witches, 
 
 Possessed, even to their deaths deluded, say 
 They have been wolves and dogs, and sailed in egg-shells 
 Over the sea, and rid on fiery dragons, 
 Passed in the air more than a thousand miles, 
 All in a night : the enemy of mankind 
 Is powerful, but false, and falsehood confident. 
 
 Oxf. Remember, lady, who you are ; come from 
 That impudent impostor. 
 
 Kath. You abuse us : 
 
 For when the holy churchman joined our hands, 
 Our vows were real then ; the ceremony 
 Was not in apparition, but in act. 
 Be what these people term thee, I am certain 
 Thou art my husband, no divorce in Heaven 
 Has been sued-out between us ; 'tis injustice 
 For any earthly power to divide us : 
 Or we will live or let us die together. 
 There is a cruel mercy. 
 
 War. Spite of tyranny 
 
 We reign in our affections, blessed woman ! 
 Read in my destiny the wreck of honour ; 
 Point out, in my contempt of death, to memory 
 Some miserable happiness ; since herein, 
 Even when I fell, I stood enthroned a monarch 
 Of one chaste wife's troth pure and uncorrupted. 
 Fair angel of perfection, immortality 
 Shall raise thy name up to an adoration, 
 Court every rich opinion of true merit, 
 And saint it in the calendar of Virtue, 
 When I am turned into the self-same dust 
 Of which I was first formed. 
 
 Oxf. The lord ambassador, 
 
 Huntley, your father, madam, should he look on 
 Your strange subjection in a gaze so public, 
 Would blush on your behalf, and wish his country 
 Unleft for entertainment to such sorrow.
 
 468 PERKIN WARBECK. [ACT v. 
 
 Kath. Why art thou angry, Oxford ? I must be 
 More peremptory in my duty. Sir, 
 Impute it not unto immodesty 
 That I presume to press you to a legacy 
 Before we part for ever. 
 
 War. Let it be, then, 
 
 My heart, the rich remains of all my fortunes. 
 
 Kath. Confirm it with a kiss, pray. 
 
 War. O, with that 
 
 I wish to breathe my last ! upon thy lips, 
 Those equal twins of comeliness, I seal 
 The testament of honourable vows : \Kisses her. 
 
 Whoever be that man that shall unkiss 
 This sacred print next, may he prove more thrifty 
 In this world's just applause, not more desertful ! 
 
 Kath. By this sweet pledge of both our souls, I swear 
 To die a faithful widow to thy bed ; 
 Not to be forced or won : O, never, never ! 
 
 Enter Earls of SURREY, HUNTLEY, and CRAWFORD, and 
 Lord DAWBENEY. 
 
 Daw. Free the condemned person ; quickly free him ! 
 What has he yet confessed ? 
 
 [PERKIN WARBECK is taken out of the stocks. 
 
 Urs. Nothing to purpose ; 
 
 But still he will be king. 
 
 Sur. Prepare your journey 
 
 To a new kingdom, then, unhappy madman, . 
 Wilfully foolish ! See, my lord ambassador, 
 Your lady daughter will not leave the counterfeit 
 In this disgrace of fate. 
 
 Hunt. I never pointed 
 
 Thy marriage, girl ; but yet, being married, 
 Enjoy thy duty to a husband freely. . 
 The griefs are mine. I glory in thy constancy ; 
 And must not say I wished that I had missed 
 Some partage in these trials of a patience. 
 
 Kath. You will forgive me, noble sir ?
 
 SCENE in.] PERKIN WARBECK. 469 
 
 Hunt. Yes, yes ; 
 
 In every duty of a wife and daughter 
 I dare not disavow thee. To your husband, 
 For such you are, sir, I impart a farewell 
 ( )f manly pity ; what your life has passed through, 
 The dangers of your end will make apparent ; 
 And I can add, for comfort to your sufferance, 
 No cordial, but the wonder of your frailty, 
 Which keeps so firm a station. We are parted. 
 
 ]\'ar. We are. A crown of peace renew thy age, 
 Most honourable Huntley ! Worthy Crawford ! 
 We may embrace; I never thought thee injury. 
 
 Craw. Nor was 1 ever guilty of neglect 
 Which might procure such thought. I take my leave, sir. 
 
 War. To you, Lord Dalyell, what ? accept a sigh, 
 'Tis hearty and in earnest. 
 
 Dal. I want utterance ; 
 
 My silence is my farewell. 
 
 Kath. O, O ! 
 
 Jane. Sweet madam, 
 
 What do you mean ? My lord, your hand. \To DALYELL. 
 
 Dal. Dear lady, 
 
 Be pleased that I may wait ye to your lodging. 1 
 
 \Exeunt Lord DALYELL and JANE, supporting 
 Lady KATHERINE. 
 
 1 Gifford quotes the following passage concerning her subsequent 
 history from Sir R. Gordon : " Shoe wes bi ought from St. 
 Michael's Mount in Cornuall, ane delyvered to King Henrie the 
 Seaventh, who intertayned her honorablie, and for her better 
 mantenance, according to her birth and vertue, did a-signe vnio her 
 good lands and rents for all the dayes of her lyff. After the death 
 of her husband Richard, shoe mareid Sir Mathie Cradock (a man 
 of great power at that tyme in Clamorganshyre in Wales), of the 
 which mariage is descended this William Earle of Pembroke, by 
 his grandmother, and had some lands by inheritance from the 
 Cradockes. Lady Katheren Gordon died in Wales, and was buried 
 in a chappell at one of the Earle of Pembrok his dwelling-places in 
 that cuntrey. The Englesh histories doe much commend her for 
 her beauty, comliness, and chastetie." And Bacon ends her story 
 thus : " The name of the White Rose, which had been given to 
 lur husband's false tiile, was continued in common speech to her 
 tiue beauiy." .
 
 470 PERKIN WARBECK. [ACT v. 
 
 Enter Sheriff and Officers with SKELTON, ASTLEY, HERON, 
 and JOHN A- WATER, with halters about their necks. 
 
 Oxf. Look ye ; behold your followers, appointed 
 To wait on ye in death ! 
 
 War. Why, peers of England, 
 
 We'll lead 'em on courageously : I read 
 A triumph over tyranny upon 
 Their several foreheads. Faint not in the moment 
 Of victory ! our ends, and Warwick's head, 
 Innocent Warwick's head, for we are prologue 
 But to his tragedy, conclude the wonder 
 Of Henry's fears ; and then the glorious race 
 Of fourteen kings, Plantagenets, determines 
 In this last issue male ; Heaven be obeyed ! 
 Impoverish time of its amazement, friends, 
 And we will prove as trusty in our payments 
 As prodigal to nature in our debts. 
 Death ? pish ! 'tis but a sound ; a name of air ; 
 A minute's storm, or not so much : to tumble 
 From bed to bed, be massacred alive 
 By some physicians, for a month or two, 
 In hope of freedom from a fever's torments, 
 Might stagger manhood ; here the pain is past 
 Ere sensibly 'tis felt. Be men of spirit ! 
 Spurn coward passion ! so illustrious mention 
 Shall blaze our names, and style us kings o'er Death. 
 
 Daw. Away, impostor beyond precedent ! 
 
 {Exeunt Sheriff and Officers with the Prisoners. 
 No chronicle records his fellow. 
 
 Hunt. I have 
 
 Not thoughts left : 'tis sufficient in such cases 
 Just laws ought to proceed. 
 
 :> % 
 
 Enter King HENRY, the Bishop of DURHAM, and 
 Hi ALAS. 
 
 K. Hen. We are resolved.
 
 SCKNE in.] PERKIN WARBECK. 
 
 47 i 
 
 Your business, noble lords, shall find success 
 Such as your king importunes. 
 
 Hunt. You are gracious. 
 
 K. If en. Perkin, we are informed, is armed to die ; 
 In that we'll honour him. Our lords shall follow 
 To see the execution ; and from hence 
 We gather this fit use, 1 that public states, 
 As our particular bodies, taste most good 
 In health when purged of corrupted blood. [Exeunt. 
 
 HF.RE has appeared, though in a several fashion, 
 The threats of majesty, the strength of passion, 
 Hopes of an empire, change of fortunes ; all 
 What can to theatres of greatness fall, 
 Proving their weak foundations. Who will please, 
 Amongst such several sights, to censure these 
 No births abortive, nor a bastard brood, 
 Shame to a parentage or fosterhood, 
 May warrant by their loves all just excuses, 
 And often find a welcome to the Muses. 
 
 1 The poet seems to apply this word in the puritanical sense (then 
 sufficiently familiar) of doctrinal or practical deduction. Gifford. 
 
 PKlMTtU BY J. 
 
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