THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 (S/Uu )UUl ,
 
 THE BEST 
 
 ELIZABETHAN PLAYS: 
 
 THE JEW OF MALTA, by Marlowe j 
 
 THE ALCHEMIST, by Jons on; 
 
 PHILASTER, by Beaumont and Fletcher j 
 
 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN, 
 
 by Fletcher and Shakespeare j 
 
 THE DUCHESS OF MALE J by Webster. 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 WILLIAM ROSCOE THAYER, 
 
 Author of "The Dawn of Italian Independence"; "History and 
 
 Customs of Harvard University"; "Throne-Makbrs"; 
 
 " Poems, New and Old," etc. 
 
 -^►oXKo 
 
 GINN & COMPANY 
 
 BOSTON • NEW YORK • CHICAGO • LONDON
 
 Copyright, 1890, 1918, by 
 WILLIAM ROSCOE THAYER 
 
 Ai.L Rights Reserved 
 419.2 
 
 tCbe gtfacnaeum j9regg 
 
 l.INN ANU COMPANY • PRO- 
 PKIUTOKS • liOSTON • U.S.A.
 
 755 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Preface 3 
 
 Bibliography . . . . ... . . 20 
 
 The Jew of Malta 21 
 
 The Alchemist . . 113 
 
 Philaster 261 
 
 The Two Noble Kinsmen 363 
 
 The Duchess of Malfi 489 
 
 944124
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 MY object in this volume is to present specimens of the 
 best work of the five Elizabethan dramatists who 
 stand highest among Shakespeare's contemporaries. Col- 
 lections of separate scenes and special editions of single 
 plays have frequently been made, and they have their value ; 
 but it seemed to me that in binding together the master- 
 pieces which follow, I should enable not only the general 
 reader but also the college student to taste the quality of 
 Shakespeare's rivals, and thereby to esteem the more ade- 
 quately Shakespeare himself. Few persons possess the fif- 
 teen or twenty large volumes in which the Elizabethan 
 drama is published, and fewer still have the time or the 
 patience to plod through many tedious or dirty pages in 
 order to come upon the treasures they contain. For, just 
 as a traveller in an Oriental city is often obliged to turn his 
 eyes from some mosque or graceful minaret to the ground 
 beneath his feet so as to avoid ordure and garbage, so the 
 reader of the Elizabethan plays has his attention often dis- 
 tracted, and his sense of decency shocked by the vulgarity 
 of many passages in them. This coarseness was due in part 
 to the habit of the time, when men spoke openly to each 
 other and even to women on subjects about which we are, 
 if not ignorant, at least reticent, and in part to the deliber- 
 ate effort of the playwright to please the vulgarest persons 
 in the audience. But as filth is always filth, though it be 
 
 3
 
 4 PREFACE. 
 
 thnist upon us in a work of art, or come to us along with 
 much that is noble under the sanction of a great name, and 
 as each age has more than enough of its own obscenity to 
 flounder free from, without falling back into the sty of a former 
 generation, I have selected plays as little as possible tainted. 
 Moreover, I have not scrupled to strike out phrases or lines 
 where it seemed proper, being guided by decency and not 
 by prudery ; yet it will not be found that this purging inter- 
 feres in the least in the understanding of the following 
 dramas, — a sufficient evidence, if evidence be needed, of 
 the unnecessariness of obscenity from the artistic as from 
 the ethical standpoint. 
 
 In making my selection I had less difficulty than might 
 have been expected. Of Marlowe's four chief works, Tam- 
 burlaine is too crude and tedious, in spite of several fine 
 passages ; Doctor Faustus, though admirable in outline, lacks 
 interest in detail, and is, besides, permanently superseded by 
 the mighty work of Goethe ; finally, Edward II, though its 
 scenes are knitted together more closely than those of its 
 predecessors, and though its murder-scene is indeed masterly, 
 yet as a whole lacks vivid characters. So I have chosen 
 The Jew of Malta, which exhibits Marlowe's great qualities 
 and their defects, and which will always be interesting from 
 the comparisons to be made between Barabas and Shylock. 
 
 Among Ben Jonson's plays two have ranked, and de- 
 servedly ranked, foremost, — Volpone and The Alchemist. 
 The former seems to me to be the superior, but its ineradi- 
 cable coarseness precluded its publication in .this volume ; 
 whereas The Alchemist is both 'an admirable example of 
 Jonson's skill in applying the rules of classic composition to 
 an English subject, and a fair representative of his satire and 
 erudition. It is, furthermore, a mirror in which are reflected
 
 PREFACE. 5 
 
 with wonderful accuracy, the social, scientific, religious, and 
 philosophical quacks of the time of James the First. 
 
 Fifty-two plays are printed in the complete edition of the 
 works of Beaumont and Fletcher, — many of them being 
 wholly Fletcher's; but only three of those which I have 
 read come within my scope. These are The Maid's Tragedy, 
 Vaknfifiian, and Philaster : the first two contain passages 
 equal to the best their authors ever vvrote, but they are be- 
 smirched with so much coarseness, and brutality is so hope- 
 lessly interwoven in their plots, that I was forced to reject 
 them ; Philaster shows Beaumont and Fletcher at their best, 
 and is thoroughly characteristic of their genius. 
 
 The Two Noble Kinsmen, commonly attributed to 
 Fletcher and Shakespeare, is surely one of the most beauti- 
 ful plays of that period, and deserves from the public such 
 admiration and popularity as it has long enjoyed from schol- 
 ars. Its right to be published among Shakespeare's works 
 is certainly equal to that of Henry VIII, and superior to 
 that of some of the poorer plays which have few marks of 
 his collaboration. 
 
 Webster left two masterpieces, — The White Devil and 
 The Duchess of Malfi ; both are great, but the latter excels, 
 and is not only the most original and imaginative drama in 
 this volume, but superior to every other Elizabethan tragedy 
 except Shakespeare's best. 
 
 In some measure, therefore, the reader can form from 
 these five plays — supplemented, of course, by acquaint- 
 ance with Shakespeare — some idea of the methods and 
 range of the amazing dramatic inspiration in the reign of 
 Elizabeth and the first James, — unsurpassed in the history 
 of literature, and equalled only once, in Greece. The domi- 
 nant influence was that of the Renaissance, transmitted to
 
 6 PREFACE. 
 
 England by way of France, and modified by an intensely 
 English patriotism, — the Renaissance, when classical learn- 
 ing revived, when great discoveries in geography opened 
 new lands and peoples to the view of Europe ; when a 
 bolder commerce brought not only richer merchandise, but 
 strange and fascinating lore, from the races of the Orient ; 
 when the sway of a single religion was broken, and through- 
 out Christendom men ordered their lives by new beliefs ; 
 when science, assisted by experiment and criticism, began 
 its conquest of nature ; when the legends of chivalry, and 
 the traditions of the crusades, and mediaeval myths and su- 
 perstitions, were still so fresh as to appeal to the imagina- 
 tions while they no longer distorted the convictions of poets. 
 It was the age when romance seemed real, and when the 
 revelations of science seemed romantic. Curiosity, insati- 
 able and enthusiastic, scrutinized all things. The divorce 
 between passion and action, between the scholar and the 
 man of affairs, had not yet been proclaimed : many-sided 
 men were common, — philosophers were courtiers and dip- 
 lomats ; soldiers were poets. Intense individualism produced 
 extreme types of character, prodigies of virtue or monsters 
 of wickedness. Political conditions, the strife of noble with 
 noble and of king with king, the dangers and excitements 
 of foreign voyages, awakened qualities and passions which 
 in quieter times lie dormant. It was as if mankind con- 
 spired to place the whole circle of its capacities on exhibi- 
 tion. To the great stimulus of the recovered appreciation 
 of classical antiquity was added the impulsion of that mod- 
 ern spirit, which mysteriously and almost imperceptibly was 
 remoulding society. And just as Bacon took all knowledge 
 for his province, so the great poets of the age of Elizabeth 
 took all human nature for theirs. Literary precedents and
 
 PREFACE. 7 
 
 the conventional rules prescribed by writers of rhetorics and 
 grammars -did not hamper them. They were too busy en- 
 deavoring to portray the mighty pageant sweeping before 
 them, to rummage old attics for the musty colors and warped 
 palettes of by-gone painters. 
 
 Taking the implements at hand, — the tedious moralities 
 and the loosely spun miracle plays, — they soon improved 
 upon them, soon invented a drama-form not so rigid as to 
 be cramped, nor so loose as to be redundant, but articulate 
 like a highly developed organism, and as elastic as the vari- 
 ous material furnished by nature required. And for their 
 metre they adopted and perfected a line susceptible of al- 
 most infinite modulations, suited alike to the simplest nar- 
 ration, and to the highest outbursts of passion, and to the 
 most delicate whisperings of fancy. In their hands, blank 
 verse became the peer of the Homeric hexameter, and of 
 Dante's tei'za rima, — a metre superior to that which any 
 other modern language offers to its dramatic writers. 
 
 To Christopher Marlowe is due the honor of having first 
 shown the capacity of this " mighty hne." We know but 
 little about his life. He was born at Canterbury, and chris- 
 tened there on Feb. 26, 1564, almost exactly two months 
 before the date of Shakespeare's birth. He attended the 
 King's School in his native place, and, in March, 158 1. 
 matriculated at Benet (now Corpus Christi) College, Cam- 
 bridge, where he took a bachelor's degree two years later. 
 In 1588 Tamburlaine was acted, and The Tragual History 
 of Doctor Faustus appeared a little later. Then followed 
 The Jew of Malta and Edivard II. These, and The Mas- 
 sacre of Paris, Dido (in which he was assisted by Nash), 
 some journeyman work on the three parts of Henry VI, 
 and a fragmentary poem entitled Hero and Leander, —
 
 8 PREFACE. 
 
 comparable with Shakespeare's Venus and Adonis, — were 
 all that he had time to do before he was killed in a quarrel 
 over a courtesan, at Deptford, June i, 1593. It is common, 
 while deploring his early death, to speculate whether he 
 might not, had he lived to maturity, have equalled Shake- 
 speare himself; but such speculation. seems to me to betray 
 the uncritical temperament of those who indulge in it. We 
 cannot reasonably doubt but that Marlowe, at forty, would 
 have produced works far superior to any he has left : he had 
 great powers, and they were surely ripening, but there is no 
 indication that he could ever have excelled in two very im- 
 portant fields, where Shakespeare is supreme, — in humor 
 and in fancy. Humor is inborn, and shows itself early, — 
 yet there are not among Marlowe's creations any germs of 
 such characters as Falstaff or Mercutio ; fancy, again, is 
 preeminently a young poet's gift, yet Marlowe's lack of it is 
 almost as surprising as are the ease and confidence with 
 which he steps upon the stage for the first time. There is no 
 bashfulness, no imitation, but the air of one who feels sure of 
 his powers. He was full of vitality, intoxicated at beholding 
 the mighty forces which uphold and perpetuate the universe ; 
 and he seems to have believed that man, let him but culti- 
 vate his titanic possibilities, may master those forces, and 
 cease to be their puppet. So his heroes are marvels of 
 energy, devoting themselves to the acquisition of power 
 which shall place them above the Hmitations of human na- 
 ture : with Tamburlaine, it is desire of empire, — the whole 
 world shall be his slave ; with Faustus, it is desire of knowl- 
 edge and pleasure, — the mysteries of fate shall be revealed 
 to him, and all delights shall be concentrated in a cup for 
 him to quaff; with Karabas, it is desire of gold, — he will 
 have the means of exterminating all Malta to satisfv his ven-
 
 PREFACE. 9 
 
 geance. Even Edward II, who seems an exception, illustrates 
 the power of weakness, — if I may use an apparent paradox. 
 For the most part, therefore, the personages of Marlowe's 
 dramas are types of amazing passions, rather than sharply 
 defined individuals : he did not attain the supreme excel- 
 lence of dramatic characterization in which the type lives 
 in the individual, as, for example, in Shylock. Vigor and 
 exuberance, — those are the qualities which distinguish 
 Marlowe's thought ; and in his rhythm we meet lines and 
 passages, now informed by an imperial stateliness, now by a 
 subtle unforgetable milody, to find parallels for which we 
 must turn to Shakespeare himself. 
 
 Of very different mettle was Ben Jonson, the posthumous 
 son of a clergyman, born at Westminster in 1574, and edu- 
 cated there at the famous school, then under Camden's 
 direction. But the widow Jonson married a bricklayer, and 
 young Ben was forced for a time to work at his step-father's 
 trade. When he could endure this no longer, he ran away, 
 joined a regiment in the Low Countries, and after a brief 
 military service, turned up in London, where his first 
 comedy, Every Man in his Humour, was produced in 1596. 
 Then followed, in 1599, 1600, and 1601, Every Man out oj 
 his Humotir, Cynthia's Revels, and The Poetaster, comedies 
 in which he satirized the foibles of the day, — and as, 
 among other affectations, he laughed at the new romantic 
 fashion of writing plays, he was in turn ridiculed by Dekker 
 and Marston in Satirofnastix. -Yet, while they laughed at 
 him, no man was so great a favorite as he among that illus- 
 trious group of playwrights and poets which used to meet 
 and carouse at the Mermaid ; and although, in spite of his 
 protests, the Elizabethan drama steadily progressed along 
 romantic lines, no plays were more popular than his. In
 
 lO PREFACE. 
 
 1603 he wrote Sejanus, a tragedy; in 1605, Volpone ; in 
 1609, The Silent Woman; in 1610, The Alchemist ; in 161 1, 
 another tragedy, Catiline. Eastward Ho', in which he had 
 Chapman and Marston for collaborators, proved too strong 
 a satire on the Scottish people for the taste of the Scotch- 
 born James I, and its authors were imprisoned, only to be 
 restored to liberty and favor a little while afterward. In 
 1619 Jonson was appointed Poet Laureate, with the usual 
 perquisite of ;!^ioo, and a butt of canary from the royal 
 cellars, every year. In his old age he published The Sad 
 Shepherd, and, having outlived all his great companions, he 
 died Aug. 16, 1637. In erudition, he was reputed the 
 most learned poet of his time, and it is even asserted that 
 no other English poet except Milton has had a wider and 
 more various knowledge than he. His models in the drama 
 were the classic playwrights of Rome and Athens. Con- 
 demning the romantic principles of his contemporaries, 
 which led to excess and a luxuriant confusion, he insisted on 
 a rigid observance of the three unities, of time, place, and 
 subject. His own plays, constructed in obedience to the 
 Aristotelian methods, are marvels of ingenuity. No other 
 English plots are more homogeneous and skilful ; in none is 
 there so little superfluity, so few digressions. In scene after 
 scene you behold the author compressing a spring, till its 
 tension is ready for the final, sudden discharge ; yet he does 
 this so adroitly, that your interest is excited from moment to 
 moment, lest that discharge burst upon you unawares. In 
 this respect he is the true descendant of the classic drama- 
 tists, and the kinsman of the Frenchmen who, in the seven- 
 teenth century, created the French drama on classic models. 
 Unlike Marlowe, who sketches his plot but vaguel)', and 
 wanders whithersoever his love of splendor points, Jonson
 
 PREFACE. II 
 
 « 
 has drawn every detail before sitting down to write. His 
 
 material is the humors — or, as we should now say, the 
 moods — of mankind, rather than their elemental passions ; 
 he produces his effects by cumulation and repetition, rather 
 than by the swift, single, perfect strokes of a Shakespeare 
 or a Webster. In The Alchemist this is well illustrated : he 
 proposes to expose a popular imposture ; to do this he in- 
 troduces two varieties of the same species of quacks, and 
 their female accomplice ; and then he marshals before us, 
 not one or two gulls, but a whole flock of them, — an epi- 
 cure, a bragging young gentleman from the country, a sanc- 
 timonious Puritan, a simpleton of a clerk, a conceited 
 tobacconist, — and we see how the same greed for unearned 
 wealth affects each differently, yet drives all into a commu- 
 nion of dupery. So clever a weaving of various threads in 
 one compact web has rarely been achieved ; Jonson leaves 
 no seams and no thrums in his work. He had not the high- 
 est imagination ; but he had its best substitutes, — judgment, 
 taste, sense of form, and culture. 
 
 As he is pre-eminently classic, so Beaumont and Fletcher 
 are pre-eminently romantic. Most of the Elizabethan dra- 
 matists sprang from lowly families : not so Francis Beau- 
 mont, who came of noble stock. His father, Sir John 
 Beaumont, was a Justice of the Common Pleas in Leicester- 
 shire, where Francis was born in 1586. At the age of eleven 
 he was admitted a gentleman commoner at Broadgate-hall 
 (now Pembroke) College, Oxford. Going to London, he 
 read law in the Inner Temple, but soon was drawn towards 
 the stage. He formed a literary partnership with John 
 Fletcher, and had already become renowned, when he was 
 cut off by death in 1615. Fletcher, whose father was Dean 
 of Peterborough, and then Bishop of Worcester, was born
 
 15» PREFACE. . - 
 
 at Rye, in Sussex, in December, 1579. We know little 
 about him, except that he was educated at Benet College, 
 Cambridge, went to London eany, devoted himself to play- 
 writing, died of the plague in 1625, and was buried at St. 
 Saviour's, Southwark. An old tradition has it that Beaumont 
 supplied judgment, and Fletcher fancy, to their joint produc- 
 tions. Owing to the early death of the former, it is easy to 
 separate those plays which they \vrote together from those 
 which Fletcher wrote alone, and by this process the reader 
 who is curious can determine more or less accurately which 
 parts should be assigned to Beaumont, and which to Fletcher, 
 in their united works. That eminent critics, despite this 
 clue, should have hitherto failed to agree, seems to indicate 
 that no ultimate certainty can be reached, and that therefore 
 opinions which have only probability for their basis ought 
 not to be too vehemently attacked or defended. Be the 
 division what it may, the quality which prevails in their 
 dramas is the quahty of romance. Their best heroes are 
 earlier Hernanis, bred in the ideals of Castilian honor ; 
 even their villains — and monstrous villains some of them 
 are — utter very noble sentiments. You feel that such per- 
 sons never existed, and yet you know the thoughts to be true, 
 and you cannot resist the fascination, the glamour — if you 
 will — ^,of ideals borrowed from the age of chivalry. There 
 is, in Beaumont and Fletcher, " a constant recognition of 
 gentility," as Emerson has remarked ; this, and their pic- 
 turesque descriptions, their genuine sentiment, and their 
 occasional flashes of imagination revealing intense passion, 
 constitute their chief merits, and interfuse through their 
 dramas the spirit of romance I have noted. To be de- 
 lightfully unnatural is their privilege at their best ; they 
 approach the actual human nature of their time only on its
 
 PREFACE, 13 
 
 most depraved side, and are abominably coarse at their 
 
 worst. 
 
 The Two Noble Kinsmen has furnished critics with a mul- 
 titude of pleasant difficulties. Even a novice, in reading the 
 play for the first time, must detect the impression of two 
 different minds upon it ; and, since it was believed that those 
 two were Shakespeare and Fletcher, every resource of criti- 
 cism has been employed to determine the share of each. 
 The tests applied have been intellectual and metrical : Has 
 a given scene those imaginative qualities peculiar to Shake- 
 speare? Has its versification his familiar style? The latter 
 test is perhaps the more helpful; for Fletcher adopted, 
 whether from preference or carelessness, a form of blank 
 verse by which he can usually be recognized. More fre- 
 quently than any of his contemporaries, he writes lines with 
 a double ending. Again, Shakespeare employs "run-on 
 Unes " — those whose meaning does not stop at the end of a 
 verse — much more freely than Fletcher. The construction 
 of the play gives further hints. Besides the main story of 
 the two Kinsmen, there is the subordinate story of the gaol- 
 er's daughter. Her mad-scenes, drawn without pathos or 
 much skill, are evidently copied from Ophelia's. Indeed, 
 the style of the prose passages, and the commonplaceness 
 of the secondary characters, afford other clues as to their 
 authorship. Nevertheless, it must not be inferred that all 
 the inferior work is Fletcher's ; one of the finest scenes in 
 the play — the dialogue of Palamon and Arcite in prison — 
 was almost certainly written by him. Concerning the date 
 of its composition, we have only vague suggestions. It must 
 have come between 1603 or 1604, — the latest date assigned 
 to Hamlet, and 16 13, when Shakespeare retired to Stratford. 
 As Fletcher's talents began to be renowned only about 1607,
 
 «4 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 and as he worked with Shakespeare on Henry VIII after 
 that time, we may probably assign The Two Noble Kinsmen 
 to the period between 1608 and 16 12. It may well be, as 
 Mr. Skeat suggests, that the play in its present form was 
 revised by Fletcher, and even that parts of Shakespeare's 
 share were altered by him after Shakespeare's death. As I 
 have given in the notes the opinions of the critics most com- 
 petent to decide the question of authorship, I need not pur- 
 sue the matter here, and will only add that The Two Noble 
 Kinsmen deserves to be known and admired because it is, 
 first of all, a fine drama ; that it happens to be a first-rate 
 puzzle in literary criticism, is a minor reason for its repub- 
 lication. 
 
 Of John Webster's personal history we can learn nothing. 
 A few entries in Henslowe's Diary, of payments made to 
 \\'ebster for theatrical properties, a few dates of the per- 
 formances of his plays — and " the rest is silence." The 
 first mention of him is in 1601, as the author of The Guise, 
 or the Massacre of Fra7ice, which may have been, as Dyce 
 suggests, only a rifacimento of Marlowe's piece ; together 
 with Dekker, he wrote Westward Ho and Northzvard Ho, 
 published in 1607 ; The IVliite Devil \v2A printed in 161 2; 
 The Duchess of Malfi in 1623 (but performed earlier) ; long 
 aftenvards, in 1654, Appius atid Virgifiia issued from the 
 press. On one title-page Webster is styled " merchant- 
 tailor," and there are commendatory epigraphs by Middle- 
 ton, Rowley, and Ford. All that we know of his character 
 we glean from two or three short addresses to the reader, 
 and from two dedications : these show him to have been 
 cc^nscious of his own powers, yet modest ; not without a 
 dignified contempt of the opinions of the majority of play- 
 goers, who, he says, " resemble those ignorant asses, who.
 
 PREFACE. 15 
 
 visiting stationers' shops, their use is not to inquire for good 
 books, but new books." " To those who report I was a 
 long time finishing this tragedy," he continues, in the preface 
 to The White Devil, " I confess, I do not write with a goose 
 quill winged with two feathers ; and if they will needs make 
 it my fault, I must answer them with that of Euripides to 
 Alcestides, a tragic writer. Alcestides objecting that Eurip- 
 ides had only, in three days, composed three verses, whereas 
 himself had written three hundred, ' Thou tellest truth,' 
 quoth he, ' but here's the difference, — thine shall only be 
 read for three days, whereas mine shall continue three ages.' 
 Detraction is the sworn friend to ignorance : for mine own 
 part, I have ever truly cherished my good opinion of other 
 men's worthy labors ; especially of that full and heightened 
 style of Master Chapman ; the labored and understanding 
 works of Master Jonson ; the no less worthy composures of 
 the both worthily excellent Master Beaumont and Master 
 Fletcher; and lastly (without wrong, last to be named), the 
 right happy and copious industry of Master Shakespeare, 
 Master Dekker, and Master Heywood j wishing what I write 
 may be read by their light ; protesting that, in the strength 
 of mine own judgment, I know them so worthy, that though 
 I rest silent in my own work, yet to most of theirs I dare 
 (without flattery) fix that of Martial, JVon norunt haec momi- 
 menta inoriP Generous to his fellow-craftsmen, not fawning 
 to the " groundlings " nor servile to his patrons, that is all 
 that, from too scanty evidence, we can infer about Webster, 
 the man ; of the dramatist, we have at least two works which 
 reveal his astonishing genius. As long as The White Devil 
 and The Duchess of Malfi are read, so long will John Web- 
 ster's title to rank among the four or five supreme tragic 
 writers of the world be open to the scrutiny of all.
 
 ,6 PREFACE. 
 
 It has been the fashion of some critics to speak of Webster 
 as a strange and terrible genius, a sort of ogre who delighted 
 in bloody scenes by day, and supped nightly with horrors ; 
 or as a fellow of morbid imagination, whose favorite haunts 
 were church-yards and dark charnel-houses, who gloated 
 over chronicles of crime, and had no other purpose in writ- 
 ing, save that of causing a vulgar shudder to ripple over the 
 shoulders of his hearers. If these views were correct, we 
 might dismiss him and his plays as summarily as we dismiss 
 the latest melodrama with its sheet-iron thunder and pro- 
 miscuous slaughters. But these views are not correct, and 
 to understand such a play as The Duchess of Main we must 
 recall the state of society throughout a large portion of Europe 
 during the sixteenth century. Webster needed not to appeal 
 to his imagination for materials so terrible : the history of 
 almost any Italian city, in any decade of that century, could 
 supply them. From the court of the Vatican down to that 
 of a princeling in Perugia or Mantua, abominable vices, 
 refined cruelty, atrocious crimes, were common : ties of 
 kindred were no restraint upon the cravings of lust or of 
 ambition ; pledges sealed by oath, promises bound by honor, 
 melted as the snow melts in April, for there was no sanctity 
 in religion, no self-respect in men ; selfishness, insatiate and 
 unscrupulous, directed the policy of states and the actions 
 of individuals. Personal courage, which gives to the bloody 
 deeds of a less enlightened time some show of fairness, 
 had withered ; this was the age when treachery was reduced 
 to a fine art, — when poison was sprinkled on a rose and 
 smeared on the door-latch or the missal, — when the sword 
 was exchanged for the dagger, which never struck in front, — 
 when reputations could be done to death by lago-insinua- 
 tions as surely as the body by subtle, invisible poisons. The
 
 PREFACE. 1 7 
 
 glorious seeds of the Renaissance had produced in Italy 
 this upas-forest, covered with splendid but deadly blossoms. 
 The current religion did not supply moral leaven adequate 
 to so rapid an intellectual growth, and there was no senti- 
 ment of nationality to counteract the tendency towards indi- 
 vidualism. What thoughtful man, be he a rationalist or a 
 dogmatist, can behold such periods without amazement, and 
 without realizing that the problem of human destiny is infi- 
 nitely complex and unspeakably tragic ? And John Webster 
 sought, merely by presenting an episode typical of hundreds, 
 — nay, of an epoch, — to show the actual terror and tragedy 
 of life, that must be reckoned with by every one who would 
 estimate its possibilities and its purpose. 
 
 Unlike Dante, his Duchess needed to be transported to 
 hell by no vision : her very surroundings were hell, as they 
 must have been to any pure and noble man or woman. In 
 the contrast between her character and her conditions lies 
 the real tragedy ; the terrific ordeals which test but do not 
 overcome her fortitude — scenes which only Webster could 
 depict — are but accessory and external. It may be urged, 
 indeed, that her sufferings were unwarranted, because she 
 was innocent : to this it is sufficient to reply : " Such is the 
 fact ; if only the wicked suffered, there would be no prob- 
 lem of evil ; neither art nor ethics can be true, if they gar- 
 ble facts." And because Webster recognized this spiritual 
 truth, he is profoundly moral ; and because he was able to 
 embody it in the concrete, he is among the few supreme 
 tragic poets of the world. In his play, as often happens in 
 real life, the virtuous seem to be defeated, the wicked to be 
 victorious, but the triumph and the defeat are only appar- 
 ent : virtue remains uncontaminated, — there is its reward ; 
 sin remains unregenerate, — there is its punishment. " Merely
 
 ^ 8 PREFACE. 
 
 t ) live," said Socrates, " is nothing ; a good life is every- 
 thing." And Webster, after painting with inexorable fidelity 
 and supreme power the tragic career of his heroine, con- 
 cludes, — 
 
 " I have ever thought 
 Nature doth nothing so great for great men 
 As when she's pleased to make them lords of truth: 
 Integrity of life is fame's best friend, 
 Which nobly, beyond death, shall crown the end." 
 
 It is necessary to make this brief analysis in order to pre- 
 l)are readers for a right understanding of Webster; they 
 will need no guide to show them his more patent merits. 
 His detached thoughts, clear and compressed as diamonds ; 
 his revelations of a character in a line ; his sombre sub- 
 limity ; his naturalness amid almost preternatural circum- 
 stances, — these characteristics of his genius need no 
 elucidation. He had not Shakespeare's skill in dramatic 
 construction ; nor Shakespeare's complete mastery of verse, 
 but he had, within a narrower range, an imagination as pene- 
 trating and as vivifying as Shakespeare's, and a moral sense 
 akin to that which expresses itself in Macbeth and in Lear. 
 
 From Marlowe to Webster is less than thirty years, less 
 than an average lifetime ; yet within that brief period the 
 Elizabethan Drama blossomed and withered. After Web- 
 ster's, there is no great name in the Drama. English Poetry, 
 indeed, did not die, but its subsequent glories have been 
 epic, lyric, and descriptive ; it has become introspective and 
 personal, and has left the more diffuse and less permanent 
 art o{ fiction to incarnate in objective creations the passions 
 and vicissitudes of human life. 
 
 .\ word should be added concerning the rule which I 
 liave followed in editing these five plays. I have made
 
 PREFACE. t9 
 
 the notes as brief as possible, keeping in mind that this 
 volume is to be read as literature, and not as a text-book to 
 furnish puzzles in antiquarian difficulties nor in philological 
 niceties. I have compared the explanations of the best 
 editors, and adopted the best, supplementing them from my 
 own researches where it seemed necessary. I have set the 
 notes at the bottom of each page, rather than at the end of 
 the book, so that the reader can see at a glance whether the 
 information he seeks is there, or not : those who, like my- 
 self, have often wasted time by turning to the back of a 
 volume only to find that the editor has passed over without 
 comment the word they wished him to explain, will, I trust, 
 approve of this arrangement.
 
 20 BIBLIOGRAPHY. 
 
 BIBLIOGRAPHY. 
 
 For the benefit of those who wish to pursue their reading in the 
 Elizabethan Drama, the following short bibliography is added : — 
 
 Marlowe. Edited by Dyce, " The Old Dramatists " : new edit.; 1887. 
 Edited by BuUen, 1886. 
 
 JONSON. Complete works edited by Gifford, 181 6; new edit., i860. 
 
 Beaumont and Fletcher. Edited by Darley, " The Old Dramatists," 
 new edit., 1883. 
 
 Two Noble Kinsmen. The edition by Littledale (A^ew Shakspere 
 Society publications, Series II, 7, 8, 1 5) is exhaustive. For students, 
 Skeat's edition, 1875, is very convenient; Rolfe's, 1883, is also 
 excellent. See also essays by Spalding, Hickson, Furnivall, Fleay, 
 and Swinburne. 
 
 Webster. Edited by Dyce, " The Old Dramatists." Also Swinburne's 
 admirable essay. Nineteenth Century, 1886, Vol. XIX. 
 
 The chief works of all these dramatists are also republished in the 
 recent " Mermaid Series." Charles Lamb's Specimens of English 
 Dramatic Poets, and Leigh Hunt's Selections from Beaumont and 
 Fletcher, are chosen with rare taste, and are as satisfactory as fragments 
 can ever be. The chapters in Taine's English Literature referring to 
 the Elizabethan Drama, may be consulted for a foreigner's opinion, 
 although they seem to me to lack spiritual insight.
 
 I. 
 
 THE JEW OF MALTA. 
 
 By Christopher Marlowe. 
 
 Probably written in 1589 or 1590: acted in 1591, with Alleyn 
 as Barabas. Kean brought out an adaptation of the play at the 
 Drury-Lane Theatre in 18 18. The source of the story has not 
 been discovered.
 
 THE 
 
 lEW 
 
 OF MALTA. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Ferneze, Governor of Malta. 
 
 LODOVViCK, his Son. 
 
 Selim Calymath, Son of the 
 
 Grand Seignior. 
 Martin del Bosco, Vice-Admiral 
 
 of Spain. 
 Mai'HIAs, a Gentleman. 
 Barabas, a wealthy Jew. 
 ITHAMORE, his Slave. 
 PILIA-BORSA, a Bully. 
 
 JACOMO. U^j^^3^ 
 
 Barnardine, ) 
 
 Scene 
 
 Two Merchants. 
 
 Three Jews. 
 
 Knights, Bassoes, Officers, Guard, 
 Messengers, Slaves, and Carpen- 
 ters. 
 
 Katharine, Mother of Mathias. 
 
 Abigail, Daughter of Barabas. 
 
 Bellamira, a Courtesan. 
 
 Abbess. 
 
 Two Nuns. 
 
 Machiavel, Speaker of the Pro- 
 logue. 
 
 Malta. 
 
 THE PROLOGUE. 
 
 Enter Machiavfx. 
 
 Machiavel. Albeit the world thinks Machiavel^ is dead, 
 Yet was his soul but flown beyond the Alps, 
 And now the Guise ^ is dead, is come from France, 
 To view this land, and frolic with his friends. 
 
 1 Machiavelli, the Florentine statesman, died in 1527. His name was 
 long a synonym for political perfidy and cold-blooded cruelty. 
 
 2 The Duke of Guise, organizer of the Massacre of St. Bartholomew, in 
 1572, was assassinated in 1588. 
 
 23
 
 24 THE JEW* OF MALTA. [prologue. 
 
 To some perhaps my name is odious, 
 
 Rut such as love me guard me from their tongues ; 
 
 And let them know that I am Machiavel, 
 
 And weigh not men, and therefore not men's words. 
 
 Admired I am of those that hate me most. 
 
 Though some speak openly against my books, lo 
 
 Yet they will read me, and thereby attain 
 
 To Peter's chair : and when they cast me off, 
 
 Are poisoned by my chmbing followers. 
 
 I count religion but a childish toy. 
 
 And hold there is no sin but ignorance. 
 
 Birds of the air will tell of murders past ! 
 
 I am ashamed to hear such fooleries. 
 
 Many will talk of title to a crown : 
 
 What right had Caesar to the empery? 
 
 Might first made kings, and laws were then most sure 20 
 
 When like the Draco's they were writ in blood. 
 
 Hence comes it that a strong-built citadel 
 
 Commands much more than letters can import ; 
 
 Which maxim had but Phalaris observed, 
 
 He had never bellowed, in a brazen bull, 
 
 Of great ones' envy. Of the poor petty wights 
 
 Let me be envied and not pitied ! 
 
 But whither am I bound ? I come not, I, 
 
 To read a lecture here in Britain, 
 
 But to present the tragedy of a Jew, 30 
 
 Who smiles to see how full his bags are crammed. 
 
 Which money was not got without my means. 
 
 I crave but this — grace him as he deserves, 
 
 And let him not be entertained the worse 
 
 Because he favours me. \_Exit.
 
 SCENE I.J THE JEW OF MALTA. 25 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. — Barabas discovered in his Counting-house, with 
 Heaps of Gold before him. 
 
 Bar. So that of thus much that return was made : 
 And of the third part of the Persian ships, 
 There was the venture summed and satisfied. 
 As for those Sabans, and the men of Uz, 
 That bought my Spanish oils and wines of Greece, 
 Here have I purst their paltry silverlings.^ 
 Fie ; what a trouble 'tis to count this trash. 
 Well fare the Arabians, who so richly pay 
 The things they traffic for with wedge of gold, 
 Whereof a man may easily in a day 10 
 
 Tell ^ that which may maintain him all his life. 
 The needy groom that never fingered groat, 
 Would make a miracle of thus much coin : 
 But he whose steel-barred coffers are crammed full. 
 And all his lifetime hath been tired. 
 Wearying his fingers' ends with telling it, 
 Would in his age be loth to labour so. 
 And for a pound to sweat himself to death. 
 Give me the merchants of the Indian mines. 
 That trade in metal of the purest mould ; 20 
 
 The wealthy Moor, that in the eastern rocks 
 Without control can pick his riches up, 
 And in his house heap pearls like pebble-stones. 
 Receive them free, and sell them by the weight ; 
 Bags of fiery opals, sapphires, and amethysts, 
 
 1 Silver coins ; cf. Isaiah vii, 23. 2 Count,
 
 26 THE JEW OF MALTA. [ACT I, 
 
 Jacinths, hard topaz, grass-green emeralds, 
 
 Beauteous rubies, sparkling diamonds, 
 
 And seld-seen^ costly stones of so great price, 
 
 As one of them indifferently rated, 
 
 And of a carat of this quantity, 3c 
 
 May serve in peril of calamity 
 
 To ransom great kings from captivity. 
 
 This is the ware wherein consists my wealth ; 
 
 .\nd thus methinks should men of judgment frame 
 
 Their means of traffic from the vulgar trade, 
 
 And as their wealth increaseth, so inclose 
 
 Infinite riches in a little room. 
 
 But now how stands the wind? 
 
 Into what corner peers my halcyon's bill?- 
 
 Ha ! to the east? yes : see, how stand the vanes? 40 
 
 East and by south : why then I hope my ships 
 
 I sent for Egypt and the bordering isles 
 
 Are gotten up by Nilus' winding banks : 
 
 Mine argosies from Alexandria, 
 
 Loaden with spice and silks, now under sail. 
 
 Are smoothly gliding down by Candy shore 
 
 To Malta, through our Mediterranean sea. 
 
 But who comes here? 
 
 Enter a Merchant. 
 
 How now ? 
 Merch. Barabas, thy ships are safe, 
 Riding in Malta-road : and all the merchants 5c 
 
 1 Seldom seen. 
 
 2 A stuffed kingfisher (the halcyon), suspended by a string, was sup- 
 posed 10 show the direction of the wind. Halcyon days were calm days, 
 the belief being that the weather was always calm when kingfishers were 
 breeding. Cf. King Lear, ii. 2; Sir T. Browne, Vulgar Errors, lii, 10.
 
 SCENE I.] THE JEW OF MALTA. 27 
 
 With Other merchandise are safe arrived. 
 And have sent me to know whether yourself 
 Will come and custom ' them. 
 
 Bar. The ships are safe thou say'st, and richly fraught. 
 
 Merch. They are. 
 
 Bar. Why then go bid them come ashore, 
 And bring with them their bills of entry : 
 I hope our credit in the custom-house 
 AVill serve as well as I were present there. 
 (tO send 'em threescore camels, thirty mules, 
 And twenty waggons to bring up the ware. 60 
 
 But art thou master in a ship of mine, 
 And is thy credit not enough for that? 
 
 Merch. The very custom barely comes to more 
 Than many merchants of the town are worth, 
 And therefore far exceeds my credit, sir. 
 
 Bar. Go tell 'em the Jew of Malta sent thee, man : 
 Tush ! who amongst 'em knows not Barabas ? 
 
 Merch. I go. 
 
 Bar. So then, there's somewhat come. 
 Sirrah, which of my ships art thou master of? 
 
 Merch. Of the Speranza, sir. 
 
 Bar. And saw'st thou not 70 
 
 Mine argosy at Alexandria ? 
 
 Thou could'st not come from Egypt, or by Caire, 
 But at the entry there into the sea. 
 Where Nilus pays his tribute to the main, 
 Thou needs must sail by Alexandria. 
 
 Merch. I neither saw them, nor inquired of them : 
 But this we heard some of our seamen say, 
 They wondered how you durst with so much wealth 
 
 1 Pay the duty on them.
 
 28 'i'HE JEW OF MALTA. [ACT I. 
 
 i'rust such a crazed vessel, and so far. 
 
 Bar. Tush, they are wise ! I know her and her strength. Sc 
 But go, go thou thy ways, discharge thy ship, 
 And bid my factor bring his loading in. \_Exit Merch. 
 
 And yet I wonder at this argosy. 
 
 Enter a second Merchant. 
 
 2d Me7-ch. Thine argosy from Alexandria, 
 Know, Barabas, doth ride in Malta-road, 
 Laden with riches, and exceeding store 
 Of Persian silks, of gold, and orient pearl. 
 
 Bar. How chance you came not with those other ships 
 That sailed by Egypt ? 
 
 2d Merch. Sir, we saw 'em not. 
 
 Bar. Belike they coasted round by Candy shore gc 
 
 About their oils, or other businesses. 
 But 'twas ill done of you to come so far 
 Without the aid or conduct of their ships. 
 
 2d Merch. Sir, we were wafted by a Spanish fleet, 
 That never left us till within a league. 
 That had the galleys of the Turk in chase. 
 
 Bar. O i — they were going up to Sicily : — * 
 
 Well, go, 
 
 And bid the merchants and my men despatch 
 And come ashore, and see the fraught^ discharged. loc 
 
 2d Merch. I go. \_Exit 
 
 Bar. Thus trowls - our fortune in by land and sea, 
 And thus are we on every side enriched : 
 These are the blessings promised to the Jews, 
 And herein was old Abram's happiness : 
 
 1 Freight. 2 Rolls.
 
 SCENE I.] THE JEW OF MALTA. 29 
 
 What more may heaven do for earthly man 
 
 Than thus to pour out plenty in their laps, 
 
 Ripping the bowels of the earth for them, 
 
 Making the seas their servants, and the winds 
 
 To drive their substance with successful blasts? no 
 
 Who hateth me but for my happiness ? 
 
 Or who is honoured now but for his wealth ? 
 
 Rather had I a Jew be hated thus, 
 
 Than pitied in a Christian poverty : 
 
 For I can see no fruits in all their faith. 
 
 But malice, falsehood, and excessive pride, 
 
 Which methinks fits not their profession. 
 
 Haply some hapless man hath conscience. 
 
 And for his conscience lives in beggary. 
 
 They say we are a scattered nation : 12c 
 
 I cannot tell, but we have scambled ^ up 
 
 More wealth by far than those that brag of faith. 
 
 There's Kirriah Jairim, the great Jew of Greece, 
 
 Obed in Bairseth,^ Nones in Portugal, 
 
 Myself in Malta, some in Italy, 
 
 Many in France, and wealthy every one ; 
 
 Ay, wealthier far than any Christian, 
 
 I must confess we come not to be kings ; 
 
 That's not our fault : alas, our number's few. 
 
 And crowns come either by succession, 13c 
 
 Or urged by force ; and nothing violent 
 
 Oft have I heard tell, can be permanent. 
 
 Give us a peaceful rule, make Christians kings, 
 
 That thirst so much for principality. 
 
 I have no charge, nor many children, 
 
 1 Collected, used for scrambled, as in Henry V, i, I. 
 
 2 Beyrout ?
 
 30 
 
 THE JEW OF MALTA. [ACT 1 
 
 But one sole daughter, whom I hold as dear 
 
 As Agamemnon did his Iphigen : 
 
 And all I have is hers. But who comes here? 
 
 Enter three Jews.^ 
 
 jstjew. Tush, tell not me ; 'twas done of policy, 
 
 2d Jew. Come, therefore, let us go to Barabas, 140 
 
 For he can counsel best in these affairs ; 
 And here he comes. 
 
 Bar. AVhy, how now, countrymen ! 
 Why flock you thus to me in multitudes? 
 What accident's betided to the Jews? 
 
 jstJew. A fleet of warlike galleys, Barabas, 
 Are come from Turkey, and lie in our road : 
 And they this day sit in the council-house 
 To entertain them and their embassy. 
 
 Bar. Why, let 'em come, so they come not to war ; 
 Or let 'em war, so we be conquerors — 150 
 
 Nay, let 'em combat, conquer, and kill all ! 
 {Asii/e) So they spare me, my daughter, and my wealth. 
 
 I St Jew. Were it for confirmation of a league, 
 They would not come in warlike manner thus. 
 
 2d Jew. I fear their coming will afflict us all. 
 
 Bar. Fond ^ men ! what dream you of their multitudes? 
 What need they treat of peace that are in league ? 
 The Turks and those of Malta are in league. 
 Tut, tut, there is some other matter in't. 
 
 Jstjc7v. Why, Barabas, they come for peace or war. 160 
 
 Bar. Haply for neither, but to pass along 
 Towards Venice by the Adriatic Sea ; 
 
 1 Here the scene is shifted to a street, or to the Exchange. 
 - Foolish.
 
 SCENE 1.] THE JEW OF MALTA. 3I 
 
 With whom they have attempted many times. 
 But never could effect their stratagem. 
 
 3d Jew. And very wisely said. It may be so. 
 
 2d Jew. But there's a meeting in the senate-house, 
 And all the Jews in Malta must be there. 
 
 Bar. Hum ; all the Jews in Malta must be there? 
 Ay, like enough, why then let every man 
 Provide him, and be there for fashion-sake. 17c 
 
 If anything shall there concern our state, 
 Assure yourselves I'll look {aside) unto myself. 
 
 1st Jew. I know you will. Well, brethren, let us go. 
 
 2d Jew. Let's take our leaves. Farewell, good Barabas. 
 
 Bar. Farewell, Zaareth ; farewell, Temainte. 
 
 \^Exeunt Jews. 
 And, Barabas, now search this secret out ; 
 Summon thy senses, call thy wits together : 
 These silly men mistake the matter clean. 
 Long to the Turk did Malta contribute ; 
 Which tribute, all in policy I fear, 180 
 
 The Turks have let increase to such a sum 
 As all the wealth of Malta cannot pay ; 
 And now by that advantage thinks belike 
 To seize upon the town : ay, that he seeks. 
 Howe'er the world go, I'll make sure for one. 
 And seek in time to intercept the worst, 
 Warily guarding that which I ha' got. 
 Ego mihimet sum semper pro ximus} 
 Why, let 'em enter, let 'em take the town. \_Exit. 
 
 1 Misquotation from Terence, Andria. iv, i, 12, Proximus sum egomet 
 mihi.
 
 ^■, THE JEW OF MALTA. [act l 
 
 Scene II. — Inside the Council-house. 
 
 Enter Ferneze, Governor of Malta, Knights, and Officers ; 
 met b\ CalyiMATH and Bassoes of the Turk. 
 
 Fern. Now, Bassoes,^ what demand you at our hands? 
 
 jst Bas. Know, Knights of Malta, that we came from 
 Rhodes, 
 From Cyprus, Candy, and those other Isles 
 That lie betwixt the Mediterranean seas. 
 
 Fern. What's Cyprus, Candy, and those other Isles 
 To us, or Malta? What at our hands demand ye? 
 
 Cal. The ten years' tribute that remains unpaid. 
 
 Fern. Alas ! my lord, the sum is over-great, 
 I hope your highness will consider us. 
 
 Cal. I wish, grave governor, 'twere in my power ic 
 
 To favour you, but 'tis my father's cause, 
 Wherein I may not, nay, I dare not dally. 
 
 Fern. Then give us leave, great Selim Calymath. 
 
 [ Consults apart with the Knights. 
 
 Cal. Stand all aside, and let the knights determine, 
 •And send to keep our galleys under sail, 
 For happily ^ we shall not tarry here ; 
 Now, governor, say, how are you resolved ? 
 
 Fern. Thus : since your hard conditions are such 
 That you will needs have ten years' tribute past, 
 We may have time to make collection 20 
 
 Amongst the inhabitants of Malta for't. 
 
 1st Bas. That's more than is in our commission. 
 
 Cal. What, Callipine ! a little courtesy. 
 Let's know their time, perhaps it is not long ; 
 
 i Pashas, formerly spelt bashaws. 2 Haply.
 
 SCENE II.] THE JEW OF MALTA. 33 
 
 And 'tis more kingly to obtain by peace 
 Than to enforce conditions by constraint. 
 What respite ask you, governor? 
 
 Fern. But a month. 
 
 Cal. We grant a month, but see you keep your promise. 
 Now launch our galleys back again to sea, 
 Where we'll attend the respite you have ta'en, 30 
 
 And for the money send our messenger. 
 Farewell, great governor and brave Knights of Malta. 
 
 Fern. And all good fortune wait on Calymath ! 
 
 \_Exeuut Calymath and Bassoes. 
 Go one and call those Jews of Malta hither : 
 Were they not summoned to appear to-day? 
 
 Off. They were, my lord, and here they come. 
 
 E7iter Barabas and three Jews. 
 
 1st Knight. Have you determined what to say to them? 
 
 Fern. Yes ; give me leave : — and, Hebrews, now come 
 near. 
 From the Emperor of Turkey is arrived 
 Great Selim Calymath, his highness' son, 40 
 
 To levy of us ten years' tribute past ; 
 Now then, here know that it concerneth us — 
 
 Bar. Then, good my lord, to keep your quiet still, 
 Your lordship shall do well to let them have it. 
 
 Fern. Soft, Barabas, there's more 'longs to't than so. 
 To what this ten years' tribute will amount, 
 That we have cast, but cannot compass it 
 By reason of the wars that robbed our store ; 
 And therefore are we to request your aid. 
 
 Bar. Alas, my lord, we are no soldiers : 50 
 
 And what's our aid against so great a prince?
 
 •j^ THE JEW OF MALTA. [act I. 
 
 jst Knight. Tut, Jew, we know thou art no soldier ; 
 Thou art a merchant and a moneyed man, 
 And 'tis thy money, Barabas, we seek. 
 
 Bar. How, my lord ! my money? 
 
 Fern. Thine and the rest. 
 For, to be short, amongst you't must be had. 
 
 1st Jew. Alas, my lord, the most of us are poor. 
 
 Fern. Then let the rich increase your portions. 
 
 Bar. Are strangers with your tribute to be taxed ? 
 
 2d Knight. Have strangers leave with us to get theii 
 wealth ? 6q 
 
 Then let them with us contribute. 
 
 Bar. How ! equally? 
 
 Fern. No, Jew, like infidels. 
 For through our sufferance of your hateful lives, 
 Who stand accursed in the sight of Heaven, 
 These taxes and afflictions are befallen, 
 .\nd therefore thus we are determined. 
 Read there the articles of our decrees. 
 
 Officer {reads). "First, the tribute-money of the Turks 
 shall all be levied amongst the Jews, and each of them to 
 pay one half of his estate." 70 
 
 Bar. How, half his estate? (Aside) I hope you mean 
 not mine. 
 
 Fern. Read on. 
 
 Of. (reading). "Secondly, he that denies ^ to pay shall 
 straight become a Christian." 
 
 Bar. How! a Christian? {Asid') Hum, what's here to 
 do? 
 
 Off. {reading). " Lasdy, he that denies this shall abso- 
 lutely lose all he has." 
 
 1 Refuses.
 
 SCENE ii.J THE JEW OF MALTA. 35 
 
 The three Jews. O my lord, we will give half. 80 
 
 Bar. O earth-mettled villains, and no Hebrews bom ! 
 And will you basely thus submit yourselves 
 To leave your goods to their arbitrament ? 
 
 Fe7-n. Why, Barabas, wilt thou be christened? 
 
 Bar. No, governor, I will be no convertite.^ 
 
 Fern. Then pay thy half. 
 
 Bar. Why, know you what you did by this device ? 
 Half of my substance is a city's wealth. 
 Governor, it was not got so easily ; 
 Nor will I part so slightly therewithal. 9c 
 
 Fern. Sir, half is the penalty of our decree, 
 Either pay that, or we will seize on all. 
 
 Bar. Corpo di Dio ! stay ! you shall have the half; 
 let me be used but as my brethren are. 
 
 Fern. No, Jew, thou hast denied the articles. 
 And now it cannot be recalled. 
 
 \_Exeunt Officers, on a sigtifrom Ferneze. 
 
 Bar. Will you then steal my goods? 
 Is theft the ground of your religion ? 
 
 Fern. No, Jew, we take particularly thine 
 To save the ruin of a multitude : 100 
 
 And better one want for the common good 
 Than many perish for a private man : 
 Yet, Barabas, we will not banish thee, 
 But here in Malta, where thou gott'st thy wealth, 
 Live still ; and, if thou canst, get more. 
 
 Bar. Christians, what or how can I multiply? 
 Of naught is nothing made. 
 
 jst Knight. From naught at first thou cam'st to little 
 wealth, 
 
 1 Convert ; so used in As You Like It and King John.
 
 36 
 
 THE JEW OF MALTA. [ACT L 
 
 no 
 
 From little unto more, from more to most : 
 
 If your first curse fall heavy on thy head, 
 
 And make thee poor and scorned of all the world, 
 
   I'is not our fault, but thy inherent sin. 
 
 Bar. What, bring you Scripture to confirm your wrongs? 
 !Yeach me not out of my possessions. 
 Some Jews are wicked, as all Christians are : 
 But say the tribe that I descended of 
 Were all in general cast away from sin, 
 Shall I be tried by their transgression? 
 The man that dealeth righteously shall live : 
 And which of you can charge me otherwise? 12c 
 
 Fern. Out, wretched Baral'as ! 
 Sham'st thou not thus to justify thyself, 
 As if we knew not thy profession? 
 If thou rely upon thy righteousness. 
 Be patient and thy riches will increase. 
 Excess of wealth is cause of covetousness : 
 .And covetousness, O, 'tis a monstrous sin. 
 
 Bar. .Ay, but theft is worse : tush ! take not from me 
 then, 
 For that is theft ! and if you rob me thus, 
 I must be forced to steal and compass* more. 13c 
 
 I si Knif^ht. Grave governor, listen not to his exclaims. 
 Convert his mansion to a nunnery ; 
 His house will harbour many holy nuns. 
 
 Fern. It shall be so. 
 
 Re-enter Officers. 
 
 Now, officers, have you done? 
 Off. Ay, my lord, we have seized upon the goods 
 
 1 Cheat.
 
 SCENE ii.T THE JEW OF MALTA. 37 
 
 And wares of Barabas, which being valuedj 
 Amount to more than all the wealth of Malta. 
 And of the other we have seized half. 
 
 Fern. Then we'll take order for the residue. 
 
 Bar. Well then, my lord, say, are you satisfied? 140 
 
 You have my goods, my money, and my wealth, 
 My ships, my store, and all that I enjoyed ; 
 And, having all, you can request no more ; 
 Unless your unrelenting flinty hearts 
 Suppress all pity in your stony breasts, 
 And now shall move you to bereave my life. 
 
 Fern. No, Barabas, to stain our hands with blood 
 Is far from us and our profession. 
 
 Bar. Why, I esteem the injury far less 
 To take the lives of miserable men icc 
 
 Than be the causers of their misery. 
 You have my wealth, the labour of my life, 
 The comfort of mine age, my children's hope. 
 And therefore ne'er distinguish of the wrong. 
 
 Fern. Content thee, Barabas, thou hast naught but right. 
 
 Bar. Ycur extreme right does me exceeding wrong : 
 But take it to you, i' the devil's name. 
 
 Fern. Come, let us in, and gather of these goods 
 The money for this tribute of the Turk. 
 
 1st Knight. 'Tis necessary that be looked unto : i6c 
 
 For if we break our day, we break the league. 
 And that will prove but simple ^ policy. 
 
 \_Exeunt all except Barabas and the Jews, 
 
 Bar. Ay, policy ! that's their profession. 
 And not simplicity, as they suggest. 
 The plagues of Egypt, and the curse of Heaven, 
 
 1 Foolish.
 
 ^8 THE JEW OF MALTA. [ACT I. 
 
 Earth's barrenness, and all men's hatred 
 
 Inflict upon them, thou great Primus Motor! 
 
 And here upon my knees, striking the earth, 
 
 I ban their souls to everlasting pains 
 
 And extreme tortures of the fiery deep, r7c 
 
 That thus have dealt with me in my distress. 
 
 jstjnc. O yet be patient, gentle Barabas. 
 
 Bar. O silly brethren, born to see this day ; 
 Why stand you thus unmoved with my laments ? 
 Why weep you not to think upon my wrongs ? 
 Why pine not I, and die in this distress? 
 
 jst Jno. ^Vhy, Barabas, as hardly can we brook 
 The cruel handling of ourselves in this ; 
 Thou seest they have taken half our goods. 
 
 Bar. Why did you yield to their extortion ? i8c 
 
 You were a multitude, and I but one : 
 And of me only have they taken all. 
 
 jst Je7i<. Yet, brother Barabas, remember Job. 
 
 Bar. What tell you me of Job? I wot his wealth 
 Was written thus : he had seven thousand sheep, 
 Three thousand camels, and two hundred yoke 
 Of labouring oxen, and five hundred 
 She-asses : but for every one of those, 
 Had they been valued at indifferent rate, 
 I had at home, and in mine argosy, igc 
 
 And other ships that came from Egypt last, 
 As much as would have bought his beasts and him, 
 .\nd yet have kept enough to live upon : 
 So that not he, but I may curse the day. 
 Thy fatal birth-day, forlorn Barabas ; 
 And henceforth wish for an eternal night, 
 That clouds of darkness may inclose my flesh,
 
 SCENE 11.] THE JEW OF MALTA. 3g 
 
 And hide these extreme sorrows from mine eyes ; 
 
 For only I have toiled to inherit here 
 
 The months of vanity and loss of time, aoc 
 
 And painful nights, have been appointed me. 
 
 2d Jew. Good Barabas, be patient. 
 
 Bar. Ay, I pray, leave me in my patience. You, 
 Were ne'er possessed of wealth, are pleased with want ; 
 But give him liberty at least to mourn, 
 That in a field amidst his enemies 
 Doth see his soldiers slain, himself disarmed. 
 And knows no means of his recovery : 
 Ay, let me. sorrow for this sudden chance ; 
 'Tis in the trouble of my spirit I speak ; 2to 
 
 Great injuries are not so soon forgot. 
 
 1st Jew. Come, let us leave him ; in his ireful mood 
 Our words will but increase his ecstasy.^ 
 
 2d Jew. On, then ; but trust me 'tis a misery 
 To see a man in such affliction. — 
 Farewell, Barabas ! \_Exeunt the three Jews.^ 
 
 Bar. Ay, fare you well. 
 See the simplicity of these base slaves, 
 Who, for the villains have no wit themselves, 
 Think me to be a senseless lump of clay 
 That will with every water wash to dirt : 22c 
 
 No, Barabas is born to better chance, 
 And framed of finer mould than common men, 
 That measure naught but by the present time. 
 A reaching thought will search his deepest wits, 
 And cast with cunning for the time to come : 
 For evils are apt to happen every day. — 
 
 1 Violent emotion. 
 
 2 Dyce suggests that the scene is now sh tied to a street near Barabas 
 house.
 
 40 THE JEW OF MALTA. Fact X. 
 
 Enter Abigail. 
 
 But whither wends my beauteous Abigail ? 
 
 ! what has made my lovely daughter sad? 
 What, woman ! moan not for a little loss : 
 
 Thy father hath enougli in store for thee. zy: 
 
 Abig. Not for myself, but ag^d Barabas : 
 Father, for thee lamenteth Abigail : 
 But I will learn to leave these fruitless tears, 
 And, urged thereto with my afflictions. 
 With fierce exclaims run to the senate-house, 
 And in the senate reprehend them all, 
 And rend their hearts with tearing of my hair, 
 Till they reduce ' the wrongs done to my father. 
 
 Bar. No, Abigail, things past recovery 
 Are hardly cured with exclamations. 240 
 
 Be silent, daughter, sufferance breeds ease, 
 And time may yield us an occasion 
 Which on the sudden cannot serve the turn. 
 Besides, my girl, think me not all so fond 
 As negligently to forego so much 
 Without provision for thyself and me : 
 Ten thousand portagues,- besides great pearls. 
 Rich costly jewels, and stones infinite. 
 Fearing the worst of this before it fell, 
 
 1 closely hid. 
 
 Abig. Where, father? 
 
 Bar. In my house, my girl. aec 
 
 Abig. Then shall they ne'er be seen of Barabas : 
 For they have seized upon thy house and wares. 
 
 ' I-csscn, (liminisli. Dyce suggests r^^fz-w.f. 
 2 Portuguese gold coins.
 
 SCENE II.] THE JEW OF MALTA. 4I 
 
 Bar. But they will give me leave once more, I trow, 
 To go into my house. 
 
 Abig. That may they not : 
 For there I left the governor placing nuns, 
 Displacing me ; and of thy house they mean 
 To make a nunnery, where none but their own sect' 
 Must enter in ; men generally barred. 
 
 Bar. My gold ! my gold ! and all my wealth is gone ! 
 You partial heavens, have I deserved this j)lague ? 26c 
 
 What, will you thus oppose me, luckless stars, 
 To make me desperate in my poverty? 
 And knowing me impatient in distress. 
 Think me so mad as I will hang myself, 
 That I may vanish o'er the earth in air, 
 And leave no memory that e'er I was? 
 No, I will live ; nor loathe I this my life : 
 And, since you leave me in the ocean thus 
 To sink or swim, and put me to my shifts, 
 I'll rouse my senses and awake myself. 270 
 
 Daughter ! I have it : thou perceiv'st the plight 
 Wherein these Christians have oppressed me : 
 Be ruled by me, for in extremity 
 We ought to make bar of no policy. 
 
 Abig. Father, whate'er it be to injure them 
 That have so manifestly wronged us, 
 What will not Abigail attempt? 
 
 Bar. Why, so ; 
 Then thus, thou told'st me they have turned my house 
 Into a nunnery, and some nuns are there ? 
 
 Abig. I did. 
 
 Bar. Then, Abigail, there must my girl 28c 
 
 iSex.
 
 42 
 
 THE JEW OF MALTA. UCT 1 
 
 Entreat the abbess to be entertained. 
 
 Abig. How, as a nun ? 
 
 Bar. Ay, daughter, for religion 
 Hides many mischiefs from suspicion. 
 
 At>ig. Ay, but, father, they will suspect me there. 
 
 Bar. Let 'em suspect ; but be thou so precise 
 As they may think it done of holiness. 
 Entreat 'em fair, and give them friendly speech, 
 And seem to them as if thy sins were great. 
 Till thou hast gotten to be entertained. 
 
 Abig. Thus, father, shall I much dissemble. 
 
 Bar. Tush ! 29c 
 
 As good dissemble that thou never mean'st, 
 As first mean truth and then dissemble it, — 
 A counterfeit profession is better 
 Than unseen hypocrisy.' 
 
 Abig. Well, father, say that I be entertained, 
 What then shall follow? 
 
 Bar. This shall follow then ; 
 There have I hid, close underneath the plank 
 That runs along the upper-chamber floor, 
 The gold and jewels which I kept for thee. 
 But here they come ; be cunning, Abigail. 300 
 
 Abig. Then, father, go with me. 
 
 Bar. No, Abigail, in this 
 It is not necessary I be seen : 
 For I will seem offended with thee for't : 
 Be close, my girl, for this must fetch my gold. [_They retire. 
 
 Enter Friar Ja<„-omo, Friar Barxardine, Abbess, and a Nun. 
 
 F. Jac. Sisters, we now are almost at the new-made 
 nunnery. 
 
 ' This passage is corrupt.
 
 SCENE II.] THE lEW OF MALTA. 43 
 
 Abb. The better ; for we love not to be seen : 
 'Tis thirty winters long since some of us 
 Did stray so far amongst the multitude. 
 
 F.Jac. But, madam, this house 
 And waters ^ of this new-made nunnery 310 
 
 Will much delight you. 
 
 Abb. It may be so ; but who comes here ? 
 
 [Abigail comes forward. 
 
 Abig. Grave abbess, and you, happy virgins' guide. 
 Pity the state of a distressed maid. 
 
 Abb. What art thou, daughter? 
 
 Abig. The hopeless daughter of a hapless Jew, 
 The Jew of Malta, wretched Barabas ; 
 Sometime the owner of a goodly house, 
 Which they have now turned to a nunnery. 
 
 Abb. Well, daughter, say, what is thy suit with us? 320 
 
 Abig. Fearing the afflictions which my father feels 
 Proceed from sin, or want of faith in us, 
 I'd pass away my Hfe in penitence. 
 And be a novice in your nunnery. 
 To make atonement for my labouring soul. 
 
 F. Jac. No doubt, brother, but this proceedeth of the 
 spirit. 
 
 F. Barn. Ay, and of a moving spirit too, brother ; but 
 come. 
 Let us entreat she may be entertained. 
 
 Abb. Well, daughter, we admit you for a nun. 
 
 Abig. First let me as a novice learn to frame 330 
 
 "vly solitary Hfe to your strait laws, 
 And let me lodge where I was wont to he, 
 I do not doubt, by your divine precepts 
 
 1 BuUen suggests cloisters.
 
 44 
 
 THE JEW OF MALTA. (ACT L 
 
 And mine own industry, but to profit much. 
 
 Bar. {aside). As much, 1 hope, as all I hid is worth. 
 
 Abb. Come, daughter, follow us. 
 
 Bar. {coming forward) . Why, how now, Abigail, 
 What makest thou amongst these hateful Christians ? 
 
 F. Jac. Hinder her not, thou man of little faith, 
 For she has mortified herself. 
 
 Biir. How ! mortified ? 
 
 F. Jac. And is admitted to the sisterhood. 340 
 
 Bar. Child of perdition, and thy father's shame ! 
 WTiat wilt thou do among these hateful fiends? 
 I charge thee on my blessing that thou leave 
 These devils, and their damned heresy. 
 
 Abig. Father, give me — ^ \_She goes to him. 
 
 Bar. Nay, back, Abigail. 
 (And think upon the jewels and the gold ; 
 
 \_Aside to Abigail in a whisper. 
 The board is marked thus that covers it.) 
 Away, accursed from thy father's sight. 
 
 F.Jac. Barabas, although thou art in mischief. 
 And wilt not see thine own afflictions, 350 
 
 Yet let thy daughter be no longer blind. 
 
 Bar. Blind friar, I reck not thy persuasions, 
 (The board is marked thus^ that covers it.) 
 
 \_Aside to Abigail in a whisper. 
 For I had rather die than see her thus. 
 Wilt thou forsake me too in my distress, 
 Seduced daughter? {Aside in a whisper) (Go forget not,) 
 Becomes it Jews to be so credulous ? 
 (To-morrow early I'll be at the door.) \_Aside in a whisper. 
 
 1 Dycc suggests /arrive me, 
 
 - The original edition has + inserted here, to indicate the sign Barabas 
 was to make.
 
 SCENE II.] THE JEW OF MALTA. 45 
 
 No, come not at me ; if thou wilt be damned, 
 
 Forget me, see me not, and so be gone. 360 
 
 (Farewell, remember to-morrow morning.) 
 
 [^Asi'de in a whispet. 
 Out, out, thou wretch ! 
 
 \_Exeunt, on one side Barabas, on the other side 
 Friars, Abbess, Nun, and Abigail; as they 
 are going out, 
 
 Ejiter Mathias. 
 
 Math. Who's this? fair Abigail, the rich Jew's daughter. 
 Become a nun ! her father's sudden fall 
 Has humbled her and brought her down to this : 
 Tut, she were fitter for a tale of love. 
 Than to be tirfed out with orisons. 
 
 Enter LoDOWiCK. 
 
 Lod. Why, how now, Don Mathias ! in a dump ? 
 
 Math. Believe me, noble Lodowick, I have seen 
 The strangest sight, in my opinion, 37c 
 
 That ever I beheld. 
 
 Lod. What was't, I prithee? 
 
 Math. A fair young maid, scarce fourteen years of age. 
 The sweetest flower in Cytherea's field, 
 Cropt from the pleasures of the fruitful earth, 
 And strangely metamorphosed nun. 
 
 Lod. But say, what was she ? 
 
 Math. Why, the rich Jew's daughter. 
 
 Lod. What, Barabas, whose goods were lately seized ? 
 Is she so fair? 
 
 Math. And matchless beautiful ; 
 As, had you seen her, 'twould have moved your heart.
 
 ^6 THE JEV\' OF MALTA. [act n. 
 
 'i'hough countermined with walls of brass, to love, 380 
 
 Or at the least to pity. 
 
 Lod. And if she be so fair as you report, 
 ■'I'were time well spent to go and visit her : 
 How say you, shall we? 
 
 Math. I must and will, sir ; there's no remedy. 
 
 Loii. .And so will I too, or it shall go hard. 
 Farewell. Mathias. 
 
 Math. Farewell, Lodowick. [_Exeunt severally. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scent. I. — Before Barabas's House, now a Nunnery. 
 
 Enter Barabas with a light. 
 
 Bar. I'hus, like the sad presaging raven that tolls 
 The sick man's passport in her hollow beak, 
 And in the shadow of the silent night 
 iJoth shake contagion from her sable wings ; 
 Vexed and tormented runs poor Barabas 
 With fatal curses towards these Christians. 
 The uncertain pleasures of swift-footed time 
 Have ta'en their flight, and left me in despair; 
 And of my former riches rests no more 
 I'ut bare remembrance, like a soldier's scar, 10 
 
 That has no further comfort for his maim. 
 O thou, that with a fiery pillar led'st 
 The sons of Israel through the dismal shades, 
 Light .Abraham's offspring ; and direct the hand 
 Of .Abigail this night ; or let the day 
 Turn to eternal darkness after this !
 
 SCENE I.] THE JEW OF MALTA. 47 
 
 No sleep can fasten on my watchful eyes, 
 Nor quiet enter my distempered thoughts, 
 Till I have answer of my Abigail. 
 
 Enter Abigail above. 
 
 Abig. Now have I happily espied a time 20 
 
 To search the plank my father did appoint ; 
 And here behold, unseen, where I have found 
 The gold, the pearls, and jewels, which he hid. 
 
 Bar. Now I remember those old women's words, 
 Who in my wealth ' would tell me winter's tales, 
 And speak of spirits and ghosts that glide by night 
 About the place where treasure hath been hid : - 
 And now methinks that I am one of those : 
 For whilst I live, here lives my soul's sole hope. 
 And, when I die, here shall my spirit walk. 30 
 
 Abig. Now that my father's fortune were so good 
 As but to be about this happy place ; 
 'Tis not so happy : yet when we parted last, 
 He said he would attend me in the morn. 
 Then, gentle sleep, where'er his body rests. 
 Give charge to Morpheus that he may dream 
 A golden dream, and of the sudden wake. 
 Come and receive the treasure I have found. 
 
 Bar. Bueno para todos mi ganado no era: 
 As good go on as sit so sadly thus. ' 40 
 
 But stay, what star shines yonder in the east ? '' 
 The loadstar of my life, if Abigail. 
 Who's there? 
 
 1 Bullen suggests that this is a misprint {ox youth. - Cf. Hamlet, i. 1 
 
 8 Cf. Romeo and Juliet, ii, 2 : 
 
 " but soft! what light through yonder window breaks! 
 It is the east, and Juliet is the sun ! "
 
 48 THE JEW OF MALTA. [act ii. 
 
 Abig. Who's that? 
 
 Bar. Peace, Abigail, 'tis I. 
 
 Abig. Then, father, here receive thy happiness. 
 
 Bar. Hast ihou't? 
 
 Abig. Here, {throws down the bags) hast thou't? 
 There's more, and more, and more. 
 
 Bar. O my girl, 
 My gold, my fortune, my felicity ! 
 Strength to my soul, death to mine enemy ! 
 Welcome the first beginner of my bhss ! 50 
 
 O Abigail, Abigail, that I had thee here too ! 
 Then my desires were fully satisfied : 
 But I will practise thy enlargement thence : 
 O girl ! O gold ! ^ O beauty ! O my bliss ! \^Hugs the bags. 
 
 Abig. Father, it draweth towards midnight now. 
 And 'bout this time the nuns begin to wake ; 
 To shun suspicion, therefore, let us part. 
 
 Bar. Pare well, my joy, and by my fingers take 
 A kiss from him that sends it from his soul. 
 
 {^Exit Abigail above. 
 Now Phcebus ope the eyelids of the day,- 60 
 
 And for the raven wake the morning lark. 
 That I may hover with her in the air ; 
 Singing o'er these, as she does o'er her young, 
 HcrmosG placer de las dineros? \_Exit. 
 
 - Cf. Shylock's " My daughter ! O my ducats ! O my daughter ! " Mer- 
 chant of Venice, ii, 8. 
 
 - Cf. Job xli, i8: " His eyes are Hke the eyeHds of the morning; " and 
 .M'lton, Lycidas : " Under the opening eyelids of the mom." 
 
 * Spanish ; " beautiful pleasure of money."
 
 SCENE II.] THE JEW OF MALTA. 49 
 
 Scene II. — The Senaie-liouse. 
 Enter Ferneze, Martin del Bosco, and Knights. 
 
 Fern. Now, captain, tell us whither thou art bound? 
 Whence is thy ship that anchors in our road ? 
 And why thou cam'st ashore without our leave? 
 
 Bosc. Governor of Malta, hither am I bound ; 
 My ship, the Flying Dragoji, is of Spain, 
 And so am I : Del Bosco is my name ; 
 Vice-admiral unto the Catholic King. 
 
 jst Knight. 'Tis true, my lord, therefore entreat ^ him 
 well. 
 
 Bosc. Our fraught is Grecians, Turks, and Afric Moors. 
 For late upon the coast of Gorsica, 10 
 
 Because we vailed^ not to the Turkish fleet, 
 Their creeping galleys had us in the chase : 
 But suddenly the wind began to rise, 
 And then we luffed and tacked, and fought at ease : 
 Some have we fired, and many have we sunk ; 
 But one amongst the rest became our prize : 
 The captain's slain, the rest remain our slaves, 
 Of whom we would make sale in Malta here. 
 
 Fern. Martin del Bosco, I have heard of thee ; 
 Welcome to Malta, and to all of us ; 20 
 
 But to admit a sale of these thy Turks 
 We may not, nay, we dare not give consent 
 By reason of a tributary league. 
 
 1st Knight. Del Bosco, as thou lov'st and honour'st us,. 
 Persuade our governor against the Turk ; 
 This truce we have is but in hope of gold, 
 
 1 Treat. 2 Lowered not our flags.
 
 -o THE JEW OF MALTA. [act a. 
 
 And with that sum he craves might we wage war. 
 
 Bosc. Will Knights of Malta be in league with Turks, 
 And buy it basely too for sums of gold ? 
 My lord, remember that, to Europe's shame, 30 
 
 The Christian Isle of Rhodes,^ from whence you came, 
 Was lately lost, and you were stated - here 
 To be at deadly enmity with Turks. 
 
 Fern. Captain, we know it, but our force is small. 
 
 Bosc. W^hat is the sum that Calymath requires? 
 
 Fern. A hundred thousand crowns. 
 
 Bosc. My lord and king hath title to this isle, 
 And he means quickly to expel you hence ; 
 Therefore be ruled by me, and keep the gold : 
 I'll write unto his majesty for aid, 40 
 
 And not depart until I see you free. 
 
 Fern. On this condition shall thy Turks be sold : 
 Go, officers, and set them straight in show. \_Exeunt Off. 
 Bosco, thou shalt be Malta's general ; 
 We and our warlike Knights will follow thee 
 .Against these barb'rous misbelieving Turks. 
 
 Bosc. So shall you imitate those you succeed : 
 For when their hideous force environed Rhodes, 
 Small though the number was that kept the town. 
 They fought it out and not a man survived 50 
 
 To bring the hapless news to Christendom. 
 
 Fern. So will we fight it out ; come, let's away : 
 Proud daring Calymath, instead of gold, 
 We'll send thee bullets wrapt in smoke and fire : ^ 
 Claim tribute where thou wilt, we are resolved, 
 Honour is bought with blood and not with gold. \_Exeiint. 
 
 1 Rhodes was wrested from the Knights of St. John by Solyman II, in 
 
 ISM- 
 
 ••i Established. a cf. King John, i, 2.
 
 SCENE III.] THE JEW OF MALTA. 51 
 
 Scene III. — The Market-place. 
 Enter Officers with Ithamore and other Slaves. 
 
 1st Off. This is the market-place, here let 'em stand : 
 Fear not their sale, for they'll be quickly bought. 
 
 2d Off. Every one's price is written on his back, 
 And so much must they yield or not be sold. 
 
 1st Off. Here comes the Jew ; had not his goods been 
 seized. 
 He'd given us present money for them all. 
 
 Enter Barabas. 
 
 Bar. In spite of these swine-eating Christians, — 
 Unchosen nation, never circumcised, 
 Such as (poor villains !) were ne'er thought upon 
 Till Titus and Vespasian conquered us, — 10 
 
 Am I become as wealthy as I was : 
 They hoped my daughter would ha' been a nun ; 
 But she's at home, and I have bought a house 
 As great and fair as is the governor's ; 
 And there in spite of Malta will I dwell. 
 Having Ferneze's hand, whose heart I'll have ; 
 Ay, and his son's too, or it shall go hard. 
 I am not of the tribe of Levi, I, 
 That can so soon forget an injury. 
 
 We Jews can fawn like spaniels when we please : ■'o 
 
 And when we grin we bite, yet are our looks 
 As innocent and harmless as a lamb's. 
 I learned in Florence how to kiss my hand, 
 Heave up my shoulders when they call me dog/ 
 
 1 Cf. this passage with Shylock's speeches with Antonio ; Merchant oj 
 Venice, i, 3.
 
 52 THE JEW OF MALTA. [ACT it 
 
 And duck as low as any barefoot friar; 
 
 Hoping to see them starve upon a stall, 
 
 Or else be gathered for in our synagogue, 
 
 That, when the offering-basin comes to me, 
 
 P^ven for charity I may spit into't. 
 
 Here comes Don Lodowick, the governor's son, % 
 
 One that I love for his good father's sake. 
 
 Enter Lodowick. 
 
 Lod. I hear the wealthy Jew walked this way : 
 I'll seek him out, and so insinuate. 
 That I may have a sight of Abigail ; 
 For Don Mathias tells me she is fair. 
 
 Bar. {aside). Now will I show myself 
 To have more of the serpent than the dove ; 
 That is — more knave than fool. 
 
 Lod. Yond' walks the Jew ; now for fair Abigail. 
 
 Bar. {aside). Ay, ay, no doubt but she's at your command. 
 
 Lod. Barabas, thou know'st I am the governor's son. 41 
 
 Bar. I would you were his father, too, sir ; 
 That's all the harm I wish you. {Aside) The slave looks 
 Like a hog's-cheek new singed. 
 
 Lod. Whither walk'st thou, Barabas ? 
 
 Bar. No farther : 'tis a custom held with us, 
 That when we speak with Gentiles like to you, 
 We turn into the air to purge ourselves : 
 For unto us the promise doth belong. 
 
 Lod. Well, Barabas, canst help me to a diamond? 50 
 
 Bar. O, sir, your father had my diamonds. 
 Yet I have one left that will serve your turn : — 
 (Aiide) I mean my daughter : but ere he shall have her 
 I'll sacrifice her on a pile of wood.
 
 SCENE III.] THE JEW OF MALTA. 53 
 
 I ha' the poison of the city for him,' 
 And the white leprosy. 
 
 Loci. What sparkle does it give without a foil? 
 
 Bar. The diamond that I talk of ne'er was foiled : ^ — 
 {Aside) But when he touches it, it will be foiled : — 
 T^ord Lodowick, it sparkles bright and fair. 6c 
 
 LoiL Is it square or pointed, pray let me know. 
 
 Bar. Pointed it is, good sir — (aside) but not for you. 
 
 Lod. I like it much the better. 
 
 Bar. So do I too. 
 
 Lod. How shows it by night? 
 
 Bar. Outshines Cynthia's rays. 
 
 Lod. And what's the price? 
 
 Bar. {aside). Your life an if you have it. O my lord, 
 We will not jar about the price ; come to my house 
 And I will give't your honour {aside) with a vengeance. 
 
 Lod. No, Barabas, I will deserve it first. 
 
 Bar. Good sir, 70 
 
 Your father has deserved it at my hands, 
 Who, of mere charity and Christian truth, 
 To bring me to religious purity, 
 And as it were in catechising sort, 
 To make me mindful of my mortal sins. 
 Against my will, and whether I would or no. 
 Seized all I had, and thrust me out o' doors, 
 And made my house a place for nuns most chaste. 
 
 Lod. No doubt your soul shall reap the fruit of it. 
 
 Bar. Ay, but, my lord, the harvest is far off. 8c 
 
 And yet I know the prayers of those nuns 
 And holy friars, having money for their pains. 
 Are wondrous ; {aside) and indeed do no man good : 
 
 i Dyce suggests that this is a misprint. 2 Defiled.
 
 5d THE JEW OF MALTA. [ACT II. 
 
 And seeing they are not idle,- but still doing, 
 'Tis likely they in time may reap some fruit, 
 I mean in fulness of perfection. 
 
 LoiL Good Barabas, glance not at our holy nuns. 
 
 Bar. No, but I do it through a burning zeal, — 
 {Aside) Hoping ere long to set the house afire ; 
 For though they do a while increase and multiply, go 
 
 I'll have a saying' to that nimnery. — 
 As for the diamond, sir, I told you of, 
 Come home and there's no price shall make us part. 
 Even for your honourable father's sake. — 
 {Aside) It shall go hard but I will see your death. — 
 But now I must be gone to buy a slave. 
 
 Lod. And, Barabas, I'll bear thee company. 
 
 Bar. Come then — here's the market-place. 
 What's the price of this slave ? Two hundred crowns ! 
 Do the Turks weigh so much ? 
 
 jst Off. Sir, that's his price. loo 
 
 Bar. What, can he steal that you demand so much .'' 
 Belike he has some new trick for a purse ; 
 And if he has, he is worth three hundred plates,- 
 So that, being bought, the town-seal might be got 
 To keep him for his lifetime from the gallows : 
 The sessions day is critical to thieves, 
 .\nd few or none 'scape but by being purged. 
 
 Lod. Rat'st thou this Moor but at two hundred plates ^ 
 
 jst Off. No more, my lord. 
 
 Bar. Why should this Turk be dearer than that Moor? no 
 
 jst Off. Because he is young and has more qualities. 
 
 1 Cf. Barnes's DiviPs Charter, 1607 : " For I must have a saying to those 
 bottels." 
 
 2 Pieces of silver.
 
 SCENE III.] THK jF.W OF MALTA. 55 
 
 Bar. What, hast the philosopher's stone ? an thou hast, 
 break my head with it, I'll forgive thee. 
 
 Slave. No, sir ; I can cut and shave. 
 
 Bar. Let me see, sirrah, are you not an old shaver?^ 
 
 Slave. Alas, sir ! I am a very youth. 
 
 Bar. A youth? I'll buy you, and marry you to Lady 
 Vanity," if you do well. 
 
 Slave. I will serve you, sir. iig 
 
 Bar. Some wicked trick or other. It may be, under 
 colour of shaving, thou'lt cut my throat for my goods. 
 Tell me, hast thou thy health well ? 
 
 Slave, Ay, passing well. 
 
 Bar. So much the worse ; I must have one that's sickly, 
 an't be but for sparing victuals ; 'tis not a stone of beef a 
 day will maintain you in these chops ; let me see one that's 
 somewhat leaner. 
 
 1st Off. Here's a leaner, how like you him ? 
 
 Bar. Where wast thou born ? 
 
 Itha. In Thrace ; brought up in Arabia. 130 
 
 Bar. So much the better, thou art for my turn. 
 An hundred crowns ? I'll have him ; there's the coin. 
 
 \_Gives money. 
 
 1st Off. Then mark him, sir, and take him hence. 
 
 Bar. (^aside) . Ay, mark him, you were best, for this is he 
 That by my help shall do much villainy. 
 My lord, farewell : Come, sirrah, you are mine. 
 As for the diamond, it shall be yours ; 
 I pray, sir, be no stranger at my house. 
 All that I have shall be at your command. 
 
 1 This term of contempt was originally applied to priests with shaven 
 crown. 
 
 2 An allegorical character in the old morality plays ; cf. / Henry IV, ii, 4.
 
 56 THE JEW OF MALTA. [act ii. 
 
 Enter Mathias and his Mother Katherine. 
 
 Math. What makes the Jew and Lodowick so private? 14c 
 {Aside) I fear me 'tis about fair Abigail. 
 
 Bar. Yonder comes Don Mathias, let us stay ; ^ 
 
 \_Exit Lodowick. 
 He loves my daughter, and she holds him dear : 
 But I have sworn to frustrate both their hopes. 
 And be revenged upon the governor. 
 
 Kath. This Moor is comeliest, is he not? speak, son. 
 
 Math. No, this is the better, mother ; view this well. 
 
 Bar. Seem not to know me here before your mother. 
 Lest she mistrust the match that is in hand : 
 When you have brought her home, come to my house ; 15a 
 Think of me as thy father ; son, farewell. 
 
 Math. But wherefore talked Don Lodowick with you? 
 
 Bar. Tush ! man, we talked of diamonds, not of Abigail, 
 
 Kath. Tell me, Mathias, is not that the Jew? 
 
 Bar. As for the comment on the Maccabees, 
 I have it, sir, and 'tis at your command. 
 
 Math. Yes, madam, and my talk with him was but 
 About the borrowing of a book or two. 
 
 Kath. Converse not with him, he's cast off from heaven. 
 Thou hast thy crowns, fellow ; come, let's away. i6c 
 
 Math. Sirrah, Jew, remember the book. 
 
 Bar. Marry will I, sir. 
 
 \^Exeunt Mathias and his Mother 
 
 Off. Come, I have made reasonable market ; let's away. 
 
 [^Exeunt Officers 7vith Slaves. 
 
 Bar. Now let me know thy name, and therewithal 
 Thy birth, condition, and profession. 
 
 1 Break off our conversation.
 
 SCENE lii.J THE JEW OF MALTA. 57 
 
 Itha. Faith, sir, my birth is but mean : my name's 
 Ithamore, my profession what you please. 
 
 Bar. Hast thou no trade ? then listen to my words. 
 And I will teach thee that shall stick by thee : 
 First be thou void of these affections, i;^ 
 
 Compassion, love, vain hope, and heartless fear, 
 Be moved at nothing, see thou pity none, 
 But to thyself smile when the Christians moan. 
 
 Itha. O brave ! master, I worship your nose ^ for this. 
 
 Bar. As for myself, I walk abroad o' nights ^ 
 And kill sick people groaning under walls : 
 Sometimes I go about and poison wells ; 
 And now and then, to cherish Christian thieves, 
 I am content to lose some of my crowns, 
 That I may, walking in my gallery, i8c 
 
 See 'em go pinioned along by my door. 
 Being young, I studied physic, and began 
 To practise first upon the Italian ; 
 There I enriched the priests with burials. 
 And always kept the sextons' arms in ure ^ 
 With digging graves and ringing dead men's knells : 
 And after that was I an engineer, 
 And in the wars ' twixt France and Germany, 
 Under pretence of helping Charles the Fifth, 
 Slew friend and enemy with my stratagems. 190 
 
 Then after that was I an usurer. 
 And with extorting, cozening, forfeiting, 
 And tricks belonging unto brokery, 
 
 1 Barabas was represented with a large false nose. So Rowley, in his 
 Search for Money (1609), alludes to the " artificiall Jewe of Maltaes nose." 
 
 2 In Titus Andronicus (v, i,) there is a similar catalogue of villanies. 
 8 Use.
 
 5^ THE JEW OF MALTA. [act ii. 
 
 I tilled the jails with bankrupts in a year. 
 
 And with young orphans planted hospitals, 
 
 Antl every moon made some or other mad, 
 
 And now and then one hang himself for grief, 
 
 Pinning upon his breast a long great scroll 
 
 How I with interest tormented him. 
 
 Hut mark how T am blest for plaguing them ; 200 
 
 I have as much coin as will buy the town. 
 
 Hut tell me now, how hast thou spent thy time ? 
 
 Itha. 'Faith, master, 
 In setting Christian villages on fire. 
 Chaining of eunuchs, binding galley-slaves. 
 One time I was an ostler in an inn, 
 And in the night-time secretly would I steal 
 To travellers' chambers, and there cut their throats : 
 Once at Jemsalem, where the pilgrims kneeled, 
 I strewed powder on the marble stones, 21c 
 
 And therewithal their knees would rankle so. 
 That I have laughed a-good^ to see the cripples 
 (io limping home to Christendom on stilts. 
 
 Bar. Why this is something : make account of me 
 As of thy fellow ; we are villains both : 
 Hoth circumcised, we hate Christians both : 
 Be true and secret, thou shalt want no gold. 
 But stand aside, here comes Don Lodowick. 
 
 Enter LoDOWiCK.-' 
 
 Lod. O Barbaras, well met ; 
 Where is the diamond you told me of? 220 
 
 ' Heartily. 
 
 •^ Dyce suggests that the scene is shifted to the outside of Barabas's 
 house.
 
 SCENE III.] THE JEW OF MALTA. 59 
 
 Bar. I have it for you, sir ; please you walk in with me : 
 What ho, Abigail ! open the door, I say. 
 
 Enter Abigail with letters. 
 
 Abig. In good time, father ; here are letters come 
 From Ormus, and the post stays here within. 
 
 Bar. Give me the letters. — Daughter, do you hear, 
 Entertain Lodowick the governor's son 
 With all the courtesy you can afford ; 
 {Aside') Use him as if he were a Philistine, 
 Dissemble, swear, protest, vow love to him. 
 He is not of the seed of Abraham. — 230 
 
 I am a little busy, sir, pray pardon me. 
 Abigail, bid him welcome for my sake. 
 
 Abig. For your sake and his own he's welcome hither. 
 
 Bar. {aside). Daughter, a word more; kiss him; speak 
 him fair, 
 And like a cunning Jew so cast about. 
 That ye be both made sure ^ ere you come out. 
 
 Abig. O father ! Don Mathias is my love. 
 
 Bar. (aside) . I know it : yet I say, make love to him ; 
 Do, it is requisite it should be so — 
 
 Nay, on my life, it is my factor's hand — 240 
 
 But go you in, I'll think upon the account. 
 
 [^Exeunt Abigail and Lodowick into the house. 
 The account is made, for Lodowick he dies. 
 My factor sends me word a merchant's fled 
 That owes me for a hundred tun of wine : 
 I weigh it thus much {snapping his fingers) ; I have wealth 
 
 enough. 
 For now by this has he kissed Abigail ; 
 
 1 Betrothed.
 
 5o THE JEW OF MALTA. [ACT lU 
 
 And she vows love to him, and he to her. 
 
 As sure as Heaven rained manna for the Jews, 
 
 So sure shall he and Don Mathias die : 
 
 His father was my chiefest enemy. 250 
 
 Enter Mathias. 
 
 Whither goes Don Mathias ? stay awhile. 
 
 Math. Whither, but to my fair love Abigail ? 
 
 Bar. Thou know'st, and Heaven can witness this is true, 
 That I intend my daughter shall be thine. 
 
 Math. Ay, Barabas, or else thou wrong'st me much. 
 
 Bar. O, Heaven forbid I should have such a thought. 
 Pardon me though I weep : the governor's son 
 Will, whether I will or no, have Abigail : 
 He sends her letters, bracelets, jewels, rings. 
 
 Math. Does she receive them? 260 
 
 Bar. She ? No, Mathias, no, but sends them back, 
 And when he comes, she locks herself up fast ; 
 Yet through the keyhole will he talk to her, 
 While she runs to the window looking out. 
 When you should come and hale him from the door. 
 
 Math. O treacherous Lodowick ! 
 
 Bar. Even now as I came home, he slipt me in, 
 And I am sure he is with Abigail. 
 
 Math. I'll rouse him thence. 
 
 Bar. Not for all Malta, therefore sheathe your sword ; 27c 
 If you love me, no quarrels in my house ; 
 But steal you in, and seem to see him not ; 
 I'll give him such a warning ere he goes 
 As he shall have small hopes of .\bigail. 
 Away, for here they come.
 
 SCENE lli.J THE JEW OF MALTA. 6l 
 
 Re-enter Lodowick a7id Abigail. 
 
 Math. What, hand in hand ! I cannot suffer this. 
 
 Bar. Mathias, as thou lovest me, not a word. 
 
 Math. Well, let it pass, another time shall serve. 
 
 \_Exit into the house. 
 
 Lod. Barabas, is not that the widow's son ? 
 
 Bar. Ay, and take heed, for he hath sworn your death. 280 
 
 Lod. My death ? what, is the base-born peasant mad ? 
 
 Bar. No, no, but happily he stands in fear 
 Of that which you, I think, ne'er dream upon. 
 My daughter here, a paltry silly girl. 
 
 Lod. Why, loves she Don Mathias? 
 
 Bar. Doth she not with her smiling answer you ? 
 
 Abig. {aside). He has my heart; I smile against my will. 
 
 Lod. Barabas, thou know'st I've loved thy daughter long. 
 
 Bar. And so has she done you, even from a child. 
 
 Lod. And now I can no longer hold my mind. 290 
 
 Bar. Nor I the affection that I bear to you. 
 
 Lod. This is thy diamond, tell me shall I have it? 
 
 Bar. Win it, and wear it, it is yet unsoiled. 
 O ! but I know your lordship would disdain 
 To marry with the daughter of a Jew ; 
 And yet I'll give her many a golden cross ^ 
 With Christian posies^ round about the ring. 
 
 Lod. 'Tis not thy wealth, but her that I esteem. 
 Yet crave I thy consent. 
 
 Bar. And mine you have, yet let me talk to her. — 300 
 (Aside) This offspring of Cain, this Jebusite,' 
 
 ^ A coin with a cross stamped on one side, like the Portuguese cruzado. 
 
 2 Mottoes. 
 
 3 The Jebusites were one of the seven Canaanitish nations which, accord- 
 ing to the writers of the Old Testament, were doomed to destruction.
 
 62 THE JEW OF MALTA. [ACT ll 
 
 That never tasted of the Passover, 
 Nor e'er shall see the land of Canaan, 
 Nor our Messias that is yet to come ; 
 This gentle maggot, Lodowick, I mean, 
 Must be deluded : let him have thy hand. 
 Rut keep thy heart till Don Mathias comes. 
 
 Abig. What, shall I be betrothed to Lodowick? 
 
 Bar. It's no sin to deceive a Christian ; 
 For they themselves hold it a principle, 31c 
 
 l-'aith is not to be held with heretics ; 
 l')Ut all are heretics that are not Jews ; 
 This follows well, and therefore, daughter, fear not. — 
 I have entreated her, and she will grant. 
 
 Lod. Then, gentle Abigail, plight thy faith to me. 
 
 Abig. I cannot choose, seeing my father bids. — 
 (Asii/t-) Nothing but death shall part my love ana me. 
 
 Lo(/. Now have I that for which my soul hath longed. 
 
 Bar. (ast'e/t') . So have not I, but yet I hope I shall. 
 
 Abtg. {aside). O wretched Abigail, what hast thou done? 
 
 Lod. \\'hy on the sudden is your colour changed? 321 
 
 Abig. I know not, but farewell, I must be gone. 
 
 Bar. Stay her, but let her not speak one word more. 
 
 Lod. Mute o' the sudden? here's a sudden change. 
 
 Bar. O, muse not at it, 'tis the Hebrews' guise, 
 That maidens new betrothed should weep awhile : 
 '['rouble her not ; sweet Lodowick, depart : 
 She is thy wife, and thou shalt be mine heir. 
 
 Lod. O, is't the custom ? then I am resolved : 
 But rather let the brightsome heavens be dim, 330 
 
 .And nature's beauty choke widi stifling clouds, 
 Than my fair Abigail should frown on me. — 
 There comes the villain, now 111 be revenged.
 
 SCENE lii.J THE JEW OF MALTA. 63 
 
 Re-enter Mathias. 
 
 Bar. Be quiet, Lodowick, it is enough 
 I'hat I have made thee sure to Abigail. 
 
 Lod. Well, let him go. \^Exit. 
 
 Bar. Well, but for me, as you went in at doors 
 You had been stabbed, but not a word on't now ; 
 Here must no speeches pass, nor swords be drawn. 
 
 Math. Suffer me, Barabas, but to follow him. . 340 
 
 Bar. No ; so shall I, if any hurt be done, 
 Be made an accessory of your deeds ; 
 Revenge it on him when you meet him next. 
 
 Math. For this I'll have his heart. 
 
 Bar. Do so ; lo here I give thee Abigail. 
 
 Math. What greater gift can poor Mathias have? 
 Shall Lodowick rob me of so fair a love ? 
 My hfe is not so dear as Abigail. 
 
 Bar. My heart misgives me, that, to cross your love, 
 He's with your mother ; therefore after him. 350 
 
 Math. What, is he gone unto my mother? 
 
 Bar. Nay, if you will, stay till she comes herself. 
 
 Math. I cannot stay ; for if my mother come, 
 She'll die with grief. \^Exit. 
 
 Abig. I cannot take my leave of him for tears : 
 Father, why have you thus incensed them both ? 
 
 Bar. What's that to thee ? 
 
 Abig. I'll make 'em friends again. 
 
 Bar. You'll make 'em friends ! 
 Are there not Jews enow in Malta, 360 
 
 But thou must doat upon a Christian? 
 
 Abig. I will havt. Don Mathias, he is my love. 
 
 Bar. Yes, you shall have him : go put her in.
 
 64 THE JEW OF MALTA. Fact hi. 
 
 Itha. Ay, I'll put her in. \_Piits Abigail in. 
 
 Bar. Now tell me, Ithamore, how lik'st thou this? 
 
 Itha. Faith, master, I think by this 
 You purchase both their lives ; is it not so ? 
 
 Bar. True ; and it shall be cunningly performed. 
 
 Itha. O master, that I might have a hand in this. 
 
 Bar. Ay, so thou shalt, 'tis thou must do the deed : 370 
 Take this, and bear it to Mathias straight, [ Gives a letter. 
 .And tell him that it comes from Lodowick. 
 
 Itha. 'Tis poisoned, is it not? 
 
 Bar. No, no, and yet it might be done that way : 
 It is a challenge feigned from Lodowick. 
 
 Itha. Fear not ; I will so set his heart afire, 
 That he shall verily think it comes from him. 
 
 Bar. I cannot choose but like thy readiness : 
 Yet be not rash, but do it cunningly. 
 
 Itha. As I behave myself in this, employ me hereafter. 3S0 
 
 Bar. Away then. {Exit Ithamore. 
 
 So, now will I go in to Lodowick, 
 .■\nd, like a cunning spirit, feign some lie. 
 Till I have set 'em both at enmity. \^Exit 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. — Outside of Bellamira's House. 
 
 Enter Bellamira, a Courtesan, 07i a balcony. 
 
 Bell. Since this town was besieged, my gain grows cold ; 
 And yet I know my beauty doth not fail. 
 From Venice merchants, and from Padua 
 Were wont to come rarc-witted gentlemen,
 
 SCENE I.] THE JEW OF MALTA. 65 
 
 Scholars I mean, learned and liberal ; 
 And now, save Pilia-Borsa, comes there none, 
 And he is very seldom from my house ; 
 And here he comes. 
 
 Enter Pilia-Borsa. 
 
 Pilia. Hold thee, wench, there's something for thee to 
 spend. \_Sheivs a bag of silver. 10 
 
 Bell. 'Tis silver. I disdain it. 
 
 Pilia. Ay, but the Jew has gold. 
 And I will have it, or, it shall go hard. 
 
 Bell. Tell me, how cam'st thou by this ? 
 
 Pilia. 'Faith, walking the back-lanes, through the gardens, 
 I chanced to. cast mine eye up to the Jew's counting-house, 
 where I saw some bags of money, and in the night I clam- 
 bered up with my hooks, and, as I was taking my choice, I 
 heard a rumbling in the house ; so I took only this, and run 
 my way : but here's the Jew's man. 20 
 
 BeU. Hide the bag. 
 
 Enter Ithamore. 
 
 Pilia. Look not towards him, let's away ; zoons, what a 
 looking thou keep'st ; thou'lt betray's anon. 
 
 \_Exeunt Bellamira and Pilu-Borsa. 
 
 Itha. O the sweetest face that ever I beheld ! I know she 
 is a courtesan by her attire : now would I give a hundred of 
 the Jew's crowns that I had such a concubine. 
 Well, I have delivered the challenge in such sort. 
 As meet they will, and fighting die ; brave sport. \_Exit.
 
 56 THE JEW OF MALTA. [act in. 
 
 Scene II. — A Street. 
 
 Enter Mathias. 
 
 Math. This is the place ; now Abigail shall see 
 Whether Mathias holds her dear or no. 
 
 Etiter LoDQwiCK. 
 
 What, dares the villain write in such base terms ? 
 
 \_Rcadiiig a letter. 
 Lod. I did it ; and revenge it if thou dar'st. \^They fight. 
 
 Enter Barabas, above, oti a balcony. 
 
 Bar. O ! bravely fought ; and yet they thrust not home. 
 
 Now, Lodovico ! now, Mathias! So \_Both/a//. 
 
 So now they have showed themselves to be tall^ fellows. 
 
 \_Cries within.'] Part 'em, part 'em. 
 
 Bar. Ay, part 'em now they are dead. Farewell, fare- 
 well. \^Exit. 
 
 Enter Ferneze, Katherine, and Attendants. 
 
 Eern. W'hat sight- is this ! — my Lodowick slain !'' lo 
 
 These arms of mine shall be thy sepulchre. 
 
 Kath. Who is this? my son Mathias slain ! 
 
 Eern. O Lodowick ! had'st thou perished by the Turk, 
 Wretched Ferneze might have 'venged thy death. 
 
 Kath. Thy son slew mine, and I'll revenge his death. 
 
 ' Brave. 
 
 2 What a sight; the article was often omitted; cf. " What night is this," 
 Julius Casar, I, 3. 
 
 •'' Here, and frequently in the play, Lodowick should be written and pro- 
 nounced as in Italian, Lodovico. The error is probably due to the copyist 
 who first transcribed the play for the press.
 
 SCENE III.] THE JEW OF MALTA. 67 
 
 Fern, Look, Katherine, look ! — thy son gave mine these 
 wounds. 
 
 Kath. O leave to grieve me, I am grieved enough. 
 
 Fern. O ! that my sighs could turn to lively breath ; 
 And these my tears to blood, that he might live, 
 
 Kath. Who made them enemies? 20 
 
 Fern. I know not, and that grieves me most of all. 
 
 Kath. My son loved thine. 
 
 Fern. And so did I^odowick him. 
 
 Kath. Lend me that weapon that did kill my son. 
 And it shall murder me. 
 
 Fern. Nay, madam, stay ; that weapon was my son's, 
 And on that rather should Ferneze die. 
 
 Kath. Hold, let's inquire the causers of their deaths, 
 That we may 'venge their blood upon their heads. 
 
 Fern. Then take them up, and let them be interred 30 
 Within one sacred monument of stone ; 
 Upon which altar I will offer up 
 My daily sacrifice of sighs and tears. 
 And with my prayers pierce impartial ^ heavens. 
 Till they reveal the causers of our smarts. 
 Which forced their hands divide united hearts : 
 Come, Katherine, our losses equal are, 
 Then of true grief let us take equal share. 
 
 \_Exeunt with the bodies 
 
 Scene IIL — A Room in Barabas' House. 
 
 Enter Ithamore. 
 
 Itha. Why, was there ever seen such villainy, 
 So neatly plotted, and so well performed ? 
 Both held in hand,- and flatly both beguiled ? 
 
 1 Unkind. 2 Kept in expectancy.
 
 ^3 THE JE\\' OF MALTA. [ACT IIL 
 
 Enter Abigail. 
 
 Abig. Why, how now, Ithamore, why laugh'st thou so? 
 Jiha. O mistress, ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 Abig. Why, what ail'st thou ? 
 Itha. O my master ! 
 Abig. Ha! 
 
 Itha. O mistress ! I have the bravest, gravest, secret, sub- 
 tle, bottle-nosed knave to my master, that ever gentleman 
 
 had. " 
 
 Abig. Say, knave, why rail'st upon my father thus? 
 
 Jtha. O, my master has the bravest policy. 
 
 Abig. Wherein? 
 
 Itha. Why, know you not? 
 
 Abig. Why, no. 
 
 Itha. Know you not of Matthias' and Don Lodowick's 
 disaster? 
 
 Abig. No, what was it ? 19 
 
 Itha. Why, the devil invented a challenge, my master 
 writ it, and I carried it, first to Lodowick, and imprimis to 
 Mathias. 
 
 And then they met, and, as the story says. 
 In doleful wise they ended both their days. 
 
 Abig. And was my father furtherer of their deaths ? 
 
 Itha. Am I Ithamore? 
 
 Abig. Yes. 
 
 Itha. So sure did your father write, and I carry the 
 challenge. 
 
 Abig. Well, Ithamore, let me request thee this. 3c 
 
 Go to the new-made nunnery, and inquire 
 For any of the friars of Saint Jacques,^ 
 
 1 St, James.
 
 SCENE III.] THE JEW OF MALTA. 69 
 
 And say, I pray them come and speak with me. 
 
 Itha. I will, forsooth, mistress. \^Exit. 
 
 Abig. Hard-hearted father, unkind Barabas ! 
 Was this the pursuit of thy policy ! 
 To make me show them favour severally. 
 That by my favour they should both be slain? 
 Admit thou,lov'dst not Lodowick for his sire, 
 Yet Don Mathias ne'er offended thee : 40 
 
 But thou wert set upon extreme revenge, 
 Because the prior dispossessed thee once, 
 And could'st not 'venge it, but upon his son 
 Nor on his son, but by Mathias' means; 
 Nor on Mathias, but by murdering me. 
 But I perceive there is no love on earth, 
 Pity in Jews, or piety in Turks. 
 But here comes cursed Ithamore, with the friar. 
 
 Enter Ithamore and Friar Jacomo. 
 
 F.Jac. Virgo, salve. 
 
 Itha. When ! ^ duck you ! 50 
 
 Abig. Welcome, grave friar ; Ithamore, begone ! 
 
 \_Exit Ithamore. 
 Know, holy sir, I am bold to solicit thee. 
 
 F.Jac. Wherein? 
 
 Abig. To get me be admitted for a nun. 
 
 F. Jac. Why, Abigail, it is not yet long since 
 That I did labour thy admission. 
 And then thou didst not like that holy life. 
 
 Abig. Then were my thoughts so frail and unconfirmed. 
 And I was chained to follies of the world : 
 But now experience, purchased with grief, 60 
 
 1 Exclamation of impatience.
 
 70 THE JEW OF MALTA. Fact in. 
 
 Has made me see the difference of things. 
 My sinful soul, alas, hath paced too long 
 The fatal labyrinth of misbelief, 
 Far from the sun that gives eternal life. 
 
 F.Jac. Who taught thee this ? 
 
 Ahig. The abbess of the house. 
 Whose zealous admonition I embrace : 
 O, therefore, Jacomo, let me be one, 
 Although unworthy, of that sisterhood. 
 
 F.Jac. Abigail, I will, but see thou change no more, yc 
 For that will be most heavy to thy soul. 
 
 Abig. That was my father's fault. 
 
 F. Jac. Thy father's ! how ? 
 
 Abig. Nay, you shall pardon me. {Aside) O Barabas, 
 Though thou deservest hardly at my hands, 
 Yet never shall these lips bewray thy life. 
 
 F. Jac. Come, shall we go ? 
 
 Abig. My duty waits on you. \JExeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. — A Room in Barabas' House. 
 
 Enter Barabas, reading a letter. 
 
 Bar. What, Abigail become a nun again ! 
 False and unkind ; what, hast thou lost thy father? 
 And all unknown, and unconstrained of me. 
 Art thou again got to the nunnery? 
 Now here she writes, and wills me to repent. 
 Repentance ! Spurca! what pretendeth ' this ? 
 I fear she knows — 'tis so — of my device 
 In Don Mathias' and Lodovico's deaths : 
 
 1 Portendeth.
 
 20 
 
 SCENE IV.] THE JEW OF MALI A. 7I 
 
 If SO, 'tis time that it be seen into : 
 
 For she that varies from me in beUef lo 
 
 Gives great presumption that she loves me not ; 
 
 Or loving, doth dislike of something done. — 
 
 But who comes here ? 
 
 Enter Ithamore. 
 
 O Ithamore, come near ; 
 Come near, my love ; come near, thy master's Ufe, 
 My trusty servant, nay, my second self: 
 For I have now no hope but even in thee. 
 And on that hope my happiness is built. 
 When saw'st thou Abigail ? 
 Itha. To-day. 
 Bar. With whom ? 
 Jtha. A friar. 
 
 Bar. A friar ! false villain, he hath done the deed. 
 Itha. How, sir? 
 
 Bar. Why, made mine Abigail a nun. 
 Itha. That's no lie, for she sent me for him. 
 Bar. O unhappy day \ 
 False, credulous, inconstant Abigail ! 
 B-ut Jet 'me go : and, Ithamore, from hence 
 Ne'er shall she grieve me more with her disgrace ; 
 Ne'er shall she live to inherit aught of mine, 3° 
 
 Be blest of me, nor come within my gates, 
 But perish underneath my bitter curse. 
 Like Cain by Adam for his brother's death. 
 Itha. O master ! 
 
 Bar. Ithamore, entreat not for her, I am moved. 
 And she is hateful to my soul and me : 
 And 'less thou yield to this that I entreat.
 
 •J 2 IHE JEW OF MALTA. [act hi 
 
 I cannot think but that thou hat'st my life. 
 
 Ma. Who, I, master? Why, I'll run to some rock, 
 And throw myself headlong into the sea ; ^o 
 
 Why, I'll do anything for your sweet sake. 
 
 Bar. O trusty Ithamore, no servant, but my friend : 
 I here adopt thee for mine only heir, 
 All that I have is thine when I am dead. 
 And whilst I live use half; spend as myself; 
 Here take my keys, I'll give 'em thee anon : 
 Go buy thee garments : but thou shalt not want : 
 Only know this, that thus thou art to do : 
 But first go fetch me in the pot of rice 
 That for our supper stands upon the fire. 50 
 
 ///la. {aside). I hold my head my master's hungry. I go, 
 sir. {Exit. 
 
 Bar. Thus every villain ambles after wealth, 
 Although he ne'er be richer than in hope : 
 But, husht ! 
 
 Re-enter Ithamore with the pot. 
 
 Jtha. Here 'tis, master. 
 
 Bar. Well said, Ithamore ; what, hast thou brought 
 The ladle with thee too? 
 
 Itha. Yes, sir, the proverb' says he that eats with the 
 devil had need of a long spoon. I have brought you a 
 ladle. 
 
 Bar. Very well, Ithamore, then now be secret ; 60 
 
 And for thy sake, whom I so dearly love, 
 Now shalt thou see the death of Abigail, 
 That thou may'st freely live to be my heir. 
 
 1 This proverb is found in Chaucer's Squiere's Tale, in A Comedy of 
 Err on, etc.
 
 SCENE IV.I THE JEW OF MALTA, 73 
 
 Itha. Why, master, will you poison her with a mess of 
 rice porridge ? that will preserve life, make her round and 
 plump, and batten more than you are aware. 
 
 Bar. Ay, but, Ithamore, seest thou this ? 
 It is a precious powder that I bought 
 Of an Italian, in Ancona, once, 
 
 Whose operation is to bind, infect, 70 
 
 And poison deeply, yet not appear 
 In forty hours after it is ta'en. 
 
 Jtha. How, master? 
 
 Bar. Thus, Ithamore. 
 This even they use in Malta here, — 'tis called 
 Saint Jacques' Even, — and then I say they use 
 To send their alms into the nunneries : 
 Among the rest bear this, and set it there ; 
 There's a dark entry where they take it in. 
 Where they must neither see the messenger, 80 
 
 Nor make inquiry who hath sent it them. 
 
 Itha. How so ? 
 
 Bar. Belike there is some ceremony in't. 
 There, Ithamore, must thou go place this pot ! 
 Stay, let me spice it first. 
 
 Itha. Pray do, and let me help you, master. Pray let 
 me taste first. 
 
 Bar. Prythee do (Ithamore tastes) : what say'st thou 
 now? 
 
 Itha. Troth, master, I'm loth such a pot of pottage 
 should be spoiled. 9c 
 
 Bar. Peace, Ithamore, 'tis better so than spared. 
 Assure thyself thou shalt have broth by the eye,* 
 My purse, my coffer, and myself is thine. 
 
 ^ In abundance.
 
 74 THE JEW OF JVIALTA. [act III 
 
 Itha. Well, master, I go. 
 
 Bar. Stay, first let me stir it, Ithamore. 
 As fatal be it to her as the draught 
 Of which great Alexander drunk and died : 
 And with her let it work like Borgia's wine. 
 Whereof his sire, the Pope, was poisoned. 
 In itw^ the blood of Hydra, Lerna's bane : ick 
 
 The juice of hebon,- and Cocytus' breath, 
 And all the poisons of the Stygian pool 
 Break from the fiery kingdom ; and in this 
 Vomit your venom and invenom her 
 That like a fiend hath left her father thus. 
 
 Itha. {aside). What a blessing has he given' t ! was ever 
 pot of rice porridge so sauced ! What shall I do with it ? 
 
 Bar. O, my sweet Ithamore, go set it down. 
 And come again so soon as thou hast done. 
 For I have other business for thee. nc 
 
 Ifha. Here's a drench to poison a whole stable of Flan- 
 ders mares : I'll carry't to the nuns with a powder. 
 
 Bar. And the horse pestilence to boot ; away ! 
 
 Ifha. I am gone. 
 Pay me my wages, for my work is done. \_Exif. 
 
 Bar. I'll pay thee with a vengeance, Ithamore. \_Exit 
 
 Scene V. — The Senate-house. 
 Enter Ferneze, Martin del Bosco, Knights, and Basso 
 
 Fern. Welcome, great basso ; how fares Calymath ? 
 What wind drives you thus into Malta-road ? 
 
 Bas. The wind that bloweth all the world besides, — 
 Desire of gold. 
 
 » In short. 2 jhe juice of ebony, regarded as a deadly poison.
 
 tCESK v.] THE JEW OF MALTA. 75 
 
 /^ern. Desire of gold, great sir? 
 That's to be gotten in the Western Ind : 
 In Malta are no golden minerals. 
 
 Bas. To you of Malta thus saith Calymath : 
 The time you took for respite is at hand, 
 For the performance of your promise passed, ic 
 
 And for the tribute-money I am sent. 
 
 T^ern. Basso, in brief, 'shalt have no tribute here. 
 Nor shall the heathens live upon our spoil : 
 First will we raze the city walls ourselves. 
 Lay waste the island, hew the temples down, 
 And, shipping off our goods to Sicily, 
 Open an entrance for the wasteful sea, 
 Whose billows beating the resistless ' banks. 
 Shall overflow it with their refluence. 
 
 Bas. Well, Governor, since thou hast broke the league 20 
 By flat denial of the promised tribute, 
 Talk not of razing down your city walls. 
 You shall not need trouble yourselves so far, 
 For Selim Calymath shall come himself, 
 And with brass bullets batter down your towers. 
 And turn proud Malta to a wilderness 
 For these intolerable wrongs of yours ; 
 And so farewell. 
 
 J^ern. Farewell : [_£xif Basso 
 
 And now, ye men of Malta, look about, 3c 
 
 And let's provide to welcome Calymath : i 
 
 Close your portcullis, charge your basilisks,^ 
 And as you profitably take up arms, 
 So now courageously encounter them ; 
 For by this answer, broken is the league, 
 
 1 Unable to resist. - Immense cannon.
 
 "6 THE JEW OF MALTA. [act hi. 
 
 And naught is to be looked for now but wars, 
 
 .\nd naught to us more welcome is than wars. \^Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VI. — A Rootn in a Convent. 
 Enter Friar J.^COMO and Friar Barnardine. 
 
 F. Jac. O, brother, brother, all the nuns are sick, 
 .Vnd physic will not help them : they must die. 
 
 F. Barn. The abbess sent for me to be confessed : 
 ( ). what a sad confession will there be ! 
 
 F. J.ic. And so did fair Maria send for me : 
 I'll to her lodging : hereabouts she lies. \Exit. 
 
 Enter Abigail. 
 
 . F. Barn. What, all dead, save only Abigail? 
 
 Abig. And I shall die too, for I feel death coming. 
 Where is the friar that conversed with me ? 
 
 F. Barn. O, he is gone to see the other nuns. ic 
 
 Adig. I sent for him, but seeing you are come, 
 Be you my ghostly father : and first know, 
 That in this house I lived religiously, 
 Chaste, and devout, much sorrowing for my sins ; 
 But ere I came 
 
 F. Barn. What then? 
 
 Abig. I did offend high Heaven so grievously, 
 As I am almost desperate for my sins : 
 And one offence torments me more than all. 
 You knew Mathias and Don Lodowick? 2c 
 
 F. Barn. Yes, what of them? 
 
 Abig. My father did contract me to 'em both : 
 First to Don Lodowick; him I never loved;
 
 SCENE VI.] THE JEW OF MALTA. 77 
 
 Mathias was the man that I held dear, 
 And for his sake did I become a nun. 
 
 F. Barn. So, say how was their end? 
 
 Abig. Both jealous of my love, envied ^ each other, 
 And by my father's practice,^ which is there 
 Set down at large, the gallants were both slain. 
 
 [ Gives a wiHtten paper. 
 
 F. Barn. O monstrous villainy ! 3c 
 
 Abig. To work my peace, this I confess to thee ; 
 Reveal it not, for then my father dies. 
 
 F. Barn. Know that confession must not he revealed, 
 Xhe canon law forbids it, and the priest 
 That makes it known, being degraded first, 
 Shall be condemned, and then sent to the fire. 
 
 Abig. So I have heard ; pray, therefore keep it close. 
 Death seizeth on my heart : ah gentle friar, 
 Convert my father that he may be saved, 
 And witness that I die a Christian. \_Dies. 40 
 
 F. Barn. Ay, and a virgin too ; that grieves me most : 
 But I must to the Jew and exclaim on him. 
 And make him stand in fear of me. 
 
 Re-enter Friar Jacomo. 
 
 F.Jac. O brother, all the nuns are dead, let's bury them. 
 F. Barn. First help to bury this, then go with me 
 And help me to exclaim against the Jew. 
 F.Jac. Why, what has he done? 
 F. Barn. A thing that makes me tremble to unfold. 
 F. Jac. What, has he crucified a child ? '^ 
 
 1 Hated ; the accent is on the second syllable. 2 Artifice. 
 
 3 The Jews were often accused of this crime, especially when the king 
 was in need of money.
 
 „g THE JEW' OF MALTA. [act iv. 
 
 F. Barn. No, but a worse thing : 'twas told to me in 
 
 shrift, 5° 
 Thou know'st 'tis death an if it be revealed. 
 
 Come, let's away. \_Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. — A Street. 
 Enter Barabas and Ithamore. Bells within. 
 
 Bar. There is no music to * a Christian's knell : 
 How sweet the bells ring now the nuns are dead, 
 That sound at other times like tinker's pans 1 
 1 was afraid the poison had not wrought ; 
 Or though it wrought, it would have done no good : 
 Now all are dead, not one remains alive. 
 
 I/Jui. That's brave, master, but think you it will not be 
 known ? 
 
 Bar. How can it, if we two be secret? 
 
 Itha. For my part fear you not. 
 
 Bar. I'd cut thy throat if I did. lo 
 
 Jtha. And reason too. 
 But here's a royal monastery hard by ; 
 (lood master, let me poison all the monks. 
 
 Bar. Thou shalt not need, for now the nuns are dead 
 They'll die with grief. 
 
 Itha. Do you not sorrow for your daughter's death? 
 
 Bar. No, but I grieve because she li\'e(l so long. 
 .An Hebrew born, and would become a Christian ! 
 Cazzo, diabolo. 
 
 1 Equal to.
 
 SCENE l.J THE JEW OF MALTA. 79 
 
 Enter Friar Jacomo and Friar Barnardine. 
 
 Itha. Look, look, master, here come two religious cater- 
 pillars. 21 
 Bar. I smelt 'em ere they came. 
 Itha. God-a-mercy, nose ! come, let's be gone. 
 F. Barn. Stay, wicked Jew, repent, I say, and stay. 
 F. Jac. Thou hast offended, therefore must be damned. 
 Bar. I fear they know we sent the poisoned broth. 
 Itha. And so do I, master ; therefore speak 'em fair. 
 
 F. Barn. Barabas, thou hast 
 
 F. Jac. Ay, that thou hast 
 
 Bar. True, I have money, what though I have? zo 
 
 F. Barn. Thou art a 
 
 F. Jac. Ay, that thou art, a 
 
 Bar. What needs all this ? I know I am a Jew. 
 
 F. Barn. Thy daughter 
 
 F. Jac. Ay, thy daughter 
 
 Bar. O speak not of her ! then I die with grief. 
 
 F. Barn. Remember that 
 
 F. Jac. Ay, remember that 
 
 Bar. I must needs say that I have been a great usurer. 
 
 F. Barn. Thou hast committed 40 
 
 Bar. Fornication — but that was in another country ; 
 And besides, the wench is dead. 
 
 F. Barn. Ay, but, Barabas, 
 Remember Mathias and Don Lodowick. 
 
 Bar. Why, what of them ? 
 
 F. Barn. I will not say that by a forged challenge they 
 met. 
 
 Bar. {aside). She has confest, and we are both undone, 
 My bosom inmate ! but I must dissemble. —
 
 So THE JEW OF MALTA. [act iv. 
 
 holy friars, the burthen of my sins 
 
 Lie heavy on my soul ; then pray you tell me, - 50 
 
 Is't not too late now to turn Christian? 
 
 1 have been zealous in the Jewish faith, 
 Hard-hearted to the poor, a covetous wretch, 
 That would for lucre's sake have sold my soul. 
 A hundred for a hundred I have ta'en ; 
 
 And now for store of wealth may I compare 
 
 With all the Jews of Malta ; but what is wealth ? 
 
 I am a Jew, and therefore am I lost. 
 
 ^Vould penance serve to atone for this my sin, 
 
 I could afford to whip myself to death 60 
 
 ///la. And so could I ; but penance will not ser\'e. 
 
 Bar. To fast, to pray, and wear a shirt of hair, 
 And on my knees creep to Jerusalem. 
 Cellars of wine, and soUars ^ full of wheat, 
 Warehouses stuft with spices and with drugs, 
 V.'hole chests of gold, in bullion, and in coin, 
 Besides I know not how much weight in pearl, 
 Orient and round, have I within my house ; 
 At Alexandria, merchandise unsold : ^ 
 
 But yesterday two ships went from this town, 70 
 
 Their voyage will be worth ten thousand crowns. 
 In Florence, Venice, Antwerp, London, Seville, 
 Frankfort, Lubeck, Moscow, and where not. 
 Have I debts owing ; and in most of these. 
 Great sums of money lying in the banco ; 
 All this ni give to some religious house. 
 So I may be baptized, and live therein. 
 
 1 Attics, or lofts (Latin solarium) ; still used in some parts ol Englann, 
 and in legal documents. 
 - Dyce suggests untold.
 
 SCENE X.] THE JEW OF MALTA. 8 1 
 
 F. Jac. O good Barabas, come to our house. 
 
 F. Barn. O no, good Barabas, come to our house ; 
 And, Barabas, you know 8c 
 
 Bar. I know that I have highly sinned. 
 You shall convert me, you shall have all my wealth. 
 
 F.Jac. O Barabas, their laws are strict. 
 
 Bar. I know they are, and I will be with you. 
 
 F. Barn. They wear no shirts, and they go barefoot too. 
 
 Bar. {to Barn.). Then 'tis not for me ; and I am resolved 
 You shall confess me, and have all my goods. 
 
 F.Jac. Good Barabas, come to me. 
 
 Bar. You see I answer him, and yet he stays ; 
 Rid him away, and go you home with me. gc 
 
 F.Jac. I'll be with you to-night. 
 
 Bar. Come to my house at one o'clock this night, 
 
 F. Jac. You hear your answer, and you may be gone. 
 
 F. Barn. Why, go get you away. 
 
 F. Jac. I will not go for thee. 
 
 F. Barn. Not ! then I'll make thee go. 
 
 F.Jac. How, dost call me rogue? \They fight. 
 
 Itha. Part 'em, master, part 'em. 
 
 Bar. This is mere frailty, brethren ; be content. 
 {Aside to Barn.) Friar Barnardine, go you with Ithamore : loc 
 You know my mind, let me alone with him. 
 
 F.Jac. Why does he go to thy house? let him be gone. 
 
 Bar. I'll give him something and so stop his mouth. 
 
 \_Exit Ithamore with Friar Barnardine 
 I never heard of any man but he 
 Maligned the order of the Jacobins : 
 But do you think that I believe his words ? 
 Why, brother, you converted Abigail ; 
 And I am bound in charity to requite it.
 
 82 IHE JEW UK MALTA. [act iv. 
 
 And SO I will. O Jacomo, fail not, but come. 
 
 F.Jac. But, Barabas, who shall be your godfathers? no 
 For presently you shall be shrived. 
 
 Bar. Marry, the Turk ' shall be one of my godfathers, 
 But not a word to any of your covent.- 
 
 F.Jac. I warrant thee, Barabas. \^Exit. 
 
 Bar. So, now the fear is past, and I am safe. 
 For he that shrived her is within my house ; 
 What if I murdered him ere Jacomo comes ? 
 Now I have such a plot for both their lives 
 .\s never Jew nor Christian knew the like : 
 One turned my daughter, therefore he shall die ; 120 
 
 The other knows enough to have my life, 
 Therefore 'tis not requisite he should Uve. 
 But are not both these wise men to suppose 
 That I will leave my house, my goods, and all. 
 To fast and be well whipt? I'll none of that. 
 Now, Friar Bamardine, I come to you, 
 I'll feast you, lodge you, give you fair words, 
 •And after that, I and my trusty Turk — 
 No more, but so : it must and shall be done. {Exit 
 
 Scene II. — A Room in Barabas' House. 
 Enter Bar.\bas and Ithamore. 
 
 Bar. Ithamore, tell me, is the friar asleep? 
 
 ////(/. Yes ; and I know not what the reason is, 
 Do what I can he will not strip himself. 
 Nor go to bed, but sleeps in his own clothes ; 
 I fear me he mistrusts what we intend. 
 
 > Itliamore. 2 Convent; this form still appears in Covent Garden.
 
 SCENE 11.] THE JEW OF MALTA. 83 
 
 Bar. No, 'tis an order which the friars use : 
 Yet, if he knew our meanings, could he 'scape ? 
 
 Itha. No, none can hear him, cry he ne'er so loud. 
 
 Bar. Why, true, therefore did I place him there : 
 The other chambers open towards the street. ic 
 
 Itha. You loiter, master ; wherefore stay we thus ? 
 O how I long to see him shake his heels. 
 
 Bar. Come on, sirrah. 
 Off with your girdle, make a handsome noose. 
 
 [I'liL^MORE takes off his girdle and ties a noose in it. 
 Friar, awake ! [ They put the noose rotmd the Friar's 7ieck. 
 
 F. Barn. What, do you mean to strangle me? 
 
 Itha. Yes, 'cause you use to confess. 
 
 Bar. Blame not us but the proverb, Confess and be 
 hanged ; pull hard ! 
 
 F. Barn. What, will you have my life ? 20 
 
 Bar. Pull hard, I say; you would have had my goods. 
 
 Itha. Ay, and our lives too, therefore pull amain. 
 
 \^They strangle him. 
 'Tis neatly done, sir, here's no print at all. 
 
 Bar. Then it is as it should be ; take him up. 
 
 Itha. Nay, master, be ruled by me a little. {Sta7ids the 
 body upright against the 7vall and puts a staff in its hand. ) So, 
 let him lean upon his staff; excellent! he stands as if he were 
 begging of bacon.^ 
 
 Bar. Who would not think but that this friar lived? 
 What time o' night is't now, sweet Ithamore ? 30 
 
 Itha. Towards one. 
 
 Bar. Then will not Jacomo be long from hence. 
 
 \_Exeunt 
 
 1 TTie body was stood up outside of the house.
 
 84 THE JEW OF MALTA. [act iv. 
 
 Scene III. — Outside Barabas' House. 
 
 Enter Friar Jacomo. 
 
 F.Jac. This is the hour wherein I shall proceed,' 
 O happy hour wherein I shall convert 
 An infidel, and bring his gold into our treasury ! ^ 
 But soft, is not this Bamardine ? it is ; 
 And, understanding I should come this way, 
 Stands here a purpose, meaning me some wrong, 
 And intercept my going to the Jew. — 
 Bamardine ! 
 
 ^^'ilt thou not speak ? thou think'st I see thee not ; 
 Away, I'd wish thee, and let me go by : lo 
 
 No, wilt thou not? nay, then, I'll force my way; 
 And see, a staff stands ready for the purpose : 
 As thou lik'st that, stop me another time. 
 
 \Takes the staff and strikes the body, which falls down. 
 
 Enter Barabas and Ithamore. 
 
 Bar. Why, how now, Jacomo, what hast thou done ? 
 
 F.Jac. Why, stricken him that would have struck at me. 
 
 Bar. Who is it ? Bamardine ? now out, alas, he's slain ! 
 
 Itha. Ay, master, he's slain ; look how his brains drop 
 out on's^ nose. 
 
 F.Jac. Good sirs, I have done't, but nobody knows it 
 but you two — I may escape. 20 
 
 Bar. So might my man and I hang with you for company. 
 
 1 Succeed. 
 
 2 Bullen rearranges these lines thus : 
 
 " O happy hour 
 
 Wherein I shall convert an infidel, 
 
 And bring his gold into our treasury." 
 » Of his. ^
 
 SCENE IV.] THE JEW OF MALTA. 85 
 
 Itha. No, let us bear him to the magistrates. 
 
 F. Jac. Good Barabas, let me go. 
 
 Bar. No, pardon me ; the law must have its course. 
 1 must be forced to give in evidence, 
 That being importuned by this Barnardine 
 To be a Christian, I shut him out. 
 And there he sat : now I, to keep my word. 
 And give rriy goods and substance to your house, 
 Was up thus early ; with intent to go 3° 
 
 Unto your friary, because you stayed. 
 
 Itha. Fie upon 'em, master ; will you turn Christian when 
 holy friars turn devils and murder one another? 
 
 Bar. No, for this example I'll remain a Jew : 
 Heaven bless me ! what, a friar a murderer? 
 When shall you see a Jew commit the like ? 
 
 Itha. Why, a Turk could ha' done no more. 
 
 Bar. To-morrow is the sessions ; you shall to it. 
 Come, Ithamore, let's help to take him hence. 
 
 F.Jac. Villains, I am a sacred person; touch me not. 4c 
 
 Bar. The law shall touch you, we'll but lead you, we : 
 'Las, I could weep at your calamity ! 
 Take in the staff too, for that must be shown : 
 Law wills that each particular be known. \_Exeunt 
 
 Scene IV. — A Veranda of Bellamira's House. 
 Enter Bellamira and Pilia-Borsa. 
 Bell. Pilia-Borsa, did'st thou meet with Ithamore ? 
 Pilia. I did. 
 
 Bell. And did'st thou deliver my letter? 
 Pilia. I did. 
 Bell. And what think'st thou? will lie come?
 
 86 THE JEW OF MALTA. [act iv. 
 
 Pilia. I think so, but yet I cannot tell ; for at the read- 
 ing of the letter he looked like a man of another world. 
 
 Bell. Why so ? 
 
 Pilia. That such a base slave as he should be saluted by 
 such a talP man as I am, from such a beautiful dame as you. 
 
 Bell. And what said he ? 1 1 
 
 Pilia. Not a wise word, only gave me a nod, as who 
 should say, " Is it even so ? " and so I left him, being driven 
 to a non-plus at the critical aspect of my terrible countenance. 
 
 Bell. And where didst meet him? 
 
 Pilia. Upon mine own freehold, within forty feet of the 
 gallows, conning his neck-verse,^ I take it, looking of' a 
 friar's execution, whom I saluted with an old hempen prov- 
 erb, Hodie tibi, eras mihi, and so I left him to the mercy of 
 the hangman : but the exercise ^ being done, see where he 
 comes.* 21 
 
 Enter Ithamore. 
 
 Itha. I never knew a man take his death so patiently as 
 this friar ; he was ready to leap off ere the halter was about 
 his neck ; and when the hangman had put on his hempen 
 tippet, he made such haste to his prayers, as if he had had 
 another cure to serve. Well, go whither he will, I'll be none 
 of his followers in haste : and, now I think on't, going to the 
 execution, a fellow met me with a muschatoes^ like a raven's 
 wing, and a dagger with a hilt like a warming-pan, and he 
 gave me a letter from one Madam Bellamira, saluting me 30 
 in such sort as if he had meant to make clean my boots with 
 
 1 Brave. 
 
 « The "-neck-verse " which criminals had to read to secure the benefit 
 of the ciergy, was usually Psalm li, \. 
 
 * *^"- 5 Cf. Richard III, iii, 2. 
 
 * Sermon- 6 Mustachios.
 
 SCENE IV.] THE JEW OF MALTA. 87 
 
 his lips ; the effect was, that I should come to her house. I 
 wonder what the reason is ; it may be she sees more in me 
 than I can find in myself : for she writes further, that she 
 loves me ever since she saw me, and who would not requite 
 such love ? Here's her house, and here she comes, and now 
 would I were gone ; I am not worthy to look upon her. 
 
 Pilia. This is the gentleman you writ to. 
 
 Itha. {aside). Gentleman ! he flouts me ; what gentry can 
 be in a poor Turk of tenpence ?^ I'll be gone. 40 
 
 Bell. Is't not a sweet-faced youth, Pilia? 
 
 Itha. {aside) . Again, " sweet youth ! " — Did not you, sir, 
 bring the sweet youth a letter ? 
 
 Filia. I did, sir, and from this gentlewoman, who, as 
 myself, and the rest of the family, stand or fall at youi* 
 service. 
 
 Bell. Though woman's modesty should hale me back, 1 
 can withhold no longer ; welcome, sweet love. 
 
 Itha. {aside). Now am I clean, or rather foully out of the 
 way. 5° 
 
 Bell. Whither so soon ? 
 
 Itha. {aside). I'll go steal some money from my master 
 to make me handsome. — Pray pardon me, I must go and 
 see a ship discharged. 
 
 Bell. Canst thou be so unkind to leave me thus ? 
 
 Filia. An ye did but know how she loves you, sir ! 
 
 Itha. Nay, I care not how much she loves me — Sweet 
 Bellamira, would I had my master's wealthier thy sake ! 
 
 Pilia. And you can have it, sir, an if you please. 59 
 
 Itha. If 'twere above ground, I could and would have it ; 
 but he hides and buries it up, as partridges do their eggs, 
 under the earth. 
 
 1- A contemptuous term, common at that time.
 
 88 THE JEW OF MALTA. [act iv 
 
 /^7/(7. And is't not possible to find it out? 
 
 ////<?. By no means possible. 
 
 B<-//. {aside to Piija.). What shall we do with this base 
 villain then? 
 
 fiiia. {aside to Bell.), Let me alone; do you but speak 
 him fair. — 
 
 Hut, sir, you know some secrets of the Jew, 
 AVhich, if they were revealed, would do him harm. 70 
 
 Itha. Ay, and such as — Go to, no more ! I'll make him 
 send me half he has, and glad he 'scapes so too. I'll write 
 unto him \ we'll have money straight. 
 
 Pilia. Send for a hundred crowns at least. 
 
 Itha. Ten hundred thousand crowns. ( Writing) " Master 
 fearabas." 
 
 Pilia. Write not so submissively, but threatening him. 
 
 Itha. {writing) . " Sirrah, Barabas, send me a hundred 
 crowns." 
 
 Pilia. Put in two hundred at least. 8c 
 
 Itha. {writing). " I charge thee send me three hundred by 
 this bearer, and this shall be your warrant : if you do not — 
 no more, but so." 
 
 Pilia. Tell him you will confess. 
 
 Itha. {writing). "Otherwise I'll confess all." — Vanish, 
 and return in a twinkle. 
 
 Pilia. Let me alone ; I'll use him in his kind. 
 
 lExit PiLlA-BoRSA with the letter. 
 
 Itha. Hang him, Jew ! 
 
 Bell. Now, gentle Ithamore, 
 \Vhere are my maids ? provide a running ^ banquet ; 9c 
 
 Senl to the merchant, bid him bring me silks. 
 Shall Ithamore, my love, go in such rags? 
 
 1 Hasty.
 
 SCENE IV.] THE JEW OF MALTA. 89 
 
 Itha. And bid the jeweller come hither too. 
 Bell. I have no husband, sweet ; I'll marry thee, 
 Itha. Content : but we will leave this paltry land, 
 
 And sail from hence to Greece, to lovely Greece. 
 
 I'll be thy Jason, thou my golden fleece ; 
 
 Where painted carpets o'er the meads are hurled. 
 
 And Bacchus' vineyards overspread the world ; 
 
 Where woods and forests go in goodly green, 100 
 
 I'll be Adonis, thou shalt be Love's Queen. 
 
 The meads, the orchards, and the primrose-lanes, 
 
 Instead of sedge and reed, bear sugar-canes : 
 
 Thou in those groves, by Dis above,^ 
 
 Shalt live with me and be my love.^ 
 
 Bell. Whither will I not go with gende Ithamore? 
 
 Re-enter Pilia-Borsa. 
 
 Itha. How now? hast thou the gold? 
 
 Pilia. Yes. 
 
 Itha. But came it freely? did the cow give down her milk 
 freely? no 
 
 Pilia. At reading of the letter, he stared and stamped and 
 turned aside. I took him by the beard, and looked upon 
 him thus ; told him he were best to send it ; then he hugged 
 and embraced me. 
 
 Itha. Rather for fear than love. 
 
 Pilia. Then, like a Jew, he laughed and jeered, and told 
 me he loved me for your sake, and said what a faithful ser- 
 vant you had been. 
 
 1 This blunder is intentionally made. 
 
 2 Marlowe's well-known lyric, The Passionate Shepherd to his Love, 
 begins, — " Come live with me, and be my love, 
 
 And we will all the pleasures prove 
 That hills and valleys, dales and fields, 
 Woods or stcepy mountains, yields."
 
 go THE JEW OF MALTA. [ACT iv. 
 
 Itha. The more villain he to keep me thus ; here's 
 goodly 'parel, is there not ? 120 
 
 Pilia. To conclude, he gave me ten crowns. 
 
 [ Gives the money to Ithamore. 
 
 Itha. Batten? I'll not leave him worth a grey groat. 
 Give me a ream ' of paper ; we'll have a kingdom of gold 
 for't. 
 
 Pilia. Write for five hundred crowns. 
 
 Itha. (7£'r/V/«'^). " Sirrah, Jew, as you love your life send 
 me five hundred crowns, and give the bearer one hundred." — 
 Tell him I must have't. 
 
 Pilia. I warrant your worship shall have't. 
 
 Itha. And if he ask why I demand so much, tell him I 
 scorn to write a line under a hundred crowns. 131 
 
 Pilia. You'd make a rich poet, sir. I am gone. \_Exit. 
 
 Itha. Take thou the money ; spend it for my sake. 
 
 Bell. 'Tis not thy money, but thyself I weigh ; 
 Thus Bellamira esteems of gold. ^Throws it aside. 
 
 But thus of thee. \_Kisses hitn. 
 
 Itha. That kiss again ! she runs division   of my lips. 
 What an eye she casts on me ! It twinkles like a star. 
 
 Bell. Come, my dear love, let's in ! \_Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V. — A Room in Barabas' House. 
 
 Enter Bar.\bas, reading a letter. 
 
 Bar. "Barabas, send me three hundred crowns." — 
 Plain Barabas ! O, that wicked courtesan ! 
 
 1 A play on the words realm and kingdom ; realm was often written and 
 pronounced ream. 
 
 2 A musical term. " Divisions for the voice are intended to be sung in 
 one breath to one syllable. The performance of this style of music is called 
 nanning a division." — Siainer and Barrett: Diet. 0/ Musical Terms.
 
 SCENE v.] THE JEW OF MALTA.' 91 
 
 He was not wont to call me Barabas. 
 
 " Or else I will confess : " ay, there it goes : 
 
 But, if I get him, coupe de gorge for that. 
 
 He sent a shaggy tattered staring slave. 
 
 That when he speaks draws out his grisly beard. 
 
 And winds it twice or thrice about his ear ; 
 
 Whose face has been a grindstone for men's swords ; ' 
 
 His hands are hacked, some fingers cut quite off; ic 
 
 Who, when he speaks, grunts like a hog, and looks 
 
 Like one that is employed in catzerie - 
 
 And crossbiting® — 
 
 And I by him must send three hundred crowns ! 
 
 Well, my hope is, he will not stay there still ; 
 
 And when he comes : O, that he were but here ! 
 
 Enter Pilia-Borsa. 
 
 Pilia. Jew, I must have more gold. 
 
 Bar. Why, want'st thou any of thy tale?* 
 
 Pilia. No ; but three hundred will not serve his turn. 
 
 Bar. Not serve his turn, sir? * 20 
 
 Pilia. No, sir ; and, therefore, I must have five hundred 
 more. 
 
 Bar. I'll rather 
 
 Pilia. O good words, sir, and send it you were best ! see, 
 there's his letter. [ Gives letter. 
 
 Bar. Might he not as well come as send ? pray bid him 
 come and fetch it ; what he writes for you, ye shall have 
 straight. 
 
 Pilia. Ay, and the rest too, or else 
 
 Bar. {aside'). I must make this villain away. 30 
 
 1 Cf. Arden 0/ Feversham. 3 Swindling. 
 
 2 Knavery. * Reckoning.
 
 92 • THE JEW OF MALTA. [act iv. 
 
 Please you dine with me, sir ; — {aside) and you shall be 
 most heartily poisoned. 
 
 Filta. No, God-a-mercy. Shall 1 have these crowns ? 
 
 Bar. I cannot do it, I have lost my keys. 
 
 Filia. O, if that be all, I can pick ope your locks. 
 
 Bar: Or climb up to my counting-house window : you 
 know my meaning. 
 
 Fi/ia. I know enough, and therefore talk not to me of 
 your counting-house. The gold 1 or know, Jew, it is in my 
 power to hang thee. ^o 
 
 Bar. {aside) . I am betrayed. — 
 'Tis not five hundred crowns that I esteem, 
 I am not moved at that : this angers me. 
 That he, who knows I love him as myself, 
 Should write in this imperious vein. Why, sir, 
 You know I have no child, and unto whom 
 Should I leave all but unto Ithamore ? 
 
 I^lia. Here's many words, but no crowns : the crowns ! 
 
 Bar. Commend me to him, sir, most humbly, 
 And unto your good mistress, as unknown. 50 
 
 Filia. Speak, shall I have 'em, sir? 
 
 Bar. Sir, here they are. — \_Gives money. 
 
 {Aside) O, that I should part with so much gold ! 
 
 Here, take 'em, fellow, with as good a will 
 
 {Aside) As I would see thee hanged; O, love stops my 
 
 breath : 
 Never man servant loved as I do Ithamore ! 
 
 Fi/ia. I know it, sir. 
 
 Bar. Pray, when, sir, shall I see you at my house ? 
 
 Fi/ia. Soon enough, to your cost, sir. Fare you well. 
 
 [Exif. 
 Bar. Nay, to thine own cost, villain, if thou com'st ! 60
 
 SCENE v.]   THE JEW OF MALTA. 93 
 
 Was ever Jew tormented as I am ? 
 
 To have a shag-rag knave to come, force from me 
 
 Three hundred crowns, — and then five hundred crowns ! 
 
 Well, I must seek a means to rid 'em all, 
 
 And presently ; for in his villainy 
 
 He will tell all he knows, and I shall die for't, 
 
 I have it : 
 
 I will in some disguise go see the slave, 
 
 And how the villain revels with my gold. \_Exit 
 
 Scene VI. — Balcony ^Bellamira's House. 
 Enter Bellamira, Ithamore, and Pilia-Borsa. 
 
 Bell. I'll pledge thee, love, and therefore drink it off. 
 
 Itha. Say'st thou me so? have at it ; and do you hear? 
 
 [ Whispers. 
 
 Bell. Go to, it shall be so. 
 
 Itha. Of ^ that condition I will drink it up. 
 Here's to thee 1 
 
 Bell. Nay, I'll have all or none. 
 
 Itha. There, if thou lov'st me do not leave a drop. 
 
 Bell. Love thee ! fill me three glasses. 
 
 Itha. Three and fifty dozen, I'll pledge thee. 
 
 Pilia. Knavely spoke, and like a knight-at-arms. 10 
 
 Itha. Hey, Rivo Castiliano / ^ a man's a man ! 
 
 Bell. Now to the Jew. 
 
 Itha. Ha ! to the Jew, and send me money he were best. 
 
 Pilia. What would'st thou do if he should send thee none ? 
 
 Itha. Do nothing ; but I know what I know : he's a 
 murderer. 
 
 1 On. 2 Familiar refrain in drinking-songs ; origin doubtful.
 
 94 THE JEW OF MALTA. [act IV. 
 
 Bell. I had not thought he had been so brave a man. 
 
 Itha. You knew Mathias and the governor's son ; he and 
 I killed 'em both, and yet never touched 'em. 
 
 Pilia. O, bravely done. 20 
 
 Itha. I carried the broth that poisoned the nuns ; and he 
 and I, snickle hand too fast/ strangled a friar. 
 
 Bell. You two alone? 
 
 Itha. We two ; and 'twas never known, nor never shall be 
 for me. 
 
 Pilia. {aside to Bell.). This shall with me unto the gov- 
 ernor. 
 
 Bell, {aside to Pilia.) . And fit it should : but first let's ha' 
 more gold, — 
 Come, gentle Ithamore. 30 
 
 Itha. Love me little, love me long.^ 
 
 Enter Barabas, disguised as a French musician, with a lute, 
 and a nosegay in his hat. 
 
 Bell. A French musician ! come, let's hear your skill. 
 
 Bar. Must tuna my lute for sound, twang, twang, first. 
 
 Itha. Wilt drink. Frenchman? here's to thee with a plague 
 on this drunken hiccup ! 
 
 Bar. Gramercy, monsieur. 
 
 Bell Prythee, Pilia-Borsa, bid the fiddler give me the 
 posy in his hat there. 
 
 Pilia. Sirrah, you must give my mistress your posy. ' 
 
 Bar. A voire commandement, madattie. 40 
 
 1 A corrupt passage : snickU is a noose, or slip-knot ; commonly applied 
 to the hangman's halter, and to snares for hares and rabbits. Cunningham 
 suggests, " snickle hard and fast." 
 
 ■^ T'lis expression is found in Haywood's Proverbs, 1546.
 
 SCENE VI.] THE. JEW OF MALTA. 95 
 
 Bell. How sweet, my Ithamore, the flowers smell ! 
 
 Jtha. Like thy breath, sweetheart ; no violet like 'em. 
 
 Pilia. Foh ! methinks they stink like a hollyhock. 
 
 Bar. {aside). So, now I am revenged upon 'em all. 
 The scent thereof was death ; I poisoned it. 
 
 Itha. Play, fiddler, or I'll cut your cat's guts into chitter- 
 lings. 
 
 Bar. Pardonnez-jnoi, be no in tune yet ; so now, now all 
 be in. 
 
 Itha. Give him a crown, and fill me out more wine. 50 
 
 Pilia. There's two crowns for thee ; play. 
 
 Bar. {aside). How liberally the villain gives me mine own 
 gold ! \_Plays. 
 
 Pilia. Methinks he fingers very well. 
 
 Bar. (aside). So did you when you stole my gold. 
 
 Pilia. How swift he runs ! 
 
 Bar. (aside) . You run swifter when you threw my gold 
 out of my window. 
 
 Bell Musician, hast been in Malta long? 
 
 Bar. Two, three, four month, madame. 60 
 
 Il/ia. Dost not know a Jew, one Barabas? 
 
 Bar. Very mush ; monsieur, you no be his man ? 
 
 Pilia. His man? 
 
 Itha. I scorn the peasant \ tell him so. 
 
 Bar. (aside). He knows it already. 
 
 Itha. 'Tis a strange thing of that Jew, he lives upon 
 pickled grasshoppers and sauced mushrooms. 
 
 Bar. (aside). What a slave's this? the governor feeds not 
 as I do. 
 
 Ifha. He never put on clean shirt since he was circum- 
 cised. 71 
 
 Bar. i^aside) . O rascal ! I change myself twice a day.
 
 q6 the ]E\\' of MALTA. fACT V. 
 
 ///la. The hat he wears, Judas left under the elder ^ when 
 he hanged himself. 
 
 Bar. {aside). 'Twas sent me as a present from the great 
 
 Cham. 
 
 Fi/ia. A musty slave he is ; — Whither now, fiddler? 
 
 Bar. Piirdon?iez-nioi, monsieur, me be no well. 
 
 Pilia. Farewell, fiddler ! (^a7/BARABAS.) One letter more 
 to the Jew. 80 
 
 Bell. Prythee, sweet love, one more, and write it sharp. 
 
 Itha. No, I'll send by word of mouth now — Bid him 
 deliver thee a thousand crowns, by the same token, that the 
 nuns loved rice, that Friar Barnardine slept in his own 
 clothes ; any of 'em will do it. 
 
 Pilia. Let me alone to urge it, now I know the meaning. 
 
 Itha. The meaning has a meaning. Come, let's in : 
 To undo a Jew is charity, and not sin. \_Exennt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. — The Council-house. 
 Enter Ferneze, Knights, Martin del Bosco, ««</ Officers. 
 
 Fern. Now, gentlemen, betake you to your arms, 
 And see that Malta be well fortified ; 
 And it behooves you to be resolute ; 
 For Calymath, having hovered here so long, 
 \\\\\ win the town, or die before the walls. 
 
 jst Knii^ht. And die he shall, for we will never yield. 
 
 1 Judas is said to have hanged himself on an elder-tree. When at 
 Jerusalem in 1887, I saw in the field of Aceldama a bliglited fig-tree, not 
 above fifty years old, on which the natives say Judas hanged himself.
 
 SCENE I.] THE JEW OF MALTA. 9 7 
 
 Enter Bellamira and Pilia-Borsa. 
 
 Bell. O, bring us to the governor. 
 
 Fern. Away with her ! she is a courtesan. 
 
 Bell. Whate'er I am, yet, governor, hear me speak; 
 I bring thee news by whom thy son was slain : 10 
 
 Mathias did it not ; it was the Jew. 
 
 Pilia. Who, besides the slaughter of these gentlemen, 
 Poisoned his own daughter and the nuns, 
 Strangled a friar and I know not what 
 Mischief besides. 
 
 Fern. Had we but proof of this 
 
 Bell. Strong proof, my lord ; his man's now at my lodging, 
 That was his agent ; he'll confess it all. 
 
 Fern. Go fetch him straight {exeunt Officers) . I always 
 feared that Jew, 
 
 Enter Officers with Barabas and Ithamore. 
 
 Bar. I'll go alone ; dogs ! do not hale me thus. 20 
 
 Itha. Nor me neither, I cannot outrun you, constable : — 
 O my belly ! 
 
 Bar. {aside). One dram of powder more had made all 
 sure ; 
 What a damned slave was I ! 
 
 Fern. Make fires, heat irons, let the rack be fetched. 
 
 1st Knight. Nay, stay, my lord ; 't may be he will confess. 
 
 Bar. Confess ! what mean you, lords? who should 
 confess ? 
 
 Fern. Thou and thy Turk ; 'twas you that slew my son. 
 
 Itha. Guilty, my lord, I confess. Your son and Mathias 
 were both contracted unto Abigail ; he forged a counterfeit 
 challenge. 31
 
 y8 THE JEW OF MALTA. [act V. 
 
 Bar. Who carried that challenge? 
 
 Jtha. I carried it, I confess ; but who writ it ? Marry, 
 even he that strangled Barnardine, poisoned the nuns and 
 his own daughter. 
 
 Fern. Away with him ! his sight is death to me. 
 
 Bar. For what, you men of Malta? hear me speak : 
 She is a courtesan, and he a thief, 
 And he my bondman. Let me have [the] law,' 
 For none of this can prejudice my life. 40 
 
 Fern. Once more, away with him ; you shall have law. 
 
 Bar. {aside'). Devils, do your worst ! I'll live in spite ul 
 you. — 
 As these have spoke, so be it to their souls ! — 
 {Aside) I hope the poisoned flowers will work anon. 
 
 \_Exeunt Officers with Barabas and Ithamore, 
 Bellamira and Pilia-Borsa. 
 
 Enter Katherine. 
 
 Kath. Was my Mathias murdered by the Jew? 
 Femeze, 'twas thy son that murdered him. 
 
 Fern. Be patient, gentle madam, it was he ; 
 He forged the daring challenge made them fight. 
 
 Kaih. Where is the Jew? where is that murderer? 
 
 Fern. In prison till the law has passed on him. 5c 
 
 Re-enter First Officer. 
 
 1st Off. My lord, the courtesan and her man are dead : 
 So is the Turk and Barabas the Jew. 
 Fern. Dead ! 
 
 Jst Off. Dead, ray lord, and here they bring his body. 
 Bosco. This sudden death of his is very strange. 
 
 1 The metre requires tlie insertion ol the.
 
 SCENE II.] THE JEW OF MALTA. 99 
 
 Re-enter Ofificers carrying Barabas as dead. 
 
 Fern. Wonder not at it, sir, the Heavens are just ; 
 Their deaths were hke their Hves, then think not of 'em. 
 Since they are dead, let them be buried ; 
 For the Jew's body, throw that o'er the walls. 
 To be a pray for vultures and wild beasts. — 60 
 
 So now away, and fortify the town. 
 
 \_Exeunt all, leaving Barabas on the floor. 
 
 Scene II . — Outside the City Walls. 
 
 Barabas discovered rising. 
 
 Bar. What, all alone ? well fare, sleepy drink. 
 I'll be revenged on this accursed town ; 
 For by my means Calymath shall enter in. 
 I'll help to slay their children and their wives. 
 To fire the churches, pull their houses down. 
 Take my goods too, and seize upon my lands. 
 I hope to see the governor a slave. 
 And, rowing in a galley, whipt to death. 
 
 Enter Calymath, Bassoes, and Turks. 
 
 Caly. Whom have we here, a spy ? 
 
 Bar. Yes, my good lord, one that can spy a place 10 
 
 Where you may enter and surprise the town : 
 My name is Barabas : I am a Jew. 
 
 Caly. Art thou that Jew whose goods we heard were sold 
 For tribute-money? 
 
 Bar. The very same, my lord : 
 And since that time they have hired a slave, my man. 
 To accuse me of a thousand villainies ;
 
 lOO THE JEW OF MALTA. 
 
 [act v. 
 
 I was imprisoned, but 'scaped their hands. 
 Ca/j. Did'st break prison ? 
 
 Bar. No, no ; ^^ 
 
 I drank of poppy and cold mandrake juice : * 
 And being asleep, belike they thought me dead. 
 And threw me o'er the walls : so, or how else. 
 The Jew is here, and rests at your command. 
 
 Ca/v. 'Twas bravely done : but tell me, Barabas, 
 Canst thou, as thou report'st, make Malta ours ? 
 
 Bar. Fear not, my lord, for here against the sluice, 
 The rock is hollow, and of purpose digged, 
 To make a passage for the running streams 
 And common channels ^ of the city. ,0 
 
 Now, whilst you give assault unto the walls, 
 I'll lead five hundred soldiers through the vault, 
 And rise with them i' the middle of the town, 
 Open the gates for you to enter in ; 
 And by this means the city is your own. 
 
 Ca/y. If this be true, I'll make thee governor. 
 
 Bar. And if it not be true, then let me die. 
 
 Ca/y. Thou'st doomed thyself. Assault it presently. 
 
 Scene III. — A Square in the City. 
 
 Alarums withifi. Enter Calymath, Bassoes, Turks, and 
 Barabas, with Ferneze and Kmghts prisoners. 
 
 Caly. Now vail your pride, you captive Christians, 
 And kneel for mercy to your conquering foe : 
 Now Where's the hope you had of haughty Spain? 
 
 1 Cf. Othello, iii, 3: ' not poppy, n v inandragora." Mandrake is a cor- 
 ruption of niandragora. 
 
 2 Kennels. — Dyce.
 
 SCENE in.] THE JEW OF MALTA. lOl 
 
 Ferneze, speak, had it not been much better 
 T'have kept thy promise than be thus surprised? 
 
 Fern. What should I say? We are captives and mii-A 
 yield. 
 
 Caly. Ay, villains, you must yield, and under Turkish 
 yokes 
 Shall groaning bear the burden of our ire ; 
 And, Barabas, as erst we promised thee, 
 For thy desert we make thee governor ; r- 
 
 Use them at thy discretion. 
 
 Bar. Thanks, my lord. 
 
 Fern. O fatal day, to fall into the hands 
 Of such a traitor and unhallowed Jew ! 
 What greater misery could Heaven inflict? 
 
 Caly. 'Tis our command : and Barabas, we give 
 To guard thy person these our Janizaries : 
 Entreat ^ them well, as we have used thee. 
 And now, brave bassoes, come, we'll walk about 
 The ruined town, and see the wreck we made : — 20 
 
 Farewell, brave Jew ; farewell, great Barabas ! 
 
 Bar. May all good fortune follow Calymath ! 
 
 \^Exeunt Calymath and Bassoes. 
 And now, as entrance to our safety, 
 To prison with the governor and these 
 Captains, his consorts and confederates. 
 
 Fern. O villain ! Heaven will be revenged on thee. 
 
 \^Exeunt Turks, with Ferneze and Knights. 
 
 Bai . Away ! no more ; let him not trouble me.'' 
 Thus hast thou gotten, by thy policy, 
 No simple place, no small authority : 
 
 1 Treat. 
 
 2 The scene here is shifted to the governor's residence, inside the citadel
 
 I03 THE JEW OF MALTA. [act v. 
 
 I now am governor of Malta; true, — 3c 
 
 l>ut Malta hates me, and, in hating me, 
 
 My life's in danger, and what boots it thee. 
 
 Poor Barabas, to be the governor, 
 
 Whenas thy life shall be at their command ? 
 
 No, Barabas, this must be looked into ; 
 
 And since by wrong thou got'st authority. 
 
 Maintain it bravely by firm policy, 
 
 At least unprofitably lose it not : 
 
 For he that liveth in authority, 
 
 And neither gets him friends, nor fills his bags, 4c 
 
 Lives like the ass, that ^sop speaketh of, 
 
 That labours with a load of bread and wine, 
 
 And leaves it off to snap on thistle-tops : 
 
 But Barabas will be more circumspect. 
 
 Begin betimes ; occasion's bald behind ; 
 
 Slip not thine opportunity, for fear too late 
 
 Thou seek'st for much, but canst not compass it. — 
 
 Within here ! 
 
 Enter Ferneze with a Guard. 
 
 Fern. My lord ? 
 
 Bar. Ay, " lord ; " thus slaves will learn. 5c 
 
 Now, governor; — stand by there, wait within. 
 
 \_Exeunt Guard 
 This is the reason that I sent for thee ; 
 Thou seest thy life and Malta's happiness 
 Are at my arbitrement ; and Barabas 
 At his discretion may dispose of both ; 
 Now tell me, governor, and plainly too. 
 What think'st thou shall become of it and thee? 
 
 Fern. This, Barabas ; since things are in thy power,
 
 SCKNE iii.l THE JKW OF MALTA. IO3 
 
 I see no reason but of Malta's wreck, 
 
 Nor hope of thee but extreme cruelty ; 60 
 
 Nor fear I death, nor will I flatter thee. 
 
 Bar. Governor, good words ; be not so furious. 
 'Tis not thy life which can avail me aught ; 
 Yet you do live, and live for me you shall : 
 And, as for Malta's ruin, think you not 
 'Twere slender policy for Barabas 
 To dispossess himself of such a place ? 
 For sith, as once you said, 'tis in this isle, 
 In Malta here, that I have got my goods, 
 And in this city still have had success, 70 
 
 And now at length am grown your governor, 
 Yourselves shall see it shall not be forgot : 
 For, as a friend not known but in distress, 
 I'll rear up Malta, now remediless. 
 
 Fern. Will Barabas recover Malta's loss? 
 Will Barabas be good to Christians ? 
 
 Bar. What wilt thou give me, governor, to procure 
 A dissolution of the slavish bands 
 Wherein the Turk hath yoked your land and you ? 
 What will you give me if I render you Sd 
 
 The life of Calymath, surprise his men 
 And in an outhouse of the city shut 
 His soldiers, till I have consumed 'em all with fire ? 
 What will you give him that procureth this? 
 
 Fern. Do but bring this to pass which thou pretendest, 
 Deal truly with us as thou intimatest, 
 And I will send amongst the citizens, 
 And by my letters privately procure 
 Great sums of money for thy recompense : 
 Nay more, do this, and live thou governor still. 9c
 
 I04 THE JEW OF MALTA. [ACT V 
 
 Bar. Nay, do thou this, Ferneze, and be free ; 
 Governor, I enlarge thee ; live with me, 
 Go walk about the city, see thy friends : 
 Tush, send not letters to 'em, go thyself, 
 And let me see what money thou canst make ; 
 Here is my hand that I'll set Malta free : 
 And thus we cast it : to a solemn feast 
 I will invite young Selim Calymath, 
 Where be thou present only to perform 
 One stratagem that I'll impart to thee, icxj 
 
 Wherein no danger shall betide thy life, 
 And I will warrant Malta free for ever. 
 
 Fern. Here is my hand ; believe me, Barabas, 
 I will be there, and do as thou desirest. 
 When is the time ? 
 
 Bar. Governor, presently : 
 For Calymath, when he hath viewed the town. 
 Will take his leave and sail towards Ottoman. 
 
 Fern. Then will I, Barbaras, about this coin, 
 And bring it -with me to thee in the evening. nc 
 
 Bar. Do so, but fail not ; now farewell, Ferneze ! — 
 
 \Exit Ferneze. 
 And thus far roundly goes the business : 
 Thus loving neither, will I live with both. 
 Making a profit of my policy ; 
 And he from whom my most advantage comes 
 Shall be my friend. 
 
 This is the life we Jews are used to lead ; 
 And reason too, for Christians do the like. 
 Well, now about effecting this device ; 
 
 First to surprise great SeUm's soldiers, lao 
 
 And then to make provision for the feast.
 
 SCBIffK IV.] THE JEW OF MALTA. 1 05 
 
 That at one instant all things may be done : 
 
 My poHcy detests prevention : 
 
 To what event my secret purpose drives, 
 
 I know ; and they shall witness with their lives. \^Exit. 
 
 Scene IV. — Outside the City Walls. 
 Enter Calymath and Bassoes. 
 
 Caly. Thus have we viewed the city, seen the sack, 
 And caused the ruins to be new-repaired, 
 Which with our bombards' * shot and basihsks 
 We rent in sunder at our entry : 
 And now I see the situation. 
 And how secure this conquered island stands 
 Environed with the Mediterranean Sea, 
 Strong-countermined with other petty isles ; 
 And, toward Calabria, backed by Sicily, 
 (Where Syracusian Dionysius reigned,) 10 
 
 Two lofty turrets that command the town ; 
 I wonder how it could be conquered thus. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. From Barabas, Malta's governor, I bring 
 A message unto mighty Calymath ; 
 Hearing his sovereign was bound for sea, 
 lb sail to Turkey, to great Ottoman, 
 He humbly would entreat your majesty 
 To come and see his homely citadel, 
 And banquet with him ere thou leav'st the isle. 
 
 Caly. To banquet with him in his citadel? ao 
 
 I fear me, messenger, to feast my train 
 
 1 Large cannon.
 
 lo6 THE JEW OK MALTA. [ACT V. 
 
 Within a town of war so lately pillaged, 
 Will be too costly and too troublesome : 
 Yet would I gladly visit Barabas, 
 For well has Barabas deserved of us. 
 
 Mess. Selim, for that, thus saith the governor, 
 That he hath in his store a pearl so big. 
 So precious, and Avithal so orient. 
 As, be it valued but indifferently. 
 
 The price thereof will serve to entertain 30 
 
 Selim and all his soldiers for a month ; 
 Therefore he humbly would entreat your highness 
 Not to depart till he has feasted you. 
 
 Cah. I cannot feast my men in Malta-walls, 
 Except he place his tables in the streets. 
 
 Mess. Know, Selim, that there is a monastery 
 Which standeth as an outhouse to the town ; 
 There will he banquet them ; but thee at home, 
 With all thy bassoes and brave followers. 
 
 Calx. ^Vell, tell the governor we grant his suit, 4c 
 
 We'll in this summer evening feast with him. 
 
 Mess. I shall, my lord. \_Exit. 
 
 Cah. And now, bold bassoes, let us to our tents, 
 .Vnd meditate how we may grace us best 
 To solemnize our governor's great feast. \_Exeunf. 
 
 Scene V. — A Street. 
 Enter Ferneze, Knights, and Martin del Bosco. 
 
 Fern. In this, my countrymen, be ruled by me, 
 Have special care that no man sally forth 
 Till you shall hear a culverin discharged
 
 SCENE VLJ THE JEW OF MALTA. 107 
 
 By him that bears the linstock/ kindled thus ; 
 Then issue out and come to rescue me, 
 For happily I shall be in distress. 
 Or you released of this servitude. 
 
 1st Knight. Rather than thus to live as Turkish thralls,* 
 What will we not adventure ? 
 
 Fern. On then, begone. 10 
 
 Knights. Farewell, grave governor ! 
 
 \_Exeunt on one side Knights aiuf Martin del 
 Bosco ; on the other Ferneze. 
 
 Scene VI. — A Hall in the Governor' s Residence. 
 
 Enter, above, Barabas, with a hammer, vcrv biisv ; and 
 
 Carpenters. 
 
 Bar. How stand the cords? How hang these hinges? 
 fast? 
 Are all the cranes and pulleys sure? 
 1st Carp. All fast. 
 
 Bar, Leave nothing loose, all levelled to \\\\ mind. 
 Why now I see that you have art indeed. 
 There, carpenters, divide that gold amongst \ou : 
 
 \^Gives money. 
 Go swill in bowls of sack ^ and muscadine ■* I 
 Down to the cellar, taste of all my wines. 
 
 1st Carp. We shall, my lord, and thank you. 
 
 \^Exeunt Carpenters. 
 Bar. And, if you like them, drink your fill and die : k 
 For so I live, perish may all the world ! 
 
 1 The stick which held the gunner's match. 2 Slaves. 
 
 3 A dry Spanish wine (Spanish seco, dry). 
 
 < A rich, fragrant wine ; written also ?iiuscatei and muscadel.
 
 lOS THE JEW OF MALTA. [act v. 
 
 Now Selim Calymath return me word 
 That thou wilt come, and I am satisfied. 
 
 Enter Messenger. 
 
 Now, sirrah, what, will he come? 
 
 Mess. He will \ and has commanded all his men 
 To come ashore, and march through Malta streets, 
 That thou mayest feast them in thy citadel. 
 
 Bar. Then now are all things as my wish would have 'em, 
 There wanteth nothing but the governor's pelf. 
 And see, he brings it. 20 
 
 Enter Ferneze. 
 
 Now, governor, the sum. 
 
 Fern. With free consent, a hundred thousand pounds. 
 
 Bar. Pounds say'st thou, governor? well, since it is no 
 more, 
 I'll satisfy myself with that ; nay, keep it still, 
 For if I keep not promise, trust not me. 
 And, governor, now partake my policy : 
 First, for his army ; they are sent before, 
 Entered the monastery, and underneath 
 In several places are field-pieces pitched. 
 Bombards, whole barrels full of gunpowder 30 
 
 That on the sudden shall dissever it. 
 And batter all the stones about their ears, 
 Whence none can possibly escape alive. 
 Now as for Calymath and his consorts, 
 Here have I made a dainty gallery. 
 The floor whereof, this cable being cut, 
 Doth fall asunder ; so that it doth sink 
 Into a deep pit past recovery.
 
 SCENE VI.] THE JEW OF MALIA. 109 
 
 Here, hold that knife {throws down a knife), and when 
 
 thou seest he comes, 
 And with his bassoes shall be blithely set, 40 
 
 A warning-piece shall be shot off from the tower, 
 To give thee knowledge when to cut the cord 
 And fire the house : say, will not this be brave ? 
 
 Fe7-n. O excellent ! here, hold thee, Barabas, 
 I trust thy word, take what I promised thee. 
 
 Bar. No, governor, I'll satisfy thee first, 
 Thou shalt not live in doubt of anything. 
 Stand close, tor here they come (Ferneze retires). Why, 
 
 is not this 
 A kingly kind of trade to purchase towns 
 By treachery and sell 'em by deceit? 50 
 
 Now tell me, woridimgs, underneath the sun 
 If greater falsehood ever has been done ? 
 
 Enter Calymath and Bassoes. 
 
 Cafy. Come, my companion bassoes ; see, I pray, 
 How busy Barabas is there above 
 To entertain us in his gallery ; 
 Let us salute him. Save thee, Barabas ! 
 
 Bar. Welcome, great Calymath ! 
 
 Fern, {aside). How the slave jeers at him. 
 
 Bar. Will't please thee, mighty Selim Calymath, 
 To ascend our homely stairs? <^° 
 
 Cafy. Ah, Barabas; — 
 Come, bassoes, ascend. 
 
 Fern, {coming forward) . Stay, Calymath ! 
 For I will show thee greater courtesy 
 Than Barabas would have aftbrded thee.
 
 1 1 u THE JEW OF MALTA. [act v. 
 
 Knight {within). Sound a charge there ! 
 
 S A charge sounded within. Ferneze cuts the cord : 
 the floor of the gallery gives way, and Barabas 
 falls into a caldron. 
 
 Enter Martin del Bosco and Knights. 
 
 Caly. How now ! what means this ? 
 
 Bar. Help, help me ! Christians, help ! 
 
 Fern. See, Calymath, this was devised for thee ! 
 
 Caly. Treason ! treason ! bassoes, fly ! 70 
 
 Fern. No, Selim, do not fly ; 
 See his end first, and fly then if thou canst. 
 
 Bar. O help me, Selim ! help me, Christians ! 
 Governor, why stand you all so pitiless? 
 
 Fern. Should I in pity of thy plaints or thee. 
 Accursed Barabas, base Jew, relent ? 
 No, thus I'll see thy treachery repaid, 
 F)Ut wish thou hadst behaved thee otherwise. 
 
 Bar. You will not help me, then ? 
 
 Fern. No, villain, no. J>o 
 
 Bar. And, villains, know you cannot help me now. — 
 Then, Barabas, breathe forth thy latest hate, 
 And in the fury of thy torments strive 
 To end thy life with resolution. 
 Know, governor, 'twas I that slew thy son ; 
 I framed the challenge that did make them meet : 
 know, Calymath, I aimed thy overthrow. 
 And had I but escaped this stratagem, 
 I would have brought confusion on you all. 
 Damned Christian dogs ! and Turkish infidels ! go 
 
 But now begins the extremity of heat
 
 SCENE VI.] THE JEW OF MALTA. i ii 
 
 To pinch me with intolerable pangs : 
 
 Die, life ! fly, soul ! tongue, curse thy fill, and die ! \_Dies. 
 
 Caly. Tell me, you Christians, what doth this portend ? 
 
 Fern. This train ^ he laid to have entrapped thy life ; 
 Now, Selim, note the unhallowed deeds of Jews : 
 Thus he determined to have handled thee, 
 But I have rather chose to save thy life. 
 
 Caly. Was this the banquet he prepared for us ? 
 Let's hence, lest further mischief be pretended.- loo 
 
 Fern. Nay, Selim, stay ; for since we have thee here, 
 We will not let thee part so suddenly : 
 Besides, if we should let thee go, all's one. 
 For with thy galleys could'st thou not get hence. 
 Without fresh men to rig and furnish them. 
 
 Caly. Tush, governor, take thou no care for that, 
 My men are all aboard, 
 And do attend my coming there by this. 
 
 Fern. Why, heard'st thou not the trumpet sound a charge ? 
 
 Caly. Yes, what of that ? no 
 
 Fern. Why then the house was fired. 
 Blown up, and all thy soldiers massacred. 
 
 Caly. O monstrous treason ! 
 
 Fern. A Jew's courtesy : 
 For he that did by treason work our fall. 
 By treason hath delivered thee to us : 
 Know, therefore, till thy father hath made good 
 The ruins done to Malta and to us. 
 Thou canst not part ; for Malta shall be freed, 
 Or Selim ne'er return to Ottoman. 12c 
 
 Caly. Nay, rather. Christians, let me go to Turkey, 
 In person there to meditate^ your peace ; 
 
 1 Stratagem. - Intended. ^ Query, mediate
 
 J J 2 THE JEW OF MALTA. [ACT V. 
 
 To keep me here will not advantage you. 
 
 Fern. Content thee, Calyniath, here thou must stay. 
 And live in Malta prisoner ; for come all the world 
 To rescue thee, so will we guard us now, 
 As sooner shall they drink the ocean dry 
 Than conquer Malta, or endanger us. 
 So march away and let due praise be given 
 Neither to Fate nor Fortune, but to Heaven. '[Exeunt. 130
 
 II. 
 
 THE ALCHEMIST. 
 
 By Ben Jonson. 
 
 Produced in 1610; dedicated to Lady Mary Wroth, niece of 
 Sir Philip Sidney.
 
 THE ALCHEMIST/ 
 
 TO THE READER. 
 
 If thou beest more, thou art an understander, and then I trust thee. II 
 thou art one that takest up, and but a pretender, beware of what hands 
 thou receives! thy commodity; for thou wert never more fair in the way to 
 be cozened than in this age, in poetry, especially in plays : wherein now 
 the concupiscence of dances and of antics so reigneth, as to run away from 
 Nature, and be afraid of her, is the only point of Art that tickles the specta- 
 tors. But how out of purpose and place do I name Art ? When the 
 professors are grown so obstinate contemners of it, and presumers on their 
 own naturals, as they are deriders of all diligence that way, and, by simple 
 mocking at the terms, when they understand not the things, think to get off 
 wittily with their ignorance. Nay, they are esteemed the more learned and 
 sufficient for this, by the many, through their excellent vice of judgment. 
 For they commend writers as they do fencers and wrestlers ; who, if they 
 come in robustuously, and put for it with a great deal of violence, are 
 received for the braver fellows : when many times their own rudeness is the 
 cause of their disgrace, and a little touch of their adversary gives all that 
 boisterous force the foil. I deny not but that these men, who always seek 
 to do more than enough, may sometime happen on something that is good 
 and great; but very seldom: and when it comes it doth not recompense 
 tne rest of their ill. It sticks out, perhaps, and is more eminent, because 
 all is sordid and vile about it ; as lights are more discerned in a thick dark- 
 ness than a faint shadow. I speak not this out of a hope to do good to any 
 man against his will ; for I know, if it were put to the question of theirs 
 and mine, the worse would find more suffrages : because the most favour 
 common errors. But I give thee this warning, that there is a great differ- 
 ence between those that, to gain the opinion of copy ,2 utter all they can, 
 however unfitly; and those that use election and a mean. For it is only 
 the disease of the unskilful to think rude things greater than polished, or 
 scattered more numerous than composed. 
 
 1 In a few places in the text of this play I have adopted slight verbal alter 
 ations, suggested by Professor Henry Morley. 
 * Reputation of being fertile writers. 
 
 "5
 
 Il6 THE ALCHEMIST. [PROLOGUE. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONM. 
 
 Subtle, the Alchemist. 
 
 Face, the Housekeeper. 
 
 DoL Common, their Colleague. 
 
 Dapper, a Clerk. 
 
 D RUGGER, a Tobacco Man. 
 
 LOVEWIT, Master of the House. 
 
 Sir Epicure Mammon, a Knight. 
 
 Pertinax Surly, a Gamester. 
 Tribulation Wholesome, a Pas- 
 tor of Amsterdam. 
 Ananias, a Deacon there. 
 Kastkil, the angry Boy. 
 Dame Pliant, his Sister, a Widow. 
 Neighbours, Officers, Mutes. 
 
 Scene: London. 
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 T HE sickness' hot, a master quit, for fear, 
 H is house in town, and left one servant there. 
 E ase him corrupted, and gave means to know 
 
 A cheater and his punk ^ ; who now brought low, 
 L eaving their narrow practice, were become 
 C ozeners at large ; and only wanting some 
 H ouse to set up, with him they here contract, 
 E ach for a share, and all begin to act. 
 M uch company they draw, and much abuse, 
 I n casting figures,"'' telling fortunes, news, 
 S elling of flies,'* false putting of the stone, 
 T ill it, and thev, and all in fume are gone. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 Fortune, that favours fools, these two short hours 
 
 We wish away, both for your sakes and ours. 
 Judging Spectators ; and desire, in place, 
 
 1 Plague. 8 Astrological divination. 
 
 2 Coarse woman. 4 Familiar spirits.
 
 SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. II 7 
 
 To the author justice, to ourselves but grace. 
 Our scene is London, 'cause we would make known 
 
 No country's mirth is better than our own : 
 No clime breeds better matter, for your bore, 
 
 Shark, squire, impostor, many persons more, 
 Whose manners, now called humours, feed the stage ; 
 
 And which have still been subject for the rage 10 
 
 Or spleen of comic writers. Though this pen 
 
 Did never aim to grieve, but better, men ; 
 Howe'er the age he lives in doth endure 
 
 The vices that she breeds, above their cure. 
 But when the wholesome remedies are sweet. 
 
 And in their working gain and profit meet. 
 He hopes to find no spirit so much diseased 
 
 But will with such fair c6rrectives be pleased : 
 For here he doth not fear who can apply. 
 
 If there be any that will sit so nigh 20 
 
 Unto the stream, to look what it doth run, 
 
 They shall find things they'd think or wish were done ; 
 They are so natural follies, but so shown 
 
 As even the doers may see, and yet not own. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. — A Room in Lovewit's House. 
 
 Enter Face, in a captain's uniform, with his sword drawn, 
 and Subtle with a vial, quarrelling, and followed by DoL 
 Common. 
 
 Face. Believe't, I will. 
 
 Sub. Thy worst. I spit at thee.
 
 Il8 THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT i. 
 
 Dol. Have you your wits ? Why, gentlemen, for love 
 
 Face. Sirrah, I'll strip you 
 
 Dol. Nay, look ye, sovereign, general, are you madmen ? 
 
 Sub. Oh, let the wild sheep loose. I'll gum your silks 
 With good strong water, an you come. 
 
 Dol. 'Will you have 
 The neighbours hear you ? will you betray all ? 
 Hark ! I hear somebody. lo 
 
 Face. Sirrah 
 
 Sub. I shall mar 
 All that the tailor has made, if you approach. 
 
 Face. You most notorious whelp, you insolent slave, 
 Dare you do this? 
 
 Sub. Yes, faith ; yes, faith. 
 
 Face. Why, who 
 Am I, my mongrel? Who am I? 
 
 Sub. I'll tell you. 
 Since you know not yourself. 20 
 
 Face. Speak lower, rogue. 
 
 Sub. Yes, you were once (time's not long past) the good, 
 Honest, plain, livery three pound thrum that kept 
 Your master's worship's house here in the Friars, 
 For the vacations 
 
 Face. Will you be so loud ? 
 
 Sub. Since, by my means, translated suburb-captain. 
 
 Face. By your means, doctor dog ! 
 
 Sub. Within man's memory, 
 All this I speak of. 30 
 
 Face. Why, I pray you, have I 
 Been countenanced by you, or you by me? 
 Do hut collect, sir, where I met you first. 
 
 Sub. I do not hear well.
 
 SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. II9 
 
 Face. Not of this, I think it. 
 But I shall put you in mind, sir; — at Pie-corner, 
 Taking your meal of steam in from cooks' stalls, 
 Where, like the father of hunger, you did walk 
 Piteously costive, with your pinch'd horn-nose, 
 And your complexion of the Roman wash, 40 
 
 Stuck full of black and melancholic worms. 
 Like powder corns shot at the artillery yard. 
 
 Sub. I wish you could advance your voice a little.' 
 
 Face. When you went pinn'd up in the several rags 
 You had raked and pick'd from dunghills, before day ; 
 Your feet in mouldy slippers, for your kibes - : 
 A felt of rug,^ and a thin threaden cloak, 
 That scarce would cover your no buttocks 
 
 Sub. So, sir ! 
 
 Face. When all your alchemy and your algebra, 50 
 
 Your minerals, vegetals, and animals, 
 Your conjuring, cozening,- and your dozen of trades, 
 Could not relieve your corps * with so much linen 
 Would make you tinder, but to see a fire, 
 I gave you countenance, credit for your coals, 
 Your stills, your glasses, your materials ; 
 Built you a furnace, drew you customers. 
 Advanced all your black arts ; lent you, beside, 
 A house to practise in 
 
 Sub. Your master's house ! 6c 
 
 Face. Where you have studied the more thriving skill 
 Of cozening since. 
 
 Sub. Yes, in your master's house. 
 You and the rats here kept possession. 
 
 1 A play on the word voice, which is used here for reputation. 
 
 2 Chilblains. 3 Hat of coarse woollen cloth. ■* Body.
 
 I20 THE ALCHEMIST. Tact I. 
 
 Make it not strange. I know you were one could keep 
 
 The buttery-hatch still lock'd, and save the chippings, 
 
 Sell the dole beer^ to aquavitae men, 
 
 The which, together with your Christmas vails ^ 
 
 At post-and-pair,^ your letting out of counters,* 
 
 Made you a pretty stock, some twenty marks,^ 7c 
 
 And gave you credit to converse with cobwebs. 
 
 Here, since your mistress' death hath broke up house. 
 
 Face. You might talk softlier, rascal. 
 
 Sub. No, you scarab, 
 I'll thunder you in pieces': I will teach you 
 How to beware to tempt a Fury again. 
 That carries tempest in his hand and voice. 
 
 Face. The place has made you valiant. 
 
 Sub. No, your clothes. — 
 Thou vermin, have I ta'en thee out of dung, 8c 
 
 So poor, so wretched, when no living thing 
 Would keep thee company, but a spider, or worse? 
 Rais'd thee from brooms, and dust, and watering-pots, 
 Sublimed thee, and exalted thee, and fix'd thee 
 In the third region, call'd our state of grace ? 
 Wrought thee to spirit, to quintessence, with pains 
 Would twice have won me the Philosopher's work ! 
 Put thee in words and fashion, made thee fit 
 For more than ordinary fellowships ? 
 
 Giv'n thee thy oaths, thy quarrelling dimensions, 9a 
 
 Thy rules to cheat at horse-race, cockpit, cards, dice, 
 Or whatever gallant tincture else ? 
 
 1 Beer furnished to the poor, from a rich man's buttery. 
 8 Perquisites. 8 a game at cards. 
 
 ^ The servant received a small fee for furnishing counters. 
 * A mark was worth 15^. ^d.
 
 SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. I2i 
 
 Made thee a second in mine own great art? 
 And have I this for thanks ! Do you rebel. 
 Do you fly out in the projection?^ 
 Would you be gone now? 
 
 Dot. Gentlemen, what mean you ? 
 Will you mar all ? 
 
 Sub. Slave, thou hadst no name 
 
 Dol. Will you undo yourselves with civil war? loc 
 
 Sub. Never been known, past equi clibanum, 
 The heat of horse-dung, under ground, in cellars, 
 Or an ale-house darker than deaf John's ; been lost 
 To all mankind but laundresses and tapsters. 
 Had not I been. 
 
 Dol. Do you know who hears you, sovereign ? 
 
 Face. Sirrah 
 
 Dol. Nay, general, I thought you were civil. 
 
 Face. I shall turn desperate if you grow thus loud. 
 
 Sub. And hang thyself, I care not. no 
 
 Face. Hang thee, collier, 
 And all thy pots and pans, in picture, I will, 
 Since thou hast moved me 
 
 Dol. Oh, this will o'erthrow all. 
 
 Face. Write thee up bawd in Paul's, have all thy tricks, 
 Of cozening with a hollow coal, dust, scrapings. 
 Searching for things lost, with a sieve and shears. 
 Erecting figures in your rows of houses,^ 
 And taking in of shadows with a glass,'' 
 Told in red letters ; and a face cut for thee 12c 
 
 1 That is, fail at the last moment, when success is at hand. 
 8 Each house, in astrology, corresponded to one of the twelve signs of the 
 zodiac. 
 
 S Method of divination.
 
 22 
 
 THE ALCHEMIST. [act 1. 
 
 Worse than Gamaliel Ratsey's.' 
 
 Dol. Are you sound? 
 Have you your senses, masters? 
 
 Face. I will have 
 A book, but barely reckoning thy impostures, 
 Shall prove a true philosopher's stone to printers. 
 
 Sub. Away, you trencher-rascal ! 
 
 Face. Out, you dog-leach ! 
 The vomit of all prisons 
 
 Dol. Will you be 13c 
 
 Your own destructions, gentlemen? 
 
 Face. Still spewed out 
 F^'or lying too heavy on the basket,- 
 
 Suh. Cheater ! 
 
 Face. Bawd ! 
 
 Sub. Cowherd ! 
 
 Face. Conjurer ! 
 
 Sub. Cut-purse ! 
 
 Face. Witch ! 
 
 Dol. O me ! 14c 
 
 We are ruin'd, lost ! Have you no more regard 
 To your reputations? Where's your judgment? 'Slight, 
 Have yet some care of me, of your republic —   — 
 
 Face. Away this brach^ ! I'll bring thee, rogue, within 
 i'he statute of sorcery, tricesimo tertio 
 < )f Harry the Eighth : ay, and perhaps thy neck 
 Within a noose, for laundring gold and barbing it/ 
 
 Dol. {snatches Face's sword). You'll bring your head 
 within a cockscomb, will you ? 
 
 ' A noted highwayman, executed at Bedford. 
 
 - For eating more than your share of the broken victuals sent in a basket 
 to prisonerb. 
 
 a Hunting-dog. 4 Rolling and clipping gold.
 
 SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. 1 23 
 
 And you, sir, with your menstrue.' {Dashes Subti e's vial out 
 
 of his hand.) Gather it up. — 
 'Sdeath, you abominable pair of stinkards,- 150 
 
 Leave off your barking, and grow one again, 
 Or, by the light that shines, I'll cut your throats. 
 I'll not be made a prey unto the marshal 
 For ne'er a snarling dog-bolt of you both. 
 Have you together cozen'd all this while, 
 And all the world, and shall it now be said 
 You've made most courteous shift to cozen yourselves? 
 You will accuse him ! you will bring him in [ To Face. 
 
 Within the statute? Who shall take your word ? 
 A rascal, upstart, apocryphal captain, 160 
 
 Whom not a Puritan in Blackfriars '' will trust 
 So much as for a feather : and you, too, \_To Subtle. 
 
 Will give the cause, forsooth ! you will insult, 
 And claim a primacy in the divisions ! 
 You must be chief ! as if you only had 
 The powder to project ■* with, and the work 
 Were not begun out of equaUty? 
 The venture tripartite ? all things in common ? 
 Without priority? 'Sdeath ! you perpetual curs. 
 Fall to your couples again, and cozen kindly, 170 
 
 And heartily, and lovingly, as you should, 
 And lose not the beginning of a term. 
 Or, by this hand, I shall grow factious too, 
 
 1 The fluid in which alchemists dissolved solid substances, 
 
 2 Mean fellows. 
 
 3 The Puritans, — the term was first current about 1564, — who are so 
 cleverly ridiculed in this play, dwelt in the Blackfriars district in London ; 
 they dealt largely in feathers. 
 
 4 The last, twelfth, process in alchemy, when the base metal was to be 
 turned into gold.
 
 i24 
 
 THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT r. 
 
 And take my part, and quit you. 
 
 Face. 'Tis his fault ; 
 He ever murmurs, and objects his pains. 
 And says, the weight of all lies upon him. 
 
 Sub. Why so it does. 
 
 Dol. How does it ? Do not we 
 Sustain our parts ? i8c 
 
 Sub. Yes, but they are not equal. 
 
 Dol. Why, if your part exceed to-day, I hope 
 Ours may to-morrow match it. 
 
 Sub. Ay, they may. 
 
 Dol. May, murmuring mastiff ! Ay, and do. Death on me ! 
 Help me to throttle him. \Seizes Sub. by the throat. 
 
 Sub. Dorothy ! Mistress Dorothy ! 
 'Ods precious, I'll do anything. What do you mean? 
 
 Dol. Because o' your fermentation and cibation ^ ? 
 
 Sub. Not I, by heaven 190 
 
 Dol. Your Sol and Luna'-' Help me. \^To Face. 
 
 Sub. Would I were hang'd then ! I'll conform myself. 
 
 Dol. Will you, sir ? Do so then, and quickly : swear. 
 
 Sub. What should I swear ? 
 
 Dol. To leave your faction, sir. 
 And labour kindly in the common work. 
 
 Sub. Let me not breathe if I meant aught beside. 
 
 1 The sixth and seventh processes; cibation was the feeding of the mattei 
 in preparation with fresh substances ; also, supplying what had been wasted 
 by evaporation. 
 
 2 The metals used by alchemists are thus enumerated by Chaucer, in 
 The Yeoman's Tale : 
 
 "The bodies seven, lo! here hem anone, 
 5(7/ gold is, and Luna silver we threpe, 
 Mars vron, Mercury quicksilver we clepe, 
 Satnruus leade, and Jupiter is tinne. 
 And yenus copir."
 
 SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. 1 25 
 
 I only used those speeches as a spur 
 To him. 
 
 Dol. I hope we need no spurs, sir. Do we? aoo 
 
 Face. 'SUd, prove to-day who shall shark best. 
 
 Siib. Agreed. 
 
 Dol. Yes, and work close and friendly. 
 
 Sub. 'Slight, the knot 
 Shall grow the stronger for this breach, with me. 
 
 [ They shake hands. 
 
 Dol. Why, so, my good baboons ! Shall we go make 
 A sort of sober, scurvy, precise neighbours, 
 That scarce have smiled twice since the king came in, 
 A feast of laughter at our follies ? Rascals 
 Would run themselves from breath to see me ride, 210 
 
 Or you t' have but a hole to thrust your heads in, 
 For which you should pay ear-rent?* No, agree. 
 And may don Provost ride a feasting long 
 In his old velvet jerkin and stain'd scarfs, 
 My noble sovereign and worthy general, 
 Ere we contribute a new crewel garter 
 To his most worsted worship.^ 
 
 Sub. Royal Dol ! 
 Spoken like Claridiana,' and thyself. 
 
 Face. For which at supper thou shalt sit in triumph, 220 
 And not be styled Dol Common, but Dol Proper, 
 Dol Singular : the longest cut at night 
 Shall draw thee for his Doll Particular. {^Bell rings without. 
 
 Sub. Who's that? One rings. To the window, Dol. 
 (^Exit Dol.) Pray heaven 
 
 1 Refers to the pillory. 
 
 * This punning on crewel and worsted was probably venerable even in 
 Jensen's time. 
 
 8 Heroine in The Mirror of Knighthood.
 
 126 THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT I 
 
 The master do not trouble us this quarter. 
 
 Face. Oh, fear not him. While there dies one a week 
 O' the plague, he's safe from thinking toward London : 
 Beside, he's busy at his hop-yards now ; 
 I had a letter from him. If he do, 
 
 He'll send such word for airing of the house 23c 
 
 As you shall have sufficient time to quit it : 
 Though we break up a fortnight 'tis no matter. 
 
 Re-enter DOL. 
 
 Sub. Who is it, Dol? 
 
 Dol. A fine young quodling.^ 
 
 Face. Oh, 
 My lawyer's clerk I lighted on last night 
 In Holborn, at the Dagger.^ He would have 
 (I told you of him) a familiar,^ 
 To rifle with at horses, and win cups. 
 
 Dol. Oh, let him in. 24c 
 
 Sub. Stay. Who shall do't? 
 
 Face. Get you 
 Your robes on : I will meet him as going out. 
 
 Dol. And what shall I do ? 
 
 Face. Not be seen ; away ! \Exit Dol. 
 
 Seem you very reserv'd. 
 
 Sub. Enough. \_Exit. 
 
 Face, {aloud and retiring). God be wi' you, sir. 
 I pray you, let him know that I was here : 
 His name is Dapper. I would gladly have staid, but 250 
 
 Dap. {withiti). Captain, I am here. 
 
 Face. Who's that? — He's come, I think, doctor. 
 
 1 Slang ; " young quill-driver." 2 a low gambling-hell. 
 
 ^ A spirit who waited upon magicians.
 
 SCENE I.J THE ALCHEMIST. 127 
 
 Enter Dapper. 
 
 Good faith, sir, I was going away. 
 
 Dap. In truth, 
 I am very sorry, captain. 
 
 Face. But I thought 
 Sure I should meet you. 
 
 Dap. Ay, I am very glad. 
 I had a scurvy writ or two to make, 
 
 And I had lent my watch ' last night to one 260 
 
 That dines to-day at the sheriffs, and so was robb'd 
 Of my pastime. 
 
 Re-enter Subtle, in his velvet cap and gown. 
 
 Is this the cunning-man? 
 
 Face. This is his worship. 
 
 Dap. Is he a doctor? 
 
 Face. Yes. 
 
 Dop. And you have broke with him, captain? 
 
 Face. Ay. 
 
 Dap. And how? 
 
 Face. Faith, he does make the matter, sir, so dainty 270 
 I know not what to say. 
 
 Dap. Not so, good captain. 
 
 Face. Would I were fairly rid of it, believe me. 
 
 Dap. Nay, now you grieve me, sir. Why should you wish 
 so? I dare assure you, I'll not be ungrateful. 
 
 Face. I cannot think you will, sir. But the law 
 Is such a thing — and then he says, Read's matter* 
 Falling so lately — 
 
 1 Watches were dear and scarce : Dapper pretends to a luxury above his 
 condition. 
 
 2 Simon Read, convicted of practising the black art, had been recently 
 pardoned by James I.
 
 128 THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT I. 
 
 Dap. Read ! he was an ass. 
 And dealt, sir, with a fool. 280 
 
 Face. It was a clerk, sir. 
 
 Dap. A clerk ! 
 
 Face. Nay, hear me, sir, you know the law 
 Better, I think 
 
 Dap. I should, sir, and the danger : 
 You know, I showed the statute to you. 
 
 Face. You did so. 
 
 Dap. And will I tell then ! By this hand of flesh, 
 Would it might never write good court-hand more. 
 If I discover. What do you think of me, 290 
 
 That I am a chiaus ^ ? 
 
 Face. What's that? 
 
 Dap. The Turk was here. 
 As one would say, do you think I am a Turk ? 
 
 Face. I'll tell the doctor so. 
 
 Dap. Do, good sweet captain. 
 
 Face. Come, noble doctor, pray thee, let's prevail ; 
 This is the gentleman, and he's no chiaus. 
 
 Sub. Captain, I have return'd you all my answer. 
 I would do much, sir, for your love ; but this 30c 
 
 I neither may nor can. 
 
 Face. Tut, do not say so. 
 You deal now with a noble fellow, doctor. 
 One that will thank you richly, and he is no chiaus. 
 Let that, sir, move you. 
 
 Sub. Pray you, forbear 
 
 Face. He has 
 
 1 A cheat. A Turkish chiaus, or interpreter, defrauded, in 1609, some 
 Turkish merchants in England out of ^4000: the fraud was famous at the 
 time.
 
 SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. 1 29 
 
 Four angels here.* 
 
 Sub. You do me wrong, good sir. 
 
 Face. Doctor, wherein? to tempt you with these spirits? 
 
 Sub. To tempt my art and love, sir, to my peril. 311 
 
 'Fore heaven, I scarce can think you are my friend. 
 That so would draw me to apparent danger. 
 
 Face. I draw you ! A horse draw you, and a halter, 
 You, and your flies together 
 
 Dap. Nay, good captain. 
 
 Face. That know no difference of men. 
 
 Sub. Good words, sir. 
 
 Face. Good deeds, sir. Dr. Dogs-meat. 'Slight, I bring you 
 No cheating Clini o' the Cloughs,- or Claribels, 320 
 
 That look as big as five-and-fifty, and flush"''; 
 And spit out secrets like hot custard 
 
 F)ap. Captain ! 
 
 Face. Nor any melancholic under-scribe, 
 Shall tell the vicar, but a special gentle. 
 That is the heir to forty marks a year. 
 Consorts with the small poets of the time. 
 Is the sole hope of his old grandmother ; 
 That knows the law, and writes you six fair hands. 
 Is a fine clerk, and has his cyphering perfect, 33c 
 
 Will take his oath o' the Greek Testament, 
 If need be, in his pocket ; and can court 
 His mistress out of Ovid. 
 
 Dap. Nay, dear captain 
 
 Face. Did you not tell me so? 
 
 Dap. Yes ; but I'd have you 
 
 1 English gold coin, worth ten shillings. 
 
 2 A North-country archer, often mentioned in the Robin Hood ballads. 
 8 The highest counts at primero, a game of cards.
 
 , ,,. THE ALCHEMIST. (act i 
 
 Use Master Doctor with some more respect. 
 
 Face. H-ing him, proud stag, with his broad velvet 
 
 head ! 
 
 But for your sake I'd choke ere I would change 
 
 An article of breath with such a puckfist ' : 34° 
 
 Come, let's be gone. \^Goi7ig. 
 
 Sub. Pray you, let me speak with you. 
 
 Dap. His worship calls you, captain. 
 
 Face. I am sorry 
 I e'er embark'd myself in such a business. 
 
 Dap. Nay, good sir ; he did call you. 
 
 Face. Will he take then? 
 
 ^7//^. First, hear me 
 
 Face. Not a syllable, 'less you take. 
 
 Sub. Pray you, sir 35° 
 
 Face. Upon no terms, but an assumpsiti^ 
 
 Sub. Your humour must be law. 
 
 \He takes the four angels. 
 
 Face. Why, now, sir, talk. 
 Now I dare hear you with mine honour. Speak. 
 So may this gentleman too. 
 
 Sub. Why, sir {^Offering to whisper Face. 
 
 Face. No whispering. 
 
 Sub. 'Fore heaven, you do not apprehend the loss 
 You do yourself in this. 
 
 Face. Wherein ? for what ? 360 
 
 Sub. Marry, to be so importunate for one 
 That when he has it, will undo you all ; 
 He'll win up all the money in the town. 
 
 1 Puff-ball, term of reproach. 
 
 J A voluntarv promise, by word of mouth, to perform or pay anything to 
 another
 
 SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. 131 
 
 Face. How ! 
 
 Sub. Yes, and blow up gamester after gamester, 
 As they do crackers in a puppet play. 
 If I do give him a familiar, 
 (rive you him all you play for ; never set him : * 
 For he will have it. 
 
 Face. You are mistaken, doctor, 370 
 
 Why, he does ask one but for cups and horses 
 A rifling fly ; none of your great familiars. 
 
 Dap. Yes, captain, I would have it for all games. 
 
 Sub. I told you so. 
 
 Face, {^taking Dap. aside). 'Slight, that is a new business ! 
 I understood you, a tame bird, to fly 
 Twice in a term, or so, on Friday nights, 
 When you had left the ofiice, for a nag 
 Of forty or fifty shillings. 
 
 Dap. Ay, 'tis true, sir ; ' 380 
 
 But 1 do think now I shall leave the law. 
 And therefore 
 
 Face. Why, this changes quite the case. 
 Do you think that I dare move him ? 
 
 Dap. If you please, sir ; 
 All's one to him, I see. 
 
 Face. What ! for that money? 
 I cannot with ray conscience ; nor should you 
 Make the request, methinks. 
 
 Dap. No, sir ; I mean 390 
 
 To add consideration. 
 
 Face. Why, then, sir, 
 I'll try. (^Goes to Subtle.) Say that it were for all games, 
 doctor? 
 
 1 Gamble with, lay a stake.
 
 ^^2 THE ALCHEMIST. [act I 
 
 Sub. I say then, not a mouth shall eat for him 
 At any ordinary, but on the score, 
 That is a gaming mouth, conceive me. 
 
 Face. Indeed ! 
 
 Sub. He'll draw you all the treasure of the realm, 
 If it be set him. 
 
 Face. Speak you this from art ? 4«' 
 
 Sub. Ay, sir, and reason too, the ground of art. 
 He is of the only best complexion 
 The Queen of Fairy loves. 
 
 Face. What! Is he? 
 
 Sub. Peace. 
 He'll overhear you. Sir, should she but see him 
 
 Face. What? 
 
 Sub. Do not you tell him. 
 
 Face. Will he win at cards too ? 
 
 Sub. The spirits of dead Holland, living Isaac,' 41° 
 
 You'd swear were in him ; such a vigorous luck 
 As cannot be resisted. 'Slight, he'll put 
 Six of your gallants to a cloke, indeed.^ 
 
 Face. A strange success, that some man shall be born to. 
 
 Sub. He hears you, man 
 
 Dap. Sir, I'll not be ungrateful. 
 
 Face. Faith, I have confidence in his good nature : 
 You hear, he says he will not be ungrateful. 
 
 Sub. Why, as you please ; my venture follows yours. 
 
 Face. Troth, do it, doctor ; think him trusty, and make 
 him. 420 
 
 He may make us both happy in a hour ; 
 Win some five thousand pound, and send us two on't. 
 Dap. Believe it, and I will, sir. 
 
 1 Two adepts in alchemy at that period. " Strip them.
 
 SCENE r.] THE ALCHEMIST. 1 33 
 
 Face. And you shall, sir. \Takes him aside. 
 
 You have heard all ? 
 
 Dap. No, what was't? Nothing, I, sir. 
 
 Face. Nothing ! 
 
 Dap. A little, sir. 
 
 Face. Well, a rare star 
 Reigned at your birth. 430 
 
 Dap. At mine, sir ! No. 
 
 Face. The doctor 
 Swears that you are 
 
 Sub. Nay, captain, you'll tell all now. 
 
 Face. Allied to the Queen of Fairy. 
 
 Dap. Who ? that I am ? 
 Believe it no such matter 
 
 Face. Yes, and that 
 You were were born with a caul on your head.^ 
 
 Dap. Who says so? 440 
 
 Face. Come, 
 You know it well enough, though you dissemble it. 
 
 Dap. r fac, I do not : you are mistaken. 
 
 Face. How ! 
 Swear by your fac?^ And in a thing so known 
 Unto the doctor? How shall we, sir, trust you 
 In the other matter? can we ever think. 
 When you have won five or six thousand pound, 
 You'll send us shares in't, by this rate ? 
 
 Dap. By Jove, sir, 450 
 
 I'll win ten thousand pound, and send you half. 
 I' fac's no oath. 
 
 Sub. No, no ; he did but jest. 
 
 1 The superstitious regarded this as a good omen, conferring power of 
 second sight. 
 
 2 A hit at the Puritans, who avoided oaths.
 
 134 THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT I. 
 
 Face. Go to. Go thank the doctor : he's your friend, 
 To take it so. 
 
 Dap. I thank his worship. 
 
 Face. So ! 
 Another angel. 
 
 Dap. Must I? 
 
 Face. Must you ! 'SHght, 460 
 
 What else is thanks? \\\\\ you be trivial? — Doctor, 
 
 [Dapper gives hi?n the money. 
 When must he come for his familiar ? 
 
 Dap. Shall I not have it with me ? 
 
 Sub. Oh, good sir ! 
 There must a world of ceremonies pass ; 
 You must be bath'd and fumigated first : 
 Besides, the Queen of Fairy does not rise 
 Till it be noon. 
 
 Face. Not, if she danced, to-night. 
 
 Sub. And she must bless it. 470 
 
 Face. Did you never see 
 Her royal grace yet? 
 
 Dap. Whom? 
 
 Face. Your aunt of Fairy? 
 
 Sub. Not since she kissed him in the cradle, captain ; 
 I can resolve you that. 
 
 Face. Well, see her grace, 
 Whate'er it cost you, for a thing that I know. 
 It will be somewhat hard to compass ; but 
 However, see her. You are made, believe it, 4& 
 
 If you can see her. Her grace is a lone woman, 
 And very rich ; and if she take a fancy, 
 She will do strange things. See her at any hand. 
 'Slid, she may hap to leave you all she has :
 
 SCENE I.J THE ALCHEMIST. I35 
 
 It is the doctor's fear. 
 
 Dap. How will't be done, then? 
 
 Face. Let me alone, take you no thought. Do you 
 But say to me, Captain, I'll see her grace. 
 
 Dap. Captain, I'll see her grace. 
 
 Face. Enough. \^Knocking within. 49a 
 
 Sub. Who's there? 
 Anon. {Aside to Face.) Conduct him forth by the back way. 
 Sir, against one o'clock prepare yourself, 
   I 'ill when you must be fasting ; only take 
 Three drops of vinegar in at your nose, 
 Two at your mouth, and one at either ear ; 
 Then bathe your fingers' ends and wash your eyes, 
 To sharpen your five senses, and cry hum 
 Thrice, and then buz} as often ; and then come. \Exit. 
 
 Face. Can you remember this ? 500 
 
 Dap. I warrant you. 
 
 Face. Well then away. It is but your bestowing 
 Some twenty nobles ^ 'mong her grace's servants, 
 And put on a clean shirt : you do not know 
 What grace her grace may do you in clean linen.' 
 
 \_Exeunt Face and Dapper. 
 
 Sub. {within). Come in ! Good wives, I pray you forbeai 
 me now ; 
 Troth I can do you no good till afternoon. 
 
 Re-enters, followed by Drugger. 
 
 What is your name, say you — Abel Drugger? 
 Drug. Yes, sir. 
 Sub. A seller of tobacco*? 510 
 
 1 Words used in incantations. 
 
 2 A noble was worth 6^. M. 3 xhe fairies insisted on cleanliness. 
 < Tobacco was introduced into England before 1580.
 
 136 THE ALCHEMIST. TACT t 
 
 Drug. Yes, sir. 
 
 Sub. Umph ! 
 Free of the grocers ^? 
 
 Drug. Ay, an't please you. 
 
 Sub. Well 
 
 Your business, Abel? 
 
 Drug. This, an't please your worship : 
 I am a young beginner, and am building 
 Of a new shop, an't like your worship, just 
 At comer of a street : — Here is the plot ^ on't — 5% 
 
 And I would know by art, sir, of your worship. 
 Which way I should make my door, by necromancy. 
 And where my shelves : and which should be for boxes, 
 And which for pots. I would be glad to thrive, sir : 
 .And I was wish'd ' to your worship by a gentleman. 
 One Captain Face, that says you know men's planets, 
 .And their good angels, and their bad. 
 
 Sub. I do. 
 If I do see them 
 
 Re-enter Face. 
 
 Face. What ! my honest Abel ? 530 
 
 Thou art well met here. 
 
 Drug. Troth, sir, I was speaking, 
 Just as your worship came here, of your worship : 
 I pray you, speak for me to Master Doctor. 
 
 Face. He shall do anything. — Doctor, do you hear? 
 This is my friend, Abel, an honest fellow ; 
 He lets me have good tobacco, and he does not 
 Sophisticate it with sack-lees or oil. 
 Nor washes it in muscadel and grains, 
 
 1 Belonging to the grocers' guild. 2 Plan. ' Recommended
 
 SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST, 137 
 
 Nor buries it in gravel underground, 540 
 
 Wrapp'd up in greasy leather or sour clouts ; 
 
 But keeps it in line lily pots, that, open'd, 
 
 Smell like conserve of roses or French beans. 
 
 He has his maple block, his silver tongs, 
 
 Winchester pipes, and fire of juniper : ' 
 
 A neat, spruce, honest fellow, and no goldsmith.' 
 
 Sub. He is a fortunate fellow, that I am sure on. 
 
 Face. Already, sir, have you found it ? Lo thee, Abel 1 
 
 Sub. And in right way toward riches 
 
 Face. Sir ! 550 
 
 Sub. This summer 
 He will be of the clothing of his company,' 
 And next spring call'd to the scarlet ; ^ spend what he can. 
 
 Face. What, and so little beard? 
 
 Sub. Sir, you must think 
 He may have a receipt to make hair come : 
 But he'll be wise, preserve his youth, and fine for't ; 
 His fortune looks for him another way. 
 
 Face. 'Slid, doctor, how canst thou know this so soon ? 
 I am amused at that ! 560 
 
 Sub. By a rule, captain, 
 In metoposcopy,^ which I do work by : 
 A certain star in the forehead, which you see not. 
 Your chestnut or your ohve-colour'd face 
 Does never fail ; and your long ear doth promise. 
 I knew't by certain spots, too, in his teeth, 
 And on the nail of his mercurial finger. 
 
 1 These were to be found in every well-appointed tobacconist's shop ; 
 the weed was shredded on the maple block ; the to/ig's held the live coal, 
 which was of juniper, whose coals burned a long time. 
 
 2 Usurer. 3 Livery of the grocers. * Be made sheriff 
 5 Fortune-telling by examining the countenance.
 
 138 THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT L 
 
 Face. Which finger's that? 
 
 Sub. His little finger. Look. 
 You were born upon a Wednesday. 570 
 
 Drug. Yes, indeed, sir. 
 
 Sub. The thumb, in chiromancy, we give Venus ; 
 The fore-finger to Jove ; the midst to Saturn \ 
 The ring to Sol ; the least to Mercury, 
 Who was the lord, sir, of his horoscope. 
 His house of life being Libra ; which fore-showed 
 He should be a merchant, and should trade with balance. 
 
 Face. Why, this is strange ! Is it not, honest Nab ? 
 
 Sub. There is a ship now coming from Ormus 
 That shall yield him such a commodity 58c 
 
 Of drugs. This is the west, and this the south? 
 
 \Pointing to the plan. 
 
 Drug. Yes, sir. 
 
 Sub. And those are your two sides? 
 
 Drug. Ay, sir. 
 
 Sub. Make me your door, then, south ; your broad side, 
 west : 
 And on the east side of your shop, aloft. 
 Write Mathlai, Tarmiel, and Baraborat ; 
 Upon the north part, Rael, Velel, Thiel. 
 They are the names of those mercurial spirits 
 That do fright flies ^ from boxes. 590 
 
 Drug. Yes, sir. 
 
 Sub. And 
 Beneath your threshold bury me a loadstone 
 To draw in gallants that wear spurs : the rest, 
 They'll seem to follow. 
 
 Face. That's a secret. Nab ! 
 
 1 Familiar spirits.
 
 SCENE I.J THE ALCHEMIST. 239 
 
 Sub. And on your stall, a puppet/ with a vice 
 And a court-fucus^ to call city-dames.: 
 You shall deal much with minerals. 
 
 Drug. Sir, I have 60c 
 
 At home, already 
 
 Sub. Ay, I know you have arsenic, 
 Vitriol, sal- tartar, argaile, alkali, 
 Cinoper : I know all. — This fellow, captain, 
 Will come, in time, to be a great distiller. 
 And give assay — I will not say directly, 
 But very fair — at the philosopher's stone. 
 
 Face. Why, how now, Abel ! is this true ? 
 
 Drug, {aside to Face). Good captain. 
 What must I give ? 610 
 
 Face. Nay, I'll not counsel thee. 
 Thou hear'st what wealth — (he says, spend what thou 
 
 canst) — 
 Thou'rt like to come to. 
 
 Drug. I would gi' him a crown. 
 
 Face. A crown ! and toward such a fortune ? Heart, 
 Thou shalt rather gi' him thy shop. No gold about thee? 
 
 Drug. Yes, I have a portague ^ I have kept this half-year. 
 
 Face. Out on thee, Nab ! 'Slight, there was such an offer — 
 Shalt keep't no longer, I'll give't him for thee. Doctor, 
 Nab prays your worship to drink this, and sv/ears 620 
 
 He will appear more grateful as your skill 
 Does raise him in the world. 
 
 Drug. I would entreat 
 Another favour of his worship. 
 
 Face. What is't. Nab ? 
 
 1 In the old morality plays a puppet was so dressed. 
 
 2 Paint for the face. 3 a Portuguese gold coin worth £'^ 12s,
 
 140 
 
 THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT I, 
 
 Drug. But to look over, sir, my almanac, 
 And cross out my ill days, that I may neither 
 Bargain nor trust upon them.' 
 
 Face. That he shall. Nab ; 
 Leave it, it shall be done 'gainst afternoon. 63a 
 
 Sub. And a direction for his shelves. 
 
 Face. Now, Nab, 
 Art thou well pleased, Nab? 
 
 Drug. 'Thank, sir, both your worships. 
 
 Face. Away. — \_Exit Drugger. 
 
 Why, now, you smoky persecutor of nature ! 
 Now do you see that something's to be done 
 Beside your beech-coal and your corsive waters, 
 Your crosslets, crucibles, and cucurbites-? 
 You must have stuff brought home to you, to work on : 640 
 .\nd yet you think I am at no expense 
 In searching out these veins, then following them. 
 Then trying them out. 'Fore God, my intelligence 
 CJosts me more money than my share oft comes to. 
 In these rare works. 
 
 Sub. You are pleasant, sir. 
 
 Re-enter DoL. 
 
 How now ! 
 What says my Dainty Dolkin? 
 
 Dol. Yonder fishwife 
 Will not away. And there's your giantess, 
 Come out of I^ambeth. 650 
 
 Sub. Heart, I cannot speak with them. 
 
 Dol. Not afore night, I have told them in a voice, 
 
 3 In the almanacs of that period were set down the days propitious and 
 anpropiiious for business. 
 
   A gourd-shaped vessel for distilling.
 
 SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. I4I 
 
 Thorough the trunk, Uke one of your familiars. 
 But I have spied Sir Epicure Mammon 
 
 Sub. Where? 
 
 Dol. Coming along, at far end of the lane, 
 Slow of his feet, but earnest of his tongue 
 To one that's with him. 
 
 Sub. Face, go you, and shift. \_Exit Face. 
 
 Dol, you must presently make ready too. 66c 
 
 Dol. Why, what's the matter? 
 
 Sub. Oh, I did look for him 
 With the sun's rising : marvel he could sleep ; 
 This is the day I am to perfect for him 
 The magisterium, our great work, the stone ; 
 And yield it, made, into his hands : of which 
 He has this month talk'd as he were possess'd. 
 And now he s dealing pieces on't away. — 
 Methinks I see him entering ordinaries. 
 Dispensing for the pox and plaguy houses, 67c 
 
 Reaching his dose, walking Moorfields for lepers, 
 And offering citizens' wives pomander bracelets,^ 
 As his preservative, made of the elixir ; 
 Searching the spital, to make old bones young ; 
 And the highways for beggars to make rich : 
 I see no end of his labours. He will make 
 Nature asham'd of her long sleep : when art. 
 Who's but a step-dame, shall do more than she. 
 In her best love to mankind, ever could : 
 If his dream lasts, he'll turn the age to gold. {^Exeunt. 68a 
 
 1 A ball, or small box, of perfumes was carried in the pocket, or worn on 
 a girdle or bracelet (French pomme d'ambre).
 
 i^, THE ALCHEMIST. [act II. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. — An Outer Room in Lovtswit's House. 
 
 Enter Sir Epicure Ma.mmox and Surly. 
 
 Mam. Come on, sir. Now, you set your foot on shore 
 In Sovo Orbe; here's the rich Peru : 
 .■\nd there within, sir, are the golden mines, 
 Crcat Solomon's Ophir ! he was sailing to't, 
 iliree years, but we have reached it in ten months. 
 This is the day wherein, to all my friends, 
 I will pronounce the happy word. Be rich ; 
 This day you shall be spectatisslmi.^ 
 You shall no more deal with the hollow die 
 Or the frail card.- No more be at charge of keeping lo 
 
 The house of call for the young heir. No more 
 Shall tnirst of satin, or the covetous hunger 
 Of velvet entrails for a rude-spun cloak,^ 
 To be display'd at Madam Augusta's, make 
 The sons of Sword and Hazard fall before 
 The golden calf, and on their knees, whole nights. 
 Commit idolatry with mne and trumpets : 
 Or go a feasting, after drum and ensign. 
 No more of this. You shall start up young viceroys, 
 .And unto thee I speak it first, Be rich. 20 
 
 Where is my Subtle, there ? Within, ho ! 
 
 Face (within). Sir, he'll come to you by and by. 
 Afam. That is his fire-drake, 
 
 1 Most illustrious. - Used by dishonest gamblers. 
 
 • Cloaks of which the lining was richer than the material.
 
 SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. 143 
 
 His Lungs/ his Zephyrus, he that puffs his coals, 
 
 Till he firk.-' nature up, in her own centre. 
 
 You are not faithful, sir. This night I'll change 
 
 All that is metal, in my house, to gold : 
 
 And early in the morning will I send 
 
 To all the plumbers and the pewterers, 
 
 And buy their tin and lead up ; and to Lothbury' 30 
 
 For all the copper. 
 
 Sur. What, and turn that too? 
 
 Mam. Yes, and I'll purchase Devonshire and Cornwall,* 
 And make them perfect Indies ! You admire now ? 
 
 Sur. No, faith. 
 
 Mam. But when you see th' effects of the Great Medicine, 
 Of which one part projected on a hundred 
 Of Mercury, or Venus, or the moon. 
 Shall turn it to as many of the sun ; 
 
 Nay, to a thousand, so ad infinitum : 40 
 
 You will believe me. 
 
 Sur. Yes, when I see't I will. 
 But if my eyes do cozen me so, and I 
 Giving them no occasion, sure I'll have 
 A crow shall pluck them out next day. 
 
 Mam. Ha ! why? 
 Do you think I fable with you? I assure you, 
 He that has once the flower of the sun. 
 The perfect ruby, which we call elixir, 
 
 1 The apprentice to an alchemist was called Lungs, because he blew the 
 bellows. 
 
 2 Stir, strike (Latin y^«'a). 
 
 8 Stow, in his account of London (p. 287) , says that Lothbury is " inhab- 
 ited chiefly by founders, that cast candlesticks, chafing-dishes, spice mortars, 
 and such-like copper works." 
 
 * That is, convert their minerals to gold.
 
 ... THE ALCHEMIST. [act u. 
 
 144 
 
 Not only can do that, but by its virtue S« 
 
 Can confer honour, love, respect, long life ; 
 
 Give safety, valour, yea, and victory, 
 
 To whom he will. In eight and twenty days, 
 
 I'll make an old man of fourscore a child. 
 
 Sur. No doubt ; he's that already. 
 
 Mum. Nay, I mean. 
 Restore his years, renew him, like an eagle, 
 To the fifth age ; make him get sons and daughters, 
 Young giants ; as our philosophers have done, 
 The ancient patriarchs, afore the flood, 60 
 
 But taking, once a week, on a knife's point. 
 The quantity of a grain of mustard of it ; 
 Become stout Marses, and beget young Cupids. 
 
 Sur. The decay'd vestals of Pickt-hatch ' would thank you, 
 That keep the fire ahve there. 
 
 Mam. 'Tis the secret 
 Of nature naturized' 'gainst all infections. 
 Cures all diseases coming of all causes ; 
 A month's grief in a day, a year's in twelve ; 
 And of what age soever, in a month : 70 
 
 Past all the doses of your drugging doctors, 
 I'll undertake, withal, to fright the plague^ 
 Out of the kingdom in three months. 
 
 Sur. And I'll 
 
 i A place of vile repute (in Trumbull Street, Cow Cross, Clerkenwell), 
 where attacks of bullies made a pickt-hatch, or a half-door armed with 
 spikes, a necessary defence. — /?. G. White. Cf. Merry Wives of Windsor, 
 
 11.3. 
 
 * The Schoolmen distinguished between Natura naturans, God the Crea- 
 tor, and natura naturata, the universe created. 
 
 • There had been a severe plague in 1602, and the theatres had been 
 closed.
 
 SCENE I.J THE ALCHEMIST. 
 
 145 
 
 Be bound, the players shall sing your praises then, 
 Without their poets. 
 
 Mam. Sir, I'll do't. Meantime, 
 I'll give away so much unto my man 
 Shall serve the whole city with preservative 
 Weekly ; each house his dose, and at the rate Sc 
 
 Sur. As he that built the waterworks does with water? 
 
 Mam. You are incredulous. 
 
 Sur. Faith, I have a humour 
 I would not willingly be gull'd. Your stone 
 Cannot transmute me. 
 
 Mam. Pertinax Surly, 
 Will you believe antiquity? records? 
 I'll show you a book where Moses and his sister, 
 And Solomon have written of the art ; ^ 
 Ay, and a treatise penn'd by Adam 90 
 
 Sur. How ! 
 
 Mam. Of the philosopher's stone, and in High Dutch. 
 
 Sur. Did Adam write, sir, in High Dutch? 
 
 Matn. He did ; ® 
 Which proves it was the primitive tongue. 
 
 Sur. What paper? 
 
 Mam. On cedar board. 
 
 Sicr. Oh, that indeed, they say 
 Will last 'gainst worms. 
 
 Mam. 'Tis like your Irish wood 100 
 
 'Gainst cobwebs. I have a piece of Jason's fleece too, 
 Which was no other than a book of alchemy. 
 Writ in large sheepskin, a good fat ram-vellum. 
 
 1 Bulmer constructed waterworks for London in 1595. 
 
 ■■2 Fabricius, in a work on writers on chemistry, included these. 
 
 3 This absurdity was affirmed by Goropius Becanus.
 
 , ^6 THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT II. 
 
 Such was Pythagoras' thigh, Pandora's tub, 
 
 And all that fable of Medea's charms, 
 
 The manner of our work ; the bulls, our furnace, 
 
 Still breathing fire ; our argent-vive, the dragon : 
 
 The dragon's teeth, mercury sublimate, 
 
 I'hat keeps the whiteness, hardness, and the biting; 
 
 And they are gather'd into Jason's helm, no 
 
 The alembic, and then sow'd in Mars his field. 
 
 And thence sublimed so often, till they're fix'd. 
 
 Both this, the Hesperian garden, Cadmus' story, 
 
 Jove's shower, the boon of Midas, Argus' eyes, 
 
 Boccace his Demogorgon, thousands more, 
 
 All abstract riddles of our stone. — 
 
 Enter Face as a Servant. 
 
 How now ! 
 Do we succeed? Is our day come? and holds it? 
 
 Face. The evening will set red upon you, sir ; 
 Vou have colour for it, crimson^ : the red ferment 
 Has done his office ; three hours hence prepare you 120 
 
 To see projection. 
 
 Mam. Pertinax, my Surly, 
 .Again I say to thee aloud, Be rich. 
 This day thou shalt have ingots ; and to-morrow 
 Give lords th' affront.- — Is it, my Zephyrus, right? 
 Blushes the bolt's head? 
 
 Face. Aye. 
 
 Mam. My only care is, 
 
 1 Crimsun was the color reached in the last stage before the base metal 
 was projccti'd. 
 
 ■•' Meet, and look in the face.
 
 SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. I47 
 
 Where to get stuff enough now to project on ; 
 
 This town will not half serve me. 130 
 
 Face. No, sir ! Buy 
 The covering off o' churches. 
 
 Mam. That's true. 
 
 Face. Yes. 
 Let them stand bare, as do their auditory ; 
 Or cap them, new, with shingles. 
 
 Mam. No, good thatch : 
 Thatch will lie light upon the rafters, Lungs. — 
 Lungs, I will manumit thee from the furnace. 
 I will restore thee thy complexion, Puff, 140 
 
 Lost in the embers ; and repair this brain. 
 Hurt with the fume o' the metals. 
 
 Face. I have blown, sir. 
 Hard for your worship ; thrown by many a coal, 
 When 'twas not beech ^ ; weigh'd those I put in, just, 
 To keep your heat still even ; these bleared eyes 
 Have waked to read your several colours, sir, 
 Of the pale citron, the green Hon, the crow. 
 The peacock's tail, the plumed swan.^ 
 
 Mam. And, lastly, 15a 
 
 Thou hast descried the flower, the sanguis agni? 
 
 Face. Yes, sir. 
 
 Mam. Where's master? 
 
 Face. At his prayers, sir, he ; 
 Good man, he's doing his devotions 
 For the success. 
 
 Mam. Lungs, I will set a period 
 To all thy labours ; thou shalt be the master 
 
 1 Alchemists always used charcoal made fiom beechwood. 
 
 2 Alchemists attributed peculiar virtues to these.
 
 148 THE ALCHEiMIST. [ACT li. 
 
 Of my seraglio. 
 
 Face. Good, sir. 160 
 
 Mam. For I do mean 
 To have a list of wives and concubines 
 Equal with Solomon, who had the stone 
 Alike with me ; and I will make me a back 
 With the elixir, tough as Hercules. 
 Thou art sure thou saw'st it blood?* 
 
 Face. Both blood and spirit, sir. 
 
 AFam. I will have all my beds blown up, not stuft : 
 Do\vn is too hard : and then, mine oval room 
 Fill'd with such pictures as Tiberius took 17c 
 
 From Elephantis, and dull Aretine 
 But coldly imitated. Then, my glasses 
 Cut in more subtle angles, to disperse 
 And multiply the figures, as I walk. 
 My mists of perfume, vapoured 'bout the room, 
 To lose ourselves in ; and my baths, like pits 
 To fall into ; from whence we will come forth, 
 And roll us dry in gossam^ and roses. — 
 Is it arrived at niby?' — Where I spy 
 
 A wealthy citizen, or a rich lawyer, 180 
 
 Have a sublimed pure wife, unto that fellow 
 I'll send a thousand pound to make her mine. 
 
 Face. And I shall carry it? 
 
 Mam. No. I'll have no aids,'' 
 
 1 The propitious color. 
 
 - " The judgment is perfectly overwhelmed by the torrent of images, 
 words, and book-knowledge with which Mammon confounds and stuns his 
 incredulous hearer. They come pouring out like the successive strokes cf 
 .Niliis. They 'doubly redouble strokes upon the foe.' Description out- 
 Mridcs proof. We are made to believe effects before we have testimony for 
 Iheir c.iusrs, as a lively description of the joys of heaven sometimes passes
 
 SCENE I.J THE ALCHEMIST. 149 
 
 But fathers and mothers ; they will do it best, 
 
 Best of all others. And my flatterers 
 
 Shall be the pure and gravest of divines 
 
 That I can get for money. My mere fools. 
 
 Eloquent burgesses ; and then my poets, 
 
 The same that writ so subtly of foul wind, 190 
 
 Whom I will entertain still for that subject. 
 
 The few that would give out themselves to be 
 
 Court and town rakes, and everywhere belie 
 
 Ladies who are known most innocent for them, 
 
 Those will I beg to make me eunuchs of; 
 
 And they shall fan me with ten ostrich tails 
 
 Apiece, made in a plume to gather wind. 
 
 We will be brave, Puff, now we have the med'cine. 
 
 My meat shall all come in in Indian shells, 
 
 Dishes of agate set in gold, and studded 200 
 
 With emeralds, sapphires, hyacinths and nibies. 
 
 The tongues of carps, dormice, and camels' heels, 
 
 Boiled in the spirit of Sol and dissolv'd pearl, 
 
 Apicius' diet, 'gainst the epilepsy : 
 
 And I will eat these broths with spoons of amber,' 
 
 Headed with diamond and carbuncle. 
 
 for an argument to prove the existence of such a place. If there be no one 
 image which rises to the height of the sublime, yet the confluence and 
 assemblage of them all produce an effect equal to the grandest poetry. 
 Xerxes's army, that drank up whole rivers from their numbers, may stand 
 for single Achilles. Epicure Mammon is the most determined offspring oi 
 the author. It has the whole ' matter and copy of the father, eye, nose, lip, 
 and trick of his frown." It is just such a swaggerer as contemporaries have 
 described Ben to be. Mammon is arrogant pretension personified. What 
 a ' tow' ring bravery ' there is in his sensuality ! He affects no pleasure under 
 a sultan. It is as if ' Egypt with Assyria strove in luxury.' " — Charles 
 Lamb. 
 
 1 Spoons then had rich ornaments set in them.
 
 ijo THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT li. 
 
 My foot-boy shall eat pheasants, calvered^ salmons, 
 
 Knots,- godwits,^ lampreys : I myself will have 
 
 The beards of barbels served instead of salads ; 
 
 Oiled mushrooms, and the swelling unctuous paps 210 
 
 Of a fat pregnant sow, newly cut off, 
 
 Drest with an exquisite and poignant sauce ; 
 
 For which I'll say unto my cook. There'' s gold : 
 
 Go forth, and be a knight!' 
 
 Face. Sir, I'll go look 
 A little how it heightens. \_Exit. 
 
 Mam. Do. — My shirts 
 I'll have of taffeta-sarsnet, soft and light 
 .As cobwebs ; and for all my other raiment, 
 It shall be such as might provoke the Persian, 220 
 
 ^^'ere he to teach the world riot anew. 
 My gloves of fishes' and birds' skins, perfumed 
 With gums of paradise and eastern air 
 
 Sur. And do you think to have the stone with this ? 
 
 Matn. No, I do think t' have all this with the stone. 
 
 Sur. Why, I have heard he must be homofnigi, 
 .•\ pious, holy, and religious man, 
 One free from mortal sin, a very virgin. 
 
 Afam. That makes it, sir ; he is so : but I buy it ; 
 My venture brings it me. He, honest wretch, 230 
 
 A notable, superstitious, good soul. 
 Has worn his knees bare and his slippers bald 
 With prayer and fasting for it : and, sir, let him 
 Do it alone, for me, still. Here he comes. 
 
 1 Cut in Slices. See Walton's Complete Angler. 
 ' These were birds of the snipe species. 
 
 « A hit at the recent creation of a large batch of knights by James I, al 
 his »cccssion to the throne in 1603.
 
 SCENE!.] THE ALCHEMIST. 15I 
 
 Not a profane word afore him : 'tis poison. — 
 
 Enter Subtle. 
 
 Good-morrow, father. 
 
 Sub. Gentle son, good-morrow. 
 And to your friend there. What is he, is with you ? 
 
 Mam. An heretic, that I did bring along. 
 In hope, sir, to convert him. 240 
 
 Sub. Son, I doubt 
 You are covetous, that thus you meet your time 
 In the just point : prevent your day at morning.^ 
 This argues something worthy of a fear 
 Of importune and carnal appetite. 
 Take heed you do not cause the blessing leavp you, 
 With your ungovern'd haste. I should be sorry 
 To see my labours, now even at perfection, 
 Got by long watching and large patience, 
 Not prosper where my love and zeal hath placed them 25c 
 Which (heaven I call to witness, with yourself, 
 To whom I have poured my thoughts) in all my ends 
 Have look'd no way but unto public good, 
 To pious uses, and dear charity. 
 Now grown a prodigy with men. Wherein 
 If you, my son, should now prevaricate. 
 And to your own particular lusts employ 
 So great and cathoUc a bliss, be sure 
 A curse will follow, yea, and overtake 
 Your subtle and most secret ways. 260 
 
 Mam. I know, sir ; 
 You shall not need to fear me : I but come 
 To have you confute this gentleman. 
 
 1 Anticipate.
 
 ,(._, THE ALCHEMIST. f ACT U. 
 
 Sur. Who is, 
 Indeed, sir, somewhat costive of belief 
 Toward your stone ; would not be gulled. 
 
 Sub. Well, son, 
 All that I can convince him in is this, 
 The WORK IS DONE, bright Sol is in his robe. 
 We have a medicine of the triple soul, 270 
 
 The glorified spirit. Thanks be to heaven, 
 And make us worthy of it ! — ®lcn Spiegel ! ^ 
 
 Face {within). Anon, sir. 
 
 Sub. Look well to the register. 
 ,A.nd let your heat still lessen by degrees, 
 To the aludels.^ 
 
 Face {within). Yes, sir. 
 
 Sub. Did you look 
 O' the bolt's head' yet? 
 
 Face {within). Which? On D, sir? 280 
 
 Sub. Ay ; 
 What's the complexion? 
 
 Face {7vithin). Whitish. 
 
 Sub. Infuse vinegar. 
 To draw his volatile substance and his tincture : 
 And let the water in glass E be filter'd, 
 .•\nd put into the gripe's-egg.'' Lute him well, 
 .And leave him closed in balneo.^ 
 
 Face {70 i thin). I will, sir. 
 
 1 A notorious rogue, lived in Saxony about 1480. The words mean Owl 
 Glass. 
 
 2 Subliming pots without bottoms, fitted into each other without luting. 
 8 A long-necked vessel, conical in shape. 
 
 * A vessel shaped like a vulture's egg. 
 
 ^ lialneum means bath ; in alchemy, to heat a vessel by immersing it in 
 hot water or sand.
 
 SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. 1 53 
 
 Sur. What a brave language here is ! Next to canting. 290 
 
 Sub. I have another work, you never saw, son, 
 That three days since passed the philosopher's wheel ' 
 in the lent ^ heat of Athanor, and's become 
 Sulphur of Nature.^ 
 
 Mam. But 'tis for me? 
 
 Sub. What need you? 
 You have enough in that is perfect. 
 
 Matn. Oh, but 
 
 Sub. Why, this is covetise ! 
 
 Mam. No, I assure you, 300 
 
 I shall employ it all in pious uses. 
 Founding of colleges and grammar schools, 
 Marrying young virgins, building hospitals. 
 And now and theii a church. 
 
 Re-enter Face. 
 
 Sub. How now ! 
 
 Face. Sir, please you, 
 Shall I not change the filter? 
 
 Sub. Marry, yes ; 
 And bring me the complexion of glass B. \Exit Face. 
 
 Mam. Have you another? 31c 
 
 Sub. Yes, son ; were I assured 
 Your piety were firm, we would not want 
 The means to glorify it ; but I hope the best. — 
 1 mean to tinct C in sand-heat to-morrow, 
 And give him imbibition. 
 
 Mam. Of white oil? 
 
 1 To have passed this was a favorable sign. 
 3 Slow. ^ Digesting furnace.
 
 ,^ . THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT II. 
 
 Suh. No, sir, of red. F is come over to the helm too, 
 1 thank my Maker, in St. Mary's bath,' 
 And shows lac virginis. Blessed be heaven ! 
 I sent you of his faeces there calcined : 320 
 
 Out of that calx I have won the salt of mercury. 
 
 Mam. By pouring on your rectified water? 
 
 Sub. Yes, and reverberating- in Athanor. 
 
 Re-enter Face. 
 
 How now ! what colour says it ? 
 
 Face. The ground black, sir. 
 
 Mam. That's your crow's head? ^ 
 
 Sur. Your cock's-comb's, is it not? 
 
 Siib. No, 'tis not perfect. Would it were the crow ! 
 That work wants something. 
 
 Sur. Oh, I looked for this. 330 
 
 The hay's * a pitching. 
 
 Sit/>. Are you sure you loosed them 
 In their own menstrue? 
 
 Face. Yes, sir, and then married them. 
 And put them in a bolt's-head nipp'd to digestion. 
 According as you bade me when I set 
 The liquor of Mars to circulation 
 In the same heat. 
 
 Sub. The process then was right. 
 
 Face. Yes, by the token, sir, the retort brake, 340 
 
 .\nd what was saved was put into the pelican, 
 
 1 Where one vessel was placed in another containing water. 
 ' To heat, by beating back the flames from the top upon the materia] 
 below. 
 
 • Another hopeful sign. 
 
 * A net for catching rabbits, by stretching it before their burrows.
 
 SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. 155 
 
 And signed with Hermes' seal.^ 
 
 Sub. I think 'twas so. 
 We should have a new amalgama. 
 
 Sur. {aside) . Oh, this ferret ^ 
 Is rank as any pole-cat. 
 
 Sub. But I care not : 
 Let him e'en die ; we have enough beside. 
 In embrion. H has his white shirt on. 
 
 Face. Yes, sir, 350 
 
 He's ripe for inceration, he stands warm 
 In his ash-fire. I would not you should let 
 Any die now, if I might counsel, sir, 
 For luck's sake to the rest : it is not good. 
 
 Mam. He says right. 
 
 Sur. {aside). Ay, are you bolted?' 
 
 Face. Nay, I know't, sir, 
 I have seen the ill fortune. What is some three ounces 
 Of fresh materials ? 
 
 Mam. Is't no more? 360 
 
 Face. No more, sir. 
 Of gold, t'amalgame with some six of mercury. 
 
 Mam. Away, here's money. What will serve? 
 
 Face. Ask him, sir. 
 
 Mam. How much? 
 
 Sub. Give him nine pound — you may give him ten. 
 
 Sur. Yes, twenty, and be cozen'd — do. 
 
 Mam. There 'tis. \_Gives Face the money. 
 
 Sub. This needs not ; but that you will have it so, 
 To see conclusions of all ; for two 37a 
 
 1 Made by heating the neck of a vessel, and then twisting it. 
 
 2 Face, having just come from working over the fire, has red eyes. 
 * Punning allusion to the rabbit-net and ferret.
 
 r56 
 
 THE ALCHEMIST. [act a. 
 
 Of our inferior works are at fixation,' 
 A third is in ascension. Go your ways. 
 Have you set the oil of luna in kemia? 
 
 Face. Yes, sir. 
 
 Sub. And the philosopher's vinegar? 
 
 Face. Ay. [_Exif. 
 
 Sur. We shall have a salad ! 
 
 Matn. When do you make projection? 
 
 Sub. Son, be not hasty, I exalt our med'cine. 
 By hanging him /« balneo vaporoso, 380 
 
 And giving him solution ; then congeal him ; 
 .And then dissolve him ; then again congeal him : 
 For look, how oft I iterate the work 
 So many times I add unto his virtue. 
 As, if at first one ounce convert a hundred. 
 After his second loose, he'll turn a thousand ; 
 His third solution, ten ; his fourth, a hundred ; 
 After his fifth, a thousand thousand ounces 
 Of any imperfect metal, into pure 
 
 Silver or gold, in all examinations, 390 
 
 As good as any of the natural mine. 
 Get you your stuff here against afternoon. 
 Your brass, your pewter, and your andirons. 
 
 Mam. Not those of iron? 
 
 Sub. Yes, you may bring them too : 
 We'll change all metals. 
 
 Sur. I believe you in that. 
 
 Mam. Then I may send my spits? 
 
 Sub. Yes, and your racks. 
 
 Sur. And dripping pans, and pot-hangers, and hooks, 400 
 Shall he not? 
 
 ' In a non-volatile state.
 
 SCENE i.| THE ALCHEMIST. m-j 
 
 Sub. If he please. 
 
 Sur. — To be an ass. 
 
 Sub. How, sir ! 
 
 Mam. This gentleman you must bear withal : 
 I told you he had no faith. 
 
 Sur. And little hope, sir ; 
 But much less charity, should I gull myself. 
 
 Sub. Why, what have you observed, sir, in our art. 
 Seems so impossible ? 41c 
 
 Sur. But your whole work, no more. 
 That you should hatch gold in a furnace, sir, 
 As they do eggs in Egypt ! 
 
 Sub. Sir, do you 
 Believe that eggs are hatched so? 
 
 Sur. If I should ? 
 
 Stib. Why, I think that the greater miracle. 
 No egg but differs from a chicken more 
 Than metals in themselves. 
 
 Sur. That cannot be. 420 
 
 The egg's ordained by nature to that end, 
 And is a chicken tn potentia. 
 
 Sub. The same we say of lead and other metals, 
 Which would be gold if they had time. 
 
 Mam. And that 
 Our art doth further. 
 
 Sub. Ay, for 'twere absurd 
 To think that nature in the earth bred gold 
 Perfect in the instant ; something went before. 
 There must be remote matter. 430 
 
 Sur. Ay, what is that? 
 
 Sub. Marry, we say — 
 
 Mam. Ay, now it heats : stand, father.
 
 I ,;8 THE ALCHEMIST. lACT II. 
 
 Pound him to dust. 
 
 Su^. It is, of the one part, 
 A humid exhalation, which we call 
 Materia liquida, or the unctuous wa:ter ; 
 On the other part, a certain crass and vicious 
 Portion of earth ; both which, concorporate. 
 Do make the elementary matter of gold ; 440 
 
 Which is not yt\. propria materia, 
 But common to all metals and all stones ; 
 For, where it is forsaken of that moisture, 
 And hath more dryness, it becomes a stone ; 
 Where it retains more of the humid fatness, 
 It turns to sulphur or to quicksilver. 
 Who are the parents of all other metals. 
 Nor can this remote matter suddenly 
 Progress so from extreme unto extreme. 
 As to grow gold, and leap o'er all the means. 450 
 
 Nature doth first beget the imperfect, then 
 Proceeds she to the perfect. Of that airy 
 And oily water, mercury is engendered ; 
 Sulphur of the fat and earthy part ; the one, 
 Which is the last, supplying the place of male, 
 The other of the female, in all metals. 
 Some do believe hermaphrodeity, 
 That both do act and suffer. But these two 
 Make the rest ductile, malleable, extensive. 
 And even in gold they are ; for we do find 460 
 
 Seeds of them, by our fire, and gold in them ; 
 And can produce the species of each metal 
 More perfect thence, than Nature doth in earth. 
 Heside, who doth not see in daily practice 
 Art can beget bees, hornets, beetles, wasps,
 
 SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. 159 
 
 Out of the carcases and dung of creatures ; 
 Yea, scorpions of an herb, being rightly placed ? 
 And these are living creatures, far more perfect 
 And excellent than metals. 
 
 Ma?ti. Well said, father ! 47c 
 
 Nay, if he take you in hand, sir, with an argument. 
 He'll bray you in mortar. 
 
 Sur. Pray you, sir, stay. 
 Rather than I'll be bray'd, sir, I'll believe 
 That Alchemy is a pretty kind of game. 
 Somewhat like tricks o' the cards, to cheat a man 
 With charming. 
 
 Sub. Sir? 
 
 Sur. What else are all your terms, 
 Whereon no one of your writers 'grees with other? 480 
 
 Of your elixir, your lac virginis, 
 Your stone, your med'cine, and your chrysosperme. 
 Your sal, your sulphur, and your mercury. 
 Your oil of height, your tree of life, your blood, 
 Your marchesite, your tutie, your magnesia. 
 Your toad, your crow, your dragon, and your panther ; 
 Your sun, your moon, your firmament, your adrop, 
 Your lato, azoch, zernich, chibrit, heautarit, 
 And then your red man and your white woman. 
 With all your broths, your menstrues, and materials, 490 
 
 Of lye and egg-shells, women's terms, man's blood, 
 Hair o' the head, burnt clouts, chalk, merds, and clay, 
 Powder of bones, scalings of iron, glass. 
 And worlds of other strange ingredients. 
 Would burst a man to name ? ' 
 
 1 It would be time wasted to rummage the old works on alchemy for an 
 explanation of all these terms, which were doubtless as strange to the major
 
 l5o THE ALCHEMIST. fACT a 
 
 Sul>. And all these named, 
 Intending but one thing ; which art our writers 
 Used to obscure their art. 
 
 Miun. Sir, so I told him — 
 Because the simple idiot should not learn it, 500 
 
 And make it vulgar. 
 
 Su/>. Was not all the knowledge 
 Of the Egyptians writ in mystic symbols? 
 Speak not the Scriptures oft in parables? 
 Are not the choicest fables of the poets. 
 That were the fountains and first springs of wisdom, 
 Wrapp'd in perplexed allegories ? 
 
 Mam. I urged that, 
 And cleared to him that Sisyphus was damned 
 To roll the ceaseless stone, only because 510 
 
 He would have made ours common. [Dol appears at the door. 
 
 Who is this? 
 
 Sub. 'Sprecious ! — What do you mean ? Go in, good lady, 
 Let me entreat you. (Dol retires.) Where's this varlet? 
 
 Re-enter Face. 
 Face. Sir. 
 
 Sub. You very knave ! do you use me thus ? 
 
 Face. Wherein, sir? 
 
 Sub. Go in and see, you traitor. Go ! \_Exit Face. 
 
 Mam. Who is it, sir? 
 
 Sub. Nothing, sir ; nothing. 
 
 .\fam. What's the matter, good sir? 520 
 
 I have not seen you thus distemper'd : who is't? 
 
 Sub. All arts have still had, sir, their adversaries. 
 But ours the most ignorant. 
 
 \\y of play-goers in Jonson's time as they are to us ; the more common and 
 important are explained in the course of the play.
 
 SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. l6l 
 
 Re-enter Face. 
 What now? 
 
 Face. 'Twas not my fault, sir ; she would speak with you. 
 
 Sub. Would she, sir ! Follow me. \_Exit. 
 
 Mam. {^stopping hi7n). Stay, Lungs. 
 
 Face. I dare not, sir. 
 
 Mam. Stay, man; what is she? 
 
 Face. A lord's sister, sir. 530 
 
 Mam. How ! pray thee, stay. 
 
 Face. She's mad, sir, and sent hither — 
 He'll be mad too 
 
 Main. I warrant thee. 
 Why sent hither? 
 
 Face, Sir, to be cured. 
 
 Sub. {within'). Why, rascal ! 
 
 Face. Lo you ! — Here, sir ! \Exit. 
 
 Mam. 'Fore God, a Bradamante,^ a brave piece. 
 
 Su7'. Heart, this is an evil house ! I will be burnt else. 540 
 
 Mam. Oh, by this light, no ; do not wrong him. He's 
 Too scrupulous that way : it is his vice. 
 No, he's a rare physician, do him right. 
 An excellent Paracelsian,^ and has done 
 Strange cures with mineral physic. He deals all 
 With spirits, he ; he will not hear a word 
 Of Galen or his tedious recipes. 
 
 Re-enter Face. 
 
 How now. Lungs ! 
 
 1 A Christian amazon, sister to Rinaldo, and mistress of Ruggiero, in 
 Boiardo's Orlando Innamorato, and Ariosto's Orlando Furioso. She pos- 
 sessed an irresistible spear, which unhorsed all her antagonists. — 
 
 Wheeler: Noted Names 0/ Fiction. 
 
 2 Paracelsus was born in 1493 and died in 1541.
 
 l62 THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT II 
 
 Face. Softly, sir ; speak softly. I meant 
 To have told your worship all. This must not hear. 550 
 
 Mam. No, he will not be " gull'd " : let him alone. 
 
 Face. You are very right, sir ; she is a most rare scholar, 
 And is gone mad with studying Broughton's works.' 
 If you but name a word touching the Hebrew 
 She falls into her fit, and will discourse 
 So learnedly of genealogies. 
 As you would run mad, too, to hear her, sir. 
 
 Mam. How might one do t'have conference with her, 
 Lungs ? 
 
 Face. Oh, divers have run mad upon the conference : 
 I do not know, sir. I am sent in haste 560 
 
 To fetch a vial. 
 
 Sur. Be not guU'd, Sir Mammon. 
 
 Mam. Wherein? Pray ye, be patient. 
 
 Sur. Yes, as you are, 
 And trust confederate knaves and sharks and bawds. 
 
 Mam. You are too foul, believe it. — Come here, Ulen, 
 One word. 
 
 Face. I dare not, in good faith. [ Going. 
 
 Mam. Stay, knave. 
 
 Face. He is extreme angry that you saw her, sir. 57c 
 
 Mam. Drink that {gives him money). What is she when 
 she's out of her fit? 
 
 Face. Oh, the most affablest creature, sir ! So merry ! 
 So pleasant ! She'll mount you up like quicksilver 
 Over the helm, and circulate like oil, 
 A very vegetal ; discourse of state, 
 Of mathematics, frolic, anything 
 
 Maw. Is she no way accessible? no means, 
 
 ' A celebrated divine and Flebrew scholar in Elizabeth's time.
 
 SCENE I.") THE ALCHEMIST. 163 
 
 No trick to give a man a taste of her wit — 
 Or so? 
 
 Sub. {jmihui). Ulen ! 58c 
 
 Face. I'll come to you again, sir. \_Exit. 
 
 Mam. Surly, I did not think one of your breeding 
 Would traduce personages of worth. 
 
 Sur. Sir Epicure, 
 Your friend to use ; yet still loth to be gulled : 
 I do not like your philosophical bawds. 
 Their stone is lechery enough to pay for 
 Without this bait. 
 
 Mam. 'Heart, you abuse yourself. 
 I know the lady, and her friends, and means, 59c 
 
 The original of this disaster. Her brother 
 Has told me all. 
 
 Sur. And yet you never saw her 
 Till now ! 
 
 Mam. Oh yes, but I forgot. I have, believe it, 
 One of the treacherousest memories, I do think, 
 Of all mankind. 
 
 Sur. What call you her brother ? 
 
 Mam. My lord 
 
 He will not have his name known, now I think on it. 6of 
 
 Sur. A very treacherous memory ! 
 
 Mam. On my faith 
 
 Sur. Tut, if you have it not about you, pass it 
 Till we meet next. 
 
 Mam. Nay, by this hand, 'tis true, 
 He's one I honour, and my noble friend ; 
 And I respect his house. 
 
 Sur. Heart ! can it be 
 That a grave sir, a rich, that has no need,.
 
 164 i'HE ALCHEMIST. [ACT il. 
 
 A wise, sir, too, at other times, should thus, 610 
 
 With his own oaths and arguments, make hard means 
 
 To gull himself? An this be your elixir, 
 
 Your lapis mineralis and your lunary, 
 
 Give me your honest trick yet at primero, 
 
 Or gleek : ^ and take your liiium sapietiiis^ 
 
 Your memtnium simplex! I'll have gold before you. 
 
 And with less danger of the quicksilver 
 
 Or the hot sulphur. 
 
 Re-enter Face. 
 
 Face. Here's one from Captain Face, sir {to Surly), 
 Desires you meet him in the Temple Church 62c 
 
 Some half-hour hence, and upon earnest business. 
 Sir — {whispers Mammon) — if you please to quit us now, 
 
 and come 
 Again within two hours, you shall have 
 My master busy examining o' the works ; 
 And I will steal you in unto the party, 
 That you may see her converse. Sir, shall I say 
 You'll meet the captain's worship ? 
 
 Sur. Sir, I will, [ Walks aside. 
 
 But, by attorney and to a second purpose. 
 Now, I am sure I understand this house ; "^^c 
 
 I'll swear it, were the marshal here to thank me : 
 The naming this commander doth confirm it. 
 Don Face ! why he's the most authentic dealer 
 In these commodities, the superintendent 
 To all the quainter traffickers in town ! 
 He is the visitor, and does appoint 
 Who visits whoiu, and at what hour ; what price ; 
 
 1 A game of cards.
 
 SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. 1 65 
 
 Which gown, and in what smock ; what falP ; what tire. 
 
 Him will I prove, by a third person, to find 
 
 The subtleties of this dark labyrinth : 640 
 
 Which if I do discover, dear Sir Mammon, 
 
 You'll give your poor friend leave, though no philosopher, 
 
 To laugh : for you that are, 'tis thought, shall weep. 
 
 Face. Sir, he does pray you'll not forget. 
 
 Sur. I will not, sir. 
 Sir Epicure, I shall leave you. \Exit. 
 
 Mam. I follow you straight. 
 
 Face. But do so, good sir, to avoid suspicion. 
 This gentleman has a parlous ^ head. 
 
 Mam. But wilt thou, Ulen, 650 
 
 Be constant to thy promise? 
 
 Face. As my life, sir. 
 
 Mam. And wilt thou insinuate what I am, and praise me. 
 And say I am a noble fellow ? 
 
 Face. Oh, what else, sir? 
 And that you'll make her royal with the stone, 
 An empress : and yourself. King of Bantam. 
 
 Mam. Wilt thou do this? 
 
 Face. Will I, sir ! 
 
 Mam. Lungs, my Lungs ! 660 
 
 I love thee. 
 
 Face. Send your stuff, sir, that my master 
 May busy himself about projection. 
 
 Mam. Thou hast witch'd me, rogue : take, go. 
 
 [ Gives him money 
 
 Face. Your jack,' and all, sir. 
 
 Mam. Thou art a villain — I will send my jack, 
 
 1 A ruff, or band, turned back on the shoulders. 
 
 2 Perilous. ^ Roasting-jack.
 
 1 66 THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT II. 
 
 And the weights too. Slave, I could bite thine ear. 
 Away, thou dost not care for me. 
 
 Face. Not I, sir ! 
 
 Mam. Come, I was bom to make thee, my good weasel, 
 Set thee on a bench, and have thee twirl a chain 671 
 
 With the best lord's vermin of 'em all. 
 
 Face. Away, sir. 
 
 Afam. A count, nay, a count palatine 
 
 Face. Good, sir, go. 
 
 Alum. Shall not advance thee better : no, nor faster. 
 
 \_Exit. 
 Re-enter Subtle and Dol. 
 
 Sub. Has he bit ? has he bit ? 
 
 Face. And swallowed too, my Subtle. 
 1 have given him line, and now he plays, i' faith. 
 
 Sub. And shall we twitch him ? 680 
 
 Face. Thorough both the gills, 
 for here is a rare bait, with which a man 
 No sooner's taken, but he straight firks mad. 
 
 Sub. Dol, my Lord What's'hums sister, you must now 
 Bear yourself statclich. 
 
 Dol. Oh, let me alone. 
 I'll not forget my race, I warrant you. 
 I'll keep my distance, laugh and talk aloud ; 
 Have all the tricks of a proud scurvy lady. 
 And be as rude as her woman. 690 
 
 Face. Well said, sanguine ! 
 
 Sub. But will he send his andirons? 
 
 Face. His jack too, 
 And's iron shoeing-horn ; I have spoke to him. Well, 
 I must not loose my wary gamester yonder.
 
 scENK I.] thp: alchemist. • i6^ 
 
 Sal), oh, Monsieur Caution, that will not be gulPd. 
 
 Face. Ay, 
 If I can strike a fine hook into him, now ! 
 The Temple Church, there I have cast mine angle. 
 Well, pray for me. I'll about it. \_Knocking without. 700 
 
 Sub What, more gudgeons ! 
 Dol, scout, scout ! (DoL goes to the window.~) Stay, Face, 
 
 you must go to the door. 
 Pray God it be my Anabaptist. — Who is't, Dol? 
 
 Dol. I know him not : he looks Uke a gold-endman.^ 
 
 Sub. Ods so! 'tis he, he said he would send — what 
 call you him? 
 The sanctified elder, that should deal 
 For Mammon's jack and andirons. Let him in. 
 Stay, help me off, first, with my gown. {Exit Face 7uith the 
 
 gotvn.) Away, 
 Madam, to your withdrawing chamber. {Exit Dol.) Now, 
 In a new tune, new gesture, but old language. — 710 
 
 This fellow is sent from one negotiates with me 
 About the stone too ; for the holy brethren 
 Of Amsterdam, the exiled saints ; that hope 
 To raise their discipline by it. I must use him 
 In some strange fashion, now, to make him admire me. — 
 
 Enter Ananias. 
 
 {Aloud.) Where is my drudge ? 
 
 Re-enter Face. 
 
 Face. Sir ! 
 
 Sub. Take away the recipient, 
 
 i One who buys remnants of gold or silver ; a goldsmith's apprentice.
 
 1 68 THE ALCHEMIST. [act ii. 
 
 And rectify your menstrue from the phlegma.' 
 
 Then pour it on the Sol, in the cucurbite, 720 
 
 Ami let them macerate - together. 
 
 Face. Yes, sir. 
 And save the ground? 
 
 Sub. No : terra datntiata 
 Must not have entrance in the work. — Who are you? 
 
 Ana. A faithful brother, ' if it please you. 
 
 Sub. What's that? 
 A Lullianist?'* a Ripley !'' Filius artis? 
 Can you sublime and dulcify ? calcine ? 
 Know you the sapor pontic? sapor stiptic? 730 
 
 Or what is homogene, or heterogene ? 
 
 A)ia. I understand no heathen language, truly. 
 
 Sub. Heathen ! you Knipper-dohng?*' is Ars sacra, 
 Or chrysopoeia, or spagyrica,'' 
 Or the pam[)hysic, or panarchic knowledge, 
 A heathen language ? 
 
 Ana. Heathen Greek, I take it. 
 
 Sub. How heathen Greek ? 
 
 Ana. .All's heathen but the Hebrew.^ 
 
 Sub. Sirrah, my varlet, stand you forth and speak to him 
 Like a philosopher : answer in the language, 741 
 
 Name the vexations and the martyrizations 
 
 1 Water of distillation. 2 Steep. 
 
 3 The Puritans called each other " faithful brothers." 
 
 ■• Raymond Lully, one of the most famous philosophers of the Middle 
 Age; b. about 1235, d. 1315.' 
 
 * George Ripley, canon of Bridlington in the fifteenth centurv, dedicated 
 a great work on alchemy to King Edward IV. See Fuller's Worthies. 
 
 " An Anabaptist, who rnised a revolt in Munster in 1533. 
 
 ^ Alchrmical. 
 
 8 The Puritans, taking tlic Hebrew Old TeUament for their guide, treated 
 Greek, the language of the New Testament, scornfully.
 
 SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. 169 
 
 Of metals in the work. 
 
 I^ace. Sir, putrefaction, 
 Solution, ablution, sublimation, 
 Cohobation, calcination, ceration, and 
 Fixation. 
 
 Sub. This is heathen Greek to you, now ! — 
 And when comes vivification ? 
 
 Face. After mortification. 750 
 
 Sub. What's cohobation? 
 
 Face. 'Tis the pouring on 
 Your aqua regis,' and then drawing him off, 
 To the trine circle of the seven spheres. 
 
 Sub. What's the proper passion of metals? 
 
 Face. Malleation. 
 
 Sub. What's your ultimum suppKcium auri? 
 
 Face. Antimonium. 
 
 Sub. This is heathen Greek to you? — And what's your 
 mercury ? 760 
 
 Face. A very fugitive, he will be gone, sir. 
 
 Sub. How know you him? 
 
 Face. By his viscosity. 
 His oleosity, and his suscitability. 
 
 Sub. How do you sublime him? 
 
 Face. With the calce of egg-shells, 
 White marble, talc. 
 
 Sub. Your magisterium, now, 
 What's that? 
 
 Face. Shifting, sir, your elements, 770 
 
 Dry into cold, cold into moist, moist into hot, 
 Hot into dry. 
 
 Sub. This is heathen Greek to you still ! 
 
 i Nitro-muriatic acid, to dissolve the gold.
 
 , yo THE ALCHEMIST. TACT IL 
 
 Your lapis philosophicus ? 
 
 Face. 'Tis a stone, 
 And not a stone ; a spirit, a soul, and a body : 
 \\'hich if you do dissolve, it is dissolved ; 
 If you coagulate, it is coagulated ; 
 If you make it to fly, it flieth. 
 
 Sub. Enough. [^x// Face. 78c 
 
 This is heathen Greek to you ! What are you, sir? 
 
 Ana. Please you, a servant of the exiled brethren 
 That deal >vith widows and with orphans' goods : 
 And make a just account unto the saints : 
 A deacon. 
 
 Sub. Oh, you are sent from Master Wholesome, 
 Your teacher? 
 
 Ana. From Tribulation Wholesome, 
 Our very zealous pastor. 
 
 Sub. Good ! I have 790 
 
 Some orphans' goods to come here. 
 
 Ana. Of what kind, sir? 
 
 Sub. Pewter and brass, andirons and kitchenware, 
 Metals, that we must use our medicine on : 
 Wherein the brethren may have a pennyworth 
 For ready money. 
 
 Ana. Were the orphans' parents 
 Sincere professors? 
 
 .9//^. Why do you ask? 
 
 Ana. Because 8o« 
 
 We then are to deal justly, and give in truth 
 Their utmost value. 
 
 Sub. 'Slid, you'd cozen else. 
 And if their parents were not of the faithful ! — 
 I will not trust you, now I think on it,
 
 SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. 17B 
 
 Till I have talked with your pastor. Have you brought 
 
 monev 
 To buy more coals? 
 
 Ana. No, surely. 
 
 Siib. No ! how so? 
 
 Ana. The brethren bid me say unto you, sir, 8ic 
 
 Surely they will not venture any more 
 Till they may see projection. 
 
 Sub. How ! 
 
 Ana. You have had, 
 For the instruments, as bricks, and loam, and glasses. 
 Already thirty pound ; and for materials, 
 They say, some ninety more : and they have heard since 
 That one at Heidelberg made it of an egg 
 And a small paper of pin-dust. 
 
 Sub. What's your name ? 820 
 
 Ana. My name is Ananias. 
 
 Sub. Out, the varlet 
 That cozen'd the apostles ! Hence, away, 
 Flee, mischief ! Had your holy consistory 
 No name to send me of another sound 
 Than wicked Ananias? send your elders 
 Hither to make atonement for you quickly, 
 And give me satisfaction ; or out goes 
 The fire ; and down th' alembics, and the furnace, 
 Piger Henricus, or what not. Thou wretch ! 83c 
 
 Jjoth sericon and bufo ^ shall be lost, 
 Tell them. All hope of rooting out the bishops, 
 Or the antichristian hierarchy, shall perish. 
 If they stay threescore minutes : the aqueity, 
 Terreity, and sulphureity 
 
 1 Red tincture and black.
 
 172 
 
 THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT IL 
 
 Shall run together again, and all be annulled, 
 
 Thou wicked Ananias ! {Exit Ananus.) Ihis will fetch 'em, 
 
 And make them haste towards their gulling more. 
 
 A man must deal like a rough nurse, and fright 
 
 Those that are froward to an appetite. 840 
 
 Re-enter Face in his uniform, followed by Drugger. 
 
 Face. He is busy with his spirits, but we'll upon him. 
 
 Sub. How now ! what mates, what bayards^ have we here? 
 
 Face. I told you he would be furious. — Sir, here's Nab 
 Has brought you another piece of gold to look on — 
 We must appease him. Give it me — and prays you, 
 You would devise — what is it. Nab ? 
 
 Drug. A sign, sir. 
 
 Face. .-Vy, a good lucky one, a thriving sign, doctor. 
 
 Sub. I was devising now. 
 
 Face. 'Slight, do not say so, 850 
 
 He will repent he gave you any more — 
 \Vhat say you to his constellation, doctor. 
 The Balance ? 
 
 Sub. No, that way is stale and common. 
 A townsman bom in Taurus gives the bull, 
 Or the bull's head : in Aries, the ram, 
 A poor device ! No, I will have his name 
 Formed in some mystic character ; whose radii, 
 Striking the senses of the passers-by. 
 
 Shall, by a virtual influence, breed affections S'S-. 
 
 That may result upon the party owns it : 
 As thus 
 
 Face. Nab ! 
 
 Sub. He shall have a bel, that's Abel ; 
 
 1 Bayard, a blind horse.
 
 SCENE I.] • THE ALCHEMIST. 1 73 
 
 And by it standing one whose name is Dee^ 
 In a rug gown, there's D, and Rug, that's drug: 
 And right anenst him a dog snarling er; 
 There's Drugger, Abel Drugger. That's his sign. 
 And here's now mystery and hieroglyphic ! 
 
 Face. Abel, thou art made. 870 
 
 Drug. Sir, I do thank his worship. 
 
 Face. Six o' thy legs more will not do it, Nab. 
 He has brought you a pipe of tobacco, doctor. 
 
 Drug. Yes, sir : 
 I have another thing I would impart 
 
 Face. Out with it. Nab. 
 
 Drug. Sir, there is lodged, hard by me, 
 A rich young widow 
 
 Face. Good ! a bona roba? 
 
 Drug. But nineteen at the most. 880 
 
 Face. Very good, Abel. 
 
 Drug. Marry, she's not in fashion yet \ she wears 
 A hood, but it stands a cop.- 
 
 Face. No matter, Abel. 
 
 Drug. And I do now and then give her a fucus — 
 
 Face. What ! dost thou deal. Nab? 
 
 Sub. I did tell you, captain. 
 
 Drug. And physic, too, sometime, sir ; for which she 
 trusts me 
 With all her mind. She's come up here of purpose 
 To learn the fashion. 890 
 
 Face. Good (his match too !) — On, Nab. 
 
 Drug. And she does strangely long to know her fortune. 
 
 1 Dr. John Dee, alchemist and scholar, who modestly said that if he had 
 found a Maecenas, Britain would not have lacked an Aristotle. 
 
 2 Ending in a point.
 
 j,^ THE ALCHEMIST. , [ACT ii 
 
 Face. Ods lid, Nab, send her to the doctor, hither. 
 
 Drug. Yes, I have spoke to her of his worship already ; 
 But she's afraid it will be blown abroad. 
 And hurt her marriage. 
 
 Face. Hurt it ! 'tis the way 
 To heal it, if 'twere hurt ; to make it more 
 Followed and sought ; Nab, thou shalt tell her this. 
 She'll be more known, more talked of; and your widows 900 
 .Are ne'er of any price till they be famous : 
 Their honour is their multitude of suitors : 
 Send her, it may be thy good fortune. What ! 
 Thou dost not know. 
 
 Drug. No, sir, she'll never marry 
 Under a knight : her brother has made a vow. 
 
 Face. What ! and dost thou despair, my little Nab, 
 Knowing what the doctor has set down for thee, 
 .■\nd seeing so many of the city dubbed ? 
 f )ne glass o' thy water, with a madam I know, 910 
 
 Will have it done. Nab; what's her brother — a knight? 
 
 Drug. No, sir, a gentleman newly warm in his land, sir, 
 Scarce cold in his one-and-twenty, that does govern 
 His sister here ; and is a man himself 
 Of some three thousand a year, and is come up 
 'I'o learn to quarrel, and to live by his wits, 
 .\nd will go down again, and die in the country. 
 
 Face. Mow! to quarrel? 
 
 Drug. Yes, sir, to carry quarrels. 
 As gallants do ; to manage them by line.^ 920 
 
 Face. 'Slid, Nab, the doctor is the only man 
 In Christendom for him. He has made a table, 
 With mathematical demonstrations, 
 
 i Cf. Hamlet's " speak by the card."
 
 SCENE I.J THE ALCHEMIST. 175 
 
 Touching the art of quarrels : he will give him 
 
 An instrument to quarrel by. Go, bring them both, 
 
 Him and his sister. And, for thee, with her 
 
 The doctor haply may persuade. Go to : 
 
 Shalt give his worship a new damask suit 
 
 Upon the premises. 
 
 Sub. Oh, good captain ! 93c 
 
 Face, He shall ; 
 He is the honestest fellow, doctor. — Stay not, 
 No offers ; bring the damask, and the parties. 
 
 Drug. I'll try my power, sir. 
 
 Face. And thy will, too. Nab. 
 
 Sub. 'Tis good tobacco, this ! What is't an ounce ? 
 
 Face. He'll send you a pound, doctor. 
 
 Sub. Oh, no. 
 
 Face. He will do't. 
 It is the goodest soul Abel ! — Abel, about it. 940 
 
 Thou shalt know more anon. Away, begone. — [^x// Abel. 
 A miserable rogue, and lives with cheese. 
 And has the worms. That was the cause, indeed. 
 Why he came now : he dealt with me in private. 
 To get a med'cine for them. 
 
 Sicb. And shall, sir. This works. 
 
 Face. A wife, a wife for one of us, my dear Subtle ! 
 We'll e'en draw lots, and he that fails, shall have 
 The more in goods. 
 
 Sub. Faith, best let's see her first, and then determine. 950 
 
 Face. Content ; but Dol must have no breath on't. 
 
 Sub. Mum. 
 Away you, to your Surly yonder, catch him. 
 
 Face. Pray God, I have not stayed too long. 
 
 Sub. I fear it. S^Exeunt.
 
 J. 5 THE ALCHEMIST. [act lit 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. — The Lane before Lovfavit's House. 
 Enter Tribul.a.tion Wholesome and Ananus. 
 
 Tri. These chastisements are common to the saints, 
 And such rebukes, we of the separation 
 Must bear with willing shoulders, as the trials 
 Sent forth to tempt our frailties. 
 
 Ana. In pure zeal, 
 I do not like the man, he is a heathen, 
 And speaks the language of Canaan, truly. 
 
 Tri. I think him a profane person indeed. 
 
 Ana. He bears 
 The visible mark of the beast in his forehead. lo 
 
 And for his stone, it is a work of darkness, 
 .\nd with philosophy blinds the eyes of man. 
 
 Tri. Good brother, we must bend unto all means 
 That may give furtherance to the holy cause. 
 
 Ana. Which his cannot : the sanctified cause 
 Should have a sanctified course. 
 
 Tri. Not always necessary : 
 The children of perdition are ofttimes 
 Made instruments even of the greatest works : 
 Beside, we should give somewhat to man's nature, 20 
 
 The place he lives in, still about the fire, 
 And fume of metals, that intoxicate 
 The brain of man, and make him prone to passion. 
 \Miere have you greater atheists than your cooks? 
 Or more profane, or choleric than your glass-men?
 
 SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. I77 
 
 More antichristian than your bell-founders? 
 
 What makes the devil so devilish, I would ask you, 
 
 Satan, our common enemy, but his being 
 
 Perpetually about the fire, and boiling 
 
 Brimstone and arsenic ? We must give, I say, 30 
 
 Unto the motives, and the stirrers-up 
 
 Of humours in the blood. It may be so, 
 
 Whenas the work is done, the stone is made. 
 
 This heat of his may turn into a zeal. 
 
 And stand up for the beauteous discipline, 
 
 Against the filthy cloth and rag of Rome. 
 
 We must await his calling, and the coming 
 
 Of the good spirit. You did fault t'upbraid him 
 
 With the brethren's blessing of Heidelberg, weighing 
 
 ^Vhat need we have to hasten on the work 40 
 
 For the restoring of the silenced saints. 
 
 Which ne'er will be, but by the philosopher's stone. 
 
 And so a learned elder, one of Scotland, 
 
 Assured me ; auriim potabile being 
 
 The only med'cine for the civil magistrate 
 
 T'incHne him to a feeling of the cause, 
 
 And must be daily used in the disease. 
 
 Ana, I have not edified more, truly, by man ; 
 Not since the beautiful light first shone on me : 
 And I am sad my zeal hath so offended. 50 
 
 Tri. Let us call on him then. 
 
 Ana. The motion's good. 
 And of the spirit ; I will knock first. {Knocks.) Peace 
 within ! [ The door is opened, and they enter.
 
 , yg THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT III. 
 
 Scene II. — A Room in Lovewit's House. 
 Enter SvRTLE, followed by Tribulation ^^c/ Ananias. 
 
 Slid. Oh, are you come? 'Twas time. Your threescore 
 minutes 
 Were at last thread, you see ; and down had gone 
 Ftirnus acedia, turris circidatoris : 
 Lembec, bolt's-head, retort and peHcan 
 Had all been cinders. — Wicked Ananias ! 
 Art thou returned ? Nay then, it goes down yet. 
 
 Tri. Sir, be appeased ; he is come to humble 
 Himself in spirit, and to ask your patience, 
 If too much zeal hath carried him aside 
 From the due path. lo 
 
 Sub. Why, this doth qualify ! 
 
 Tri. The brethren had no purpose, verily, 
 To give you the least grievance : but are ready 
 To lend their willing hands to any project 
 The spirit and you direct. 
 
 Sub. This qualifies more ! 
 
 Tri. And for the orphan's goods, let them be valued, 
 Or what is needful else to the holy work. 
 It shall be numbered ; here, by me, the saints 
 Throw down their purse before you. ao 
 
 Sub. This qualifies most ! 
 Why, thus it should be, now you understand. 
 Have I discoursed so unto you of our stone, 
 .And of the good that it shall bring your cause? 
 Showed you (beside the main of hiring forces 
 Abroad, drawing the Hollanders, your friends. 
 From the Indies, to serve you with all their fleet)
 
 SCENE 11.] THE ALCHEMIST. 179 
 
 That even the med'cinal use shall make you a faction 
 
 And party in the realm ? As, put the case, 
 
 That some great man in state, he have the gout, 30 
 
 Why, you but send three drops of your elixir, 
 
 Y6u help him straight : there you have made a friend. 
 
 Another has the palsy or the dropsy, 
 
 He takes of your incombustible stuff. 
 
 He's young again : there you have made a friend. 
 
 A lady that is past the feat of body, 
 
 Though not of mind, and hath her face decayed 
 
 Beyond all cure of paintings, you restore 
 
 With the oil of talc : there you have made a friend, 
 
 And all her friends. A lord that is a leper, 40 
 
 A knight that has the bone-ache, or a squire 
 
 That hath both these, you make them smooth and sound 
 
 With a bare fricace of your med'cine : still 
 
 You increase your friends. 
 
 Tri. Ay, it is very pregnant. 
 
 Sub. And then the turning of this lawyer's pewter 
 To plate at Christmas 
 
 Ana. Christ-tide,' I pray you. 
 
 Sub. Yet, Ananias ! 
 
 Ana. I have done. 50 
 
 Sub. Or changing 
 His parcel gilt to massy gold. You cannot 
 But raise your friends. Withal to be of power 
 To pay an army in the field, to buy 
 The kmg of France out of his realms, or Spain 
 Out of his Indies. What can you not do 
 Against lords spiritual or temporal, 
 
 ^ The Puritans, scrupulous to avoid everything Romish, called Christ»faj
 
 l8o THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT III. 
 
 That shall oppone you ? 
 
 Tri. Verily, 'tis true. 
 We may be temporal lords ourselves, I take it. 60 
 
 Sub. You may be anything, and leave off to make 
 Long-winded exercises ; or suck up 
 Your ha I and hu77i .' in a tune. I not deny 
 But such as are not graced in a state, 
 May, for their ends, be adverse in religion, 
 And get a tune to call the flock together : 
 For, to say sooth, a tune does much with women 
 And other phlegmatic people ; it is your bell. 
 
 Ana. Bells are profane ; a tune may be religious. 
 
 Sub. No warning with you ! then farewell my patience. 70 
 'Slight, it shall down : I will not be thus tortured. 
 
 Tri. I pray you, sir. 
 
 Sub. All shall perish. I have spoke it. 
 
 Tri. Let me find grace, sir, in your eyes : the man 
 He stands corrected : neither did his zeal. 
 But as yourself, allow a tune somewhere. 
 Which now, being tow'rd the stone, we shall not need. 
 
 Sub. No, nor your holy vizard, to win widows 
 To give you legacies ; or make zealous wives 
 To rob their husbands for the common cause : 80 
 
 Nor take the start of bonds broke but one day, 
 And say they were forfeited by providence. 
 Nor shall you need o'ernight to eat huge meals, 
 To celebrate your next day's fast the better ; 
 The whilst the brethren and the sisters humbled. 
 Abate the stiffness of the flesh. Nor cast 
 Before your hungry hearers scrupulous bones ; 
 As whether a Christian may hawk or hunt, 
 Or whether matrons of the holy assembly
 
 SCENE II.] THE ALCHEMIST. l8l 
 
 May lay their hair out, or wear doublets, 90 
 
 Or have that idol starch about their linen. 
 
 Ana. It is indeed an idol. 
 
 Tri. Mind him not, sir. 
 I do command thee, spirit of zeal, but trouble. 
 To peace within him ! Pray you, sir, go on. 
 
 Sub. Nor shall you need to libel 'gainst the prelates, 
 And shorten so your ears against the hearing 
 Of the next wire-drawn grace. Nor of necessity 
 Rail against plays, to please the alderman 
 Whose daily custard you devour : nor lie icxs 
 
 With zealous rage till you are hoarse. Not one 
 Of these so singular arts. Nor call yourselves 
 By names of Tribulation, Persecution, 
 Restraint, Long-patience, and such like, affected 
 By the whole family, or wood of you. 
 Only for glory, and to catch the ear 
 Of the disciple. 
 
 Tri. Truly, sir, they are 
 Ways tha:t the godly brethren have invented 
 For propagation of the glorious cause, no 
 
 As very notable means, and whereby also 
 Themselves grow soon, and profitably, famous. 
 
 Sub. Oh, but the stone, all's idle to it ! Nothing ! 
 The art of angels, nature's miracle. 
 The divine secret that doth fly in clouds 
 From east to west ; and whose tradition 
 Is not from men, but spirits. 
 
 Ana. I hate traditions ; 
 I do not trust them. 
 
 Tri. Peace ! «2« 
 
 Ana. They are popish all.
 
 1 82 THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT in. 
 
 I will not peace : I will not 
 
 Tri. Ananias ! 
 
 Ana. Please the profaVie, to grieve the godly ; I may not 
 Sub. Well, Ananias, thou shalt overcome. 
 Tri. It is an ignorant zeal that haunts him, sir, 
 But truly, else, a very faithfitl brother, 
 A botcher, and a man, by revelation, 
 That hath a competent knowledge of the truth. 
 
 Sub. Has he a competent sum there in the bag 130 
 
 To buy the goods within ? I am made guardian, 
 .And must, for charity, and conscience' sake, 
 Now see the most be made for my poor orphan ; 
 Though I desire the brethren too good gainers ; 
 There they are within. When you have view'd, and bought 
 
 'em, 
 .And ta'en the inventor}' of what they are, 
 They are ready for projection ; there's no more 
 To do ; cast on the med'cine so much silver 
 .As there is tin there, so much gold as brass, 
 I'll give it you in, by weight. i^c 
 
 Tri. But how long time, 
 Sir, must the saints expect yet? 
 
 Sub. Let me see. 
 How's the moon now? Eight, nine, ten days hence, 
 Flo will be silver potate ; then three days 
 Before he citronise : some fifteen days, 
 The magisterium will be perfected. 
 
 .4na. About the second day of the third week, 
 In the ninth month? 
 
 Sub. Yes, my good Ananias. ,50 
 
 Tri. What will the orphans' goods arise to, think you? 
 Sub. Some hundred marks, as much as filled three cars,
 
 SCENE II.] THE ALCHEMIST. 183 
 
 Unladed now : you'll make six millions of them. 
 But I must have more coals laid in. 
 
 Tri. How ! 
 
 Sub. Another load, 
 And then we have finished. We must now increase 
 Our fire to ignis ardens, we are past 
 Fimits equinus, balnei, cineris, 
 
 And all those lenter heats. If the holy purse 160 
 
 Should with this draught fall low, and that the saints 
 Do need a present sum, I have a trick 
 To melt the pewter, you shall buy now, instantly. 
 And with a tincture make you as good Dutch dollars 
 As any are in Holland. 
 
 Tri. Can you so? 
 
 Sub. Ay, and shall 'bide the third examination. 
 
 Ana. It will be joyful tidings to the brethren. 
 
 Sub. But you must carry it secret. 
 
 Tri. Ay, but stay, 170 
 
 This act of coining, is it lawful? 
 
 Ana. Lawful ! 
 We know no magistrate ; or, if we did,^ 
 This is foreign coin. 
 
 Sub. It is no coining, sir, 
 It is but casting. 
 
 Tri. Ha ! you distinguish well : 
 Casting of money may be lawful. 
 
 Ana. 'Tis, sir. 
 
 Tri. Truly, I take it so. i8o 
 
 Sub. There is no scruple. 
 Sir, to be made of it ; believe Ananias : 
 
 lA fine stroke! The Puritans refused to recognize the then existing 
 civil governments as being divinely sanctioned.
 
 l84 THE ALCHEMIST. [act hi. 
 
 This case of conscience he is studied in. 
 
 Tri. I'll make a question of it to the brethren. 
 
 Ana. The brethren shall approve it lawful, doubt not. 
 Where shall it be done ? \_Ktiockiiig wifiiout. 
 
 Suh. For that we'll talk anon. 
 There's some to speak with me. Go in, I pray you, 
 .'\nd view the parcels. That's the inventory. 
 I'll come to you straight. [^.V(f««/ Trie, and Aha} 
 
 Who is it ? — Face ! appear. 19c 
 
 Enter Face in his uniform. 
 
 How now ! Good prize? 
 
 Face. Good plague ! Yond' costive cheater 
 Never came on. 
 
 Sub. How then ? 
 
 Face. I have walked the round 
 Till now, and no such thing. 
 
 Sub. And have you quit him? 
 
 Face. Quit him ! an hell would quit him too, he were happy. 
 'Slight ! Would you have me stalk like a mill-jade, 
 .Ml day, for one that will not yield us grains? 200 
 
 I know him of old. 
 
 Sub. Oh, but to have gulled him 
 Had been a mastery. 
 
 Face. Let him go, black boy ! 
 .•\nd turn thee that some fresh news may possess thee. 
 .V noble count, a don of Spain, my dear 
 Delicious compeer, and my party-bawd, 
 Who is come hither private for his conscience, 
 
 1 It is well to remember, ia reading Jonson's satires on the Puritans, 
 that he was brought up in the Church of England, then joined the Catholic 
 Church, and finally returned to Anglicanism.
 
 SCENE II.] THE ALCHEMIST. 185 
 
 And brought munition with him, six great slops,' 
 
 Bigger than three Dutch hoys,^ beside round trunks,^ 210 
 
 Furn/shed with pistolets, and pieces of eight, 
 
 Will straight be here, my rogue, to have thy bath 
 
 (That is the colour) , and to make his battery 
 
 Upon our Dol, our castle, our Cinque-port,* 
 
 Our Dover pier, our what thou wilt. Where is she ? 
 
 She must prepare perfumes, delicate linen, 
 
 The bath in chief, a banquet, and her wit. 
 
 Where is the doxy? 
 
 Sub. I'll send her to thee : 
 And but dispatch my brace of little John Leydens,^ 220 
 
 And come again myself. 
 
 Face. Are they within, then? 
 
 Sub. Numbering the sum. 
 
 Face. How much? 
 
 Srib. A hundred marks, boy. \_Exit. 
 
 Face. Why, this is a lucky day. Ten pounds of Mammon ! 
 Three of my clerk ! A portague of my grocer ! 
 This of the brethren ! beside reversions. 
 And states to come in the widow, and my count ! 
 My share to-day will not be bought for forty 230 
 
 Enter Dol. 
 
 Dol. What? 
 
 Face. Pounds, dainty Dorothy ! Art thou so near? 
 
 Dol. Yes ; say, lord general, how fares our camp ? 
 
 1 Large, loose breeches. 2 Unwieldy Dutch ships. •' Hose. 
 
 4 The Cinque Ports were on the south coast of England, facing France, 
 and under the government of a warden. Originally there were five, as 
 the name implies: Dover, Sandwich, Romney, Hastings, and Hithe; Win- 
 chelsea and Rye were added later. 
 
 5 The famous Anabaptist leader, put to death in 1536.
 
 ,86 THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT IIL 
 
 Face. As with the few that had entrenched themselves 
 Safe, by their discipHne, against a world, Dol, 
 And laughed within those trenches, and grew fat 
 With thinking on the booties, Dol, brought in 
 Daily by their small parties. This dear hour 
 A doughty don is taken with my Dol ; 
 
 And thou may'st make his ransom what thou wilt, 24^ 
 
 My Dousabel ; he shall be brought here fettered 
 With thy fair looks, before he sees thee, — and thrown 
 In a down-bed, as dark as any dungeon ; 
 Till he be tame 
 
 .'\s the poor blackbirds were in the great frost. 
 Or bees are with a bason ; and so hive him 
 My little God's-gift.' 
 
 Dol. What is he, general? 
 
 Face. An adalantado, 
 A grandee, girl. Was not my Dapper here yet? 250 
 
 Dol. No. 
 
 Face. Nor my Drugger? 
 
 Dol. Neither. 
 
 Face. A plague on 'em, 
 They are so long a-furnishing ! Such stinkards 
 Would not be seen upon these festival days. — 
 
 Re-enter Subtle. 
 
 How now ! have you done? 
 
 Sub. Done. They are gone : the sum 
 Is here in bank, my Face. I would we knew 
 .Another chapman now would buy 'em outright'. 260 
 
 Face. 'Slid, Nab shall do't against he have the widow 
 To furnish household. 
 
 1 A play on Dol's name, Dorothea meaning Gois-gifts.
 
 liCENE 11.] THE ALCHEMIST. I87 
 
 Sub. Excellent, well thought on : 
 Pray God he come ! 
 
 Face. I pray he keep away 
 Till our new business be o'erpast. 
 
 Sub. But, Face, 
 How cam'st thou by this secret don ? 
 
 Face. A spirit 
 Brought me th' intelligence in a paper here, 270 
 
 As I was conjuring yonder in my circle 
 For Surly ; I have my flies abroad. Your bath 
 Is famous. Subtle, by my means. Sweet Dol, 
 Tickle him with thy mother- tongue. His great 
 Verdugoship^ has not a jot of language ; 
 So much the easier to be cozened, my Dolly. 
 He will come here in a hired coach, obscure, 
 And our own coachman, whom I have sent as guide, 
 No creature else. {^Knocking without.) Who's that? 
 
 \^Exit DoL. 
 
 Sub. It is not he ? 280 
 
 Face. O no, not yet this hour. 
 
 Re-enter DoL. 
 
 Sub. Who is't? 
 
 DoL Dapper, 
 Your clerk. 
 
 Face. God's will then, Queen of Fairy, 
 On with your tire ; — {exit Dol) — and doctor, with yom 
 
 robes. 
 Let's dispatch him, for God's sake. 
 
 Sub. 'Twill be long. 
 
 Face. I warrant you, take but the cue I give you, 
 
 1 Verdugo was tlie name of a noble Spanish family.
 
 t88 the alchemist. [act hi. 
 
 It shall be brief enough. — {Goes to the window.) — 'Slight, 
 here are more ! 290 
 
 Abel, and I think the angry boy, the heir. 
 That fain would quarrel. 
 
 Sub. And the widow? 
 
 Face. No. 
 Not that I see. Away ! \^Exit Sur 
 
 E?iter Dapper. 
 
 Oh, sir, you are welcome. 
 The doctor is within a- moving for you ; 
 I have had the most ado to win him to it ! 
 He swears you'll be the darling of the dice : 
 He never heard her highness dote till now. 
 Your aunt has given you the most gracious words 300 
 
 That can be thought on. 
 
 Dap. Shall I see her grace ? 
 
 Face. See her, and kiss her too. — 
 
 Enter kv.^\., followed by Kastril. 
 
 What, honest Nab ! 
 Hast brought the damask ? 
 
 Drug. No, sir ; here's tobacco. 
 
 Face. 'Tis well done, Nab : thou'lt bring the damask too? 
 
 Drug. Yes : here's the gentleman, captain, Master Kastril, 
 I have brought to see the doctor. 
 
 Face. Where's the widow? 
 
 Drug. Sir, as he likes, his sister, he says, shall come. 310 
 
 Face. Oh, is it so? Good time. Is your name Kastril, sir? 
 
 Kas. Ay, and the best of the Kastrils, I'd be sorry else, 
 Wy fifteen hundred a-year. Where is the doctor? 
 My mad tobacco-boy, here, tells me of one
 
 SCENE II.] THE ALCHEMIST. 189 
 
 That can do things : has he any skill ? 
 
 Face. Wherein, sir? 
 
 Kas. To carry a business, manage a quarrel fairly, 
 Upon fit terms. 
 
 Face. It seems, sir, you are but young 
 About the town, that can make that a question. 320 
 
 Kas. Sir, not so young but I have heard some speech 
 Of the angry boys, and seen them take tobacco, 
 And in his shop ; and I can take it too. 
 And I would fain be one of 'em, and go down 
 And practise in the country. 
 
 Face. Sir, for the duello. 
 The doctor, I assure you, shall inform you, 
 To the least shadow of a hair, and show you 
 An instrument he has of his own making, 
 Wherewith no sooner shall you make report 330 
 
 Of any quarrel, but he will take the height on't 
 Most instantly, and tell in what degree 
 Of safety it lies in, or mortality. 
 And how it may be borne, whether in a right line. 
 Or a half-circle ; or may else be cast 
 Into an angle blunt, if not acute : 
 All this he will demonstrate. And then, rules 
 To give and take the he by. 
 
 Kas. How ! to take it ? 
 
 Face. Yes, in obhque he'll show you, or in circle ; ^ 34c 
 But never in diameter. The whole town 
 Study his theorems, and dispute them ordinarily 
 At the eating academies. 
 
 Kas. But does he teach 
 
 1 One critic remarks that Shakespeare, Fletcher, and Jonson tried to 
 bring duelling into disrepute, by satirizing it ; yet Jonson fgught a duel, and 
 killed his man.
 
 ipo THE ALCHEMIST. [act III. 
 
 Living by the wits too ? 
 
 Face. Anything whatever. 
 You cannot think that subtlety but he reads it. 
 He made me a captain. I was a stark pimp, 
 Just of your standing, 'fore I met with him ; 
 It is not two months since. I'll tell you his method : 350 
 First, he will enter you at some ordinary.' 
 
 Kas. No, I'll not come there ; you shall pardon me. 
 
 Face. For why, sir? 
 
 Kas. There's gaming there, and tricks. 
 
 Face. Why, would you be 
 A gallant, and not game ? 
 
 Kas. Ay, 'twill spend a man. 
 
 Face. Spend you ! It will repair you when you are spent : 
 How do they live by their wits there, that have vented 
 Six times your fortunes ? 360 
 
 Kas. What, three thousand a year ! 
 
 Face. Ay, forty thousand. 
 
 Kas. Are there such? 
 
 Face. Ay, sir, 
 And gallants yet. Here's a young gentleman 
 Is born to nothing — (^points to Dapper) — forty marks a-year, 
 Which I count nothing : — he is to be initiated, 
 And have a fly of the doctor. He will win you. 
 By unresistible luck, within this fortnight, 
 Enough to buy a barony. They will set him 370 
 
 Upmost, at the groom porters, all the Christmas : 
 And for the whole year through, at every place 
 Where there is play, present him with the chair ; 
 The best attendance, the best drink ; sometimes 
 Two glasses of canary, and pay nothing ; 
 
 1 Eating-place.
 
 SCENE 11.] THE ALCHEMIST. I91 
 
 The purest linen and the sharpest knife, 
 
 The partridge next his trencher ; and somewhere 
 
 The dainty nook in private with the dainty. 
 
 You shall have your ordinaries bid for him, 
 
 As playhouses for a poet ; and the master 380 
 
 Pray him aloud to name what dish he affects, 
 
 Which must be buttered shrimps ; and those that drink 
 
 To no mouth else, will drink to his, as being 
 
 The goodly president mouth of all the board. 
 
 Kas. Do you not gull one? 
 
 Face. Ods, my life ! do you think it? 
 You shall have a cast commander (can but get 
 In credit with a glover, or a spurrier, 
 For some two pair of cither's ware aforehand), 
 Will by most swift posts, dealing with him, 390 
 
 Arrive at competent means to keep himself, 
 And be admired for't. 
 
 Kas. Will the doctor teach this? 
 
 Face. He will do more, sir : when your land is gone, 
 As men of spirit hate to keep earth long 
 In a vacation, when small money is stirring. 
 And ordinaries suspended till the term. 
 He'll show a perspective, where on one side 
 You shall behold the faces and the persons 
 Of all sufficient young heirs in town, 400 
 
 Whose bonds are current for commodity ' ; 
 On th' other side, the merchants' forms, and others, 
 That without help of any second broker. 
 Who would expect a share, will trust such parcels : 
 In the third square, the very street and sign 
 
 1 Young spendthrifts had to take in merchandise part of the sums they 
 borrowed from usurers, who thus made a large profit.
 
 192 
 
 THE ALCHEMIST (act ill. 
 
 Where the commodity dwells, and does but wait 
 
 To be delivered, be it pepper, soap, 
 
 Hops, or tobacco, oatmeal, wood, or cheeses. 
 
 All which you may so handle, to enjoy 
 
 To your own use, and never stand obliged. ^10 
 
 Kas. I' faith ! is he such a fellow? 
 
 Face. Why, Nab here knows him. 
 And then for making matches for rich widows, 
 Young gentlewomen, heirs, the fortunatest man ! 
 He's sent to, far and near, all over England, 
 To have his counsel, and to know their fortunes. 
 
 Kas. God's will, my suster shall see him. 
 
 Face. I'll tell you, sir, 
 What he did tell me of Nab. It's a strange thing : — 
 By the way, you must eat no cheese. Nab, it breeds 420 
 
 melancholy, 
 And that same melancholy breeds worms ; but pass it : — 
 He told me honest Nab here was ne'er at tavern 
 But once in's life. 
 
 Drug. Truth, and no more I was not. 
 
 Face. And then he was so sick 
 
 Drug. Could he tell you that too? 
 
 Face. How should I know it? 
 
 Drug. In troth we had been a-shooting. 
 And had a piece of fat ram mutton to supper, 430 
 
 That lay so heavy o' my stomach 
 
 Face. And he has no head 
 To bear any wine ; for what with the noise of the fiddlers 
 And care of his shop, for he dares keep no servants 
 
 Drug. My head did so ache 
 
 Face. As he was fain to be brought home, 
 The doctor told me : and then a good old woman
 
 SCENE ii.J THE ALCHEMIST. I93 
 
 Drug. Yes, faith — she dwells in Sea-coal Lane — did cure 
 me, 
 With sodden ale and pellitory ^ of the wall ; 
 Cost me but twopence. — I had another sickness 440 
 
 Was worse than that. 
 
 Face. Ay, that was with the grief 
 Thou took'st for being cessed^ at eighteen-pence 
 For the waterwork. 
 
 Drug. In truth, and it was like 
 T' have cost me almost my life. 
 
 Face. Thy hair went off? 
 
 Drug. Yes, sir ; 'twas done for spite. 
 
 Face. Nay, so says the doctor. 
 
 Kas. Pray thee, tobacco boy, go fetch my suster ; 450 
 I'll see this learned boy before I go, 
 And so shall she. 
 
 Face. Sir, he is busy now ; 
 But if you have a sister to fetch hither, 
 Perhaps your own pains may command her sooner, 
 And he by that time will be free. 
 
 Kas. I go. \^Exit. 
 
 Face. Drugger, she's thine : the damask ! \^Exit Abel, 
 
 {Aside) Subtle and I 
 Must wrestle for her. — Come on, Master Dapper, 
 You see how I turn clients here away, 46a 
 
 To give your cause dispatch ; have you performed 
 The ceremonies were enjoined you? 
 
 Dap. Yes, of the vinegar 
 And the clean shirt. 
 
 Face. 'Tis well : that shirt may do you 
 More worship than you think. Your aunt's a-fire, 
 
 1 A kind of weeds which grow on walls. ^ Taxed.
 
 194 THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT III. 
 
 Dut that she will not show it, t' have a sight of you. 
 Have you provided for her grace's servants ? 
 
 Dap. Yes, here are six score Edward shillings. 
 
 Face. Good ! 470 
 
 Dap. And an old Harry's sovereign. 
 
 Face. Very good ! 
 
 Dap. And three James shillings, and an Elizabeth groat ; 
 Just twenty nobles. 
 
 Face. Oh, you are too just. 
 I would you had had the other noble in Maries. 
 
 Dap. I have some Philip and Maries. 
 
 Face. Ay, those same 
 Are best of all : where are they ? Hark, the doctor. 
 
 Enter Subtle disguised like a priest of Fairy, with a stripe 
 
 of cloth. 
 
 Sub. {in a feigned voice) . Is yet her grace's cousin come ? 
 
 Face. He is come. 4S1 
 
 Sub. And is he fasting? 
 
 Face. Yes. 
 
 Sub. And hath cried htim? 
 
 Face. Thrice, you must answer. 
 
 Dap. Thrice. 
 
 Sub. And as oft buz ? 
 
 Face. If you have, say. 
 
 Dap. I have. 
 
 Sub. Then, to her cuz, 490 
 
 Hoping that he hath vinegared his senses, 
 As he was bid, the Fairy Queen dispenses, 
 By me, this robe, the petticoat of fortune ; 
 Which that he straight put on, she doth importune. 
 And though to fortune ne;ir be her petticoat.
 
 SCENE II.] THE ALCHEMIST. 195 
 
 Vet nearer is her smock, the Queen doth note : 
 
 And therefore, even of that a piece she hath sent, 
 
 Which, being a child, to wrap him in was rent ; 
 
 And prays him for a scarf he now will wear it, 
 
 With as much love as then her grace did tear it, 500 
 
 About his eyes — {they bind him with the rag) — to show he 
 
 is fortunate. 
 And, trusting unto her to make his state, 
 He'll throw away all worldly pelf about him ; 
 Which that he will perform, she doth not doubt him. 
 
 Face. She need not doubt him, sir. Alas, he has nothing 
 But what he will part withal as willingly 
 Upon her grace's word — throw away your purse — 
 As she would ask it; — handkerchiefs and all — 
 
 \_He throws away as they bid him. 
 She cannot bid that thing but he'll obey. — 
 If you have a ring about you, cast it off, 510 
 
 Or a silver seal at your wrist ; her grace will send 
 Her fairies here to search you, therefore deal 
 Directly with her highness : if they find 
 That you conceal a mite, you are undone. 
 
 Dap. Truly, there's all. 
 
 Face. All what? 
 
 Dap. My money : truly. 
 
 Face. Keep nothing that is transitory about you. 
 {Aside to Subtle.) Bid Dol play music. — Look, the elves 
 are come \Jdo\^ plays on the cittern within. 
 
 To pinch you, if you tell not truth. Advise you. 520 
 
 \They pinch him. 
 
 Dap. Oh ! I have a paper with a spur-ryal ^ in't. 
 
 Face. Ti, ti. 
 
 1 A gold coin, valued at 15J. in 1606.
 
 Iq6 the alchemist. [act III 
 
 They knew't, they say. 
 
 Sub. Ti, ti, tiy ti. He has more yet. 
 
 Face. Ti, ti-ti-ti. In the other pocket. \Aside to Sub. 
 
 Sub. Titi, titi, iiti, titi, titi. 
 They must pinch him or he will never confess, they say. 
 
 \They pinch him again. 
 
 Dap. Oh, oh ! 
 
 Face. Nay, pray you hold : he is her grace's nephew. 
 Ti, ti, ti? What care you ? Good faith, you shall care. — 
 Deal plainly, sir, and shame the fairies. Show 531 
 
 You are innocent. 
 
 Dap. By this good light, I have nothing. 
 
 Sub. Ti, ti, ti, ti, to, ta. He does equivocate, she says : 
 Ti, ti, do ti, ti, ti, do, ti, da ; and swears by the light when 
 he is blinded. 
 
 Dap. By this good dark, I have nothing but a half-crown 
 Of gold about my wrist, that my love gave me ; 
 And a leaden heart I wore since she forsook me. 
 
 Face. I thought 'twas something. And would you incur 
 Your aunt's displeasure for these trifles? Come, 540 
 
 I had rather you had thrown away twenty half-crowns. 
 
 {Takes it off. 
 You may wear your leaden heart still. — 
 
 Enter Dol hastily. 
 
 How now I 
 Sub. What news, Dol ? 
 Dol. Yonder's your knight, Sir Mammon. 
 Face. Ods lid, we never thought of him till now I 
 UTiere is he ? 
 
 Dol. Here hard by : he is at the door. 
 
 Sub. And you are not ready, now ! Dol, get his suit. 
 
 {^Exit Doi-
 
 SCENE II.] THE ALCHEMIST. I97 
 
 He must not be sent back. 
 
 Face. Oh, by no means. 550 
 
 What shall we do with this same puffin ^ here, 
 Now he's on the spit? 
 
 Sub. Why, lay him back awhile 
 With some device. 
 
 Re-enter Dol with Face's clothes. 
 
 — Ti, ti, ti, ti, ti, ti. Would her grace speak with me ? 
 
 I come. — Help, Dol ! \_Knocking without. 
 
 Face {speaks through the key-hole). Who's there? Sir 
 Epicure, 
 My master's in the way. Please you to walk 
 Three or four turns, but till his back be turned, 
 And I am for you. Quickly, Dol ! 560 
 
 Sub. Her grace 
 Commends her kindly to you. Master Dapper. 
 
 Dap. I long to see her grace. 
 
 Sub. She now is set 
 At dinner in her bed, and she has sent you 
 From her own private trencher a dead mouse, 
 And a piece of gingerbread, to be merry withal, 
 And stay your stomach, lest you faint with fasting. 
 Yet if you could hold out till she saw you, she says 
 It would be better for you. S7« 
 
 Face. Sir, he shall 
 Hold out, an 'twere this two hours, for her highness ; 
 I can assure you that. We will not lose 
 All we have done. 
 
 Sub. He must not see nor speak 
 To anybody till then. 
 
 iKindofguU.
 
 1 98 THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT IV. 
 
 Face. For that we'll put, sir, 
 A stay in's mouth. 
 
 Sub. Of what? 
 
 Face. Of gingerbread. 58c 
 
 Make you it fit. He that hath pleased her grace 
 Thus far, shall not now crinkle^ for a httle. — 
 Gape, sir, and let him fit you. 
 
 \Thcy thrust a gag of gingerbread in his mouth. 
 
 Sub. Come along, sir, 
 I now must show you Fortune's privy lodgings. 
 
 Face. Are they perfumed, and his bath ready ? 
 
 Sub. All: 
 Only the fumigation's somewhat strong. 
 
 Face (^speaking through the key-hole). Sir Epicure, I am 
 yours, sir, by-and-by. \_Exeunt with Dapper. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. — A Room in Lovewit's House. 
 
 Enter Face and Mammon. 
 
 Face. Oh, sir, you are come in the only finest time. 
 Mam. Where's master? 
 Face. Now preparing for projection, sir. 
 Your stuff will be all changed shortly. 
 Mam. Into gold? 
 Face. To gold and silver, sir. 
 Mam. Silver I care not for. 
 Face. Yes, sir, a little to give beggars. 
 Mam. Where's the lady? 
 
 ' Bend, waver.
 
 SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. I99 
 
 Face. At hand here. I have told her such brave things of 
 
 you 
 
 10 
 
 Touching your bounty and your noble spirit 
 
 Main. Hast thou ? 
 
 Face. As she is almost in her fit to see you. 
 But, good sir, no divinity in your conference. 
 For fear of putting her in rage. 
 
 Mam. I warrant thee. 
 
 Face. Six men, sir, will not hold her down ; and then 
 If the old man should hear or see you 
 
 Mam. Fear not. 
 
 Face. The very house, sir, would run mad. You know it, 20 
 How scrupulous he is, and violent, 
 'Gainst the least act of sin.' Physic or mathematics, 
 Poetry, state, or frolic, as I told you. 
 She will endure, and never startle ; but 
 No word of controversy. 
 
 Mam. I am schooled, good Ulen. 
 
 Face. And you must praise her house, remember that, 
 And her nobility. 
 
 Mam. Let me alone : 
 No herald, no, nor antiquary, Lungs, 3° 
 
 Shall do it better. Go. 
 
 Face {aside) . Why, this is yet 
 A kind of modern happiness to have 
 Dol Common for a great lady. \_Extt. 
 
 Mam. Now, Epicure, 
 Heighten thyself, talk to her all in gold ; 
 Rain her as many showers as Jove did drops 
 Unto his Danae ; show the god a miser 
 Compared with Mammon. What ! The stone will do't. 
 
 1 Alchemists pretended to lead spotless lives, in order to the success ot 
 their experiments.
 
 200 
 
 THE ALCHEMIST. [act iv. 
 
 She shall feel gold, taste gold, hear gold, sleep gold ; 40 
 
 I will be puissant and mighty in my talk to her. 
 
 Re-enter Face, with Dol richly dressed. 
 
 Here she comes. 
 
 Face. To him, Dol, suckle him. This is the noble knight ; 
 I told your ladyship 
 
 Mam. Madam, with your pardon, 
 I kiss your vesture. 
 
 Dol. Sir, I were uncivil 
 If I would suffer that ; my lip to you, sir. 
 
 Mam. I hope my lord, your brother, be in health, lady. 
 
 Dol. My lord, my brother is, though I no lady, sir. 50 
 
 Face {aside). Well said, my Guinea bird. 
 
 Mam. Right noble madam 
 
 Face (aside). Oh, we shall have most fierce idolatry. 
 
 Mam. 'Tis your prerogative 
 
 Dol. Rather your courtesy. 
 
 Mam. Were there nought else to enlarge your virtues to 
 me, 
 These answers speak your breeding and your blood. 
 
 Dol. Blood we boast none, sir, a poor baron's daughter. 
 
 Mam. Poor! And gat you? Profane not. Had your 
 father 
 Slept all the happy remnant of his life 6c 
 
 He had done enough to make himself, his issue. 
 And his posterity noble. 
 
 Dol. Sir, although 
 We may be said to want the gilt and trappings, 
 The dress of honour, yet we strive to keep 
 The seeds and the materials. 
 
 Main. I do see 
 
 ^
 
 SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. 20I 
 
 The old ingredient, virtue, was not lost, 
 
 Nor the drug money used to make your compound. 
 
 There is a strange nobility in your eye, 70 
 
 This lip, that chin ! Methinks you do resemble 
 
 One of the Austrian princes.^ 
 
 Face {aside). Very Hke ! 
 Her father was an Irish costermonger.' 
 
 Afam. The House of Valois^ just had such a nose, 
 And such a forehead yet the Medici 
 Of Florence boast. 
 
 DoL Troth, and I have been hkened 
 To all these princes. 
 
 Face {aside). I'll be sworn I heard it. 80 
 
 Alain. I know not how ! It is not any one. 
 But e'en the very choice of all their features. 
 
 Face {aside). I'll in, and laugh. \_Exit. 
 
 Mam. A certain touch, or air. 
 That sparkles a divinity beyond 
 An earthly beauty ! 
 
 DoL Oh, you play the courtier. 
 
 Mam. Good lady, give me leave 
 
 Dol. In faith I may not. 
 To mock me, sir. 90 
 
 Mam. To burn in this sweet flame ; 
 The phoenix never knew a nobler death. 
 
 Dol. Nay, now you court the courtier, and destroy 
 What you would build : this art, sir, in your words 
 Calls your whole faith in question. 
 
 1 The Hapsburgers were noted for " a sweet fulness of the lower lip." 
 Swift assigned this feature to the Emperor of Lilliput. 
 
 2 The hucksters in London were usually Irish. 
 
 8 The characteristic feature of the Valois was a Roman nose.
 
 202 THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT IV. 
 
 Mam. By my soul 
 
 Dol. Nay, oaths are made of the same air, sir. 
 
 Mam. Nature 
 Never bestow'd upon mortaUty 
 
 A more unblamed, a more harmonious feature ; loo 
 
 She played the step-dame in all faces else : 
 Sweet madam, let me be particular 
 
 Dol. Particular, sir ! I pray you know your distance. 
 
 Mam. In no ill sense, sweet lady ; but to ask 
 How your fair graces pass the hours ? I see 
 You are lodged here in the house of a rare man. 
 An excellent artist ; but what's that to you ? 
 
 Dol. Yes, sir ; I study here the mathematics 
 And distillation.^ 
 
 Mam. Oh, I cry your pardon. no 
 
 He's a divine instructor : can extract 
 The souls of all things by his art ; call all 
 The virtues and the miracles of the sun 
 Into a temperate furnace ; teach dull nature 
 What her own forces are. A man, the emperor 
 Has courted above Kelly ^ ; sent his medals 
 And chains to invite him. 
 
 Dol. Ay, and for his physic, sir, 
 
 1 That is, astrology and alchemy. 
 
 2 Edward Kelly, or Talbot, a notorious impostor of the sixteenth century, 
 was bom at Worcester, and apprenticed to an apothecary. Being con- 
 victed of fraud, his ears were cut off. Dee, another alchemist, took Kelly 
 and Zaski, a young Pole, abroad. Kelly pretended to have discovered the 
 philosopher's stone, and was patronized by the Emperor Rudolf \\, who 
 entertained him at Prague for a long time. But as the stone did not mate- 
 rialize, Kelly and his accomplices were thrown into prison. In attempting 
 to escape. Kellv broke his leg, and died. Gifford remarks that this fraudu- 
 lent trio — Kelly, Dee, and Zaski — may have suggested Subtle, Face, and 
 Dol, to Jonson.
 
 SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. 203 
 
 Mam. Above the art of yEsculapius, 
 That drew the envy of the Thunderer ! 120 
 
 I know all this, and more. 
 
 Dol. Troth, I am taken, sir, 
 Whole with these studies, that contemplate nature. 
 
 Mam. It is a noble humour; but this form 
 Was not intended to so dark a use. 
 Had you been crooked, foul, of some coarse mould, 
 A cloister had done well ; but such a feature 
 That might stand up the glory of a kingdom, 
 To live recluse, is a mere solecism, 
 
 Though in a nunnery. It must not be. 130 
 
 I muse, my lord your brother will permit it : 
 You should spend half my land first, were I he. 
 Does not this diamond better on my finger 
 Than in the quarry? 
 
 Dol. Yes. 
 
 Mam. Why, you are like it. 
 You were created, lady, for the light. 
 Here, you shall wear it ; take it, the first pledge 
 Of what I speak, to bind you to believe me. 
 
 Dol. In chains of adamant ? 140 
 
 Mam. Yes, the strongest bands. 
 And take a secret too — here, by your side, 
 Doth stand this hour the happiest man in Europe, 
 
 Dol. You are contented, sir? 
 
 Mam. Nay, in true being. 
 The envy of princes and the fear of states. 
 
 Dol. Say you so, Sir Epicure ? 
 
 Mam. Yes, and thou shalt prove it. 
 Daughter of honour. I have cast mine eye 
 Upon thy form, and I will rear this beauty 150
 
 204 THE ALCHEMIST. (ACT iv, 
 
 Above all styles. 
 
 Dol. You mean no treason, sir? 
 
 Mavt. No, I will take away that jealousy. 
 I am the lord of the philosopher's stone, 
 And thou the lady. 
 
 Dol. How sir ! Have you that? 
 
 Mam. I am the master of the mastery.^ 
 This day the good old wretch here o' the house 
 Has made it for us ; now he's at projection. 
 Think therefore thy first wish now, let me hear it, i6o 
 
 And it shall rain into thy lap, no shower. 
 But floods of gold, whole cataracts, a deluge, 
 To get a nation on thee. 
 
 Dol. You are pleased, sir. 
 To work on the ambition of our sex. 
 
 Mam. I am pleased the glory of her sex should know 
 This nook, here, of the Friars is no climate 
 For her to live obscurely in, to learn 
 Physic and surgery, for the constable's wife 
 Of some odd hundred in Essex ; but come forth 170 
 
 And taste the air of palaces ; eat, drink 
 The toils of empirics, and their boasted practice ; 
 I'incture of pearl and coral, gold and amber ; 
 Be seen at feasts and triumphs : have it asked, 
 What miracle she is ; set all the eyes 
 Of court a-fire, like a burning glass, 
 And work them into cinders, when the jewels 
 Of twenty states adorn thee, and the light 
 Strikes out the stars ! that when thy name is mentioned 
 Queens may look pale ; and we but showing our love, 180 
 Nero's Poppaea may be lost in story ! 
 
 ^ Magisterium.
 
 SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. 205 
 
 Thus will we have it. 
 
 Dol. I could well consent sir. 
 But in a monarchy how will this be? 
 The prince will soon take notice, and both seize 
 You and your stone, it being a wealth unfit 
 For any private subject. 
 
 Mam. If he knew it. 
 
 Dol. Yourself do boast it, sir. 
 
 Mam. To thee, my life. loo 
 
 Dol. Oh, but beware, sir ! you may come to end 
 The remnant of your days in a loathed prison, 
 By speaking of it. 
 
 Mam. 'Tis no idle fear : 
 We'll therefore go withal, my girl, and live 
 In a free state, where we will eat our mullets 
 Soused in high- country wines, sup pheasants' eggs, 
 And have our cockles boiled in silver shells ; 
 Our shrimps to swim again, as when they livgd, 
 In a rare butter made of dolphins' milk, 200 
 
 Whose cream does look Uke opals : and with these 
 Delicate meats, set ourselves high for pleasure, 
 And take us down again, and then renew 
 Our youth and strength with drinking the elixir, 
 And so enjoy a perpetuity 
 
 Of life and lust ! And thou shalt have thy wardrobe 
 Richer than nature's, still to change thyself, 
 And vary oftener, for thy pride, than she, 
 Or art, her wise and almost-equal servant. 
 
 Re-enter Face. 
 
 Face. Sir, you are too loud. I hear you every word 210 
 Into the laboratory. Some fitter place ;
 
 2o6 THE ALCHEMIST. [act iv. 
 
 The garden or great chamber above. How Uke you her? 
 
 Mam. Excellent ! Lungs. There's for thee. 
 
 [Gives htm money. 
 
 Face. But do you hear? 
 Good sir, beware, no mention of the rabbins. 
 
 Mam. We think not on 'em. [Exeunt Mam. and Dol. 
 
 Face. Oh, it is well, sir. — Subtle ! 
 
 Enter Subtle. ^ 
 
 Dost thou not laugh ? 
 
 Sub. Yes ; are they gone ? 
 
 Face. All's clear. 220 
 
 Sub. The widow is come. 
 
 Face. And your quarrelling disciple ? 
 
 Sub. Ay. 
 
 Face. I must to my captainship again, then. 
 
 Sub. Stay, bring them in first. 
 
 Face. So I meant. What is she ? 
 A bonnibel? 
 
 Sub. I know not. 
 
 Face. We'll draw lots : 
 You'll stand to that? 230 
 
 Sub. What else ? 
 
 Face. Oh, for a suit, 
 To fall now like a curtain, flap ! 
 
 Sub. To the door, man. 
 
 Face. You'll have the first kiss, 'cause I am not ready. 
 
 \ Exit. 
 
 Sub. Yes. and perhaps hit you through both the nostrils. 
 
 Face {within). Who would you speak with? 
 
 Kas. {7C'it/iin). Where's the captain? 
 
 Face {loifhin). Clone, sir.
 
 SCENE I.J THE ALCHEMIST. 207 
 
 About some business. 240 
 
 Kas. {within). Gone! 
 
 Face {within). He'll return straight. 
 But Master Doctor, his lieutenant, is here. 
 
 Enter Kastril, followed by Dame Pliant. 
 
 Sub. Come near, my worshipful boy, my terrcefili^ 
 That is, my boy of land ; make thy approaches : 
 Welcome ; I know thy lusts and thy desires, 
 And I will serve and satisfy them. Begin, 
 Charge me from thence, or thence, or in this line ; 
 Here is my centre : ground thy quarrel. 
 
 Kas. You lie. 250 
 
 Sub. How, child of wrath and anger ! the loud lie ? 
 For what, my sudden boy ? 
 
 Kas. Nay, that look you to, 
 I am aforehand. 
 
 Sub. Oh, this is no true grammar, 
 And as ill logic ! You must render causes, child, 
 Your first and second intentions, know your canons 
 And your divisions, moods, degrees, and differences, 
 Your predicaments, substance, and accident. 
 Series, extern and intern, with their causes, 260 
 
 Efficient, material, formal, final. 
 And have your elements perfect? 
 
 Kas. {aside). What is this ! 
 The angry tongue he talks in? 
 
 Sub. That false precept 
 Of being aforehand has deceived a number, 
 And made them enter quarrels, oftentimes 
 Before they were aware ; and afterward 
 Against their wills.
 
 2o8 THE ALCHEMIST. [act iv. 
 
 Kas. How must I do then, sir ? 270 
 
 Sub. I cry this lady mercy : she should first 
 Have been saluted. {Kisses her) I do call you lady, 
 Because you are to be one ere't be long. 
 My soft and buxom widow. 
 
 Kas. Is she, i' faith? 
 
 Sub. Yes, or my art is an egregious liar. 
 
 Kas. How know you ? 
 
 Sub. By inspection on her forehead, 
 And subtlety of her hp, which must be tasted 
 Often, to make a judgment. {Kisses her again.) 
 
 'Slight, she melts 250 
 
 Like a myrobolane ^ : — here is yet a line. 
 In rivo frontis, tells me he is no knight. 
 
 Dame P. What is he then, sir? 
 
 Sub. Let me see your hand. 
 Oh, your linea fortuncB makes it plain ; 
 And Stella here in Monte Veneris. 
 But, most oi a\\,juncfura anmdaris?- 
 He is a soldier, or a man of art, lady. 
 But shall have some great honour shortly. 
 
 Dame P. Brother, 200 
 
 He's a rare man, believe me ! 
 
 Re-enter Face in his uniform, 
 
 Kas. Hold your peace. 
 Here comes the t'other rare man. — Save you, captain. 
 
 Face. Good Master Kastril ! Is this your sister? 
 
 Kas. Ay, sir. 
 Please you to kuss her, and be proud to know her. 
 
 Face. I shall be proud to know you, lady. {^Kisses her. 
 
 » A dried plum. 2 See Subtles speech, p. 138.
 
 SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. 209 
 
 Dame P. Brother, 
 He calls me lady too. 
 
 Kas. Ay, peace : I heard it. \Take5 her aside. 300 
 
 Face. The count is come. 
 
 Sub. Where is he? 
 
 Face. At the door. 
 
 Sub. Why, you must entertain him. 
 
 Face. What will you do 
 With these the while? 
 
 Stib. Why, have them up, and show them 
 Some fustian book, or the dark glass. 
 
 Face. 'Fore God, 
 She is a delicate dab-chick ^ ! I must have her. \_Exit. 310 
 
 Sub. Must you ! ay, if your fortune will, you must. — 
 Come, sir, the captain will come to us presently : 
 I'll have you to my chamber of demonstrations. 
 Where I will show you both the grammar and logic 
 And rhetoric of quarrelling ; my whole method 
 Drawn out in tables ; and my instrument. 
 That hath the several scales upon't, shall make you 
 Able to quarrel at a straw's-breadth by moonlight. 
 And, lady, I'll have you look in a glass. 
 Some half an hour, but to clear your eyesight, 32c 
 
 Against you see your fortune ; which is greater 
 Than I may judge upon the sudden, trust me. 
 
 \_Exit, followed by Kas. and Dame P. 
 
 Re-enter Face. 
 
 Face. Where are you, doctor? 
 
 Sub. {within). I'll come to you presently. 
 
 1 Small waterfowl.
 
 2IO THE ALCHEMIST. Fact iv. 
 
 Face. 1 will have this same widow, now I have seen her, 
 On any composition. 
 
 Re-enter Subtle. 
 
 Sub. What do you say? 
 
 Face. Have you disposed of them ? 
 
 Sub. I have sent them up. 
 
 Face. Subtle, in troth, I needs must have this widow. 330 
 
 Sub. Is that the matter? 
 
 Face. Nay, but hear me. 
 
 Sub. Go to, 
 If you rebel once, Dol shall know it all : 
 Therefore be quiet, and obey your chance. 
 
 Face. Nay, thou art so violent now. Do but conceive 
 Thou art old and canst not ser\'e 
 
 Sub. Who cannot? I? 
 'Slight, I will serve her with thee, for a 
 
 Face. Nay, 340 
 
 Rut understand : I'll give you composition. 
 
 Sub. I will not treat with thee : v.'hat ! Sell my fortune? 
 'Tis better than my birthright. Do not murmur : 
 Win her, and carry her. If you grumble, Dol 
 Knows it direcdy. 
 
 Face. Well, sir, I am silent. 
 Will you go help to fetch in Don in state? \^Exit. 
 
 Sub. I follow you, sir : we must keep Face in awe, 
 Or he will overlook us like a tyrant. 
 
 Re-enter Face, introducing Surley disguised as a Spaniard. 
 
 Brain of a tailor ! who comes here? Don John' ! 350 
 
 1 Don John of Austria, hero of the battle of Lepanto in 1571 ; he was 
 often represented in tapestries in Jonson's time.
 
 SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. 21 J 
 
 Sur. Senores, beso las matios a vuestras mercedes} 
 
 Sub. Stab me : I shall never hold, man. 
 He looks in that deep ruff like a head in a platter, 
 Served in by a short cloak upon two trestles. 
 
 Face. Or, what do you say to a collar of brawn, cut 
 down 
 Beneath the souse," and wriggled with a knife ? 
 
 Sub. 'Slud, he does look too fat to be a Spaniard. 
 
 Face. Perhaps some Fleming or some Hollander got 
 him 
 In D'Alva's time ; Count Egmont's bastard.^ 
 
 Sub. Don, 360 
 
 Your scurvy, yellow, Madrid face is welcome. 
 
 Sui-. Gratia. 
 
 Sub. He speaks out of a fortification. 
 Pray God he have no squibs in those deep sets.* 
 
 Sur. For dios, senores, muy linda casa!^ 
 
 Sub. What says he? 
 
 Face. Praises the house, I think ; 
 I know no more but's action. 
 
 Sub. Yes, the casa, 
 My precious Diego will prove fair enough ■37c 
 
 To cozen you in. Do you mark? You shall 
 Be cozened, Diego. 
 
 Face. Cozened, do you see, 
 My worthy Donzel, cozened. 
 
 Sur. Entiendo!" 
 
 1 Usual Spanish salutation; " Gentlemen, I kiss your hands." 
 
 2 Ear. 
 
 3 Alva, the atrocious Spanish governor of the Netherlands, from 1567 to 
 1573, who put to death Egmont, a Flemish noble, in 1568. 
 
 ■» Plaits in his ruff. 
 
 '> " Gad, sirs, a very pretty house." « " I understand."
 
 212 THE ALCHEMIST. [act IV. 
 
 Sub. Do you intend it? So do we, dear Don. 
 Have you brought pistolets ' or portagiies, 
 My solemn Don ? — Dost thou feel any ? 
 
 Face (Jee/s his pockets) . Full. 
 
 Si/d. You shall be emptied, Don, pumped and drawn 380 
 Dry, as they say. 
 
 Face. Milked, in troth, sweet Don. 
 
 Sub. See all the monsters ; the great lion of all, Don. 
 
 Sur. Coti licencia, se puede ver a esta senora ?- 
 
 Sub. What talks he now? 
 
 Face. Of the senora. 
 
 Sub. Oh, Don, 
 That is the lioness, which you shall see 
 Also, my Don. 
 
 Face. 'Slid, Subtle, how shall we do? 390 
 
 Sub. For what? 
 
 Face. Why Dol's employed, you know. 
 
 Sub. That's true, 
 'Fore heaven I know not : he must stay, that's all. 
 
 Face. Stay ! that he must not by no means. 
 
 Sub. No! Why? 
 
 Face. Unless you'll mar all. 'Slight, he will suspect it : 
 And then he will not pay, not half so well. 
 This is a travelled master, and does know 
 All the delays ; a notable hot rascal, 400 
 
 And looks already rampant. 
 
 Sub. 'Sdeath, and Mammon must not be troubled. 
 
 Face. Mammon ! in no case. 
 
 Sub. What shall we do then ? 
 
 Face. Think : you must be sudden. 
 
 1 Coins. 2 " If you please, may I see the lady ? "
 
 SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. 213 
 
 Sur. Entiendo que la senora es ian hertnosa, que codicio 
 tan verla, eomo la bien aventuranqa de mi vida} 
 
 Face. Mi vida ! 'Slid, Subtle, he puts me in mind o' the 
 widow. 
 What dost thou say to draw her to it, ha ! 
 And tell her 'tis her fortune ? All our venture 410 
 
 Now lies upon't. It is but one man more, 
 Which of us chance to have her : and beside, — 
 What dost thou think on't, Subde ? 
 
 Sub. Who, I? Why 
 
 Face. The credit of our house too is engaged. 
 
 Sub. You made me an offer for my share erewhile. 
 What wilt thou give me i' faith ? 
 
 Face. Oh, by that light 
 I'll not buy now : you know your doom to rae. 
 E'en take your lot, obey your chance, sir ; win her, 420 
 
 And wear her out, for me. 
 
 Sub. 'Slight, I'll not have her then. 
 
 Face. It is the common cause ; therefore bethink you. 
 Dol else must know it as you said. 
 
 Sub. I care not. 
 
 Sur. Sehores, porque se tarda tanto?"^ 
 
 Sub. Faith, I am not fit, I am old. 
 
 Face. That's now no reason, sir. 
 
 Sur. Puede ser, de hacer burla de mi amor ?^ 
 
 Face. You hear the Don too? by this air I call, 430 
 
 And loose the hinges : Dol ! 
 
 Sub. A plague of hell 
 
 Face. Will you then do ? 
 
 1 " I hear the lady is so handsome, that I am eager to see her, as the 
 best fortune of my life." 
 
 2 " Why this long delay, sirs ? " 
 
 3 " Can it be to make sport of my love ? "
 
 214 THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT iv. 
 
 Sub. You are a terrible rogue ! 
 I'll think of this : will you, sir, call the widow? 
 
 Face. Yes, and I'll take her too with all her faults, 
 Now I do think on't better. 
 
 Sub. With all my heart, sir ; 
 Am I discharged o' the lot? 
 
 Face. As you please. 440 
 
 Sub. Hands. \_They take hands. 
 
 Face. Remember now, that upon any change 
 You never claim her. 
 
 Sub. Much good joy and health to you, sir. 
 Marry her so ! Fate, let me wed a witch first. 
 
 Sur. For estas honradas barbas^ 
 
 Sub. He swears by his beard. 
 Dispatch, and call the brother too. \_Exit Face. 
 
 Sur. Tengo duda, senores, que 710 me hagan alguna 
 traycion? 450 
 
 Sub. How, issue on? yes, prassto, senor. Please you 
 Enthratha the chambraiha, worthy Don : 
 Where if you please the fates, in your bathada. 
 You shall be soaked, and stroked, and tubbed, and rubbed, 
 And scrubbed, and fubbed, dear Don, before you go. 
 You shall in faith, my scurvy baboon Don, 
 Be curried, clawed, and flawed, and tawed indeed. 
 I will the heartilier go about it now, 
 And make the widow yours so much the sooner, 
 To be revenged on this impetuous Face : 460 
 
 The quickly doing of it is the grace. 
 
 \_Fxeunt Sub. ajtd Surly .^ 
 
 1 " By these honored beards." 
 
 2 " I suspect, sirs, that you are playing a trick on me." 
 
 ^ " The Spanish speeches smack of a Conversation Book. Jonson seems 
 to have borrowed this device from Plautus. in Pcenulus." —Gifford.
 
 SCENE II.J THE ALCHEMIST. 215 
 
 Scene II. — Another Room in the same. 
 Enter Face, KLastril, and Dame Pliant. 
 
 Face. Come, lady : I knew the doctor would not leave 
 Till he had found the very nick of her fortune. 
 
 Kas. To be a countess, say you, a Spanish countess, sir ? 
 
 Dame P. Why, is that better than an English countess ? 
 
 Face. Better ! 'Slight, make you that a question, lady?^ 
 
 Kas. Nay, she is a fool, captain, you must pardon her. 
 
 Face. Ask from your courtier, to your Inns-of-Court man, 
 To your mere milliner ; they will tell you all. 
 Your Spanish gennet is the best horse ; your Spanish 
 Stoup^ is the best garb ; your Spanish beard 10 
 
 Is the best cut ; your Spanish ruffs are the best 
 Wear ; your Spanish pavin' the best dance ; 
 Your Spanish titillation in a glove 
 The best perfume : and for your Spanish pike 
 And Spanish blade, let your poor captain speak — 
 Here comes the doctor. 
 
 Enter Subtle, with a paper. 
 
 Sub. My most honoured lady. 
 For so I am now to style you, having found 
 By this my scheme you are to undergo 
 
 An honourable fortune very shortly, 20 
 
 What will you say now, if some 
 
 Face. I have told her all, sir ; 
 And her right worshipful brother here, that she shall be 
 
 1 In the early years of James I's reign, Spanish influence and Spanish 
 fashions were paramount in English court society. 
 
 2 No commentator nor dictionary explains this word. 
 
 3 The/afa«^, a grave and stately dance, so called from the city of Pavia
 
 2l6 THE ALCHEMIST. [act iv. 
 
 A countess ; do not delay them, sir : a Spanish countess. 
 
 Si/f). Still, my scarce-worshipful captain, you can keep 
 No secret ! Well, since he has told you, madam, 
 Do you forgive him, and I do. 
 
 Kas. She shall do that, sir ; 
 I'll look to't, 'tis my charge. 
 
 Sub. Well then ; nought rests 3c 
 
 But that she fit her love now to her fortune. 
 
 Dajne P. Truly, I shall never brook a Spaniard. 
 
 Sub. No ! 
 
 Da7ne P. Never since eighty-eight ^ could 1 abide them, 
 And that was some three years afore I was born, in truth. 
 
 Sub. Come, you must love him, or be miserable ; 
 Choose which you will. 
 
 Face. By this good rush, persuade her. 
 
 Kas. Ods lid, you shall love him, or I'll kick you. 
 
 Dame P. Why, 40 
 
 I'll do as you will have me, brother. 
 
 Kas. Do, 
 Or by this hand I'll maul you. 
 
 Face. Nay, good sir. 
 Be not so fierce. 
 
 Sub. No, my enraged child ; 
 She will be ruled. What, when she comes to taste 
 The pleasures of a countess ! to be courted 
 
 Face. .And kissed, and then come forth in pomp. 
 
 Sub. .And know her state ! tjo 
 
 Face. Of keeping all the idolators of the chamber 
 Barer to her than at their prayers ! 
 
 Sub. Is served 
 Upon the knee ! 
 
 1 1588 ; when the English defeated the Spanish Armada.
 
 SCENE 11.] THE ALCHEMIST. 21? 
 
 Face. And has her pages, ushers, 
 Footmen, and coaches 
 
 Sub. Her six mares 
 
 Face. Nay, eight ! 
 
 Sub. To hurry her through London, to the Exchange, 
 Bethlem,^ the china-houses 60 
 
 Face. Yes, and have 
 The citizens gape at her, and praise her tires, 
 And my lord's humble bands, that ride with her. 
 
 Kas. Most brave ! By this hand, you are not my suster 
 If you refuse. 
 
 Dame P. I will not refuse, brother. 
 
 Enter Surly. 
 
 Sur. Que es esto, senores, que non venga ? Esta tardanza 
 me mata ! ^ 
 
 Face. It is the Count come : 
 The doctor knew he would be here, by his art. 70 
 
 Sub. En gallanta madama, Don .' gallantissima ! 
 
 Sur. For iodos los dioses, la mas acabada hermosura, 
 que he vis to en mi inda f ^ 
 
 Face. Is't not a gallant language that they speak? 
 
 Kas. An admirable language ! Is't not French ? 
 
 Face. No, Spanish, sir. 
 
 Kas. It goes like law-French, 
 .^nd that, they say, is the courtliest language. 
 
 Face. List, sir. 
 
 Sur. El sol ha perdido su lumbre, con el esplandor qui 
 trae esta dama ! Valgame dios I * 81 
 
 1 Bedlam, the madhouse. 
 
 2 " Why doesn't she come, sirs? This delay kills me." 
 
 8 " By all the gods, the most perfect beauty I ever saw ! " 
 
 < " The sun has lost its light, from the splendor this lady brmgs."
 
 2l8 THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT TV 
 
 Face. He admires your sister. 
 
 Kas. Must not she make curtsey? 
 
 Sub. Ods will, she must go to him, man, and kiss him ! 
 It is the Spanish fashion for the women 
 To make first court. 
 
 Face. 'Tis true he tells you, sir : 
 His art know§ all. 
 
 Ski-. Porque no se acude ?^ ^ 
 
 Kas. He speaks to her, I think. 90 
 
 Face. That he does, sir. 
 
 Sur. For el amor de dios, que es esto que se tarda ?^ 
 
 Kas. Nay, see : she will not understand him ! Gull, 
 Noddy.^ 
 
 Dame P. What say you, brother? 
 
 Kas. Ass, my suster. 
 Go kuss him, as the cunning nfian would have you ; 
 I'll thrust a pin in you else. 
 
 Face. Oh no, sir. 
 
 Sur. SeTiora mia, mi persona esta muy indigna de allegar 
 a tayiia hermosura.* loi 
 
 Face. Does he not use her bravely ? 
 
 Kas. Bravely, i' faith ! 
 
 Face. Nay, he will use her better. 
 
 Kas. Do you think so? 
 
 Sur. Sehora, si sera sennda entremonos ." 
 
 \^Exit with Dame Pliant. 
 
 Kas. Where does he carry her? 
 
 Face. Into the garden, sir ; 
 
 1 " Why don't you obey ? " 
 
 2 " Why this delay ? " 8 Simpleton. 
 
 < " Madam, I am very unworthy to approach such beauty." 
 '' " Madam, you shall be obeyed ; let us enter."
 
 SCENE ui.] THE ALCHEMIST. 219 
 
 Take you no thought ; I must interpret for her. 
 
 Sub. {aside to Face, who goes out) . Give Dol the word.* 
 — Come, my fierce child, advance, no 
 
 We'll to our quarrelUng lesson again. 
 
 Kas. Agreed. 
 I love a Spanish boy with all my heart. 
 
 Sub. Nay, and by this means, sir, you shall be brother 
 To a great count. 
 
 Kas. Ay, I knew that at first. 
 This match will advance the house of the Kastrils. 
 
 Sub. Pray God your sister prove but pliant ! 
 
 Kas. Why, 
 Her name is so, by her other husband. 120 
 
 Sub. How? 
 
 Kas. The Widow Pliant. Knew you not that? 
 
 Sub. No, faith, sir ; 
 Yet, by erection of her figure, I guessed it. 
 Come, let's go practise. 
 
 Kas. Yes, but do you think, doctor, 
 I e'er shall quarrel well? 
 
 Sub. I warrant you. \_Exeunt. 
 
 Scene HI. — Another Room in the same. 
 
 Enter Dol in her fit of raving, followed by Mammon. 
 
 Dol. For after Alexander's death 
 
 Mam. Good lady 
 
 Dol. That Perdiccas and Antigonus were slain, 
 
 The two that stood, Seleuc', and Ptolemy 
 
 Mam. Madam. 
 
 1 To begin her counterfeit frenzy.
 
 2 20 THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT IV, 
 
 Dot. Made up the two legs, and the fourth beast, 
 That was Gog-north and Egypt-south : which after 
 Was called Gog-iron-leg and South-iron-leg 
 
 Mam. Lady 
 
 Dol. And then Gog-horned. So was Egypt too : lo 
 
 Then Egypt-clay-leg and Gog-clay-leg 
 
 Mam. Sweet madam 
 
 Dol. And last Gog-dust and Egypt-dust, which fall 
 In the last link of the fourth chain. And these 
 Be stars in story, which none see or look at 
 
 Mam. What shall I do? 
 
 Dol. For, as he says, except 
 
 We call the rabbins, and the heathen Greeks 
 
 Mam. Dear lady 
 
 Dol. To come from Salem and from Athens, 20 
 
 And teach the people of Great Britain 
 
 Enter Face, hastily, in his Servant's dress. 
 
 Face. What's the matter, sir? 
 
 Dol. To speak the tongue of Eber and Javan 
 
 Mam. Oh, 
 She's in her fit. 
 
 Dol. We shall know nothing 
 
 Face. Death, sir, 
 We are undone ! 
 
 Dol. Where then a learned linguist 
 Shall see the ancient used communion 30 
 
 Of vowels and consonants 
 
 Face. My master will hear ! 
 
 Dol. A wisdom which Pythagoras held most high 
 
 Mam. Sweet honourable lady ! 
 
 Dol. To comprise
 
 SCENE III.] THE ALCHEMIST. 221 
 
 All sounds of voices, in few marks of letters 
 
 Face. Nay, you must never hope to lay her now. 
 
 [ They all speak. 
 
 Dol. And so we may arrive by Talmud skill 
 And profane Greek, to raise the building up 
 Of Helen's house against the Ishmaelite, 40 
 
 King of Thogarma, and his habergions 
 Brimstony, blue, and fiery ; and the force 
 Of King Abaddon, and the beast of Cittim : 
 Which Rabbi David Kimchi, Onkelos, 
 And Aben Ezra do interpret Rome. 
 
 Face. How did you put her into't? 
 
 Mam. Alas ! I talked 
 Of a fifth monarchy I would erect, 
 With the philosopher's stone, by chance, and she 
 Falls on the other four straight.^ 5? 
 
 Face. Out of Broughton ! 
 I told you so. 'Slid, stop her mouth. 
 
 Mam. Is't best? 
 
 Face. She'll never leave else. If the old man hear her 
 
 Sub. {within). What's to do there? 
 
 Face. Oh, we are lost ! Now she hears him, she is quiet. 
 
 Enter Subtle ; they run different ways. 
 
 Mam. Where shall I hide me ! 
 
 Sub. How ! what sight is here ? 
 Close deeds of darkness, and that shun the light ! 
 Bring him again. Who is he ? What, my son ? 60 
 
 Oh, I have lived too long. 
 
 1 From Broughton's Concert of Scripture. Broughton was educated by 
 Bernard Gilpin, and sent by him to Cambridge. Later, he quitted the 
 Church of England and joined the Brownists at Amsterdam ; died in 1612.
 
 222 THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT IV. 
 
 Mam. Nay, good, dear father, 
 There was no evil purpose. 
 
 Sub. Not ! and flee me. 
 When I come in ? 
 
 Mam. That was my error. 
 
 Sub. Error ! 
 Guilt, guilt, my son : give it the right name. No marvel 
 If I found check in our great work within. 
 When such affairs as these were managing. 70 
 
 Mam. Why, have you so ? 
 
 Sub. It has stood still this half-hour : 
 And all the rest of our less works gone back. 
 Where is the instrument of wickedness, 
 My lewd false drudge ? 
 
 Mam. Nay, good sir, blame not him ; 
 Believe me, 'twas against his will or knowledge : 
 I saw her by chance. 
 
 Sub. Will you commit more sin, 
 To excuse a varlet ? 80 
 
 Mam. By my hope, 'tis true, sir. 
 
 Sub. Nay, then I wonder less, if you, for whom 
 The blessing was prepared, would so tempt heaven, 
 And lose your fortunes. 
 
 Mam. Why, sir? 
 
 Sub. This will retard 
 The work a month at least. 
 
 Mam. Why, if it do. 
 What remedy ? But think it not, good father : 
 Our purposes were honest. 90 
 
 Sub. As they were. 
 So the reward will prove — \_A loud explosion within. 
 
 How now ! Ah me !
 
 SCENE III.] THE ALCHEMIST. 223 
 
 God and all saints be good to us. 
 
 Re-enter Face. 
 
 What's that? 
 
 Face. Oh, sir, we are defeated ! All the works 
 Are flown tnfumo, every glass is burst : 
 Furnace and all rent down ; as if a bolt 
 Of thunder had been driven through the house. 
 Retorts, receivers, pelicans, bolt-heads, 
 All struck in shivers ! [Subtle /d;/Zf dow?i as in a sivoon. 
 
 Help, good sir ! Alas, 
 Coldness and death invades him. Nay, Sir Mammon, 
 Do the fair offices of a man ! You stand 100 
 
 As you were readier to depart than he. \_Knocking within. 
 Who's there ? My lord her brother is come. 
 
 Mam. Ha, Lungs ! 
 
 Face. His coach is at the door. Avoid his sight, 
 For he's as furious as his sister's mad. 
 
 Mam. Alas ! 
 
 Face. My brain is quite undone with fume, sir, 
 I ne'er must hope to be mine own man again. 
 
 Mam. Is all lost, Lungs? Will nothing be preserved 
 Of all our cost? no 
 
 Face. Faith, very little, sir ; 
 A peck of coals or so, which is cold comfort, sir. 
 
 Mam. Oh, my voluptuous mind ! I am justly punished. 
 
 Face. And so am I, sir. 
 
 Mam. Cast forth from all my hopes 
 
 Face. Nay, certainties, sir. 
 
 Mafn. By mine own base affections. 
 
 Sub. {seeming to come to himself). Oh, the curst fruits of 
 vice and lust !
 
 224 
 
 THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT IV 
 
 Matn. Good father, 
 It was my sin. Forgive it. 120 
 
 Sub. Hangs my roof 
 Over us still, and will not fall, O justice, 
 Upon us, for this wicked man ! 
 
 Face. Nay, look, sir. 
 You grieve him now with staying in his sight ; 
 Good sir, the nobleman will come too, and take you, 
 And that may breed a tragedy. 
 
 Mam. I'll go. 
 
 Face. Ay, and repent at home, sir. It may be, 
 For some good penance you may have it yet ; 13c 
 
 A hundred pound to the box at Bethlem 
 
 Matn. Yes. 
 
 Face. For the restoring such as have their wits. 
 
 Mam. I'll do't. 
 
 Face. I'll send one to you to receive it. 
 
 Mam. Do. 
 Is no projection left? 
 
 Face. All flown, or stinks, sir. 
 
 Mam. Will nought be saved that's good for med'cine, 
 think'st thou? 
 
 Face. I cannot tell, sir. There will be perhaps 140 
 
 Something about the scraping of the shards 
 Will cure the itch — {aside) though not your itch of mind, 
 
 sir. 
 It shall be saved for you, and sent home. Good sir. 
 This way for fear the lord should meet you. 
 
 \_Exit Mammon. 
 
 Sub. {raising his head). Face! 
 
 Face. Ay. 
 
 Sub. Is he gone?
 
 SCENE IV.] THE ALCHEMIST. 225 
 
 Face. Yes, and as heavily 
 As all the gold he hoped for were in's blood. 
 Let us be light, though. 150 
 
 Sub. {leaping up) . Ay, as balls, and bound 
 And hit our heads against the roof for joy : 
 There's so much of our care now cast away. 
 
 Face. Now to our Don. 
 
 Sub. Yes, your young widow by this time 
 Is made a countess, Face. 
 
 Face. Good, sir. 
 
 Sub. Off with your case, 
 And greet her kindly, as a bridegroom should, 
 After these common hazards. iCo 
 
 Face. Very well, sir. 
 Will you go fetch Don Diego off, the while ? 
 
 Sub. And fetch him over too, if you'll be pleased, sir : 
 Would Dol were in her place, to pick his pockets now ! 
 
 Face. Why, you can do't as well, if you would set to't. 
 I pray you prove your virtue. 
 
 Sub. For your sake, sir. \_Exeiint 
 
 Scene IV. — Another Room in the same. 
 
 Enter Surly and Dame Plunt. 
 
 Sur. Lady, you see into what hands you are fallen ; 
 'Mongst what a nest of villains ! and how near 
 Your honour was to have catch ed a certain flaw, 
 Through your credulity, had I but been 
 So punctually forward, as place, time, 
 And other circumstances would have made a man ; 
 For you're a handsome woman : would you were wise too !
 
 226 THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT IV. 
 
 I am a gentleman come here disguised, 
 
 Only to find the knaveries of this citadel ; 
 
 And where I might have wronged your honour, and have not, 
 
 I claim some interest in your love. You are, n 
 
 They say, a widow, rich ; and I'm a bachelor, 
 
 Worth nought : your fortunes may make me a man, 
 
 As mine have preserved you a woman. Think upon it, 
 
 And whether I have deserved you or no. 
 
 Dame P. I will, sir. 
 
 Sur. And for these household rogues, let me alone 
 To treat with them. 
 
 Enter Subtle. 
 
 Sub. How doth my noble Diego, 
 And my dear Madam Countess ? Hath the Count 2c 
 
 Been courteous, lady? liberal and open? 
 Donzel, methinks you look melancholic 
 After your interview, and scurvy : truly 
 I do not like the dulness of your eye ; 
 It hath a heavy cast, 'tis upsee Dutch,^ 
 And says you are a lumpish cavalier. 
 Be lighter, I will make your pockets so. 
 
 ^Attempts to pick them. 
 
 Sur. {throws open his cloak). Will you, Don Bawd and 
 Pick-purse? {Strikes him down.) How now ! Reel 
 you? 
 Stand up, sir ; you shall find, since I am so heavy, 
 I'll give you equal vveight. 30 
 
 Sud. Help ! murder ! 
 
 Sur. No, sir, 
 
 1 From the Dutch opzee, over sea. A thick Dutch beer was much drunk 
 in England.
 
 SCENE IV.J THE ALCHEMIST. 22 -y 
 
 There's no such thing intended : a good cart 
 And a clean whip shall ease you of that fear. 
 I am the Spanish Don that should be cozen' d — 
 Do you see, cozerCd ! Where's your Captain Face, 
 That parcel broker, and whole-bawd, all rascal ! 
 
 Enter Face in his uniform. 
 
 Face. How, Surly 1 
 
 Sur. Oh, make your approach, good captain. 
 T have found from whence your copper rings and spoons 4c 
 Come, now, wherewith you cheat abroad in taverns. 
 'Twas here you learned t' anoint your boot with brimstone. 
 Then rub men's gold on't for a kind of touch. 
 And say 'twas nought, when you had changed the colour, 
 That you might have 't for nothing. And this doctor. 
 Your sooty, smoky-bearded compeer, he 
 Will close you so much gold, in a bolt's-head. 
 And, on a turn, convey in the stead another 
 With sublimed mercury, that shall burst in the heat. 
 And fly out all infutno! Then weeps Mammon ; 50 
 
 Then swoons his worship. (Face slips out.) Or, he is the 
 
 Faustus 
 That casteth figures and can conjure, cures 
 Plagues, piles, and pox, by the ephemerides,^ 
 And holds intelligence while you send in — 
 Captain — what ! is he gone ? 
 
 \_Seizes Subtle as he is retiring. 
 Nay, you must tarry, 
 Though he be 'scaped, and answer by the ears, sir. 
 
 Re-enter Face with Kastril. 
 
 Face. Why, now's the time, if ever you will quarrel 
 
 1 Astronomical almanacs-
 
 228 THE ALCHEMIST. [act iv. 
 
 Well, as they say, and be a true-born child : 
 The doctor and your sister both are abused. 
 
 Kas. Where is he ? Which is he ? He is a slave, 60 
 
 Whate'er he is, and he must answer me. — Are you 
 The man, sir, I would know? 
 
 Sur. I should be loth, sir, 
 To confess so much, 
 
 Kas. Then you lie in your throat. 
 
 Sur. How ! 
 
 Face ( to Kastril) . A very errant rogue, sir, and a cheater. 
 Employed here by another conjurer, 
 That does not love the doctor, and would cross him 
 If he knew how. 70 
 
 Sur. Sir, you are abused. 
 
 Kas. You lie ; 
 And 'tis no matter. 
 
 Face. Well said, sir ! He is 
 The impudentest rascal 
 
 Sur. You are indeed : will you hear me, sir? 
 
 Face. By no means : bid him begone. 
 
 Kas. Begone, sir, quickly. 
 
 Sur. This is strange ! — Lady, do you inform your brother. 
 
 Face. There is not such a foist ^ in all the town, 80 
 
 The doctor had him presently ; and finds yet 
 The Spanish count will come here. {^Aside) Bear up, 
 Subtle. 
 
 Sub. Yes, sir, he must appear within this hour. 
 
 Face. And yet this rogue would come in a disguise, 
 By the temptation of another spirit. 
 To trouble our art, though he could not hurt it ! 
 
 Kas. Ay, 
 
 1 Cheating rogue.
 
 SCENE IV.] THE ALCHEMIST. 229 
 
 I know — Away — {to his sister) — you talk like a foolish 
 mauther.^ 
 
 Siir. Sir, all is truth she says. 
 
 Face. Do not believe him, sir. 9° 
 
 He is the lyingest swabber ! Come your ways, sir. 
 
 Sur. You are valiant out of company ! 
 
 Kas, Yes ; how then, sir. 
 
 Enter Drugger with a piece of damask. 
 
 Face. Nay, here's an honest fellow too, that knows him 
 And all his tricks. {Aside to Drug.) Make good what I say, 
 
 Abel; 
 This cheater would have cozened thee o' the widow. 
 He owes this honest Drugger here, seven pound, 
 He has had on him, in twopen'orths of tobacco. 
 
 Drug. Yes, sir. 
 And he has damned himself three terms to pay me. 100 
 
 Face. And what does he owe for lotium ? 
 
 Drug. Thirty shillings, sir ; 
 And for six syringes. 
 
 Sur. Hydra of villainy ! 
 
 Face. Nay, sir ; you must quarrel him out o' the house. 
 
 Kas. I will : 
 — Sir, if you get not out o' doors, you lie ! 
 And you are a pimp. 
 
 Sur. Why, this is madness, sir, 
 Not valour in you ; I must laugh at this. iw 
 
 Kas. It is my humour ; you are a pimp and a trig, 
 And an Amadis de Gaul or a Don Quixote. 
 
 Drug. Or a knight o' the curious coxcomb, do you see ? 
 
 I An awkward, rustic woman; the term is still used in Norfolkshire.
 
 ,,0 THE ALCHEMIST. [act nr 
 
 Enter Ananias. 
 
 Ana. Peace to the household ! 
 
 Kas. I'll keep peace for no man. 
 
 Ana. Casting of dollars is concluded lawful. 
 
 Kas. Is he the constable? 
 
 Sub. Peace, Ananias. 
 
 Face. No, sir. 
 
 Kas. Then you are an otter, a shad, a whit, a very tim. 12c 
 
 Sur. You'll hear me, sir? 
 
 Kas. I will not. 
 
 Ana. What is the motive? 
 
 Sub. Zeal in the young gentleman 
 Against his Spanish slops. 
 
 Ana. They are profane, 
 Lewd, superstitious, and idolatrous breeches. 
 
 Sur. New rascals ! 
 
 Kas. Will you begone, sir? 
 
 Ana. Avoid, Satan ! 130 
 
 Thou art not of the light : that ruff of pride 
 About thy neck betrays thee ; and is the same 
 With that which the unclean birds, in seventy-seven,* 
 Were seen to prank it with on divers coasts : 
 Thou look'st like Antichrist, in that lewd hat. 
 
 Sur. I must give way. 
 
 Kas. Begone, sir. 
 
 Sur. But I'll take 
 A course with you 
 
 Ana. Depart, proud Spanish fiend ! 140 
 
 Sur. Captain and Doctor. 
 
 Ana. Child of perdition ! 
 
 1 Probably refers to depredations of Spaniards, but in what localities is 
 not clear.
 
 SCENE IV.] THE ALCHEMIST. 23 1 
 
 Kas. Hence, sir ! \Exit Surly. 
 
 Did I not quarrel bravely? 
 
 Face. Yes, indeed, sir. 
 
 Kas. Nay, and I give my mind to't, I shall do't. 
 
 Face. Oh, you must follow, sir, and threaten him tame : 
 He'll turn again else. 
 
 Kas. I'll re-turn him then. \^Exit. 
 
 [Subtle takes Ananias a^ide. 
 
 Face. Drugger, this rogue prevented us for thee : 150 
 
 We had determined that thou should'st have come 
 In a Spanish suit, and have carried her so ; and he, 
 A brokerly slave ! goes, puts it on himself. 
 Hast brought the damask? 
 
 Drug. Yes, sir. 
 
 Face. Thou must borrow 
 A Spanish suit : hast thou no credit with the players ? 
 
 Drug. Yes, sir ; did you never see me play the fool ? 
 
 Fai;e. I know not, Nab : — {aside) Thou shalt, if I can 
 help it. — 
 Hieronymo's ' old cloak, ruff, and hat will serve ; i6c 
 
 I'll tell thee more when thou bring'st 'em. \_Exii Drugger. 
 
 Ana. Sir, I know 
 The Spaniard hates the brethren, and hath spies 
 Upon their actions : and that this was one 
 I make no scruple. — But the holy synod 
 Have been in prayer and meditation for it ; 
 And 'tis revealed, no less to them than me. 
 That casting of money is most lawful. 
 
 Sub. True, 
 But here I cannot do it ; if the house 17c 
 
 ' Chiet character in Thomas Kyd's Spanish Tragedy, a play much ridi 
 culed by Elizabethan dramatists.
 
 232 THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT IV. 
 
 Should chance to be suspected, all would out, 
 And we be locked up in the Tower for ever, 
 To make gold there for the state, never come out ; 
 And then are you defeated. 
 
 Ana. I will tell 
 This to the elders and the weaker brethren, 
 That the whole company of the separation 
 May join in humble prayer again. 
 
 Sub. And fasting. 
 
 Ana. Yea, for some fitter place. The peace of mind iSo 
 Rest with these walls ! [Exit. 
 
 Sub. Thanks, courteous Ananias. 
 
 Face. What did he come for? 
 
 Sub. About casting dollars. 
 Presently out of hand. And so I told him 
 A Spanish minister came here to spy 
 Against the faithful 
 
 Face. I conceive. Come, Subtle, 
 Thou art so down upon the least disaster ! 
 How wouldst thou ha' done, if I had not helped thee out ? 190 
 
 Sub. I thank thee. Face, for the angry boy, i' faith. 
 
 Face. Who would have looked it should have been that 
 rascal 
 Surly? he had dyed his beard and all. Well, sir, 
 Here's damask come to make you a suit. 
 
 Sub. Where's Drugger? 
 
 Face. He is gone to borrow me a Spanish habit ; 
 I'll be the count, now. 
 
 Sub. But Where's the widow? 
 
 Face. Within, with my lord's sister ; Madam Del 
 Is entertaining her. 200 
 
 Sub. By your favour. Face,
 
 SCENE IV.] THE ALCHEMIST, 233 
 
 Now she is honest, I will stand again. 
 
 Face. You will not offer it. 
 
 Sub. Why? 
 
 Face. Stand to your word, 
 Or — here comes Dol, she knows 
 
 Sub. You are tyrannous still. 
 
 Enter Dol, hastily. 
 
 Face. Strict for my right. — How now, Dol ! Hast [thou] 
 told her, 
 The Spanish Count will come? 
 
 Dol. Yes ; but another is come 210 
 
 You little looked for ! 
 
 Face. Who is that? 
 
 Dol. Your master ; 
 The master of the house. 
 
 Sub. How, Dol ! 
 
 Face. She lies. 
 This is some trick. Come, leave your quiblins,^ Dorothy. 
 
 Dol. Look out and see. \Yk.<:v.goes to the window. 
 
 Sub. Art thou in earnest? 
 
 Dol. 'Slight, 22c 
 
 Forty o' the neighbours are about him, talking. 
 
 Face. 'Tis he, by this good day. 
 
 Dol. 'Twill prove ill day 
 For some on us. 
 
 Face. We are undone, and taken. 
 
 Dol. Lost, I'm afraid. 
 
 Sub. You said he would not come 
 While there died one a week within the liberties 
 
 Face, No : 'twas within the walls. 
 
 1 Petty duplicities.
 
 2 34 THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT V. 
 
 Sub. Was't so ! cry you mercy. 230 
 
 I thought the Hberties. What shall we do now, Face? 
 
 Face. Be silent : not a word, if he call or knock, 
 I'll into mine own shape again and meet him, 
 Of Jeremy, the butler. In the meantime. 
 Do you two pack up all the goods and purchase * 
 That we can carry in the two trunks. I'll keep him 
 Off for to-day, if I cannot longer : and then 
 At night I'll ship you both away to Ratcliff, 
 Where we will meet to-morrow, and there we'll share. 
 Let Mammon's brass and pewter keep the cellar ; 24c 
 
 We'll have another time for that. But, Dol, 
 Prythee go heat a little water quickly ; 
 Subtle must shave me : all my captain's beard 
 Must off, to make me appear smooth Jeremy. 
 You'll do it? 
 
 Sub. Yes, I'll shave you, as well as I can. 
 
 Face. And not cut my throat, but trim me ? 
 
 Sub. You shall see, sir.^ \Exeiini 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. — Before Lovewit's Door. 
 
 Enter Lovewit, with several of the Neighbours. 
 
 Love. Has there been much resort, say you ? 
 1st Nei. Daily, sir. 
 
 1 Cant word for stolen goods. Cf. Henry V, iii, 2 : " They will steal any- 
 thing and call it — purchase." 
 
 2 " I do not believe that any scene in the whole compass of the English 
 Drama is worked up with so much comic skill and knowledge of effect as 
 the conclusion of this masterly act." — Gifford,
 
 SCENE i.J THE ALCHEMIST. 235 
 
 2d Nei. And nightly, too. 
 
 3d Nei. Ay, some as brave as lords, 
 
 4th Nei. Ladies and gentlewomen. 
 
 ^th Nei. Citizens' wives. 
 
 ist Nei. And knights. 
 
 6th Nei. In coaches. 
 
 2d Nei. Yes, and oyster women. 
 
 1st Nei. Beside other gallants. 10 
 
 jd Nei. Sailors' wives. 
 
 4tk Nei. Tobacco men. 
 
 §th Nei. Another Pimlico ^ ! 
 
 Love. What should my knave advance, 
 To draw this company? He hung out no banners 
 Of a strange calf with five legs to be seen. 
 Or a huge lobster with six claws ? 
 
 6th Nei. No, sir. 
 
 jd Nei. We had gone in then, sir. 
 
 Love. He has no gift 20 
 
 Of teaching in the nose that e'er I knew of. 
 You saw no bills set up that promised cure 
 Of agues, or the tooth-ache? 
 
 2d Nei. No such thing, sir. 
 
 Love. Nor heard a drum struck for baboons or puppets? 
 
 ^th Nei. Neither, sir. 
 
 Love. What device should he bring forth now? 
 I love a teeming wit as I love my nourishment ; 
 'Pray God he have not kept such open house 
 That he hath sold my hangings and my bedding ! 3c 
 
 I left him nothing else. If he have eat them, 
 A plague o' the moth, say I ! Sure he has got 
 Some tempting pictures to call all this ging ^ ! 
 
 1 A resort near Hogsden, noted for its cakes and ale. 2 Gang.
 
 236 THE ALCHEMIST. I act v 
 
 Or't may be he has the fleas that run at tilt 
 Upon a table, or some dog to dance. 
 When saw you him ? 
 
 1st Net. Who, sir, Jeremy? 
 
 2d Net. Jeremy Butler? 
 We saw him not this month. 
 
 Love. How ! 4 c 
 
 4th Nei. Not these five weeks, sir. 
 
 6ih Nei. These six weeks at the least. 
 
 Love. You amaze me, neighbours ! 
 
 ^th Nei. Sure, if your worship know not where he is 
 He's slipped away. 
 
 6th Nei. Pray God, he be not made away. 
 
 Love. Ha ! it's no time to question, then. 
 
 [Knocks at the door. 
 
 6th Nei. About 
 Some three weeks since, I heard a doleful cry, 
 As I sat up a-mending my wife's stockings. 50 
 
 Love. 'Tis strange that none will answer ! Didst thou hear 
 A cry, say' St thou ? 
 
 6th Nei. Yes, sir, like unto a man 
 That had been strangled an hour, and could not speak. 
 
 2d Nei. I heard it too, just this day three weeks, at two 
 o'clock 
 Next morning. 
 
 Lo7'e. These be miracles, or you make them so. 
 A man an hour strangled, and could not speak, 
 And both you heard him cry? 
 
 jd Nei. Yes, downward, sir. 60 
 
 Love.. Thou art a wise fellow. Give me thy hand, I pray 
 thee, 
 What trade art thou on?
 
 SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. 237 
 
 3d Net. A smith, an't please your worship, 
 
 Lmie. A smith ! then lend me thy help to get this door 
 
 open. 
 jd Net. That I will presently, sir, but fetch my tools. 
 
 \_Exit. 
 1st Net. Sir, best to knock again, afore you break it. 
 Love, {knocks again). I will. 
 
 Enter Face, in his butler's livery. 
 
 Face. What mean you, sir ? 
 
 1st, 2d, 4th Nei. Oh, here's Jeremy ! 
 
 Face. Good sir, come from the door. 70 
 
 Love. Why, what's the matter? 
 
 Face. Yet farther, you are too near yet. 
 
 Love. In the name of wonder, 
 What means the fellow ! 
 
 Face. The house, sir, has been visited. 
 
 Love. What, with the plague ? stand thou then farther. 
 
 Face. No, sir, 
 I had it not. 
 
 Love. Who had it then ? I left 
 None else but thee in the house. 80 
 
 Face. Yes, sir, my fellow. 
 The cat that kept the buttery, had it on her 
 A week before I spied it ; but I got her 
 Conveyed away in the night : and so I shut 
 The house up for a month 
 
 Love. How ! 
 
 Face. Purposing then, sir. 
 To have burnt rose-vinegar, treacle, and tar, 
 And have made it sweet, that you should ne'er have known it ; 
 Because I knew the news would but afflict you, sir. 90
 
 238 THE ALCHEMIST. [act v. 
 
 Love. Breathe less, and farther off ! Why this is stranger : 
 The neighbours tell me all here that the doors 
 Have still been open 
 
 Face. How, sir ! 
 
 Love. Gallants, men and women. 
 And of all sorts, tag-rag, been seen to flock here 
 In threaves,' these ten weeks, as to a second Hogsden, 
 In days of Pimlico and Eyebright.^ 
 
 Face. Sir, 
 Their wisdoms will not say so. 100 
 
 Love. To-day they speak 
 Of coaches and gallants ; one in a French hood 
 Went in, they tell me ; and another was seen 
 In a velvet gown at the window : divers more 
 Pass in and out. 
 
 Face. They did pass through the doors then. 
 Or walls, I assure their eyesights, and their spectacles ; 
 For here, sir, are the keys, and here have been, 
 In this my pocket, now above twenty days : 
 And for before, I kept the fort alone there. no 
 
 But that 'tis yet not deep in the afternoon, 
 1 should believe my neighbours had seen double 
 Through the black pot, and made these apparitions ! 
 For, on my faith to your worship, for these three weeks 
 And upwards the door has not been opened. 
 
 Love. Strange ! 
 
 isi Net. Good faith, I think I saw a coach. 
 
 1 Droves ; so Jonson in The Sad Shepherd: " They come in threaves, to 
 frolic with him "; so also Chapman, Gent. Usher, Act ii, i. But Skeat says 
 that the word means " a number of sheaves of wheat, generally twelve or 
 twenty-four." 
 
 2 Perhaps a cant term for a kind of malt liquor then popular.
 
 SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. 239 
 
 2d Nei. And I too, 
 I'd have been sworn. 
 
 Love. Do you but think it now? 120 
 
 And but one coach ? 
 
 4th Nei. We cannot tell, sir : Jeremy 
 Is a very honest fellow. 
 
 Face. Did you see me at all? 
 
 1st Nei. No ; that we are sure on. 
 
 2d Nei. I'll be sworn o' that. 
 
 Love. Fine rogues to have your testimonies built on . 
 
 Re-enter Third Neighbour, with his Tools. 
 
 jd Nei. Is Jeremy come ? 
 
 ist Nei. Oh, yes; you may leave your tools. 
 We were deceived, he says. 13c 
 
 2d Nei. He has had the keys ; 
 And the door has been shut these three weeks. 
 
 3d Nei. Like enough. 
 
 Love. Peace and get hence, you changelings.' 
 
 Enter Surly and Mammon. 
 
 Face {aside). Surly come ! 
 And Mammon made acquainted ! They'll tell all. 
 How shall I beat them off? what shall I do? 
 Nothing's more wretched than a guilty conscience.* 
 
 Siir. No, sir, he was a great physician. This, 
 It was no evil house, but a mere chancel ! 140 
 
 You knew the lord and his sister. 
 
 Mam. Nay, good Surly 
 
 Sur. The happy word, Be rich 
 
 Mam. Play not the tyrant 
 
 1 Quoted from Plautus.
 
 240 THE ALCHEMIST. [act V 
 
 Sur. Should be to-day pronounced to all your friends. 
 And where be your andirons now? and your brass pots, 
 That should have been golden flagons, and great wedges? 
 
 Mavi. Let me but breathe. What, they have shut their 
 doors, 
 Methinks ! 
 
 Sur. Ay, now 'tis holiday with them. 
 
 Mam. Rogues, [He and Surly knock. 150 
 
 Cozeners, rascals, cheats ! 
 
 Face. What mean you, sir ! 
 
 Mam. To enter if we can. 
 
 Face. Another man's house ! 
 Here is the owner, sir ; turn you to him, 
 And speak your business. 
 
 Matn. Are you, sir, the owner? 
 
 Love. Yes, sir. 
 
 Mam. And are those knaves within, your cheaters ! 
 
 Love. What knaves, what cheaters ? 160 
 
 Mam. Subtle and his Lungs. 
 
 Face. The gentleman is distracted, sir ! No lungs, 
 Nor lights have been seen here these three weeks, sir. 
 Within these doors, upon my word. 
 
 Sur. Your word, 
 Groom arrogant ! 
 
 Face. Yes, sir, I am the housekeeper. 
 And know the keys have not been out of my hands. 
 
 Stir. This is a new Face. 
 
 Face. You do mistake the house, sir : 17c 
 
 What sign was't at? 
 
 Sur. You rascal ! this is one 
 Of the confederacy. Come, let's get officers, 
 And force the door.
 
 SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. 24I 
 
 Love. Pray you, stay, gentlemen. 
 
 Sur. No, sir, we'll come with warrant. 
 
 Matn. Ay, and then 
 We shall have your doors open. \_Exeunt Mam. arid SuR. 
 
 Love. What means this? 
 
 Face. I cannot tell, sir. 180 
 
 jst Net. These are two of the gallants 
 That we do think we saw. 
 
 Face. Two of the fools ! 
 You talk as idly as they. Good faith, sir, 
 I think the moon has crazed 'em all.^ Oh, me ! 
 
 Enter Kastril. 
 
 {Aside) The angry boy come too ! He'll make a noise. 
 And ne'er away till he have betrayed us all. 
 
 Kas. {knocking) . What rogues, cheats, slaves, you'll open 
 the door anon ! 
 What, cockatrice, my suster ! But this light 
 I'll fetch the marshal to you. You are a toad 190 
 
 To keep your castle 
 
 Face. Who would you speak with, sir? 
 
 Kas. The dirty doctor and the cozening captain, 
 And puss my suster. 
 
 Love. This is something, sure. 
 
 Face. Upon my trust, the doors were never open, sir. 
 
 Kas. I have heard all their tricks told me twice over, 
 By the fat knight and the lean gentleman. 
 
 Love. Here comes another. 
 
 Enter Ananias and Tribulation. 
 
 Face. Ananias too ! 200 
 
 1 A very ancient and wide-spread superstition, the origin of the woid 
 lunatic.
 
 242 THE ALCHEMIST. [act v. 
 
 And his pastor ! 
 
 7/7. {beating at the door). The doors are shut against us. 
 
 Ana. Come forth, you seed of sulphur, sons of fire ! 
 Your stench it is broke forth ; abomination 
 Is in the house. 
 
 Kas. Ay, my suster's there. 
 
 Ana. The place, 
 It is become a cage of unclean birds. 
 
 Kas. Yes, I will fetch the scavenger and the constable. 
 
 Tri. You shall do well. 210 
 
 Ana. We'll join to weed them out. 
 
 Kas. You will not come, then, cockatrice,' my suster ! 
 
 Ana. Call her not sister ; she's a harlot, verily. 
 
 Kas. I'll raise the street. 
 
 Love. Good gentleman, a word. ' 
 
 Ana. Satan avoid, and hinder not our zeal ! 
 
 [^Exeunt Ana., Trie., and Kas. 
 
 Love. The world's turned Bethlem. 
 
 Face. These are all broke loose, 
 Out of St. Katherine's, where they use to keep 
 The better sort of mad-folks. 220 
 
 jst Net. All these persons 
 We saw go in and out here. 
 
 2d Nei. Yes, indeed, sir. 
 
 3d Nei. These were the parties. 
 
 Face. Peace, you drunkards ! Sir, 
 I wonder at it : please you to give me leave 
 To touch the door, I'll try an the lock be changed. 
 
 Love. It mazes me ! 
 
 1 A fabulous serpent, said to come from a cock's egg, and to have wings, 
 legs, and crest like a cock. It was deemed so venomous as to be able to 
 kill with its look. S.une as the basilisk.
 
 SCENE i.j THE ALCHEMIST. 243 
 
 Face {goes to the door) . Good faith, sir, I believe 
 There's no such thing : 'tis all deceptio visus — 230 
 
 (Aside) Would I could get him away. 
 
 Dap. (jL'ithin). Master Captain !   Master Doctor ! 
 
 Love. Who's that? 
 
 Face (^aside) . Our clerk within, that I forgot ! — I know 
 not, sir. 
 
 Dap. {within). For God's sake, when will her grace be 
 at leisure? 
 
 Face. Ha ! 
 Illusions, some spirit o' the air ! {Aside) His gag is melted. 
 And now he sets out the throat. 
 
 Dap. {ivithin) . I am almost stifled 
 
 Face {aside). Would you were altogether. 240 
 
 Love. 'Tis in the house. 
 Ha ! list. 
 
 Face. Believe it, sir, in the air. 
 
 I^ove. Peace, you. 
 
 Dap. {within). Mine aunt's grace does not use me well. 
 
 Sub. {within). You fool. 
 Peace, you'll mar all. 
 
 Face {speaks through the key-hole, while Lovewit ad- 
 vances unobserved to the door) . Or you will else, you 
 rogue. 
 
 Lo7>e. Oh, is it so ? Then you converse with spirits ! 
 Come, sir. No more of your tricks, good Jeremy, 
 The truth, the shortest way. 25c 
 
 Face. Dismiss this rabble, sir, — 
 
 {Aside) What shall I do ? I. am catched. 
 
 Love. Good neighbours, 
 I thank you all. You may depart. (^S";!!:. Neigh.) Come, sir. 
 You know that I am an indulgent master,
 
 244 THE ALCHEMIST. [act v. 
 
 And therefore conceal nothing. What's your medicine, 
 To draw so many several sorts of wild-fowl ? 
 
 Face. Sir, you were wont to affect mirth and wii. 
 But here's no place to talk on't in the street. 
 Give me but leave to make the best of my fortune, 26c 
 
 And only pardon me the abuse of your house : 
 It's all I beg. I'll help you to a widow, 
 In recompense, that you shall give me thanks for, 
 Will make you seven years younger, and a rich one. 
 'Tis but your putting on a Spanish cloak : 
 I have her within. You need not fear the house ; 
 It was not visited. 
 
 Love. But by me, who came 
 Sooner than you expected. 
 
 Face. It is true, sir. 27c 
 
 Pray you, forgive me. 
 
 Loi>e. Well, let's see your widow. \_Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — A Room in the same. 
 Enter Subtle, leading in Dapper with his eyes bound as before. 
 
 Sub. How ! have you eaten your gag? 
 
 Dap. Yes, faith, it crumbled 
 Away in my mouth. 
 
 Sub. You. have spoiled all, then. 
 
 D^ip. No! 
 I hope my aunt of Fairy will forgive me. 
 
 Sub. Your aunt's a gracious lady ; but in troth . 
 You were to blame. 
 
 Dap. The fume did overcome me, 
 And I did do't to stay my stomach. Pray you u
 
 SCENE II.] THE ALCHEMIST. 245 
 
 So satisfy her grace. 
 
 Enter Face in his uniform. 
 
 Here comes the Captain. 
 
 Face. How now ! Is his mouth down? 
 
 Sub. Ay, he has spoken ! 
 
 Face. A plague, I heard him, and you too. He's undone 
 then. 
 I have been fain to say the house is haunted 
 With spirits, to keep churl back. 
 
 Sub. And hast thou done it? 
 
 Face. Sure, for this night. 
 
 Sub. Why, then triumph and sing 20 
 
 Of Face so famous, the precious king 
 Of present wits. 
 
 Face. Did you not hear the coil 
 About the door? 
 
 Sub. Yes, and I dwindled with it. 
 
 Face. Show him his aunt, and let him be dispatched ; 
 I'll send her to you. \_Exit Face. 
 
 Sub. Well, sir, your aunt her grace 
 Will give you audience presently, on my suit. 
 And the captain's word that you did not eat your gag 30 
 
 In any contempt of her highness. [ Unbinds his eyes. 
 
 Dap. Not I, in troth, sir. 
 
 Enter Dol, like the Queen of Fairy. 
 
 Sub. Here she is come. Down o' your knees and wriggle : 
 She has a stately presence. (Dapper kneels, and shuffles 
 
 towards her.) Good ! Yet nearer. 
 And bid, God save you ! 
 
 Dap. Madam ! 
 
 Sub. And your aunt.
 
 246 THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT V. 
 
 Dap. And my most gracious aunt, God save your grace. 
 
 Dol. Nephew, we thought to have been angry with you ; 
 But that sweet face of yours hath turned the tide, 40 
 
 And made it flow with joy, that ebb'd of love. 
 Arise, and touch our velvet gown. 
 
 Sub. The skirts. 
 And kiss 'em. So ! 
 
 Dol. Let me now stroke that head. 
 Much, nephew, shalt thou win, much shalt thou spend, 
 Much shalt thou give away, much shalt thou lend. 
 
 Sub. {aside). Ay, much indeed ! Why do you not thank 
 her grace ? 
 
 Dap. I cannot speak for joy. 
 
 Sub. See the kind wretch ! 50 
 
 Your grace's kinsman right. 
 
 Dol. Give me the bird. 
 Here is your fly in a purse, about your neck, cousin ; 
 Wear it, and feed it about this day seven-night, 
 On your right wrist 
 
 Sub. Open a vein with a pin. 
 And let it suck but once a week ; till then 
 You must not look on't. 
 
 Dol. No : and, kinsman. 
 Bear yourself worthy of the blood you come on. 6c 
 
 Sub. Her grace would have you eat no more Woolsack pies, 
 Nor Dagger frumety.^ 
 
 Dol. Nor break his fast 
 In Heaven and Hell.- 
 
 1 Frumety was food made of wheat boiled in milk. The Woolsack and 
 Dagger were two taverns of low repute. 
 
 3 Two mean alehouses abutting on Westminster Hall. There was a 
 third called Purgatory.
 
 SCENE 11.] THE ALCHEMIST. 247 
 
 Sub. She's with you everywhere ! 
 Nor play with costomongers at mum-chance,^ trey-trip,^ 
 God-make-you-rich^ (when as your aunt has done it) ; 
 But keep 
 The gallant'st company and the best games 
 
 Dap. Yes, sir, ^c 
 
 Sub. Gleek and primero : and what you get, be true to us. 
 
 Dap. By this hand, I will. 
 
 Sub. You may bring's a thousand pound 
 Before to-morrow night, if but three thousand 
 Be stirring, an you will. 
 
 Dap. I swear I will, then. 
 
 Sub. Your fly will learn you all games. 
 
 Face {within). Have you done there? 
 
 Sub. Your grace will command him no more duties? 
 
 Dol. No ! 8c 
 
 But come and see me often. I may chance 
 To leave him three or four hundred chests of treasure. 
 And some twelve thousand acres of Fairyland, 
 If he game well and comely with good gamesters. 
 
 Sub. There's a kind aunt ! Kiss her departing part. 
 But you must sell your forty mark a-year, now. 
 
 Dap. Ay, sir, I mean. 
 
 Sub. Or give't away ; plague on't ! 
 
 Dap. I'll give't mine aunt : I'll go and fetch the writings. 
 
 \Exit. 
 
 Sub. 'Tis well — away ! 9c 
 
 Re-enter Face. 
 Face. Where's Subtle? 
 
 * A rude game with dice. 
 
 ' A game with draughts, to win which a trey must be thrown, 
 
 S A game.
 
 248 THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT V. 
 
 Sub. Here: what news? 
 
 Face. Drugger is at the door ; go take his suit, 
 And bid him fetch a parson, presently : 
 Say he shall marry the widow. Thou shalt spend 
 A hundred pound by the service ! {Ex. Sub.) Now, Queen 
 
 Dol, 
 Have you packed up all? 
 
 Dol. Yes. 
 
 Face. And how do you like 
 The Lady Pliant ? 100 
 
 Dol. A good dull innocent. 
 
 Re-enter Subtle. 
 
 Sub. Here's your Hieronymo's cloak and hat. 
 
 Face. Give me them. 
 
 Sub. And the ruff too ? 
 
 Face. Yes ; I'll come to you presently. \^Exit. 
 
 Sub. Now he is gone about his project, Dol, 
 I told you of, for the widow. 
 
 Dol. 'Tis direct 
 Against our articles. 
 
 Sub. Well, we will fit him, wench. no 
 
 Hast thou gulled her of her jewels or her bracelets? 
 
 Dol. No ; but I will do't. 
 
 Sub. Soon at night, my Dolly, 
 When we are shipped, and all our goods aboard, 
 Eastward for Ratcliff ; we will turn our course 
 To Brainford, westward, if thou say'st the word, 
 And take our leaves of this o'er-weening rascal. 
 This peremptory Face. 
 
 Dol. Content, I'm weary of him. 
 
 Sub. Thou'st cause, when the slave will run a-wiving, Dol,
 
 SCENE II.] THE ALCHEMIST. 249 
 
 Against the instrument that was drawn between us. 121 
 
 Do I. I'll pluck his bird as bare as I can. 
 
 Sub. Yes, tell her 
 She must by any means address some present 
 To the cunning man, make him amends for wronging 
 His art with her suspicion ; send a ring 
 Or chain of pearl ; she will be tortured else 
 Extremely in her sleep, say, and have strange things 
 Come to her. Wilt thou ? 
 
 Dot. Yes. 130 
 
 Sub. My fine flitter-mouse,^ 
 My bird o' the night ! we'll revel at the Pigeons,^ 
 When we have all, and may unlock the trunks, 
 And say, this is mine, and thine ; and thine, and mine. 
 
 \They kiss. 
 Re-enter Face. 
 
 Face, What now ! a-billing ? 
 
 Sub. Yes, a little exalted 
 In the good passage of our stock-affairs. 
 
 Face. Drugger has brought his parson ; take him in, 
 Subtle, 
 And send Nab back again to wash his face. 
 
 Sub. I will : and shave himself. \_Exit. 140 
 
 Face. If you can get him. 
 
 Dol. You are hot upon it. Face, whate'er it is ! 
 
 Face. A trick that Dol shall spend ten pound a month by. 
 
 Re-enter Subtle. 
 Is he gone? 
 
 Sub. The chaplain waits you in the hall, sir. 
 
 1 Bat ; German fiedemtaics. 
 
 2 The Three Pigeons : an inn at Brentford ; afterwards kept by the noted 
 actor Lowin, when the Puritans shut up the theatres.
 
 250 THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT v. 
 
 Face. I'll go bestow him. \_Exit. 
 
 Dol. He'll now marry her, instantly. 
 
 Sub. He cannot yet, he is not ready. Dear Dol, 
 Cozen her of all thou canst. To deceive him 
 Is no deceit, but justice, that would break 150 
 
 Such an inextricable tie as ours was. 
 
 Dol. Let me alone to fit him. 
 
 Re-enter Face. 
 
 Face. Come, my venturers, 
 You have packed up all ? Where be the trunks ? Bring forth. 
 
 Sub. Here. 
 
 Face. Let us see them. Where's the money ? 
 
 Sub. Here, 
 In this. 
 
 Face. Mammon's ten pound ; eight score before ; 
 The brethren's money this. Drugger's and Dapper's. 160 
 What paper's that? 
 
 Dol. The jewel of the waiting-maid's. 
 That stole it from her lady, to know certain 
 
 Face. If she should have precedence of her mistress ? 
 
 Dol. Yes. 
 
 Face. What box is that? 
 
 Sub. The fish-wives' rings, I think, 
 And the ale-wives' single money.^ Is't not, Dol? 
 
 Dol. Yes ; and the whistle that the sailor's wife 
 Brought you to know an her husband were witli Ward.^ 170 
 
 Face. We'll wet it to-morrow ; and our silver-beakers 
 And tavern cups. Where be the French petticoats. 
 And girdles and hangers ? 
 
 1 Money of small value, requiring no change. 
 
 2 \ notorious pirate.
 
 SCENE ii.J THE ALCHEMIST. 35 1 
 
 Sub. Here, in the trunk, 
 And the bolts of lawn. 
 
 Face. Is Drugger's damask there, 
 And the tobacco ? 
 
 Sub. Yes. 
 
 Face. Give me the keys. 
 
 Dol. Why you the keys? i8c 
 
 Sub. No matter, Dol ; because 
 We shall not open them before he comes. 
 
 Face. 'Tis true, you shall not open them, indeed ; 
 Nor have them forth, do you see ? not forth, Dol. 
 
 Dol. No! 
 
 Face. No, my smock rampant. The right is, my master 
 Knows all, has pardoned me, and he will keep them ; 
 Doctor, 'tis true — you look — for all your figures : 
 I sent for him indeed.^ Wherefore, good partners, 
 Both he and she be satisfied : for here 19c 
 
 Determines the indenture tripartite 
 'Twixt Subtle, Dol, and Face. All I can do 
 Is to help you over the wall, o' the back-side. 
 Or lend you a sheet to save your velvet gown, Dol. 
 Here will be officers presently, bethink you 
 Of some course suddenly to 'scape the dock ^ : 
 For thither you will come else. — {Loud knocking.) — Hark 
 you, thunder. 
 
 Sub. You are a precious fiend ! 
 
 Off. {without). Open the door. 
 
 Face. Dol, I am sorry for thee, i' faith ; but hear'st thou ? 
 It shall go hard but I will place thee somewhere : 201 
 
 Thou shalt have my letter to Mistress Amo 
 
 1 A characteristic lie. 
 
 2 An apartment in Newgate, or Bridewell, prison.
 
 252 THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT V. 
 
 Dol. Hang you ! 
 
 Face. Or Madam Csesarean.* 
 
 Dol. Out upon you, rogue ! 
 Would I had but time to beat thee ! 
 
 Face. Subtle, 
 Let's know where you set up next ; I will send you 
 A customer now and then, for old acquaintance : 
 What new course have you ? 210 
 
 Sub. Rogue, I'll hang myself. 
 That I may walk a greater devil than thou, 
 And haunt thee in the flock-bed and the buttery. \_Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. — A71 outer Room in the same. 
 
 Enter Lovewit in the Spanish dress, with the Parson. 
 
 S^Loud knocking at the door.'\ 
 
 Love. What do you mean, my masters? 
 
 Mam. {without). Open your door. 
 Cheaters, thieves, conjurors. 
 
 Off. {without) . Or we will break it open. 
 
 Love. What warrant have you? 
 
 Off. {without). Warrant enough, sir, doubt not, 
 If you'll not open it. 
 
 Love. Is there an officer, there ? 
 
 Off. {without). Yes, two or three for failing.^ 
 
 Love. Have but patience, ic 
 
 And I will open it straight. 
 
 Enter Face as butler. 
 
 Face. Sir, have you done ? 
 
 1 The nicknames of two notorious women. 2 Por fear of failing.
 
 SCENE HI.] THE ALCHEMIST. 253 
 
 Is it a marriage? perfect? 
 
 Love. Yes, my brain. 
 
 Face. Off with your ruff and cloak then ; be yourself, sir. 
 
 Sur. {without) . Down with the door. 
 
 Kas. {without) . 'Slight, ding ^ it open. 
 
 Love, {opening the door). Hold, 
 Hold, gentleman, what means this violence ? 
 
 Mammon, Surly, Kastril, Ananias, Tribulation, and 
 
 Officers rush in. 
 
 Mam. Where is this collier? 20 
 
 Sur. And my Captain Face ? 
 
 Mam. These day owls. 
 
 Sur. That are birding ^ in men's purses. 
 
 Mam. Madam Suppository. 
 
 Kas. Doxy, my suster. 
 
 Ana. Locusts 
 Of the foul pit. 
 
 Tri. Profane as Bel and the Dragon. 
 
 Ana. Worse than the grasshoppers or the lice of Egypt. 
 
 Love. Good gentlemen, hear me. Are you officers, 30 
 And cannot stay this violence ? 
 
 ist Off. Keep the peace. 
 
 Love. Gentlemen, what is the matter ? Whom do you seek ? 
 
 Mam. The chemical cozener. 
 
 Sur. And the captain pander. 
 
 Kas. The nun, my suster. 
 
 Mam. Madam Rabbi 
 
 Ana. Scorpions 
 And caterpillars. 
 
 Love. Fewer at once, I pray you. 4° 
 
 1 Break ; still common in Scotland. 2 Pilfering.
 
 254 THE ALCHEMIST. [act v. 
 
 2d Off. One after another, gentlemen, I charge you. 
 By virtue of my staff. 
 
 Ana. They are the vessels 
 Of pride, lust, and the cart.' 
 
 Love. Good zeal, lie still 
 A little while. 
 
 Tri. Peace, Deacon Ananias. 
 
 Love. The house is mine here, and the doors are open : 
 If there be any such persons as you seek for. 
 Use your authority, search on, o' God's name. 50 
 
 I am but newly come to town, and finding 
 This tumult 'bout my door, to tell you true, 
 It somewhat mazed me ; till my man here, fearing 
 My more displeasure, told me he had done 
 Somewhat an insolent part, let out my house 
 (Belike, presuming on my known aversion 
 From any air o' the town while there was sickness) 
 To a doctor and a captain : who, what they are, 
 Or where they be, he knows not. 
 
 Mam. Are they gone? 60 
 
 Love. You may go in and search, sir. (Mammon, Ana. 
 and Trie, go in.) Here, I find 
 The empty walls worse than I left them, smoked, 
 A few cracked pots and glasses, and a furnace : 
 The ceihng filled with poesies of the candle. 
 And madam with a dildo^ writ o' the walls : 
 Only one gentlewoman, I met here. 
 That is within, that said she was a widow 
 
 Kas. Ay, that's my suster : I'll go thump her. Where is 
 she? [^Goes in. 
 
 1 Han<jman's cart. 
 
 -Tin- tifriim of a coarse old song; of. Winter's Tale, iv, 3: " dildos 
 and foldings.  
 
 SCENE III.] THE ALCHEMIST. 255 
 
 Love. And should have married a Spanish Count, but he, 
 When he came to't neglected her so grossly, 70 
 
 That I, a widower, am gone through with her. 
 
 Sur. "How ! have I lost her then ? 
 
 Love. Were you the don, sir ! 
 Good faith, now, she does blame you extremely, and says 
 You swore, and told her you had taken the pains 
 To dye your beard, and umbre o'er your face, 
 Borrowed a suit, and ruff, all for her love ; 
 And then did nothing. What an oversight. 
 And want of putting forward, sir, was this ! 
 Well fare an old harquebuzier, yet, 80 
 
 Could prime his powder, and give fire, and hit. 
 All in a twinkling ! 
 
 Re-enter Mammon. 
 
 Mam. The whole nest are fled ! 
 
 Love. What sort of birds were they? 
 
 Mam. A kind of choughs,^ 
 Or thievish daws, sir, that have pick'd my purse 
 Of eight score and ten pound within these five weeks, 
 Beside my first materials ; and my goods. 
 That lie in the cellar, which I am glad they have left, 
 I may have home yet. 90 
 
 Love. Think you so, sir? 
 
 Mam. Ay. 
 
 Love. By order of law, sir, but not otherwise. 
 
 Mam. Not mine own stuff ! 
 
 Love. Sir, T can take no knowledge 
 That they are yours, but by public means. 
 If you can bring certificate that you were guU'd of them, 
 
 1 Kind of crow.
 
 256 THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT v. 
 
 Or any formal writ out of a court, 
 
 That you did cozen yourself, I will not hold them. 
 
 Matfi. I'll rather lose them. ,ot, 
 
 Love. That you shall not, sir, 
 By me, in troth : upon these terms they are yours. 
 What ! should they have been, sir, tum'd into gold, all ? 
 
 Mam. No, 
 I cannot tell — It may be they should — What then? 
 Love. What a great loss in hope have you sustain'd ! 
 Mam. Not I, the commonwealth has. 
 Face. Ay, he would have built 
 The city new ; and made a ditch about it 
 Of silver, should have run with cream from Hogsden; mo 
 That, every Sunday, in Moor-fields, the younkers,^ 
 And tits and tom-boys should have fed on, gratis. 
 Mam. I will go mount a turnip-cart and preach 
 The end of the world, within these two months. Surly, 
 What ! in a dream ? 
 
 Sur. Must I needs cheat myself, 
 With that same foolish vice of honesty ! 
 Come, let us go and hearken out the rogues : 
 That Face I'll mark for mine, if e'er I meet him. 
 
 Face. If I can hear of him, sir, I'll bring you word, 120 
 Unto your lodging ; for in troth, they were strangers 
 To me, I thought them honest as myself, sir. 
 
 \_Exeunt Mam. and Sur. 
 Re-enter Ananias and Tribulation. 
 Tri. Tis well, the saints shall not lose all yet. Go, 
 
 1 Rich, well-born youths (German Junker); cf. Merchant of Venict 
 ii.6: — 
 
 " How like a youiiker, or a prodigal, 
 The scarfed bark puts from her native bay."
 
 SCENE III.] THE ALCHEMIST. 257 
 
 And get some carts 
 
 Love. For what, my zealous friends? 
 
 Ana. To bear away the portion of the righteous 
 Out of this den of thieves. 
 
 Love. What is that portion ? 
 
 Ana. The goods sometimes the orphan's, that the brethren 
 Bought with their silver pence. 130 
 
 Love. What, those in the cellar, 
 The knight Sir Mammon claims? 
 
 Ana. I do defy 
 The wicked Mammon, so do all the brethren, 
 Thou profane man ! I ask thee with what conscience 
 Thou canst advance that idol against us. 
 That have the seal ? were not the shillings number'd, 
 That made the pounds ; were not the pounds told out, 
 Upon the second day of the fourth week, 
 In the eighth month, upon the table dormant, 140 
 
 The year of the last patience of the saints. 
 Six hundred and ten? 
 
 Love. Mine earnest vehement botcher, 
 And deacon also, I cannot dispute with you : 
 But if you get you not away the sooner, 
 I shall confute you with a cudgel. 
 
 Ana. Sir ! 
 
 Tri. Be patient, Ananias. 
 
 Ana. I am strong, 
 And will stand up, well girt, against an host 15c 
 
 That threaten Gad in exile. 
 
 Love. I shall send you 
 To Amsterdam, to your cellar. 
 
 Ana. I will pray there, 
 Against thy house : may dogs defile thy walls,
 
 25S IHE ALCHEiMlsi. [act v. 
 
 And wasps and hornets breed beneath thy roof. 
 This seat of falsehood, and this cave of cozenage ! 
 
 \_Exeiint Ana. and Trie. 
 
 Enter Drugger. 
 
 Love. Another too ? 
 
 Dmg. Not I, sir, I am no brother. 
 
 Love, {beats him). Away, you Harry Nicholas M do you 
 talk? [i5'„vzV Drugger. k.c 
 
 Face. No, this was Abel Drugger. Good sir, go, 
 
 \To the Parson. 
 And satisfy him ; tell him all is done : 
 He staid too long a-washing of his face. 
 The doctor, he shall hear of him at West-chester ; 
 And of the captain, tell him, at Yarmouth, or 
 Some good port-town else, lying for a wind. \^Exit Parson. 
 If you can get off the angry child, now, sir 
 
 Enter Kastril, dragging in his sister. 
 
 Kas. Come on, you ewe, you have match'd most sweetly, 
 have you not? 
 'Slight, you are a mammet - ! O, I could touse you, now. 
 Death, mun' you marry, with a plague ! 170 
 
 Love. You lie, boy ; 
 As sound as you ; and I'm aforehand with you. 
 
 Kas. Anon ! 
 
 Love. Come, will you quarrel ? I will feize '"' you, sirrah ; 
 Why do you not buckle to your tools ? 
 
 1 A fanatic of Leyden, supposed to be the founder of the sect called 
 " The Family of Love." 
 
 2 Puppet ; the word is a corruption of M;ihomet, and was applied to 
 effigies of him. 
 
 3 Chastise, beat; still used in the West of England.
 
 SCENE iii.J THE ALCHEMIST. 259 
 
 Kas. Ods light, 
 This is a fine old boy as e'er I saw ! 
 
 Love. What, do you change your copy now ? Proceed, 
 Here stands my dove : stoop ^ at her, if you dare. 
 
 Kas. 'Slight, I must love him ! I cannot choose, i' faith, 
 An I should be hang'd for't ! Suster, I protest, iSi 
 
 I honour thee for this match. 
 
 Love. O, do you so, sir? 
 
 Kas. Yes, and thou canst take tobacco and drink, old boy, 
 I'll give her five hundred pound more to her marriage. 
 Than her own state. 
 
 Love. Fill a pipe full, Jeremy. 
 
 Face. Yes ; but go in and take it, sir. 
 
 Love. We will — 
 I will be ruled by thee in anything, Jeremy. 190 
 
 Kas. 'Slight, thou art not hide-bound, thou art a jovy - 
 boy ! 
 Come, let us in, I pray thee, and take our whiffs. 
 
 Love. Whiff in with your sister, brother boy. 
 
 {Exeunt 'Kas,. and Daue P.) That master 
 That had received such happiness by a servant, 
 In such a widow, and with so much wealth, 
 Were very ungrateful, if he would not be 
 A little indulgent to that ser\'ant's wit. 
 And help his fortune, though with some small strain 
 Of his own candour.^ — (Advajicing.') Therefore, gentlemen. 
 And kind spectators, if I have outstript 20c 
 
 An old man's gravity, or strict canon, think 
 What a young wife and a good brain may do ; 
 Stretch age's tnith sometimes, and crack it too. 
 
 1 Pounce upon ; a term in falconry. 
 
 2 Merry. 3 pair reputation, honor.
 
 26o I HE ALCHEMIST. [act V. 
 
 Speak for thyself, knave. 
 
 Face. So I will, sir. — {^Advancing to the front of the stage.) 
 Gentlemen, 
 My part a little fell in this last scene, 
 Yet 'twas decorum. And though I am clean 
 Got off from Subtle, Surly, Mammon, Dol, 
 Hot Ananias, Dapper, Drugger, all 
 
 With whom I traded : yet I put myself 210 
 
 On you that are my country : and this pelf. 
 Which I have got, if you do quit me, rests 
 To feast you often, and invite new guests. \_Exeunt} 
 
 1 " The manifold harmony of inventive combination and imaginative 
 contrast, the multitudinous unity of various and concordant effects, the 
 complexity and the simplicity of action and impression, which hardly allow 
 the reader's mind to hesitate between enjoyment and astonishment, laughter 
 and wonder, admiration and diversion — all the distinctive qualities which 
 the alchemic cunning of the poet has fused together in the crucible of 
 dramatic satire for the production of a flawless work of art, have given us 
 the most perfect model of imaginative realism and satirical comedy that the 
 world has ever seen; the most wonderful work of its kind that can ever be 
 run upon the same lines." — Swinburne : A Study of Ben Jonson. Cole- 
 ridge " thought the (Edipus Tyrannus, The Alchemist, and Tom Jones, the 
 three most perfect plots ever planned."
 
 III. 
 
 PHILASTER; 
 
 OR. 
 
 LOVE LIES A-BLEEDING. 
 
 "By Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher 
 
 Probably first represented in 1608.
 
 PHILASTER; 
 
 OR, 
 
 LOVE LIES A-BLEEDING. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 King. 
 
 PHILASTER, Heir to the Crown of 
 
 Sicily. 
 PharamoND, Prince of Spain. 
 Dion, a Lord. 
 
 CLEREMONT. ) ^^^^^ Gentlemen. 
 Thrasiline. J 
 An old Captain. 
 Citizens. 
 A Country Fellow. 
 
 Two Woodmen. 
 
 Guard, Attendants. 
 
 Arethusa, Daughter of the King. 
 
 Euphrasia, Daughter of Dion, dis- 
 guised as a Page under the name 
 of Bellario. 
 
 Megra, a Court Lady. 
 
 Galatea, a Lady atiending the 
 Princess. 
 
 Two other Ladies. 
 
 Scene : Messina and its neighbourhood. 
 
 ACT L 
 
 Scene I. — The Presence Chamber in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Dion, Cleremont, and Thrasiline. 
 
 Cle. Here's nor lords nor ladies. 
 
 Dion. Credit me, gentlemen, I wonder at it. They re- 
 ceived strict charge from the King to attend here : besides, 
 
 263
 
 264 PHILASTER. [ACT I. 
 
 it was boldly published, that no officer should forbid any 
 aentleman that desired to attend and hear. 
 
 Clc. Can you guess the cause ? 
 
 Dion. Sir, it is plain, about the Spanish Prince, that's 
 come to marry our kingdom's heir and be our sovereign. 
 
 Thra. Many, that will seem to know much, say she looks 
 not on him like a maid in love. 10 
 
 Dion. Oh, sir, the multitude, that seldom know any thing 
 but their own opinions, speak that they would have ; but 
 the prince, before his own approach, received so many con- 
 fident messages from the state, that I think she's resolved to 
 be ruled. 
 
 Cle. Sir, it is thought, with her he shall enjoy both these 
 kingdoms of Sicily and Calabria. 
 
 Dion. Sir, it is without controversy so meant. But 'twill 
 be a troublesome labour for him to enjoy both these king- 
 doms with safety, the right heir to one of them living, and 
 living so virtuously; especially, the people admiring the 
 bravery of his mind and lamenting his injuries. 22 
 
 Cle. Who? Philaster? 
 
 Dion. Yes ; whose father, we all know, was by our late 
 King of Calabria unrighteously deposed from his fruitful 
 Sicily. Myself drew some blood in those wars, which I 
 would give my hand to be washed from. 
 
 Clc. Sir, my ignorance in state-policy will not let me know 
 why, Philaster being heir to one of these kingdoms, the King 
 should suffer him to walk abroad with such free liberty. 30 
 
 Dion. Sir, it seems your nature is more constant than to 
 inquire after state-news. But the King, of late, made a hazard 
 of both the kingdoms, of Sicily and his own, with offering but 
 to imprison Philaster ; at which the city was in arms, not to 
 be charmed down b\- any state-order or proclamation, till
 
 SCENE I.] PHILASTER. 265 
 
 they saw Philaster ride through the streets pleased and with- 
 out a guard ; at which they threw their hats and their arms 
 from them ; some to make bonfires, some to drink, all for 
 his deliverance : which, wise men say, is the cause the King 
 labours to bring in the power of a foreign nation to awe his 
 own with. 41 
 
 Enter Galatea, a Lady, and Megra. 
 
 Thra. See, the ladies ! What's the first? 
 
 Dion. A wise and modest gentlewoman that attends the 
 princess. 
 
 Cle. The second ? 
 
 Dion. She is one that may stand still discreetly enough, 
 and ill-favouredly dance her measure ; simper when she is 
 courted by her friend, and slight her husband. 
 
 Cle. The last? 49 
 
 Dion. Marry, I think she is one whom the state keeps for 
 the agents of our confederate princes : she'll cog ^ and lie 
 with a whole army, before the league shall break. Her 
 name is common through the kingdom, and the trophies of 
 her dishonour advanced beyond Hercules' Pillars. 
 
 Cle. She's a profitable member. 
 
 Lady. Peace, if you love me : you shall see these gentle- 
 men stand their ground and not court us. 
 
 Gal. What if they should ? 
 
 Megra. What if they should ! 59 
 
 Lady. Nay, let her alone. — What if they should ! Why, 
 if they should, I say they were never abroad : what foreigner 
 would do so? it writes them directly untravelled. 
 
 Gal. Why, what if they be? 
 
 Megra. What if they be ! 
 
 1 Cheat, cajole.
 
 266 PHILASTER. [ACT I 
 
 Lady. Good madam, let her go on. — What if they be ! 
 why, if they be, I will justify, they cannot maintain discourse 
 with a judicious lady, nor make a leg ^ nor say '* excuse me." 
 
 Gal. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Lady. Do you laugh, madam ? 
 
 Dion. Your desires upon you, ladies ! 70 
 
 Lady. Then you must sit beside us. 
 
 Dion. I shall sit near you then, lady. 
 
 Lady. Near me, perhaps ; but there's a lady endures no 
 stranger ; and to me you appear a very strange fellow. 
 
 Megra. Methinks he's not so strange ; he would quickly be 
 acquainted. 
 
 Thra. Peace, the King ! 
 
 Enter King, Pharamond, Arethusa, and Attendants. 
 
 King. To give a stronger testimony of love 
 Than sickly promises (which commonly 
 In princes find both birth and burial 8c 
 
 In one breath) we have drawn you, worthy sir. 
 To make your fair endearments to our daughter, 
 And worthy services known to our subjects. 
 Now loved and wondered at ; next, our intent 
 To plant you deeply, our immediate heir 
 Both to our blood and kingdoms. For this lady, 
 (The best part of your life, as you confirm me. 
 And I believe,) though her few years and sex 
 Yet teach her nothing but her fears and blushes, 
 Desires without desire, discourse and knowledge go 
 
 Only of what herself is to herself, 
 Make her feel moderate health ; and when she sleeps. 
 In making no ill day, knows no ill dreams 
 
 1 Bow.
 
 SCENE I.] PHILASTER. 267 
 
 Think not, dear sir, these undivided parts, 
 
 That must mould up a virgin, are put on 
 
 To show her so, as borrowed ornaments, 
 
 To speak her perfect love to you, or add 
 
 An artificial shadow to her nature — 
 
 No, sir; I boldly dare proclaim her yet 
 
 No woman. But woo her still, and think her modesty 100 
 
 A sweeter mistress than the offered language 
 
 Of any dame, were she a queen, whose eye 
 
 Speaks common loves and comforts to her servants.^ 
 
 Last, noble son (for so I now must call you), 
 
 What I have done thus public, is not only 
 
 To add a comfort in particular 
 
 To you or me, but all ; and to confirm 
 
 The nobles and the gentry of these kingdoms 
 
 By oath to your succession, which shall be 
 
 Within this month at most. no 
 
 Thra. This will be hardly done. 
 
 Cle. It must be ill done, if it be done. 
 
 Dion. When 'tis at best, 'twill be but half done, whilst 
 So brave a gentleman is wronged and flung off. 
 
 Thra. I fear. 
 
 Ck. Who does not? 
 
 Diofi. I fear not for myself, and yet I fear too : 
 Well, we shall see, we shall see. No more. 
 
 Pha. Kissing your white hand, mistress, I take leave 
 To thank your royal father ; and thus far 120 
 
 To be my own free trumpet. Understand, 
 Great King, and these your subjects, mine that must be, 
 (For so deserving you have spoke me, sir, 
 And so deserving I dare speak myself,) 
 
 ' Suitors.
 
 IV 
 
 268 PHILASTER. , [ACT :. 
 
 To what a person, of what eminence, 
 
 Ripe expectation, of what faculties, 
 
 Manners and virtues, you would wed your kingdoms ; 
 
 You in me have your wishes. Oh, this country ! 
 
 By more than all my hopes, I hold it happy ; 
 
 Happy in their dear memories that have been 
 
 Kings great and good ; happy in yours that is ; 
 
 And from you (as a chronicle to keep 
 
 Your noble name from eating age) do I 
 
 Opine myself most happy. Gentlemen, 
 
 Believe me in a word, a prince's word, 
 
 There shall be nothing to make up a kingdom 
 
 Mighty and flourishing, defenced, feared. 
 
 Equal to be commanded and obeyed, 
 
 But through the travails of my life I'll iind it. 
 
 And tie it to this country. And I vow 
 
 My reign shall be so easy to the subject, 
 
 That every man shall be his prince himself 
 
 And his own law — yet I his prince and law. 
 
 And, dearest lady, to your dearest self 
 
 (Dear in the choice of him whose name and lustre 
 
 Must make you more and mightier) let me say, 
 
 You are the blessed'st living ; for, sweet princess, 
 
 You shall enjoy a man of men to be 
 
 Your servant ; you shall make him yours, for whom 
 
 Great queens must die. 
 
 Thra. Miraculous ! 
 
 Cle. This speech calls him Spaniard, being nothing 
 But a large inventory of his own commendations. 
 
 Dion. I wonder what's his price ; for certainly 
 He'll sell himself, he has so praised his shape. 
 15ut here comes one more worthy those large speeches, 
 
 14c 
 
 150
 
 SCENE 1.] PHILASTER. 269 
 
 Enter Philaster. 
 
 Than the large speaker of them. 
 
 Let me be swallowed quick, if I can find, 
 
 In all the anatomy of yon man's virtues, 
 
 One sinew sound enough to promise for him, 160 
 
 He shall be constable. By this sun, he'll ne'er make king 
 
 Unless it be for trifles, in my poor judgment. 
 
 Phi. {kneeling). Right noble sir, as low as my obedience, 
 And with a heart as loyal as my knee, 
 I beg your favour. 
 
 King. Rise ; you have it, sir. [Philaster rises. 
 
 Dion. Mark but the King, how pale he looks with fear ! 
 Oh, this same nettle conscience, how it jades us ! 
 
 King. Speak your intents, sir. 
 
 Phi. Shall I speak 'em freely? 170 
 
 Be still my royal sovereign. 
 
 ■King. As a subject, 
 We give you freedom. 
 
 Dio7i. Now it heats. 
 
 Phi. Then thus I turn 
 My language to you, prince ; you, foreign man ! 
 Ne'er stare nor put on wonder, for you must 
 Endure me, and you shall. This earth you tread upon 
 (A dowry, as you hope, with this fair princess). 
 By my dead father (oh, I had a father, 180 
 
 Whose memory I bow to !) was not left 
 To your inheritance, and I up and living — 
 Having myself about me and my sword. 
 The souls of all my name and memories, 
 These arms and some few friends beside the gods — 
 To part so calmly with it, and sit still
 
 j-jO PHILASTER. [ACT I, 
 
 And say, " I might have been." I tell thee, Pharamond, 
 
 When thou art king, look I be dead and rotten. 
 
 And my name ashes : for, hear me, Pharamond ! 
 
 This very ground thou goest on, this fat earth, 190 
 
 My father's friends made fertile with their faiths, 
 
 Before that day of shame shall gape and swallow 
 
 Thee and thy nation, like a hungry grave, 
 
 Into her hidden bowels ; prince, it shall ; 
 
 By Nemesis, it shall ! 
 
 P/ur. He's mad ; beyond cure, mad, 
 
 Dion. Here is a fellow has some fire in's veins : 
 The outlandish prince looks like a tooth-drawer. 
 
 Phi. Sir, prince of popinjays,^ I'll make it well 
 Appear to you I am not mad. 20c 
 
 King. You displease us : 
 You are too bold. 
 
 Phi. No, sir, I am too tame, 
 Too much a turtle, a thing bom without passion, 
 A fliint shadow, that every drunken cloud 
 Sails over and makes nothing. 
 
 King. I do not fancy this. 
 Call our physicians : sure, he's somewhat tainted. 
 
 Thra. I do not think 'twill prove sOo 
 
 Dion. He has given him a general purge already, 210 
 
 For all the right he has ; and now he means 
 To let him blood. Be constant, gentlemen : 
 By these hilts, I'll run his hazard, 
 Although I run my name out of the kingdom ! 
 
 Cle. Peace, we are all one soul. 
 
 Pha. What you have seen in me to stir ofiFence, 
 
 1 Parrots ; a mark like a parrot put on a pole to be shot at ; hence a 
 coxcomb
 
 SCENE l.l PHILASTEIt 27> 
 
 I cannot find, unless it be this lady, 
 
 Offered into mine arms, with the succession ; 
 
 Which I must keep, (though it hath pleased your fury 
 
 To mutiny within you,) without disputing ' 2ao 
 
 Your genealogies, or taking knowledge 
 
 Whose branch you are : the King will leave it me. 
 
 And I dare make it mine. You have your answer. 
 
 Phi. If thou wert sole inheritor to him 
 That made the world his, and couldst see no sun 
 Shine upon anything but thine ; were Pharamond 
 As truly valiant as I feel him cold. 
 And ringed among the choicest of his friends 
 (Such as would blush to talk such serious follies. 
 Or back such bellied commendations), ajo 
 
 And from this presence, spite of all these bugs,' 
 You should hear further from me. 
 
 Ki7ig. Sir, you wrong the prince ; I gave you not this 
 freedom 
 To brave our best friends : you deserve our frown. 
 Go to ; be better tempered. 
 
 Phi. It must be, sir, when I am nobler used. 
 
 Gal. Ladies, 
 This would have been a pattern of succession. 
 Had he ne'er met this mischief. By my life, 24c 
 
 He is the worthiest the true name of man 
 This day within my knowledge. 
 
 Meg. I cannot tell what you may call your knowledge ; 
 But the other is the man set in mine eye : 
 Oh, 'tis a prince of wax ! ^ 
 
 Gal. A dog it is. 
 
 1 Bugbears. In Welsh, bwg means spectre, a hobgoblin. 
 
 2 Handsome, elegant.
 
 2 72 PHILASTER. [ACT L 
 
 King. Philaster, tell me 
 The injuries you aim at in your riddles. 
 
 Phi. If you had my eyes, sir, and sufferance, 
 My griefs upon you and my broken fortunes, 25? 
 
 My wants great, and now nought but hopes and fears. 
 My wrongs would make ill riddles to be laughed at. 
 Dare you be still my king, and right me not? 
 
 King. Give me your wrongs in private. 
 
 Phi. Take them, 
 And ease me of a load would bow strong Atlas. 
 
 \^They talk apart 
 
 Cle. He dares not stand the shock. 
 
 Dion. I cannot blame him ; there's danger in't. 258 
 
 Every man in this age has not a soul of crystal, for all men 
 to read their actions through : men's hearts and faces are so 
 far asunder, that they hold no intelligence. Do but view yon 
 stranger well, and you shall see a fever through all his bravery, 
 and feel him shake like a true recreant : if he give not back 
 his crown again upon the report of an elder-gun, I have no 
 augury. 
 
 King. Go to ; 
 Be more yourself, as you respect our favour ; 
 You'll stir us else. Sir, I must hav^e you know, 
 That you are, and shall be, at our pleasure, 
 What fashion we will put upon you. Smooth a^-o 
 
 Your brow, or by the gods 
 
 Phi. I am dead, sir ; you're my fate. It was not I 
 Said, I was wronged : I carry all about me 
 My weak stars lead me to, all my weak fortunes. 
 Who dares in all this presence speak, (that is 
 But man of flesh, and may be mortal,) tell me, 
 I do not most entirely love this prince,
 
 SCENF 1.] PHILASTER, 
 
 273 
 
 And honour his full virtues ! 
 
 King. Sure, he's possessed. 
 
 Phi. Yes, with my father's spirit. It's here, O King ! 28c 
 A dangerous spirit. Now he tells me, King, 
 I was a king's heir, bids me be a king. 
 And whispers to me, these are all my subjects. 
 'Tis strange he will not let me sleep, but dives 
 Into my fancy, and there gives me shapes 
 That kneel and do me service, cry me king : 
 But I'll suppress him ; he's a factious spirit. 
 And will undo me. Noble sir, your hand ; 
 I am your servant. 
 
 King. Away ! I do not like this : 290 
 
 I'll make you tamer, or I'll dispossess you 
 Both of your life and spirit. For this time 
 I pardon your wild speech, without so much 
 As your imprisonment. 
 
 \Exeunt King, Pharamond, Arethusa, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 Dion. I thank you, sir ! you dare not for the people. 
 
 Gal. Ladies, what think you now of this brave fellow? 
 
 Meg. A pretty talking fellow, hot at hand. But eye yon 
 stranger: is he not a fine complete gentleman? Oh, these 
 strangers, I do affect them strangely ! As I live, I could love 
 all the nation over and over for his sake. 30a 
 
 GaL Pride comfort your poor head-piece, lady ! 'tis a 
 weak one, and had need of a night-cap. 
 
 \^Exeu7it Galatea, Megra, and Lady. 
 
 Dion. See, how his fancy labours ! Has he not 
 Spoke home and bravely? what a dangerous train 
 Did he give fire to ! how he shook the King, 
 Made his soul melt within him, and his blood
 
 274 PHILASTER. [ACT I. 
 
 Run into whey ! it stood upon his brow 
 Like a cold winter-dew. 
 
 Phi. Gentlemen, 
 You have no suit to me ? I am no minion : 310 
 
 You stand, methinks, like men that would be courtiers, 
 If I could well be flattered at a price, 
 Not to undo your children. You're all honest : 
 Go, get you home again, and make your country 
 A virtuous court, to which your great ones may. 
 In their diseased age, retire and live recluse. 
 
 Cle. How do you, worthy sir? 
 
 Phi. Well, very well ; 
 And so well that, if the King please, I find 
 I may live many years. 320 
 
 Dion. The King must please, 
 ^Vhilst we know what you are and who you are. 
 Your wrongs and virtues. Shrink not, worthy sir. 
 But add your father to you ; in whose name 
 We'll waken all the gods, and conjure up 
 The rods of vengeance, the abused people, 
 Who, like to raging torrents, shall swell high. 
 And so begirt the dens of these male-dragons, 
 That, through the strongest safety, they shall beg 
 For mercy at your sword's point. 330 
 
 Phi. Friends, no more ; 
 Our ears may be corrupted ; 'tis an age 
 We dare not trust our wills to. Do you love me ? 
 
 Thra. Do we love Heaven and honour? 
 
 Phi. My Lord Dion, you had 
 A virtuous gentlewoman called you father ; 
 Is she yet alive ? 
 
 Dion. Most honoured sir, she is ;
 
 SCENE I.] PHILASTER. 275 
 
 And, for the penance but of an idle dream, 
 
 Has undertook a tedious pilgrimage. 340 
 
 Enter a Lady. 
 
 Phi. Is it to me 
 Or any of these gentlemen you come? 
 
 Lady, To you, brave lord ; the princess would entreat 
 Your present company. 
 
 Phi. The princess send for me ! you are mistaken. 
 
 Lady. If you be called Philaster, 'tis to you. 
 
 Phi. Kiss her fair hand, and say I will attend her. 
 
 \_Exit Lady. 
 
 Dioti. Do you know what you do ? 
 
 Phi. Yes ; go to see a woman. 
 
 Cle. But do you weigh the danger you are in ? 350 
 
 Phi. Danger in a sweet face ! 
 By Jupiter, I must not fear a woman ! 
 
 Thra. But are you sure it was the princess sent? 
 It may be some foul train to catch your life. 
 
 Phi. I do not think it, gentlemen ; she's noble. 
 Her eye may shoot me dead, or those true red 
 And white friends in her face may steal my soul out ; 
 There's all the danger in't : but, be what may. 
 Her single name hath armed me. \_Exit. 
 
 Dion. Go on, 360 
 
 And be as truly happy as thou'rt fearless ! 
 Come, gentlemen, let's make our friends acquainted. 
 Lest the King prove false. \_Exeunt.
 
 2 76 PHILASTER. [ACT I. 
 
 Scene II. — Arethusa's Apartment in the Palace. 
 Enter Arethusa and a Lady. 
 
 Are. Comes he not? 
 
 Lady. Madam? 
 
 Are. Will Philaster come? 
 
 Lady. Dear madam, you were wont to credit me 
 At first. 
 
 Are. But didst thou tell rne so ? 
 I am forgetful, and my woman's strength 
 Is so o'ercharged with dangers like to grow 
 About my marriage, that these under- things 
 Dare not abide in such a troubled sea. ic 
 
 How looked he when he told thee he would come ? 
 
 Lady. Why, well. 
 
 Are. And not a little fearful ? 
 
 Lady. Fear, madam ! sure, he knows not what it is. 
 
 Are. You are all of his faction ; the whole court 
 Is bold in praise of him ; whilst I 
 May live neglected, and do noble things. 
 As fools in strife throw gold into the sea, 
 Drowned in the doing. But, I know he fears. 
 
 Lady. Fear, madam ! methought, his looks hid more 20 
 Of love than fear. 
 
 Are. Of love ! to whom ? to you ? 
 Did you deliver those plain words I sent, 
 With such a winning gesture and quick look 
 That you have caught him ? 
 
 Lady. Madam, I mean to you. 
 
 Are. Of love to me ! alas, thy ignorance 
 Lets thee not see the crosses of our births !
 
 SCENE II.] PHILASTER. 277 
 
 Nature, that loves not to be questioned 
 
 Why she did this or that, but has her ends, 30 
 
 And knows she does well, never gave the world 
 
 Two things so opposite, so contrary, 
 
 As he and I am : if a bowl of blood. 
 
 Drawn from this arm of mine, would poison thee, 
 
 A draught of his would cure thee. Of love to me ! 
 
 Lady. Madam, I think I hear him. 
 
 Are. Bring him in. \^Exit Lady. 
 
 You gods, that would not have your dooms withstood, 
 Whose holy wisdoms at this time it is. 
 
 To make the passion of a feeble maid 40 
 
 The way unto your justice, I obey. 
 
 Re-enter Lady with Philaster. 
 
 Lady. Here is my Lord Philaster. 
 
 Are. Oh, 'tis well. 
 Withdraw yourself. \_Exit Lady. 
 
 Phi. Madam, your messenger 
 Made me believe you wished to speak with me. 
 
 Are. 'Tis true, Philaster ; but the words are such 
 i have to say, and do so ill beseem 
 The mouth of woman, that I wish them said, 
 And yet am loath to speak them. Have you known 5c 
 
 That I have aught detracted from your worth? 
 Have I in person wronged you ? or have set 
 My baser instruments to throw disgrace 
 Upon your virtues ? 
 
 Phi. Never, madam, you. 
 
 Are. Why, then, should you, in such a public place, 
 Injure a princess, and a scandal lay 
 Upon my fortunes, famed to be so great,
 
 2^8 PHILASTER. [ACT L 
 
 Calling a great part of my dowry in question? 
 
 /%/. Madam, this truth which I shall speak will be 60 
 
 Foolish : but, for your fair and virtuous self, 
 I could afford myself to have no right 
 To anything you wished. 
 
 Are. Philaster, know, 
 I must enjoy these kingdoms. 
 
 /%/. Madam, both ? 
 
 Are. Both, or I die : by fate, I die, Philaster, 
 If I not calmly may enjoy them both. 
 
 P/ii. I would do much to save that noble life : 
 Yet would be loath to have posterity 70 
 
 Find in our stories, that Philaster gave 
 His right unto a sceptre and a crown 
 To save a lady's longing. 
 
 Are. Nay, then, hear : 
 I must and will have them, and more 
 
 P/ii. What more ? 
 
 Are. Or lose that little life the gods prepared 
 To trouble this poor piece of earth withal. 
 
 Phi. Madam, what more ? 
 
 Are. Turn, then, away thy face. 8c 
 
 Phi. No. 
 
 Are. Do. 
 
 P/it. I can endure it. Turn away my face I 
 I never yet saw enemy that looked 
 So dreadfully, but that I thought myself 
 As great a basilisk as he ; or spake 
 So horrible, but that I thought my tongue 
 Bore thunder underneath, as much as his ; 
 Nor beast that I could turn from : shall I then 
 Begin to fear sweet sounds ? a lady's voice, 90
 
 SCENE II.] PHILASTER. 279 
 
 Whom I do love ? Say, you would have my life ; 
 Why, I will give it you ; for 'tis to me 
 A thing so loathed, and unto you that ask 
 Of so poor use, that I shall make no price : 
 If you entreat, I will unmovedly hear. 
 
 Are. Yet, for my sake, a little bend thy looks. 
 
 Phi. I do. 
 
 Are. Then know, I must have them and thee. 
 
 Phi. And me? 
 
 Are. Thy love ; without which, all the land loc 
 
 Discovered yet will serve me for no use 
 But to be buried in. 
 
 Phi. Is't possible? 
 
 Are. With it, it were too little to bestow 
 On thee. Now, though thy breath do strike me dead, 
 (Which, know, it may) I have unript my breast. 
 
 Phi. Madam, you are too full of noble thoughts. 
 To lay a train for this contemned life, 
 Which you may have for asking : to suspect 
 Were base, where I deserve no ill. Love you ! no 
 
 By all my hopes, I do, above my life ! 
 But how this passion should proceed from you 
 So violently, would amaze a man 
 That would be jealous. 
 
 Are. Another soul into my body shot 
 Could not have filled me with more strength and spirit 
 Than this thy breath. But spend not hasty time 
 In seeking how I came thus : 'tis the gods. 
 The gods, that make me so ; and, sure, our love 
 Will be the nobler and the better blest, wc 
 
 In that the secret justice of the gods 
 Is mingled with it. Let us leave, and kiss ;
 
 28o PHILASTER. [ACT I. 
 
 Lest some unwelcome guest should fall betwixt us, 
 And we should part without it. 
 
 Phi. 'Twill be ill 
 I should abide here long. 
 
 Arc. 'Tis true ; and worse 
 You should come often. How shall we devise 
 To hold intelligence, that our true loves, 
 On any new occasion, may agree 130 
 
 What path is best to tread ? 
 
 Phi. I have a boy. 
 Sent by the gods, I hope, to this intent, 
 Not yet seen in the court. Hunting the buck, 
 I found liim sitting by a fountain's side, 
 Of which he borrowed some to quench his thirst. 
 And paid the nymph again as much in tears. 
 A garland lay him by, made by himself 
 Of many several flowers bred in the vale, 
 Stuck in that mystic order that the rareness 140 
 
 Delighted me : but ever when he turned 
 His tender eyes upon 'em, he would weep, 
 As if he meant to make 'em grow again. 
 Seeing such pretty helpless innocence 
 Dwell in his face, I asked him all his story : 
 He told me that his parents gentle died, 
 Leaving him to the mercy of the fields, 
 Which gave him roots ; and of the crystal springs, 
 Which did not stop their courses ; and the sun, 
 Which still, he thanked him, yielded him his light. 15c 
 
 Then took he up his garland, and did show 
 What every flower, as country-people hold. 
 Did signify, and how all, ordered thus, 
 Expressed his grief; and, to my thoughts, did read
 
 SCENE n.] PHILASTER. 28 1 
 
 The prettiest lecture of his country art 
 
 That could be wished : so that, methought, I could 
 
 Have studied it. I gladly entertained 
 
 Him, who was as glad to follow ; and have got 
 
 The trustiest, loving'st, and the gentlest boy 
 
 That ever master kept.^ Him will I send i6c 
 
 To wait on you, and bear our hidden love. 
 
 Re-enter Lady. 
 
 Are. 'Tis well ; no more. 
 
 Lady. Madam, the prince is come to do his service. 
 
 Are. What will you do, Philaster, with yourself? 
 
 Phi. Why, that which all the gods have pointed out for me. 
 
 Are. Dear, hide thyself. — 
 Bring in the prince. \_Exit Lady. 
 
 Phi. Hide me from Pharamond ! 
 When thunder speaks, which is the voice of Jove, 
 Though I do reverence, yet I hide me not ; 170 
 
 And shall a stranger-prince have leave to brag 
 Unto a foreign nation, that he made 
 Philaster hide himself? 
 
 Are. He cannot know it. 
 
 Phi. Though it should sleep for ever to the world, 
 It is a simple sin to hide myself. 
 Which will for ever on my conscience lie. 
 
 Are. Then, good Philaster, give him scope and way 
 In what he says ; for he is apt to speak 
 What you are loath to hear : for my sake, do. 180 
 
 Phi. I will. 
 
 1 This pretty and picturesque passage — probably by Fletcher — is a 
 good specimen of that romantic quality in Beaumont and Fletcher's works 
 lu which reference has been made in the Preface.
 
 2S2 PHILASTER. [act i. 
 
 Re-enter Lady with Pharamond. 
 
 Fha. My princely mistress, as true lovers ought, 
 I come to kiss these fair hands, and to show, \^Exit Lady. 
 In outward ceremonies, the dear love 
 Writ in my heart. 
 
 Phi. If I shall have an answer no directlier, 
 I am gone. 
 
 Pha. To what would he have answer ? 
 
 Are. To his claim unto the kingdom. 
 
 Pha. Sirrah, I forbare you before the King 190 
 
 Phi. Good sir, do so still : I would not talk with you. 
 
 Pha. But now the time is fitter : do but offer 
 To make mention of right to any kingdom, 
 Though it be scarce habitable 
 
 Phi. Good sir, let me go. 
 
 Pha. And by my sword 
 
 Phi. Peace, Pharamond ! if thou 
 
 Are. Leave us, Philaster. 
 
 Phi. I have done. \^Going. 
 
 Pha. You are gone I by Heaven I'll fetch you back. 200 
 
 Phi. You shall not need. \^Returning. 
 
 Pha. What now? 
 
 Phi. Know, Pharamond, 
 1 loathe to brawl with such a blast as thou. 
 Who art nought but a valiant voice ; but if 
 Thou shalt provoke me further, men shall say, 
 " Thou wert," and not lament it. 
 
 Pha. Do you slight 
 My greatness so, and in the chamber of 
 The princess? 2x0 
 
 Phi. It is a place to which I must confess
 
 SCENE I.] PHILASTER. 283 
 
 I owe a reverence ; but were't the church, 
 
 Ay, at the altar, there's no place so safe, 
 
 Where thou dar'st injure me, but I dare kill thee : 
 
 And for your greatness, know, sir, I can grasp 
 
 You and your greatness thus, thus into nothing. 
 
 Give not a word, not a word back ! Farewell. \_Exii 
 
 Pha. 'Tis an odd fellow, madam ; we must stop 
 His mouth with some office when we are married. 
 
 Are. You were best make him your controller. 220 
 
 Pha. I think he would discharge it well. But, madam, 
 I hope our hearts are knit ; and yet, so slow 
 The ceremonies of state are, that 'twill be long 
 Before our hands be so. If then you please, 
 Being agreed in heart, let us not wait 
 For dreaming form, but take a Httle stolen 
 Delights, and so prevent ^ our joys to come. 
 
 Are. If you dare speak such thoughts, 
 I must withdraw in honour. \_Exit. 
 
 Pha. The constitution of my body will never hold out 
 till the wedding ; I must seek elsewhere. \_Exit. 231 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. — An Apartment in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Philaster and Bellario. 
 
 Phi. And thou shalt find her honourable, boy ; 
 Full of regard unto thy tender youth, 
 For thine own modesty ; and, for my sake, 
 
 1 Outstrip, forestall, anticipate; cf. Twelfth Night, iii, i, 94 ; Hamlet, ii, 
 2, 305.
 
 284 PHILASTER. [act II. 
 
 Apter to give than thou wilt be to ask, 
 Ay, or deserve. 
 
 Bel. Sir, you did take me up 
 \Vhen I was nothing ; and only yet am something 
 By being yours. You trusted me unknown ; 
 And that which you were apt to conster ^ 
 A simple innocence in me, perhaps 10 
 
 Might have been craft, the cunning of a boy 
 Hardened in lies and theft : yet ventured you 
 To part my miseries and me ; for which, 
 I never can expect to serve a lady 
 That bears more honour in her breast than you. 
 
 Phi. But, boy, it will prefer thee. Thou art young, 
 And bear'st a childish overflowing love 
 To them that clap thy cheeks and speak thee fair yet ; 
 But when thy judgment comes to rule those passions, 
 Thou wilt remember best those careful friends 20 
 
 That placed thee in the noblest way of life. 
 She is a princess I prefer thee to. 
 
 Bel. In that small time that I have seen the world, 
 I never knew a man hasty to part with 
 A servant he thought trusty : I remember. 
 My father would prefer the boys he kept 
 To greater men than he ; but did it not 
 Till they were grown too saucy for himself. 
 
 Phi. Why, gentle boy, I find no fault at all 
 In thy behaviour. 30 
 
 Bel. Sir, if I have made 
 A fault in ignorance, instruct my youth : 
 I shall be willing, if not apt, to learn ; 
 Age and experience will adorn my mind 
 
 1 Construe. 
 
 /
 
 SCENE I.] PHILASTER. 285 
 
 With larger knowledge ; and if I have done 
 
 A wilful fault, think me not past all hope 
 
 For once. What master holds so strict a hand 
 
 Over his boy, that he will part with him 
 
 Without one warning ? Let me be corrected, 
 
 To break my stubbornness, if it be so, 4c 
 
 Rather than turn me off; and I shall mend. 
 
 Phi. Thy love doth plead so prettily to stay, 
 That, trust me, I could weep to part with thee. 
 Alas, I do not turn thee off ! thou know'st 
 It is my business that doth call thee hence ; 
 And when thou art with her, thou dwell'st with me. 
 Think so, and 'tis so : and when time is full, 
 That thou hast well discharged this heavy trust. 
 Laid on so weak a one, I will again 
 
 With joy receive thee ; as I live, I will ! 50 
 
 Nay, weep not, gentle boy. 'Tis more than time 
 Thou didst attend the princess. 
 
 Bel. I am gone. 
 But since I am to part with you, my lord, 
 And none knows whether I shall hve to do 
 More service for you, take this little prayer : 
 Heaven bless your loves, your fights, all your designs ! 
 May sick men, if they have your wish, be well ; 
 And Heaven hate those you curse, though I be one ! 
 
 \_Exit. 
 
 Phi. The love of boys unto their lords is strange ; 60 
 
 I have read wonders of it : yet this boy 
 For my sake (if a man may judge by looks 
 And speech) would out-do story. I may see 
 A day to pay him for his loyalty. \Exit.
 
 286 PHILASTER. [ACT IL 
 
 Scene II. — A Gallery in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Pharamond. 
 
 Pha. Why should these ladies stay so long ? They must 
 come this way : I know the queen employs 'em not ; for 
 the reverend mother sent me word, they would all be for the 
 garden. If they should all prove honest^ now, I were in a 
 fair taking ; I was never so long without sport in my life, 
 and, in my conscience, 'tis not my fault. Oh, for our coun- 
 try ladies ! 
 
 Enter Galatea. 
 
 (Aside) Here's one bolted ; I'll hound at her. Madam ! 
 
 Gal. Your grace ! 
 
 Pha. Shall I not be a trouble? lo 
 
 Gal. Not to me, sir. 
 
 Pha. Nay, nay, you are too quick. By this sweet hand — • 
 
 Gal. You'll be forsworn, sir; 'tis but an old glove. If 
 you will talk at distance, I am for you : but, good prince, 
 be not ribald, nor do not brag ; these two I bar ; and then, 
 I think, I shall have sense enough to answer all the weighty 
 apophthegms your royal blood shall manage. 
 
 Pha. Dear lady, can you love? i8 
 
 Gal. Dear prince ! how dear? I ne'er cost you a coach 
 yet, nor put you to the dear repentance of a banquet. 
 Here's no scarlet, sir, to blush the sin out it was given for. 
 This wire ^ mine own hair covers ; and this face has been so 
 far from being dear to any, that it ne'er cost penny painting ; 
 and, for the rest of my poor wardrobe, such as you see, it 
 leaves no handle behind it, to make the iealous mercer's 
 wife curse our good doings, 
 
 I Chaste. ^ Women then used wire frames in t'.ieir head-dresses.
 
 SCENE II.] PHILASTEk. 287 
 
 Pha. You mistake me, lady. 
 
 Gal. Lord, I do so : would you or I could help it ! 
 
 Pha. You're very dangerous bitter, like a potion. 
 
 Gal. No, sir, I do not mean to purge you, though 30 
 
 I mean to purge a little time on you. 
 
 Pha. Do ladies of this country use to give 
 No more respect to men of my full being? 
 
 Gal. Full being ! I understand you not, unless your grace 
 means growing to fatness ; and then your only remedy (upon 
 my knowledge, prince) is, in a morning, a cup of neat white 
 wine brewed with carduus,^ then fast till supper ; about eight 
 you may eat ; use exercise, and keep a sparrow-hawk ; you can 
 shoot in a tiller ^ : but, of all, your grace must fly phlebotomy;'' 
 fresh pork, conger, and clarified whey ; they are all duUers of 
 the vital spirits. 41 
 
 Pha. Lady, you talk of nothing all this while. 
 
 Gal. 'Tis very true, sir ; I talk of you. 
 
 Pha. {aside). This is a crafty wench ; I like her wit well ; 
 'twill be rare to stir up a leaden appetite : she's a Danae, 
 and must be courted in a shower of gold. — Madam, look 
 here ; all these, and more than 
 
 Gal. What have you there, my lord ? gold ! now, as I 
 live, 'tis fair gold ! You would have silver for it, to play with 
 the pages : you could not have taken me in a worse time ; 
 but, if you have present use, my lord, I'll send my man with 
 silver and keep your gold for you. \_Takes gold. 32 
 
 Pha. Lady, lady ! 
 
 Gal. She's coming, sir, behind, will take white money.* — 
 (^Aside) Yet for all this I'll match ye. 
 
 \^Pxit behind the hangings 
 
 1 Thistle. 8 Blood-letting. 
 
 ■'' The handle of a cross-bow. * Cant term for silver money.
 
 288 PHILASTER. |ACT II. 
 
 Pha. If there be but two such more in this kingdom, and 
 near the court, we may even hang up our harps. Ten such 
 camphire constitutions' as this would call the golden age 
 again in question ; and what a mischief that would breed, 
 let all consider ! 60 
 
 Enter Megra. 
 
 {Aside) Here's another : if she be of the same last, the 
 devil shall pluck her on. — Many fair mornings, lady. 
 
 Meg. As many mornings bring as many days, x 
 
 Fair, sweet and hopeful to your grace ! 
 
 Pha. {aside). She gives good words yet; sure this wench 
 is free. — 
 If your more serious business do not call you, 
 Let me hold quarter with you ; we will talk 
 An hour out quickly. 
 
 Meg. What would your grace talk of? 
 
 Pha. Of some such pretty subject as yourself: 70 
 
 I'll go no further than your eye, or lip ; 
 There's theme enough for one man for an age. 
 
 Meg. Sir, they stand right, and my lips are yet even. 
 Smooth, young enough, ripe enough, and red enough. 
 Or my glass wrongs me. 
 
 Pha. Oh, they are two twinned cherries dyed in blushes. 
 Which those fair suns above with their bright beams 
 Reflect upon and ripen. Sweetest beauty, 
 Bow down those branches, that the longing taste 
 Of the faint looker-on may meet those blessings, 80 
 
 And taste and live. 
 
 Meg. Oh, delicate sweet prince ! — 
 {Aside) She that hath snow enough about her heart 
 
 1 Cold-blooded.
 
 SCENE llj PHILASTER. 289 
 
 To take the wanton spring of ten such lines off. 
 May be a nun without probation. — Sir, 
 You have in such neat poetry gathered a kiss, 
 That if I had but five Hnes of that number, 
 Such pretty begging blanks, I should commend 
 Your forehead or your cheeks, and kiss you too. 
 
 Pha. Do it in prose ; you cannot miss it, madam. 9c 
 
 Meg. I shall, I shall. 
 
 Pha. By my life, but you shall not ; 
 I'll prompt you first. {Kisses her.) Can you do it now? 
 
 Meg. Methinks 'tis easy, now you ha' done't before me ; 
 But yet I should stick at it. 
 
 Pha. Stick till to-morrow ; 
 I'll never part you, sweetest. But we lose time : 
 Can you love me ? 
 
 Meg. Love you, my lord ! how would you have me love 
 you ? 99 
 
 Pha. I'll teach you in a short sentence, 'cause I will not 
 load your memory : this is all ; love me, and go with me. 
 
 Meg. 'Tis impossible. 
 
 Pha. Not to a willing mind, that will endeavour. 
 
 Meg. Why, prince, you have a lady of your own 
 That yet wants teaching. 
 
 Pha. I'll sooner teach a mare the old measures,' than 
 teach her. 
 
 Meg. By my honour, that's a foul fault, indeed ; 
 But time and your good help will wear it out, sir. 
 Has your grace seen the court-star, Galatea? nc 
 
 Pha. Out upon her ! she's as cold of her favour as an 
 apoplex : she sailed by but now. 
 
 Meg. And how do you hold her wit, sir? 
 
 1 Stately dances.
 
 290 PHILASTER. [act ii. 
 
 Pha. I hold her wit? The strength of all the guard 
 cannot hold it, if they were tied to it ; she would blow 'em 
 out of the kingdom. They talk of Jupiter; he's but a 
 squib-cracker to her : look well about you, and you may 
 find a tongue-bolt. But speak, sweet lady, shall I be freely 
 welcome ? 
 
 Meg. Whither? 120 
 
 Pha. To your room. If you mistrust my faith, you do me 
 the unnoblest wrong. ^ 
 
 Meg. I dare not, prince, I dare not. 
 
 Pha. Make your own conditions, my purse shall seal 
 'em; and what you dare imagine you can want, I'll furnish 
 you withal : give two hours to your thoughts every morning 
 about it. Come, I know you are bashful ; 
 Speak in my ear, will you be mine ? Keep this, 
 And with it me : soon I will visit you. [ Gives her a ring. 
 
 Meg. My lord, 130 
 
 My chamber's most unsafe ; but when 'tis night, 
 I'll find some means to slip into your lodging ; 
 Till when 
 
 Pha. Till when, this and my heart go with thee ! 
 
 \_Exeunt severally. 
 
 Re-enter Galatea. 
 
 Gal. Oh, thou pernicious petticoat prince ! are these 
 your virtues? Well, if I do not lay a train to blow your 
 sport up, I am no woman : and. Lady Towsabel, I'll fit 
 you for't. \Exit.
 
 SCENE lii.l PHILASTER. 291 
 
 Scene III. — Arethusa's Apartment in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Arethusa and a Lady. 
 
 Are. Where's the boy? 
 Lady. Within, madam. 
 Are. Gave you him gold to buy him clothes ? 
 Lady. I did. 
 Are. And has he done't? 
 Lady. Yes, madam. 
 
 Are. 'Tis a pretty sad-talking boy, is it not ? 
 Asked you his name? 
 Lady. No, madam. 
 
 Enter Galatea. 
 
 Are. Oh, you are welcome. What good news? ic 
 
 Gal. As good as any one can tell your grace, 
 That says, she has done that you would have wished. 
 
 Are. Hast thou discovered? 
 
 Gal. I have strained a point 
 Of modesty for you. 
 
 Are. I prithee, how? 
 
 Gal. In listening after scandal. I see, let a lady live never 
 so modestly, she shall be sure to find a lawful time to hearken 
 after scandal. Your prince, brave Pharamond, was so hot 
 on't ! 20 
 
 Are. With whom? 
 
 Gal Why, with the lady I suspected : 
 I can tell the time and place. 
 
 Are. Oh, when, and where? 
 
 Gal. To-night, his lodging. 
 
 Are. Run thyself into the presence ; mingle there again
 
 2^2 PHILASTER. [ACT II. 
 
 With Other ladies ; leave the rest to me. [^£xtf Galatea. 
 
 (^Aside) If destiny (to whom we dare not say, 
 
 "Why didst thou this? ") have not decreed it so, 
 
 In lasting leaves (whose smallest characters 30 
 
 Were never altered yet), this match shall break. 
 
 Where's the boy? 
 
 Lady. Here, madam. 
 
 Enter Bellario, richly dressed. 
 
 Are. Sir, 
 You are sad to change your service ; is't not so? 
 
 Bel. Madam, I have not changed ; I wait on you. 
 To do him service. 
 
 Are. Thou disclaim'st ^ in me. 
 Tell me thy name. 
 
 Bel. Bellario. 4c 
 
 Are. Thou canst sing and play? 
 
 Bel. If grief will give me leave, madam, I can. 
 
 Are. Alas, what kind of grief can thy years know ? 
 Hadst thou a curst ^ master when thou went'st to school ? 
 Thou art not capable of other grief. 
 Thy brows and cheeks are smooth as waters be 
 When no breath troubles them : believe me, boy, 
 Care seeks out wrinkled brows and hollow eyes. 
 And builds himself caves, to abide in them. 
 Come, sir, tell me tnily, does your lord love me? 5c 
 
 Bel. Love, madam ! I know not what it is. 
 
 Are. Canst thou know grief, and never yet knew'st love ? 
 Thou art deceived, boy. Does he speak of me 
 As if he wished me well? 
 
 Bel. If it be love 
 
 1 Renounce any claim in. s Cross.
 
 SCENE iv.J PHILASTER. 293 
 
 To forget all respect of his own friends 
 
 In thinking of your face ; if it be love 
 
 To sit crossed-armed and sigh away the day, 
 
 Mingled with starts, crying your name as loud 
 
 And hastily as men i' the streets do fire ; 60 
 
 If it be love to weep himself away 
 
 When he but hears of any lady dead 
 
 Or killed, because it might have been your chance ; 
 
 If, when he goes to rest (which will not be), 
 
 'Twixt every prayer he says, to name you once. 
 
 As others drop a bead, be to be in love. 
 
 Then, madam, I dare swear he loves you. 
 
 Are. Oh, you're a cunning boy, and taught to lie 
 For your lord's credit !. but thou know'st a lie 
 That bears this sound is welcomer to me 70 
 
 Than any truth that says he loves me not. 
 Lead the way, boy. — Do you attend me too. — 
 'Tis thy lord's business hastes me thus. Away ! \_Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. — Before Pharamond's Lodging in the Court of 
 
 the Palace. 
 
 Enter Dion, Cleremont, Thr.asiline, Megra, and Galatea. 
 
 Dion. Come, ladies, shall we talk a round ? As men 
 Do walk a mile, women should talk an hour 
 After supper : 'tis their exercise. 
 
 Gal. 'Tis late. 
 
 Meg. 'Tis all 
 My eyes will do to lead me to my bed. 
 
 Gal. I fear, they are so heavy, you'll scarce find 
 The way to your own lodging with 'em to-night.
 
 294 PHILASTER. [ACT a 
 
 Enter Pharamond. 
 
 Thru. The prince ! 
 
 Pha. Nof a-bed, ladies ? you're good sitters-up : lo 
 
 What think you of a pleasant dream, to last 
 Till morning? 
 
 Aleg. I should choose, my lord, a pleasing wake before it. 
 
 Enter Arethusa and Bellario. 
 
 A7-e. 'Tis well, my lord ; you're courting of these ladies. — - 
 Is't not late, gentlemen? 
 
 Cle. Yes, madam. 
 
 Are. Wait you there. \_Exit. 
 
 Meg. {aside). She's jealous, as I live. Look you on, my 
 lord. 
 The princess has a Hylas,^ an Adonis. 20 
 
 Pha. His form is angel-like. 
 
 Meg. Why, this is he that must, when you are wed, 
 Sit by your pillow, like young Apollo, with 
 His hand and voice binding your thoughts in sleep ; 
 The princess does provide him for you and for herself. 
 
 Pha. I find no music in these boys. 
 
 Meg. Nor I : 
 They can do little, and that small they do, 
 They have not wit to hide. 
 
 Dion. Serves he the princess? 30 
 
 Thra. Yes. 
 
 Dion. 'Tis a sweet boy : how brave" she keeps him ! 
 
 Pha. Ladies all, good rest ; I mean to kill a buck 
 To-morrow morning, ere you've done your dreams. 
 
 1 A beautifial youth, beloved by Hercules, whom he accompanied on the 
 Arjjonautic expedition. 
 
 2 Finely dressed.
 
 SCENE IV.] PHILASTER. 295 
 
 Meg. All happiness attend your grace ! {Exit Phara- 
 MOND.) Gentlemen, good rest. — Come, shall we go to bed? 
 
 Gal. Yes. — All good night. 
 
 Dion. May your dreams be true to you ! — 
 
 \_Exeitnt Galatea and Megra. 
 What shall we do, gallants? 'tis late. The King 
 Is up still : see, he comes ; a guard along with him. 4c 
 
 Enter King, with Arethusa, Guards and Attendants. 
 
 King. Look your intelligence be true. 
 
 Are. Upon my life, it is : and I do hope 
 Your highness will not tie me to a man 
 That in the heat of wooing throws me off, 
 ' And takes another. 
 
 Dion. What should this mean? 
 
 King. If it be true, 
 That lady had better have embraced 
 Cureless diseases. Get you to your rest : 
 You shall be righted. \_Exeunt Arethusa and Bellario. 50 
 
 — Gentlemen, draw near ; 
 We shall employ you. Is young Pharamond 
 Come to his lodging? 
 
 Dion. I saw him enter there. 
 
 Ki7ig. Haste, some of you, and cunningly discover 
 If Megra be in her lodging. [^Exif. 
 
 Cle. Sir, 
 She parted hence but now, with other ladies. 
 
 King. If she be there, we shall not need to make 
 A vain discovery of our suspicion. 6c 
 
 (Aside) You gods, I see that who unrighteously 
 Holds wealth or state from others shall be cursed 
 In that which meaner men are blest withal :
 
 296 PHILASTER. [ACT II 
 
 Ages to come shall know no male of him 
 
 Left to inherit, and his name shall be 
 
 Blotted from earth ; if he have any child, 
 
 It shall be crossly matched ; the gods themselves 
 
 Shall sow wild strife betwixt her lord and her. 
 
 Yet, if it be your wills, forgive the sin 
 
 I have committed ; let it not fall ;o 
 
 Upon this under-standing child of mine ! 
 
 She has not broke your laws. But how can I 
 
 Look to be heard of gods that must be just. 
 
 Praying upon the ground I hold by wrong? 
 
 Re-enter Dion. 
 
 Dion. Sir, I have asked, and her women swear she is 
 within ; but they, I think, are wicked. I told 'em, I must 
 speak with her ; they laughed, and said, their lady lay speech- 
 less. I said, my business was important ; they said, their 
 lady was about it. I grew hot, and cried, my business was 
 a matter that concerned life and death ; they answered, so 
 was sleeping, at which their lady was. I urged again, she 
 had scarce time to be so since last I saw her : they smiled 
 again, and seemed to instruct me that sleeping was nothing 
 but lying down and winking. Answers more direct I could 
 not get : in short, sir, I think she is not there. 
 
 King. 'Tis then no time to' dally. — You o' the guard, 
 Wait at the back door of the prince's lodging, 
 And see that none pass thence, upon your lives. — 
 
 \_Exeunt Guards. 
 Knock, gendemen ; knock loud ; louder yet. 
 What, has their pleasure taken off their hearing? — 9c 
 
 I'll break your meditations. — Knock again. — 
 Not yet? I do not think he sleeps, having this
 
 SCENE TV.] PHILASTER. 297 
 
 'Larum by him, — Once more. — Pharamond ! prince ! 
 
 [Pharamond appeal's at a window. 
 
 Pha. What saucy groom knocks at this dead of night ? 
 Where be our waiters ? By my vexed soul, 
 He meets his death that meets me, for this boldness. 
 
 King. Prince, prince, you wrong your thoughts ; we are 
 your friends : 
 Come down. 
 
 Fha. The King ! 100 
 
 King. The same, sir. Come down, sir : 
 We have cause of present counsel with you. 
 
 Enter Pharamond below. 
 
 Pha. If your grace please 
 To use me, Pll attend you to your chamber. 
 
 King. No, 'tis too late, prince ; Pll make bold with yours. 
 
 Pha. I have some private reasons to myself 
 Make me unmannerly, and say you cannot. — 
 Nay, press not forward, gentlemen ; he must 
 Come through my life that comes here. 
 
 King. Sir, be resolved ^ I must and will come. — Enter. 
 
 Plia. I will not be dishonoured : m 
 
 He that enters, enters upon his death. 
 Sir, 'tis a sign you make no stranger of me, 
 To bring these renegadoes to m^ chamber 
 At these unseasoned hours. 
 
 King. Why do you 
 Chafe yourself so ? you are not wronged nor shall be ; 
 Only I'll search your lodging, for some cause 
 To ourself known. — Enter, I say. 
 
 Pha. I say, no, [Megra appears at a window 
 
 1 Persuaded.
 
 29^ PHILASTER. [act il 
 
 Meg. Let 'em enter, prince, let 'em enter ; 121 
 
 I know their business ; 
 'Tis the poor breaking of a lady's honour 
 They hunt so hotly after ; let 'em enjoy it. — 
 You have your business, gentlemen ; I was here. — 
 Oh, my lord the King, this is not noble in you 
 To make public the weakness of a woman ! 
 
 King. Come down. 
 
 Meg. I dare, my lord. Your hootings and your clamours. 
 Your private whispers and your broad fleerings, 130 
 
 Can no more vex my soul than this base carriage : 
 But I have vengeance yet in store for some 
 Shall, in the most contempt you can have of me, 
 Be joy and nourishment. 
 
 King. Will you come down ? 
 
 Meg. Yes, to laugh at your worst ; but I shall wring yon, 
 If my skill fail me not. lExii above. 
 
 King. Sir, I must dearly chide you for this looseness ; 
 You have wronged a worthy lady : but, no more. — 
 Conduct him to my lodging and to bed. ,40 
 
 \_Exeunt Pharamond and Attendants. 
 
 Enter Megra below. 
 
 King. Now, lady of honour, where's your honour now? 
 No man can fit your palate but the prince : 
 Thou most ill-shrouded rottenness, thou piece 
 Made by a painter and a 'pothecary, 
 Thou troubled sea of lust, thou wilderness 
 Inhabited by wild thoughts, thou swoln cloud 
 Of infection, thou ripe mine of all diseases. 
 Thou all-sin, all-hell, and last, all-devils, tell me, 
 Had you none to pull on with your courtesies
 
 SCENE IV.] PHILASTER. 299 
 
 But he that must be mine, and wrong my daughter? 150 
 
 By all the gods ! all these, and all the pages. 
 
 And all the court, shall hoot thee through the court. 
 
 Fling rotten oranges, make ribald rhymes. 
 
 And sear thy name with candles upon walls ! 
 
 Do you laugh. Lady Venus ? 
 
 Meg. Faith, sir, you must pardon me ; 
 I cannot choose but laugh to see you merry. 
 If you do this, O King ! nay, if you dare do it, 
 By all those gods you swore by, and as many 
 More of mine own, I will have fellows, and such i6c 
 
 Fellows in it, as shall make noble mirth ! 
 The princess, your dear daughter, shall stand by me 
 On walls, and sung in ballads, any thing : 
 Urge me no more ; I know her and her haunts. 
 Her lays, leaps, and outlays, and will discover all ; 
 Nay, will dishonour her. I know the boy 
 She keeps ; a handsome boy, about eighteen ; 
 Know what she does with him, where, and when. 
 Come, sir, you put me to a woman's madness, 
 The glory of a fury ; and if I do not 170 
 
 Do't to the height 
 
 King. What boy is this she raves at ? 
 
 Meg. Alas ! good-minded prince, you know not these 
 things ! 
 I am loath to reveal 'em. Keep this fault, 
 As you would keep your health, from the hot air 
 Of the corrupted people, or, by Heaven, 
 I will not fall alone. What I have known 
 Shall be as pubHc as a print ; all tongues 
 Shall speak it as they do the language they 
 Are born in, as free and commonly ; I'll set it, 180
 
 300 PHILASTER. [act il 
 
 Like a prodigious star, for all to gaze at, 
 
 And so high and glowing, that other kingdoms far and foreign 
 
 Shall read it there, nay, travel with 't, till they find 
 
 No tongue to make it more, nor no more people ; 
 
 And then behold the fall of your fair princess ! ' 
 
 Kifig. Has she a boy ? 
 
 Cle. So please your grace, I have seen a boy wait on her, 
 A fair bov. 
 
 King. Go, get you to your quarter : 
 For this time I will study to forget you. 190 
 
 Meg. Do you study to forget me, and I'll study 
 To forget you. \_Exeunt King and Megra, severally. 
 
 Cle. Why, here's a male spirit fit for Hercules. If ever 
 there be Nine Worthies of women, this wench shall ride 
 astride and be their captain. 
 
 Dion. Sure, she has a garrison of devils in her tongue, she 
 uttereth such balls of wild-fire : she has so nettled the King, 
 that all the doctors in the country will scarce cure him. 
 That boy was a strange-found-out antidote to cure her infec- 
 tion ; that boy, that princess' boy ; that brave, chaste, vir- 
 tuous lady's boy ; and a fair boy, a well-spoken boy ! All 
 these considered, can make nothing else — but there I leave 
 you, gentlemen. 203 
 
 Thra. Nay, we'll go wander with you. \Exeunt. 
 
 1 " This passage is one of those instances of a magnificent idea spoiled by 
 mislocation, which are too often found in Beaumont and Fletcher. And 
 observe the consequent anti-climax. A bad woman is threatening a father 
 with defamation of his child ; and she raises a phenomenon in the heavens 
 which of itself is truly grand and awful, a spectacle for a world, in order to 
 represent what at the utmost could be nothing but a scandal confined to a 
 particular country. A comet leads kingdoms forth to travel by its light, in 
 order to arrive at nothing greater than the fall of a princess, by a lie about 
 a boy." — Leigh Hunt.
 
 SCENE 1.1 PHILASTER. -^OT 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. — The Court of the Palace. 
 Enter Dion, Cleremont, and Thrasiline, 
 
 Cle. Nay, doubtless, 'tis true. 
 
 Dion. Ay ; and 'tis the gods 
 That raised this punishment, to scourge the King 
 With his own issue. Is it not a shame 
 For us that should write noble in the land, 
 For us that should be freemen, to behold 
 A man that is the bravery of his age, 
 Philaster, pressed down from his royal right 
 By this regardless King ? and only look 
 And see the sceptre ready to be cast 
 Into the hands of that lascivious lady 
 That dotes on that smooth boy, now to be married 
 To yon strange prince, who, but that people please 
 To let him be a prince, is born a slave 
 In that which should be his most noble part. 
 His mind? 
 
 Thra. That man that would not stir with you 
 To aid Philaster, let the gods forget 
 That such a creature walks upon the earth ! 
 
 Cle. Philaster is too backward in't himself. 
 The gentry do await it, and the people, 
 Against their nature, are all bent for him. 
 And like a field of standing corn, that's moved 
 With a stiff gale, their heads bow all one way.
 
 302 PHILASTER. [ACT m. 
 
 Dion. The only cause that draws Philaster back 
 From this attempt is the fair princess' love, 
 Which he admires, and we can now confute. 
 
 Thra. Perhaps he'll not believe it. 
 
 Dion. Why, gentlemen, 
 'Tis without question so. 30 
 
 Cle. Ay, 'tis past speech, 
 She lives dishonestly : but how shall we, 
 If he be curious,^ work upon his faith ? ^ 
 
 Thra. We are all satisfied within ourselves. 
 
 Dion. Since it is true, and tends to his own good, 
 I'll make this new report to be my knowledge ; 
 I'll sa\- I know it ; nay, I'll swear I saw it. 
 
 Ch'. It will be best. 
 
 Thra. 'Twill move him. 
 
 Dion. Here he comes. 40 
 
 Enter Philaster. 
 
 Good morrow to your honour : we have spent 
 Some time in seeking you. 
 
 Phi. My worthy friends, 
 You that can keep your memories to know 
 Your friend in miseries, and cannot frown 
 On men disgraced for virtue, a good day 
 Attend you all ! What service may I do 
 Worthy your acceptation ? 
 
 Dion. My good lord. 
 We come to urge that virtue, which we know 5c 
 
 Lives in your breast, forth. Rise, and make a head : 
 The nobles and the people are all dulled 
 With this usurping King ; and not a man, 
 
 1 Scrupulous.
 
 SCENE I.] PHILASTER. 303 
 
 That ever heard the word, or knew such a thing 
 As virtue, but will second your attempts. 
 
 Phi. How honourable is this love in you 
 To me that have deserved none ! Know, my friends, 
 (You, that were born to shame your poor Philaster 
 With too much courtesy,) I could afford 
 To melt myself in thanks : but my designs 6c 
 
 Are not yet ripe : suffice it, that ere long 
 I shall employ your loves ; but yet the time 
 Is short of what I would. 
 
 Dion. The time is fuller, sir, than you expect ; 
 That which hereafter will not, perhaps, be reached 
 By violence may now be caught. As for the King, 
 You know the people have long hated him ; 
 
 But now the princess, whom they loved 
 
 Phi. Why, what of her? 
 
 Dion. Is loathed as much as he. 70 
 
 Phi. By what strange means? 
 
 Dion. She's known unchaste. 
 
 Phi. Thou liest. 
 
 Dion. My lord 
 
 Phi. Thou liest, 
 
 \_Offers to draw his sword : they hold him. 
 And thou shalt feel it ! I had thought thy mind 
 Had been of honour. Thus to rob a lady 
 Of her good name, is an infectious sin 
 Not to be pardoned : be it false as hell, 
 'Twill never be redeemed, if it be sown 8c 
 
 Amongst the people, fruitful to increase 
 All evil they shall hear. Let me alone 
 That I may cut oft falsehood whilst it springs ! 
 Set hills on hills betwixt me and the man
 
 304 PHILASTER. [act 111. 
 
 That Utters this, and I will scale them all, 
 And from the utmost top fall on his neck. 
 Like thunder from a cloud. 
 
 Dion. This is most strange : 
 Sure, he does love her. 
 
 Phi. I do love fair truth : 90 
 
 She is my mistress, and who injures her 
 Draws vengeance from me. Sirs, let go my arms. 
 
 Thra. Nay, good my lord, be patient. 
 
 Cle. Sir, remember this is your honoured friend. 
 That comes to do his service, and will show you 
 Why he uttered this. 
 
 Phi. I ask you pardon, sir ; 
 My zeal to truth made me unmannerly : 
 Should I have heard dishonour spoke of you, 
 Behind your back, untruly, I had been 100 
 
 As much distempered and enraged as now. 
 
 Dion. But this, my lord, is truth. 
 
 Phi. Oh, say not so ! 
 Good sir, forbear to say so ; 'tis then truth. 
 That all womankind is false : urge it no more ; 
 It is impossible. Why should you think 
 The princess light? 
 
 Dion. Why, she was taken at it. 
 
 Phi. 'Tis false ! by Heaven, 'tis false ! it cannot be ! 
 Can it? Speak, gentlemen; for love of truth, speak ! no 
 It's possible ? Can women all be damned ? 
 
 Dion. Why, no, my lord. 
 
 Phi. Why, then, it cannot be. 
 
 Dion. And she was taken with her boy. 
 
 Phi. What boy? 
 
 Dion. A page, a boy that serves her.
 
 SCENE I.] PHILASTER. 305 
 
 Phi. Oh, good gods ! 
 A little boy ? 
 
 Dion. Ay ; know you him my lord ? 
 
 Phi. {aside). Hell and sin know him! — Sir, you are 
 deceived ; »2o 
 
 You are abused, and so is she, and I. 
 
 Dion. How you, my lord ? 
 
 Phi. Why, all the world's abused 
 In an unjust report. 
 
 Dion. Oh, noble sir, your virtues 
 Cannot look into the subtle thoughts of woman ! 
 In short, my lord, I took them ; I myself. 
 
 Phi. Now, all the devils, thou didst ! Fly from my rage ! 
 Would thou hadst ta'en devils engendering plagues. 
 When thou did'st take them ! Hide thee from my eyes ! 130 
 Would thou hadst taken thunder on thy breast. 
 When thou didst take them ; or been strucken dumb 
 For ever ; that this foul deed might have slept 
 In silence ! 
 
 Thra. Have you known him so ill-tempered? 
 
 Cle. Never before. 
 
 Phi. The winds, that are let loose 
 From the four several corners of the earth, 
 And spread themselves all over sea and land. 
 Kiss not a chaste one. What friend bears a sword 140 
 
 To run me through? 
 
 Dioti. Why, my lord, are you 
 So moved at this? 
 
 Phi. When any fall from virtue, 
 I am distract ; I have an interest in't. 
 
 Dion. But, good my lord, recall yourself, and think 
 What's best to be done.
 
 306 PHILASTER. [act hi 
 
 Phi. I thank you ; I will do it : 
 Please you to leave me ; I'll consider of it. 
 To-morrow I will find your lodging forth, 150 
 
 And give you answer. 
 
 Dion. All the gods direct you 
 The readiest way ! 
 
 Thra. He was extreme impatient. 
 
 Cle. It was his virtue and his noble mind. 
 
 \_Exeu7it Dion, Cleremont, and Thrasiline,^ 
 
 Phi. I had forgot to ask him where he took them ; 
 I'll follow him. Oh, that I had a sea 
 Within my breast, to quench the fire I feel ! 
 More circumstances will but fan this fire : 
 It more afflicts me now, to know by whom 160 
 
 This deed is done, than simply that 'tis done ; 
 And he that tells me this, is honourable. 
 As far from lies as she is far from truth. 
 Oh, that, like beasts, we could not grieve ourselves 
 With that we see not ! Bulls and rams will fight 
 To keep their females, standing in their sight ; 
 But take 'em from them, and you take at once 
 Their spleens away ; and they will fall again 
 Unto their pastures, growing fresh and fat ; 
 And taste the waters of the springs as sweet 17c 
 
 As 'twas before, finding no start in sleep : 
 But miserable man 
 
 Enter Bellario. 
 
 (^Aside) See, see, you gods, 
 He walks still ; and the face you let him wear 
 When he was innocent is still the same, 
 Not blasted ! Is this justice? do you mean
 
 SCENE I.] PHILASTER. 307 
 
 To intrap mortaHty, that you allow 
 Treason so smooth a brow ? I cannot now 
 Think he is guilty. 
 
 Bel. Health to you, my lord ! 
 The princess doth commend her love, her life, i8a 
 
 And this, unto you. [ Gives a letter. 
 
 Phi. Oh, Bellario, 
 Now I perceive she loves me ! she does show it 
 In loving thee, my boy : she has made thee brave. 
 
 Bel. My lord, she has attired me past my wish, 
 Past my desert ; more fit for her attendant, 
 Though far unfit for me who do attend. 
 
 Phi. Thou art grown courtly, boy. — Oh, let all women, 
 That love black deeds, learn to dissemble here. 
 Here, by this paper ! She does write to me 190 
 
 As if her heart were mines of adamant 
 To all the world besides ; but, unto me, 
 A maiden-snow that melted with my looks. — 
 Tell me, my boy, how doth the princess use thee? 
 For I shall guess her love to me by that. 
 
 Bel. Scarce like her servant, but as if I were 
 Something allied to her, or had preserved 
 Her hfe three times by my fidelity ; 
 As mothers fond do use their only sons. 
 As I'd use one that's left unto my trust, 20c 
 
 For whom my life should pay if he met harm, 
 So she does use me. 
 
 Phi. Why, this is wondrous well : 
 But what kind language does she feed thee with? 
 
 Bel. Why, she does tell me she will trust my youth 
 With all her loving secrets, and does call me 
 Her pretty servant ; bids me weep no more
 
 308 PHILASIER. [ACT III. 
 
 For leaving you ; she'll see my services 
 
 Regarded : and such words of that soft strain, 
 
 That I am nearer weeping when she ends 210 
 
 Than ere she spake. 
 
 Phi. This is much better still. 
 
 Bel. Are you not ill, my lord? 
 
 Phi. 111? no, Bellario. 
 
 Bel. Methinks your words 
 Fall not from off your tongue so evenly, ^ 
 
 Nor is there in your looks that quietness 
 That I was wont to see. 
 
 Phi. Thou art deceived, boy : 
 And she strokes thy head ? 220 
 
 Bel. Yes. 
 
 Phi. And she does clap thy cheeks ? 
 
 Bel. She does, my lord. 
 
 Phi. And she does kiss thee, boy ? ha ! 
 
 Bel. How, my lord ? 
 
 Phi. She kisses thee ? 
 
 Bel. Not so, my lord. 
 
 Phi. Come, come, I know she does. 
 
 Bel. No, by my life. 
 
 Phi. Why then she does not love me. Come, she does, 
 I bade her do it ; I charged her, by all charms 231 
 
 Of love between us, by the hope of peace 
 We should enjoy, to yield thee all delights. 
 Tell me, gentle boy, 
 
 Is she not parallelless ? is not her breath 
 Sweet as Arabian winds when fruits are ripe ? 
 Are not her breasts two liquid ivory balls? 
 Is she not all a lasting mine of joy? 
 
 Bel. Ay, now I see why my disturbed thoughts
 
 SCENE i.l PHILASTER. 309 
 
 Were so perplexed : when first I went to her, 240 
 
 My heart held augury. You are abused ; 
 
 Some villain has abused you : I do see 
 
 Whereto you tend. Fall rocks upon his head 
 
 That put this to you ! 'tis some subtle train 
 
 To bring that noble frame of yours to nought. 
 
 Phi. Thou think'st I will be angry with thee. Come, 
 Thou shalt know all my drift : I hate her more 
 Than I love happiness, and placed thee there 
 To pry with narrow eyes into her deeds. 
 Hast thou discovered ? is she fallen to lust, 250 
 
 As I would wish her? Speak some comfort to me. 
 
 Bel. My lord, you did mistake the boy you sent : 
 Had she the lust of sparrows or of goats, 
 Had she a sin that way, hid from the world, 
 Beyond the name of lust, I would not aid 
 Her base desires : but what I came to know 
 As servant to her, I would not reveal, 
 To make my life last ages. 
 
 Phi. Oh, my heart ! 
 This is a salve worse than the main disease. 260 
 
 Tell me thy thoughts ; for I will know the least 
 
 \_Draws his sword. 
 That dwells within thee, or will rip thy heart 
 To know it : I will see thy thoughts as plain 
 As I do now thy face. 
 
 Bel. Why, so you do. 
 She is (for aught I know) by all the gods, \^Kneels. 
 
 As chaste as ice ! but were she foul as hell. 
 And I did know it thus, the breath of kings. 
 The points of swords, tortures, nor bulls of brass. 
 Should draw it from me. 270
 
 3IO PHILASTER. [ACT III 
 
 Phi. Then it is no time 
 To dally with thee ; I will take thy life, 
 For I do hate thee : I could curse thee now. 
 
 Bel. If you do hate, you could not curse me worse , 
 The gods have not a punishment in store 
 Greater for me than is your hate. 
 
 Phi. Fie, fie, 
 So young and so dissembling ! Tell me when 
 And where thou didst betray her, or let plagues 
 Fall on me, if I destroy thee not ! 280 
 
 Bel. Heaven knows I never did ; and when I lie 
 To save my life, may I live long and loathed ! 
 Hew me asunder, and, whilst I can think, 
 I'll love those pieces you have cvft away 
 Better than those that grow, and kiss those limbs 
 Because you made 'em so. 
 
 Phi. Fear'st thou not death ? 
 Can boys contemn that ? 
 
 Bel. Oh, what boy is he 
 Can be content to live to be a man, 20c 
 
 That sees the best of men thus passionate. 
 Thus without reason ? 
 
 Phi. Oh, but thou dost not know 
 What 'tis to die. 
 
 Bel. Yes, I do know, my lord : 
 'Tis less than to be born ; a lasting sleep ; 
 A quiet resting from all jealousy, 
 A thing we all pursue ; I know, besides. 
 It is but giving over of a game 
 That must be lost.^ 300 
 
 - The references to death, in the plays of Beaumont nnd Fletcher, are 
 almost invariably noble. Cf. Thierry and Theodoret, iv, i ; VaUntinian, i, 
 3, and iv, 4.
 
 SCENE I.] PHILASTER. 311 
 
 Phi. But there are pains, false boy, 
 For perjured souls : think but on these, and then 
 Thy heart will melt, and thou wilt utter all. 
 
 Bel. May they fall all upon me whilst I live, 
 If I be perjured, or have ever thought 
 Of that you charge me with ! If I be false, 
 Send me to suffer in those punishments 
 You speak of; kill me ! 
 
 Phi. Oh, what should I do ? 
 Why, who can but believe him ? he does swear 310 
 
 So earnestly, that if it were not true, 
 
 The gods would not endure him. {Sheathes his sword.) 
 Rise, Bellario : [Bell.\rio rises. 
 
 Thy protestations are so defep, and thou 
 Dost look so truly when thou utter'st them, 
 That, though I know 'err? false as were my hopes, 
 I cannot urge thee further. But thou wert 
 To blame to injure me, for I must love 
 Thy honest looks, and take no revenge upon 
 Thy tender youth : a love from me to thee 
 Is firm, what'er thou dost : it troubles me 320 
 
 That I have called the blood out of thy cheeks, 
 That did so well become thee. But, good boy, 
 Let me not see thee more : something is done 
 That will distract me, that will make me mad. 
 If I behold thee. If thou tender's! me, 
 Let me not see thee. 
 
 Bel. I will fly as far 
 As there is morning, ere I give distaste 
 To that most honoured mind. But through these tears. 
 Shed at my hopeless parting, I can see • 330 
 
 A world of treason practised upon you.
 
 ^12 PHILASTER. [ACT III. 
 
 And her, and me. Farewell for evermore ! 
 If you shall hear that sorrow struck me dead. 
 And after tind me loyal, let there be 
 A tear shed from you in my memory. 
 And I shall rest at peace. 
 
 Phi. Blessing be with thee, 
 Whatever thou deserv'st ! — {Exit Bellario.) Oh, where 
 
 shall I 
 Go bathe this body ? Nature too unkind ; 
 That made no medicine for a troubled mind ! \_Exit. 340 
 
 Scene II. — Arethusa's Apartment in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Arethusa. 
 
 Are. I marvel my boy comes not back again : 
 But that I know my love will question him 
 Over and over, — how I slept, waked, talked. 
 How I remembered him when his dear name 
 Was last spoke, and how, when I sighed, wept, sung. 
 And ten thousand such, — I should be angry at his stay. 
 
 Enter King. 
 
 King. What, at your meditations ! Who attends you ? 
 Are. None but my single self: I need no guard ; 
 I do no wrong, nor fear none. 
 
 King. Tell me, have you not a boy ? 10 
 
 Are. Yes, sir. 
 
 King. What kind of boy ? 
 
 Are. A page, a waiting boy. 
 
 King. A handsome boy? 
 
 Are. I think he be not ugly :
 
 SCENE II.] PHILASTER. 313 
 
 Well qualified and dutiful I know him ; 
 1 took him not for beauty. 
 
 King. He speaks and sings and plays? 
 
 Are. Yes, sir. 
 
 King. About eighteen? 20 
 
 Are. I never asked his age. 
 
 King. Is he full of service ? 
 
 Are. By your pardon, why do you ask? 
 
 King. Put him away. 
 
 Are. Sir ! 
 
 Ki7Xg. Put him away. He has done you that good service 
 Shames me to speak of. 
 
 Are. Good sir, let me understand you. 
 
 King. If you fear me, 
 Show it in duty ; put away that boy. 30 
 
 Are. Let me have reason for it, sir, and then 
 Your will is my command. 
 
 King. Do not you blush to ask it ? Cast him off, 
 Or I shall do the same to you. You're one 
 Shame with me, and so near unto myself, 
 That, by my life, I dare not tell myself 
 What you, myself, have done. 
 
 Are. What have I done, my lord ? 
 
 King. 'Tis a new language, that all love to learn : 
 'I'he common people speak it well already ; 40 
 
 They need no grammar. Understand me well ; 
 There be foul whispers stirring. Cast him off, 
 And suddenly : do it ! Farewell. \_Exit. 
 
 Are. Where may a maiden live securely free, 
 Keeping her honour fair? Not with the living; 
 They feed upon opinions, errors, dreams, 
 And make 'em truths ; they draw a nourishment
 
 314 PHILASTER. [act III, 
 
 Out of defamings, grow upon disgraces : 
 
 And, when they see a virtue fortified 
 
 Strongly above the battery of their tongues, 50 
 
 Oh, how they cast to sink it ! and, defeated, 
 
 (Soul-sick with poison) strike the monuments 
 
 Where noble names lie sleeping, till they sweat, 
 
 And the cold marble melt. 
 
 Enter Philaster. 
 
 Phi. Peace to your fairest thoughts, dearest mistress ! 
 
 Are. Oh, my dearest servant,^ I have a war within me ! 
 
 Phi. He must be more than man that makes these crystals 
 Run into rivers. Sweetest fair, the cause ? 
 And, as I am your slave, tied to your goodness, 
 Your creature, made again from what I was 60 
 
 And newly spirited, I'll right your honour. 
 
 Are. Oh, my best love, that boy ! 
 
 Phi. What boy? 
 
 Are. That pretty boy you gave me 
 
 Phi. What of him ? 
 
 Are. Must be no more mine. 
 
 Phi. Why? 
 
 Are. They are jealous of him. 
 
 Phi. Jealous ! who? 
 
 Are. The King. 70 
 
 Phi. {aside). Oh, my fortune ! 
 Then 'tis no idle jealousy. — Let him go. 
 
 Are. Oh, cruel ! 
 Are you hard-hearted too? who shall now tell you 
 How much I loved you ? who shall swear it to you, 
 And weep the tears I send ? who shall now bring you 
 
 i Lover.
 
 SCENE 11.] PHILASTER. 315 
 
 Letters, rings, bracelets ? lose his health in service ? 
 
 Wake tedious nights in stories of your praise ? 
 
 Who shall now sing your crying elegies, 
 
 And strike a sad soul into senseless pictures, 80 
 
 And make them mourn ? who shall take up his lute, 
 
 And touch it till he crown a silent sleep 
 
 Upon my eyelids, making me dream, and cry, 
 
 " Oh, my dear, dear Philaster ! " 
 
 Phi. {aside). Oh, my heart ! 
 Would he had broken thee, that made me know 
 This lady was not loyal ! — Mistress, 
 Forget the boy ; I'll get thee a far better. 
 
 Are. Oh, never, never such a boy again 
 As my Bellario ! 90 
 
 Phi. 'Tis but your fond affection. 
 
 A7-e. With thee, my boy, farewell for ever 
 All secrecy in servants ! Farewell faith. 
 And all desire to do well for itself ! 
 Let all that shall succeed thee for thy wrongs 
 Sell and betray chaste love ! 
 
 Phi. And all this passion for a boy ? 
 
 Are. He was your boy, and you put him to me, 
 And the loss of such must have a mourning for. 
 
 Phi. Oh, thou forgetful woman ! 100 
 
 Af'e. How, my lord ? 
 
 Phi. False Arethusa ! 
 Hast thou a medicine to restore my wits. 
 When I have lost 'em ? If not, leave to talk. 
 And do thus. 
 
 Are. Do what, sir? would you sleep? 
 
 Phi. For ever, Arethusa. Oh, you gods, 
 Give me a worthy patience ! Have I stood
 
 310 PHILASTER. [ACT IIL 
 
 Naked, alone, the shock of many fortunes ? 
 
 Have I seen mischiefs numberless and mighty no 
 
 Grow like a sea upon me ? Have I taken 
 
 Danger as stern as death into my bosom. 
 
 And laughed upon it, made it but a mirth, 
 
 And flung it by ? Do I live now like him. 
 
 Under this tyrant King, that languishing 
 
 Hears his sad bell and sees his mourners? Do I 
 
 Bear all this bravely, and must sink at length 
 
 Under a woman's falsehood? Oh, that boy. 
 
 That cursed boy ! 
 
 Are. Nay, then, I am betrayed : 120 
 
 I feel the plot cast for my overthrow. 
 Oh, I am wretched ! 
 
 Phi. Now you may take that little right I have 
 To this poor kingdom : give it to your joy ; 
 For I have no joy in it. Some far place, 
 Where never womankind durst set her foot 
 For bursting with her poisons, must I seek, 
 And live to curse you : 
 
 There dig a cave, and preach to birds and beasts 
 What woman is, and help to save them from you : 130 
 
 How heaven is in your eyes, but in your hearts 
 More hell than hell has ; how your tongues, like scorpions. 
 Both heal and poison ; how your thoughts are woven 
 With thousand changes in one subtle web, 
 And worn so by you ; how that foolish man, 
 That reads the story of a woman's face 
 And dies believing it, is lost for ever : 
 How all the good you have is but a shadow, 
 r the morning with you, and at night behind you 
 Past and forgotten ; how your vows are frosts, 14c
 
 SCENE II.] PHILASTER. 317 
 
 Fast for a night, and with the next sun gone ; 
 
 How you are, being taken all together, 
 
 A mere confusion, and so dead a chaos. 
 
 That love cannot distinguish. These sad texts, 
 
 Till my last hour, I am bound to utter of you. 
 
 So, farewell all my woe, all my delight ! \^Exit. 
 
 Are. Be merciful, ye gods, and strike me dead ! 
 What way have I deserved this ? Make my breast 
 Transparent as pure crystal, that the world. 
 Jealous of me, may see the foulest thought 150 
 
 My heart holds. Where shall a woman turn her eyes. 
 To find out constancy ? 
 
 Enter Bellario. 
 
 Save me, how black 
 And guiltily, methinks, that boy looks now ! 
 Oh, thou dissembler, that, before thou spak'st, 
 Wert in thy cradle false, sent to make lies 
 And betray innocents ! Thy lord and thou 
 May glory in the ashes of a maid 
 Fooled by her passion ; but the conquest is 
 Nothing so great as wicked. Fly away ! 
 Let my command force thee to that which shame 100 
 
 Would do without it. If thou understood'st 
 The loathed office thou hast undergone, 
 Why, thou wouldst hide thee under heaps of hills. 
 Lest men should dig and find thee. 
 
 Bel. Oh, what god, 
 Angry with men, hath sent this strange disease 
 Into the noblest minds ! Madam, this grief 
 You add unto me is no more than drops 
 To seas, for which they are not seen to swell ;
 
 3l8 PHILASTER. [ACT 111. 
 
 My lord hath struck his anger through my heart, 17.- 
 
 And let out all the hope of future joys. 
 You need not bid me fly ; I came to part, 
 To take my latest leave. Farewell for ever ! 
 I durst not run away in honesty 
 From such a lady, like a boy that stole 
 Or made some grievous fault. The power of gods 
 Assist you in your sufferings ! Hasty time 
 Reveal the truth to your abused lord 
 
 And mine, that he may know your worth ; whilst I 179 
 
 Go seek out some forgotten place to die ! [^Exit Bellario. 
 Are. Peace guide thee ! Thou hast overthrown me once ; 
 Yet, if I had another Troy to lose, 
 Thou, or another villain with thy looks, 
 Might talk me out of it, and send me naked, 
 My hair dishevelled, through the fiery streets. 
 
 Enter a Lady. 
 
 Lady. Madam, the King would hunt, and calls for you 
 With earnestness. 
 
 Are. I am in tune to hunt ! 
 Diana, if thou canst rage with a maid 
 
 As with a man,' let me discover thee 190 
 
 Bathing, and turn me to a fearful hind. 
 That I may die pursued by cruel hounds. 
 And have my story written in my wounds ! \_Exeunt} 
 
 1 Actaeon, who, having caught sight of Diana bathing, was torn to pieces 
 by his own dogs. 
 
 2 The skill with which this third act is composed is excellent. What 
 could be more natural than the art with which the Kin?, the Princess, and 
 Philaster are enmeshed in mutual misunderstandings, not a loophole for 
 explanations visible ?
 
 SCENE I.] PHILASTER. 319 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. — Before the Palace. 
 
 Enter King, Pharamond, Arethusa, Galatea, Megra, 
 Dion, Cleremont, Thrasiline, and Attendants. 
 
 King. What, are the hounds before and all the woodmen, 
 Our horses ready and our bows bent? 
 
 Dion. All, sir. 
 
 King {to Pharamond). You are cloudy, sir: come, we 
 have forgotten 
 Your venial trespass ; let not that sit heavy 
 Upon your spirit ; here's none dare utter it. 
 
 Dion. He looks dull as a dormouse. See how he sinks ! 
 
 Thra. He needs no teaching, he strikes sure enough : his 
 greatest fault is, he hunts too much in the purlieus ; would 
 he would leave off poaching ! 10 
 
 Dion. And for his horn, h'as left it at the lodge where he 
 lay late. Oh, he's a precious limehound ^ ! turn him loose 
 upon the pursuit of a lady, and if he lose her, hang him up 
 i' the slip. 
 
 King. Is your boy turned away ? 
 
 Are. You did command, sir. 
 And I obeyed you. 
 
 King. 'Tis well done. Hark ye further. 
 
 \They talk apart. 
 
 1 Hunting-dog ; from the collar, and thong {team, lyam, lime) used in 
 leading him.
 
 320 PHILASTER. fACT IV. 
 
 Cle. Is't possible this fellow should repent? methinks, 
 that were not noble in him ; and yet he looks like a mortified 
 member, as if he had a sick man's salve ^ in's mouth. If 
 a worse man had done this fault now, some physical justice 
 or other would presently (without the help of an almanack) 
 have opened the obstructions of his liver, and let him blood 
 with a dogwhip. 25 
 
 Dion. See, see how modestly yon lady looks, as if she 
 came from churching with her neighbour ! Why, what a 
 devil can a man see in her face but that she's honest !   
 
 Thra. Troth, no great matter to speak of; a foolish 
 twinkling with the eye, that spoils her coat ; but he must be 
 a cunning herald that finds it. 31 
 
 Dion. See how they muster one another ! Oh, there's a 
 rank regiment where the devil carries the colours and his 
 dam drum-major ! now the world and the flesh come behind 
 with the carriage.^ 
 
 Cle. Sure this lady has a good turn done her against her 
 will. Her face looks hke a warrant, willing and command- 
 ing all tongues, as they will answer it, to be tied up and 
 bolted when this lady means to let herself loose. As I live, 
 she has got her a goodly protection and a gracious : Oh, if 
 they were to be got for money, what a great sum would 
 come out of the city for these Hcenses ! 42 
 
 King. To horse, to horse ! we lose the morning, gentle- 
 men. \Exeiint. 
 
 1 A religious work, The Sick Man's Salve, was often ridiculed by the 
 early dramatists. 
 
 2 Baggage.
 
 SCENE II.] PHILASTER. 32 1 
 
 Scene II. — A Forest. 
 Enter two Woodmen. 
 
 1st Wood. What, have you lodged the deer? 
 
 2d Wood. Yes, they are ready for the bow. 
 
 jst Wood. Who shoots? 
 
 2d Wood. The princess. 
 
 jst Wood. No, she'll hunt. 
 
 2d Wood. She'll take a stand, I say. 
 
 J St Wood. Who else? 
 
 2d Wood. Why, the young stranger-prince. 
 
 jst Wood. He shall shoot in a stone-bow ^ for me. I 
 never loved his beyond-sea-ship since he forsook the say,- 
 for paying ten shillings. I think he should love venery ; he 
 is an old Sir Tristrem,'' for if you be remembered, he forsook 
 the stag once to strike a rascal miching ^ in a meadow, and 
 her he killed in the eye. Who shoots else ? 14 
 
 2d Wood. The Lady Galatea. 
 
 1st Wood. She's liberal, and, by my bow, they say she's 
 honest ; and whether that be a fault, 1 have nothing to do. 
 There's all? 
 
 2d Wood. No, one more ; Megra. 
 
 1st Wood. That's a firker^ i 'faith, boy ! I have known her 
 lose herself three times in one afternoon (if the woods have 
 been answerable) , and it has been work enough for one man 
 to find her, and he has sweat for it. She rides well and she 
 pays well. Hark ! let's go. \_Exeuni. 24 
 
 1 Cross-bow for shooting stones. 
 
 2 The assay, or slitting of the deer, in order to test the quality of his flesh, 
 which involved a fee often shillings to the keeper. 
 
 8 Sir Tristram, one of the knights of the Round Table. 
 
 * Lurking, skulking ; cf. Hamlet, iii, 2 146. 5 Slasher.
 
 32 2 PHILASTER. [ACT IV. 
 
 Enter Philaster. 
 
 Phi. Oh, that I had been nourished in these woods 
 With milk of goats and acorns, and not known 
 The right of crowns nor the dissembling trains 
 Of women's looks ; but digged myself a cave, 
 Where I, my fire, my cattle, and my bed. 
 Might have been shut together in one shed ; 30 
 
 And then had taken me some mountain-girl. 
 Beaten with winds, chaste as the hardened rocks "^ 
 
 Whereon she dwells, that might have strewed my bed 
 With leaves and reeds, and with the skins of beasts. 
 Our neighbours, and have borne at her big breasts 
 My large coarse issue ! ^ This had been a life 
 Free from vexation. 
 
 Enter Bellario. 
 
 Bel. Oh, wicked men ! 
 An innocent may walk safe among beasts ; 
 Nothing assaults me here. {Aside) See, my grieved lord 
 Sits as his soul were searching out a way 40 
 
 To leave his body ! — Pardon me, that must 
 Break thy last commandment ; for I must speak : 
 Vou that are grieved can pity ; hear, my lord ! 
 
 Phi. Is there a creature yet so miserable, 
 That I can pity ? 
 
 Bei. Oh, my noble lord. 
 View my strange fortune, and bestow on me. 
 According to your bounty (if my service 
 Can merit nothing), so much as may serve 
 To keep that Httle piece I hold of life 5c 
 
 ^ Cf. Tennyson's Locksley Hall.
 
 SCENE II.] PHILASTER. 323 
 
 From cold and hunger ! 
 
 Phi. Is it thou? begone ! 
 Go, sell those misbeseeming clothes thou wear'st, 
 And feed thyself with them. 
 
 Bel. Alas, my lord, I can get nothing for them ! 
 The silly country-people think 'tis treason 
 To touch such gay things. 
 
 Phi. Now, by my life, this is 
 Unkindly done, to vex me with thy sight. 
 Thou'rt fallen again to thy dissembling trade : 60 
 
 How shouldst thou think to cozen me again? 
 Remains there yet a plague untried for me ? 
 Even so thou wept'st, and looked'st, and spok'st when first 
 I took thee up : 
 
 Curse on the time ! If thy commanding tears 
 Can work on any other, use thy art ; 
 I'll not betray it. Which way wilt thou take? 
 That I may shun thee, for thine eyes are poison 
 To mine, and I am loath to grow in rage : 
 This way, or that way? 70 
 
 Bel. Any will serve ; but I will choose to have 
 That path in chase that leads unto my grave. 
 
 \_Exeunt severally. 
 
 Enter on one side Dion, and on the other the two Woodmen. 
 
 Dion. This is the strangest sudden chance ! You, wood- 
 men ! 
 1st Wood. My Lord Dion? 
 
 Dion. Saw you a lady come this way on a sable horse 
 studded with stars of white? 
 
 2d Wood. Was she not young and tall? 
 
 Dion. Yes. Rode she to the wood or to the plain?
 
 324 PHILASTER. [ACT iv. 
 
 2d Wood. Faith my lord, we saw none. 
 
 \_Exeunt Woodmen. 
 Dion. Plague of your questions then ! 80 
 
 Enter Cleremont. 
 
 What, is she found ? 
 
 Cle. Nor will be, I think. 
 
 Dion. Let him seek his daughter himself. She cannot 
 stray about a little, but the whole court must be in arms. 
 
 Cle. There's already a thousand fatherless tales amongst 
 us. Some say, her horse ran away with her ; some, a wolf 
 pursued her; others, it was a plot to kill her, and that 
 armed men were seen in the wood : but, questionless, she 
 rode away willingly. 
 
 Enter King, Thrasiline, and Attendants. 
 
 King. Where is she? 90 
 
 Cle. Sir, I cannot telL 
 
 King. How's that? 
 Answer me so again ! 
 
 Cle. Sir, shall I lie? 
 
 King. Yes, lie and damn, rather than tell me that. 
 I say again, where is she ? Mutter not ! — 
 Sir, speak you ; where is she ? 
 
 Dion. Sir, I do not know. 
 
 King. Speak that again so boldly, and, by Heaven, 
 It is thy last ! — You, fellows, answer me ; loc 
 
 Where is she ? Mark me, all ; I am your King : 
 I wish to see my daughter ; show her me ; 
 I do command you all, as you are subjects. 
 To show her me ! What ! am I not your King? 
 Tf ay, then am I not to be obeyed? 
 
 Dion. Yes, if you command things possible and honest.
 
 SCENE II.] PHILASTER. 325 
 
 King. Things possible and honest ! Hear me, thou, 
 Thou traitor, that dar'st confine thy King to things 
 Possible and honest ! show her me, 
 
 Or, let me perish, if I cover not 110 
 
 All Sicily with blood ! 
 
 Dion. Indeed I cannot, 
 Unless you tell me where she is. 
 
 King. You have betrayed me ; you have let me lose 
 The jewel of my Ufe. Go, bring her to me, 
 And set her here before me : 'tis the King 
 Will have it so ; whose breath can still the winds, 
 Uncloud the sun, charm down the swelling sea. 
 And stop the floods of heaven. Speak, can it not? 
 
 Dion. No. 120 
 
 King. No ! cannot the breath of kings do this ? 
 
 Dion. No ; nor smell sweet itself, if once the lungs 
 Be but corrupted. 
 
 King. Is it so? Take heed ! 
 
 Dion. Sir, take you heed how you dare the powers 
 That must be just. 
 
 King. Alas ! what are we kings ! 
 Why do you, gods, place us above the rest, 
 To be served, flattered, and adored, till we 
 Believe we hold within our hands your thunder, 130 
 
 And when we come to try the power we have, 
 There's not a leaf shakes at our threatenings ? 
 I have sinned, 'tis true, and here stand to be punished ; 
 Yet would not thus be punished : let me choose 
 My way, and lay it on ! 
 
 Dion {aside). He articles with the gods. Would some- 
 body would draw bonds for the performance of covenants 
 betwixt them I
 
 326 PHILASTER. [ACT IV. 
 
 Enter Pharamond, Galatea, and Megra. 
 
 King. What, is she found? 
 
 Pha. No ; we have ta'en her horse ; 140 
 
 He galloped empty by. There is some treason. 
 You, Galatea, rode with her into the wood ; 
 Why left you her? 
 
 Gal. She did command me. 
 
 King. Command ! you should not. 
 
 Gal. 'Twould ill become my fortunes and my birth 
 To disobey the daughter of my King. 
 
 King. You're all cunning to obey us for our hurt ; 
 But I will have her. 
 
 Pha. If I have her not, 150 
 
 By this hand, there shall be no more Sicily. 
 
 Dion {aside). What, will he carry it to Spain in's pocket? 
 
 Pha. I will not leave one man alive, but the King, 
 A cook, and a tailor. 
 
 King {aside). I see 
 The injuries I have done must be revenged. 
 
 Dion. Sir, this is not the way to find her out. 
 
 King. Run all, disperse yourselves. The man that finds 
 her. 
 Or (if she be killed), the traitor, I'll make him great. 
 
 Dion {aside). I know some would give five thousand 
 pounds to find her. 161 
 
 Pha. Come, let us seek. 
 
 King. Each man a several way ; 
 Here I myself. 
 
 Dion. Come, gentlemen, we here. 
 
 Cle. Lady, you must go search too. 
 
 Meg. I had rather be searched myself. \_Exeunt severally.
 
 SCENE III.] PHILASTER. 327 
 
 Scene III. — Another Part of the Forest. 
 Enter Arethusa. 
 
 Are. Where am I now? Feet, find me out a way, 
 Without the counsel of my troubled head : 
 I'll follow you boldly about these woods, 
 O'er mountains, through brambles, pits, and floods. • 
 Heaven, I hope, will ease me : I am sick. \Sits down. 
 
 Enter Bellario. 
 
 Bel. (^aside). Yonder's my lady. Heaven knows I want 
 Nothing, because I do not wish to live ; 
 Yet I will try her charity. — Oh, hear. 
 You that have plenty ! from that flowing store 
 Drop some on dry ground. — See, the lively red 10 
 
 Is gone to guard her heart ! I fear she faints. — 
 Madam, look up ! — She breathes not. — Open once more 
 Those rosy twins, and send unto my lord 
 Your latest farewell ! — Oh, she stirs. — How is it, 
 Madam? speak comfort. 
 
 Are. 'Tis not gently done. 
 To put me in a miserable life. 
 And hold me there : I prithee, let me go ; 
 I shall do best without thee ; I am well. 
 
 Enter Philaster. 
 
 Phi. I am to blame to be so much in rage : 2t 
 
 I'll tell her coolly when and where I heard 
 This killing truth. I will be temperate 
 
 In speaking, and as just in hearing. 
 
 Oh, monstrous ! Tempt me not, ye gods ! good gods,
 
 
 
 28 PHILASTER. [ACT IV. 
 
 Tempt not a frail man ! What's he, that has a heart, 
 But he must ease it here ! 
 
 Be/. My lord, help, help ! 
 The princess ! 
 
 Are. I am well : forbear. 
 
 P/ii. (asiWe). Let me love lightning, let me be embraced 
 And kissed by scorpions, or adore the eyes 31 
 
 Of basilisk-^5 rather than trust the tongues 
 Of hell-bred women ! Some good god look down, -v. 
 
 And shrink these veins up ; stick me here a stone, 
 Lasting to ages in the memory 
 Of this damned act ! — Hear me, you wicked ones ! 
 You have put hills of fire into this breast. 
 Not to be quenched with tears ; for which may guilt 
 Sit on your bosoms ! at your meals and beds 
 Despair artrait you ! What, before my face? . 40 
 
 Poison of asps between your Ups ! diseases 
 Be your best issues ! Nature make a curse, 
 And throw it on you ! 
 
 Are. Dear Philaster, leave 
 To be enraged, and hear me. 
 
 /%/. I have done ; 
 Forgive my passion. Not the calmed sea. 
 When ^olus locks up his windy brood. 
 Is less disturbed than I : I'll make you know it. 
 Dear Arethusa, do but take this sword, 5a 
 
 [ Offers his drawn sword. 
 And search how temperate a heart I have ; 
 Then you and this your boy may live and reign 
 In lust without control. Wilt thou, Bellario? 
 I prithee kill me ; thou art poor, and may'st 
 Nourish ambitious thoughts ; when I am dead,
 
 SCENE III.J PHILASTER. 329 
 
 Thy way were freer. Am I raging now? 
 If I were mad, I should desire to live. 
 Sirs/ feel my pulse, whether you have known 
 A man in a more equal tune to die. 
 
 Bel. Alas, my lord, your pulse keeps madman's time ! 
 So does your tongue. 61 
 
 Phi. You will not kill me, then? 
 
 Are. Kill you ! 
 
 Bel. Not for a world. 
 
 Phi. I blame not thee, 
 Bellario : thou hast done but that which gods 
 Would have transformed themselves to do. Be gone, 
 Leave me without reply ; this is the last 
 Of all our meetings — (iS'jc//' Bellario.) Kill me with this 
 
 sword ; 
 Be wise, or worse will follow : we are two 70 
 
 Earth cannot bear at once. Resolve to do, 
 Or suffer. 
 
 Are. If my fortune be so good to let me fall 
 Upon thy hand, I shall have peace in death. 
 Yet tell me this, will there be no slanders, 
 No jealousies in the other world ; no ill there? 
 
 Phi. No. 
 
 Are. Show me, then, the way. 
 
 Phi. Then guide my feeble hand, 
 You that have power to do it, for I must 80 
 
 Perform a piece of justice ! — If your youth 
 Have any way offended Heaven, let prayers 
 Short and effectual reconcile you to it. 
 
 Are. I am prepared. 
 
 1 Women, as well as men, were formerly addressed as sirs.
 
 330 PHILASTER. [act iv. 
 
 Enter a Country Fellow. 
 
 C. Fell, {aside). I'll see the King, if he be in the forest ; I 
 have hunted him these two hours ; if I should come home 
 and not see him, my sisters would laugh at me. * I can see 
 nothing but people better horsed than myself, that outride 
 me ; I can hear nothing but shouting. These kings had need 
 of good brains ; this whooping is able to put a mean man 
 out of his wits. There's a courtier with his sword drawn -^ 
 by this hand, upon a woman, I think ! 92 
 
 Phi. Are you at peace? 
 
 Are. With heaven and earth. 
 
 Phi. May they divide thy soul and body ! [ IVoiaids her. 
 
 C. Fell. Hold, dastard ! strike a woman ! Thou'rt a 
 craven, I warrant thee : thou wouldst be loath to play half a 
 dozen venies ^ at wasters ^ with a good fellow for a broken 
 head. 
 
 Phi. Leave us, good friend. 100 
 
 Are. What ill-bred man art thou, to intrude thyself 
 Upon our private sports, our recreations ? 
 
 C. Fell. God 'uds me,^ I understand you not ; but 
 I know the rogue has hurt you. 
 
 Phi.. Pursue thy own affairs : it will be ill 
 To multiply blood upon my head ; which thou 
 Wilt force me to. 
 
 C. Fell I know not your rhetoric ; but I can lay it on, if 
 you touch the woman. 
 
 Phi. Slave, take what thou deservest ! \They fight, no 
 
 Are. Heavens guard my lord ! 
 
 C. Fell. Oh, do you breathe? 
 
 Phi. {aside). I hear the tread of people. I am hurt : 
 
 1 A turn or bout, at fencing ; French venue. 
 
 2 Singlestick, or cudgels. 8 God judge me.
 
 SCENE III.] PHILASTER. 331 
 
 The gods take part against me : could this boor 
 Have held me thus else ? I must shift for life, 
 Though I do loathe it. I would find a course 
 To lose it rather by my will than force. \_Exit. 
 
 C. Fell. I cannot follow the rogue. I pray thee, wench, 
 come and kiss me now. 
 
 Enter Pharamond, Dion, Cleremont, Thrasiline, and 
 
 Woodmen. 
 Pha. What art thou? 120 
 
 C. Fell. Almost killed I am for a foolish woman ; a knave 
 has hurt her. 
 
 Pha. The princess, gentlemen! — Where's the wound, 
 madam ! 
 Is it dangerous? 
 
 Are. He has not hurt me. 
 
 C. Fell. V faith, she lies ; h'as hurt her in the breast ; 
 look else. 
 
 Pha. O, sacred spring of innocent blood ! 
 
 Dion. 'Tis above wonder ! who should dare this? 
 
 Are. I felt it not. 130 
 
 Pha. Speak, villain, who has hurt the princess? 
 
 C. Fell. Is it the princess ? 
 
 Dion. Ay. 
 
 C. Fell. Then I have seen something yet. 
 
 Pha. But who has hurt her? 
 
 C. Fell. I told you, a rogue ; I ne'er saw him before, I. 
 
 Pha. Madam, who did it? 
 
 Are. Some dishonest wretch ; 
 Alas, I know him not, and do forgive him ! 
 
 C. Fell. He's hurt too ; he cannot go far ; I made my 
 father's old fox * fly about his ears. 141 
 
 1 Sword.
 
 332 PHILASTER. [act iv 
 
 Pha. How will you have me kill him ? 
 
 Are. Not at all ; 
 'Tis some distracted fellow. 
 
 Pha. By this hand, 
 I'll leave ne'er a piece of him bigger than a nut, 
 And bring him all to you in my hat. 
 
 Are. Nay, good sir. 
 If you do take him, bring him quick ^ to me, 
 And I will study for a punishment i:^ 
 
 Great as his fault. 
 
 Pha. I will. 
 
 Are. But swear. 
 
 Pha. By all my love, I will. — 
 Woodmen, conduct the princess to the King, 
 And bear that wounded fellow to dressing. — 
 Come, gentlemen, we'll follow the chase close. 
 
 \_Exeiint on one side Phar.a.mond, Dion, Cleremont, 
 and Thrasiline ; on the other Arethusa at- 
 tended by the First Woodman. 
 
 C. Fell. I pray you, friend, let me see the King. 
 
 2d IVood. That you shall, and receive thanks. 
 
 C. Fell. If I get clear with this, I'll go see no more gay 
 sights. \_Exeunt. loc 
 
 Scene IV. — Another Part of the Forest. 
 
 Enter Bellario. 
 
 Bel. A heaviness near death sits on my brow. 
 And I must sleep. Bear me, thou gentle bank, 
 For ever, if thou wilt. You sweet ones all, \_Lies dotvn. 
 
 Let me unworthy press you : I could wish 
 
 1 Alive.
 
 SCENE IV.] PHILASTER. 333 
 
 I rather were a corse strewed o'er with you 
 
 Than quick above you. Dulness shuts mine eyes. 
 
 And I am giddy : oh, that I could take 
 
 So sound a sleep that I might never wake ! \^Sleeps. 
 
 Enter Philaster. 
 
 Phi. I have done ill ; my conscience calls me false, 
 To strike at her that would not strike at me. lo 
 
 When I did fight, methought I heard her pray 
 The gods to guard me. She may be abused, 
 And I a loathed villain : if she be, 
 She will conceal who hurt her. He has wounds 
 And cannot follow ; neither knows he me. 
 Who's this ? Bellario sleeping ! If thou be'st 
 Guilty, there is no justice that thy sleep 
 Should be so sound, and mine, whom thou hast wronged, 
 
 [ Ciy within. 
 So broken. Hark ! I am pursued. Ye gods, 
 I'll take this offered means of my escape : 20 
 
 They have no mark to know me but my blood. 
 If she be true ; if false, let mischief light 
 On all the world at once ! Sword, print my wounds 
 Upon this sleeping boy ! I have none, I think. 
 Are mortal, nor would I lay greater on thee. 
 
 [ Wounrfs Bellario.^ 
 
 Bei. Oh, death, I hope, is come ! Blest be that hand ! 
 It meant me well. Again, for pity's sake ! 
 
 P/ii. I have caught myself; \_Falls. 
 
 The loss of blood hath stayed my flight. Here, here, 
 
 1 Dryden justly condemns these pinkings of Arethusa and Bellario by 
 Philaster. " It is as if the jealous but naturally gentle lover wished to do a 
 little bit of murder without actually committing it," says Leigh Hunt.
 
 334 PHILASTER. [ACT IV. 
 
 Is he that struck thee : take thy full revenge ; 30 
 
 Use me, as I did mean thee, worse than death ; 
 I'll teach thee to revenge. This luckless hand 
 Wounded the princess ; tell my followers ^ 
 Thou didst receive these hurts in staying me, 
 And I will second thee ; get a reward. 
 
 Bel. Fly, fly, my lord, and save yourself ! 
 
 Phi. How's this? 
 Wouldst thou I should be safe? 
 
 Bel. Else were it vain 
 For me to live. These Httle wounds I have 40 
 
 Have not bled much : reach me that noble hand ; 
 I'll help to cover you. 
 
 Phi. Art thou then true to me ? 
 
 Bel. Or let me perish loathed ! Come, my good lord, 
 Creep in amongst those bushes : who does know 
 But that the gods may save your much-loved breath ? 
 
 Phi. Then I shall die for grief, if not for this. 
 That I have wounded thee. What wilt thou do ? 
 
 BeL Shift for myself well. Peace ! I hear 'em come. 
 
 [Philaster creeps into a bush. 
 
 ( Voices within^ Follow, follow, follow ! that way they 
 went. 50 
 
 Bel. With my own wounds I'll bloody my own sword. 
 I need not counterfeit to fall ; Heaven knows 
 That I can stand no longer. \_Falls. 
 
 Enter Pharamond, Dion, Cleremont, and Thrasiline. 
 
 Pha. To this place we have tracked him by his blood. 
 Cle. Yonder, my lord, creeps one away. 
 Dion. Stay, sir ! what are you? 
 
 1 Pursuers.
 
 SCENE rv.] PHILASTER. 335 
 
 Bel. A wretched creature, wounded in these woods 
 By beasts : reUeve me, if your names be men, 
 Or I shall perish. 
 
 Dion. This is he, my lord, 60 
 
 Upon my soul, that hurt her : 'tis the boy. 
 That wicked boy, that served her. 
 
 Pha. Oh, thou damned 
 In thy creation ! what cause couldst thou shape 
 To hurt the princess? 
 
 Bel. Then I am betrayed. 
 
 Dion. Betrayed ! no, apprehended. 
 
 Bel. I confess, 
 (Urge it no more) that big with evil thoughts, 
 I set upon her, and did take my aim, 7^ 
 
 Her death. For charity let fall at once 
 The punishment you mean, and do not load 
 This weary flesh with tortures. 
 
 Pha. I will know 
 Who hired thee to this deed. 
 
 Bel. Mine own revenge. 
 
 Plia. Revenge ! for what? 
 
 Bel. It pleased her to receive 
 Me as her page, and, when my fortunes ebbed, 
 That men strid o'er them careless, she did shower So 
 
 Her welcome graces on me, and did swell 
 My fortunes till they overflowed their banks, 
 Threatening the men that crossed 'em ; when, as swift 
 As storms arise at sea, she turned her eyes 
 To burning suns upon me, and did dry 
 The streams she had bestowed, leaving me worse 
 And more contemned than other litde brooks. 
 Because I had been great. In short, I knew
 
 33^ FHILASTER. [ACT IV. 
 
 I could not live, and therefore did desire 
 
 To die revenged. go 
 
 PAa. If tortures can be found 
 Long as thy natural life, resolve to feel 
 The utmost rigour. 
 
 C/e. Help to lead him hence. 
 
 [Philaster creeps out of the bush. 
 
 Phi. Turn back, you ravishers of innocence ! 
 Know ye the price of that you bear away ^^ 
 
 So rudely? 
 
 Pha. Who's that? 
 
 Dion. 'Tis the Lord Philaster. 
 
 Phi. 'Tis not the treasure of all kings in one, ,00 
 
 The wealth of Tagus, nor the rocks of pearl 
 That pave the court of Neptune, can weigh down 
 That virtue. It was I that hurt the princess. 
 Place me, some god, upon a pyramis ' 
 Higher than hills of earth, and lend a voice 
 Loud as your thunder to me, that from thence 
 I may discourse to all the under-world 
 The worth that dwells in him ! 
 
 Pha. How's this? 
 
 Bel. My lord, some man no 
 
 Weary of life, that would be glad to die. 
 
 Phi. Leave these untimely courtesies, Bellario. 
 
 Bel. Alas, he's mad ! Come, will you lead me on? 
 
 Phi. By all the oaths that men ought most to keep, 
 And gods do punish most when men do break, 
 He touched her not. — Take heed, Bellario, 
 How thou dost drown the virtues thou hast shown 
 With perjury. — By all that's good, 'twas I ! 
 
 1 Pyramid.
 
 SCENE IV.] PHILASTER. 337 
 
 Vou know she stood betwixt me and my right. 
 
 Pha. Thy own tongue be thy judge ! 120 
 
 Cle. It was Philaster. 
 
 Dion. Is't not a brave boy? 
 Well, sirs, I fear me we were all deceived. 
 
 Phi. Have I no friend here? 
 
 Dion. Yes. 
 
 Phi. Then show it : some 
 Good body lend a hand to draw us nearer. 
 Would you have tears shed for you when you die ? 
 Then lay me gently on his neck, that there 
 I may weep floods and breathe forth my spirit. 130 
 
 'Tis not the wealth of Plutus, nor the gold \_Embraces Bel. 
 Locked in the heart of earth, can buy away 
 This arm-full from me : this had been a ransom 
 To have redeemed the great Augustus Caesar, 
 Had he been taken. You hard-hearted men. 
 More stony than these mountains, can you see 
 Such clear pure blood drop, and not cut your flesh 
 To stop his life ? to bind whose bitter wounds, 
 Queens ought to tear their hair, and with their tears 
 Bathe 'em. — Forgive me, thou that art the wealth 14 
 
 Of poor Philaster ! 
 
 Enter King, Arethusa, and Guard. 
 
 King. Is the villain ta'en? 
 
 Pha. Sir, here be two confess the deed ; but sure 
 It was Philaster. 
 
 Phi. Question it no more ; 
 It was. 
 
 King. The fellow that did fight with him, 
 Will tell us that.
 
 338 PHILASTER. [ACT IV. 
 
 Are. Aye me ! I know he will. 
 
 King. Did not you know him ? ,50 
 
 Are. Sir, if it was he, 
 He was disguised. 
 
 Phi. {aside) . I was so. Oh, my stars. 
 That I should live still. 
 
 King. Thou ambitious fool, 
 Thou that hast laid a train for thy own life ! — 
 Now I do mean to do, I'll leave to talk. 
 Bear them to prison. 
 
 Are. Sir, they did plot together to take hence 
 This harmless life ; should it pass unrevenged, 160 
 
 1 should to earth go weeping : grant me, then. 
 By all the love a father bears his child, 
 Their custodies, and that I may appoint 
 Their tortures and their death. 
 
 Dion. Death ! Soft ; our law will not reach that for this 
 fault. 
 
 King. 'Tis granted ; take 'em to you with a guard. — 
 Come, princely Pharamond, this business past, 
 We may with more security go on 
 To your intended match. 
 
 \_Exeunt all except ViXQi^, Cleremont, a//^ Thrasiline. 
 
 Cle. I pray that this action lose not Philaster the hearts of 
 the people. 171 
 
 Dion. Fear it not ; their over-wise heads will think it but 
 a trick. \^Exeunt.
 
 SCENE 1.] PHILASTER 339 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. — Before the Palace. 
 Enter Dion, Cleremont, and Thrasiline. 
 
 Th7'a. Has the King sent for him to death? 
 
 Dion. Yes ; but the King must know 'tis not in his power 
 to war with Heaven. 
 
 Cle. We hnger time ; the King sent for Philaster and the 
 headsman an hour ago. 
 
 Thra. Are all his wounds well? 
 
 Dion. All ; they were but scratches \ but the loss of blood 
 made him faint. 
 
 Cle. We dally, gentlemen. 
 
 Thra. Away ! 10 
 
 Dion. We'll scuffle hard before he perish. \Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — A Prison. 
 Enter Philaster, Arethusa, and Bellario. 
 
 Are. Nay, dear Philaster, grieve not ; we are well. 
 
 Bel. Nay, good my lord, forbear ; we are wondrous well. 
 
 Phi. Oh, Arethusa, oh, Bellario, 
 Leave to be kind ! 
 
 I shall be shut from Heaven, as now from earth, 
 If you continue so. I am a man 
 False to a pair of the most trusty ones 
 That ever earth bore : can it bear us all? 
 Forgive and leave me. But the King hath sent
 
 340 PHILASTER. [ACT V. 
 
 To call me to my death : oh, show it me, lo 
 
 And then forget me ! and for thee, my boy, 
 
 I shall deliver words will mollify 
 
 The hearts of beasts to spare thy innocence. 
 
 Bel. Alas, my lord, my life is not a thing 
 Worthy your noble thoughts ! 'tis not a life, 
 'Tis but a piece of childhood thrown away.' 
 Should I outlive you, I should then outlive 
 Virtue and honour ; and when that day comes, ~^ 
 
 If ever I shall close these eyes but once, 
 May I live spotted for my perjury, 20 
 
 And waste my limbs to nothing ! 
 
 Are. And I (the woful'st maid that ever was, 
 Forced with my hands to bring my lord to death) 
 Do by the honour of a virgin swear 
 To tell no hours beyond it ! 
 
 Phi. Make me not hated so. 
 
 Are. Come from this prison all joyful to our deaths ! 
 
 Phi. People will tear me, when they find you true 
 To such a wretch as I ; I shall die loathed. 
 Enjoy your kingdoms peaceably, whilst I 30 
 
 For ever sleep forgotten with my faults : 
 Every just servant, every maid in love, 
 Will have a piece of me, if you be true. 
 
 Are. My dear lord, say not so. 
 
 Bel. A piece of you ! 
 He was not born of woman that can cut 
 It and look on. 
 
 Phi. Take me in tears betwixt you, for my heart 
 Will break with shame and sorrow. 
 
 Are. Why, 'tis well. 40 
 
 1 One of the loveliest touches in the play.
 
 SCENE III.J PHILASTER. 34I 
 
 Bel. Lament no more. 
 
 Phi. Why, what would you have done 
 If you had wronged me basely, and had found 
 Your life no price compared to mine ? for love, sirs, 
 Deal with me truly. 
 
 Bel. 'Twas mistaken, sir. 
 
 Phi. Why, if it were ? 
 
 Bel. Then, sir, we would have asked 
 You pardon. 
 
 Phi. And have hope to enjoy it? 5t 
 
 Are. Enjoy it ! ay. 
 
 Phi. Would you indeed ? be plain. 
 
 Bel. ^Ve would, my lord. 
 
 Phi. Forgive me, then. 
 
 Are. So, so. 
 
 Bel. 'Tis as it should be now. 
 
 Phi. Lead to my death. \_Exeunt 
 
 Scene IIL — A State-room in the Palace. 
 Enter King, Dion, Cleremont, Thrasiline, and Attendants. 
 
 King. Gentlemen, who saw the prince? 
 
 Cle. So please you, sir, he's gone to see the city 
 And the new platform, with some gentlemen 
 Attending on him. 
 
 King. Is the princess ready 
 To bring her prisoner out ? 
 
 Thra. She waits your grace. 
 
 King. Tell her we stay. \Exit Thrasiline. 
 
 Dion. King, you may be deceived yet : 
 The head you aim at cost more setting on 10 
 
 Than to be lost so lightly. — {Aside) If it must off;
 
 34* PHILASTER. Fact v. 
 
 Like a wild overflow, that swoops before him 
 
 A golden stack, and with it shakes down bridges, 
 
 Cracks the strong hearts of pines, whose cable-roots 
 
 Held out a tnousand storms, a thousand thunders. 
 
 And, so made mightier, takes whole villages 
 
 Upon his back, and in that heat of pride 
 
 Charges strong towns, towers, castles, palaces, 
 
 And lays them desolate ; so shall thy head. 
 
 Thy noble head, bury the lives of thousands, ad- 
 
 That must bleed with thee like a sacrifice, 
 
 In thy red ruins. 
 
 Enter Arethusa, Philaster, Bellario /// a robe and gar- 
 land, <z;z^ Thrasiline. 
 
 King. How now ? what masque is this ? 
 
 Bel. Right royal sir, I should 
 Sing you an epithalamium of these lovers. 
 But having lost my best airs with my fortunes, 
 And wanting a celestial harp to strike 
 This blessed union on, thus in glad story 
 I give you all. These two fair cedar-branches 
 The noblest of the mountain where they grew, 30 
 
 Straightest and tallest, under whose still shades 
 The worthier beasts have made their lairs, and slept 
 Free from the fervour of the Sirian star 
 And the fell thunder-stroke, free from the clouds, 
 When they were big with humour, and delivered. 
 In thousand spouts their issues to the earth ; 
 Oh, there was none but silent quiet there ! 
 Till never-pleased Fortune shot up shrubs, 
 Base under- brambles, to divorce these branches; 
 And for a while they did so, and did reign 40
 
 SCENE III.] PHILASTER. 343 
 
 Over the mountam, and choke ^ up his beauty 
 
 With brakes, rude thorns and thistles, till the sun 
 
 Scorched them even to the roots and dried them there : 
 
 And now a gentle gale hath blown again. 
 
 That made these branches meet and twine together. 
 
 Never to be divided. The god that sings 
 
 His holy numbers over marriage-beds 
 
 Hath knit their noble hearts ; and here they stand 
 
 Your children, mighty King : and I have done. 
 
 King. How, how? . 50 
 
 Are. Sir, if you love it in plain truth, 
 (For now there is no masquing in't,) this gentleman, 
 The prisoner that you gave me, is become 
 My keeper, and through all the bitter throes 
 Your jealousies and his ill fate have wrought him, 
 Thus nobly hath he struggled, and at length 
 Arrived here my dear husband. 
 
 King. Your dear husband ! — 
 Call in the Captain of the Citadel. — 
 
 There you shall keep your wedding. I'll provide 60 
 
 A masque shall make your Hymen - turn his saflfron 
 Into a sullen coat, and sing sad requiems 
 To your departing souls ; 
 
 i31ood shall put out your torches ; and, instead 
 Of gaudy flowers about your wanton necks. 
 An axe shall hang like a prodigious meteor, 
 Ready to crop your loves' sweets, Hear, ye gods ! 
 From this time do I shake all title off 
 Of father to this woman, this base woman ; 
 And what there is of vengeance in a lion 7« 
 
 1 Another reading is cloak. 
 
 * In old masques and pageants, Hymen was clothed in saffron.
 
 344 PHILASTER. [ACT V. 
 
 Chafed ^ among dogs or robbed of his dear young, 
 The same, enforced more terrible, more mighty, 
 Expect from me ! 
 
 Are. Sir, by that little Hfe I have left to swear by, 
 There's nothing that can stir me from myself. 
 What I have done, I have done without repentance ; 
 For death can be no bugbear unto me. 
 So long as Pharamond is not my headsman. 
 
 Dion (aside). Sweet peace upon thy soul, thou worthy" 
 maid. 
 Whene'er thou diest ! For this time I'll excuse thee, 80 
 
 Or be thy prologue. 
 
 Phi. Sir, let me speak next ; 
 And let my dying words be better with you 
 Than my dull living actions. If you aim 
 At the dear life of this sweet innocent, 
 You are a tyrant and a savage monster, 
 That feeds upon the blood you gave a life to ; 
 Your memory shall be as foul behind you. 
 As you are, living ; all your better deeds 
 Shall be in water writ, but this in marble ;" 90 
 
 No chronicle shall speak you, though your own. 
 But for the shame of men. No monument, 
 Though high and big as Pelion, shall be able 
 To cover this base murder : make it rich 
 With brass, with purest gold and shining jasper. 
 Like the Pyramides ; lay on epitaphs 
 Such as make great men gods ; my Httle marble 
 
 1 Variation, cast. 
 
 2 Cf. Henry VIII, iv, 2, — a play in which Fletcher collaborated with 
 Shakespeare : — 
 
 " .Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtues 
 We write in water."
 
 SCENE III.] PHILASTER. 345 
 
 That only clothes my ashes, not my faults, 
 
 Shall far outshine it. And for after-issues, 
 
 Think not so madly of the heavenly wisdoms, 100 
 
 That they will give you more for your mad rage 
 
 To cut off, unless it be some snake, or something 
 
 Like yourself, that in his birth shall strangle you. 
 
 Remember my father, King ! there was a fault. 
 
 But I forgive it : let that sin persuade you 
 
 To love this lady ; if you have a soul, 
 
 Think, save her, and be saved. For myself, 
 
 I have so long expected this glad hour. 
 
 So languished under you, and daily withered, 
 
 That, Heaven knows, it is a joy to die ; no 
 
 I find a recreation in't. 
 
 Enter a Gentleman. 
 
 Gent. Where is the King? 
 
 King. Here. 
 
 Gent. Get you to your strength. 
 And rescue the Prince Pharamond from danger ; 
 He's taken prisoner by the citizens. 
 Fearing ^ the Lord Philaster. 
 
 Dion {aside) . Oh, brave followers ! 
 Mutiny, my fine dear countrymen, mutiny ! 
 Now, my brave valiant foremen, shew your weapons 12c 
 
 In honor of your mistresses ! 
 
 Enter a Second Gentleman. 
 
 2d Gent. Arm, arm, arm, arm ! 
 
 King. A thousand devils take 'em ! 
 
 Dion {aside). A thousand blessings on 'em ! 
 
 1 Fearing for.
 
 346 PHILASTER. [ACT v 
 
 2d Gent. Arm, O King ! The city is in mutiny, 
 Led by an old grey ruffian, who comes on 
 In rescue of the Lord Philaster. 
 
 King. Away to the citadel ! I'll see them safe, 
 And then cope with these burghers. Let the guard 
 And all the gentlemen give strong attendance. 13c 
 
 \_Exeunt all except Dion, Cleremont, and Thrasiune, 
 
 Cle. The city up ! this was above our wishes. 
 
 Dion. Ay, and the marriage too. By my life, ^ 
 
 This noble lady has deceived us all. 
 A plague upon myself, a thousand plagues, 
 For having such unworthy thoughts of her dear honour ! 
 Oh, I could beat myself ! or do you beat me, 
 And I'll beat you ; for we had all one thought. 
 
 Cle. No, no, 'twill but lose time. 
 
 Dion. You say true. Are your swords sharp? — Well, my 
 dear countrymen What-ye-lacks,^ if you continue, and fall not 
 back upon the first broken shin, I'll have you chronicled and 
 chronicled, and cut and chronicled, and sung in all-to-be- 
 praised sonnets, and bawled in new brave ballads, that all 
 tongues shall troul ^ you in scecula sceculorum, my kind can- 
 carriers. 145 
 
 Thra. What if a toy^ take 'em i' the heels now, and they 
 run all away, and cry, " the devil take the hindmost "? 
 
 Dion. Then the same devil take the foremost too, and 
 souse him for his breakfast ! If they all prove cowards, my 
 curses fly amongst them, and be speeding ! May they have 
 murrains rain to keep the gentlemen at home unbound in 
 easy frieze ! may the moths branch* their velvets, and their 
 
 ' Shop-keepers used to stand before their doors and cry, " What-d'ye- 
 lack ? " to the passers-by. 
 
 2 Troll, sing a catch. » Freak. •« E^at ofFthe nap.
 
 SCENE III.] PHILASTER. 347 
 
 silks only to be worn before sore eyes ! may their false lights 
 undo 'em, and discover presses, holes, stains, and oldness in 
 their stuffs, and make them shop-rid ! may they live mewed 
 up with necks of beef and turnips ! may they have many 
 children, and none like the father ! may they know no lan- 
 guage but that gibberish they prattle to their parcels, unless 
 It be the goatish ^ Latin they write in their bonds — and may 
 they write that false, and lose their debts ! i6o 
 
 Re-enter King. 
 
 King. Now the vengeance of all the gods confound them ! 
 How they swarm together ! what a hum they raise ! — 
 Devils choke your wild throats ! If a man had need to use 
 their valours, he must pay a brokage ^ for it, and then bring 
 'em on, and they will fight hke sheep. 'Tis Philaster, none 
 but Philaster, must allay this heat : they will not hear me 
 speak, but fling dirt at me and call me tyrant. Oh, run, 
 dear friend, and bring the Lord Philaster ! speak him fair ; 
 call him prince ; do him all the courtesy you can ; commend 
 me to him. Oh, my wits, my wits ! \^Exit Cleremont. 170 
 
 Dion {aside) . Oh, my brave countrymen ! as I live, I will 
 not buy a pin out of your walls for this ; nay, you shall cozen 
 me, and Lll thank you, and send you brawn and bacon, and 
 soil you every long vacation a brace of foremen,^ that at 
 Michaelmas shall come up fat and kicking. 
 
 King. What they will do with this poor prince, the gods 
 know, and I fear. 
 
 Dion. Why, sir, they'll flay him, and make church-buck- 
 
 i Barbarous; another reading is Gothic. 
 
 2 A commission allowed to the middleman in a commercial transaction. 
 
 3 Fatten a brace of geese ; cf. " soiled horse," in King Lear, iv, 6, 124, 
 Better spelt ioul, from the Old French saoler. Mod. French soUler,
 
 348 PHILASTER. [act v. 
 
 ets ofs skin, to quench rebellion ; then clap a rivet in's 
 sconce, and hang him up for a sign. iSo 
 
 Enter Philaster and Cleremont. 
 
 King. Oh, worthy sir, forgive me ! do not make 
 Your miseries and my faults meet together, 
 To bring a greater danger. Be yourself, 
 Still sound amongst diseases. I have wronged you ; 
 And though I find it last, and beaten to it, 
 Let first your goodness know it. Calm the people, 
 And be what you were born to : take your love, 
 And with her my repentance, all my wishes 
 And all my prayers. By the gods, my heart speaks this ; 
 And if the least fall from me not performed, 190 
 
 May I be struck with thunder ! 
 
 Phi. Mighty sir, 
 I will not do your greatness so much wrong, 
 As not to make your word truth. Free the princess 
 And the poor boy, and let me stand the shock 
 Of this mad sea-breach, which I'll either turn. 
 Or perish with it. 
 
 King. Let your own word free them. 
 
 Phi. Then thus I take my leave, kissing your hand, 
 And hanging on your royal word. Be kingly, 200 
 
 And be not moved, sir : I shall bring you peace 
 Or never bring myself back. 
 
 King. All the gods go with thee. [^Exeunt
 
 SCENE ivj PHILASTER. 349 
 
 Scene IV. — A Street 
 
 Enter an old Captain and Citizens with Pharamond 
 
 prisoner. 
 
 Cap. Come, my brave myrmidons, let us fall on ! 
 
 Let your caps swarm, my boys, and your nimble tongues 
 
 Forget your mother gibberish of " what do you lack," 
 
 And set your mouths ope, children, till your palates 
 
 Fall frighte*d half a fathom past the cure 
 
 Of bay-salt and gross pepper, and then cry 
 
 " Philaster, brave Philaster ! " Let Philaster 
 
 Be deeper in request, my ding-a-dings. 
 
 My pairs of dear indentures, kings of clubs,^ 
 
 Than your cold water-camlets, or your pamtings lo 
 
 Spitted with copper. Let not your hasty silks. 
 
 Or your branched cloth of bodkin, or your tissues. 
 
 Dearly beloved of spiced cake and custard, 
 
 Your Robin Hoods, Scarlets, and Johns, tie your affections 
 
 In darkness to your shops. No, dainty duckers ' 
 
 Up with your three-piled spirits, your wrought valours ^ ; 
 
 And let your uncut cholers make the King feel 
 
 The measure of your mightiness. Philaster ! 
 
 Cry, my rose-nobles,* cry ! 
 
 All. Philaster ! Philaster ! 20 
 
 Cap. How do you like this, my lord-prince ? 
 
 These are mad boys, I tell you ; these are things 
 
 1 London shop-keepers and their apprentices commonly used clubs as 
 weapons. 
 
 2 Cringers. ^ Play on the word velours, velvet. 
 4 Another pun; rose-nobles were gold coins stamped with a rose, and 
 
 worth sixteen shillings.
 
 35© PHILASTER. [ACT V. 
 
 That will not strike their top-sails to a foist/ 
 And let a man of war, an argosy, 
 Hull and cry cockles.- 
 
 Plia. Why, you rude slave, do you know what you do? 
 
 Cap. My pretty prince of puppets, we do know ; 
 And give your greatness warning that you talk 
 No more such bug's-words,^ or that soldered crown 
 Shall be scratched with a musket.* 30 
 
 — Let him loose, my spirits : ^ 
 
 Make us a round ring with your bills,^ my Hectors, 
 And let us see what this trim man dares do. 
 Now, sir, have at you ! here I lie ; 
 
 And with this swashing blow (do you see, sweet prince?) 
 I could hock ^ your grace, and hang you up cross-legged, 
 Like a hare at a poulter's, and do this with this wiper. 
 
 Pha. You will not see me murdered, wicked villains? 
 
 1st Cit. Yes, indeed, will we, sir ; we have not seen one 
 For a great while. 40 
 
 Cap. He would have weapons, would he ? 
 Give him a broadside, my brave boys, with your pikes : 
 Branch ^ me his skin in flowers like a satin. 
 And between every flower a mortal cut. — 
 Your royalty shall ravel ! — Jag him, gentlemen ; 
 I'll have him cut to the kell,® then down the seams. 
 O for a whip to make him galloon-laces ! 
 I'll have a coach-whip. 
 
 Pha. Oh, spare me, gentlemen ! 
 
 Cap. Hold, hold ; 50 
 
 ^ A small craft ; Italian fusta. 2 Crow over them. 
 
 8 Bombastic. * A small hawk. 5 Battle-axes, halberds. 
 
 6 Ham-string. ' See note, p. 346. 
 
 '' The omentum, or adipose membrane attached to the stomach.
 
 9CENE IV.] PHILASTER. 35 1 
 
 The man begins to fear and know himself; 
 
 He shall for this time only be seeled up,^ 
 
 With a feather through his nose, that he may only 
 
 See heaven, and think whither he is going. Nay, 
 
 Nay, my beyond- sea sir, we will proclaim you : 
 
 You would be king ! 
 
 Thou tender heir apparent to a church-ale,^ 
 
 Thou slight prince of single sarcenet. 
 
 Thou royal ring-tail,^ fit to fly at nothing 
 
 But poor men's poultry, and have every boy 60 
 
 Beat thee from that too with his bread and butter ! 
 
 Pha. Gods keep me from these hell-hounds ! 
 
 ist Cit. I'll have a leg, that's certain. 
 
 2d Cit. I'll have an arm. 
 
 jd Cit. I'll have his nose, and at mine own charge build 
 A college and clap it upon the gate.^ 
 
 4th Cit. Good captain, let me have his liver to feed 
 ferrets. 
 
 Cap. Who will have parcels else ? speak. 
 
 Pha. Good gods, consider me ! I shall be tortured. 
 
 1st Cit. Captain, I'll give you the trimming of your two- 
 hand sword, 70 
 And let me have his skin to make false scabbards. 
 
 2d Cit. He had no horns, sir, had he ? 
 Cap. No, sir, he's a pollard : 
 What wouldst thou do with horns ? 
 
 2d Cit. Oh, if he had had, 
 I would have made rare hafts and whistles of 'em ; 
 
 1 To close the eyelids, as of a hawk, by passing a fine thread through 
 them. 
 
 2 Festival at the dedication of a church. 3 Female of the hen harrier. 
 * Allusion to Brazen Nose College, Oxford.
 
 352 PHILASTER. [ACT V. 
 
 But his shin-bones, if they be sound, shall serve me. 
 
 Enter Philaster. 
 
 All. Long live Philaster, the brave Prince Philaster ! 
 
 Phi. I thank you, gentlemen. But why are these 
 Rude weapons brought abroad, to teach your hands So 
 
 Uncivil trades ? 
 
 Cap. My royal Rosicleer,* 
 We are thy myrmidons, thy guard, thy roarers ^ ; 
 And when thy noble body is in durance. 
 Thus do we clap our musty murrions ^ on, 
 And trace the streets in terror. Is it peace. 
 Thou Mars of men ? is the King sociable, 
 And bids thee live? art thou above thy foemen. 
 And free as Phoebus? speak. If not, this stand 
 Of royal blood shall be a-broach, a-tilt, 90 
 
 And run even to the lees of honour. 
 
 Phi. Hold, and be satisfied : I am myself 
 Free as my thoughts are : by the gods, I am ! 
 
 Cap. Art thou the dainty darling of the King ? 
 Art thou the Hylas to our Hercules? 
 Do the lords bow, and the regarded scarlets 
 Kiss their gummed golls,* and cry "We are your ser- 
 vants " ? 
 Is the court navigable, and the presence stuck 
 With flags of friendship? If not, we are thy castle. 
 And this man sleeps. loo 
 
 Phi. I am what I desire to be, your friend ; 
 I am what I was born to be, your prince. 
 
 1 A character in The Mirror of Knighthood. 
 
 2 Cant name for street ruffians. 
 
 8 Morions, steel caps. * Hands rubbed with gum or perfume.
 
 SCENE IV.] PHILASTER. 353 
 
 Pha. Sir, there is some humanity in you ; 
 You have a noble soul : forget my name. 
 And know my misery : set me safe aboard 
 From these wild cannibals, and, as I live, 
 I'll quit this land for ever. There is nothing, — 
 Perpetual prisonment, cold, hunger, sickness 
 Of all sorts, of all dangers, and all together, 
 The worst company of the worst men, madness, age, no 
 
 To be as many creatures as a woman. 
 And do as all they do, nay, to despair, — 
 But I would rather make it a new nature, 
 And live with all those, than endure one hour 
 Amongst these wild dogs. 
 
 Phi. I do pity you. — Friends, discharge your fears ; 
 Deliver me the prince : I'll warrant you 
 I shall be old enough to find my safety. 
 
 3d Cit. Good sir, take heed he does not hurt you ; 
 He is a fierce man, I can tell you, sir. 120 
 
 Cap. Prince, by your leave, I'll have a surcingle, 
 And mail ^ you like a hawk. 
 
 Phi. Away, away, there is no danger in him : 
 Alas, he had rather sleep to shake his fit off ! 
 Look you, friends, how gently he leads ! Upon my word, 
 He's tame enough, he needs no further watching. 
 Good my friends, go to your houses. 
 And by me have your pardons and my love ; 
 And know there shall be nothing in my power 
 You may deserve, but you shall have your wishes : 130 
 
 To give you more thanks, were to flatter you. 
 Continue still your love ; and, for an earnest, 
 Drink this. [ Gives money. 
 
 1 To tie up a falcon's pinions.
 
 354 PHILASTER. [act V. 
 
 All. Long mayst thou live, brave prince, brave prince, 
 brave prince ! \_Exeunt Phil, and Phar. 
 
 Cap. Go thy ways, thou art the king of courtesy ! 
 Fall off again, my sweet youths. Come, 
 And every man trace to his house again, 
 And hang his pewter up ; then to the tavern, 
 And bring your wives in muffs. We will have music ; 
 And the red grape shall make us dance and rise, boys. 140 
 
 [^Exeunt} 
 
 Scene V. — An Apai'tment in the Palace. 
 
 Enter King, Arethusa, Galatea, Megra, Dion, Clere- 
 MONT, Thrasiline, Bellario, a«^/ Attendants. 
 
 King. Is it appeased ? 
 
 Dion. Sir, all is quiet as this dead of night, 
 As peaceable as sleep. My lord Philaster 
 Brings on the prince himself. 
 
 King. Kind gentleman ! 
 I will not break the least word I have given 
 In promise to him : I have heaped a world 
 Of grief upon his head, which yet I hope 
 To wash away. 
 
 Enter Philaster and Pharamond. 
 
 Cle. My lord is come. 10 
 
 King. My son ! 
 Blest be the time that I have leave to call 
 Such virtue mine ! Now thou art in mine arms, 
 
 1 The speeches of the Captain, with their puns and strained metaphors, 
 may have seemed witty once, but their wit evaporated long ago. Fashion in 
 fun varies from age to age ; wisdom, pathos, sublimity, are more permanent
 
 dCENE v.] PHILASTER. 355 
 
 Methinks I have a salve unto my breast 
 
 For all the stings that dwell there. Streams of grief 
 
 That I have wronged thee, and as much of joy 
 
 That I repent it, issue from mine eyes : 
 
 Let them appease thee. Take thy right ; take her ; 
 
 She is thy right too ; and forget to urge 
 
 My vexed soul with that I did before. 2c 
 
 /%/. Sir, it is blotted from my memory. 
 Past and forgotten. — For you, prince of Spain, 
 Whom I have thus redeemed, you have full leave 
 To make an honourable voyage home. 
 And if you would go furnished to your realm 
 With fair provision, I do see a lady, 
 Methinks, would gladly bear you company : 
 How like you this piece ? 
 
 Meg. Sir, he likes it well. 
 1 know your meaning. 30 
 
 Can shame remain perpetually in me, 
 And not in others ? or have princes salves 
 To cure ill names, that meaner people want? 
 
 P/ii. What mean you? 
 
 Meg. You must get another ship, 
 To bear the princess and her boy together. 
 
 Dion. How now ! 
 
 Meg. Ship us all four, my lord ; we can endure 
 Weather and wind alike. 
 
 JCing. Clear thou thyself, or know not me for father. 40 
 
 Are. This earth, how false it is ! What means is left 
 for me 
 To clear myself? It lies in your belief : 
 My lords, believe me ; and let all things else 
 Struggle together to dishonour me.
 
 356 PHILASTER. [ACT V. 
 
 Bel. Oh, stop your ears, great King, that I may speak 
 As freedom would ! then I will call this lady 
 As base as are her actions : hear me, sir ; 
 Believe your heated blood when it rebels 
 Against your reason, sooner than this lady. 
 
 Meg. By this good light, he bears it handsomely. 50 
 
 Phi. This lady ! I will sooner trust the wind 
 With feathers, or the troubled sea with pearl, 
 Than her with any thing. Believe her not. 
 Why, think you, if I did believe her words, 
 I would outhve 'em ? Honour cannot take 
 Revenge on you ; then what were to be known 
 But death ? 
 
 Kmg. Forget her, sir, since all is knit 
 Between us. But I must request of you 
 One favour, and will sadly be denied. 6c 
 
 Phi. Command, whate'er it be. 
 
 King. Swear to be true 
 To what you promise. 
 
 Phi. By the powers above, 
 Let it not be the death of her or him, 
 And it is granted ! 
 
 Ki?ig. Bear away that boy 
 To torture : I will have her cleared or buried. 
 
 Phi. Oh, let me call my word back, worthy sir ! 
 Ask something else : bury my life and right 70 
 
 In one poor grave ; but do not take away 
 My life and fame at once. 
 
 King. Away with him ! It stands irrevocable. 
 
 Phi. Turn all your eyes on me : here stands a man, 
 The falsest and the basest of this world. 
 Set swords against this breast, some honest man,
 
 SCENE v.] PHILASTER. 35 7 
 
 For I have lived till I am pitied ! 
 
 My former deeds were hateful ; but this last 
 
 Is pitiful, for I unwillingly 
 
 Have given the dear preserver of my life 8c 
 
 Unto his torture. Is it in the power 
 
 Of flesh and blood to carry this, and live ? 
 
 [ Offers to stab himself. 
 
 Are. Dear sir, be patient yet ! Oh, stay that hand ! 
 
 King. Sirs, strip that boy. 
 
 Dion. Come, sir, your tender flesh 
 Will try your constancy. 
 
 Bel. Oh, kill me, gentlemen ! 
 
 Dion. No. — Help, sirs. 
 
 Bel. Will you torture me ? 
 
 King. Haste there ; 90 
 
 Why stay you ? 
 
 Bel. Then I shall not break my vow, 
 You know, just gods, though I discover all. 
 
 King. How's that? will he confess? 
 
 Dion. Sir, so he says. 
 
 King. Speak then. 
 
 Bel. Great King, if you command 
 This lord to talk with me alone, my tongue, 
 Urged by my heart, shall utter all the thoughts 
 My youth hath known ; and stranger things than these loc 
 You hear not often. 
 
 King. Walk aside with him. 
 
 [Dion and Bellario walk apart 
 
 Dion. Why speak'st thou not? 
 
 Bel. Know you this face, my lord ? 
 
 Dion. No. 
 
 Bel. Have you not seen it, nor the like ?
 
 358 PHILA^TF.R. [ACT V. 
 
 Dion. Yes, I have seen the like, but readily 
 I know not where. 
 
 Bel. I have been often told 
 In court of one Euphrasia, a lady, uc 
 
 And daughter to you ; betwixt whom and me 
 They that would flatter my bad face would swear 
 There was such strange resemblance, that we two 
 Could not be known asunder, drest alike. 
 
 Dion. By Heaven, and so there is ! 
 
 Bel. For her fair sake, 
 Who now doth spend the spring-time of her life 
 In holy pilgrimage, move to the King, 
 That I may scape this torture. 
 
 Dion. But thou speak'st 120 
 
 As like Euphrasia as thou dost look. 
 How came it to thy knowledge that she lives 
 In pilgrimage? 
 
 Bel. I know it not, my lord ; 
 But I have heard it, and do scarce believe it. 
 
 Dion. Oh, my shame ! is it possible? Draw near. 
 That I may gaze upon thee. Art thou she. 
 Or else her murderer ? ' where wert thou born ? 
 
 Bel. In Syracusa. 
 
 Dion. What's thy name ? 13c 
 
 Bel. Euphrasia. 
 
 Dion. Oh, 'tis just, 'tis she ! 
 Xow I do know thee. Oh, that thou hadst died. 
 And I had never seen thee nor my shame ! 
 How shall I own thee? shall this tongue of mine 
 E'er call thee daughter more? 
 
 1 In some countries the superstitious believed that the murderer inherited 
 the form and qualities of his victim.
 
 SCENE v.] PHILASTER. 359 
 
 Bel. Would I had died indeed ! I wish it too : 
 And so I must have done by vow, ere pubhshed 
 What I nave told, but that there was no means 
 To hide it longer. Yet I joy in this, 140 
 
 The princess is all clear. 
 
 King. What, have you done? 
 
 Dion. All is discovered. 
 
 Phi. Why then hold you me ? [ Offers to stab himself. 
 All is discovered ! Pray you, let me go. 
 
 King. Stay him. 
 
 Are. What is discovered? 
 
 Dion. Why, my shame. 
 It is a woman : let her speak the rest. 
 
 Phi. How? that again ! 150 
 
 Dion. It is a woman. 
 
 Phi. Blessed be you powers that favour innocence ! 
 
 King. Lay hold upon that lady. [Megra is seized. 
 
 Phi. It is a woman, sir ! — Hark, gentlemen, 
 It is a woman ! — Arethusa, take 
 My soul into thy breast, that would be gone 
 With joy. It is a woman ! Thou art fair, 
 And virtuous still to ages, in despite 
 Of malice. 
 
 King. Speak you, wh6re lies his shame? 160 
 
 Bel. I am his daughter. 
 
 Phi. The gods are just. 
 
 Dion. I dare accuse none ; but, before you two, 
 The virtue of our age, I bend my knee 
 For mercy. \_Kneels 
 
 Phi. {raising him). Take it freely; for I know. 
 Though what thou didst were undiscreetly done, 
 'Twas meant well.
 
 360 PHILASTER. [ACT V. 
 
 Are. And for me, 
 I have a power to pardon sins, as oft j^o 
 
 As any man has power to wrong me. 
 
 Cle. Noble and worthy ! 
 
 Phi. But, Bellario, 
 (For I must call thee still so,) tell me why 
 Thou didst conceal thy sex. It was a fault, 
 A fault, Bellario, though thy other deeds 
 Of truth outweighed it : all these jealousies 
 Had flown to nothing, if thou hadst discovered 
 What now we know. 
 
 Bel. My father oft would speak 180 
 
 Your worth and virtue ; and, as I did grow 
 More and more apprehensive, I did thirst 
 To see the man so praised. But yet all this 
 Was but a maiden- longing, to be lost 
 As soon as found ; till, sitting in my window, 
 Printing my thoughts in lawn, I saw a god, 
 I thought, (but it was you,) enter our gates : 
 My blood flew out and back again, as fast 
 As I had puffed it forth and sucked it in 
 Like breath : then was I called away in haste 190 
 
 To entertain you. Never was a man. 
 Heaved from a sheep-cote to a sceptre, raised 
 So high in thoughts as I : you left a kiss 
 Upon these lips then, which I mean to keep 
 From you for ever : I did hear you talk, 
 Far above singing. After you were gone, 
 I grew acquainted with my heart, and searched 
 What stirred it so : alas, I found it love ! 
 Yet fcir from lust ; for, could I but have lived 
 In presence of you, I had had my end. 200
 
 SCENE v.] PHILASTER. 36 1 
 
 For this I did delude my noble father 
 With a feigned pilgrimage, and dressed myself 
 In habit of a boy ; and, for I knew 
 My birth no match for you, I was past hope 
 Of having you ; and, understanding well 
 That when I made discovery of my sex 
 I could not stay with you, I made a vow, 
 By all the most religious things a maid 
 Could call together, never to be known. 
 Whilst there was hope to hide me from men's eyes, 210 
 
 For other than I seemed, that I might ever 
 Abide with you. Then sat I by the fount, 
 Where first you took me up. 
 King. Search out a match 
 Within our kingdom, where and when thou wilt, 
 And I will pay thy dowry ; and thyself 
 Wilt well deserve him, 
 Bel. Never, sir, will I 
 
 Marry ; it is a thing within my vow : 
 
 But, if I may have leave to serve the princess, 220 
 
 To see the virtues of her lord and her, 
 
 I shall have hope to live. 
 Are. I, Philaster, 
 
 Cannot be jealous, though you had a lady 
 
 Brest like a page to serve you ; nor will I 
 
 Suspect her living here. — Come, live with me ; 
 
 Live free as I do. She that loves my lord. 
 
 Cursed be the wife that hates her ! 
 
 Phi. I grieve such virtue should be laid in earth 
 
 Without an heir. — Hear me, my royal father : 23c 
 
 Wrong not the freedom of our souls so much. 
 
 To think to take revenge of that base woman ;
 
 362 PHII.ASTER. [ACT V. 
 
 Her malice cannot hurt us. Set her free 
 As she was born, saving from shame and sin. 
 
 Kijig. Set her at Hberty. Eut leave the court ; 
 This is no place for such. — Vju, Pharamond, 
 Shall have free passage, and a conduct home 
 Worthy so great a prince. When you come there. 
 Remember 'twas your faults that lost you her, 
 And not my purposed will. 240 
 
 Pha. I do confess, 
 Renowned sir. ^ 
 
 King. Last, join your hands in one. Enjoy, Philaster, 
 This kingdom, which is yours, and, after me, 
 Whatever I call mine. My blessing on you ! 
 All happy hours be at your marriage-joys, 
 That you may grow yourselves over all lands. 
 And live to see your plenteous branches spring 
 Wherever there is sun ! Let princes learn 
 By this to rule the passions of their blood ; 250 
 
 For what Heaven wills can never be withstood. 
 
 \_Cur tain falls? 
 
 * Of Euphrasia, disguised as Bellario, Dyce says : " She is one of our 
 authors' most perfect creations, — unequalled in the romantic tenderness 
 and the deep devotedness of her affection by any character which at all 
 resembles her in the wide range of fiction, from her supposed prototype, 
 the Viola of Shakespeare, down to the Constance of Scott and the Kaled 
 of Byron."
 
 IV. 
 
 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 
 
 By John Fletcher and William Shakespeare. 
 
 Probaoly written between 1608 and 1612. The story is bor 
 rowed from The Knighte's Tale of Chaucer, who tooli it from 
 Boccaccio's TeseicU.
 
 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Theseus, Duke of Athens. 
 
 PlRlTHOUS, an Athenian General. 
 
 Artesius, an Athenian Captain. 
 
 Palamon, ) Nephews to Creon, 
 
 Arcite, i King of Thebes. 
 
 Valerius, a Theban Nobleman. 
 
 Six Knights. 
 
 A Herald. 
 
 A Gaoler. 
 
 Wooer to the Gaoler's Daughter. 
 
 A Doctor. 
 
 Brother to the Gaoler. 
 
 Friends to the Gaoler. 
 
 A Gentleman. 
 
 Gerrold, a Schoolmaster. 
 
 HiPPOLYTA, Bride to Theseus. 
 
 Emilia, her Sister. 
 
 Tliree Queens. 
 
 The Gaoler's Daughter. 
 
 Waiting-woman to EmiHa. 
 
 Countrymen, Messengers, a Man 
 personating Hymen, Boy, Execu- 
 tioners, Guard, and Attendants, 
 Country Wenches, and Women 
 personating Nymphs. 
 
 Scene : Athens and the neighbourhood ; arid in part of the first act, Thebe% 
 
 and the neighbourhood. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 Chaucer, of all admir'd, the story gives ; 
 
 There constant to eternity it lives. 
 
 If we let fall the nobleness of this, 
 
 And the first sound this child hear be a hiss. 
 
 How will it shake the bones of that good man, 
 
 365
 
 366 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act i. 
 
 And make him cry from under ground, " O, fan 
 
 From me the witless chaff of such a writer 
 
 That blasts my bays, and my fam'd works makes lighter 
 
 Than Robin Hood ! " This is the fear we bring ; 
 
 For, to say truth, it were an endless thing, 10 
 
 And too ambitious, to aspire to him. 
 
 Weak as we are, and almost breathless swim 
 
 In this deep water, do but you hold out 
 
 Your helping hands, and we shall tack about, ^ 
 
 And something do to save us : you shall hear 
 
 Scenes, though below his art, may yet appear 
 
 Worth two hours' travail. To his bones sweet sleep ! 
 
 Content to you ! — If this play do not keep 
 
 A little dull time from us, we perceive 
 
 Our losses fall so thick, we needs must leave. [Flourish. 20 
 
 ACT I.^ 
 
 Scene I, — Athens. Before a Temple. 
 
 Enter Hymen, with a torch burning; a Boy, in a white 
 7'obe, before, singing and strewing flowers ; after Hymen, 
 a Nymph, encompassed in her tresses^^ bearing a wheaten 
 garland ; then Theseus, between two other Nymphs with 
 7vheaten chaplets on their heads ; then Hippo lyta, the 
 bride, led by Pirithous, and another holding a garland 
 over her head, her tresses likewise hanging; after her, 
 Emilia, holding up her train ; Artesius aiid Attendants. 
 
 1 The First Act is attributed to Shakespeare by most of the critics. 
 
 2 Emblem of virginity.
 
 SCENE I.] THE TWO NOBLP: KINSMEN. 367 
 
 The Song. IMi/sic. 
 
 Roses, their sharp spines being gone, 
 Not roval in their smells alone, 
 
 But in their hue ; ^ 
 
 Maiden ^ pinks, of odour faint, 
 Daisies smell-less, yet inost quaint, 
 
 And sweet thyme true ; 
 
 Primrose, first-born child of Ver, 
 Merry spring-time's harbinger, 
 
 With her bells dim; 
 Oxlips in their cradles growing, ic 
 
 Marigolds on death-beds blowing, 
 
 Larks' -heels'^ trim ; 
 
 All dear Nature's children sweet. 
 Lie fore bride and bridegroom'' s feet. 
 
 Blessing their sense! [Strewing flowers. 
 Not an angel of the air, — 
 Bird melodious, or bird fair, — 
 
 Be absent hence! 
 
 The crotv, the slanderous cuckoo, nor 
 
 The boding raven, nor chough hoar, 2c 
 
 Nor chattering pie. 
 May on our bride-house perch or sing. 
 Or with thetn any discord bring. 
 
 But from it fiy!^ 
 
 1 Fresh ; also used for strewing on the grave of a maiden, or faithful 
 *ife. 
 
 2 Small Indian cress, or nasturtium. 
 
 8 Dowden, Nicholson, Hargrove, and Furnivall think Shakespeare did 
 not write this song; Littledale is in doubt.
 
 368 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act i. 
 
 Enter three Queens, /« black, with veils stained, and with 
 imperial crowns. The First Queen /^//f down at the foot 
 of Theseus ; the Second falls down at the foot of HiP- 
 POLYTA ; the Third before Emilia. 
 
 1st Queen. For pity's sake and true gentility's, 
 Hear and respect me ! 
 
 2d Queen. For your mother's sake, 
 
 And as you wish yourself may thrive with fair ones, 
 Hear and respect me ! ^ 
 
 3d Queen. Now for the love of him whom Jove hath 
 mark'd 
 The honour of your bed, and for the sake 30 
 
 Of clear virginity, be advocate 
 For us, and our distresses ! This good deed 
 Shall raze ^ you out o' the book of trespasses 
 All you are set down there. 
 
 Theseus. Sad lady, rise. 
 
 Hippolyta. Stand up. 
 
 Emilia. No knees to me ! 
 
 What woman I may stead," that is distress'd 
 Does bind me to her. 
 
 Theseus. What's your request ? Deliver you for all. 
 
 1st Queen. We are three queens, whose sovereigns fell 
 before 
 The wrath of cruel Creon ; who endure 4° 
 
 The beaks of ravens, talons of the kites, 
 And pecks of crows, in the foul fields of Thebes. 
 He will not suffer us to burn their bones, 
 To urn their ashes, nor to take the offence 
 Of mortal loathsomeness from the blest eye 
 
 1 Erase for you, ^ Help.
 
 SCENE I.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 369 
 
 Of holy Phoebus, but infects the winds 
 
 With stench of our slain lords. O, pity, duke ! 
 
 Thou purger of the earth, draw thy fear'd sword, 
 
 That does good turns to the world ; give us the bones 
 
 Of our dead kings, that we may chapel them ! 50 
 
 And, of thy boundless goodness, take some note 
 
 That for our crowned heads we have no roof 
 
 Save this, which is the lion's and the bear's, 
 
 And vault to everything ! 
 
 Theseus. Pray you, kneel not ; 
 
 I was transported with your speech, and suffer'd 
 Your knees to wrong themselves. I have heard the fortunes 
 Of your dead lords, which gives me such lamenting 
 As wakes my vengeance and revenge for 'em. 
 King Capaneus ^ was your lord : the day 
 That he should marry you, at such a season 60 
 
 As now it is with me, I met your groom 
 By Mars's altar ; you were that time fair, 
 Not Juno's mantle fairer than your tresses, 
 Nor in more bounty spread her ; your wheaten wreath 
 Was then nor thresh'd nor blasted ; Fortune at you 
 Dimpled her cheek with smiles ; Hercules our kinsman — 
 Then weaker than your eyes — laid by his club ; 
 He tumbled down upon his Nemean hide. 
 And swore his sinews thaw'd. O grief and time, 
 Fearful consumers, you will all devour ! 70 
 
 ist Queen. O, I hope some god, 
 Some god hath put his mercy in your manhood, 
 Whereto he'll infuse power, and press you forth 
 Our undertaker ! 
 
 Theseus. O, no knees, none, widow I 
 
 1 One of the seven heroes who marched from Argos against Thebes.
 
 37© THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act i. 
 
 Unto the helmeted Bellona^ use them, 
 
 And pray for me, your soldier. — 
 
 Troubled I am. \_Turns away, 
 
 2d Queen. Honour'd Hippolyta, 
 Most dreaded Amazonian, that hast slain 
 The scythe-tusk'd boar ; that, with thy arm as strong 
 As it is white, wast near to make the male 80 
 
 To thy sex captive, but that this thy lord — 
 Born to uphold creation in that honour ' ^ 
 
 First nature styl'd it in — shrunk thee into 
 The bound thou wast o'erflowing, at once subduing 
 Thy force and thy affection ; soldieress. 
 That equally canst poise sternness with pity ; 
 Who, now, I know, hast much more power on him 
 Than e'er he had on thee ; who ow'st his strength 
 And his love too, who is a servant^ for 
 
 The tenour of thy speech ; dear glass of ladies, 9c 
 
 Bid him that we, whom flaming war doth scorch, 
 Under the shadow of his sword may cool us ; 
 Require him he advance it o'er our heads. 
 Speak't in a woman's key, like such a woman 
 As any of us three ; weep ere you fail ; 
 Lend us a knee ; 
 
 But touch the ground for us no longer time 
 Than a dove's motion when the head's pluck'd off; 
 Tell him, if he i' the blood-siz'd^ field lay swoln. 
 Showing the sun his teeth, grinning at the moon, . lot 
 
 What you would do ! 
 
 Hippolyta. Poor lady, say no more ; 
 
 I had as lief trace this good action with you 
 
 1 The Roman goddess of war. 
 
 2 Obedient lover. « Made sticky with blood.
 
 SCENE I.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 371 
 
 As that whereto I'm going, and ne'er yet 
 Went I so willing way. My lord is taken 
 Heart-deep with your distress : let him consider ; 
 I'll speak anon. 
 
 jd Queen. O, my petition was [Kneels to Emilia. 
 
 Set down in ice, which by hot grief uncandied/ 
 Melts into drops ; so sorrow, wanting form, 
 Is press'd with deeper matter. 
 
 Emilia. Pray stand up ; 
 
 Your grief is written in your cheek. 
 
 3d Queen. O, woe ! no 
 
 You cannot read it there ; there, through my tears. 
 Like wrinkled pebbles in a glassy stream, 
 You may behold 'em ! Lady, lady, alack. 
 He that will all the treasure know o' the earth, 
 Must know the centre too ; he that will fish 
 For my least minnow, let him lead his line 
 To catch one at my heart. O, pardon me ! 
 Extremity, that sharpens sundry wits. 
 Makes me a fool. 
 
 Emilia. Pray you, say nothing, pray you ; 
 
 Who cannot feel nor see the rain, being in't 12c 
 
 Knows neither wet nor dry. If that you were 
 The ground-piece of some painter, I would buy you, 
 T' instruct me 'gainst a capital grief indeed, — 
 Such heart-pierc'd demonstration ! — but, alas. 
 Being a natural^ sister of our sex. 
 Your sorrow beats so ardently upon me. 
 That it shall make a counter-reflect 'gainst 
 My brother's heart, and warm it to some pity 
 Though it were made of stone ; pray have good comfort ! 
 
 1 Dissolved. '^ Real, not feigned.
 
 372 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act i. 
 
 Theseus. Forward to the temple ! leave not out a jot 130 
 O' the sacred ceremony. 
 
 1st Queen. O, this celebration 
 
 Will longer last, and be more costly, than 
 Your suppliants' war ! Remember that your fame 
 Knolls in the ear o' the world. What you do quickly 
 Is not done rashly ; your first thought is more 
 Than others' labour'd meditance ; your premeditating 
 More than their actions ; but — O Jove ! — your actions, 
 Soon as they move, as ospreys do the fish/ 
 Subdue before they touch. Think, dear duke, think 
 What beds our slain kings have ! 
 
 2d Queen. What griefs our beds, 140 
 
 That our dear lords have none ! 
 
 3d Queen. None fit for the dead ! 
 
 Those that, with cords, knives, drams, precipitance,^ 
 Weary of this world's light, have to themselves 
 Been death's most horrid agents, human grace 
 Affords them dust and shadow — 
 
 1st Queen. But our lords 
 
 Lie blistering 'fore the visitating^ sun, 
 And were good kings when living. 
 
 Theseus. It is true : 
 
 And I will give you comfort, 
 To give your dead lords graves ; the which to do 
 Must make some work with Creon. 150 
 
 1 Cf. Coriolanus, iv, 7 : 
 
 " I think he'll be to Rome, 
 
 As is the osprey to the fish, who takes it 
 By sovereignty of nature." 
 
 2 Those who take their own lives by hanging, stabbing, poison, and 
 throwing themselves from a height. 
 
 3 Surveying ; cf. Tempest, i, 2, 308.
 
 SCENE I.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 373 
 
 1st Queen. And that work now presents itself to the 
 doing ; 
 Now 'twill take form ; the heats are gone to-morrow. 
 Then bootless toil must recompense itself 
 With its own sweat ; now he's secure, 
 Not dreams we stand before your puissance, 
 Rinsing our holy begging in our eyes, 
 To make petition clear. 
 
 2d Queen. Now you may take him, 
 
 Drunk with his victory — 
 
 3d Queen. And his army full 
 
 Of bread and sloth. 
 
 Theseus. Artesius, that best know'st 
 
 How to draw out, fit to this enterprise, 160 
 
 The prim'st for this proceeding, and the number 
 To carry such a business, forth and levy 
 Our worthiest instruments ; whilst we despatch 
 This grand act of our life, this daring deed 
 Of fate in wedlock ! 
 
 jst Queen. Dowagers, take hands ! 
 
 Let us be widows to our woes ! Delay 
 Commends us to a famishing hope. 
 
 All the Queens. Farewell ! 
 
 2d Queen. We come unseasonably ; but when could grief 
 Cull forth, as unpang'd judgment can, fitt'st time 
 For best solicitation ? 
 
 Theseus. Why, good ladies, 17c 
 
 This is a service, whereto I am going. 
 Greater than any war ; it more imports me 
 Than all the actions that I have foregone, 
 Or futurely can cope. 
 
 ist Queen. The more proclaiming
 
 374 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. lACT I. 
 
 Our suit shall be neglected. When her arms, 
 
 Able to lock Jove from a synod,' shall 
 
 By warranting moonlight corslet thee, O, when 
 
 Her twinning cherries shall their sweetness fall 
 
 Upon thy tasteful lips, what wilt thou think 
 
 Of rotten kings or blubber'd ^ queens ? what care i8c 
 
 For what thou feel'st not, what thou feel'st being able 
 
 To make Mars spurn his drum ? O, if thou couch 
 
 But one night with her, every hour in't will 
 
 Take hostage of thee ibr a hundred, and ^ 
 
 Thou shalt remember nothing more than what 
 
 That banquet bids ^ thee to ! 
 
 Hippolyia {kneeling to Theseus) . Though much unlike 
 You should be so transported, as much sorry 
 I should be such a suitor, yet I think, 
 Did I not, by the abstaining of my joy. 
 Which breeds a deeper longing, cure their surfeit"* 19c 
 
 That craves a present medicine, I should pluck 
 All ladies' scandal on me. Therefore, sir, 
 As I shall here make trial of my prayers. 
 Either presuming them to have some force, 
 Or sentencing for aye their vigour dumb, 
 Prorogue this business we are going about, and hang 
 Your shield afore your heart, about that neck 
 Which is my fee,^ and which I freely lend 
 To do these poor queens service. 
 
 All Queens. O, help now ! \To Emilia. 
 
 1 Assembly of the gods ; so Cymbeline, v, 4, 89. 
 
 2 Disfigured by weeping. " The reader ought to recollect that formerly 
 this word did not convey the somewhat ludicrous idea which it does a1 
 present." — Dyce. 
 
 3 Invites. ■* Excess of grief. ^ Property.
 
 SCENE I,] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 375 
 
 Our cause cries for your knee. 
 
 Emilia {kneeling to Theseus) . If you grant not 200 
 
 My sister her petition, in that force, 
 With that celerity and nature, which 
 She makes it in, from henceforth I'll not dare 
 To ask you anything, nor be so hardy 
 Ever to take a husband. 
 
 Theseus. Pray stand up ! 
 
 [HiPPOLYTA and Emilia rise. 
 I am entreating of myself to do 
 That which you kneel to have me. — Pirithous, 
 Lead on the bride. Get you^ and pray the gods 
 For success and return ; omit not anything 
 In the pretended ^ celebration. — Queens, 210 
 
 Follow your soldier. — As before, hence you, \_To Artesius. 
 And at the banks of Aulis meet us with 
 The forces you can raise, where we shall find 
 The moiety of a number, for a business 
 More bigger look'd. — {To Hippolyta) Since that our theme 
 
 is haste, 
 I stamp this kiss upon thy currant lip ; 
 Sweet, keep it as my token ! — {To Artesius) Set you for- 
 ward ; 
 For I will see you gone. — \_Exit Artesius. 
 
 Farewell, my beauteous sister ! — Pirithous, 
 Keep the feast full ; bate not an hour on't ! 
 
 Pirithous. Sir, 220 
 
 I'll follow you at heels ; the feast's solemnity 
 Shall want ' till you return. 
 
 Theseus. Cousin, I charge you, 
 
 Budge not from Athens ; we shall be returning 
 
 1 Get you hence. 2 Intended. * Be incomplete.
 
 376 THE TWO NOBLE KIXSMEN. [act i. 
 
 Ere you can end this feast, of which, I pray you, 
 Make no abatement. — Once more, farewell all ! 
 
 FHippoLYTA, Emilia, Pirithous, Hymen, Boy, Nymphs, 
 and Attendants enter the temple. 
 
 1st Queen. Thus dost thou still make good 
 The tongue o' the world — 
 
 2d Queen. And earn'st a deity 
 
 Equal with Mars — 
 
 jd Queen. If not above him ; for. 
 
 Thou, being but mortal, mak'st affections bend 
 To godlike honours ; they themselves, some say, 23c 
 
 Groan under such a mastery. 
 
 Theseus. As we are men, 
 
 Thus should we do ; being sensually subdued.^ 
 We lose our human title. Good cheer, ladies ! 
 Now turn we towards your comforts. \_Flourish. Exeunt!' 
 
 1 Overcome by our passions. 
 
 2 This scene " has sometimes Shakespeare's identical images and words ; 
 it has his quaint force and sententious brevity, crowding thoughts and 
 fancies into the narrowest space, and submitting to obscurity in preference 
 to feeble dilation; it has sentiments enunciated with reference to subor- 
 dinate relations, which other writers would have expressed with less grasp of 
 thought ; it has even Shakespeare's alliteration, and one or two of his singu- 
 larities in conceit; it has clearness in the images taken separately, and 
 confusion from the prodigality with which one is poured out after another, 
 in the licat and hurry of imagination ; it has both fulness of .llustration, and 
 a variety which is drawn from the most distant sources ; and it has, thrown 
 over all, that air of originality and that character of poetry, the principle of 
 which is often hid when their presence and effect are most quickly and 
 instinctively perceptible." — Spalding. 
 
 " The first thing that seems to indicate the presence of the mind of 
 Shakespeare is the clearness with which, in the first scene, we are put in 
 possession of the exact state of affairs at the opening of the play, without 
 any circumlocution or long-winded harangues, but naturally and dramati- 
 cally. And, indeed, one of the most striking characteristics of Shake. 
 speare is, if we may so express it, the downright honesty of his genius, that
 
 SCENE II.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 377 
 
 Scene II. — Thebes. The Court of the Palace. 
 Enter Palamon and Arcite. 
 
 Arcite. Dear Palamon, dearer in love than blood, 
 And our prime cousin, yet unharden'd in 
 The crimes of nature, let us leave the city, 
 Thebes, and the temptings in't, before we further 
 Sully our gloss of youth : 
 And here to keep in abstinence we shame 
 As in incontinence ; for not to swim 
 r the aid o' the current were almost to sink, 
 At least to frustrate striving ; and to follow 
 The common stream, 'twould bring us to an eddy la 
 
 Where we should turn or drown ; if labour through,* 
 Our gain but life and weakness. 
 
 Palamon. Your advice 
 
 Is cried up with example. What strange ruins,^ 
 Since first we went to school, may we perceive 
 Walking in Thebes ! scars and bare weeds. 
 The gain o' the martialist, who did propound 
 To his bold ends honour and golden ingots, 
 
 disdains anything like trick or mystery. This is almost peculiar to Shake- 
 speare. Where, in his works, as much is revealed at the very opening as is 
 necessary to the understanding of the plot, we find, in the works of other 
 dramatists, as much kept back as possible ; and we are continually greeted 
 vdth some surprise or startled with some unexpected turn in the conduct of 
 the piece." — Hickson. 
 
 1 If we should labor through it. 
 
 2 " Not material ruins of houses, but wrecks of men, that is, men who 
 are but wrecks of their former selves. Palamon is following up the idea 
 started by Arcite, that the men in Thebes were mostly coming to ruin." 
 — Skeat.
 
 378 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act i 
 
 Which though he won, he had not ; and now flurted ' 
 
 By Peace, for whom he fought ! Who then shall offer 
 
 To Mars's so-scorn'd altar? I do bleed 20 
 
 When such I meet, and wish great Juno would 
 
 Resume her ancient fit of jealousy,^ 
 
 To get the soldier work, that Peace might purge 
 
 For her repletion, and retain anew 
 
 Her charitable heart, now hard, and harsher 
 
 Than strife or war could be. 
 
 Arcite. Are you not out? 
 
 Meet you no ruin but the soldier in 
 The cranks and turns of Thebes ? You did begin 
 As if you met decays of many kinds ; 
 
 Perceive you none that do arouse your pity 3c 
 
 But the unconsider'd soldier? 
 
 Palamon. Yes : I pity 
 
 Decays where'er I find them ; but such most 
 That, sweating in an honourable toil, 
 Are paid with ice to cool 'em. 
 
 Arcite. 'Tis not this 
 
 I did begin to speak of; this is virtue 
 Of no respect in Thebes. I spake of Thebes, 
 How dangerous, if we will keep our honours, 
 It is for our residing ; where every evil 
 Hath a good colour ; where every seeming good's 
 A certain evil ; where not to be even jump ' 4; 
 
 As they are here, were to be strangers, and 
 Such things to be mere monsters. 
 
 Palamon. It is in our power — 
 
 Unless we fear that apes can tutor 's — to 
 
 1 Scorned. 
 
 - Refers to the cause of the Trojan war. ' Precisely.
 
 SCENE 11.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN 379 
 
 Be masters of our manners. What need I 
 
 Affect another's gait, which is not catching 
 
 Where there is faith ^ ? or to be fond upon 
 
 Another's way of speech, when by mine own 
 
 I may be reasonably conceiv'd/ sav'd too, 
 
 Speaking it truly ? Why am I bound 
 
 By any generous bond to follow him St 
 
 Follows his tailor, haply so long until 
 
 The follow'd make pursuit? Or let me know 
 
 Why mine own barber is unbless'd, with him 
 
 My poor chin too, for 'tis not scissar'd just 
 
 To such a favourite's glass ? What canon is there 
 
 That does command my rapier from my hip, 
 
 To dangle't in my hand, or to go tip-toe 
 
 Before the street be foul ! Either I am 
 
 The fore-horse in the team, or I am none 
 
 That draw i' the sequent trace. These poor slight sores 6c 
 
 Need not a plantain ; that which rips my bosom. 
 
 Almost to the heart, 's — 
 
 Arcite. Our uncle Creon. 
 
 Palamon. He, 
 
 A most unbounded tyrant, whose successes 
 Makes heaven unfear'd, and villainy assur'd 
 Beyond its power there's nothing ; almost puts 
 Faith in a fever, and deifies alone 
 Voluble chance ; who only attributes 
 The faculties of other instruments 
 To his own nerves and act ; commands men's service. 
 And what they win in't, boot and glory ; one ^<. 
 
 That fears not to do harm, good dares not. Let 
 The blood of mine that's sib ^ to him be suck'd 
 
 1 Self-reliance. 2 Understood. 3 Related to.
 
 380 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act i. 
 
 From me with leeches ! let them break and fall 
 Off me with that corruption ! 
 
 Arcite. Clear-spirited cousin. 
 
 Let's leave his court, that we may nothing share 
 Of his loud infamy ; for our milk 
 Will relish of the pasture, and we must 
 Be vile or disobedient, not his kinsmen 
 In blood, unless in quality. 
 
 Palamon. Nothing truer ! 
 
 I think the echoes of his shames have deaf'd 8c 
 
 The ears of heavenly justice ; widows' cries 
 Descend again into their throats, and have not 
 Due audience of the gods. — Valerius ! 
 
 Enier Valerius. 
 
 Valerius. The king calls for you ; yet be leaden-footed 
 Till his great rage be off him. Phoebus, when 
 He broke his whipstock and exclaim'd against 
 The horses of the sun,' but whisper'd, to ^ 
 The loudness of his fury. 
 
 Falamon. Small winds shake him ; 
 
 But what's the matter? 
 
 Valerius. Theseus — who, where he threats, appals — hath 
 sent ga 
 
 Deadly defiance to him, and pronounces 
 Ruin to Thebes ; who is at hand to seal 
 The promise of his wrath. 
 
 Arcite. Let him approach ! 
 
 But that we fear the gods in him, he brings not 
 A. jot of terror to us ; yet what man 
 
 1 Perhaps alludes to Phoebus's wrath after the death of Phaethon. 
 
 2 Compared to.
 
 SCENK II,] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 381 
 
 Thirds his own worth — the case is each of ours — 
 When that his action's dregg'd with mind assur'd 
 'Tis bad he goes about ? ^ 
 
 Palamon. Leave that unreason'd ; 
 
 Our services stand now for Thebes, not Creon. 
 Yet to be neutral to him were dishonour, 100 
 
 Rebellious to oppose ; therefore we must 
 With him stand to the mercy of our fate. 
 Who hath bounded our last minute. 
 
 Arcite. So we must. — 
 
 Is't said this war's afoot ? or it shall be, 
 On fail of some condition ? 
 
 Valerius. 'Tis in motion ; 
 
 The intelligence ^ of state came in the instant 
 With the defier. 
 
 Palamon. Let's to the king, who, were he 
 
 A quarter carrier of that honour which 
 His enemy comes in, the blood we venture 
 Should be as for our health ; which were not spent, no 
 
 Rather laid out for purchase : but, alas. 
 Our hands advanc'd before our hearts, what will 
 The fall o' the stroke do damage ? 
 
 Arcite. Let the event, 
 
 That never- erring arbitrator, tell us 
 When we know all ourselves ; and let us follow 
 The becking of our chance. \Exeunt? 
 
 1 " What man can exert a third part of his powers when his mind is 
 clogged with a consciousness that he fights in a bad cause ? " — Mason. 
 
 - Messenger; cf. King John, iv, 2, 116. 
 
 •* Of this scene Spalding says : " Its broken versification points out 
 Shakespeare ; the quaintness of some conceits is his ; and several of the 
 phrases and images have much of his pointedness, brevity, or obscurity. 
 The scene, though not lofty in tone, does not want interest, and contains
 
 382 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act 1. 
 
 Scene III. — Before the Gates of Athens. 
 Enter Pirithous, Hippolyta, and Emilia. 
 
 Pirithous. No further ! 
 
 Hippolyta. Sir, farewell ! Repeat my wishes 
 
 To our great lord, of whose success I dare not 
 Make any timorous question ; yet I wish him 
 Excess and overflow of power, an't might be, 
 To dare ill-dealing fortune. Speed to him ; "^ 
 
 Store ' never hurts good governors. 
 
 Pirithous. Though I know 
 
 His ocean needs not my poor drops, yet they 
 Must yield their tribute there. — My precious maid, 
 Those best affections that the heavens infuse 
 In their best-temper'd pieces keep enthron'd 10 
 
 In your dear heart ! 
 
 Emilia. Thanks, sir. Remember me 
 
 To our all-royal brother, for whose speed 
 The great Bellona I'll sohcit ; and 
 Since, in our terrene state, petitions are not 
 Without gifts understood, I'll offer to her 
 What I shall be advis'd she likes. Our hearts 
 Are in his army, in his tent. 
 
 Hippolyta. In's bosom ! 
 
 some extremely original illustrations." Hickson thinks " that either Shake- 
 speare and Fletcher wrote the scene in conjunction, or that it was originally 
 written by Fletcher, and afterwards revised and partly re-wriiten by Shake- 
 speare." Littledale asks : " Does it not therefore appear more likely that 
 the view put forward by Spalding, and upheld by Dyce, Skeat, and Swin- 
 burne — that Shakespeare was the first sketcher of the piece, Fletcher the 
 • padder ' ; that the play is ' gilt o'er-dusted," rather than ' dust that is a little 
 gilt' gives after all the true explanation of the mystery ? " 
 1 Abundance of men or money.
 
 SCENE III.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 383 
 
 We have been soldiers, and we cannot weep 
 
 When our friends don their helms or put to sea, 
 
 Or tell of babes broach 'd on the lance, or women 20 
 
 That have sod ^ their infants in — and after eat them — 
 
 The brine they wept at killing 'em ; then if 
 
 You stay to see of us such spinsters, we 
 
 Should hold you here for ever. 
 
 Piriihous. Peace be to you, 
 
 As I pursue this war ! which shall be then 
 Beyond further requiring. \_Exit. 
 
 Emilia. How his longing 
 
 Follows his friend ! Since his depart his sports, 
 Though craving seriousness and skill, pass'd slightly 
 His careless execution, where nor gain 
 
 Made him regard, or loss consider ; but 3c 
 
 Playing one business in his hand, another 
 Directing in his head, his mind nurse equal 
 To these so differing twins. Have you observ'd him 
 Since our great lord departed ? 
 
 Hippolyta. With much labour. 
 
 And I did love him for't. They two have cabin'd 
 In many as dangerous as poor a corner. 
 Peril and want contending ; they have skiff 'd 
 Torrents, whose roaring tyranny and power 
 r the least of these was dreadful ; and they have 
 Fought out together, where death's self was lodg'd, 4c 
 
 Yet fate hath brought them off. Their knot of love 
 Tied, weav'd, entangled, with so true, so long, 
 And with a finger of so deep a cunning, 
 May be outworn, never undone. I tiiink 
 Theseus cannot be umpire to himself, 
 
 1 Seethed, boiled.
 
 384 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [ACT I 
 
 Cleaving his conscience into twain, and doing 
 Each side like justice, which he loves best. 
 
 Emilia. Doubtless 
 
 There is a best, and reason has no manners 
 To say it is not you. I was acquainted 
 Once with a time, when I enjoy'd a playfellow ; 50 
 
 You were at wars when she the grave enrich'd, 
 Who made too proud the bed, took leave o' the moon — 
 Which then look'd pale at parting — when our count 
 Was each eleven. 
 
 Hippolyta. 'Twas Flavina. 
 
 Emilia. Yes. 
 
 You talk of Pirithous' and Theseus' love : 
 Theirs has more ground, is more maturely season'd, 
 More buckled with strong judgment, and their needs 
 The one of th' other may be said to water 
 Their intertangled roots of love ; but I 
 And she I sigh and spoke of were things innocent, 60 
 
 Lov'd for we did, and, like the elements 
 That know not what nor why, yet do effect 
 Rare issues by their operance,' our souls 
 Did so to one another. What she lik'd. 
 Was then of me approv'd ; what not, condemn'd. 
 No more arraignment. The flower that I would pluck 
 And put between my breasts — then but beginning 
 To swell about the blossom — she would long 
 Till she had such another, and commit it 
 To the like innocent cradle, where phoenix-like 70 
 
 They died in perfume. On my head no toy - 
 But was her pattern ; her affections — pretty. 
 Though happily her careless wear — I follow'd 
 
 1 Operation. 2 Head-dress.
 
 SCENE III.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 385 
 
 For my most serious decking. Had mine ear 
 
 Stol'n some new air, or at adventure humm'd one 
 
 From musical coinage, why, it was a note 
 
 Whereon her spirits would sojourn — rather dwell on — 
 
 x-^nd sing it in her slumbers. This rehearsal — 
 
 Which, every innocent wots well, comes in 
 
 Like old importment's bastard — has this end, 80 
 
 That the true love 'tween maid and maid may be 
 
 More than in sex dividual,^ 
 
 Hippolyta. You're out of breath ; 
 
 And this high-speeded pace is but to say. 
 That you shall never, like the maid Flavina, 
 Love any that's call'd man. 
 
 Emilia. I am sure I shall not. 
 
 Hippolyta. Now, alack, weak sister, 
 I must no more beUeve thee in this point — 
 Though in't I know thou dost believe thyself — 
 Than I will trust a sickly appetite, 
 
 That loathes even as it longs. But sure, my sister, qo 
 
 If I were ripe for your persuasion, you 
 Have said enough to shake me from the arm 
 Of the all-noble Theseus ; for whose fortunes 
 I will now in and kneel, with great assurance, 
 That we, more than his Pirithous, possess 
 The high throne in his heart, 
 
 Emilia. I am not 
 
 Against your faith ; yet I continue mine.^ \_Exeunt. 
 
 1 " The end of this long relation, as every innocent is aware, comes in 
 like the ' illegitimate conclusion ' of a long story told very consequentially." 
 — LittledaU. 
 
 2 This scene " has Shakespeare's stamp deeply cut upon it," and is 
 " probably all his." — Spalding. " The friendship of Theseus and Pirithous 
 becomes a natural introduction to the object of friendship in general, and
 
 386 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [ACT L 
 
 ScEXF, rV. A Field before Thebes. 
 
 Cornets. A battle struck within ; then a retreat ; then a 
 flourish. Then enter Theseus, victor; the three Queens 
 meet him and fall oti their faces before him. 
 
 jst Queen. To thee no star be dark ! 
 
 2a Queen. Both heaven and earth 
 
 Friend thee for ever ! 
 
 jd Qiiee?i. All the good that may 
 
 Be wish'd upon thy head, I cry amen to't ! 
 
 Theseus. The impartial gods, who from the mounted 
 heavens 
 View us their mortal herd, behold who err, 
 And in their time chastise. Go and find out 
 The bones of your dead lords, and honour them 
 With treble ceremony. Rather than a gap 
 Should be in their dear rites, we would supply't. 
 IjUt those we will depute which shall invest 10 
 
 You in your dignities, and even each thing 
 Our haste does leave imperfect. So adieu, 
 And heaven's good eyes look on you ! — What are those? 
 
 [^Exeunt Queens. 
 
 female friendship in particular; and, in this light, the character of Emilia is 
 shown so simple, so pure, jet so fervent, that we justify and account for her 
 irresolution and inability to decide between the rivals, both of whom she 
 admires without actually loving either. It is a scene, in fact, necessary to 
 that perfection of character and consistency of purpose which but one 
 writer of the age attained. Struck out, the play would still be intelligible, 
 as no part of the action would thereby be lost ; but Emilia would straight- 
 way sink into one of those conventional characters that strange circum- 
 stances throw info the power of the dramatist, and, judged by any other 
 than his own peculiar standard, would certainly have little claim upon our 
 respect." — Hickson.
 
 SCENE IV.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 387 
 
 Herald. Men of great quality, as may be judg'd 
 By their appointment ; some of Thebes have told's 
 They are sisters' children, nephews to the king. 
 
 Theseus. By the helm of Mars, I saw them in the war, 
 Like to a pair of lions smear'd with prey. 
 Make lanes in troops aghast ; I fix'd my note 
 Constantly on them, for they were a mark 20 
 
 VVorth a god's view. What was't that prisoner told me. 
 When I inquir'd their names? 
 
 Herald. We learn, they're call'd 
 
 Arcite and Palamon. < 
 
 Theseus. 'Tis right ; those, those. 
 
 They are not dead ? 
 
 Herald. Nor in a state of life : had they been taken 
 When their last hurts were given, 'twas possible 
 They might have been recover'd ; yet they breathe, 
 And have the name of men. 
 
 Theseus. Then like men use 'em ; 
 
 The very lees of such, millions of rates 
 Exceed the wine of others. All our surgeons 30 
 
 Convent in their behoof ; our richest balms. 
 Rather than niggard, waste : their lives concern us 
 Much more than Thebes is worth. Rather than have 'em 
 Freed of this plight, and in their morning state, 
 Sound and at liberty, I would 'em dead ; 
 But, forty thousand fold, we had rather have 'em 
 Prisoners to us than death. Bear 'em speedily 
 From our kind air — to them unkind — and minister 
 What man to man may do ; for our sake, more : 
 Since I have known fight's fury, friends' behests, 40 
 
 Love's provocations, zeal, a mistress' task, 
 Desire of liberty, a fever, madness,
 
 388 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [ACT I. 
 
 Hath set a mark — which nature could not reach to 
 
 Without some imposition, — sickness in will, 
 
 Or wrestling strength in reason. For our love 
 
 And great Apollo's mercy, all our best 
 
 Their best skill tender ! ^ — Lead into the city ; 
 
 Where having bound things scatter'd, we will post 
 
 To Athens 'fore our army. {JFlourish. Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V. — Ajwther Fai-t of the Field. 
 
 Enter the Queens with the hearses of their husbands in a 
 funeral solemnity, etc. 
 
 Song. 
 
 Urns and odours b?'ing away ! 
 Vapours, sighs, darken the day f 
 
 1 This corrupt passage has puzzled all the commentators. Skeat says : 
 " It is clear that friends should be a genitive case, coupled as it is with 
 Love's provocations ; and the s\igg&?,\\on Jighfs fury is a great improvement 
 upon \\\& fright' s fury of the old editions. The introduction of in after zeal, 
 as proposed by Mr. Dyce, is also a happy thought. But there we may as 
 well stop. I understand the word that before Hath, nothing being com- 
 moner in our dramatists than the omission of the relative; and I retain 
 Hath, without altering it, as some have done, to Have. I interpret it thus : 
 ' For I have known the fury of fight, the requisitions of friends, the provoca- 
 tions of love, the zeal employed in executing a mistress's task, or the desire 
 of liberty — to be (or, to amount to) a fever or a madness, which has pro- 
 posed an aim (for endeavours) which the man's natural strength could not 
 attain to, without at least some forcing, or some fainting of the will, or some 
 severe struggle in the mind.' This is at least as good as any previous ex- 
 planations, and further discussion of so difficult a passage would be useless. 
 Imposition means demand or requirement, in an excessive degree." Little- 
 dale adds : " Theseus directs that the prisoners shall be removed from all 
 sights that might be suggestive of their captivity and so hinder their re- 
 covery, since he knows that, among other causes, desire of liberty hath 
 sometimes produced a degree of mental apathy or delirium {set a mark of 
 siciiiess of luill or wrestling strength in reason) which could only I'C com- 
 bated by practising some deception {nature could noi reach to, etc.)."
 
 SCENE v.l THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 389 
 
 Our dole^ more deadly looks than dying; 
 Balms, and gums, and heavy cheers,^ 
 Sacred vials filVd with tears, 
 
 And clamours through the wild air flying ! 
 Come, all sad and solemn shows. 
 That are quick-eyed pleasure's foes / 
 We convent^ nought else but woes. 
 
 We convent, etc. 10 
 
 3d Queen. This funeral path brings to your household's 
 grave. 
 Joy seize on you again ! Peace sleep with him ! 
 2d Queen. And this to yours ! 
 
 1st Queen. Yours this way ! Heavens lend 
 
 A thousand differing ways to one sure end ! 
 
 3d Queen. This world's a city full of straying streets, 
 And death's the market-place, where each one meets.'' 
 
 \_£lxeunt severally.^ 
 
 1 Sorrow. 2 gad mien. 3 Bring together. 
 
 ^ An old epitaph in the churchyard of Abernethy, Scotland, runs thus : — 
 
 " The world's a city 
 Full of streets. 
 And death's a market 
 That every one meets; 
 But if life were a thing 
   That money could buy, 
 The poor could not live 
 And the rich would not die." 
 
 5 LittUdale doubts that Shakespeare wrote this scene.
 
 390 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act II. 
 
 ACT 11. 
 
 Scene I.' — Athens. A Garden, with a Castle in the Back- 
 ground. 
 
 Enter Gaoler and Wooer. 
 
 Gaoler. I may depart with little, while I live ; something 
 I may cast to you, not mufh. Alas, the prison I keep, 
 though it be for great ones, yet they seldom come ; be- 
 fore one salmon, you shall take a number of minnows. I am 
 given out to be better lined than it can appear to me report 
 is a true speaker ; I would I were really that I am delivered 
 to be ! Marry, what I have — be it what it will — I will 
 assure upon my daughter at the day of my death. 
 
 Wooer. Sir, I demand no more than your own offer ; and 
 I will estate your daughter in what I have promised. lo 
 
 Gaoler. Well, we will talk more of this when the solem- 
 nity is past. But have you a full promise of her? When 
 that shall be seen, I tender my consent. 
 
 Wooer. I have, sir. Here she comes. 
 
 Enter Gaoler's Daughter, with rushes. 
 
 Gaoler. Your friend and I have chanced to name you 
 here, upon the old business : but no more of that now. So 
 soon as the court-hurry is over, we will have an end of it. 
 I' the mean time, look tenderly to the two prisoners. I can 
 tell you they are princes. 19 
 
 1 Hickson, Coleridge and Littledale attribute this scene to Shakespeare ; 
 Weber , Spalding, and Dyce to Fletcher.
 
 SCENE I.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN, 39I 
 
 Daughter. These strewings are for their chamber. 'Tis 
 pity they are in prison, and 'twere pity they should be 
 out. I do think they have patience to make any adversity 
 ashamed ; the prison itself is proud of 'em, and they have all 
 the world in their chamber. 
 
 Gaoler. They are famed to be a pair of absolute men. 
 
 Daughter. By my troth, I think fame but stammers 'em ; 
 they stand a grise ^ above the reach of report. 
 
 Gaoler. I heard them reported in the battle to be the 
 only doers. 
 
 Daughter. Nay, most likely ; for they are noble sufferers. 
 I marvel how they would have looked, had they been vic- 
 tors, that with such a constant nobility enforce a freedom 
 out of bondage, making misery their mirth, and affliction a 
 toy to jest at. 34 
 
 Gaoler. Do they so? 
 
 Daughter. It seems to me, they have no more sense of 
 their captivity, than I of ruling Athens ; they eat well, look 
 merrily, discourse of many things, but nothing of their own 
 restraint and disasters. Yet sometime a divided sigh, mar- 
 tyred a*s 'twere i' the deliverance, will break from one of 
 them ; when the other presently gives it so sweet a rebuke, 
 that I could wish myself a sigh to be so chid, or at least a 
 sigher to be comforted. 43 
 
 Wooer. I never saw 'em. 
 
 Gaoler. The duke himself came privately in the night, 
 and so did they ; what the reason of it is, I know not. — 
 (Palamon and Arcite appear at a jvindozv, above.') Look, 
 yonder they are ! that's Arcite looks out. 
 
 Daughter. No, sir, no ; that's Palamon. Arcite is the 
 lower of the twain ; you may perceive a part of him. 50 
 
 1 Step.
 
 392 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act II. 
 
 Gaoler. Go to, leave your pointing ! They would not 
 make us their object ; out of their sight ! 
 
 Daughter. It is a holiday to look on them ! Lord, the 
 
 difference of men ! \_Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II.^ — A Room in the Prison. 
 Enter Palamon and Arcite. 
 
 Palamcn. How do you, noble cousin ? ^ 
 
 Arcite. How do you, sir? 
 
 Palamon. Why, strong enough to laugh at misery. 
 And bear the chance of war yet. We are prisoners 
 I fear for ever, cousin. 
 
 Arcite. I believe it ; 
 
 And to that destiny have patiently 
 Laid up my hour to come. 
 
 Palamon. O cousin Arcite, 
 
 Where is Thebes now? where is our noble country? 
 Where are our friends and kindreds? Never more 
 Must we behold those comforts ; never see 
 The hardy youths strive for the games of honour, lo 
 
 Hung with the painted favours of their ladies, 
 Like tall ships under sail ; then start amongst 'em. 
 And, as an east wind, leave 'em all behind us 
 Like lazy clouds, whilst Palamon and Arcite, 
 Even in the wagging of a wanton leg, 
 Outstripp'd the people's praises, won the garlands, 
 Ere they have time to wish 'em ours. O, never 
 Shall we two exercise, like twins of honour, 
 
 1 Weber, Dyce, and Skeat make no separation between this scene and the 
 preceding ; but the Quarto does.
 
 SCENE II.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 393 
 
 Our arms again, and feel our fiery horses 
 
 Like proud seas under us ! Our good swords now — 20 
 
 Better the red-eyed god of war ne'er wore — 
 
 Ravish'd^ our sides, hke age, must run to rust, 
 
 And deck the temples of those go'ds that hate us ; 
 
 These hands shall never draw 'em out hke lightning, 
 
 To blast whole armies, more ! 
 
 Arcite. No, Palamon, 
 
 Those hopes are prisoners with us : here we are, 
 And here the graces of our youths must wither, 
 Like a too-timely spring ; here age must find us. 
 And, which is heaviest, Palamon, unmarried ; 
 The sweet embraces of a" loving wife, 30 
 
 Loaden with kisses, arm'd with thousand Cupids, 
 Shall never clasp our necks ; no issue know us, 
 No figures of ourselves shall we e'er see, 
 To glad our age, and like young eagles teach 'em 
 Boldly to gaze against bright arms, and say, 
 " Remember what your fathers were, and conquer ! " 
 The fair-eyed maids shall weep our banishments. 
 And in their songs curse ever-blinded Fortune, 
 Till she for shame see what a wrong she has done 
 To youth and nature. This is all our world ; 40 
 
 We shall know nothing here but one another. 
 Hear nothing but the clock that tells our woes ; 
 The vine shall grow, but we shall never see it ; 
 Summer shall come, and with her all delights, 
 But dead-cold winter must inhabit here still. 
 
 Palamon. 'Tis too true, Arcite. To our Theban hounds, 
 That shook the aged forest with their echoes. 
 No more now must we halloo ; no more shake 
 
 1 Torn from.
 
 394 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [ACT II. 
 
 Our pointed javelins, wliilst the angry swine 
 
 Flies like a Parthian quiver from our rages, 50 
 
 Stuck with our well-steel'd darts ! All valiant uses — 
 
 The food and nourishment of noble minds — 
 
 In us two here shall perish ; we shall die — 
 
 Which is the curse of honour — lazily, 
 
 Children of grief and ignorance. 
 
 Arcite. Yet, cousin, 
 
 Even from the bottom of these miseries, 
 From all that fortune can inflict upon us, 
 I see two comforts rising, two mere blessings, 
 If the gods please to hold here, — a brave patience, 
 And the enjoying of our griefs together. 60 
 
 Whilst Palamon is with me, let me perish 
 If I think this our prison. 
 
 Palamon. Certainly, 
 
 'Tis a main goodness, cousin, that our fortunes 
 Were twin'd together : 'tis most true, two souls 
 Put in two noble bodies, let 'em suffer 
 The gall of hazard, so they grow together, 
 Will never sink ; they must not ; say they could, 
 A willing man dies sleeping, and all's done. 
 
 Arcite. Shall we make worthy uses of this place, 
 That all men hate so much? 
 
 Palamon. How, gentle cousin? 70 
 
 Arcite. Let's think this prison holy sanctuary. 
 To keep us from corruption of worse men. 
 We are young, and yet desire the ways of honour. 
 That liberty and common conversation. 
 The poison of pure spirits, might, like women, 
 Woo us to wander from. What worth)^ blessing 
 Can be, but our imaginations 
 May make it ours ? and here being thus together.
 
 SCENE 11.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 395 
 
 We are an endless mine to one another ; 
 
 We are one another's wife, ever begetting 80 
 
 New births of love ; we are father, friends, acquaintance ; 
 
 We are, in one another, families ; 
 
 I am your heir, and you are mine ; this place 
 
 Is our inheritance ; no hard oppressor 
 
 Dare take this from us ; here, with a little patience, 
 
 We shall live long, and loving ; no surfeits seek us ; 
 
 The hand of war hurts none here, nor the seas 
 
 Swallow their youth. Were we at liberty, 
 
 A wife might part us lawfully, or business ; 
 
 Quarrels consume us ; envy of ill men 9a 
 
 Grave ^ our acquaintance ; I might sicken, cousin, 
 
 ^^'here you should never know it, and so perish 
 
 Without your noble hand to close mine eyes. 
 
 Or prayers to the gods : a thousand chances. 
 
 Were we from hence, would sever us. 
 
 Pa/amon. You have made me — 
 
 I thank you, cousin Arcite — almost wanton 
 With my captivity ; what a misery 
 It is to live abroad, and everywhere ! 
 'Tis like a beast, methinks ! I find the court here, 
 I am sure, a more content ; and all those pleasures, loc 
 
 That woo the wills of men to vanity, 
 I see through now ; and am sufficient 
 To tell the world, 'tis but a gaudy shadow, 
 That old Time, as he passes by, takes with him. 
 What had we been, old in the court of Creon, 
 Where sin is justice, lust and ignorance 
 The virtues of the great ones ! Cousin Arcite, 
 Had not the loving gods found this place for us. 
 
 1 Bury.
 
 396 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [ACT II. 
 
 We had died as they do, ill old men, unwept, 
 
 And had their epitaphs, the peoples' curses. nc 
 
 Shall I say more ? 
 
 Arcite. I would hear you still. 
 
 Palamon. Ye shall. 
 
 Is there record of any two that lov'd 
 Better than we do, Arcite ? 
 
 Arcite. Sure, there cannot. 
 
 Palamoji. I do not think it possible our friendship 
 Should ever leave us. 
 
 Arcite. Till our deaths it cannot \ 
 
 And after death our spirits shall be led 
 To those that love eternally. Speak on, sir. 
 
 Enter Emildv aiid Waiting-woman, below. 
 
 Emilia. This garden has a world of pleasures in't. 
 What flower is this ? 
 
 IVaiting-woman. 'Tis call'd narcissus, madam. 
 
 Emilia. That was a fair boy, certain, but a fool 12a 
 
 To love himself; were there not maids enough? 
 
 Arcite. Pray, forward. 
 
 Pala77wn. Yes. 
 
 Emilia. Or were they all hard-hearted ? 
 
 Waiting-woma7t. They could not be to one so fair. 
 
 Emilia. Thou would'st not ? 
 
 Waiting-wojnan. I think I should not, madam. 
 
 Emilia. That's a good wench ; 
 
 But take heed to your kindness though ! 
 
 IVaiting-ivoman. Why, madam? 
 
 Emilia. Men are mad things. 
 
 Arcite. Will ye go forward, cousin ? 
 
 Emilia. Canst thou not work such flowers in silk, wench?
 
 SCENE II.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 397 
 
 Waiiing-womafi. Yes. 
 
 Emilia. I'll have a gowii full of 'em ; and of these ', 
 This is a pretty colour : will't not do 
 Rarely upon a skirt, wench ? 
 
 Waiting-woman. Dainty, madam. 130 
 
 Arcite. Cousin ! Cousin ! How do you, sir? Why, Pala- 
 mon ! 
 
 Palamon. Never till now I was in prison, Arcite. 
 
 Arcite. Why, what's the matter, man? 
 
 Palamo?t. Behold, and wonder ! 
 
 By heaven, she is a goddess ! 
 
 Arcite. Ha ! 
 
 Palamon. Do reverence ! 
 
 She is a goddess, Arcite ! 
 
 Etnilia. Of all flowers 
 
 Methinks a rose is best. 
 
 Waiting-woman. Why, gentle madam? 
 
 Emilia. It is the very emblem of a maid ; 
 For when the west wind courts her gently, 
 How modestly she blows, and paints the sun 
 With her chaste blushes ! when the north comes near her, 
 Rude and impatient, then, like chastity, 141 
 
 She locks her beauties in her bud again,^ 
 And leaves him to base briers. 
 
 Arcite. She is wondrous fair ! 
 
 Palatnon. She is all the beauty extant ! 
 
 Emilia. The sun grows high ; let's walk in. Keep these 
 flowers ; 
 We'll see how near art can come near their colours. 
 
 \_Exit with Waiting-womaa 
 
 Palamon. What think you of this beauty? 
 
 1 Cf. Keats's " As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again."
 
 398 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act ii. 
 
 Arcite. 'Tis a rare one. 
 
 Palamon. Is't but a rare one ? 
 
 Arcite. Yes, a matchless beauty. 
 
 Palamon. Might not a man well lose himself, and love 
 her? 
 
 Arcite. I cannot tell what you have done ; I have, 150 
 
 Beshrew mine eyes for't ! Now I feel my shackles. 
 
 Palamon. You love her then ? 
 
 Arcite. Who would not? 
 
 Palamon. And desire her? 
 
 Arcite. Before my liberty. 
 
 Palamon. I saw her first. 
 
 Arcite. That's nothing. 
 
 Palamon. But it shall be. 
 
 Arcite. I saw her too. 
 
 Palamofi. Yes ; but you must not love her. 
 
 Arcite. I will not, as you do, to worship her, 
 As she is heavenly and a blessed goddess : 
 I love her as a woman, to enjoy her ; 
 So both may love. 
 
 Palat?ion. You shall not love at all. 
 
 Arcite. Not love at all? who shall deny me? 160 
 
 Palamon. I that first saw her ; I that took possession 
 First with mine eyes of all those beauties in her 
 Reveal'd to mankind ! If thou lovest her. 
 Or entertain'st a hope to blast my wishes. 
 Thou art a traitor, Arcite, and a fellow 
 False as thy title to her ; friendship, blood, 
 And all the ties between us I disclaim, 
 If thou once think upon her ! 
 
 Arcite. Yes, I love her ; 
 
 And if the lives of all my name lay on it.
 
 SCENE II.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN, 399 
 
 I must do SO ; I love her with my soul. 170 
 
 If that will lose ye, farewell, Palamon ! 
 
 I say again, I love ; and, in loving her, maintain 
 
 I am as worthy and as free a lover, 
 
 And have as just a title to her beauty, 
 
 As any Palamon, or any living 
 
 That is a man's son. 
 
 Palamon. Have I call'd thee friend? 
 
 Arcite. Yes, and have found me so. Why are you mov'd 
 thus? 
 Let me deal coldly with you : am not I 
 Part of your blood, part of your soul ? you have told me 
 That I was Palamon, and you were Arcite, 180 
 
 Palamon. Yes. 
 
 Arcite. Am not I liable to those affections, 
 
 Those joys, griefs, angers, fears, my friend shall suffer? 
 
 Palamon. Ye may be. 
 
 Arcite. Why then would you deal so cunningly, 
 
 So strangely, so unlike a noble kinsman. 
 To love alone ? Speak truly ; do you think me 
 Unworthy of her sight ? 
 
 Palamon. No ; but unjust 
 
 If thou pursue that sight. 
 
 Arcite. Because another 
 
 First sees the enemy, shall I stand still. 
 And let mine honour down, and never charge? 
 
 Palamon. Yes, if he be but one. 
 
 Arcite. But say that one 19c 
 
 Had rather combat me? 
 
 Palamon. Let that one say so. 
 
 And use thy freedom ; else, if thou pursues! her, 
 Be as that cursed man that hates his country.
 
 400 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act li 
 
 A branded villain ! 
 
 A f cite. You are mad. 
 
 Falamon. I must be, 
 
 Till thou art worthy, Arcite ; it concerns me ; 
 And, in this madness, if I hazard thee 
 And take thy life, I deal but truly. 
 
 Arcite. Fie, sir ! 
 
 You play the child extremely : I will love her, 
 I must, I ought to do so, and I dare ; ^ 
 
 And all this justly. 
 
 Falamon. O, that now, that now, 20c 
 
 Thy false self and thy friend had but this fortune, 
 To be one hour at liberty, and grasp 
 Our good swords iff our hands ! I'd quickly teach thee 
 What 'twere to filch affection from another ! 
 Thou art baser in it than a cutpurse ! 
 Put but thy head out of this window more. 
 And, as I have a soul, I'll nail thy life to't ! 
 
 Arcite. Thou dar'st not, fool; thou canst not; thou art 
 feeble. 
 Put my head out ! I'll throw my body out, 
 And leap the garden,, when I see her next, 210 
 
 And pitch between her arms, to anger thee. 
 
 Palainon. No more ! the keeper's coming ; I shall live 
 To knock thy brains out with my shackles. 
 
 Arcite. Do 1 
 
 Enter Gaoler. 
 
 Gaoler. By your leave, gentlemen. 
 
 Falamon. Now, honest keeper? 
 
 Gaoler. Lord Arcite, you must presently to the duke ; 
 The cause I know not yet.
 
 SCENE II,] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 4OI 
 
 Arcite. I am ready, keeper. 
 
 Gaoler. Prince Palamon, I must awhile bereave you 
 Of your fair cousin's company. \_Exit with Arcite. 
 
 Palamon. And me too, 
 
 Even when you please, of life. — Why is he sent for? 
 It may be, he shall marry her ; he's goodly, 22c 
 
 And like enough the duke hath taken notice 
 Both of his blood and body. But his falsehood ! 
 Why should a friend be treacherous ? If that 
 Get him a wife so noble and so fair, 
 Let honest men ne'er love again ! Once more 
 I would but see this fair one. — Blessed garden. 
 And fruit and flowers more blessed, that still blossom 
 As her bright eyes shine on ye ! Would I were, 
 For all the fortune of my life hereafter. 
 Yon little tree, yon blooming apricock ! ^ 23c 
 
 How I would spread, and fling my wanton arms 
 In at her window ! I would bring her fruit 
 Fit for the gods to feed on ; youth and pleasure, 
 Still as she tasted, should be doubled on her ; 
 And if she be not heavenly, I would make her 
 So near the gods in nature, they should fear her ; 
 And then I am sure she would love me. — 
 
 Re-enter Gaoler. 
 
 How now, keeper ! 
 Where's Arcite? 
 
 Gaoler. Banish'd. Prince Pirithous 
 
 Obtain'd his liberty ; but never more, 
 
 Upon his oath and life, must he set foot 24a 
 
 Upon this kingdom. 
 
 i Apricot.
 
 402 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [ACT II. 
 
 Palamon. He's a blessed man ! 
 
 He shall see Thebes again, and call to arms 
 The bold young men that, when he bids 'em charge. 
 Fall on hke fire. Arcite shall have a fortune, 
 If he dare make himself a worthy lover, 
 Yet in the field to strike a battle for her ; 
 And if he lose her then, he's a cold coward. 
 How bravely may he bear himself to win her. 
 If he be noble Arcite, thousand ways ! 
 Were I at liberty, I would do things 250 
 
 Of such a virtuous greatness that this lady, 
 This blushing virgin, should take manhood to her, 
 And seek to ravish me ! 
 
 Gaoler. My lord, for you 
 
 I have this charge too — 
 
 Palani07i. To discharge my life ? 
 
 Gaoler. No ; but from this place to remove your lord- 
 ship ; 
 The windows are too open. 
 
 Palamon. Devils take 'em. 
 
 That are so envious to me ! Prithee, kill me ! 
 
 Gaoler. And hang for't afterward? 
 
 Palamon. By this good light. 
 
 Had I a sword, I'd kill thee ! 
 
 Gaoler. Why, my lord ? 
 
 Palamon. Thou bring'st such pelting ^ scurvy news con- 
 tinually, 260 
 riiou art not worthy life ! I will not go. 
 
 Gaoler. Indeed you must, my lord. 
 
 Palamon. May I see the garden ? 
 
 Gaoler. No. 
 
 1 Paltry, contemptible.
 
 SCENE III.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 403 
 
 Palamon. Then I am resolv'd I will not go. 
 
 Gaoler. I must 
 
 Constrain you then ; and, for you are dangerous, 
 I'll clap more irons on you. 
 
 Palamon. Do, good keeper ! 
 
 I'll shake 'em so, ye shall not sleep ; 
 I'll make ye a new morris ! ^ Must I go? 
 
 Gaoler. There is no remedy. 
 
 Palamon. Farewell, kind window ! 
 
 May rude wind never hurt thee ! — O my lady, 
 If ever thou hast felt what sorrow was, 270 
 
 Dream how I suffer ! — Come, now bury me. \_Exeunt} 
 
 Scene III. — The Country near Athens. 
 
 Enter Arcite. 
 
 Arcite. Banish'd the kingdom ? 'Tis a benefit, 
 A mercy I must thank 'em for ; but banish'd 
 The free enjoying of that face I die for, 
 O, 'twas a studied punishment, a death 
 Beyond imagination ! such a vengeance 
 That, were I old and wicked, all my sins 
 Could never pluck upon me. — Palamon, 
 Thou hast the start now ; thou shalt stay and see 
 Her bright eyes break each morning 'gainst thy window. 
 And let in hfe into thee ; thou shalt feed 10 
 
 Upon the sweetness of a noble beauty, 
 That nature ne'er exceeded, nor ne'er shall. 
 Good gods, what happiness has Palamon 1 
 
 1 Morris-dance. 
 
 2 The critics generally assign this scene and the rest of Act ii to 
 Fletcher.
 
 404 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act II 
 
 Twenty to one, he'll come to speak to her ; 
 
 And, if she be as gentle as she's fair, 
 
 I know she's his ; he has a tongue will tame 
 
 Tempests, and make the wild rocks wanton. Come what 
 
 can come. 
 The worst is death ; I will not leave the kingdom. 
 I know mine own is but a heap of ruins, 
 And no redress there ; if I go, he has her. 20 
 
 I am resolv'd ; another shape shall make me,^ •- 
 
 Or end my fortunes ; either way, I'm happy : 
 I'll see her, and be near her, or no more. 
 
 Enter four Countrymen ; one with a garland before them. 
 
 1st Countryman. My masters, I'll be there, that's certain. 
 
 2d Countryman. And I'll be there. 
 
 jd Countryman. And I. 
 
 4th Countryman. Why then, have with ye, boys, 'tis but 
 a chiding ; 
 Let the plough play to-day ! I'll tickle't out 
 Of the jades' tails to-morrow ! 
 
 1st Countrytnan. I am sure 
 
 To have my wife as jealous as a turkey : 
 But that's all one j I'll go through, let her mumble. 30 
 
 3d Countryman. Do we all hold" against the Maying? 
 
 4th Countryman. Hold ! what should ail us ? 
 
 3d Countryman. Areas will be there. 
 
 2d Countryman. And Sennois, 
 And Rycas ; and three better lads ne'er danc'd 
 Under green tree ; and ye know what wenches, ha ! 
 But will the dainty domine, the schoolmaster, 
 
 1 By assuming a disguise I shall succeed. 
 
 2 Hold to an agreement.
 
 SCENE III.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 405 
 
 Keep touch,' do you think ? for he does all, ye know. 
 
 jd Comiiryman. He'll eat a horn-book," ere he fail : 
 go to ! 
 The matter's too far driven between 
 
 Him and the tanner's daughter, to let slip now ; 40 
 
 And she must see the duke, and she must dance too. 
 
 4/h Countryman. Shall we be lusty? 
 
 2d Countjyman. Here I'll be, 
 
 And there I'll be, for our town ; and here again, 
 And there again ! Ha, boys, heigh for the weavers ! ^ 
 
 1st Counttyman, This must be done i' the woods. 
 
 4th Countryman. O, pardon me ! 
 
 2d Countryman. By any means ; our thing of learning 
 says so ; 
 Where he himself will edify the duke 
 
 Most parlously * in our behalfs : he's excellent i' the woods ; 
 Bring him to th' plains, his learning makes no cry. 
 
 jd Countryman. We'll see the sports ; then every man 
 to's tackle ! 50 
 
 And, sweet companions, let's rehearse by any means, 
 Before the ladies see us, and do sweetly. 
 And God knows what may come on't. 
 
 4th Countryman. Content ; the sports 
 
 Once ended, we'll perform. Away, boys, and hold ! 
 
 Arcite. By your leaves, honest friends ; pray you, whither 
 go you? 
 
 1 Keep his appointment; a phrase of doubtful origin. Nicholson says 
 that it probably came from the custom of shaking hands on a bargain or 
 agreement. Cf. the old word handfast. 
 
 2 The child's primer, which at first was a single leaf, containing the 
 Lord's Prayer and alphabet, set in a frame of wood, and covered with 
 horn to keep it from being soiled or torn. 
 
 3 " Hurrah for the singers ! " Weavers excelled in singing.
 
 4o6 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [ACT II 
 
 4th Countryman. Whither? why, what a question's that ! 
 
 Arcite. Yes, 'tis a question 
 
 To me that know not. 
 
 3d Countryman. To the games, my friend. 
 
 2d Countryman. Where were you bred, you know it not? 
 
 Arcite. Not far, sir. 
 
 Are there such games to-day? 
 
 1st Countryman. Yes, marry, are there ; 
 
 And such as you ne'er saw : the duke himself 60 
 
 Will be in person there. 
 
 Arcite. What pastimes are they? 
 
 2d Countryman. Wrestling and running. — 'Tis a pretty 
 fellow. 
 
 3d Countryman. Thou wilt not go along? 
 
 Arcite. Not yet, sir. 
 
 4th Countryman. Well, sir, 
 
 Take your own time. — Come, boys ! 
 
 1st Countryman. My mind misgives me 
 
 This fellow has a vengeance trick o' the hip ; ^ 
 Mark, how his body's made for't ! 
 
 2d Countryman. I'll be hang'd though 
 
 If he dare venture ; hang him, plum-porridge ! 
 He wrestle ? He roast eggs ! ^ Come, let's be gone, lads. 
 
 \_Exeu7it Countrymen. 
 
 Arcite. This is an offer'd opportunity 
 I durst not wish for. Well I could have wrestled, 70 
 
 The best men call'd it excellent ; and run 
 Swifter than wind upon a field of corn, 
 Curling the wealthy ears, e'er flew. I'll venture, 
 
 1 In wrestling. 
 
 2 A contemptuous expression, intimating that the rustic thought Arciti 
 good for nothing.
 
 SCENE IV.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. dO^ 
 
 And in some poor disguise be there ; who knows 
 
 Whether my brows may not be girt with garlands, 
 
 And happiness prefer me to a place 
 
 Where I may ever dwell in sight of her ? [^£xir 
 
 Scene IV. — Athens. A Room in the Prison. 
 
 Enter Gaoler's Daughter. 
 
 Daughter. Why should I love this gentleman? 'Tis odds 
 He never will affect ' me j I am base, 
 My father the mean keeper of his prison, 
 And he a prince : to marry him is hopeless, 
 To love him else is witless. Out upon't ! 
 What pushes are we wenches driven to, 
 When fifteen once has found us ! First, I saw him ; 
 I, seeing, thought he was a goodly man ; 
 He has as much to please a woman in him — 
 If he please to bestow it so — as ever lo 
 
 These eyes yet look'd on : next, I pitied him ; 
 And so would any young wench, o' my conscience. 
 That ever dream 'd, or vow'd her whole affection 
 To a young handsome man : then, I lov'd him ! 
 Extremely lov'd him, infinitely lov'd him ! 
 And yet he had a cousin, fair as he too ; 
 But in my heart was Palamon, and there. 
 Lord, what a coil he keeps ! To hear him 
 Sing in an evening, what a heaven it is ! 
 And yet his songs are sad ones. Fairer spoken 20 
 
 Was never gentleman ; when I come in 
 To bring him water in a morning, first 
 
 1 Love.
 
 4.o8 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act u 
 
 He bows his noble body, then salutes me thus : 
 
 " Fair gentle maid, good morrow ! may thy goodness 
 
 Get thee a happy husband ! " Once, he kiss'd me ; 
 
 I lov'd my lips the better ten days after : 
 
 Would he would do so every day ! He grieves much, 
 
 And me as much to see his misery. 
 
 What should I do, to make him know I love him? 
 
 For I would fain possess him : say I ventur'd 3c 
 
 To set him free ? what says the law then ? -v 
 
 Thus much for law, or kindred ! I will do it. 
 
 And this night or to-morrow he shall love me. [^jExt/. 
 
 Scene V. — An Open Place in Athens. A Short Flourish 
 of Cornets, and Shouts within. 
 
 Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Pirithous, Emilia ; Arcite, 
 disguised, wearing a garland; and Countrymen. 
 
 Theseus. You have done worthily ; I have not seen, 
 Since Hercules, a man of tougher sinews. 
 Whate'er you are, you run the best and wrestle. 
 That these times can allow. 
 
 Arcite. I am proud to please you. 
 
 Theseus. What country bred you ? 
 
 Arcite. This ; but far off, prince. 
 
 Theseus. Are you a gentleman? 
 
 Arcite. My father said so, 
 
 And to those gentle uses gave me life. 
 
 Theseus. Are you his heir? 
 
 Arcite. His youngest, sir. 
 
 Theseus. Your father. 
 
 Sure, is a happy sire, then. ^^' hat proves you ?
 
 SCENE v.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 409 
 
 Arcite. A little of all noble qualities : lo 
 
 I could have kept a hawk, and well have halloo'd 
 To a deep cry of dogs ; I dare not praise 
 My feat in horsemanship, yet they that knew me 
 Would say it was my best piece ; last, and greatest, 
 I would be thought a soldier. 
 
 Theseus. You are perfect. 
 
 Pirithous. Upon my soul, a proper man ! 
 
 Emilia. He is so. 
 
 Pirithous. How do you like him, lady ? 
 
 Hippolyta. I admire him ; 
 
 I have not seen so young a man so noble, 
 If he say true, of his sort. 
 
 Etnilia. Believe, 
 
 His mother was a wondrous handsome woman ; 20 
 
 His face methinks goes that way. 
 
 Hippolyta. But his body 
 
 And fiery mind illustrate a brave father. 
 
 Pirithous. Mark how his virtue, like a hidden sun. 
 Breaks through his baser garments ! 
 
 Hippolyta. He's well got, sure. 
 
 Theseus. What made you seek this place, sir? 
 
 Arcite. Noble Theseus, 
 
 To purchase name, and do my ablest service 
 To such a well-found wonder as thy worth ; 
 For only in thy court, of all the world. 
 Dwells fair-eyed Honour. 
 
 Pirithous. All his words are worthy. 
 
 Theseus. Sir, we are much indebted to your travail, 3c 
 Nor shall you loose your wish. — Pirithous, 
 Dispose of this fair gentleman. 
 
 Pirithous. Thanks, Theseus. —
 
 4C 
 
 410 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act li 
 
 Whate'er you are, you're mine ; and I shall give you 
 To a most noble service, — to this lady, 
 This bright young virgin : pray observe her goodness. 
 You've honour'd her fair birthday with your virtues. 
 And, as your due, you're hers ; kiss her fair hand, sir. 
 Arcite. Sir, you're a noble giver. — Dearest beauty, 
 
 Thus let me seal my vow'd faith ! when your servant 
 
 Your most unworthy creature — but offends you, 
 Command him die, he shall. 
 
 Emilia. That were too cruel. 
 
 If you deserve well, sir, I shall soon see't : 
 You're mine ; and somewhat better than your rank 
 I'll use you. 
 
 Piriihous. I'll see you furnish'd : and because you say 
 You are a horseman, I must needs entreat you 
 This afternoon to ride ; but 'tis a rough one. 
 
 Arcite. I like him better, prince ; I shall not then 
 Freeze in my saddle. 
 
 Theseus. Sweet, you must be ready — 
 
 And you, Emilia — and you, friend — and all — 
 To-morrow, by the sun, to do observance 
 To flow'ry May, in Dian's wood. — Wait well, sir. 
 Upon your mistress ! — Emily, I hope 
 He shall not go afoot. 
 
 Emilia. That were a shame, sir, 
 
 While I have horses. — Take your choice j and what 
 You want at any time, let me but know it. 
 If you serve faithfully, I dare assure you 
 You'll find a loving mistress. 
 
 Arcite. If I do not, 
 
 Let me find that my father ever hated, — 
 Disgrace and blows ! 
 
 5c
 
 SCENE Vl.l THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 411 
 
 Theseus. Go, lead the way ; you've won it ; 60 
 
 It shall be so ; you shall receive all dues 
 Fit for the honour you have won ; 'twere wrong else. — 
 Sister, beshrew my heart, you have a servant, 
 That, if I were a woman, would be master ; 
 But you are wise. 
 
 Emilia. I hope too wise for that, sir. 
 
 \Flourish. Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VI. — Before the Prison. 
 
 Enter Gaoler's Daughter. 
 
 Daughter. Let all the dukes and all the devils roar, 
 He is at Hberty ! I've ventur'd for him j 
 And out I have brought him to a Httle wood 
 A mile hence. I have sent him where a cedar, 
 Higher than all the rest, spreads like a plane 
 Fast by a brook ; and there he shall keep close. 
 Till I provide him files and food, for yet 
 His iron bracelets are not off. O Love, 
 What a stout-hearted child thou art ! My father 
 Durst better have endur'd cold iron than done it. 10 
 
 I love him beyond love and beyond reason. 
 Or wit, or safety. I have made him know it : 
 I care not ; I am desperate. If the law 
 Find me, and then condemn me for't, some wenches, 
 Some honest-hearted maids, will sing my dirge. 
 And tell to memory my death was noble. 
 Dying almost a martyr. That way he takes, 
 I purpose, is my way too ; sure he cannot 
 Be so unmanly as to leave me here !
 
 V. 
 
 412 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act il 
 
 If he do, maids will not so easily 20 
 
 Trust men again : and yet he has not thank'd me 
 
 For what I have done ; no, not so much as kiss'd me ; 
 
 And that, methinks, is not so well ; nor scarcely 
 
 Could I persuade him to become a freeman, 
 
 He made such scruples of the wrong he did 
 
 To me and to my father. Yet, I hope. 
 
 When he considers more, this love of mine 
 
 Will take more root within him : let him do 
 
 What he will with me, so he use me kindly ! 
 
 For use me so he shall, or I'll proclaim him, 3c 
 
 And to his face, no man. I'll presently 
 
 Provide him necessaries,' and pack my clothes up, 
 
 And where there is a patch of ground I'll venture, 
 
 So he be with me ; by him, like a shadow, 
 
 I'll ever dwell. Within this hour the whoo-bub^ 
 
 Will be all o'er the prison ; I am then 
 
 Kissing the man they look for. — Farewell, father ! 
 
 Get many more such prisoners and such daughters, 
 
 \nd shortly you may keep yourself. Now to him ! [_Exit 
 
 1 Pronounced nessaries, as in Julius Ctesar, ii, i, 178. 
 
 2 Hubbub.
 
 SCENE I.l THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 413 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. — A Forest. Comefs ifi Sundry Places. Noise 
 and Hallooing, as of People a-Maying. 
 
 Enter Arcite. 
 
 Arcite. The duke has lost Hippolyta ; each took 
 A several laund.^ This is a solemn rite 
 They owe bloom'd May, and the Athenians pay it 
 To the heart of ceremony. — O queen Emilia, 
 Fresher than May, sweeter 
 Than her gold buttons on the boughs, or all 
 Th' enamell'd knacks^ o' the mead or garden ! yea, 
 We challenge too the bank of any nymph, 
 That makes the stream seem flowers ; thou, O jewel 
 O' the wood, o' the world, hast likewise bless'd a place 10 
 With thy sole presence ! In thy rumination 
 That I, poor man, might eftsoons^ come between, 
 And chop'* on some cold thought ! — Thrice blessed chance, 
 To drop on such a mistress, expectation 
 Most guiltless on't ! Tell me, O lady Fortune — 
 Next after Emily my sovereign — how far 
 I may be proud. She takes strong note of me. 
 Hath made me near her, and this beauteous mom. 
 
 1 Lawn, glade ; several, separate. 
 
 2 Ornaments. 3 Soon after. 
 
 4 " Exchange, make an exchange. Arcite means. Oh ! that I might, 
 whilst thou art meditating, come between, soon after some cold or sober 
 thought, and make an exchange, by changing those cold thoughts to 
 thoughts of love ! " — Skeat.
 
 414 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. fACT in. 
 
 The prim'st of all the year, presents me with 
 
 A brace of horses ; two such steeds might well 20 
 
 Be by a pair of kings back'd, in a field 
 
 That their crowns' titles tried. Alas, alas, 
 
 Poor cousin Palamon, poor prisoner ! thou 
 
 So little dreara'st upon my fortune, that 
 
 Thou think'st thyself the happier thing, to be 
 
 So near Emilia ! Me thou deem'st at Thebes, 
 
 And therein wretched, although free ; but if 
 
 Thou knew'st my mistress breath'd on me, and that 
 
 I ear'd her language, liv'd in her eye, O coz. 
 
 What passion would enclose thee ! 
 
 Enter Palamon out of a bush with his shackles; he be?ids 
 
 his fist at Arcite. 
 
 Palamon. Traitor kinsman ! 30 
 
 Thou shouldst perceive my passion, if these signs 
 
 Of prisonment were off me, and this hand 
 
 But owner of a sword ! By all oaths in one, 
 
 I, and the justice of my love, would make thee 
 
 A confess'd traitor ! O thou most perfidious 
 
 That ever gently look'd ! the void'st of honour 
 
 That e'er bore gentle token ! falsest cousin 
 
 That ever blood made kin ! call'st thou her thine ? 
 
 I'll prove it in my shackles, with these hands 
 
 Void of appointment,^ that thou Rest, and art 40 
 
 A very thief in love, a chaffy lord. 
 
 Nor worth the name of villain ! Had I a sword, 
 
 And these house-clogs away — 
 
 Arcite. Dear cousin Palamon — 
 
 Palamon. Cozener Arcite, give me language such 
 
 1 Equipment for fighting.
 
 SCENE I.] . THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 415 
 
 As thou hast show'd me feat ! 
 
 Arcite. Not finding in 
 
 The circuit of my breast any gross stuff 
 To form me Uke your blazon, holds me to 
 This gentleness of answer : 'tis in your passion 
 That thus mistakes ; the which, to you being enemy, 
 Cannot to me be kind. Honour and honesty 50 
 
 I cherish and depend on, howsoe'er 
 Vou skip them in me, and with them, fair coz, 
 I'll maintain my proceedings. Pray be pleas'd 
 To show in generous terms your griefs, since that 
 Your question's with your equal, who professes 
 To clear his own way with the mind and sword 
 Of a true gentleman. 
 
 Palamo7i. That thou durst, Arcite ! 
 
 Arcite. My coz, my coz, you have been well adv^rtis'd 
 How much I dare ; you've seen me use my sword 
 Against the advice of fear. Sure, of another 60 
 
 You would not hear me doubted, but your silence 
 Should break out, though i' the sanctuary. 
 
 Palainon. Sir, 
 
 I've seen you move in such a place, which well 
 Might justify your manhood ; you were call'd 
 A good knight and a bold : but the whole week's not fair, 
 If any day it rain. Their valiant temper 
 Men lose when they incline to treachery ; 
 And then they fight hke compell'd bears, would fly 
 Were they not tied. 
 
 Arcite, Kinsman, you might as well 
 
 Speak this, and act it in your glass, as to 70 
 
 His ear which now disdains you. 
 
 Palamon. Come up to me !
 
 4i6 THE TWO XOBLE KINSMEN. [act ill. 
 
 Quit me of these cold gyves/ give me a sword, 
 
 Though it be rusty, and the charity 
 
 Of one meal lend me ; come before me then, 
 
 A good sword in thy hand, and do but say 
 
 That Emily is thine, I will forgive 
 
 The trespass thou hast done me, yea, my life, 
 
 If then thou carry't ; and brave souls in shades, 
 
 That have died manly, which will seek of me 
 
 Some news from earth, they shall get none but this, ^ 
 
 That thou art brave and noble. 
 
 Arcite. Be content ; 
 
 Again betake you to your hawthorn-house. 
 With counsel of the night, I will be here 
 With wholesome viands ; these impediments 
 Will I file off ; you shall have garments, and 
 Perfumes to kill the smell o' the prison ; after. 
 When you shall stretch yourself, and say but, '' Arcite, 
 I am in plight ! " there shall be at your choice 
 Both sword and armour. 
 
 Palamon. O you heavens, dares any 
 
 So noble bear a guilty business ? None 9c 
 
 But only Arcite ; therefore none but Arcite 
 In this kind is so bold. 
 
 Arcite. Sweet Palamon — 
 
 Palamoji. I do embrace you, and your offer : for 
 Your offer do't I only, sir ; your person, 
 Without hypocrisy, I may not wish 
 More than my sword's edge on't. \_Horns winded within. 
 
 Arcite. You hear the horns : 
 
 Enter your musit,^ lest this match between's 
 
 1 Free me from these fetters. 
 
 2 " The opening in a hedge through which a hare, or other beast of sport 
 is accustomed to pass." — Nares.
 
 SCENE I.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 417 
 
 Be cross'd ere met. Give me your hand ; farewell ! 
 I'll bring you every needful thing ; I pray you 
 Take comfort, and be strong. 
 
 Palanion. Pray hold your promise, 100 
 
 And do the deed with a bent ' brow. Most certain 
 You love me not ; be rough with me, and pour 
 This oil out of your language. By this air, 
 I could for each word give a cuff, my stomach 
 Not reconcil'd by reason ! 
 
 Arcife. Plainly spoken ! 
 
 Yet pardon me hard language : when I spur 
 My horse, I chide him not ; content and anger 
 
 \_Horns winded again. 
 In me have but one face. — Hark, sir ! they call 
 The scatter'd to the banquet ; you must guess 
 I have an ofhce there. 
 
 Palamon. Sir, your attendance no 
 
 Cannot please heaven ; and I know your office 
 Unjustly is achiev'd. 
 
 Arcite. I've a good title, 
 
 I am persuaded : this question, sick between's, 
 By bleeding must be cur'd. I am a suitor 
 That to your sword you will bequeath this plea, 
 And talk of it no more. 
 
 Palanion. But this one word : 
 
 You are going now to gaze upon my mistress ; 
 For, note you, mine she is — 
 
 Arcite. Nay, then — 
 
 Palamon. Nay, pray you ! — 
 
 You talk of feeding me to breed me strength : 
 You are going now to look upon a sun 12c 
 
 1 Angry.
 
 . jg THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act III. 
 
 That Strengthens what it looks on ; there yon have 
 
 A vantage o'er me ; but enjoy it till 
 
 I may enforce my remedy. Farewell ! \_Exeunt} 
 
 Scene II. — Another Part of the Forest 
 Enter Gaoler's Daughter. 
 
 Daughter. He has mistook the brake I meant, is gone ,^^ 
 After his fancy. 'Tis now well-nigh morning ; 
 No matter ! would it were perpetual night, 
 x\nd darkness lord o' the world ! — Hark ! 'tis a wolf j 
 In me hath grief slain fear, and, but for one thing, 
 T care for nothing, and that's Palamon. 
 I reck not if the wolves would jaw me, so 
 He had this file. What if I halloo'd for him? 
 I cannot halloo ; if I whoop'd, what then ? 
 If he not answer'd, I should call a wolf, lo 
 
 And do him but that service. I have heard 
 Strange howls this livelong night ; why may't not be 
 They have made prey of him ? He has no weapons, 
 He cannot run ; the jingling of his gyves 
 Might call fell things to listen, who have in them 
 A sense to know a man unarm'd, and can 
 Smell where resistance is. I'll set it down 
 He's torn to pieces ; they howl'd many together. 
 And then they fed on him : so much for that ! 
 Be bold to ring the bell ; how stand I then ? 2a 
 
 All's char'd - when he is gone. No, no, I lie. 
 My father's to be hang'd for his escape ; 
 
 1 The critics agree in assigning this scene to Shakespeare. 
 
 2 All is dispatched : from this stem is derived chore:,.
 
 SCENE III.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 419 
 
 Myself to beg, if I priz'd life so much 
 
 A": to deny my act ; but that I would not, 
 
 Should I try death by dozens ! — I am mop'd* : 
 
 Food took I none these two days — 
 
 Sipp'd some water. I have not clos'd mine eyes, 
 
 Save when my lids scour'd off their brine. Alas, 
 
 Dissolve, my life ! let not my sense unsettle, 
 
 Lest I should drown, or stab, or hang myself ! 30 
 
 O state of nature, fail together in me. 
 
 Since thy best props are warp'd ! — So ! which way now? 
 
 The best way is the next way to a grave ; 
 
 Each errant step beside is torment. Lo, 
 
 The moon is down, the crickets chirp, the screech-owl 
 
 Calls in the dawn ! all offices are done. 
 
 Save what I fail in ; but the point is this, 
 
 An end, and that is all ! ' \_Exit. 
 
 Scene III. — The Same Fa rf 0/ the Fores f as m Scene I. 
 F nter Arcite, ivith meat, wine, files, etc. 
 
 Arcite. I should be near the place. — Ho, cousin Pala- 
 
 mon ! 
 
 Enter Palamon. 
 
 Palamon. Arcite? 
 
 Arcite. The same ; I've brought you food and files. 
 
 1 Used up. 
 
 2 This scene is usually assigned to Shakespeare, but Hickson remarks : 
 ■' It is to this scene that we referred by anticipation as giving an instance of 
 Shakespeare's judgment. It can hardly be said to explain any necessary 
 circumstance; . . . but it supplies the due gradation between a mind dis- 
 eased and madness ; and in connection with another scene aC which we
 
 420 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act hi. 
 
 Come forth, and fear not ; here's no Theseus. 
 
 Palamon. Nor none so honest, Arcite. 
 
 Arcite. That's no matter j 
 
 We'll argue that hereafter. Come, take courage ; 
 You shall not die thus beastly ; ^ here, sir, drink. 
 I know you're faint ; then I'll talk further with you. 
 
 Falamon. Arcite, thou might'st now poison me. 
 
 Arcite. I might ; 
 
 But I must fear you first. Sit down ; and, good now, 
 No more of these vain parleys ! Let us not, lo 
 
 Having our ancient reputation with us. 
 Make talk for fools and cowards. To your health ! \_Drinks. 
 
 Palamon. Do. 
 
 Arcite. Pray, sit down then ; and let me entreat you, 
 
 By all the honesty and honour in you, 
 No mention of this woman ! 'twill disturb us ; 
 We shall have time enough. 
 
 Palamon. Well, sir, I'll pledge you. [^Drinks. 
 
 Arcite. Drink a good hearty draught; it breeds good 
 blood, man. 
 Do not you feel it thaw you ? 
 
 PalamotT. Stay ; I'll tell you 
 
 After a draught or two more. 
 
 shall shortly arrive, it displays a depth of insight into the psychological 
 character of this state only exceeded by Shakespeare himself, in Lear. Let 
 our readers observe in particular the unselfish anxiety for Palanion's safety, 
 and her subsequent terror at her own disordered senses. The introduction 
 of the popular notion that wild beasts ' have a sense to know a man 
 unarm'd ' is quite a Shakespearean illustration ; and we do not know an 
 instance of finer drawing than this of her imagination painting, as absolute 
 reality, the subject of her first fear. From this conviction (of Palamon's 
 death) we come naturally to the concluding lines, beyond which the next 
 step is madness." 
 
 1 Unlike a human being.
 
 SCENE III.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 42 1 
 
 Arciie. Spare it not ; 
 
 The duke has more, coz. Eat now. 
 
 Palatnon. Yes. 
 
 Arcite. I am glad 2c 
 
 You have so good a stomach. 
 
 Palamon. I am gladder 
 
 I have so good meat to't. 
 
 Arcite. Is't not mad lodging 
 
 Here in the wild woods, cousin? 
 
 Palamon. Yes, for them 
 
 That have wild consciences. 
 
 Arcite. How tastes your victuals ? 
 
 Your hunger needs no sauce, I see. 
 
 Palamon. Not much ; 
 
 But if it did, yours is too tart, sweet cousin. 
 What is this ? 
 
 Arcite. Venison. 
 
 Palamon. 'Tis a lusty meat. 
 
 Give me more wine : here, Arcite, to the wenches 
 We have known in our days ! The lord steward's daughter ; 
 Do you remember her? 
 
 Arcite. After you, coz. 30 
 
 Palamon. She lov'd a black-hair'd man. 
 
 Arcite. She did so ; well, sir ? 
 
 Palamon. And I have heard some call him Arcite ; and — 
 
 Arcite. Out with it, faith ! 
 
 Palamon. She met him in an arbour : 
 
 What did she there, coz? 
 
 Arcite. Well, the marshal's sister 
 
 Had her share too, as I remember, cousin. 
 Else there be tales abroad ; you'll pledge her? 
 
 Palamon. Yes,
 
 422 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [ACT III. 
 
 Arcite. A pretty brown wench 'tis ! There was a time 
 When young men went a-hunting, and a wood, 
 And a broad beech ; and thereby hangs a tale.' — 
 Heign-ho ! 
 
 Palanion. For Emily, upon my life ! Fool, 4c 
 
 Away with this strain'd mirth ! I say again, 
 That sigh was breath'd for Emily ! Base cousin, 
 Dar'st thou break- first? 
 
 Arcite. You are wide. 
 
 Palamon. By heaven and earth. 
 
 There's nothing in thee honest ! 
 
 Arcite. Then FU leave you ; 
 
 y'ou are a beast now. 
 
 Palamon. As thou mak'st me, traitor. 
 
 Arcite. There's all things needful, — files and shirts, and 
 perfumes, 
 ni come again some two hours hence, and bring 
 That that shall quiet all. 
 
 Palamon. A sword and armour? 
 
 Arcite. Fear me not. You are now too foul ; farewell ! 
 Get off your trinkets ! you shall want nought. 
 
 Palamon. Sirrah — 50 
 
 Arcite. Fll hear no more ! \^Exit. 
 
 Palamon. If he keep touch, he dies for't. \^Exit? 
 
 1 Common Shakespearean phrase ; cf. Merry Wives, i, 4, 159 ; As You 
 Like It, ii, 7, 28 ; Taming of the Shrew, iv, i, 60. 
 
 2 Break our agreement. 
 
 3 " This is one of those scenes by the introduction of which Fletcher 
 :,ucceeded in spoiling a good play." — Littledale. "In most respects the 
 scene is not very characteristic of either writer, but leans towards Fletcher; 
 and one argument for him might be drawn from an interchange of sarcasms 
 between the two kinsmen, in whi^h thev rt-tort on each otlier former amor- 
 ous adventures : such a dialogue is quite like Fletcher's men of gayety; and
 
 SCENE IV.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 423 
 
 Scene IV, — Another Fart of the Forest. 
 
 Enter Gaoler's Daughter. 
 
 Daughter. I'm very cold ; and all the stars are out too, 
 The little stars, and all that look like aglets ^ : 
 The sun has seen my folly. Palamon ! 
 Alas, no, he's in heaven ! — Where am I now? — 
 Yonder's the sea, and there's a ship ; how't tumbles ! 
 And there's a rock lies watching under water \ 
 Now, now, it beats upon it ! now, now, now ! 
 There's a leak sprung, a sound one ; how they cry ! 
 Run her before the wind, you'll lose all else ! 
 Up with a course or two, and tack about, boys ! 10 
 
 Good night, good night ; y'are gone ! — I'm very hungry : 
 Would I could find a fine frog ! he would tell me 
 News from all parts of the world ; then would I make 
 A carrack^ of a cockle-shell, and sail 
 By east and north-east to the King of pygmies,^ 
 For he tells fortunes rarely. Now my father, 
 Twenty to one is truss'd'* up in a trice 
 To-morrow morning ; I'll say never a word. 
 
 needless degradation of his principal characters is a fault of which Shake- 
 speare is not guilty." — Spalding. " The third scene, without any doubt, is by 
 Fletcher. Arcite brings ' food and files' to Palamon; and, after some patter 
 of early reminiscences between them utterly out of character, they separate." 
 — Hickson. 
 
 1 Spangles. 
 
 2 A ship of burden. 
 
 3 " A fabulous people, said to be of the height oi z.pygme (n-vyjoi^), or 13 J 
 inches, mentioned by Homer {Iliad, iii, 5) as dwelling on the shores oi 
 Ocean, and at times subject to attacks by cranes. Dwarfs have often been 
 credited with supernatural powers, especially in Northern mythology." — 
 Skeat. Cf. liluch Ado, ii, i, 278. 
 
 4 Pinioned like a fowl, hanged.
 
 424 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act lit 
 
 (Sings) For I'll cut my green coat afoot above my knee ; 
 
 Afid I'll clip my yellow locks an inch below }nine e'e. 
 Hey, nomiy, nonny, nonny. 21 
 
 He's^ buy me a white cut, forth for to ride, 
 And I'll go seek hitn through the world that is so 
 wide. 
 
 Hey, nonny, nonny, nonny. 
 O for a prick now, like a nightingale/ 
 To put my breast against ! I shall sleep like a top else. \_Exit.^ 
 
 Scene V. — Another Part of the Forest. 
 
 Enter GERROLD,/^?/r Countrymen as ?norris-dancers, another 
 as the ^diviaji,* five Wenches, and a Taborer. 
 
 Gerrold. Fie, fie ! 
 What tediosity and disensanity 
 Is here among ye ! Have my rudiments 
 Been labour'd so long with ye, milk'd unto ye. 
 And, by a figure, even the very plum-broth 
 And marrow of my understanding laid upon ye, 
 And do you still cry "where," and "how," and "wherefore" ? 
 
 1 He shall. 
 
 2 Poets frequently described the nightingale as leaning her breast against 
 a thorn whilst singing. So in the Passionate Pilgritn, sect. 21; 
 
 " Everything did banish moan, 
 Save the nightingale alone ; 
 She, poor bird, as all forlorn, 
 Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn. 
 And there sung the dolefull'st ditty." 
 
 8 This scene is Fletcher's ; " there is some affectation of nautical language 
 (why, Heaven only knows), and the rest is mere incoherent nonsense." 
 — Hickscin. 
 
 ■* A person dressed like a baboon, introduced into a morris-dance.
 
 SCENE v.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 425 
 
 You most coarse frieze capacities, ye jane^ judgments, 
 
 Have I said " thus let be," and " there let be," 
 
 And " then let be," and no man understand me? 10 
 
 Pf-oh Deum, medius fidius^ ye are all dunces ! 
 
 For why, here stand I ; here the duke comes ; there are you, 
 
 Close in the thicket ; the duke appears, I meet him, 
 
 And unto him I utter learned things, 
 
 And many figures ; he hears, and nods, and hums, 
 
 And then cries " rare ! " and I go forward ; at length 
 
 I fling my cap up ; mark there ! then do you. 
 
 As once did Meleager and the boar,^ 
 
 Break comely out before him, like true lovers. 
 
 Cast yourselves in a body decently, 20 
 
 And sweetly, by a figure, trace ^ and turn, boys ! 
 
 1st Cou7itryman. And sweetly we will do it, master 
 Gerrold. 
 
 2d Countryman. Draw up the company. Where's the 
 taborer ? 
 
 jd Countryman. Why, Timothy ! 
 
 Taborer. Here, my mad boys ; have at ye ! 
 
 Gerrold. But I say, where's their women? 
 
 4th Countryman. Here's Friz and Maudlin. 
 
 2d Countrytnaii. And little Luce with the white legs, and 
 bouncing Barbary. 
 
 ist Countryman. And freckled Nell, that never failed her 
 master. 
 
 i Frieze is coarse woollen cloth ; jane is twilled cotton cloth. 
 
 2 " An old Latin oath, apparently short for me dlus Fidius aditivct, may 
 the divine Fidius help me! \l fidius stands ior filius, then it means, may 
 the divine son of Jupiter help me I The reference, in that case, is most 
 likely to the god Hercules." — Skeat. 
 
 3 Meleager slew the boar infesting Calydon ; sec Iliad, ix, 527. 
 ■* Follow your proper track; referring to a dance.
 
 426 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act hi. 
 
 Gerrold. Where be your ribands, maids? Swim with )oui 
 bodies, 
 And carry it sweetly and deliverly ^ ; 
 And now and then a favour- and a frisk ! 3c 
 
 Nell. Let us alone, sir. 
 
 Gerrold. Where's the rest o' the music ? 
 
 jd Countryman. Dlspers'd as you commanded. 
 
 Gerrold. Couple, then, 
 
 And see what's wanting. Where's the Bavian? — ^ 
 
 My friend, carry your tail without offence 
 Or scandal to the ladies ; and be sure 
 You tumble with audacity and manhood ; 
 And when you bark, you do it with judgment. 
 
 Bavian. Yes, sir. 
 
 Gerrold. Quousqiie tandetn?^ Here is a woman wanting ! 
 
 4lh Countryman. We may go whistle ; all the fat's i' the 
 fire! 
 
 Gerrold. We have, 4a 
 
 As learned authors utter, wash'd a tile ; * 
 We have been fatuous, and labour'd vainly. 
 
 2d Countryman. This is that scornful piece," that scurvy 
 
 hilding,^ 
 That gave her promise faithfully she would 
 Be here, Cicely the sempster's ' daughter ! 
 The next gloves that I give her shall be dog-skin ; 
 Nay, an she fail me once — You can tell, Areas, 
 
 1 Nimbly ; clever is supposed to be derived from deliver. 
 
 2 " Perhaps a love-knot made of the ribands mentioned." — Skeat. 
 QA. favours in the modern cotillon. 
 
 3 How long ? 
 
 ^ A Latin proverb occurring in Terence's Pkormio, I, 4, 9. 
 
 fi Contemptuously, " creature." 
 
 6 A menial wretch ; still in use in Devonshire, ^ Old form of sempstress.
 
 SCENE v.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 427 
 
 She swore, by wine and bread,* she would not break. 
 
 Gerrold. An eel and woman, 
 A learned poet says, unless by the tail 5a 
 
 And with thy teeth thou hold, will either fail. 
 In manners this was false position. 
 
 1st Countryman. A wildfire take her ! does she flinch 
 now? 
 
 jd Countryman. What 
 Shall we determine, sir? 
 
 Gerrold. Nothing ; 
 
 Our business is become a nullity. 
 Yea, and a woeful and a piteous nullity. 
 
 ^fth Countrytnan. Now, when the credit of our town lav 
 on it, 
 Now to be frampaP ! 
 Go thy ways ; I'll remember thee, I'll fit thee ) 
 
 Enter Gaoler's Daughter, and sings. 
 
 The George alow ' cafne from the south 60 
 
 From the coast of Barbajy-a ; 
 And there he met with brave gallants of war. 
 
 By one, by two, by three-a. 
 Well haiVd, well hail'd, you Jolly gallants ! 
 
 And whither now are you boimd-a ? 
 O, let me have your company 
 
 Till I cofne to the Sound-a! 
 
 1 The sacrament of the Eucharist. 
 
 ^ Peevish ; from the Welsh ffromi, to fume ; of. Merry Wives. "\. 2 
 
 " She leads a very frampold life with him." 
 8 " Low down ; possibly referring to the appearance of a ship on the hor i 
 ron." — Skeat.
 
 d2S THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act III 
 
 T/iere was three fools fell oul about an howlet; 
 
 The one said it was an owl, 
 
 The other he said nay, ^ 
 
 The third he said it was a hawk, 
 
 And her bells were cut away. 
 
 jd Countryman. There's a dainty mad woman, master, 
 Comes i' the nick,' — as mad as a March hare ! 
 If we can get her dance, we are made again ; 
 I warrant her she'll do the rarest gambols ! 
 
 1st Countryman. A mad woman ! We are made, boys. 
 
 Gerrold. And are you mad, good woman ? 
 
 Daughter. I'd be sorry, else ; 
 
 Give me your hand. 
 
 Gerrold. Why ? 
 
 Daughter. I can tell your fortune : 
 
 You are a fool. Tell ten.^ I have pos'd him. Buz ! Sc 
 
 Friend, you must eat no white bread ; if you do, 
 Your teeth will bleed extremely. Shall we dance, ho ? 
 I know you ; you're a tinker : sirrah tinker — 
 
 Gerrold. Dii boni ! ^ 
 A tinker, damsel? 
 
 Daughter. Or a conjurer : 
 
 Raise me a devil now, and let him play 
 Qui passa * o' the bells and bones ! 
 
 Gerrold. Go, take her, 
 
 And fluently persuade her to a peace.^ 
 
 1 In the nick of time. 
 
 2 " It was a trial of idiocy to make a person count his fingers." — Weber. 
 8 "Good Gods!" 
 
 * Italian, " here passes." The bells are those of the morris-dancers ; the 
 bones were used in rude music. 
 5 To be still.
 
 SCENE v.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 429 
 
 Et opus exegi, quod nee lovis ira, nee ignis — * 
 Strike up, and lead her in. 
 
 2d Cou7itryman. Come, lass, let's trip it ! 90 
 
 Daughter. I'll lead. 
 
 jd Countryman. Do, do. [ Wind horns. 
 
 Gerrold. Persuasively and cunningly ; away, boys ! 
 I hear the horns ; give me some meditation, 
 And mark your cue. — \_Exeunt all but Gerrold. 
 
 Pallas inspire me ! 
 
 Enter Theseus, Pirithous, Hippolyta, Emilia, Arcite, 
 
 and train, 
 
 Theseus. This way the stag took. 
 
 Gerrold. Stay, and edify ! 
 
 Theseus. What have we here ? 
 
 Pirithous. Some country sport, upon my life, sir. 
 
 Theseus. Well, sir, go forward ; we will edify. — 
 Ladies, sit down 1 we'll stay it. 
 
 Gerrold. Thou doughty duke, all hail ! — All hail, sweet 
 ladies ! loc 
 
 Theseus. This is a cold beginning.- 
 
 Gerrold. If you but favour, our country pastime made is. 
 We are a few of those collected here. 
 That ruder tongues distinguish villager ; 
 And to say verity, and not to fable. 
 We are a merry rout, or else a rabble. 
 Or company, or, by a figure, chorus, 
 That 'fore thy dignity will dance a morris.^ 
 And I, that am the rectifier of all, 
 
 1 Ovid, Metamorph. xv, 871. 2 A play on the word haih 
 
 3 For an account of the morris, see Prof. F. J. Child's Introduction to 
 English Ballads, vol. 1; 
 
 t
 
 430 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act hi. 
 
 By title Pedagogus, that let fall ,10 
 
 The birch upon the breeches of the small ones, 
 
 And humble with a ferula ^ the tall ones, 
 
 Do here present this machine, or this frame; 
 
 And, dainty duke, whose doughty dismal fame 
 
 From Dis to Daedalus, from post to pillar. 
 
 Is blown abroad, help me, thy poor well-wilier. 
 
 And with thy twinkling eyes look right and straight 
 
 Upon this mighty morr — of mickle weight — 
 
 — is now comes in, which being glued together 
 
 Makes morris, and the cause that we came hither, 120 
 
 The body of our sport, of no small study. 
 
 I first appear, though rude, and raw, and muddy, 
 
 To speak, before thy noble grace, this tenour ; ^ 
 
 At whose great feet I offer up my penner. 
 
 The next, the Lord of May and Lady bright. 
 
 The Chambermaid and Servingman,'' by night 
 
 1 The schoolmaster's " instrument of punishment. It was made of wood 
 and shaped hke a battledore, but with the bat much diminished, so as to be 
 adapted for administering a severe pat on the palm of the victim's hand." 
 
 — Skeat. 
 
 2 To this effect. 
 
 « " We have here a list of the characters in the morris-dance ; namely, 
 the Lord of May, the Lady of May (also called Queen of May, or Maid 
 Marian), the Chambermaid, the Servingman, the Host, the Hostess, etc. ; 
 to which should be added the Bavian or Tumbler, and the Clown or Jester, 
 who are seldom absent from such festivities. By putting together the 
 account in this part of the scene and the preceding part, we may make out 
 the list of the twelve principal characters, six of each sex, with the persons 
 who look the parts: Male. i. Lord of May; 2. Servingman; 3. Host; 4. 
 Clown ; 5. Bavian ; 6. Taborer. Female. 7. Lady of Ma\- ; 8. Chamber- 
 maid ; 9. Hostess; 10. 11. 12. Dancers. The parts may be thus distributed 
 among the actors: Male. 1. 2. 3. 4. First, Second, Third, and Fourth Coun- 
 trymen ; 5. A fifth Countryman ; 6. A man named Timothy. Female. 7. 
 Friz; 8. Gaoler's Daughter, taking the place of Cicely (for it is clearly the 
 Second Countryman's partner who failed to appear) ; 9. Maudlin; 10. Luce; 
 II. Barbarv ; 12. Nell." — Skeat.
 
 SCENE v.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 43 1 
 
 That seek out silent hanging ; then mine host 
 
 And his fat spouse, that welcomes to their cost 
 
 The galled traveller, and with a beck'ning 
 
 Informs the tapster to inflame the reck'ning ; 130 
 
 Cum inultis aliis that make a dance : 
 
 Say ay, and all shall presently advance. 
 
 Theseus. Ay, ay, by any means, dear domine ! 
 
 Pirithous. Produce, 
 
 Gerrold. Intrate,filii ! Come forth, and foot it. 
 
 Enter the four Countrymen, the Bavian, the Taborer, tne 
 five Wenches and the Gaoler's Daughter, ivith others of 
 both sexes. They dance a morris. After which Gerrold 
 speaks the Epilogue. 
 
 Ladies, if we have been merry. 
 
 And have pleas'd ye with a derry, 
 
 And a derry, and a down, 
 
 Say the schoolmaster's no clown. — 
 
 Duke, if we have pleas'd thee too, 140 
 
 And have done as good boys should do, 
 
 Give us but a tree or twain 
 
 For a Maypole, and again. 
 
 Ere another year run out, 
 
 We'll make thee laugh, and all this rout. 
 
 Theseus. Take twenty, domine. — How does my sweet 
 heart ? 
 
 Hippolyta. Never so pleas'd, sir. 
 
 Emilia. 'Twas an excellent dance ; and, for a preface, 
 I never heard a better. 
 
 Theseus. Schoolmaster, I thank you. — 
 
 One see 'em all rewarded.
 
 432 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act III. 
 
 Pirithous. And here's something 150 
 
 To paint your pole withal. [ Gives money. 
 
 Theseus. Now to our sports again ! 
 
 Gerrold. May the stag thou hunt'st stand long, 
 And thy dogs be swift and strong ! 
 Come, we are all made ! — Dii Deaeque onifies / 
 
 [ Wind horns. 
 Ye have danc'd rarely, wenches ! \_Exeunt} 
 
 Scene VI. — The same Part of the Forest as in Scene III. 
 
 Enter VaUiMO^ from the bush. 
 
 Falamon. About this hour my cousin gave his faith 
 To visit me again, and with him bring 
 Two swords and two good armours ; if he fail. 
 He's neither man or soldier. When he left me, 
 I did not think a week could have restor'd 
 My lost strength to me, I was grown so low 
 And crest-fallen with my wants ; I thank thee, Arcite, 
 Thou art yet a fair foe, and I feel myself. 
 With this refreshing, able once again 
 
 To out-dure danger. To delay it longer 10 
 
 Would make the world think, when it comes to hearing. 
 That I lay fatting like a swine, to fight, 
 And not a soldier. Therefore this blest morning 
 Shall be the last, and that sword he refuses, 
 If it but hold, I kill him with ; 'tis justice : 
 So, love and fortune for me ! — O, good morrow ! 
 
 1 " Not only imitation, but the imitation of a young and inexperienced 
 writer." — Hickson. Gerrold is "a personage who has the pedantry of 
 Shakespeare's Holofernes, without one solitary spark of his humor." — 
 Spalding.
 
 SCENE VI,] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 43-^ 
 
 Enter Arcite, with armours and swords. 
 
 Arcite. Good morrow, noble kinsman ! 
 
 Palamoti. I have put you 
 
 To too much pains, sir. 
 
 Arcite. That too much, fair cousin, 
 
 Is but a debt to honour, and my duty. 
 
 Palanion. Would you were so in all, sir ! T could wish ye 
 As kind a kinsman as you force me find 21 
 
 A beneficial foe, that my embraces 
 Might thank ye, not my blows. 
 
 Arcite. I shall think either, 
 
 Well done, a noble recompense. 
 
 Palamon. Then I shall quit ^ you. 
 
 Arcite. Defy me in these fair terms, and you show 
 More than a mistress to me ; no more anger. 
 As you love any thing that's honourable ! 
 We were not bred to talk, man ; when we are arm'd, 
 And both upon our guards, then let our fury. 
 Like meeting of two tides,^ fly strongly from us ! 30 
 
 And then to whom the birthright of this beauty 
 Truly pertains- — without upbraidings, scorns, 
 Despisings of our persons, and such poutings, 
 Fitter for girls and schoolboys — will be seen, 
 And quickly, yours or mine. Will't please your arm, sir? 
 Or if you feel yourself not fitting yet. 
 And furnish'd with your old strength, I'll stay, cousin, 
 And every day discourse you into health, 
 
 1 Requite. 
 
 2 Spalding notes Fletcher's " want of distinctness in grasping images, and 
 inability to see fully either their picturesque or their poetical relations " ; in 
 illustration of which hs auotes this passage and below "When I saw you 
 charge first," etc.
 
 434 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [aCT lit 
 
 As I am spar'd : your person I am friends with, 
 
 And I could wish I had not said I lov'd her, 40 
 
 Though I had died ; but, loving such a lady, 
 
 And justifying my love, I must not fly from't. 
 
 Palamon. Arcite, thou art so brave an enemy, 
 That no man but thy cousin's fit to kill thee. 
 I'm well and lusty ; choose your arms. 
 
 Arcite. Choose you, sir. 
 
 Palamon. Wilt thou exceed in all, or dost thou do it 
 To make me spare thee? 
 
 Arcite. If you think so, cousin. 
 
 You are deceiv'd ; for, as I am a soldier, 
 I will not spare you ! 
 
 Palamon, That's well said. 
 
 Arcite. You'll find it. 
 
 Palamon. Then, as I am an honest man, and love 50 
 
 With all the justice of affection, 
 I'll pay thee soundly ! This I'll take. 
 
 Arcite, That's mine then ; 
 
 I'll arm you first. \_Proceeds to a7-m Vmauo^. 
 
 Palamon. Do. Pray thee, tell me, cousin, 
 
 Where gott'st thou this good armour? 
 
 Arcite. 'Tis the duke's ; 
 
 \nd, to say true, I stole it. — Do I pinch you ? 
 
 Palamon. No. 
 
 Arcite. Is't not too heavy? 
 
 Palamon, I have worn a lighter; 
 
 But I shall make it serve. 
 
 Arcite. I'll buckle't close. 
 
 Palamon. By any means. 
 
 Arcite. You care not for a grand-guard ^ ? 
 
 1 A piece of defensive armour for the breast, worn generally on horse- 
 back.
 
 SCENE VI.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN.   435 
 
 Palamon. No, no ; we'll use no horses ; I perceive 6r 
 You'd fain be at that fight. 
 
 A'cite. I am indifferent. 
 
 Palamon. Faith, so am I. Good cousin, thrust the buckle 
 Through far enough. 
 
 Arcite. I warrant you. 
 
 Palamon. My casque now. 
 
 Arcite. Will you fight bare-arm'd ? 
 
 Palamon. We shall be the nimbler. 
 
 Arcite. But use your gauntlets though : those are o' the 
 least ; 
 Prithee take mine, good cousin. 
 
 Palamon. Thank you, Arcite, 
 
 How do I look? am I fallen much away? 
 
 Arcite. Faith, very little ; love has us'd you kindly. 
 
 Palamon. I'll warrant thee I'll strike home. 
 
 Arcite. Do, and spare not ! 
 
 ] '11 give you cause, sweet cousin. 
 
 Palamon {ar^ning Arcyv^). Now to you, sir. 70 
 
 Methinks this armour's very like that, Arcite, 
 Thou wor'st that day the three kings fell, but lighter. 
 
 Arcite. That was a very good one ; and that day, 
 I well remember, you outdid me, cousin. 
 I never saw such valour ; when you charg'd 
 Upon the left wing of the enemy, 
 I spurr'd hard to come up, and under me 
 I had a right good horse. 
 
 Palamon. You had indeed ; 
 
 A bright bay, I remember. 
 
 Arcite. Yes. But all 
 
 Was vainly labour'd in me ; you outwent me, 8a 
 
 Nor could my wishes reach you : yet a little
 
 4S0 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act in 
 
 I did by imitation. 
 
 Palamon. More by virtue' ; 
 
 You are modest, cousin. 
 
 Arcite. When I saw you charge firsts 
 
 Methought I heard a dreadful clap of thunder 
 Break from the troop. 
 
 Palamon. But still before that flew 
 
 The lightning of your valour. Stay a little ! 
 Is not this piece too strait   ? ^ 
 
 Arcite. No, no ; 'tis well. 
 
 Falanwti. I would have nothing hurt thee but my sword ; 
 A bruise would be dishonour. 
 
 Arcite. Now I am perfect. 
 
 Palamon. Stand off then ! 
 
 Arcite. Take my sword ; I hold ^ it better. 
 
 Palamon. I thank ye, no ; keep it, your life lies on it. 91 
 Here's one, if it but hold, I ask no more 
 For all my hopes. My cause and honour guard me ! 
 
 Arcite. And me my love ! Is there aught else to say? 
 
 [ They bow several 7vays ; then advance and stand. 
 
 Palatnon. This only, and no more : thou art mine aunt's 
 son, 
 And that blood we desire to shed is mutual ; 
 In me thine, and in thee mine : my sword 
 Is in my hand, and, if thou killest me. 
 The gods and I forgive thee. If there be 
 A place prepar'd for those that sleep in honour, 100 
 
 I wish his weary soul that falls may win it. 
 Fight bravely, cousin ; give me thy noble hand. 
 
 Arcite. Here, Palamon ; this hand shall never more 
 Come near thee with such friendship. 
 
 1 Valour. 2 Tight. 3 Esteem.
 
 5CKNK M.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN^ 437 
 
 Palamon. I commend thee. 
 
 Arciie. If I fall, curse me, and say I was a coward ; 
 For none but such dare die in these just trials.^ 
 Once more farewell, my cousin ! 
 
 Palamon. Farewell, Arcite ! 
 
 \_They fight. Horns within ; they stand. 
 
 Arcite. Lo, cousin, lo ! our folly has undone us ! 
 
 Palamon. Why? 
 
 Arcite. This is the duke, a-hunting as I told you ; no 
 
 If we be found, we are wretched. O, retire, 
 For honour's sake and safety, presently 
 Into your bush again, sir ! We shall find 
 Too many hours to die in. Gentle cousin. 
 If you be seen, you perish instantly. 
 For breaking prison ; and I, if you reveal me. 
 For my contempt : then all the world will acorn us. 
 And say we had a noble difference, 
 But base disposers of it. 
 
 Palamon. No, no, cousin ; 
 
 I will no more be hidden, nor put off 120 
 
 This great adventure to a second trial. 
 I know your cunning, and I know your cause. 
 He that faints now, shame take him ! Put thyself 
 Upon thy present guard — 
 
 Arcite. You are not mad ? 
 
 Palamoti. Or I will make the advantage of this hour 
 Mine own ; and what to come shall threaten me, 
 I fear less than my fortune. Know, weak cousin, 
 
 1 " Our scene lies rather in the land of knight-errantry than of Athens ; 
 our authors follow Chaucer, and dress their heroes after the manners of his 
 age, when trials by the sword were thought just, and the conquered always 
 supposed guilty and held infamous." — ^ifwarrf.
 
 4^8 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act hi, 
 
 I love Emilia ; and in that I'll bury 
 Thee, and all crosses else. 
 
 Arcite. Then come what can come, 
 
 Thou shalt know, Palamon, I dare as well 130 
 
 Die, as discourse or sleep ; only this fears ' me, 
 The law will have the honour of our ends. 
 Have at thy life ! 
 
 Palamon, Look to thine own well, Arcite ! 
 
 \_They fight agaiti. Horns. 
 
 Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Emilia, Pirithous, and train. 
 
 Theseus. What ignorant and mad-malicious traitors 
 Are you, that 'gainst the tenour of my laws, 
 Are making battle thus, like knights appointed. 
 Without my leave, and officers of arms ? 
 By Castor, both shall die ! 
 
 Palamon. Hold thy word, Theseus ! 
 
 We are certainly both traitors, both despisers 
 Of thee and of thy goodness : I am Palamon, 140 
 
 That cannot love thee, he that broke thy prison ; 
 Think well what that deserves ! and this is Arcite ; 
 A bolder traitor never trod thy ground, 
 A falser ne'er seem'd friend : this is the man 
 Was begg'd and banish'd ; this is he contemns thee, 
 And what thou dar'st do ; and in this disguise, 
 Against thine own edict, follows thy sister. 
 That fortunate bright star, the fair Emilia — 
 Whose servant, if there be a right in seeing, 
 And first bequeathing of the soul to, justly 150 
 
 I am — and, which is more, dares think her his ! 
 This treachery, like a most trusty lover, 
 
 1 Frightens.
 
 SCENE VI.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN, 439 
 
 I call'd him now to answer. If thou beest, 
 
 As thou art spoken, great and virtuous, 
 
 The true decider of all injuries, 
 
 Say, " Fight again ! " and thou shall see me, Theseus, 
 
 Do such a justice thou thyself wilt envy ; 
 
 Then take my life ! I'll woo thee to't. 
 
 Pirithous. O heaven, 
 
 What more than man is this ! 
 
 Theseus. I've sworn. 
 
 Arcite. _ We seek not 
 
 Thy breath of mercy, Theseus ! 'Tis to me i6o 
 
 A thing as soon ^ to die as thee to say it. 
 And no more mov'd.^ Where this man calls me traitor. 
 Let me say thus much : if in love be treason, 
 In service of so excellent a beauty — 
 As I love most, and in that faith will perish. 
 As I have brought my life here to confirm it, 
 As I have serv'd her truest, worthiest, 
 As I dare kill this cousin that denies it — 
 So let me be most traitor, and ye please me. 
 For scorning thy edict, duke, ask that lady, 17a 
 
 Why she is fair, and why her eyes command me 
 Stay here to love her? and if she say traitor, 
 I am a villain fit to lie unburied. 
 
 Palamon. Thou shalt have pity of us both, O Theseus, 
 If unto neither thou show mercy ; stop, 
 As thou art just, thy noble ear against us ; 
 As thou art valiant, for thy cousin's^ soul, 
 
 1 Easy. 
 
 2 " And I am no more moved than thou wouldst be in giving the order." 
 — Skeat. 
 
 * Hercules.
 
 440 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act tii. 
 
 Whose twelve strong labours crown his memory, 
 
 Let's die together, at one instant, duke ! 
 
 Only a little let him fall before me, iSc 
 
 That I may tell my soul he shall not have her. 
 
 Theseus. I grant your wish ; for, to say true, your cousin 
 Has ten times more offended, for I gave him 
 More mercy than you found, sir, your offences 
 Being no more than his. — None here speak for 'em ! 
 For ere the sun set, both shall sleep for ever. ^ 
 
 Hippolyta. Alas, the pity ! now or never, sister. 
 Speak, not to be denied ; that face of yours 
 Will bear the curses else of after ages 
 For these lost cousins. 
 
 Ej7iilia. In my face, dear sister, 19c 
 
 I find no anger to 'em, nor no ruin ; 
 The misadventure of their own eyes kill 'em : 
 Yet that I will be woman and have pity, 
 My knees shall grow to the ground but Fll get mercy. 
 Help me, dear sister ! in a deed so virtuous 
 The powers of all women will be with us. — 
 Most royal brother — 
 
 Hippolyta. Sir, by our tie of marriage — 
 
 Emilia. By your own spotless honour — 
 
 Hippolyta. By that faith, 
 
 That fair hand, and that honest heart you gave me — 
 
 Emilia. By that you would have pity in another, 200 
 
 By your own virtues infinite — 
 
 Hippolyta. By valour, 
 
 By all the chaste nights I have ever pleas'd you — 
 
 Theseus. These are strange conjurings ! 
 
 Pirithous. Nay, then, I'll in too ! — . 
 
 By all our friendship, sir, by all our dangers,
 
 SCENE VI.] THE TWO xN'OBLE KINSMEN. 441 
 
 By all you love most, — wars, and this sweet lady — 
 
 Emilia. By that you would have trembled to deny 
 A blushing maid — 
 
 Hippolyta. By your own eyes, by strength, 
 
 In which you swore I went beyond all women. 
 Almost all men, and yet I yielded, Theseus — 
 
 Piriihoiis. To crown all this, by your most noble soul, 21c 
 Which cannot want due mercy, I beg first ! 
 
 Hippolyta. Next hear my prayers ! 
 
 Emilia. Last, let me entreat, sir ! 
 
 Pirithous. For mercy ! 
 
 Hippolyta. Mercy ! 
 
 Emilia. Mercy on these princes ! 
 
 Theseus. Ye make my faith reel ; say I felt 
 Compassion to 'em both, how would you place it ? ^ 
 
 Emilia. Upon their lives ; but with their banishments. 
 
 Theseus. You are a right ' woman, sister 1 you have pity, 
 But want the understanding where to use it. 
 If you desire their lives, invent a way 
 
 Safer than banishment. Can these two live, 22c 
 
 And have the agony of love about 'em, 
 And not kill one another? Every day 
 They'd fight about you, hourly bring your honour 
 In public question with their swords. Be wise then. 
 And here forget 'em ; it concerns your credit. 
 And my oath equally : I have said, they die ! 
 Better they fall by the law than one another. 
 Bow - not my honour. 
 
 Emilia. O my noble brother. 
 
 That oath was rashly made, and in your anger ; 
 Your reason will not hold it : if such vows 230 
 
 . i Very. ^ Abase not.
 
 442 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act ill. 
 
 Stand for express will, all the world must perish. 
 Beside, I have another oath 'gainst yours, 
 Of more authority, I'm sure more love ; 
 Not made in passion neither, but good heed. 
 
 Theseus. What is it, sister? 
 
 Pirithous. Urge it home, brave lady ! 
 
 Emilia. That you would ne'er deny me anything 
 Fit for my modest suit and your free granting. 
 I tie you to your word now ; if ye fail in't, v 
 
 Think how you maim your honour ; 
 
 For now I am set a-begging, sir, I am deaf 240 
 
 To all but your compassion. How their lives 
 Might breed the ruin of my name's opinion ! ^ 
 Shall any thing that loves me perish for me? 
 That were a cruel wisdom ; do men proin - 
 The straight young boughs that blush with thousand blos- 
 soms, 
 Because they may be rotten ? O duke Theseus, 
 The goodly mothers that have groan'd for these, 
 And all the longing maids that ever lov'd, 
 If your vow stand, shall curse me and my beauty, 
 And, in their funeral songs for these two cousins, 25c 
 
 Despise my cruelty and cry woe worth me,^ 
 Till I am nothing but the scorn of women. 
 For heaven's sake save their lives, and banish 'em ! 
 
 Theseus. On what conditions ? 
 
 Emilia. Swear 'em never more 
 
 To make me their contention, or to know me, 
 To tread upon thy dukedom, and to be, 
 Wherever they shall travel, ever strangers 
 To one another. 
 
 1 My reputation. 2 Prune. 8 Woe be to me.
 
 SCENE VI.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 443 
 
 Palamon. I'll be cut a-pieces 
 Before I take this oath ! Forget I love her? 
 
 all ye gods, despise me then ! Thy banishment 26c 
 
 1 not mislike, so we may fairly carry 
 
 Our swords and cause along ; else never trifle, 
 But take our lives, duke ! I must love, and will ; 
 And for that love must and dare kill this cousin. 
 On any piece the earth has. 
 
 Theseus. Will you, Arcite, 
 
 Take these conditions? 
 
 Palamon. He's a villain, then ! 
 
 Pirithous. These are men ! 
 
 Arcite. No, never, duke ; 'tis worse to me than begging. 
 To take my life so basely. Though I think 
 I never shall enjoy her, yet I'll preserve 270 
 
 The honour of affection, and die for her, 
 Make death a devil.' 
 
 Theseus. What may be done ? for now l' feel compassion. 
 
 Pirithous. Let it not fall again, sir ! 
 
 Theseus. Say, Emilia, . 
 
 If one of them were dead, as one must, are you 
 Content to take the other to your husband? 
 They cannot both enjoy you. They are princes 
 As goodly as your own eyes, and as noble 
 As ever fame yet spoke of : look upon 'em. 
 And if you can love, end this diiference ; 280 
 
 I give consent. — Are you content, too, princes ? 
 
 Both. With all our souls. 
 
 Theseus. He that she refuses 
 
 Must die then. 
 
 Both. Any death thou canst invent, duke. 
 
 1 " Though you should make death as formidable as a devil." — LUtledale.
 
 444 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act hi. 
 
 Palamon. If I fall from that mouth, I fall with favour. 
 And lovers yet unborn shall bless my ashes. 
 
 Arcite. If she refuse me, yet my grave will wed me, 
 And soldiers sing my epitaph. 
 
 Theseus. Make choice then. 
 
 Emilia. I cannot, sir ; they are both too excellent : 
 For me, a hair shall never fall of these men. 
 
 Hippolyta. What will become of 'em ? 
 
 Theseus. Thus I ordain it : 
 
 And, by mine honour, once again it stands, 291 
 
 Or both shall die ! — You shall both to your country ; 
 And each, within this month, accompanied 
 With three fair knights, appear again in this place. 
 In which I'll plant a pyramid : and whether, 
 Before us that are here, can force his cousin 
 By fair and knightly strength to touch the pillar, 
 He shall enjoy her ; the other lose his head, 
 And all his friends ; ^ nor shall he grudge to fall, 
 Nor think he dies with interest in this lady. 30c 
 
 Will this content ye ? 
 
 Palamoti. Yes. — Here, cousin Arcite, 
 
 I am friends again till that hour. 
 
 1 " Some readers have expressed surprise at the apparently strange doom 
 of Theseus, in decreeing death not only to the principal, but to ' all his 
 friends,' if worsted in the combat. Chaucer does not, it is true, go so far as 
 this ; but it was quite in accordance with the spirit of the age even in 
 Fletcher's time. Seward's note on the subject is much to the purpose : 
 'As to the probability of their procuring each three seconds upon such odd 
 terms, it may shock us to suppose any such gallant idiots ; but even so low 
 as our authors' .age it was reckoned cowardice to refuse any man, even a 
 stranger, to be a second in almost any duel whatever, of which there is a 
 most inimitable burlesque in The Little French Lawye7\ Mankind were 
 mad after knight-errantry ; and the reader must catch a little of the spirit 
 hims'^lf, or he'll lose a great part of the beauties of this play ; he must kindle
 
 6CENE I.J THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. '445 
 
 Arcite. I embrace ye. 
 
 Theseus. Are you content, sister? 
 
 Emilia. Yes ; I must, sir. 
 
 Else both miscarry. 
 
 Theseus. Come, shake hands again then ; 
 
 And take heed, as you are gentlemen, this quarrel 
 Sleep till the hour prefix'd, and hold your course. 
 
 Palatfion. We dare not fail thee, Theseus. 
 
 Theseus. Come, I'll give ye 
 
 Now usage like to princes and to friends. 
 When ye return, who wins, I'll settle here ; 
 Who loses, yet I'll weep upon his bier. \_Exeunt.^ 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. — Athens. A Room in the Prison. 
 
 Enter Gaoler and First Friend. 
 
 Gaoler. Hear you no more ? Was nothing said of me 
 Concerning the escape of Palamon ? 
 Good sir, remember ! 
 
 1st Friend. Nothing that I heard ; 
 
 with the flames of military glory, think life a small stake to hazard in such a 
 combat, and death desirable to the conquered as a refuge from shame.' In 
 Beaumont and Fletcher's play of The Lover's Progress, ii, 3, the seconds 
 fight as well as the principals. Perhaps the most striking instance is 
 afforded by the ferocious duel fought in Kensington Gardens on the 15th 
 of November, 1712; in which not only the principals, Lord Mohun and 
 the Duke of Hamilton, were both killed, but the seconds fought with fierce 
 hatred, though interrupted before either of them was slain." — Skeat. 
 
 ^ " This scene is a spirited and excellent one ; but its tone is Fletcher's, 
 not Shakespeare's." — Spalding.
 
 446 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. fACT IV. 
 
 For I came home before the business 
 
 Was fully ended : yet I might perceive. 
 
 Ere I departed, a great likelihood 
 
 Of both their pardons ; for Hippolyta 
 
 And fair-eyed Emily upon their knees 
 
 Begg'd with such handsome pity, that the duke 
 
 Methought stood staggering whether he should follow lo 
 
 His rash oath or the sweet compassion 
 
 Of those two ladies ; and to second them, 
 
 That truly noble prince Pirithous, 
 
 Half his own heart, set in too, that I hope 
 
 All shall be well : neither ard I one question 
 
 Of your name or his scape. 
 
 Gaoler. Pray heaven, it hold so ! 
 
 Enter Second Friend. 
 
 2d Friend. Be of good comfort, man ! I bring you news, 
 Good news. 
 
 Gaoler. They're welcome. 
 
 2d Friend. Palamon has clear'd you 
 
 And got your pardon, and discover'd how 
 And by whose means he scap'd, which was your daughter's, 
 Whose pardon is procur'd too ; and the prisoner — 21 
 
 Not to be held ungrateful to her goodness — 
 Has given a sum of money to her marriage, 
 A large one, I'll assure you. 
 
 Gaoler. Ye 're a good man 
 
 And ever bring good news. 
 
 1st Friend. How was it ended ? 
 
 2d Friend. Why, as it should be ; they that never begg'd 
 But they prevail'd had their suits fairly granted ; 
 The prisoners have their lives.
 
 SCENE I.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 447 
 
 1st Friend. I knew't would be so. 
 
 2d Friend. But there be new conditions, which you'll hear of 
 At better time. 
 
 Gaoler. I hope they are good. 
 
 2d Friend. They're honourable ; 30 
 
 How good they'll prove, I know not. 
 
 1st Friend. 'Twill be known. 
 
 Enter Wooer. 
 
 Wooer. Alas, sir, where 's your daughter? 
 
 Gaoler. Why do you ask? 
 
 Wooer. O, sir, when did you see her? 
 
 2d Friend. How he looks ! 
 
 Gaoler. This morning. 
 
 Wooer. Was she well? was she in health, sir? 
 
 Where did she sleep ? 
 
 ist Friend. These are strange questions. 
 
 Gaoler. I do not think she was very well ; for, now 
 Vou make me mind her, but this very day 
 I ask'd her questions, and she answer'd me 
 So far from what she was, so childishly. 
 So sillily, as if she were a fool, 40 
 
 An innocent ' ; and I was very angry. 
 But what of her, sir? 
 
 Wooer. Nothing but my pity ; 
 
 But you must know it, and as good by me 
 As by another that less loves her. 
 
 Gaoler. Well, sir? 
 
 1st Friend. Not right ? 
 
 2d Friefid. Not well ? 
 
 Wooer. No, sir, not well ; 
 
 'Tis too true, she is mad. 
 
 1 Idiot.
 
 l^S THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. Tact iv, 
 
 1st Friend. It cannot be. 
 
 Wooer. Believe, you'll find it so. 
 
 Gaoler. I half suspected 
 
 What you have told me ; the gods comfort her ! 
 Either this was her love to Palamon, 
 
 Or fear of my miscarrying on his scape, 5c 
 
 Or both. 
 
 Wooer. 'Tis likely. 
 
 Gaoler. But why all this haste, sir? -^ 
 
 Wooer. I'll tell you quickly. As I late was angling 
 In the great lake that hes behind the palace, 
 From the far shore, thick-set with reeds and sedges, 
 As patiently I was attending sport, 
 I heard a voice, a shrill one, and attentive 
 I gave my ear ; when I might well perceive 
 'Twas one that sung, and, by the smallness of it, 
 A boy or woman.^ I then left my angle 
 To his own skill, came near, but yet perceiv'd not << 
 
 Who made the sound, the rushes and the reeds 
 Had so encompass'd it. I laid me down 
 And listen'd to the words she sung ; for then, 
 Through a small glade cut by the fishermen, 
 I saw it was your daughter. 
 
 Gaoler. Pray go on, sir ! 
 
 Wooer. She sung much, but no sense ; only I heard her 
 Repeat this often : " Palamon is gone, 
 Is gone to the wood to gather mulberries ; 
 I'll find him out to-morrow." 
 
 1st Friend. Pretty soul ! 
 
 Wooer. " His shackles will betray him, he'll be taken ; 7c 
 And what shall I do then? I'll bring a bevy,^ 
 
 1 Cf. Hamlet, iv, 7. " Companv, from the Italian, beva, drinking-party.
 
 SCENE I.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 449 
 
 A hundred black-eyed maids that love as I do, 
 
 With chaplets on their heads of daffodillies/ 
 
 With cherry lips, and cheeks of damask roses, 
 
 And all we'll dance an antic 'fore the duke, 
 
 And beg his pardon." Then she talk'd of you, sir ; 
 
 That you must lose your head to-morrow morning. 
 
 And she must gather flowers to bury you. 
 
 And see the house made handsome. Then she sung 
 
 Nothing but " Willow, willow, willow " ; ' and between Sc 
 
 Ever was, " Palamon, fair Palamon ! " 
 
 And " Palamon was a tall young man ! " The place 
 
 Was knee-deep where she#sat ; her careless tresses 
 
 A wreath of bulrush rounded ; about her stuck 
 
 Thousand fresh water-flowers of several colours; 
 
 That methought she appear'd like the fair nymph 
 
 That feeds the lake with waters, or as Iris 
 
 Newly dropt down from heaven. Rings she made 
 
 Of rushes that grew by,^ and to 'em spoke 
 
 The prettiest posies,^ — "Thus our true love's tied," 9c 
 
 " This you may loose, not me," and many a one ; 
 
 And then she wept, and sung again, and sigh'd, 
 
 And with the same breath smil'd and kiss'd her hand. 
 
 2d Friend. Alas, what pity 'tis ! 
 
 Wooer. I made in to her ; 
 
 She saw me, and straight sought the flood ; I sav'd her, 
 And set her safe to land ; when presently 
 She slipt away, and to the city made 
 With such a cry and swiftness that, believe me, 
 She left me far behind her. Three or four 
 I saw from far off" cross her, one of 'em loc 
 
 1 Daffodils, corrupted from asphodel. 2 Cf. Othello, iv, 3. 
 
 3 Peasants made rush rings in celebrating mock marriages. •• Mottoes.
 
 450 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act iv 
 
 I knew to be your brother ; where she stay'd, 
 
 And fell, scarce to be got away : I left them with her, 
 
 And hither came to tell you. Here they are ! 
 
 Enter Gaoler's Brother, Daughter, and others. 
 
 Daughter (sings) . May you tiever mo}-e enjoy the light 
 etc. 
 Is not this a fine song? 
 
 Brother. O, a very fine one I \ 
 
 Daughter. I can sing twenty more. 
 
 Brother. I think you can. 
 
 Daughter. Yes, truly can I ; I «an sing " The Broom," 
 And " Bonny Robin." ^ Are not you a tailor? 
 
 Brother, Yes. 
 
 Daughter. Where's my wedding-gown ? 
 
 Brother. I'll bring it to-morrow 
 
 Daughter. Do, very rarely-; I must be abroad else, hd 
 To call the maids, and pay the minstrels. 
 
 (Sings) O fair, O siaeet, etc. 
 
 Brother. You must even take it patiently. 
 
 Gaoler. 'Tis true. 
 
 Daughter. Good even, good men ! Pray did you evei 
 hear 
 Of one young Palamon ? 
 
 Gaoler. Yes, wench, we know him. 
 
 Daughter. Is't not a fine young gentleman ? 
 
 Gaoler. 'Tis love ! 
 
 Brother. By no means cross her ; she is then distemper'd 
 Far worse than now she shows. 
 
 1st Friend. Yes, he's a fine man. 
 
 Daughter. O, is he so ? You have a sister ? 
 
 1 Popular old songs. ■' Early.
 
 SCENE I.J THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 45 1 
 
 2st Friend. Yes. 
 
 Daughter. But she shall never have him, tell her so, 12c 
 For a trick that I know ; y' had best look to her, 
 For if she see him once, she's gone, she's done 
 And undone in an hour. All the young maids 
 Of our town are in love with him ; but I laugh at 'em, 
 And let 'em all alone : is't not a wise course ? 
 
 1st Friend. Yes. 
 
 Daughter. They come from all parts of the dukedom to 
 him ; 
 I'll warrant ye — 
 
 Gaoler. She's lost, 
 
 Past all cure ! 
 
 Brother. Heaven forbid, man ! 
 
 Daughter. Come hither ; you're a wise man. 
 
 1st Friend. Does she know him? 130 
 
 2d Friend. No 3 would she did ! 
 
 Daughter. You're master of a ship ? 
 
 Gaoler. Yes. 
 
 Daughter. Where's your compass? 
 
 Gaoler. Here. 
 
 Daughter. Set it to the north : 
 
 And now direct your course to the wood, where Palamon 
 Lies longing for me ; for the tackling 
 Let me alone : come, weigh, my hearts, cheerly ! ' 
 
 All. Owgh, owgh, owgh ! 'tis up, the wind is fair ; 
 Top the bowling ; - out with the mainsail ! 
 Where's your whistle, master? 
 
 Brother. Let's get her in. 
 
 Gaoler. Up to the top, boy ! 
 
 Brother. Where's the pilot? 
 
 1 Weigh anchor cheerily. 2 Tighten tlie bowline
 
 452 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act iv. 
 
 J St Friend. Here. 
 
 Daughter. What kenn'st ^ thou ? 
 . 2d Friend. A fair wood. 140 
 
 Daughter. Bear for it, master ; tack about ! 
 (Sings) When Cynthia with her borrowed light, etc. 
 
 S^Excuiiti- 
 
 SCENE II, — Athens. A Room in the Pahice. 
 Enter Emilia, with t7vo pictures. 
 
 \ 
 
 Effiilia. Yet I may bind those wounds up, that must open 
 And bleed to death for my sake else. I'll choose, 
 And end their strife ; two such young handsome men 
 Shall never fall for me : their weeping mothers, 
 Following the dead-cold ashes of their sons, 
 Shall never curse my cruelty. Good heaven, 
 What a sweet face has Arcite ! If wise Nature, 
 With all her best endowments, all those beauties 
 She sows into the births of noble bodies, 
 Were here a mortal woman, and had in her 10 
 
 The coy denials of young maids, yet doubtless 
 She would run mad for this man. AVhat an eye, 
 Of what a fiery sparkle and quick sweetness, 
 
 ^ Descry. 
 
 2 " The fourth act may safely be pronounced wholly Fletcher's. All of it, 
 except one scene, is taken up by the episodical adventures of the Gaoler's 
 Daughter; and, while much of it is poetical, it wants the force and origin- 
 ality, and, indeed, all the prominent features of Shakespeare's manner, 
 either of thought, illustration, or ex-pression." — Spalding. " The description 
 in this scene has a certain resemblance to the circumstances of the death of 
 Ophelia, and was probably written with that scene in view. It has no refer- 
 ence whatever to the character of the Gaoler's Daughter, and it is the only 
 circumstance in the whole play common to her and to Ophelia." — Hickson,
 
 SCENE u.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 453 
 
 Has this young prince ! here Love himself sits smiling ; 
 
 Just such another wanton Cranymede ^ 
 
 Set Jove afire with, and enforc'd the god 
 
 Snatch up the goodly boy, and set him by him, 
 
 A shining constellation. What a brow. 
 
 Of what a spacious majesty, he carries, 
 
 Arch'd like the great-eyed Juno's, but far sweeter, ?c 
 
 Smoother than Pelops' shoulder ! ^ Fame and Honour, 
 
 Methinks, from hence, as from a promontory 
 
 Pointed in heaven, should clap their wings, and sing 
 
 To all the under-world the loves and fights 
 
 Of gods and such men near 'em. Palamon 
 
 Is but his foil ; to him, a mere dull shadow ; 
 
 He's swarth and meagre, of an eye as heavy 
 
 As if he had lost his mother ; a still temper. 
 
 No stirring in him, no alacrity ; 
 
 Of all this sprightly sharpness, not a smile. — 30 
 
 Yet these that we count errors, may become him ; 
 
 Narcissus was a sad boy, but a heavenly. 
 
 O, who can find the bent of woman's fancy? 
 
 I am a fool, my reason is lost in me ; 
 
 I have no choice, and I have lied so lewdly 
 
 1 The constellation Aquarius was identified with Ganymede. 
 
 2 " Tantalus, the favourite of the gods, once invited them to a repast, and 
 on that occasion killed his own son Pelops, and having boiled him, set the 
 flesh before them that they might eat it. But the immortal gods, knowing 
 what it was, did not touch it; Demeter alone, being absorbed by grief for 
 l.er lost daughter, consumed the shoulder of Pelops. Hereupon the gods 
 ordered Hermes to put the limbs of Pelops into a cauldron and 
 thereby restore him to life. When the process was over, Clotho took 
 him out of the cauldron, and as the shoulder consumed by Demeter 
 was wanting, the goddess supplied its place by one made of ivory; his de- 
 scendants (tlie Pelopidge) as a mark of their origin, were believed to have 
 one shoulder (ZJ- white as ivory y — Smith's Classical Diet,
 
 454 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [ACT IV. 
 
 That women ought to beat me. — On my knees 
 
 I ask thy pardon, Palamon ! Thou art alone, 
 
 And only beautiful ; and these the eyes, 
 
 These the bright lamps of beauty, that command 
 
 And threaten Love, and what young maid dare cross 'em ? 
 
 What a bold gravity, and yet inviting, 41 
 
 Has this brown manly face ! O Love, this only 
 
 From this hour is complexion. Lie there, Arcite ! 
 
 Thou art a changeling to him, a mere gipsy. 
 
 And this the noble body. I am sotted. 
 
 Utterly lost ! my virgin's faith has fled me ! 
 
 For if my brother but e'en now had ask'd me 
 
 Whether ^ I lov'd, I had run mad for Arcite ; 
 
 Now if my sister, more for Palamon. — 
 
 Stand both together ! — Now come, ask me, brother ; — 50 
 
 Alas, I know not ! — Ask me now, sweet sister ; — 
 
 I may go look ! — What a mere child is fancy. 
 
 That, having two fair gawds of equal sweetness. 
 
 Cannot distinguish, but must cry for both ! — 
 
 Enter a Gentleman. 
 
 How now, sir? 
 
 Gentleman. From the noble duke your brother, 
 Madam, I bring you news : the knights are come ! 
 
 Emilia. To end the quarrel? 
 
 Gentleman. Yes. 
 
 Emilia. Would I might end first .' 
 
 What sins have I committed, chaste Diana, 
 That my unspotted youth must now be soil'd 
 With blood of princes ? and my chastity 60 
 
 Be made the altar, where the lives of lovers — 
 
 1 Which of the two,
 
 SCENE II.] THE TWO NORLE KINSMEN. 455 
 
 Two greater and two better never yet 
 Made mothers joy — must be the sacrifice 
 To my unhappy beauty ? 
 
 Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Pirithous, and Attendants. 
 
 Theseus. Bring 'em in 
 
 Quickly, by any means ! I long to see 'em. — 
 Your two contending lovers are return'd, 
 And with them their fair knights ; now, my fair sister, 
 You must love one of them. 
 
 E?nilia. I had rather both, 
 
 So neither for my sake should fall untimely. 
 
 Theseus. Who saw 'em? 
 
 Pirithous. I awhile. 
 
 Gentleman. And I. 70 
 
 Enter Messenger. 
 
 Theseus. From whence come you, sir? 
 
 Messenger. From the knights. 
 
 Theseus. Pray speak, 
 
 You that have seen them, what they are. 
 
 Messenger. I will, sir. 
 
 And truly what I think. Six braver spirits 
 Than these they have brought — if we judge by the outside -- 
 I never saw nor read of. He that stands 
 In the first place with Arcite, by his seeming 
 Should be a stout man, by his face a prince, — 
 His very looks so say him ; his complexion 
 Nearer a brown than black ; stern, and yet noble, 
 Which shows him hardy, fearless, proud of dangers ; 8c 
 
 The circles of his eyes show fire within him. 
 And as a heated lion, so he looks ;
 
 456 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act iv. 
 
 His hair hangs long behind him, black and shining 
 Like ravens' wings ; his shoulders broad and strong ; 
 Arm'd long and round : ^ and on his thigh a sword 
 Hung by a curious baldrick/ when he frowns 
 To seal his will with ; better, o' my conscience, 
 Was never soldier's friend. 
 
 Theseus. Thou hast well describ'd him. 
 
 Pirithous. Yet a great deal short, 
 
 Methinks, of him that's first with Palamon. 9c, 
 
 Theseus. Pray speak him, friend. 
 
 Pirithous. I guess he is a prince too. 
 
 And, if it may be, greater ; for his show 
 Has all the ornament of honour in't. 
 He's somewhat bigger than the knight he spoke of. 
 But of a face far sweeter ; his complexion 
 Is, as a ripe grape, ruddy ; he has felt, 
 Without doubt, what he fights for, and so apter 
 To make this cause his own ; in's face appears 
 All the fair hopes of what he undertakes ; 
 And when he's angry, then a settled valour, 100 
 
 Not tainted with extremes, runs through his body. 
 And guides his arm to brave things ; fear he cannot, 
 He shows no such soft temper. His head's yellow, 
 Hard-hair'd, and curl'd, thick twin'd, like ivy-tods,^ 
 Not to undo * with thunder ; in his face 
 The livery of the warlike maid appears, 
 Pure red and white, for yet no beard has blest him ; 
 And in his rolling eyes sits Victory, 
 As if she ever meant to crown his valour ; 
 
 1 Arms Ions; and round. 2 A belt. 
 
 3 Thick clusters of ivy; so Spenser, Shepherd's Kalendar, March, i, 67. 
 
 ■^ Not to be destroyed by thunder.
 
 SCENE II.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 457 
 
 His nose stands high, a character of honour; no 
 
 His red Hps, after fights, are fit for ladies. — 
 
 Emilia. Must these men die too? 
 
 Pirithous. When he speaks, his tongue 
 
 Sounds Uke a trumpet ; all his lineaments 
 Are as a man would wish 'em, strong and clean ; 
 He wears a well steel'd axe, the staff of gold ; 
 His age some five-and-twenty. 
 
 Messenger. There's another, 
 
 A little man, but of a tough soul, seeming 
 As great as any ; fairer promises 
 In such a body yet I never look'd on. 
 
 Pirithous. O, he that's freckled-fac'd? 
 
 Messenger. The same, my lord ; 120 
 
 Are they not sweet ones? 
 
 Pirithous. Yes, they're well. 
 
 Messenger. Methinks, 
 
 Being so few and well dispos'd, they show 
 Great and fine art in nature.^ He's white-hair'd, 
 Not wanton-white, but such a manly colour 
 Next to an auburn ; tough, and nimble-set, 
 Which shews an active soul ; his arms are brawny, 
 Lin'd with strong sinews ; to the shoulder-piece 
 Gently they swell. 
 
 Which speaks him prone to labour, never fainting 
 Under the weight of arms ; stout-hearted, still, 130 
 
 But, when he stirs, a tiger ; he's grey-eyed, 
 Which yields compassion where he conquers ; sharp 
 To spy advantages, and where he finds 'em 
 
 1 The freckles were not unbecoming; women still regard a mole on the 
 face as a mark of beauty. In the last century patches of black plaster were 
 worn.
 
 458 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act iv 
 
 He's swift to make 'em his ; he does no wrongs, 
 
 Nor takes none ; he's round-fac'd, and when he smiles 
 
 He shows a lover, when he frowns a soldier. 
 
 About his head he wears the winner's oak, 
 
 And in it stuck the favour of his lady ; 
 
 His age, some six-and-thirty. In his hand 
 
 He bears a charging- staff/ emboss'd with silver. 14c 
 
 Theseus. Are they all thus ? 
 
 Pirithoics. They're all the sons of honour. 
 
 Theseus. Now, as I have a soul, I long to see 'em ! — 
 Lady, you shall see men fight now. 
 
 Hippolyta. I wish it, 
 
 But not the cause, my lord : they would show 
 Bravely about the titles of two kingdoms ; 
 'Tis pity love should be so tyrannous. — 
 Oh, my soft-hearted sister, what think you ? 
 Weep not, till they weep blood, wench ! it must be. 
 
 Theseus. You have steel'd 'em with your beauty. — Hon- 
 our'd friend, 150 
 
 To you I give the field ; pray order it 
 Fitting the persons that must use it I 
 
 Pirithous. Yes, sir. 
 
 Theseus. Come, I'll go visit 'em : I cannot stay — 
 Their fame has fir'd me so — till they appear. 
 Good friend, be royal ! 
 
 Pirithous. There shall want no bravery.- 
 
 Emilia. Poor wench, go weep ; for whosoever wins 
 Loses a noble cousin for thy sins. \_Exeunt: 
 
 1 Lance. 2 Rich decoration. 
 
 3 "Fletcher's masterpiece." — Hickson. "In the soliloquy of the lady, 
 while the poetical spirit is well preser\'ed, the alternations of feeling are 
 given with an abruptness and a want of insight into the nicer shades of
 
 SCENK iir.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 459 
 
 Scene III.^ — Athens. A Room in the Prison. 
 Enter Gaoler, Wooer, mid Doctor. 
 
 Doctor. Her distraction is more at some time of tlie moon 
 than at other some, is it not ? 
 
 Gaoler. She is continually in a harmless distemper ; 
 sleeps little, altogether without appetite, save often drink- 
 ing ; dreaming of another world, and a better ; and what 
 broken piece of matter soe'er she's about, the name Pala- 
 mon lards it ; that she farces ^ every business withal, fits it to 
 every question. — Look, where she comes ! you shall per- 
 ceive her behaviour. g 
 
 Enter Daughter. 
 
 Daughter. I have forgot it quite ; the burden on't was 
 " down-a down-a ; " and penned by no worse man than (ii- 
 raldo, Emilia's schoolmaster : he's as fantastical, too, as 
 ever he may go upon's legs ; for in the next world will Dido 
 see Palaraon, and then will she be out of love with yEneas. 
 
 Doctor. What stuff's here ! poor soul ! 
 
 Gaoler. Even thus all day long. 16 
 
 Daughter. Now for this charm, that I told you of: you 
 must bring a piece of silver on the tip of your tongue, or no 
 ferry ; ^ then if it be your chance to come where the blessed 
 
 association, which resemble the extravagant stage effects of the King and 
 A^o A7«^ infinitely more than the delicate yet piercing glance with which 
 Shakespeare looks into the human breast in the Othello ; the language, too, 
 is smoother and less powerful than Shakespeare's, and one or two classical 
 allusions are a little too correct and studied for him." — Spalding. 
 
 1 " The idea of this scene has some resemblance to that of Macbeth, v. i." 
 — Skeat. 
 
 2 Stuffs. 
 
 3 The ancients placed a piece of silver in the mouth of a corpse to pay 
 Charon for passage over the Sty.x.
 
 46o THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act iv. 
 
 spirits are — there's a sight now ! — we maids that have our 
 livers perished, cracked to pieces with love, we shall come 
 there, and do nothing all day long but pick flowers with 
 Proserpine ; then will I make Palamon a nosegay ; then let 
 him — mark me — then — ,, 
 
 Doctor. How prettily she's amiss ! note her a little fur- 
 ther. 
 
 Daughter. Faith, I'll tell you ; sometime we go to bar- 
 ley-break,' we of the blessed. Alas, 'tis a sore life they havq 
 i' the other place, such burning, hissing, howHng, chattering, 
 cursing ! O, they have shrewd measure ! Take heed : if 
 one be mad, or hang or drown themselves, thither they go, 
 Jupiter bless us ! and there shall they be put in a cauldron 
 of lead, amongst a whole million of cutpurses, and there 
 boil like a gammon of bacon that will never be enough. 34 
 
 Doctor. How she continues this fancy ! 'Tis not an 
 engraffed ^ madness, but a most thick and profound melan- 
 choly. 
 
 Daughter. To hear there a proud lady and a proud city- 
 wife howl together ! I were a beast, an I'd call it good 
 sport ! 
 (Sings) 1 7vill he true, niy stars, my fate, etc. 
 
 \^Exit Daughter. 
 Gaoler. What think you of her, sir? 
 
 Doctor. I think she has a perturbed mind, which I cannot 
 minister to. 
 
 Gaoler. Alas, what then ? 
 
 1 " A rural game often alluded to in the old dramatists. It was played in 
 various ways, but generally in the South of England by six persons, three of 
 each sex. The general idea of it was that one couple should try to catch 
 the rest, when within certain boundaries, without letting go each other's 
 hands." — Rolfe. 
 
 2 Grafted.
 
 SCENE III.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 46 1 
 
 Doctor. Understand you she ever affected any man ere 
 she beheld Palamon? 
 
 Gaoler. I was once, sir, in great hope she had fixed her 
 liking on this gentleman, my friend. 49 
 
 Wooer. I did think so too ; and would account I had a 
 great pen'worth ^ on't, to give half my state that both she 
 and I at this present stood unfeignedly on the same terms. 
 
 Doctor. That intemperate surfeit of her eye hath distem- 
 pered the other senses ; they may return, and settle again 
 to execute their preordained faculties ; but they are now in 
 a most extravagant vagary. This you must do : confine her 
 to a place where the light may rather seem to steal in than 
 be permitted. Take upon you, young sir, her friend, the 
 name of Palamon ; say you come to eat with her, and to 
 commune of love ; this will catch her attention, for this her 
 mind beats upon ; other objects, that are inserted 'tween 
 her mind and eye, become the pranks and friskings of her 
 madness. Sing to her such green- songs of love as she 
 says Palamon hath sung in prison ; come to her, stuck in as 
 sweet flowers as the season is mistress of, and thereto make 
 an addition of some other compounded odours which are 
 grateful to the sense : all this shall become Palamon, for 
 Palamon can sing, and Palamon is sweet, and every good 
 thing. Desire to eat with her, carve ^ her, drink to her, and 
 still among* intermingle your petition of grace and accept- 
 ance into her favour ; learn what maids have been her com- 
 panions and play-feres ^ ; and let them repair to her with 
 Palamon in their mouths, and appear to her with tokens, as 
 if they suggested for him. It is a falsehood she is in, which 
 is with falsehoods to be combated. This may bring her to 
 
 1 A good bargain. 2 Simple. ^ Carve for. 
 
 * Thereto. 5 Playmates ; travelling companions.
 
 462 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. (act v. 
 
 eat, to sleep, and reduce what is now out of square in her 
 into their former law and regiment.^ I have -seen it ap- 
 proved, how many times I know not ; but to make the 
 number more, I have great hope in this. I will, between 
 the passages of this project, come in with my appliance. 
 Let us put it in execution, and hasten the success, which, 
 doubt not, will bring forth comfort. \_Exeiint? 
 
 \ 
 
 ACT V.3 
 
 Scene I. — Athens. Aji Open Space before the Temples of 
 Mars, Venus, and Diana. 
 
 Enter Theseus, Pirithous, Hippolyta, ami Attendants. 
 
 Theseus. Now let 'em enter, and before the sods 
 Tender their holy prayers ! Let the temples 
 Burn bright with sacred fires, and the altars. 
 In hallow'd clouds commend their swelling incense 
 To those above us ! Let no due be wantinof ! 
 
 \_Flourish of cornets. 
 They have a noble work in hand, will honour 
 The very powers that love 'em. 
 
 Enter Palamon, Arcite, and their Knights. 
 Pirithous. Sir, they enter. 
 
 1 Rule, order. 
 
 2 Spalding assigns this scene to Fletcher ; but Hickson thinks it is 
 Shakespeare's " in style and language, and its freedom from all marks of 
 imitation." 
 
 8 Most of the critics assign this act (except Scene 2) to Shakespeare, 
 but Skeat, LiUledale, and Fleay attribute the opening to Fletcher.
 
 SCENE 1.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 463 
 
 Theseus. You valiant and strong-hearted enemies, 
 You royal germane ^ foes, that this day come 
 To blow the nearness - out that flames between ye, \o. 
 
 Lay by your anger for an hour, and dove-like 
 Before the holy altars of our helpers. 
 The all-fear'd gods, bow down your stubborn bodies. 
 Your ire is more than mortal ; so your help be ! 
 And as the gods regard ye, fight with justice ! 
 I'll leave you to your prayers, and betwixt ye 
 I part my wishes. 
 
 Pirithous. Honour crown the worthiest ! 
 
 \_Exeimt Theseus and train. 
 
 Palaftion. The glass is running now that cannot finish 
 Till one of us expire : think you but thus, — 
 That, were there aught in me which strove to show 20 
 
 Mine enemy in this business, were't one eye 
 Against another, arm oppress'd by arm, 
 I would destroy the offender ; coz, I would. 
 Though parcel of myself : then from this gather 
 How I should tender you. 
 
 Arcite. I am in labour 
 
 To push your name, your ancient love, our kindred, 
 Out of my memory ; and i' the self-same place 
 To seat something I would confound : so hoist we 
 The sails that must these vessels port even where 
 The heavenly Limiter pleases ! 
 
 Paia?non. You speak well. 30 
 
 Before I turn, let me embrace thee, cousin. \They embrace. 
 
 1 Akin. 
 
 2 Obscure : Skeat suggests " to extinguish that kinship that exists between 
 you." Rolfe tl inks that " nearness " refers to their friendship. IngUby 
 would substitute " fierceness."
 
 ^(^^ THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. .ACT v. 
 
 This I shall never do again. 
 
 Arctte. One farewell ! 
 
 Palamo7i. Why, let it be so ; farewell, coz ! 
 
 Arcite. Farewell, sir ! — 
 
 \_Exeunt Palamon aiid his Knights. 
 Knights, kinsmen, lovers, yea, my sacrifices. 
 True worshippers of Mars, whose spirit in you 
 Expels the seeds of fear, and the apprehension 
 Which still is father of it, go with me \ 
 
 Before the god of our profession. There 
 Require of him the hearts of lions, and 
 The breath of tigers, yea, the fierceness too ; 4° 
 
 Yea, the speed also, — to go on, I mean, 
 Else wish we to be snails. You know my prize 
 Must be dragg'd out of blood ; force and great feat 
 Must put my garland on, where she will stick 
 The queen of flowers. Our intercession, then, 
 Must be to him that makes the camp a cestron ^ 
 Brimm'd with the blood of men ; give me your aid, 
 And bend your spirits towards him. — 
 
 {They adva?ice to the altar of Mars, and fall on 
 their faces ; then kneel. 
 Thou mighty one, that with thy power hast turn'd 
 Green Neptune into purple ; whose approach 5c 
 
 Comets prewarn ; whose havoc in vast field 
 Unearthed skulls proclaim ; whose breath blows down 
 The teeming Ceres' foison'- ; who dost pluck 
 With hand armipotent from forth blue clouds 
 The mason'd turrets ; that both mak'st and break'st 
 The stony girths of cities ; me, thy pupil, 
 Young'st follower of thy drum, instruct this day 
 1 Cistern. 2 plenty.
 
 SCENE I.J • THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 465 
 
 With military skill, that to thy laud 
 
 I may advance my streamer, and by thee 
 
 Be styl'd the lord o' the day. Give me, great Mars, 60 
 
 Some token of thy pleasure. 
 
 \_Here they fall on their faces as before, and there 
 is heard clanging of armour, with a short 
 thunder, as the burst of a battle, whereupon 
 they all rise, and bow to the altar. 
 
 O great corrector of enormous ^ times. 
 
 Shaker of o'er-rank states, thou grand decider 
 
 Of dusty and old titles, that heal'st with blood 
 
 The earth when it is sick, and cur'st the world 
 
 O' the plurisy ^ of people, I do take 
 
 Thy signs auspiciously, and in thy name 
 
 To my design march boldly ! — Let us go. \_Exeunt. 
 
 Re-enter Palamon and his Knights. 
 
 Palamon. Our stars must glister with new fires, or be 
 To-day extinct ; our argument is love, 70 
 
 Which if the goddess of it grant, she gives 
 Victory too : then blend your spirits with mine. 
 You whose free nobleness do make my cause 
 Your personal hazard. To the goddess Venus 
 Commend we our proceeding, and implore 
 Her power unto our party ! — 
 
 \_He7'e they advance to the altar of Venus, and 
 fall on their faces ; then hieel. 
 Hail, sovereign queen of secrets ! who hast power 
 To call the fiercest tyrant from his rage. 
 And weep unto a girl ; that hast the might 
 Even with an eye-glance to choke Mars's drum. So 
 
 1 Monstrous. 2 Plethora,
 
 466 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act v, 
 
 And turn the alarm to whispers ; that canst make 
 
 A cripple flourish with his crutch, and cure him 
 
 Before Apollo ; ^ that mayst force the king 
 
 To be his subject's vassal, and induce 
 
 Stale gravity to dance ; the polled ^ bachelor, 
 
 Whose youth, like wanton boys through bonfires, 
 
 Have skipt thy flame, at seventy thou canst catch. 
 
 And make him, to the scorn of his hoarse throat. 
 
 Abuse young lays of love. What godlike power \ 
 
 Hast thou not power upon? To Phcebus thou 9c 
 
 Add'st flames, hotter than his ; the heavenly fires 
 
 Did scorch his mortal son, thine him ; the huntress, 
 
 All moist and cold, some say, began to throw 
 
 Her bow away and sigh.^ Take to thy grace 
 
 Me thy vow'd soldier, who do bear thy yoke 
 
 As 'twere a wreath of roses, yet is heavier 
 
 Than lead itself, stings more than nettles. I 
 
 Have never been foul-mouth'd against thy law, 
 
 Ne'er reveal'd secret, for I knew none, — would not, 
 
 Had I kenn'd all that were ; I never practis'd 100 
 
 Upon man's wife, nor would the libels read 
 
 Of liberal wits ; I never at great feasts 
 
 Sought to betray a beauty, but have blush'd 
 
 At simpering sirs that did ; I have been harsh 
 
 To large* confessors, and have hotly ask'd them 
 
 If they had mothers. I had one, a woman. 
 
 And women 'twere they wrong'd. I knew a man 
 
 Of eighty winters — thi^ I told them — who 
 
 1 Before Apollo can. 2 Shorn, bald-headed. 
 
 8 Compare this eulogy of Venus with Zorobabel's description of the 
 power of woman, in the Apocryphal Old Testament, i Esdras, chap. 4. 
 ■» Licentious boasters.
 
 SCENE I.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 467 
 
 A lass of fourteen brided. 'Twas thy power 
 
 To put life into dust ; the aged cramp no 
 
 Had screw'd his square foot round, 
 
 The gout had knit his fingers into knots, 
 
 Torturing convulsions from his globy ' eyes 
 
 Had almost drawn their spheres, that what was life 
 
 In him seem'd torture. This anatomy ^ 
 
 Had by his young fair fere a boy, and I 
 
 Believ'd it was his, for she swore it was, 
 
 And who would not believe her? Brief, I am 
 
 To those that prate, and have done, no companion ; 
 
 To those that boast, and have not, a defier ; 12c 
 
 To those that would, and cannot, a rejoicer ; 
 
 Yea, him I do not love that tells close offices 
 
 The foulest way, nor names concealments in 
 
 The boldest language : such a one I am, 
 
 And vow that lover never yet made sigh 
 
 Truer than I. O, then, most soft sweet goddess, 
 
 Give me the victory of this question, which 
 
 Is true love's merit, and bless me with a sign 
 
 Of thy great pleasure ! 
 
 \_Here music is heard, doves are seen to flutter ; they 
 fall again upon their faces, then on their knees. 
 O thou that from eleven to ninety reign'st 130 
 
 In mortal bosoms, whose chase ^ is this world. 
 And we in herds thy game, I give thee thanks 
 For this fair token, which, being laid unto 
 Mine innocent true heart, arms in assurance 
 My body to this business ! — Let us rise 
 And bow before the goddess ; time comes on. 
 
 \They bow, then exeunt. 
 
 1 Bulging. 2 Skeleton. 3 Hunting-ground.
 
 468 THE TWO NOBLE KKMSMEN. [ACT V. 
 
 Stiil music of records. Enter Emilia in white, her hair 
 about her shoulders, and wearing a wheaten wreath ; one 
 in white hohiiiig up her train, her hair stuck zvith flowers ; 
 one before her carrying a silver hind, in which is conveyed 
 incense and sweet odours, which being set upon the altar oj 
 Diana, her Maids standing aloof , she sets fire to it; then 
 they curtsy and kneel. 
 
 Emilia. O sacred, shadowy, cold, and constant queen, 
 Abandoner of revels, mute, contemplative. 
 Sweet, solitary, white as chaste, and pure 
 As wind-fann'd snow, who to thy female knights 140 
 
 AUow'st no more blood than will make a blush. 
 Which is their order's robe, I here, thy priest. 
 Am humbled 'fore thine altar ! O, vouchsafe. 
 With that thy rare green ^ eye — which never yet 
 Beheld thing maculate — look on thy virgin ! 
 And, sacred silver mistress, lend thine ear — 
 Which ne'er heard scurril ^ term, into whose port 
 Ne'er entered wanton sound — to my petition, 
 Season'd with holy fear ! This is my last 
 Of vestal office ; I'm bride habited, 150 
 
 But maiden-hearted ; a husband I have pointed,^ 
 But do not know him ; out of two I should 
 Choose one, and pray for his success, but I 
 Am guiltless of election ; of mine eyes. 
 Were I to lose one — they are equal precious — 
 
 1 Green eyes were esteemed peculiarly beautiful ; so Romeo and Juliet^ 
 
 iii, s, 221 : — , , 
 
 " An eagle, madam. 
 
 Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye." 
 Dante describes Beatrice's eyes as smerakll, emeralds. Pursratorio, xxxi, 
 
 116. 
 
 a Scurrilous. _ 3 Appointed.
 
 SCENE I.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 469 
 
 I could doom neither ; that which perish'd should 
 
 Go to't unsentenc'd : therefore, most modest queen, 
 
 He, of the two pretenders," that best loves me 
 
 And has the truest title in't, let him 
 
 Take off my wheaten garland,^ or else grant 160 
 
 The file and quality I hold I may 
 
 Continue in thy band. — 
 
 [^Here the hind vanishes under the altar, and in 
 the place ascends a rose-tree, having one 
 rose upon it. 
 
 See what our general of ebbs and flows " 
 
 Out from the bowels of her holy altar 
 
 With sacred act advances ! But one rose ! 
 
 If well inspir'd, this battle shall confound 
 
 Both these brave knights, and I, a virgin flower. 
 
 Must grow alone, unpluck'd. 
 
 \^Here is heard a sudden tzvang of ijistrumeiits, 
 and the rose falls front the tree, which van- 
 ishes under the altar. 
 
 The flower is fallen, the tree descends ! — O mistress. 
 
 Thou here dischargest me ! I shall be gather'd, 170 
 
 I think so ; but I know not thine own will : 
 
 Unclasp thy mystery ! — I hope she's pleas'd ; 
 
 Her signs were gracious. \frhey curtsy, and exeunt 
 
 1 Suitors. 2 Nuptial wreath. 
 
 2 Refers to the moon (Diana) as ruler of the tides.
 
 47© THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [ACT V. 
 
 Scene II. — A Room in the Prison. 
 Enter Doctor, Gaoler, and Wooe.r in the habit of Palamon. 
 
 Doctor. Has this advice I told you done any good upon 
 her? 
 
 Wooer. O, very much : the maids that kept her company 
 Have half persuaded her that I am Palamon ; 
 Within this half-hour she came smiling to me, \ 
 
 And ask'd me what I'd eat, and when I'd kiss her : 
 I told her presently, and kissed her twice. 
 
 Doctor. 'Twas well done ; twenty times had been far 
 better, 
 For there the cure lies mainly. 
 
 Wooer. Then she told me 
 
 She would watch with me to-night, for well she knew lo 
 
 What hour my fit would take me. 
 
 Doctor. Let her do so. 
 
 Wooer. She would have me sing. 
 
 Doctor. . You did so ? 
 
 Wooer. No. 
 
 Doctor. 'Twas very ill done, then ; 
 You should observe her every way. 
 
 Wooer. Alas ! 
 
 I have no voice, sir, to confirm her that way. 
 
 Doctor. That's all one, if ye make a noise ; 
 If she entreat again, do anything. 
 Ne'er cast your child away for honesty. 
 
 Gaoler. Thank you, doctor. 
 
 Doctor. Pray, bring her in, 20 
 
 And let's see how she is. 
 
 Gaoler. I will, and tell her
 
 SCENE II.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 47 1 
 
 Her Palamon stays for her ; but, doctor, 
 
 Methinks you are i' the wrong still. [_£xiif 
 
 Doctor. Go, go ; 
 
 You fathers are fine fools : her honesty ! 
 An we should give her physic till we find that — 
 
 Wooer. Why, do you think she is not honest, sir? 
 
 Doctor. How old is she ? 
 
 Wooer. She's eighteen. 
 
 Doctor. She may be ; 
 
 But that's all one, 'tis nothing to our purpose. 
 Whate'er her father says, if you perceive 
 Her mood inclining that way that I spoke of. — 
 
 Wooer. Yes, very well, sir. 3c 
 
 Enter Gaoler, Daughter, and Maid. 
 
 Gaoler. Come ; your love Palamon stays for you, child ; 
 And has done this long hour, to visit you. 
 
 Daughter. I thank him for his gentle patience ; 
 He's a kind gentleman, and I am much bound to him. 
 Did you ne'er see the horse he gave me? 
 
 Gaoler. Yes. 
 
 Daughter. How do you like him ? 
 
 Gaoler. He's a very fair one. 
 
 Daughter. You never saw him dance ? 
 
 Gaoler. No. 
 
 Daughter. I have often : 
 
 He dances very finely, very comely ; 
 And, for a jig, come cut and long tail ^ to him ! 
 He turns ye like a top. 
 
 Gaoler. That's fine indeed. 40 
 
 1 Proverbial phrase," Let horses of every kind compete with and beat him, 
 if they can."
 
 472 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act V. 
 
 Daughter. He'll dance the morris twenty mile an hour, — 
 And that will founder the best hobby-horse, 
 If I have any skill, in all the parish, — 
 And gallops to the tune of " Light o' Love " ; 
 What think you of this horse ? 
 
 Gaoler. Having these virtues, 
 
 I think he might be brought to play at tennis. 
 
 Daughter. Alas, that's nothing ! 
 
 Gaoler. Can he write and read too 'i 
 
 Daughter. A very fair hand, and casts himself the accounts 
 Of all his hay and provender ; that hostler 
 Must rise betime that cozens him. You know 5a 
 
 The chestnut mare the duke has ? 
 
 Gaoler. Very well. 
 
 Daughter. She is horribly in love with him, poor beast ; 
 But he is like his master, coy and scornful. 
 
 Gaoler. What dowry has she ? 
 
 Daughter. Some two hundred bottles,' 
 
 And twenty strike- of oats : but he'll ne'er have her ; 
 He lisps in's neighing, able to entice 
 A miller's mare ; ^ he'll be the death of her. 
 
 Doctor. What stuff she utters ! 
 
 Gaoler. Make curtsy ; here your lover comes. 
 
 Wooer. Pretty soul, 
 
 How do ye ? That's a fine maid ! there's a curtsy ! 60 
 
 Daughter. Yours to command, i' the way of honesty. 
 How far is't now to the end o' the world, my masters ? 
 
 Doctor. Why, a day's journey, wench. 
 
 1 Bundles of bay. 2 Bushel; still used in provincial English. 
 
 ^"A miller's mare, working round a beaten track (to drive the mill), 
 was perhaps proverbial for her steady-going attention to business." — Little- 
 dale.
 
 SCENE ii.J THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 473 
 
 Daughter. Will you go with me ? 
 
 Wooer. What shall we do there, wench ? 
 
 Daughter. Why, play at stool-ball.^ 
 
 What is there else to do? 
 
 Wooer. I am content, 
 
 If we shall keep our wedding there. 
 
 Daughter. 'Tis true ; 
 
 For there, I will assure you, we shall find 
 Some blind priest for the purpose, that will venture 
 To marry us, for here they are nice ^ and foolish ; 
 Besides, my father must be hang'd to-morrow, 70 
 
 And that would be a blot i' the business. 
 xA.re not you Palamon? 
 
 Wooer. Do not you know me ? 
 
 Daughter. Yes ; but you care not for me ; I have noth- 
 ing 
 But this poor petticoat and two coarse smocks. 
 
 Wooer. That's all one ; I will have you. 
 
 Daughter. Will you surely? 
 
 Wooer. Yes, by this fair hand, will I. \_Kisses her. 
 
 Daughter. O, sir, you'd fain be nibbling ! 
 
 Wooer. Why do you rub my kiss off? 
 
 Daughter. 'Tis a sweet one. 
 
 And will perfume me finely against the wedding. — 
 Is not this your cousin Arcite? 
 
 Doctor. Yes, sweetheart ; 
 
 And I am glad my cousin Palamon 80 
 
 Has made so fair a choice. 
 
 Daughter. Do you think he'll have me ? 
 
 1 A game popular among young women, played with a ball and one 01 
 two stools. 
 
 2 Over-particular.
 
 474 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [ACT V. 
 
 Doctor. Yes, without doubt. 
 
 Daughter. Do you think so too ? 
 
 Gaoler. Yes. 
 
 Daughter. We shall have many children. — Lord, how 
 y' are grown ! 
 My Palamon I hope will grow too, finely, 
 Now he's at liberty ; alas, poor chicken ! 
 He was kept down with hard meat and ill lodging, 
 But I will kiss him up again. \ 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Messenger. What do you here? you'll lose the noblest 
 sight 
 That e'er was seen. 
 
 Gaoler. Are they i' the field? 
 
 Messenger. They are ; 
 
 You bear a charge there too. 
 
 Gaoler. I'll away straight. — 90 
 
 I must even leave you here. 
 
 Doctor. Nay, we'll go with you ; 
 
 I will not lose the sight. 
 
 Gaoler. How did you like her? 
 
 Doctor. I'll warrant you, within these three or four days 
 I'll make her right again. — You must not from her, 
 But still preserve her in this way. 
 
 Wooer. I will. 
 
 Doctor. Let's get her in. 
 
 Wooer. Come, sweet, we'll go to dinner ; 
 
 And then we'll play at cards. \^Exeunt} 
 
 1 This scene is " disgusting and imbecile in the extivnie," and " may be 
 dismissed with a single quotation : 'What stuff she utters! ' " — Spalding. 
 " The former scene (Act iv, 3) is in prose wholly, while this is in Fletcher's
 
 SCENE iii.J THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN, 475 
 
 Scene III. — A Part of the Forest, near the Place of Combat 
 
 Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Emilia, Pirithous, and Attend- 
 ants. 
 
 Emilia. I'll no step further. 
 
 Pirithous. Will you lose this sight? 
 
 Etnilia. I had rather see a wren hawk at a fly 
 Than this decision : every blow that falls 
 Threats a brave life ; each stroke laments 
 The place whereon it falls, and sounds more like 
 A bell than blade. I will stay here. — 
 It is enough my hearing shall be punished 
 With what shall happen, 'gainst the which there is 
 No deafing but to hear, — not taint mine eye 
 With dread sights it may shun. 
 
 Pirithous. Sir, my good lord, ic 
 
 Your sister will no further. 
 
 Theseus. O, she must ! 
 
 She shall see deeds of honour in their kind, 
 Which sometime show well, pencill'd ; nature now 
 Shall make and act the story, the belief 
 Both seal'd with eye and ear. You must be present ; 
 You are the victor's meed, the price and garland 
 To crown the question's title. 
 
 Emilia. Pardon me ; 
 
 If I were there, I'd wink. 
 
 Theseus. You must be there ; 
 
 verse ; but, in short, the tone and moral effect of the two scenes are so dif- 
 ferent, the same characters have so altered an aspect, the language, senti- 
 ments, and allusions are so unlike, that the case of any one who can read 
 and deliberately compare them, and still believe them to be by the same 
 writer, we must give over as hopeless." — Hicksoti.
 
 476 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act v. 
 
 This trial is as 'twere i' the night, and you 
 The only star to shine. 
 
 Emilia. I am extinct ; 20 
 
 There is but envy ^ in that light which shews 
 The one the other. Darkness, which ever was 
 The dam of Horror, who does stand accurs'd 
 Of many mortal millions, may even now, 
 By casting her black mantle over both. 
 
 That neither could find other, get herself \ 
 
 Some part of a good name, and many a murther 
 Set off- whereto she's guilty. 
 
 Hippolyta. You must go. 
 
 Emilia. In faith, I will not. 
 
 Theseus. Why, the knights must kindle 
 
 Their valour at your eye ; knovv, of this war 3c 
 
 You are the treasure, and must needs be by 
 To give the service pay. 
 
 Emilia. Sir, pardon me ; 
 
 The title of a kingdom may be tried 
 Out of itself. \. , . 
 
 Theseus. Well, well, then, at your pleasure ! 
 Those that remain with you could wish their office 
 To any of their enemies. 
 
 Hippolyta. Farewell, sister ! 
 
 I am like to know your husband 'fore yourself, 
 By some small start of time ; he whom the gods 
 Do of the two know best, I pray them he 
 Be made your lot ! 4c 
 
 \_Exeunt all except Emilia a?id some of the Attendants. 
 
 Emilia. Arcite is gently visag'd, yet his eye 
 Is like an engine bent,^ or a sharp weapon 
 
 1 Malice. 2 Offset. 3 Reidv for use
 
 SCENE III.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 477 
 
 In a soft sheath ; mercy and manly courage 
 
 Are bedfellows in his visage. Palamon 
 
 Has a most menacing aspect ; his brow- 
 Is grav'd, and seems to bury what it frowns on : 
 
 Yet sometimes 'tis not so, but alters to 
 
 The quality of his thoughts ; long time his eye 
 
 Will dwell upon his object. Melancholy 
 
 Becomes him nobly ; so does Arcite's mirth : 50 
 
 But Palamon's sadness is a kind of mirth, 
 
 So mingled as if mirth did make him sad, 
 
 And sadness merry ; those darker humours that 
 
 Stick misbecomingly on others, on him 
 
 Live in fair dwelling. — 
 
 [ Cornets. Trumpets sound as to a charge. 
 
 Hark, how yon spurs to spirit do incite 
 
 The princes to their proof ! Arcite may win me ; 
 
 And yet may Palamon wound Arcite, to 
 
 The spoiling of his figure. O, what pity 
 
 Enough for such a chance ! If I were by, 60 
 
 I might do hurt ; for they would glance their eyes 
 
 Toward my seat, and in that motion might 
 
 Omit a ward,^ or forfeit an offence." 
 
 Which crav'd that very time : it is much better 
 
 \_Cornets. Cry within, "A Palamon ! " 
 
 I am not there : O, better never born 
 
 Than minister to such harm ! — What is the chance ? 
 Servant. The cry's "A Palamon." 
 E^nilia. Then he has won. 'Twas ever likely ; 
 
 He look'd all grace and success, and he is 
 
 Doubtless the prim'st of men. I prithee run, 7c 
 
 1 Guard. 2 Blow.
 
 478 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act V 
 
 And tell me how it goes. 
 
 \Shout, a7id cornets ; cry, " A Palamon ! ' 
 Servant. Still " Palamon." 
 
 Emilia. Run and inquire. — {Exit Servant.^ Poor ser- 
 vant, thou hast lost ! 
 Upon my right side still I wore thy picture, 
 Palamon's on the left : why so, I know not ; 
 I had no end in't else ; chance would have it so. 
 
 \_Another cry and shout luithin, and cornets. 
 On the sinister side the heart lies ; Palamon 
 Had the best-boding chance. This burst of clamour 
 Is, sure, the end o' the combat. 
 
 Re-enter Servant. 
 
 Serva?it. They said that Palamon had Arcite's body 
 Within an inch o' the pyramid, that the cry 80 
 
 Was general " A Palamon " ; but anon, 
 The assistants made a brave redemption,^ and 
 The two bold tilters at this instant are 
 Hand to hand at it. 
 
 Emilia. Were they metamorphos'd 
 
 Both into one — O, why, there were no woman 
 Worth so compos'd a man ! Their single share, 
 Their nobleness peculiar to them, gives 
 The prejudice of disparity, value's shortness, 
 
 [ Cornets. Cry within, " Arcite, Arcite ! " 
 To any lady breathing. — More exulting ! 
 '' Palamon" still? 
 
 Servant. Nay, now the sound is *' Arcite." 90 
 
 Emilia. I prithee lay attention to the cry ; 
 
 [Comets. A great shout and cry, " Arcite, victory ! " 
 
 1 Rescue.
 
 SCENE iii.J THE TWO NOBLE KliNSMEN. 479 
 
 Set both thine ears to the business. 
 
 Servant. The cry is 
 
 " Arcite, and victory ! " Hark " Arcite, victory ! " 
 The combat's consummation is proclaim'd 
 By the wind-instruments. 
 
 Emilia. Half-sights' saw 
 
 That Arcite was no babe ; God's lid, his richness 
 And costliness of spirit look'd through him ! it could 
 No more be hid in him than fire in flax, 
 Than humble banks can go to law with waters 
 That drift-winds force to raging. I did think 100 
 
 Good Palamon would miscarry ; yet I knew not 
 Why I did think so : our reasons are not prophets, 
 When oft our fancies are. They're coming off; 
 Alas, poor Palamon ! \_Cornets. 
 
 Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Pirithous, Arcite as victor^ 
 
 Attendants, etc. 
 
 Theseus. Lo, where our sister is in expectation, 
 Yet quaking and unsettled ! — Fairest Emily, 
 The gods by their divine arbitrement. 
 Have given you this knight ; he is a good one 
 As ever struck at head. — Give me your hands ! 
 Receive you her, you him ; be plighted with no 
 
 A love, that grows as you decay ! 
 
 Arcite. Emily, 
 
 To buy you I have lost what's dearest to me. 
 Save what is bought ; and yet I purchase cheaply. 
 As I do rate your value. 
 
 Theseus. O, lov'd sister, 
 
 He speaks now of as brave a knight as e'er 
 
 1 Hasty glances.
 
 48o THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [ACT v 
 
 Did spur a noble steed ; surely the gods 
 
 Would have him die a bachelor, lest his race 
 
 Should show i' the world too godlike ! His behaviour 
 
 So charm'd me, that methought Alcides ' was 
 
 To him a sow^ of lead ; if I could praise i2n 
 
 Each part of him to the all I've spoke, your Arcite 
 
 Did not lose by't, for he that was thus good 
 
 Encounter'd yet his better. I have heard 
 
 Two emulous Philomels^ beat the ear o' the night, ^^ 
 
 With their contentious throats, now one the higher, 
 
 Anon the other, then again the first, 
 
 And by and by out-breasted,* that the sense 
 
 Could not be judge between 'em ; so it fair'd 
 
 Good space between these kinsmen, till heavens did 
 
 Make hardly one the winner. — Wear the garland 13c 
 
 With joy that you have won ! — For the subdued, 
 
 Give them our present justice, since I know 
 
 Their lives but pinch ^ 'em ; let it here be done. 
 
 The scene's not for our seeing ; go we hence, 
 
 Right joyful, with some sorrow ! — Arm your prize ; ^ 
 
 I know you will not lose her. — Hippolyta, 
 
 I see one eye of yours conceives a tear, 
 
 The which it will deliver. \_Flourish. 
 
 1 Hercules. 
 
 2 " Sow, like/i^, is used to denote a mass of smelted metal" — Rolfe. 
 
 3 Nightingales.   Out-sung. 
 
 5 " Vex them. It was in the very spirit of chivalry that a warrior should 
 not care to survive defeat. This doom of Palamon and his three knights 
 would be revolting, if it were not that the spectators might be expected to 
 know enough of Chaucer's story to make them suspect that the sentence 
 would not really be executed. To which must be added the consideration, 
 that the spectators of plays in the time of James I could behold, almost 
 unmoved, many things which we now shudder even to read." — Skeat. 
 
 6 Embrace.
 
 SCENE iv.l THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 481 
 
 Emilia. Is this winning? 
 
 all you heavenly powers, where is your mercy? 
 
 But that your wills have said it must be so, 140 
 
 And charge me live to comfort this unfriended. 
 
 This miserable prince, that cuts away 
 
 A life more worthy from him than all women, 
 
 1 should and would die too. 
 
 Hippolyta. Infinite pity, 
 
 That four such eyes should be so fix'd on one 
 That two must needs be blind for't ! 
 
 Theseus. So it is. \_Exeunt} 
 
 Scene IV. — The Satne Part of tlie Forest as in Act III, 
 
 Scene VI. 
 
 Enter Palamon and his Knights pinioned, Gaoler, Execu- 
 tioner, a7id Guard. 
 
 Palatnon, There's many a man alive that hath outliv'd 
 The love o' the people ; yea, i' the self-same state 
 Stands many a father with his child. Some comfort 
 We have by so considering ; we expire, 
 And not without men's pity ; to live still 
 Have their good wishes ; we prevent 
 The loathsome misery of age, beguile 
 The gout and rheum, that in lag^ hours attend 
 For grey approachers ; we come towards the gods 
 
 1 The details of this scene, says Spalding, " make it clear that Shake- 
 speare's hand was in it. The greater part, it is true, is not of the highest 
 excellence ; but the vacillations of Emilia's feelings are well and delicately 
 given, some individual thoughts and words mark Shakespeare ; there is 
 little ot' his obscure brevity, much of his thoughtfulness legitimately applied, 
 and an instance or two of its abuse." 
 
 2 Lingering, or late.
 
 482 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act v. 
 
 Young and unwapper'd,' not halting under crimes 10 
 
 Many and stale ; that, sure, shall please the gods 
 Sooner than such, to give us nectar with 'em, 
 For we are more clear spirits. My dear kinsmen. 
 Whose lives for this poor comfort are laid down, 
 You've sold 'em too-too cheap. 
 
 1st Kiiight. What ending could be 
 
 Of more content? O'er us the victors have 
 Fortune, whose title is as momentary 
 As to us death is certain ; a grain of honour 
 They not o'erweigh us. 
 
 2d Knight. Let us bid farewell, 
 
 And with our patience anger tottering Fortune, 20 
 
 Who, at her certain'st, reels. 
 
 jd Knight. Come ; who begins ? 
 
 Palamon. Even he that led you to this banquet shall 
 Taste ^ to you all. — Ah ha, my friend, my friend ! 
 Your gentle daughter gave me freedom once ; 
 You'll see't done now for ever. Pray, how does she ? 
 I heard she was not well ; her kind of ill 
 Gave me some sorrow. 
 
 Gaoler. Sir, she's well restor'd. 
 
 And to be married shortly. 
 
 Palamon. By my short life, 
 
 I am most glad on't ! 'Tis the latest thing 
 I shall be glad of ; prithee, tell her so : 30 
 
 Commend me to her, and, to piece her portion. 
 Tender her this. [ Gives a purse. 
 
 1st Knight. Nay, let's be offerers all. 
 
 1 Unworn. 
 
 ^ " Alluding to the ancient custom of having the king's food tasted before 
 it was served, as a precaution against poison." — Rolfe.
 
 .SCENE IV.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 483 
 
 2d Knight. Is it a maid ? 
 
 Palamon. ' Verily, T think so ; 
 
 A right good creature, more to me deserving 
 Than I can quit or speak of. 
 
 All Knights. Commend us to her. \_Give their p7^rses. 
 
 Gaoler. The gods requite you all, 
 
 And make her thankful ! 
 
 Palamon. Adieu ! and let my life be now as short 
 As my leave-taking. \Lays his Iiead on the block. 
 
 1st Knight. Lead, courageous cousin. 
 
 2d Knight. We'll follow cheerfully. 
 
 \_A great noise 7vithin, crying, " Run, save, hold ! " 
 
 Enter in haste a Messenger. 
 
 Messenger. Hold, hold ! (), hold, hold, hold ! 4c 
 
 Enter Pirithous in haste. 
 
 Pirithous. Hold, ho ! it is a cursed haste you made, 
 If you have done so quickly. — Noble Palamon, 
 The gods will show their glory in a hfe 
 That thou art yet to lead. 
 
 Palamon. Can that be, when 
 
 Venus I've said is false ? How do things fare ? 
 
 PitHthous. Arise, great sir, and give the tidings ear 
 That are most dearly sweet and bitter ! 
 
 Palamon. What 
 
 Hath wak'd us from our dream ? [Palamon rises. 
 
 Pirithous. List then ! Your cousin, 
 
 Mounted upon a steed that Emily 
 
 Did first bestow on him, — a black one, owing ^ 50 
 
 Not a hair-worth of white, which some will say 
 
 1 Owning.
 
 484 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. Fact V. 
 
 Weakens his price, and many will not buy 
 
 His goodness with this note ; which superstition 
 
 Here finds allowance, — on this horse is Arcite, 
 
 Trotting the stones of Athens, which the calkins ^ 
 
 Did rather tell ^ than trample ; for the horse 
 
 Would make his length a mile, if t pleas'd his rider 
 
 To put pride in him : as he thus went counting 
 
 The flinty pavement, dancing as 'twere to the music 
 
 His own hoofs made — for, as they say, from iron 6c ~ 
 
 Came music's origin — what envious flint, 
 
 Cold as old Saturn, and like him possessed 
 
 With fire malevolent, darted a spark, 
 
 Or what fierce sulphur else, to this end made, 
 
 I comment not ; the hot horse, hot as fire, 
 
 Took toy ' at this, and fell to what disorder 
 
 His power could give his will, bounds, comes on end, 
 
 Forgets school-doing, being therein trained. 
 
 And of kind manage ^ ; pig-like he whines 
 
 At the sharp rowel, which he frets at rather 70 
 
 Than any jot obeys ; seeks all foul means 
 
 Of boisterous and rough jadery,'' to disseat 
 
 His lord that kept it bravely. When nought serv'd, 
 
 When neither curb would crack, girth break, nor diflering 
 
 plunges 
 Disroot his rider whence he grew, but that 
 He kept him 'tween his legs, on his hind hoofs 
 On end he stands, 
 That Arcite's legs being higher than his head, 
 
 1 The parts of a horseshoe which are turned up and pointed to prevent 
 a horse from slipping. 
 
 2 Count. ■* Managing a horse ; French manege. 
 • Freak. 6 Viciousness.
 
 SCENE IV.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 485 
 
 « 
 
 Seem'd with strange art to hang ; his victor's wreath 
 
 Even then fell off his head, and presently 80 
 
 Backward the jade comes o'er, and his full poise 
 
 Becomes the rider's load. Yet is he living ; 
 
 But such a vessel 'tis that floats but for 
 
 The surge that next approaches : he much desires 
 
 To have some speech with you. Lo, he appears ! 
 
 Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Emilia, and Arcite borne in a 
 
 chair. 
 
 Palamon. O miserable end of our alliance ! 
 The gods are mighty ! — Arcite, if thy heart, 
 Thy worthy manly heart, be yet unbroken, 
 Give me thy last words ; I am Palamon ; 
 One that yet loves thee dying. 
 
 Arcite. Take Emilia, 90 
 
 And with her all the world's joy. Reach thy hand ; 
 Farewell ! I've told my last hour. I was false, 
 Yet never treacherous ; forgive me, cousin ! — 
 One kiss from fair EmiUa ! {^Kisses her.) — 'Tis done : 
 Take her. I die ! \_Dies. 
 
 Palamon. Thy brave soul seek Elysium ! 
 
 E?nilia. I'll close thine eyes, prince ; blessed souls be 
 with thee ! 
 Thou art a right good man ; and, while I live. 
 This day I give to tears. 
 
 Palamon. And I to honour. 
 
 Theseus. In this place first you fought ; even very here 
 I sunder'd you : acknowledge to the gods loc 
 
 Your thanks that you are living. 
 His part is play'd, and, though it were too short. 
 He did it well ; your day is lengthen'd, and
 
 486 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [act V 
 
 The blissful dew of heaven does arrose ' you. 
 The powerful Venus well hath grac'd her altar, 
 And given you your love ; our master Mars 
 Has vouch'd his oracle, and to Arcite gave 
 The grace of the contention : so the deities 
 Have show'd due justice. — Bear this hence. 
 
 Palamon. O cousin, 
 
 That we should things desire which do cost us nt 
 
 The loss of our desire ! that nought could buy s 
 
 Dear love but loss of dear love ! 
 
 Theseus. Never fortune 
 
 Did play a subtler game : the conquer'd triumphs, 
 The victor has the loss ; yet in the passage 
 The gods have been most equal. Palamon, 
 Your kinsman hath confess'd the right o' the lady 
 Did lie in you, for you first saw her and 
 Even then proclaim'd your fancy ; he restor'd her, 
 As your stolen jewel, and desir'd your spirit 
 To send him hence forgiven. The gods my justice 12- 
 
 Take from my hand, and they themselves become 
 The executioners. Lead your lady oiT; 
 And call your lovers from the stage of death, 
 Whom I adopt my friends. A day or two 
 Let us look sadly, and give grace unto 
 The funeral of Arcite ; in whose end 
 The visages of bridegrooms we'll put on. 
 And smile with Palamon, for whom an hour, 
 But one hour since, I was as dearly sorry 
 As glad of Arcite, and am now as glad »3c 
 
 As for him sorry. — O you heavenly charmers,^ 
 What things you make of us ! For what we lack 
 
 1 Besprinkle, - Enchanters.
 
 EPILOGUE.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 483 
 
 We laugh, for what we have are sorry ; still 
 
 Are children in some kind. Let us be thankful 
 
 For that which is, and with you leave dispute, 
 
 That are above our question. — Let's go off. 
 
 And bear us like the time. \_Flourish. Exeunt} 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 I would now ask ye how ye like the play ; 
 But, as it is with school-boys, cannot say 
 I am cruel-fearful. Pray, yet stay a while, 
 And let me look upon ye. No man smile? 
 Then it goes hard, I see. — He that has 
 
 1 " The manner is Shakespeare's, and some parts are little inferior to his 
 very finest passages." — Spalding. "The scene is opened by Shakespeare 
 in his most majestic vein of meditative or moral verse, pointed and coloured 
 as usual with him alone by direct and absolute aptitude to the immediate 
 sentiment and situation of the speaker and of no man else : then either 
 Fletcher strikes in for a moment with a touch of somewhat more Shake- 
 spearean tone than usual, or possibly we have a survival of some lines' 
 length, not unretouched by Fletcher, from Shakespeare's first sketch for a 
 conclusion of the somewhat calamitous and cumbrous underplot, which in 
 any case was ultimately left for Fletcher to expand into such a shape and 
 bring by such means to an end as we may safely swear that Shakespeare 
 would never have admitted ; then with the entrance and ensuing narrative 
 of Pirithous we have none but Shakespeare before us again, though it be 
 Shakespeare undoubtedly in the rough, and not as he might have chosen to 
 present himself after due revision, with rejection (we may well suppose) 
 of this point and readjustment of that ; then upon the arrival of the dying 
 Arcite with his escort there follows a grievous little gap, a flaw but pitifully 
 patched by Fletcher, whom we recognize at wellnigh his worst and weakest 
 in Palamon's appeal to his kinsman for a last word, ' if his heart, his wor- 
 thy, manly heart' (an exact and typical example of Fletcher's tragically 
 prosaic and prosaically tragic dash of incurable commonplace), 'be yet 
 unbroken,' and in the flaccid and futile answer which fails so signally lo 
 supply the place of the most famous and pathetic passage in all the master-
 
 488 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [EPILOGUE 
 
 Lov'd a young handsome wench, then, show his face — 
 
 'Tis strange if none be here — and, if he will 
 
 Against his conscience, let him hiss and kill 
 
 Our market 1 'Tis in vain, I see, to stay ye ; 
 
 Have at the worst can come, then ! Now, what say ye ? lo 
 
 And yet mistake me not : I am not bold ; 
 
 We've no such cause. — If the tale we have told — 
 
 i or 'tis no other — any way content ye — "^ 
 
 For to that honest purpose it was meant ye — 
 
 We have our end ; and ye shall have ere long, 
 
 I dare say, many a better, to prolong 
 
 Your old loves to us. We, and all our might, 
 
 Rest at your service ; gentlemen, good night ! {^Flourish. 
 
 piece of Chaucer ; a passage to which even Shakespeare could have added 
 but some depth and grandeur of his own giving, since neither he nor 
 Dante's very self nor any other among the divinest of men could have done 
 more or better than match it for tender and true simplicity of words more 
 ' dearly sweet and bitter ' than the bitterest or sweetest of men's tears. 
 Then after the duly and properly conventional engagement on the parts of 
 Palamon and Emilia respectively to devote the anniversary ' to tears ' and 
 ' to honour,' the deeper tone returns for one grand last time, grave at once 
 and sudden and sweet as the full choral opening of an anthem : the note 
 which none could ever catch of Shakespeare's very voice gives out the 
 peculiar cadence that it alone can give in the modulated instinct of a solemn 
 change or shifting of the metrical emphasis or ictus from one to the other of 
 
 two repeated words — 
 
 ' that nought could buy 
 Dear love but loss of dear love ! ' 
 
 That is a touch beyond the ear or the hand of Fletcher : a chord sounded 
 from Apollo's own harp after a somewhat hoarse and reedy wheeze from the 
 scrannel-pipe of a lesser player than Pan. Last of all, in words worthy to 
 be the latest left of Shakespeare's, his great and gentle Theseus winds up 
 the heavenly harmonies of his last beloved grand poem." — Swinburne.
 
 V. 
 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 
 
 By John Webster. 
 
 Probably produced in 1616; first printed in 1623. The story 
 is in Bandello's Novelle, Part I, No. 26; in Belleforest's French 
 translation of Bandello, No. 19; in Painter's Palace of Pleasure, 
 Vol. II, No. 23; in Beard's Theatre of God^s Jitdgjncnts, B. ii, 
 chap. 22; and in Goulart's Histoires Admirables, Vol. I, p. 319. 
 Lope de Vega published in 161 8 El Mayordotno de la Duquesa 
 de Amalfi.
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 To the Rt. Hon. George Harding, Baron Berkeley, of Berkeley 
 Castle, and Knight of the Order of the Bath to the illustrious 
 Prince Charles. 
 
 My Noble Lord, 
 
 THAT I may present my excuse why, being a stranger to your 
 lordship, I offer this poem to your patronage, I plead this 
 warrant : — men who never saw the sea yet desire to behold that 
 regiment of waters, choose some eminent river to guide them 
 thither, and make that, as it were, their conduct or postilion : by 
 the like ingenious means has your fame arrived at my knowledge, 
 receiving it from some of worth, who both in contemplation and 
 practice owe to your honour their clearest service. I do not 
 altogether look up at your title ; the ancientest nobility being 
 but a relic of time past, and the truest honour indeed being for a 
 man to confer honour on himself, which your learning strives 
 to propagate, and shall make you arrive at the dignity of a 
 great example. I am confident this work is not unworthy your 
 honour's perusal ; for by such poems as this poets have kissed 
 the hands of great princes, and drawn their gentle eyes to look 
 down upon their sheets of paper when the poets themselves were 
 bound up in their winding-sheets. The like courtesy from your 
 lordship shall make you live in your grave, and laurel spring out 
 of it, when the ignorant scorners of the Muses, that like worms 
 in libraries seem to live only to destroy learning, shall wither 
 neglected and forgotten. This work and myself I humbly pre- 
 sent to your approved censure, it being the utmost of my wishes 
 to have your honourable self my weighty and perspicuous com- 
 ment ; which grace so done me shall ever be acknowledged 
 By your lordship's in all duty and observance, 
 
 John Webster,
 
 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONM. 
 
 Ferdinand, Duke of Calabria. 
 The Cardinal, his Brother. 
 Antonio Bologna, Steward of the 
 
 household to the DUCHESS. 
 Delio, his Friend. 
 Daniel de Bosola, Gentleman of 
 
 the Horse to the DuCHESS. 
 Castruccio. 
 Marquis of Pescara. 
 Count Malatesti. 
 roderigo. 
 
 Silvio. 
 
 Grisolan. 
 
 Doctor. 
 
 Several Madmen, Pilgrims, Execu- 
 tioners, Officers, Attendants, etc. 
 
 Duchess of Malfi. 
 
 Cariola, her Woman. 
 
 Julia, Castruccio's Wife, and the 
 Cardinal's Mistress. 
 
 Old Lady, Ladies, and Children. 
 
 Scene : Malfi, Rome, and Milan. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. — The Presence-chamber in the Duchess' Palace 
 
 at Malfi. 
 
 Enter Antonio and Delio. 
 
 Delio. You are welcome to your country, dear Antonio ; 
 You have been long in France, and you return 
 A very formal Frenchman in your habit : 
 How do you like the French court ? 
 
 491
 
 492 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act I. 
 
 A?it I admire it ; 
 In seeking to reduce both state and people 
 To a fixed order, their judicious king 
 Begins at home ; quits first his royal palace 
 Of flattering sycophants, of dissolute 
 And infamous persons, — '■ which he sweetly terms 
 His master's master-piece, the work of Heaven j lo 
 
 Considering duly that a prince's court n 
 
 Is like a common fountain, whence should flow 
 Pure silver drops in general, but if t chance 
 Some cursed example poison 't near the head, 
 Death and diseases through the whole land spread. 
 And what is't makes this blessed government 
 But a most provident council, who dare freely 
 Inform him the corruption of the times? 
 Though some o' the court hold it presumption 
 To instruct princes what they ought to do, aa 
 
 It is a noble duty to inform them 
 What they ought to foresee. — Here comes Bosola, 
 The only court-gall ; yet I observe his railing 
 Is not for simple love of piety : 
 Indeed, he rails at those things which he wants ; 
 Would be as lecherous, covetous, or proud. 
 Bloody, or envious, as any man. 
 If he had means to be so. — Here's the cardinal. 
 
 Enter the Cardinal and Bosola/ 
 
 Bos. I do haunt you still. 
 Card. So. 
 
 1 When this play was first performed, about 1616, R. Burbadge played 
 the part oi Ferdinand, H. Condell that of the Cardinal, and J. Lowin thai of 
 Bosola. The Duchess was impersonated by the actor R. Sharpe, as female 
 r&les were not yet taken by women.
 
 SCENE I.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 493 
 
 Bos. I have done you better service than to be slighted 
 thus. Miserable age, where only the reward of doing well 
 is the doing of it ! 32 
 
 Card. You enforce your merit too much. 
 
 Bos. I fell into the galleys in your service ; where, for 
 two years together, I wore two towels instead of a shirt, 
 with a knot on the shoulder after the fashion of a Roman 
 mantle. Slighted thus ! I will thrive some way : black-birds 
 fatten best in hard weather ; why not I in these dog-days ? 
 
 Card. Would you could become honest ! 
 
 Bos. With all your divinity do but direct me the way to 
 it. I have known many travel far for it, and yet return as 
 arrant knaves as they went forth, because they carried them- 
 selves always along with them. {Exif Cardinal.) Are you 
 gone? Some fellows, they say, are possessed with the devil, 
 but this great fellow were able to possess the greatest devil, 
 and make him worse. 46 
 
 - Atit. He hath denied thee some suit? 
 
 Bos. He and his brother are like plum-trees that grow 
 crooked over standing-pools ; they are rich and o'er-laden 
 with fruit, but none but crows, pies, and caterpillars feed on 
 them. Could I be one of their flattering panders, I would 
 hang on their ears like a horseleech, till I were full, and then 
 drop off. I pray, leave me. Who would rely upon these 
 miserable dependencies, in expectation to be advanced to- 
 morrow? what creature ever fed worse than hoping Tanta- 
 lus? nor ever died any man more fearfully than he that 
 hoped for a pardon. There are rewards for hawks and 
 dogs when they have done us service ; but for a soldier that 
 hazards his limbs in a battle, nothing but a kind of geometry 
 is his last supportation. 60 
 
 * Delio, Geometry !
 
 494 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [ACT I. 
 
 Bos. Ay, to hang in a fair pair of slings, take his latter 
 swing in the world upon an honourable pair of crutches, 
 from hospital to hospital. Fare ye well, sir : and yet do 
 not you scorn us ; for places in the court are but like beds 
 in the hospital, where this man's head Hes at that man's 
 foot, and so lower and lower. \_Exit 
 
 Delia. I knew this fellow seven years in the galleys 
 For a notorious murder ; and 'twas thought 
 The cardinal suborned it : he was released 70^ 
 
 By the French general, Gaston de Foix, 
 When he recovered Naples. 
 
 Afii. 'Tis great pity 
 He should be thus neglected : I have heard 
 He's very valiant. This foul melancholy 
 Will poison all his goodness ; for, I'll tell you, 
 If too immoderate sleep be truly said 
 To be an inward rust unto the soul, 
 It then doth follow want of action 
 Breeds all black malcontents ; and their close rearing, 
 Like moths in cloth, do hurt for want of w^earing. So 
 
 Delia. The presence 'gins to fill : you promised me 
 To make me the partaker of the natures 
 Of some of your great courtiers. 
 
 Anl. The lord cardinal's. 
 And other strangers' that are now in court? 
 I shall. — Here comes the great Calabrian duke. 
 
 Enter Ferdinand, Castruccio, Silvio, Roderigo, Grisolan, 
 
 and Attendants. 
 Ferd. Who took the ring oftenest ? ^ 
 
 i " The allusion is to the sport called Running at the Ring, when the tilter, 
 riding at full speed, endeavoured to thrust the point of his lance through, 
 and to bear away, the ring, which was suspended at a particular height." — 
 Dyce.
 
 SCENE I.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 495 
 
 5/7. Antonio Bologna, my lord. 
 
 Ferd. Our sister duchess' great-master of her household ? 
 give him the jewel. — When shall we leave this sportive 
 action, and fall to action indeed ? 90 
 
 Cast. Methinks, my lord, you should not desire to go 
 to war in person. 
 
 Ferd. Now for some gravity : — why, my lord? 
 
 Cast. It is fitting a soldier arise to be a prince, but not 
 necessary a prince descend to be a captain. 
 
 Ferd. No? 
 
 Cast. No, my lord ; he were far better do it by a deputy. 
 
 Ferd. Why should he not as well sleep or eat by a 
 deputy? this might take idle, offensive, and base office 
 from him, whereas the other deprives him of honour. 100 
 
 Cast. Believe my experience, that realm is never long 
 in quiet where the ruler is a soldier. 
 
 Ferd. Thou toldest me thy wife could not endure fighting. 
 
 Cast. True, my lord. 
 
 Ferd. And of a jest she broke of a captain she met full 
 of wounds : I have forgot it. 
 
 Cast. She told him, my lord, he was a pitiful fellow, to 
 lie, like the children of Ismael, all in tents.^ 
 
 Ferd. Why, there's a wit were able to undo all the sur- 
 geons o' the city ; for although gallants should quarrel, and 
 had drawn their weapons, and were ready to go to it, yet 
 her persuasions would make them put up. 112 
 
 Cast. That she would, my lord. — How do you like my 
 Spanish gennet ^ ? 
 
 1 A play on the word tent, which meant also a roll of lint, or other mate- 
 rial, used in searching a wound. 
 
 2 A small Spanish horse (written a\s,o jennet) . The word is ot Moorish 
 origin, there being a tribe of Zenata in Barbary noted for its cavalry.
 
 496 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [ACT i. 
 
 Rod. He is all fire. 
 
 Ferd. I am of Pliny's opinion,^ I think he was begot by 
 the wind ; he runs as if he were ballassed- with quicksilver. 
 
 Silvio. True, my lord, he reels from the tilt often. 
 
 Rod. Gris. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Ferd. Why do you laugh? methinks you that are cour- 
 tiers should be my touchwood, take fire when I give fire ; 
 that is, laugh but when I laugh, were the subject never so 
 witty. 123^ 
 
 Cast. True, my lord : I myself have heard a very good 
 jest, and have scorned to seem to have so silly a wit as to 
 understand it. 
 
 Ferd. But I can laugh at your fool, my lord. 
 
 Cast. He cannot speak, you know, but he makes faces : 
 my lady cannot abide him. 
 
 Ferd. No? 
 
 Cast. Nor endure to be in merry company ; for she says 
 too much laughing, and too much company, fills her too 
 full of the wrinkle. 133 
 
 Ferd. I would, then, have a mathematical instrument 
 made for her face, that she might not laugh out of com- 
 pass. — I shall shortly visit you at Milan, Lord Silvio. 
 
 Silvio. Your grace shall arrive most welcome. 
 
 Ferd. You are a good horseman, Antonio : you have 
 excellent riders in France : what do you think of good 
 horsemanship? 
 
 Ant. Nobly, my lord : as out of the Grecian horse issued 
 many famous princes, so out of brave horsemanship arise 
 
 1 See Pliny, Nat. Hist, viii, 67, where he says that in Lusitania there was 
 a breed of fleet horses begotten by the wind Favonius ; they never lived 
 more than three years. 
 
 3 Ballasted.
 
 SCENK I.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 497 
 
 the first sparks of growing resolution, that raise the mind 
 to noble action. 
 
 Ferd. You have bespoke it worthily. 
 
 Silvio. Your brother, the lord cardinal, and sister duchess. 
 
 Re-enter Cardinal, with Duchess, Cariola, and^xuxK. 
 
 Card. Are the galleys come about? 
 
 Gris. They are, my lord. 148 
 
 Ferd. Here's the Lord Silvio is come to take his leave. 
 
 Delia. Now, Sir, your promise; what's that cardinal? 
 I mean his temper? they say he's a brave fellow. 
 Will play his five thousand crowns at tennis, dance, 
 Court ladies, and one that hath fought single combats. 
 
 Ant. Some such flashes superficially hang on him for 
 form ; but observe his inward character : he is a melancholy 
 churchman ; the spring in his face is nothing but the engen- 
 dering of toads ; where he is jealous of any man, he lays 
 worse plots for them than ever was imposed on Hercules, for 
 he strews in his way flatterers, panders, intelligencers, atheists, 
 and a thousand such political monsters. He should have 
 been Pope ; but instead of coming to it by the primitive 
 decency of the church, he did bestow bribes so largely and 
 so impudently as if he would have carried it away without 
 Heaven's knowledge. Some good he hath done — 164 
 
 Delio. You have given too much of him. What's his 
 brother? 
 
 Ant. The duke there? a most perverse and turbulent 
 nature : 
 What appears in him mirth is merely outside ; 
 If he laugh heartily, it is to laugh 
 All honesty out of fashion. 
 
 Delio. Twins?
 
 498 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [ACT I. 
 
 Ant. In quality. 
 He speaks with others' tongues, and hears men's suits 170 
 With others' ears ; will seem to sleep o' the bench 
 Only to entrap offenders in their answers ; 
 Dooms men to death by information ; 
 Rewards by hearsay. 
 
 Delio. Then the law to him 
 Is like a foul black cobweb to a spider, — 
 He makes it his dwelling and a prison \ 
 
 To entangle those shall feed him. 
 
 Ant. Most true : 
 He never pays debts unless they be shrewd turns, 
 And those he will confess that he doth owe. 
 Last, for his brother there, the cardinal, 180 
 
 They that do flatter him most say oracles 
 Hang at his lips ; and verily I believe them. 
 For the devil speaks in them. 
 But for their sister, the right noble duchess, 
 You never fixed your eye on three fair medals 
 Cast in one figure, of so different temper. 
 For her discourse, it is so full of rapture, 
 You only will begin then to be sorry 
 When she doth end her speech, and wish, in wonder. 
 She held it less vain-glory to talk much, 190 
 
 Than your penance to hear her : whilst she speaks, 
 She throws upon a man so sweet a look, 
 That it were able to raise one to a galliard ' 
 That lay in a dead palsy, and to dote 
 On that sweet countenance ; but in that look 
 There speaketh so divine a continence 
 As cuts off all lascivious and vain hope. 
 
 ' A lively Spanish dance. So Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, i, 3.
 
 SCENE I.J THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 499 
 
 Her days are practised in such noble virtue, 
 
 That sure her nights, nay, more, her very sleeps, 
 
 Are more in Heaven than other ladies' shrifts. 20c 
 
 Let all sweet ladies break their flattering glasses, 
 
 And dress themselves in her. 
 
 Delio. Fie, Antonio, 
 You play the wire- drawer with her commendations. 
 
 Ant. I'll case the picture up : only thus much ; 
 All her particular worth grows to this sum, — 
 She stains the time past, lights the time to come. 
 
 Cari. You must attend my lady in the gallery. 
 Some half an hour hence. 
 
 Ant. I shall. \_Exeunt Antonio and Delio. 
 
 Fei-d. Sister, I have a suit to you. 
 
 Diich. 'Xo me, sir? 
 
 Ferd. A gentleman here, Daniel de Bosola, 
 One that was in the galleys — 
 
 Duch. Yes, I know him. 210 
 
 Ferd. A worthy fellow he is : pray, let me entreat for 
 The provisorship of your horse. 
 
 Duch. Your knowledge of him 
 Commends him and prefers him. 
 
 Ferd. Call him hither. \_Exit Attendant. 
 
 We are now upon parting. Good Lord Silvio, 
 Do us commend to all our noble friends 
 At the leaguer. 
 
 Silvio. Sir, I shall. 
 
 Ferd. You are for Milan? 
 
 Silvio. I am. 
 
 Duch. Bring the caroches.^ We'll bring you down to the 
 haven. 
 
 1 Coaches (Italian carrona).
 
 goo THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [ACT i. 
 
 \Exeunt Duchess, Silvio, Castruccio, Roderigo, 
 Grisolan, Cariola, Julm, and Attendants. 
 
 Card. Be sure you entertain that Bosola 
 For your intelligence : I would not be seen in't ; 
 And therefore many times I have slighted him 220 
 
 When he did court our furtherance, as this morning. 
 
 Ferd. Antonio, the great-master of her household. 
 Had been far fitter. 
 
 Card. You are deceived in him : \ 
 
 His nature is too honest for such business. — 
 He comes : I'll leave you. \^Exit. 
 
 Re-enter Bosola. 
 
 Bos. I was lured to you. 
 
 Ferd. My brother, here, the cardinal could never 
 Abide you. 
 
 Bos. Never since he was in my debt. 
 
 Ferd. May be some oblique character in your face 
 Made him suspect you. 
 
 Bos. Doth he study physiognomy? 
 He did suspect me wrongfully. 
 
 Ferd. For that 
 You must give great men leave to take their times. 23a 
 
 Distrust doth cause us seldom be deceived : 
 You see the oft shaking of the cedar-tree 
 Fastens it more at root. 
 
 Bos. Yet, take heed ; 
 For to suspect a friend unworthily 
 Instructs him the next way to suspect you, 
 And prompts him to deceive you. 
 
 Ferd. There's gold. 
 
 Bos. So :
 
 SCENE I.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. ^Ol 
 
 What follows ? never rained such showers as these 
 Without thunderbolts i' the tail of them : whose throat must 
 I cut? 
 
 Ferd. Your inclination to shed blood rides post 
 Before my occasion to use you. I gave you that 240 
 
 ' To live i' the court here, and observe the duchess ; 
 To note all the particulars of her haviour, 
 What suitors do solicit her for marriage, 
 And whom she best affects. She's a young widow : 
 I would not have her marry again. 
 
 Bos. No, sir? 
 
 Ferd. Do not you ask the reason ; but be satisfied 
 I say I would not. 
 
 Bos. It seems you would create me 
 One of your familiars. 
 
 Ferd. Familiar ! what's that? 
 
 Bos. Why, a very quaint invisible devil in flesh, 
 An intelligencer. 
 
 Ferd. Such a kind of thriving thing 250 
 
 I would wish thee ; and ere long thou mayest arrive 
 At a higher place by't. 
 
 Bos. Take your devils. 
 Which hell calls angels ; these cursed gifts would make 
 You'a corrupter, me an impudent traitor; 
 And should I take these, they'd take me to hell. 
 
 Ferd. Sir, I'll take nothing from you that I have given : 
 There is a place that I procured for you 
 This morning, the provisorship o' the horse ; 
 Have you heard on't? 
 
 Bos. No. 
 
 Ferd. 'Tis yours : is't not worth thanks ? 360 
 
 Bos. I would have you curse yourself now, that your bounty
 
 502 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act i, 
 
 (Which makes men truly noble) e'er should make m'^ 
 A villain. O, that to avoid ingratitude 
 For the good deed you have done me, I must do 
 All the ill man can invent ! Thus the devil 
 Candies all sins o'er ; and what Heaven terms vile, 
 That names he complimental.' 
 
 Ferd. Be yourself; 
 Keep your old garb of melancholy ; 'twill express 
 You envy those that stand above your reach, 
 Yet strive not to come near 'em : this will gain 270 
 
 Access to private lodgings, where yourself 
 May, hke a politic dormouse — 
 
 Bos. As I have seen some 
 Feed in a lord's dish, half asleep, not seeming 
 To listen to any talk ; and yet these rogues 
 Have cut his throat in a dream. What's my place ? 
 The provisorship o' the horse ? I am your creature. 
 
 Ferd. Away ! 
 
 Bos. Let good men, for good deeds, covet good fame. 
 Since place and riches oft are bribes of shame : 
 Sometimes the devil doth preach. \_Exit 
 
 Re-enter Duchess, Cardinal, and Cariola. 
 
 Card. We are to part from you ; and your own discretion 
 Must now be your director. 
 
 Ferd. You are a widow : 281 
 
 You know already what man is ; and therefore 
 Let not youth, high promotion, eloquence — 
 
 Card. No, 
 Nor any thing without the addition, honour, 
 Sway your high blood. 
 
 1 Ornamental.
 
 SCENE I.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 503 
 
 />/-i/. >tarr> ; they are most luxurious ^ 
 Will wed twice. 
 
 Card. O, fie ! 
 
 Ferd. Their livers are more spotted 
 Than Laban's sheep. 
 
 Duch. Diamonds are of most value, 
 They say, that have passed through most jewellers' hands. 
 ^Vill you hear me ? =90 
 
 I'll never marry. 
 
 Card. So most widows say ; 
 But commonly that motion lasts no longer 
 Than the turning of an hour-glass : the funeral sermon 
 And it end both together. 
 
 Ferd. Now hear me : 
 You live in a rank pasture, here, i' the court ; 
 There is a kind of honey-dew that's deadly ; 
 'Twill poison your fame ; look to't : be not cunning ; 
 For they whose faces do belie their hearts 
 Are witches ere they arrive at twenty years, 
 Ay, and give the devil suck. 30c 
 
 Duch. This is terrible good counsel. 
 
 Ferd. Hypocrisy is woven of a fine small thread, 
 Subtler than Vulcan's engine ^ : yet. believe 't, 
 Your darkest actions, nay, your privat'st thoughts, 
 Will come to light. 
 
 Card. You may flatter yourself, 
 And take your own choice ; privately be married 
 Under the eaves of night — 
 
 Ferd. Think't the best voyage 
 That e'er you made ; like the irregular crab, 
 
 1 Incontinent ; quer>- itr.-frj.-oj f 
 
 * The net in which he caught Mars and Ventis
 
 504 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act i. 
 
 ^Vhich, though't goes backward, thinks that it goes right 
 Because it goes its own way ; but observe, 
 Such weddings may more properly be said 31c 
 
 To be executed than celebrated. 
 
 Card. The marriage night 
 Is the entrance into some prison. 
 
 Ferd. And those joys, 
 , Those lustful pleasures, are like heavy sleeps 
 Which do fore-run man's mischief. "^ 
 
 Card. Fare you well. 
 Wisdom begins at the end : remember it. \_Exit. 
 
 Duch. I think this speech between you both was studied. 
 It came so roundly off. 
 
 Ferd. You are my sister ; 
 This was my father's poniard, do you see ? 
 I'd be loth to see't look rusty, 'cause 'twas his. 320 
 
 I would have you give o'er those chargeable revels : 
 A visor and a mask are whispering-rooms 
 That were never built for goodness \ — fare ye well ; — 
 And women like variety of courtship : 
 What cannot a neat knave with a smooth tale 
 Make a woman believe ? Farewell, lusty widow. \^Exit. 
 
 Duch. Shall this move me ? If all my royal kindred 
 Lay in my way unto this marriage, 
 I'd make them my low footsteps : and even now. 
 Even in this hate, as men in some great battles,   330 
 
 By apprehending danger, have achieved 
 Almost impossible actions (I have heard soklicrs say so). 
 So I through frights and threatenings will assay 
 This dangerous venture. Let old wives report 
 I winked and chose a husband. — Cariola, 
 To thy known secrecy I have given up
 
 SCENE I.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 505 
 
 More than my life — my fame. 
 
 Cari. Both shall be safe ; 
 For I'll conceal this secret from the world 
 A.S warily as those that trade in poison 
 Keep poison from their children. 
 
 Duch. Thy protestation 340 
 
 Is ingenious ^ and hearty : I believe it. 
 Is Antonio come ? 
 
 Cari. He attends you. 
 
 Duch. Good, dear soul, 
 Leave me ; but place thyself behind the arras, 
 Where thou mayst overhear us. Wish me good speed ; 
 For I am going into a wilderness 
 Where I shall find nor path nor friendly clue 
 To be my guide. [Cariola goes behind the arras. 
 
 Enter Antonio.^ 
 
 I sent for you : sit down ; 
 Take pen and ink, and write : are you ready ? 
 
 Ant. Yes. 
 
 Duch. What did I say? 
 
 Ant. That I should write somewhat. 350 
 
 Duch. O, I remember. 
 After these triumphs and this large expense, 
 It's fit, like thrifty husbands, we inquire 
 What's laid up for to-morrow. 
 
 Ant. So please your beauteous excellence. 
 
 Duch. Beauteous ! 
 Indeed, I thank you : I look young for your sake ; 
 
 1 Ingenuous. 
 
 2 "As previously Antonio has been told that he must attend the Duchess 
 in the gallery, it would seem that here the audience were to imagine that a 
 change of scene had taken place." — Dyce.
 
 5o6 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act i. 
 
 You have ta'en my cares upon you. 
 
 Ant. I'll fetch your grace 
 The particulars of your revenue and expense. 
 
 Duch. O, you are 
 An upright treasurer : but you mistook ; 360 
 
 For when I said I meant to make inquiry 
 What's laid up for to-morrow, I did mean 
 What's laid up yonder for me. 
 
 Ant. Where? ^ 
 
 Duch. In Heaven. 
 I am making my will (as 'tis fit princes should, 
 In perfect memory), and, I pray, sir, tell me. 
 Were not one better make it smiling, thus. 
 Than in deep groans and terrible ghastly looks. 
 As if the gifts we parted with procured 
 That violent distraction ^ ? 
 
 Ant. O, much better. 
 
 Duch. If I had a husband now, this care were quit : 370 
 But I intend to make you overseer. 
 What good deed shall we first remember? say. 
 
 Ant. Begin with that first good deed began i' the world 
 After man's creation, the sacrament of marriage : 
 I'd have you first provide for a good husband ; 
 Give him all. 
 
 Duch. All! 
 
 Ant. Yes, your excellent self. 
 
 Duch. In a winding-sheet? 
 
 Ant. In a couple. 
 
 Duch. Saint Winifred,^ that were a strange will ! 
 
 1 The Quarto of 1640 has destruction. 
 
 2 A noble British maiden of the seventh century. Prince Cradocus fell 
 in love with her ; but as she would not accept his suit, he cut off her head,
 
 SCENE I.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFl. 507 
 
 Anf. 'Twere stranger if there were no will in you 
 To marry again. 
 
 Duch. What do you think of marriage ? 380 
 
 Ant. I take't, as those that deny purgatory, 
 It locally contains or Heaven or hell ; 
 There's no third place in't. 
 
 Duch. How do you affect it? 
 
 Ant. My banishment, feeding my melancholy, 
 Would often reason thus. 
 
 Duch. Pray, let's hear it. 
 
 Ant. Say a man never marry, nor have children, 
 What takes that from him ? only the bare name 
 Of being a father, or the weak delight 
 To see the little wanton ride a-cock- horse 
 Upon a painted stick, or hear him chatter 390 
 
 Like a taught starling. 
 
 Duch. Fie, fie, what's all this? 
 One of your eyes is blood-shot ; use my ring to't. 
 They say 'tis very sovereign : 'twas my wedding-ring, 
 And I did vow never to part with it 
 But to my second husband. 
 
 Ant. You have parted with it now. 
 
 Duch. Yes, to help your eye-sight. 
 
 Ant. You have made me stark blind. 
 
 Duch. How? 
 
 which rolled to the foot of a hill : stopping there, a spring gushed up. St. 
 Bueno picked up the head, put it back on her shoulders : Winifred came to 
 life, and lived fifteen years thereafter. The fame of her holiness spread : a 
 snrine was built at the spring, and during many centuries that shrine, Holy- 
 well, in Flintshire, was the resort of pilgrims. Her day in the Saints' Calen- 
 dar is November 3. Her violent lover Cradocus was swallowed up by the 
 earth's opening immediately after he severed her head from its trunk. See 
 Chambers's Book of Days, ii, 6.
 
 5o8 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. Tact l 
 
 Ani. There is a saucy and ambitious devil 
 Is dancing in this circle. 
 
 Duch. Remove him. 
 
 Ant. How? 400 
 
 Duch. There needs small conjuration, when your finger 
 May do it : thus ; is it fit ? 
 
 \She puts the rmg upon his finger : he kneels. 
 
 Ant. What said you ? 
 
 Duch. Sir, ^ 
 
 This goodly roof of yours is too low built ; 
 I cannot stand upright in't nor discourse, 
 Without I raise it higher : raise yourself; 
 Or, if you please, my hand to help you : so. [^Raises him. 
 
 Ant. Ambition, madam, is a great man's madness, 
 That is not kept in chains and close-pent rooms, 
 But in fair lightsome lodgings, and is girt 
 With the wild noise of prattling visitants, 410 
 
 Which makes it lunatic beyond all cure. 
 Conceive not I am so stupid but I aim 
 Whereto your favours tend : but he's a fool 
 That, being a-cold, would thrust his hands i' the fire 
 To warm them. 
 
 Duch. So, now the ground's broke. 
 You may discover what a wealthy mine 
 I make you lord of. 
 
 Ant. O my un worthiness ! 
 
 Duch. You were ill to sell yourself: 
 This darkening of your worth is not like that 
 Which tradesmen use i' the city ; their false lights 420 
 
 Are to rid bad wares of: and I must tell you. 
 If you will know where breathes a complete man 
 (I speak it without flattery) , turn your eyes,
 
 SCENE I.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 509 
 
 And progress through yourself. 
 
 Ant. Were there nor Heaven nor hell, 
 I should be honest : I have long served virtue, 
 And ne'er ta'en wages of her. 
 
 Duck. Now she pays it. 
 The misery of us that are bom great ! 
 We are forced to woo, because none dare woo us ; 
 And as a tyrant doubles with his words, 43c 
 
 And fearfully equivocates, so we 
 Are forced to express our violent passions 
 In riddles and in dreams, and leave the path 
 Of simple virtue, which was never made 
 To seem the thing it is not. Go, go brag 
 You have left me heartless ; mine is in your bosom : 
 I hope 'twill multiply love there. You do tremble : 
 Make not your heart so dead a piece of flesh, 
 To fear more than to love me. Sir, be confident : 
 What is't distracts you ? This is flesh and blood, sir ; 440 
 'Tis not the figure cut in alabaster 
 Kneels at my husband's tomb. Awake, awake, man ! 
 I do here put off all vain ceremony. 
 And only do appear to you a young widow 
 That claims you for her husband, and, like a widow, 
 I use but half a blush in't.^ 
 
 AnL Truth speak for me ; 
 I will remain the constant sanctuary 
 Of your good name. 
 
 1 " The passion of the Duchess for Antonio, a subject most difficult to 
 treat, is managed with infinite deHcacy : in a situation of great peril for the 
 author, she condescends without being degraded, declares to her dependant 
 that he is the husband of her choice without losing anything of dignity and 
 respect, and seems only to exercise the privilege of rank in raising merit
 
 5IO THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [ACT 1. 
 
 Duch. I thank you, gentle love : 
 And 'cause you shall not come to me in debt, 
 Being now my steward, here upon your lips 450 
 
 I sign your Quietus est. This you should have begged now : 
 I have seen children oft eat sweetmeats thus, 
 As fearful to devour them too soon. 
 
 Ant. But for your brothers ? 
 
 Duch. Do not think of them : 
 All discord without this circumference 
 Is only to be pitied, and not feared : 
 Yet, should they know it, time will easily 
 Scatter the tempest. 
 
 Ant. These words should be mine. 
 And all the parts you have spoke, if some part of it 
 Would not have savoured flattery. 
 
 Duch. Kneel. [Cariola co?nes from behind the arras. 
 
 Ant. Ha ! 46c 
 
 Duch. Be not amazed ; this woman's of my counsel : 
 I have heard lawyers say, a contract in a chamber 
 Per verba presetiti is absolute marriage. 
 
 \^She and Antonio ktieel. 
 Bless, Heaven, this sacred gordian, which let violence 
 Never untwine ! 
 
 Ant. And may our sweet affections, like the spheres, 
 Be still in motion ! 
 
 Duch. Quickening, and make 
 The like soft music ! 
 
 from obscurity." — Dyce. It maybe added that neither in the English Dra- 
 ma nor in Englisli Fiction shall we find a scene in which womanly dig- 
 nity and womanly love are exhibited more naturally than in this. A noble 
 woman, as Webster here depicts her, is neither the unreal, ethereal creature 
 of the Age of Chivalry, nor is she the toy or servant of man.
 
 SCENE I.J THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 511 
 
 Ant. That we may imitate the loving palms,^ 
 Best emblem of a peaceful marriage, 470 
 
 That never bore fruit, divided ! 
 
 Duch. ^Vhat can the church force more? 
 
 Ant. That fortune may not know an accident, 
 Either of joy or sorrow, to divide 
 Our fixed wishes ! 
 
 Duch. How can the church build faster? 
 We now are man and wife, and 'tis the church 
 That must but echo this. — Maid, stand apart : 
 I now am blind. 
 
 Ant. What's your conceit in this? 
 
 Duch. I would have you lead your fortune by the hand 
 Unto your marriage bed : 480 
 
 (You speak in me this, for we now are one :) 
 We'll only lie, and talk together, and plot 
 To appease my humourous kindred : and if you please, 
 Like the old tale in Alexander and Lodowick,- 
 Lay a naked sword bet\veen us, keep us chaste. 
 O, let me shrowd my blushes in your bosom. 
 Since 'tis the treasur)' of all my secrets 1 
 
 \_Exeunt Duchess and Antonio. 
 
 1 Cf. T. Campbell, in his poem " The Dead Eagle." 
 
 " The village planted near the Maraboot's 
 Round roof has aye its feathery palm trees 
 Pair'd, for in solitude they bear no fruits." 
 
 2 " Tke Two Faithful Friends, the pleasant History of Alexander and Lod- 
 ■wicke, who were so like one another, that none could know them asunder ; 
 wherein is declared how Lodwicke married the Princesse of Hungaria, in 
 Alexander's name, and how each night he layd a naked sword betweene him 
 and the Princesse, because he would not wrong his friend, is reprinted from 
 the Pepys collection in Evans's Old Ballads. There was also a play written 
 bv Martin Slaughter, called Alexander and Lodowick, the acting of which is 
 several times mentioned in Henslowe's Diary ; but it was never published." 
 — Dyce.
 
 512 THE DUCHESS OF MALFl. [ACT. 11. 
 
 Cari. Whether the spirit of greatness or of woman 
 Reign most in licr. I l<.no\v not ; l)Ut it shows 
 A fearful madness : I owe her much of pity. \^Exit. 490 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. — An Apartmenf in the Palace of the Duchess. ' 
 Enter Bosoijv and Castruccio. 
 
 Bos. You say you would fain be taken for an eminent 
 courtier? 
 
 Cast. 'Tis the very main of my ambition. 
 
 Bos. Let me see : you have a reasonable good face for't 
 already, and your night-cap expresses your ears sufficient 
 largely. I would have you learn to twirl the strings of your 
 band with a good grace, and in a set speech, at the end of 
 every sentence, to hum three or four times, or blow )'oiu- 
 nose till it smart again, to recover your memory. When 
 vou come to be a president in criminal causes, if you smile 
 upon a prisoner, hang him ; but if you frown upon him and 
 threaten him, let him be sure to scape the gallows. 12 
 
 Cast. I would be a very merry president. 
 
 Bos. Do not sup o' nights ; 'twill beget you an admirable 
 wit. 
 
 Cast. Rather it would make me have a good stomach to 
 quarrel ; for they say, your roaring boys^ eat meat seldom, 
 and that makes them so valiant. But how shall I know 
 whether the people take me for an eminent fellow? 
 
 Bos. I will teach you a trick to know it : give out you lie 
 
 1 Cant term for insolent bullies and vaporers of the time.
 
 SCENE I.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 513 
 
 a-dying, and if you hear the common people curse you, be 
 sure you are taken for one of the prime night-caps.^ 22 
 
 Enter an Old Lady. 
 
 You come from painting now. 
 
 Old Lady. From what ? 
 
 Bos. Why, from your scurvy face-physic. To behold 
 thee not painted inclines somewhat near a miracle ; these 
 in thy face here were deep ruts and foul sloughs the last 
 progress.^ There was a lady in France that, having had the 
 small-pox, flayed the skin off her face to make it more 
 level ; and whereas before she looked like a nutmeg-grater, 
 after she resembled an abortive hedgehog. 31 
 
 Old Lady. Do you call this painting ? 
 
 Bos. No, no, but you call it careening ^ of an old mor- 
 phewed * lady to make her disembogue ^ again : there's 
 rough-cast phrase to your plastic.® 
 
 Old Lady. It seems you are well acquainted with my 
 closet. 
 
 Bos. One would suspect it for a shop of witchcraft, to 
 find in it the fat of serpents, spawn of snakes, Jews' spittle, 
 and their young children's ordure ; and all these for the 
 face. I would sooner eat a dead pigeon taken from the 
 soles of the feet of one sick of the plague than kiss one of 
 you fasting. Here are two of you, whose sin of your youth 
 
 1 Another cant term, used by Webster in The Devil's Law Case, ii, i: — 
 
 " Among a shoal or swarm of reeking night-caps." 
 
 2 State journey of the English sovereign into the provinces. 
 
 8 To lay a ship on its side, in order to calk and clean the hull. 
 
 4 Morphew : a scurf or cutaneous disease on the face. 
 
 5 Literally, flow into the sea (as a river). The meaning of the speech is : 
 You old women paint your face and hide your wrinkles in order that you 
 may launch out for new conquests. ^ Moulding.
 
 ^I^ THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act ii. 
 
 is the very patrimony of the physician ; makes him renew 
 
 his foot-cloth ^ with the spring, and change his high-priced 
 
 courtezan with the fall of the leaf. I do wonder you do 
 
 not loathe yourselves. Observe my meditation now. 47 
 
 What thing is in this outward form of man 
 
 To be beloved? We account it ominous, 
 
 If nature do produce a colt, or lamb, 
 
 A fawn or goat, in any limb resembling 
 
 A man, and fly from't as a prodigy : ^ 
 
 Man stands amazed to see his deformity 
 
 In any other creature but himself. 
 
 But in our own flesh, though we bear diseases 
 
 Which have their true names only ta'en from beasts, — 
 
 As the most ulcerous wolf and swinish measle, — 
 
 Though we are eaten up of hce and worms, 
 
 And though continually we bear about us 
 
 A rotten and dead body, we delight 60 
 
 To hide it in rich tissue : all our fear, 
 
 Nay, all our terror, is lest our physician 
 
 Should put us in the ground to be made sweet. — 
 
 Your wife's gone to Rome : you two couple, and get you to 
 
 the wells at Lucca to recover your aches. I have other 
 
 work on foot. \_Exeunt Castruccio and Old Lady. 
 
 I observe our duchess 
 
 Is sick a-days, she pukes, her stomach seethes, 
 
 The fins of her eye-lids look most teeming blue. 
 
 She wanes i' the cheek, and waxes fat i' the flank, 7c 
 
 And, contrary to our Italian fashion. 
 
 Wears a loose-bodied gown : there's somewhat in't. 
 
 I have a trick may chance discover it, 
 
 A pretty one ; I have bought some apricocks,^ 
 
 i Enables liim to buy new housings for liis horse. '^ Apricots.
 
 SCF.XF, I.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 515 
 
 The first our spring yields. 
 
 Enter Antonio and Delio. 
 
 Delio. And so long since married ! 
 You amaze me. 
 
 Ant. Let me seal your lips for ever : 
 For, did I think that any thing but the air 
 Could carry these words from you, I should wish 
 You had no breath at all. — Now, sir, in your contemplation? 
 You are studying to become a great wise fellow. 80 
 
 Bos. O, sir, the opinion of wisdom is a foul tetter that 
 runs all over a man's body : ^ if simplicity direct us to have 
 no evil, it directs us to a happy being ; for the subtlest 
 folly proceeds from the subtlest wisdom : let me be simply 
 honest. 
 
 Ant. I do understand your inside. 
 
 Bos. Do you so? 
 
 Ant. Because you would not seem to appear to the world 
 Puffed up with your preferment, you continue 
 This out-of-fashion melancholy : leave it, leave it. 90 
 
 Bos. Give me leave to be honest in any phrase, in any 
 compliment whatsoever. Shall I confess myself to you? 
 I look no higher than I can reach : they are the gods that 
 must ride on winged horses. A lawyer's mule of a slow 
 pace will both suit my disposition and business ; for, mark 
 me, when a man's mind rides faster than his horse can 
 gallop, they quickly both tire. 
 
 Ant. You would look up to Heaven, but I think 
 The devil, that rules i' the air, stands in your light. 99 
 
 Bos. O, sir, you are lord of the ascendant, chief man 
 with the duchess ; a duke was your cousin-german removed. 
 
 1 Observe tluoughout how Bosola's images harmonize with his character.
 
 5l6 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [ACT II. 
 
 Say you are lineally descended from King Pepin, or he him- 
 self, what of this ? search the heads of the greatest rivers in 
 the world, you shall find them but bubbles of water. Some 
 would think the souls of princes were brought forth by 
 some more weighty cause than those of meaner persons : 
 they are deceived, there's the same hand to them ; the like 
 passions sway them ; the same reason that makes a vicar to 
 go to law for a tithe- pig, and undo his neighbours, makes 
 them spoil a whole province, and batter down goodly cities 
 with the cannon. m 
 
 Enter Duchess and Ladies. 
 
 Duch. Your arm, Antonio : do I not grow fat? 
 I am exceeding short-winded. — Bosola, 
 I would have you, sir, provide for me a litter ; 
 Such a one as the Duchess of Florence rode in. 
 
 Bos. The duchess used one when she was great with child. 
 
 Duch. I think she did. — Come hither, mend my ruff; 
 Here, when ' ? thou art such a tedious lady ; and 
 Thy breath smells of lemon-pills ; would thou hadst done ! 
 Shall I swoon under thy fingers ! I am 120 
 
 So troubled with the mother ^ ! 
 
 Bos. {aside). I fear too much. 
 
 Duch. I have heard you say that the French courtiers 
 Wear their hats on 'fore the king. 
 
 Ant. I have seen it. 
 
 Duch. In the presence? 
 
 Ant. Yes. 
 
 1 When, an exclamation of impatience. 
 
 2 Hysterical passion ; so Lear, ii, 4 : — 
 
 " O, how this mother swells up toward my heart! 
 Hysterica fiassio, — down, thou climbing sorrow. 
 Thy element's below! "
 
 SCENE I,] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 517 
 
 Ditch. Why should not we bring up that fashion ? 
 'Tis ceremony more than duty that consists 
 In the removing of a piece of felt : 
 Be you the example to the rest o' the court ; 
 Put on your hat first. 
 
 Ant. You must pardon me : 
 I have seen, in colder countries than in France, 130 
 
 Nobles stand bare to the prince ; and the distinction 
 Methought showed reverently. 
 
 Bos. I have a present for your grace. 
 
 Duch. For me, sir? 
 
 Bos. Apricocks, madam. 
 
 Duch. O, sir, where are they? 
 I have heard of none to-year.^ 
 
 Bps. {aside). Good; her colour rises. 
 
 Duch. Indeed, I thank you : they are wondrous fair ones. 
 What an unskilful fellow is our gardener ! 
 We shall have none this month. 
 
 Bos. Will not your grace pare them? 140 
 
 Duch. No : they taste of musk, methinks ; indeed they do 
 
 Bos. I know not : yet I wish your grace had pared 'em. 
 
 Duch. Why? 
 
 Bos. I forgot to tell you, the knave gardener, 
 Only to raise his profit by them the sooner. 
 Did ripen them in horse-dung. 
 
 Duch. O, you jest. — 
 You shall judge : pray taste one. 
 
 Ant. Indeed, madam, 
 I do not love the fruit. 
 
 Duch. Sir, you are loth 
 To rob us of our dainties : 'tis a delicate fruit ; 
 
 1 This year.
 
 5l8 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [ACT II. 
 
 They say they are restorative. 
 
 Bos. 'Tis a pretty art, 150 
 
 This grafting. 
 
 Duch. 'Tis so ; bettering of nature. 
 
 Bos. To make a pippin grow upon a crab, 
 A damson on a blackthorn — {Aside) How greedily she eats 
 them ! 
 
 Duch. I thank you, Bosola : they are right good ones. 
 If they do not make me sick. 
 
 Ant. How now, madam ! 
 
 Duch. This green fruit and my stomach are not friends : 
 How they swell me ! 
 O, I am in an extreme cold sweat ! 
 
 Bos. I am very sorry. 
 
 Duch. Lights to my chamber ! — O good Antonio, 160 
 I fear I am undone ! 
 
 Delio. Lights there, lights ! 
 
 \_Exeunt Duchess and Ladies. — Exit, on the 
 other side, BosOLA. 
 
 Ant. O my most trusty Delio, we are lost ! 
 
 Delio. Have you prepared 
 Those ladies to attend her? and procured 
 That politic safe conveyance for the midwife 
 Your duchess plotted? 
 
 Aiit. I have. 
 
 Delio. Make use, then, of this forced occasion : 
 Give out that Bosola hath poisoned her 
 With these apricocks ; that will give some colour 
 For her keeping close. 
 
 Ant. Fie, fie, the physicians 170 
 
 Will then flock to her. 
 
 Delio. For that you may pretend
 
 SCENE 11.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 519 
 
 She'll use some prepared antidote of her own, 
 Lest the physicians should re-poison her. 
 
 Ant. I am lost in amazement : I know not what to think 
 on't. \_Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — A Hall in the same Palace. 
 
 Enter Bosola. 
 
 Bos. So, so, there's no question but her techiness ^ and 
 most vulturous eating of the apricocks are apparent signs 
 of breeding. — Now ? 
 
 Enter an Old Lady. 
 
 Old Lady. I am in haste, sir. 
 
 Bos. There was a young waiting-woman had a monstrous 
 desire to see the glass-house — 
 
 Old Lady. I will hear no more of the glass-house. You 
 are still abusing women ? 8 
 
 Bos. Who, I ? no ; only, by the way now and then, men- 
 tion your frailties. The orange-tree bears ripe and green 
 fruit and blossoms all together ; and some of you give enter- 
 tainment for pure love, but more for more precious reward. 
 The lusty spring smells well ; but drooping autumn tastes 
 well. If we have the same golden showers that rained in 
 the time of Jupiter the thunderer, you have the same Danaes 
 still, to hold up their laps to receive them. Didst thou never 
 study the mathematics ? 
 
 C>/^/Z(7^r. What's that, sir? 18 
 
 Bos. Why to know the trick how to make a many lines 
 
 1 Fretfulness, peevishness ; from the Middle English tecche, tacke, a habit: 
 hence a bad habit, vice, freak. Cf, French tache.
 
 520 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [ACT IL 
 
 meet in one centre. Go, go, give your foster-daughters good 
 counsel : tell them, that the devil takes delight to hang at a 
 woman's girdle, like a false rusty watch, that she cannot dis- 
 cern how the time passes. \_Exit Old Lady. 
 
 Enter Antonio, Roderigo, aiid Grisolan. 
 
 Ant. Shut up the court-gates. 
 Rod. Why, sir? what's the danger? 
 Ant. Shut up the posterns presently, and call 
 All the officers o' the court. 
 
 Gris. I shall instantly. ' \^Exit. 
 
 Ant. Who keeps the key o' the park-gate ? 
 Rod. Forobosco. 30 
 
 Ant. Let him bring't presently. 
 
 Re-enter Grisolan tvith Servants. 
 
 1st Serv. O, gentlemen o' the court, the foulest treason ! 
 
 Bos. {aside) . If that these apricocks should be poisoned 
 now. 
 Without my knowledge ! 
 
 /st Serv. There was taken even now a Switzer in the 
 duchess' bed chamber — 
 
 2d Serv. A Switzer ! 
 
 1st Serv. With a pistol. 
 
 Bos. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 2d Ser v. There was a cunning traitor ! 40 
 
 1st Serv. And all the moulds of his buttons were leaden 
 bullets. 
 
 2d Serv. O wicked cannibal ! 
 
 1st Serv. 'Twas a French plot, upon my life. 
 
 2d Sen<. To see what the devil can do ! 
 
 Ant. Are all the officers here ?
 
 SCENE ii.l THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 52! 
 
 Servants. We are. 
 
 Ant. Gentlemen, 
 We have lost much plate you know ; and but this evening 
 Jewels, to the value of four thousand ducats. 
 Are missing in the duchess' cabinet. 50 
 
 Are the gates shut? 
 
 Serv. Yes. 
 
 Ant. 'Tis the duchess' pleasure 
 Each officer be locked into his chamber 
 Till the sun-rising ; and to send the keys 
 Of all their chests and of their outward doors 
 Into her bed-chamber. She is very sick. 
 
 Rod. At her pleasure. 
 
 Ant. She entreats you to tak't not ill : the innocent 
 Shall be the more approved by it. 60 
 
 Bos. Gentlemen o' the wood-yard, where's your Switzer 
 now? 
 
 1st Serv. By this hand, 'twas credibly reported by one o' 
 the black guard. ^ \_Exeunt all except Antonio atid Delio. 
 
 Delia. How fares it with the duchess ? 
 
 Ant. She's exposed 
 Unto the worst of torture, pain and fear. 
 
 Delio. Speak to ner all happy comfort. 
 
 Ant. How I do play the fool with mine own danger ! 
 You are this night, dear friend, to post to Rome : 
 My life lies in your service. 
 
 Delio. Do not doubt me. ja 
 
 Ant. O, 'tis far from me : and yet fear presents me 
 Somewhat that looks like danger. 
 
 1 "The meanest drudges in royal residences and great houses, who rode 
 in the vehicles which carried the furniture and domestic utensils frcm man- 
 sion to mansion." — Dyce.
 
 522 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [ACT }h 
 
 Delio. Believe it, 
 'Tis but the shadow of your fear, no more : 
 How superstitiously we mind our evils ! 
 The throwing down salt, or crossing of a hare, 
 Bleeding at nose, the stumbling of a horse, 
 Or singing of a cricket, are of power 
 To daunt [the] whole man in us. Sir, fare you well : 
 I wish you all the joys of a blessed father : 
 And, for my faith, lay this unto your breast, — 80 
 
 Old friends, like old swords, still are trusted best. S^Exit. 
 
 Ente?- Cariola. 
 
 Cari. Sir, you are the happy father of a son : 
 Your wife commends him to you. 
 
 Ant. Blessed comfort ! — 
 For Heaven's sake tend her well : I'll presently 
 Go set a figure for's nativity.^ \_ExeunL 
 
 Scene HI. — The Court of the same Palace, 
 
 Enter Bosola, with a dark lantern. 
 
 Bos. Sure I did hear a woman shriek : list, ha ! 
 And the sound came, if I received it right, 
 From the duchess' lodgings. There's some stratagem 
 In the confining all our courtiers 
 To their several wards : I must have part of it ; 
 My intelligence will freeze else. List, again ! 
 It may be 'twas the melancholy bird, 
 Best friend of silence and of solitariness. 
 The owl, that screamed so. — Ha ! Antonio ! 
 
 I Make out his horoscope.
 
 SCENE ili.J THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 523 
 
 Enter Antonio. 
 
 Ant. I heard some noise. — Who's there? What art 
 thou? speak. 10 
 
 Bos. Antonio, put not your face nor body 
 To such a forced expression of fear : 
 I am Bosola, your friend. 
 
 Ant. Bosola ! — 
 {Aside) This mole does undermine me. — Heard you not 
 A noise even now? 
 
 Bos. From whence? 
 
 Ant. From the duchess' lodging. 
 
 Bos. Not I : did you ? 
 
 Ant. I did, or else I dreamed. 
 
 Bos. Let's walk towards it. 
 
 Ant. No : it may be 'twas 
 But the rising of the wind. 
 
 Bos. Very likely. 
 Methinks 'tis very cold, and yet you sweat : 
 You look wildly. 
 
 Ant. I have been setting a figure 
 For the duchess' jewels. -r 
 
 Bos. Ah, and how falls your question? 
 Do you find it radical? 
 
 Ant. What's that to you? 
 ' Tis rather to be questioned what design, 
 When all men were commanded to their lodgings, 
 Makes you a night-walker. 
 
 Bos. In sooth, I'll tell you : 
 Now all the court's asleep, I thought the devil 
 Had least to do here ; I came to say my prayers ; 
 And if it do offend you I do so,
 
 524 iHE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [ACT U 
 
 You are a fine courtier. 
 
 Ant. {aside). This fellow will undo me. — 
 You gave the duchess apricocks to-day : 30 
 
 Pray Heaven they were not poisoned ! 
 
 Bos. Poisoned ! A Spanish fig 
 For the imputation. 
 
 Anf. Traitors are ever confident 
 Till they are discovered. There were jewels stol'n too : 
 In my conceit none are to be suspected 
 More than yourself. 
 
 Bos. You are a false steward. 
 
 Anf. Saucy slave, I'll pull thee up by the roots. 
 
 Bos. Maybe the ruin will crush you to pieces. 
 
 Ant. You are an impudent snake indeed, sir : 40 
 
 Are you scarce warm, and do you show your sting ? 
 You libel well, sir. 
 
 Bos. No, sir : copy it out. 
 And I will set my hand to't. 
 
 Ant. {aside) . My nose bleeds. 
 One that were superstitious would count 
 This ominous, when it merely comes by chance : 
 Two letters that are wrote here for mv name. 
 Are drowned in blood ! 
 Mere accident. — For you, sir, I'll take order 
 r the morn you shall be safe : — {aside) 'tis that must 
 
 colour 
 Her lying-in : — sir, this door you pass not : 50 
 
 I do not hold it fit that you come near 
 The duchess' lodgings, till you have quit yourself. — 
 {Aside) The great are like the base, nay, they are the same, 
 When they seek shameful ways to avoid shame. [_Exit. 
 
 Bos. Antonio hereabouts did drop a paper : —
 
 SCENK III] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 525 
 
 Some of your help, false friend : — O, here it is. 
 What's here? a child's nativity calculated ! \Reads. 
 
 "The duchess was delivered of a son, 'tween the hours 
 twelve and one in the night, Anno Dom. 1504," — that's 
 this year — " dea'ino nono Decembris,'^ — that's this night, — 
 " taken according to the meridian of Malfi," — that's our 
 duchess: happy discovery ! — "The lord of the first house 
 being combust ^ in the ascendant, signifies short life ; and 
 Mars being in a human sign, joined to the tail of the 
 Dragon, in the eighth house, doth threaten a violent death. 
 Catera non scrutantury 65 
 
 Why, now 'tis most apparent : this precise fellow 
 Is the duchess' bawd : — I have it to my wish ! 
 This is a parcel of intelligency 
 
 Our courtiers were cased up for : it needs must follow 
 That I must be committed on pretence 
 Of poisoning her ; which I'll endure, and laugh at. 
 If one could find the father now ! but that 
 Time will discover. Old Castruccio 
 I' the morning posts to Rome : by him I'll send 
 A letter that shall make her brothers' galls 75 
 
 O'erflow their livers. This was a thrifty way. 
 Though lust do mask in ne'er so strange disguise, 
 She's oft found witty, but is never wise. \^Exif. 
 
 1 Astrological term, used of a heavenly body not above eight and one- 
 half degrees distant from the sun .
 
 526 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act 11. 
 
 Scene IV. — An Apartment in the Palace of the Cardinal at 
 
 Ro?ne. 
 
 Enter Cardinal and Julia. 
 
 Card. Sit : thou art my best of wishes. Prithee, tell me 
 What trick didst thou invent to come to Rome 
 Without thy husband. 
 
 Julia. Why, my lord, I told him 
 I came to visit an old anchorite 
 Here for devotion. 
 
 Cai-d. Thou art a witty false one, — 
 I mean, to him. 
 
 Julia. You have prevailed with me 
 Beyond my strongest thoughts : I would not now 
 Find you inconstant. 
 
 Card. Do not put thyself 
 To such a voluntary torture, which proceeds 
 Out of your own guilt. 
 
 Julia. How, my lord ! 
 
 Card. You fear ,, 
 
 My constancy, because you have approved 
 Those giddy and wild turnings in yourself. 
 Julia. Did you e'er find them ? 
 
 Card. Sooth, generally for women, 
 A man might strive to make glass malleable. 
 Ere he should make them fix^d. 
 Julia. So, my lord. 
 
 Card. We had need go borrow that fantastic glass ^ 
 Invented by Galileo the Florentine 
 To view another spacious world i' the moon, 
 
 1 Another anachronism ; the telescope was not invented until about 1608
 
 SCENE IV.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFl. 527 
 
 And look to find a constant woman there. 20 
 
 Julia. This is very well, my lord. 
 Card. Why do you weep ? 
 Are tears your justification? the self-same tears 
 Will fall into your husband's bosom, lady, 
 With a loud protestation that you love him 
 Above the world. Come, I'll love you wisely, 
 That's jealously. 
 
 Julia. I'll go home 
 To my husband. 
 
 Card. You may thank me, lady, 
 I have taken you off your melancholy perch, 
 Bore you upon my fist, and showed you game, 
 And let you fly at it. — I pray thee, kiss me. — jc 
 
 When thou wast with thy husband, thou wast watched 
 Like a tame elephant : — still you are to thank me : — 
 Thou hadst only kisses from him and high feeding ; 
 But what delight was that ? 'twas just like one 
 That hath a little fingering on the lute. 
 Yet cannot tune it : — still you are to thank me. 
 
 Julia. You told me of a piteous wound i' the heart 
 And a sick liver, when you wooed me first. 
 And spake like one in physic. 
 Card. Who's that? — 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Rest firm, for my affection to thee, 40 
 
 Lightning moves slow to't. 
 
 Serv. Madam, a gentleman, 
 That's come post from Malfi, desires to see you. 
 
 Card. Let him enter : I'll withdraw. \^Exit. 
 
 Serv. He says
 
 528 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act II. 
 
 Your husband, old Castruccio, is come to Rome, 
 
 Most pitifully tired with riding post. \_Exit. 
 
 Enter Delio. 
 
 Julia {aside). Signior DeUo ! 'tis one of my old suitors. 
 
 Delia. I was bold to come and see you. 
 
 Julia. Sir, you are welcome. 
 
 Delio. Do you lie here? \ 
 
 Julia. Sure, your own experience 50 
 
 Will satisfy you no : our Roman prelates 
 Do not keep lodging for ladies. 
 
 Delio. Very well : 
 1 have brought you no commendations from your husband, 
 For I know none by him.' 
 
 Julia. I hear he's come to Rome. 
 
 Delio. I never knew man and beast, of a horse and a 
 knight 
 So weary of each other : if he had had a good back. 
 He would have undertook to have borne his horse. 
 His breech was so pitifully sore. 
 
 Julia. Your laughter 
 li my pity. 
 
 Delio. Lady, I know not whether 
 Vou want money, but I have brought you some. 60 
 
 Julia. From my husband? 
 
 Delio. No, from mine own allowance. 
 
 Julia. I must hear the condition, ere I be bound to take it. 
 
 Delio. Look on't, 'tis gold : hath it not a fine colour ? 
 
 Julia. I have a bird more beautiful. 
 
 1 Following the old quartos, here and later in this scene, the lines are 
 printed metrically, although, as Dyce remarks, " some of these speeches 
 hardly read like verse."'
 
 SCENE IV.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 529 
 
 Delia. Try the sound on't. 
 
 Julia. A lute string far exceeds it : 
 It hath no smell, like cassia or civet ; 
 Nor is it physical, though some fond doctors 
 Persuade us seethe't in cullises ' ; I'll tell you, 70 
 
 This is a creature bred by — 
 
 Re-enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. Your husband's come, 
 Hath delivered a letter to the Duke of Calabria 
 That, to my thinking, hath put him out of his wits. \_Exit. 
 
 Julia. Sir, you hear : 
 Pray, let me know your business and your suit 
 As briefly as can be. 
 
 Delia. With good speed : I would wish you. 
 At such time as you are non-resident 
 With your husband, my mistress. 
 
 Julia. Sir, I'll go ask my husband if I shall. 
 And straight return your answer. \JBxit 
 
 Delia. Very fine ! 
 Is this her wit, or honesty, that speaks thus ? 
 I heard one say the duke was highly moved 
 With a letter sent from Malfi. I do fear 
 x'Vntonio is betrayed : how fearfully 
 Shows his ambition now ! unfortunate fortune ! 
 They pass through whirlpools, and deep woes do shun, 
 Who the event weigh ere the action's done. \^Exit. 
 
 1 "A cuUis was a strong and savory broth of boiled meat strained, foi 
 debilitated persons: the old receipt-books recommend 'pieces of gold' 
 among its ingredients." — Dyce.
 
 53^ THE DL'CHESS OF MALFI. [act 11. 
 
 Scene V. — Another Apartment in the same Palace. 
 Enter Cardinal, and Ferdinand with a letter. 
 
 Ferd. I have this night digged up a mandrake. 
 
 Card. Say you ? 
 
 Ferd. And I am grown mad with't.^ 
 
 Card. What's the prodigy? '^ 
 
 Ferd. Read there, — a sister dammed : she's loose i' the 
 hilts ; 
 Grown a notorious strumpet. 
 
 Card. Speak lower. 
 
 Ferd. Lower ! 
 Rogues do not whisper't now, but seek to publish't 
 (As servants do the bounty of their lords) 
 Aloud ; and with a covetous searching eye, 
 To mark who note them. O, confusion seize her ! 
 She hath had most cunning bawds to serve her turn. 
 And more secure conveyances for lust lo 
 
 Than towns of garrison for service. 
 
 Card. Is't possible ? 
 Can this be certain? 
 
 Ferd. Rhubarb, O, for rhubarb 
 To purge this choler ! here's the cursfed day 
 To prompt my memory ; and here't shall stick 
 Till of her bleeding heart I make a sponge 
 To wipe it out. 
 
 Card. Why do you make yourself 
 So wild a tempest ? 
 
 1 Cf. Romeo and Juliet, iv, 3 : — 
 
 " And shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth. 
 That living mortals hearing them run mad."
 
 SCENE v.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 531 
 
 Ferd. Would I could be one, 
 That I might toss her palace 'bout her ears, 
 Root up her goodly forests, blast her meads. 
 And lay her general territory as waste 
 As she hath done her honours. 
 
 Card. Shall our blood, 20 
 
 rhe royal blood of Arragon and Castile, 
 Be thus attainted? 
 
 Ferd. Apply desperate physic : 
 We must not now use balsamum, but fire, 
 The smarting cupping-glass, for that's the mean 
 To purge infected blood, such blood as hers. 
 There is a kind of pity in mine eye, — 
 I'll give it to my handkercher ; and now 'tis here, 
 I'll bequeath this to her bastard. 
 
 Card. What to do? 
 
 Ferd. Why, to make soft lint for his mother's wounds, 
 When I have hewed her to pieces. 
 
 Card. Curs6d creature ! 30 
 
 Unequal nature, to place women's hearts 
 So far upon the left side ! 
 
 Ferd. Foolish men, 
 That e'er will trust their honour in a bark 
 Made of so slight weak bulrush as is woman. 
 Apt every minute to sink it ! 
 
 Card. Thus 
 Ignorance, when it hath purchased honour, 
 It cannot wield it. 
 
 Ferd. Methinks I see her laughing — 
 Excellent hyena ! Talk to me somewhat quickly, 
 Or my imagination will carry me 
 To see her in the shameful act of sin. 40
 
 532 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act II. 
 
 Card. How idly shows this rage, which carries you, 
 As men conveyed by witches through the air, 
 On violent whirlwinds ! this intemperate noise 
 Fitly resembles deaf men's shrill discourse, 
 Who talk aloud, thinking all other men 
 To have their imperfection. 
 
 Ferd. Have not you 
 My palsy? 
 
 Card. Yes, but I can be angry 
 Without this rupture ' : there is not in nature 
 A thing that makes man so deformed, so beastly. 
 As doth intemperate anger. Chide yourself. 5c 
 
 You have divers men who never yet expressed 
 Their strong desire of rest but by unrest, 
 By vexing of themselves. Come, put yourself 
 In tune. 
 
 Ferd. So I will only study to seem 
 The thing I am not. I could kill her now. 
 In you, or in myself; for I do think 
 It is some sin in us Heaven doth revenge 
 By her. 
 
 Card. Are you stark mad? 
 
 Ferd. I would have their bodies 
 Burnt in a coal-pit with the ventage stopped. 
 That their cursed smoke might not ascend to Heaven ; 60 
 Or dip the sheets they lie in in pitch or sulphur, 
 Wrap them in't, and then light them like a match ! 
 
 Card. I'll leave you. 
 
 Ferd. Nay, I have done. 
 I am confident, had I been damned in hell, 
 And should have heard of this, it would have put me 
 
 ^ Dyce suggests rapture.
 
 SCENE I.J THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 533 
 
 Into a cold sweat. In, in ; I'll go sleep. 
 
 Till I know who wrongs my sister, I'll not stir : 
 
 That known, I'll find scorpions to string my whips, 
 
 And fix her in a general eclipse. \_Exetini. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. — An Apartment in the Palace of the Duchess. 
 Enter Antonio and Delio. 
 
 Ant. Our noble friend, my most beloved Delio ! 
 O, you have been a stranger long at court ; 
 Came you along with the Lord Ferdinand ? 
 
 Delio. I did, sir : and how fares your noble duchess ? 
 
 Ant. Right fortunately well : she's an excellent 
 Feeder of pedigrees ; since you last saw her. 
 She hath had two children more, a son and daughter. 
 
 Delio. Methinks 'twas yesterday : let me but wink, 
 And not behold your face, which to mine eye 
 Is somewhat leaner, verily I should dream u 
 
 It were within this half hour. 
 
 Ant. You have not been in law, friend Delio, 
 Nor in prison, nor a suitor at the court. 
 Nor begged the reversion of some great man's place. 
 Nor troubled with an old wife, which doth make 
 Your time so insensibly hasten. 
 
 Delio. Pray, sir, tell me. 
 Hath not this news arrived yet to the ear 
 Of the lord cardinal ?
 
 534 THE DUCHESS OF MALFl. [act IIL 
 
 Ani. I fear it hath : 
 The Lord Ferdinand, that's newly come to court, 20 
 
 Doth bear himself right dangerously. 
 
 Delio. Pray, why? 
 
 Ant. He is so quiet that he seems to sleep 
 The tempest out, as dormice do in winter : 
 Those houses that are haunted are most still 
 Till the devil be up. 
 
 Delio. What say the common people ? 
 
 Ant. The common rabble do direcdy say 
 She is a strumpet. 
 
 Delio. And your graver heads 
 Which would be politic, what censure they? 
 
 Ant. They do observe I grow to infinite purchase,^ 30 
 
 The left hand way, and all suppose the duchess 
 Would amend it, if she could ; for, say they, 
 Great princes, though they grudge their officers 
 Should have such large and unconfined means 
 To get wealth under them, will not complain, 
 Lest thereby they should make them odious 
 Unto the people ; for other obligation 
 Of love or marriage between her and me 
 They never dream of. 
 
 Delio. The Lord Ferdinand 
 Is going to bed. 
 
 Enter Duchess, Ferdinand, and Attendants. 
 
 Ferd. I'll instantly to bed, 4c 
 
 For I am weary. — I am to bespeak 
 A husband for you. 
 
 Duch. For me, sir ! pray, who is't? 
 
 1 Cant term for stolen goods ; here means riches, property.
 
 SCENE l.J THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 535 
 
 Ferd. The great Count Malatesti. 
 
 Duch. Fie upon him ! 
 A count ! he's a mere stick of sugar-candy ; 
 You may look quite through him. When I choose 
 A husband, I will marry for your honour. 
 
 Ferd. You shall do well in't. — How is't, worthy Antonio ? 
 
 Duch. But, sir, I am to have private conference with you 
 About a scandalous report is spread 
 Touching mine honour. 
 
 Ferd. Let me be ever deaf to't : 50 
 
 One of Pasquil's ^ paper bullets, court-calumny, 
 A pestilent air, which princes' palaces 
 Are seldom purged of. Yet say that it were true, 
 I pour it in your bosom, my fixed love 
 Would strongly excuse, extenuate, nay, deny 
 Faults, were they apparent in you. Go, be safe 
 In your own innocency. 
 
 Duch. {aside). O blessed comfort ! 
 This deadly air is purged. 
 
 \_Exeunt Duchess, Antonio, Delio, and Attendants. 
 
 Ferd. Her guilt treads on 
 Hot-burning coulters. 
 
 Enter Bosola. 
 Now, Bosola, 
 
 1 " A Roman cobbler of the latter half of the fifteenth century, whose 
 shop stood near the Braschi palace, near the Piazza Navona. He was 
 notorious for caustic remarks, and gradually every bitter saying became 
 attributed to him or his workmen. After his death, a mutilated statue was 
 dug out and set up near his shop, upon which the populace declared that 
 Pasquin has come to life again. Then the custom arose of attaching to the 
 torso stinging epigrams or satirical verses {pasquinades) often directed 
 against the Pope and cardinals, and no prohibition nor penalty could put a 
 Stop to the practice." — Wheeler, Noted Names of Fiction.
 
 536 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act IIL 
 
 How thrives our intelligence? 
 
 Bos. Sir, uncertainly : 60 
 
 'Tis rumoured she hath had three bastards, but 
 By whom we may go read i' the stars. 
 
 Ferd. Why, some 
 Hold opinion all things are written there. 
 
 Bos. Yes, if we could find spectacles to read them. 
 I do suspect there hath been some sorcery 
 Used on the duchess. 
 
 Ferd. Sorcery ! to what purpose ? 
 
 Bos. To make her dote on some desertless fellow 
 She shames to acknowledge. 
 
 Ferd. Can your faith give way 
 To think there's power in potions or in charms, 
 To make us love whether we will or no ? 70 
 
 Bos. Most certainly. 
 
 Ferd. Away ! these are mere gulleries,^ horrid things, 
 Invented by some cheating mountebanks 
 To abuse us. Do you think that herbs or charms 
 Can force the will ? Some trials have been made 
 In this foohsh practice, but the ingredients 
 Were lenitive poisons, such as are of force 
 To make the patient mad ; and straight the witch 
 Swears by equivocation they are in love. 
 The witchcraft lies in her rank blood. This night 80 
 
 I will force confession from her. You told me 
 You had got, within these two days, a false key 
 Into her bed-chamber. 
 
 Bos. I have. 
 
 Ferd. As I would wish. 
 
 Bos. What do you intend to do? 
 
 1 Impostures.
 
 SCENE II.J THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 537 
 
 Ferd. Can you guess? 
 
 Bos. No. 
 
 Ferd. Do not ask, then : 
 He that can compass me, and know my drifts, 
 May say he hath put a girdle 'bout the world/ 
 And sounded all her quicksands. 
 
 Bos. I do not 
 Think so. 9c 
 
 Ferd. What do you think, then, pray? 
 
 Bos. That you are 
 Your own chronicle too much, and grossly 
 Flatter yourself. 
 
 Ferd. Give me thy hand ; I thank thee : 
 I never gave pension but to flatterers, 
 Till I entertained thee. Farewell. 
 That friend a great man's ruin strongly checks, 
 Who rails into his belief all his defects. \_Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — The Bed-chamber of the Duchess. 
 
 Enter Duchess, Antonio, and Cariola. 
 
 Duch. {to Cart.). Bring me the casket hither, and the 
 glass. — 
 You get no lodging here to-night, my lord. 
 Ant. Indeed, I must persuade one. 
 
 Duch. I'll stop your mouth. \_Kisses him. 
 
 Ant. Nay, that's but one ; Venus had two soft doves 
 To draw her chariot ; I must have another — 
 
 \_She kisses him again. 
 
 1 C£ Midsummer-Night' s Dream, ii, 2 : — 
 
 " I'll put a girdle round about the earth 
 In forty minutes."
 
 538 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act ill 
 
 When wilt thou marry, Cariola? 
 
 Cari. Never, my lord. 
 
 Ant. O, fie upon this single life ! forego it. 
 We read how Daphne, for her peevish' flight, 
 Became a fruitless bay- tree ; Syrinx- turned ic 
 
 To the pale empty reed; Anaxarete^ 
 Was frozen into marble : whereas those 
 
 Which married, or proved kind unto their friends, "^ 
 
 Were by a gracious influence transhaped 
 Into the olive, pomegranate, mulberry. 
 Became flowers, precious stones, or eminent stars. 
 
 Cari. This is a vain poetry : but I pray you tell me, 
 If there were proposed me, wisdom, riches, and beauty, 
 In three several young men, which should I choose. 
 
 A7it. 'Tis a hard question : this was Paris' case, 20 
 
 And he was blind in't, and there was great cause ; 
 For how was't possible he could judge right. 
 Having three amorous goddesses in view. 
 And they stark naked ? 'twas a motion 
 Were able to benight the apprehension 
 Of the severest counsellor of Europe. 
 Now I look on both your faces so well formed. 
 It puts me in mind of a question I would ask. 
 
 Cari. What is't? 
 
 Atit. I do wonder why hard-favoured ladies, 
 For the most part, keep worse- favoured waiting- women 
 To attend them, and cannot endure fair ones. 31 
 
 1 Foolish. 
 
 2 " An Arcadian nymph, who being pursued by Pan, fled into the river 
 Ladon, and at her own prayer was metamorphosed into a reed, of which 
 Pan then made his flute." — Smith's Classical Diet. 
 
 3 A Cyprian maid, whose lover, Iphis, hung himself in despair at hei 
 door. Venus ttirned her into a statue.
 
 SCENE U.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFl. 539 
 
 Duch. O, that's soon answered. 
 Did you ever in your life know an ill painter 
 Desire to have his dwelling next door to the shop 
 Of an excellent picture-maker? 'twould disgrace 
 His face-making, and undo him. I prithee, 
 When were we so merry ? — My hair tangles. 
 
 Ant {aside to Can.). Pray thee, Cariola, let's steal fortn 
 the room, 
 And let her talk to herself: I have divers times 
 Served her the like, when she hath chafed extremely. 40 
 
 I love to see her angry. Softly, Cariola. 
 
 \Exeunt Antonio and Cariola 
 
 Duch. Doth not the colour of my hair 'gin to change ? 
 When I wax gray, I shall have all the court 
 Powder their hair with orris to be like me. 
 You have cause to love me ; I entered you into my heart 
 Before you would vouchsafe to call for the keys. 
 
 Enter Ferdinand behind. 
 
 We shall one day have my brothers take you napping ; 
 
 Methinks his presence, being now in court, 
 
 Should make you keep your own bed ; but you'll say 
 
 Love mixed with fear is sweetest. 50 
 
 Have you lost your tongue ? 'Tis welcome : 
 
 For know, whether I am doomed to live or die, 
 
 I can do both like a prince. 
 
 Feid. Die, then, quickly ! [ Giving her a poniard 
 
 Virtue, where art thou hid ? what hideous thing 
 Is it that doth ecHpse thee? 
 
 Duch. Pray, sir, hear me. 
 
 Ferd. Or is it true thou art but a bare name. 
 And no essential thing?
 
 540 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [ACT III 
 
 Duch. Sir, — 
 
 Fe7-d. Do not speak. 
 
 Duch. No, sir : 
 I will plant my soul in mine ears, to hear you. 
 
 Ferd. O most imperfect light of human reason, 
 That mak'st us so unhappy to foresee 6c 
 
 What we can least prevent ! Pursue thy wishes. 
 And glory in them : there's in shame no comfort 
 But to be past all bounds and sense of shameo 
 
 Duch. I pray, sir, hear me : I am married. 
 
 Ferd. So ! 
 
 Duch. Happily, not to your liking : but for that, 
 Alas, your shears do come untimely now 
 To clip the bird's wing that's already flown ! 
 Will you see my husband ? 
 
 Ferd. Yes, if I could change 
 Eyes with a basilisk. 
 
 Duch. Sure, you came hither 
 By his confederacy. 
 
 Ferd. The howling of a wolf 
 Is music to thee, screech-owl : prithee, peace. — 70 
 
 Whate'er thou art that hast enjoyed my sister, 
 For I am sure thou hear'st me, for thine own sake 
 Let me not know thee. I came hither prepared 
 To work thy discovery ; yet am now persuaded 
 It would beget such violent effects 
 As would damn us both. I would not for ten millions 
 I had beheld thee : therefore i:se all means 
 I never may have knowledge of thy name ; 
 Enjoy thy lust still, and a wretched life, 
 On that condition. — And for thee, vile woman, 80 
 
 I would have thee build
 
 SCENE ll.J THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 541 
 
 Such a room for him as our anchorites 
 To hoHer use inhabit. Let not the sun 
 Shine on him till he's dead ; let dogs and monkeys 
 Only converse with him, and such dumb things 
 To whom nature denies use to sound his name ; 
 Do not keep a paraquito, lest she learn it ; 
 If thou do love him, cut out thine own tongue. 
 Lest it bewray him. 
 
 Duck. Why might not I marry? 
 I have not gone about in this to create 00 
 
 Any new world or custom. 
 
 Ferd. Thou art undone : 
 And thou hast ta'en that massy sheet of lead 
 That hid thy husband's bones, and folded it 
 About my heart, 
 
 Duch. Mine bleeds for't. 
 
 Ferd. Thine ! thy heart ! 
 What should I name't unless a hollow bullet 
 Filled with unquenchable wild-fire ? 
 
 Duch. You are in this 
 Too strict ; and were you not my princely brother, 
 I would say, too wilful : my reputation 
 Is safe. 
 
 Ferd. Dost thou know what reputation is? 
 I'll tell thee, — to small purpose, since the instruction 100 
 Comes now too late. 
 
 Upon a time Reputation, Love, and Death, 
 Would travel o'er the world ; and it was concluded 
 That they should part, and take three several ways. 
 Death told them, they should find him in great battles. 
 Or cities plagued with plagues : Love gives them counsel 
 To inquire for him 'mongst unambitious shepherds,
 
 542 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act iil 
 
 Where dowries were not talked of, and sometimes 
 
 'Mongst quiet kindred that had nothing left 
 
 By their dead parents : " Stay," quoth Reputation, nc 
 
 '• Do not forsake me ; for it is my nature, 
 
 If once I part from any man I meet, 
 
 I am never found again." And so for you : 
 
 You have shook hands with Reputation, 
 
 And made him invisible. So, fare you well r s 
 
 I will never see you more. 
 
 Duch. Why should only I, 
 Uf all the other princes of the world, 
 Be cased up, like a holy relic ? I have youth 
 And a little beauty. 
 
 Ferd. So you have some virgins 
 That are witches. I will never see thee more. \_^Exit. 120 
 
 Re-enter Antonio with a pistol, and Cariola. 
 
 Duch. You saw this apparition ? 
 
 A7it. Yes : we are 
 Betrayed. How came he hither ? I should turn 
 This to thee, for that. 
 
 Cari. Pray, sir, do ; and when 
 That you have cleft my heart, you shall read there 
 Mine innocence. 
 
 Duch. That gallery gave him entrance. 
 
 Ant. I would this terrible thing would come again, 
 That, standing on my guard, I might relate 
 My warrantable love. — \^She shows the poniard. 
 
 Ha ! what means this ? 
 
 Duch. He left this with me. 
 
 Ant. And it seems did wish 130 
 
 You would use it on yourself.
 
 SCENE ii.l THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 543 
 
 Duch. His action 
 Seemed to intend so much. 
 
 Ant. This hath a handle to't, 
 As well as a point : turn it towards him, 
 And so fasten the keen edge in his rank gall. 
 
 \_Knocking within. 
 How now ! who knocks ? more earthquakes ? 
 
 Duch. I stand 
 As if a mine beneath my feet were ready 
 To be blown up. 
 
 Cari. 'Tis Bosola. 
 
 Duch. Away ! 
 O misery ! methinks unjust actions 
 
 Should wear these masks and curtains, and not we. 139 
 
 You must instantly part hence : I have fashioned it already. 
 
 \Exit Antonio 
 
 Enter Bosola. 
 
 Bos. The duke your brother is ta'en up in a whirlwind, 
 Hath took horse, and's rid post to Rome. 
 
 Duch. So late? 
 
 Bos. He told me, as he mounted into the saddle, 
 Vou were undone. 
 
 Duch. Indeed, I am very near it. 
 
 Bos. What's the matter? 
 
 Duch. Antonio, the master of our household, 
 Hath dealt so falsely with me in's accounts : 
 My brother stood engaged with me for money 
 Ta'en up of certain NeapoUtan Jews, 
 And Antonio lets the bonds be forfeit. 150 
 
 Bos. Strange! — {Aside) This is cunning. 
 
 Duch. And hereupon
 
 544 THE DUCHESS OF iMALFI. [act hi. 
 
 My brother's bills at Naples are protested 
 
 Against. — Call up our ofificers. 
 
 Bos. I shall. \_Exlt. 
 
 Re-enter Antonio. 
 
 Duch. The place that you must fly to is Ancona : 
 Hire a house there ; I'll send after you 
 My treasure and my jewels. Our weak safety 
 Runs upon enginous^ wheels : short syllables '^ 
 
 Must stand for periods. I must now accuse you 
 Of such a feigned crime as Tasso calls 
 
 Magnanima menzogna,- a noble lie, i6c 
 
 'Cause it must shield our honours. — Hark ! they are coming. 
 
 Re-enter Bosola a7id Officers. 
 
 Ant. Will your grace hear me ? 
 
 Duch. I have got well by you ; you have yielded me 
 A miUion of loss : I am like to inherit 
 The people's curses for your stewardship. 
 You had the trick in audit-time to be sick, 
 Till I had signed your quietus ; and that cured you 
 Without help of a doctor. — Gentlemen, 
 I would have this man be an example to you all ; 
 So shall you hold my favour ; I pray, let him ; 17 
 
 For h'as done that, alas, you would not think of, 
 And, because I intend to be rid of him, 
 I mean not to publish. — Use your fortune elsewhere. 
 
 Ant. I am strongly armed to brook my overthrow, 
 As commonly men bear with a hard year : 
 I will not blame the cause on't ; but do think 
 
 1 The Quarto of 1640 has ingenious. 
 
 - See Tasso, Gerusalemme Liberata, ii, 22. Horace uses the expression 
 spiendide mendax.
 
 SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 545 
 
 The necessity of my malevolent star 
 
 Procures this, not her humour. O, the inconstant 
 
 And rotten ground of service ! you may see, 
 
 'Tis even like him, that in a winter night, iSo 
 
 Takes a long slumber o'er a dying fire, 
 
 A-loth to part from't ; yet parts thence as cold 
 
 As when he first sat down. 
 
 Duch. We do confiscate. 
 Towards the satisfying of your accounts, 
 All that you have. 
 
 Ant. I am all yours ; and 'tis very fit 
 All mine should be so. 
 
 Duch. So, sir, you have your pass. 
 
 Ant. You may see, gentlemen, what 'tis to serve 
 A prince with body and soul. \_Exit. 
 
 Bos. Here's an example for extortion : what moisture is 
 drawn out of the sea, when foul weather comes, pours down, 
 and runs into the sea again. 191 
 
 Duch. I would know what are your opinions 
 Of this Antonio. 
 
 2d Off. He could not abide to see a pig's head gaping : 
 I thought your grace would find him a Jew.' 
 
 jd Off. I would you had been his officer, for your own sake. 
 
 4th Off. You would have had more money. 
 
 jst Off. He stopped his ears with black wool, and to those 
 came to him for money said he was thick of hearing. 
 
 4th Off. How scurvy proud he would look when the treas- 
 ury was full ! Well, let him go. 201 
 
 1st Off. Yes, and the chippings of the buttery fly after him, 
 to scour his gold chain." 
 
 1 Cf. Merchant of Venice, iv, i. 
 
 ■^ btewards wore a gold chain as a symbol of their office.
 
 546 THE DUCHESS OF MALFl. [act lU 
 
 Duch. Leave us. {^Exeunt Officers. 
 
 What do you think of these ? 
 
 Bos. That these are rogues that in's prosperity, 
 But to have waited on his fortune, could have wislied 
 His dirty stirrup riveted through their noses, 
 And followed after's mule, like a bear in a ring ; 
 Made their first-born intelligencers' ; thought none happy 
 But such as were born under his blest planet, 210 
 
 And wore his livery : and do these lice drop off now ? 
 Well, never look to have the like again : 
 He hath left a sort of flattering rogues behind him ; 
 Their doom must follow. Princes pay flatterers 
 In their own money : flatterers dissemble their vices, 
 And they dissemble their lies ; that's justice. 
 Alas, poor gentleman ! 
 
 Duch. Poor ! he hath amply filled his coffers. 
 
 Bos. Sure, he was too honest. Pluto," the god of riches, 
 When he's sent by Jupiter to any man, 220 
 
 He goes limping, to signify that wealth 
 That comes on God's name comes slowly ; but when he's sent 
 On the devil's errand, he rides post and comes in by scuttles. 
 Let me show you what a most unvalued jewel 
 You have in a wanton humour thrown away, 
 To bless the man shall find him. He was an excellent 
 Courtier and most faithful ; a soldier that thought it 
 As beastly to know his own value too little 
 As devilish to acknowledge it too much. 
 Both his virtue and form deserved a far better fortune : 23c 
 His discourse rather delighted to judge itself than show 
 itself: 
 
 1 Tale-bearers. 
 
 2 Plutus. Ct. this passage with Bacon's Essay Of Riches.
 
 SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 547 
 
 His breast was filled with all perfection, 
 And yet it seemed a private whispering-room, 
 It made so Httle noise oft. 
 
 Diich. But he was basely descended. 
 
 Bos. Will you make yourself a mercenary herald, 
 Rather to examine men's pedigrees than virtues? 
 You shall want him : 
 
 For know an honest statesman to a prince 
 Is like a cedar planted by a spring ; 24c 
 
 The spring bathes the tree's root, the grateful tree 
 Rewards it with his shadow : you have not done so. 
 I would sooner swim to the Bermoothes ' on 
 Two politicians' rotten bladders, tied 
 Together with an intelligencer's heart-string, 
 Than depend on so changeable a prince's favour. 
 Fare thee well, Antonio ! since the malice of the world 
 Would needs down with thee, it cannot be said yet 
 That any ill happened unto thee, considering thy fall 
 Was accompanied with virtue.^ 250 
 
 Duch. O, you render me excellent music ! 
 
 Bos. Say you ? 
 
 Duch. This good one that you speak of is my husband. 
 
 Bos. Do I not dream ! can this ambitious age 
 Have so much goodness in't as to prefer 
 A man merely for worth, without these shadows 
 Of wealth and painted honours ? possible ? 
 
 Duch. I have had three children by him. 
 
 1 The Bermudas ; so Shakespeare in The Tempest, 1,2: — 
 
 " The still vex'd Bermoothes." 
 
 2 " This and the two preceding speeches of Bosola consist partly of lines 
 which it would be difficult to read as prose, and partly of sentences which 
 will not admit of any satisfactory metrical arrangement." — Dyce.
 
 548 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act HI. 
 
 Bos. Fortunate lady ! 
 For you have made your private nuptial bed 
 The humble and fair seminary of peace. a6o 
 
 No question but many an unbeneficed scholar 
 Shall pray for you for this deed, and rejoice 
 That some preferment in the world can yet 
 Arise from merit. The virgins of your land 
 That have no dowries shall hope your example \ 
 
 Will raise them to rich husbands. Should you want 
 Soldiers, 'twould make the very Turks and Moors 
 Turn Christians, and serve you for this act. 
 Last, the neglected poets of your time, 
 
 In honour of this trophy of a man, 27c 
 
 Raised by that curious engine, your white hand, 
 Shall thank you, in your grave, for't ; and make that 
 More reverend than all the cabinets 
 Of living princes. For Antonio, 
 His fame shall likewise flow from many a pen, 
 When heralds shall want coats ^ to sell to men. 
 
 Duch. As I taste comfort in this friendly speech. 
 So would I find concealment. 
 
 Bos. O, the secret of my prince. 
 Which I will wear on the inside of my heart ! 28a 
 
 Duch. You shall take charge of all my coin and jewels, 
 And follow him ; for he retires himself 
 To Ancona. 
 
 Bos. So. 
 
 Duch. Whither, within few days, 
 I mean to follow thee. 
 
 Bos. Let me think : 
 I would wish your grace to feign a pilgrimage 
 
 1 Coats-of-arms.
 
 SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 540 
 
 To our Lady of Loretto, scarce seven leagues 
 From fair Ancona ; so may you depart 
 Your country with more honour, and your flight 
 Will seem a princely progress, retaining 
 Your usual train about you. 
 
 Duch. Sir, your direction 290 
 
 Shall lead me by the hand. 
 
 Ca7'i. In my opinion, 
 She were better progress to the baths at Lucca, 
 Or go visit the Spa 
 
 In Germany ; for, if you will believe me, 
 I do not like this jesting with religion, 
 This feigned pilgrimage. 
 
 Duch. Thou art a superstitious fool : 
 Prepare us instantly for our departure. 
 Past sorrows, let us moderately lament them •, 
 For those to come, seek wisely to prevent them. 300 
 
 \JExeunt Duchess and Cariola. 
 
 Bos. A pohtician is the devil's quilted anvil ; 
 He fashions all sins on him, and the blows 
 Are never heard : he may work in a lady's chamber. 
 As here for proof. What rests but I reveal 
 All to my lord ? O, this base quality 
 Of intelligencer ! why, every quality i' the world 
 Prefers but gain or commendation : 
 Now for this act I am certain to be raised. 
 And men that paint weeds to the life are praised. \Exit
 
 55° THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act III. 
 
 Scene III.^ — An Apartment in the Cardinal's Palace at 
 
 Rome. 
 
 Enter Cardinal, Ferdinand, MAL.iVTESTi, Pescara, Delio, 
 
 and Silvio. 
 
 Card. Must we turn soldier, then ? 
 
 Mai. The emperor, 
 Hearing your worth that way, ere you attained 
 This reverend garment, joins you in commission 
 With the right fortunate soldier the Marquis of Pescara, 
 And the famous Lannoy. 
 
 Card. He that had the honour 
 Of taking the French king prisoner?* 
 
 Mai. The same. 
 Here's a plot drawn for a new fortification 
 At Naples. 
 
 Ferd. This great count Malatesti, I perceive, 
 Hath got employment ? 
 
 Delio. No employment, my lord ; 
 A marginal note in the muster-book, that he is lo 
 
 A voluntary lord. 
 
 Ferd. He's no soldier. 
 
 Delio. He has worn gunpowder in's hollow tooth for the 
 toothache. 
 
 Sil. He comes to the leaguer ■'' with a full intent 
 To eat fresh beef and garlic, means to stay 
 Till the scent be gone, and straight return to court. 
 
 i " Another scene that hovers between prose and verse." — Dyce. 
 
 - In 1525, Francis I was defeated at Pavia, by the generals of Charles 
 V, — Pescara, Bourbon, and Lannoy, viceroy of Naples, — and surrenderee' 
 '.o the last-mentioned. 
 
 8 Camp.
 
 SCENE 111.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 55] 
 
 Delia. He hath read all the late service 
 As the city chronicle relates it ; 
 And keeps two pewterers going, only to express 
 Battles in model. 
 
 Sil. Then he'll fight by the book. 
 
 Delia. By the almanac, I think, ao 
 
 To choose good days and shun the critical ; 
 That's his mistress' scarf. 
 
 Sil. Yes, he protests 
 He would do inuch for that taffeta. 
 
 Delia. I think he would run away from a battle, 
 To save it from taking prisoner. 
 
 Sil. He is horribly afraid 
 Gunpowder will spoil the perfume on't. 
 
 Delia. I saw a Dutchman break his pate once 
 For calling him pot-gun ; he made his head jo 
 
 Have a bore in't like a musket. 
 
 Sil. I would he had made a touchhole to't. 
 He is indeed a guarded ^ sumpter-cloth, 
 Only for the remove of the court. 
 
 Enler Bosola. 
 
 Pes. Bosola arrived ! what should be the business? 
 
 Some falling out amongst the cardinals. 
 
 These factions amongst great men, they are like 
 
 Foxes, when their heads are divided, 
 
 They carry fire in their tails, and all the country 
 
 About them goes to wreck for't. 
 
 Sil What's that Bosola ? ^c 
 
 Delia. I knew him in Padua — a fantastical scholar, like 
 
 such who study to know how many knots was in Hercules' 
 
 1 With facings, trimmings.
 
 552 THE DUCHESS OF MALFl. [act hi, 
 
 club, of what colour Achilles' beard was, or whether Hector 
 were not troubled with the toothache. He hath studied him- 
 self half blear-eyed to know the true symmetry of Caesars 
 nose by a shoeing-horn ; and this he did to gain the name 
 of a speculative man. 
 
 Pes. Mark Prince Ferdinand : 
 A very salamander lives m's eye. 
 To mock the eager violence- of fire. 50 \ 
 
 Sil. That cardinal hath made more bad faces with his 
 oppression than ever Michael Angelo made good ones : he 
 lifts up's nose, like a foul porpoise before a storm. 
 
 Pes. The Lord Ferdinand laughs. 
 
 Delio. Like a deadly cannon 
 That lightens ere it smokes. 
 
 Pes. These are your true pangs of death. 
 The pangs of life that struggle with great statesmen. 
 
 Delio. In such a deformed silence witches whisper their 
 charms. 
 
 Card. Doth she make religion her riding-hood 60 
 
 To keep her from the sun and tempest? 
 
 Ferd. That, 
 That damns her. Methinks her fault and beauty. 
 Blended together, show like leprosy, 
 The whiter, the fouler. I make it a question 
 Whether her beggarly brats were ever christened. 
 
 Card. I will instantly solicit the state of Ancona 
 To have them banished. 
 
 Ferd. You are for Loretto : 
 I shall not be at your ceremony ; fare you well. — 
 Write to the Duke of Malfi, my young nephew 
 She had by her first husband, and acquaint him 7c 
 
 With's mother's honesty.
 
 SCENE IV.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 553 
 
 Bos. I will. 
 
 Ferd. Antonio ! 
 A slave that only smelled of ink and counters, 
 And never in's life looked like a gentleman, 
 But in the audit-time. — Go, go presently, 
 Draw me out an hundred and fifty of our horse, 
 And meet me at the fort-bridge. \_Exeunt 
 
 Scene IV. — The Shrine of our Lady of Loretto. 
 Enter T-wo Pilgrims. 
 
 1st Pil. I have not seen a goodlier shrine than this ; 
 Yet I have visited many. 
 
 2d Pil. The Cardinal of Arragon 
 Is this day to resign his cardinal's hat : 
 His sister duchess likewise is arrived 
 To pay her vow of pilgrimage. I expect 
 A noble ceremony. 
 
 1st Pil. No question. — They come. 
 
 Here the ceremony of the Cardinal's instalment, in the 
 habit of a soldier, is performed by his delivering up his 
 cross, hat, robes, and ring, at the shrine, and the invest- 
 ing of him with sword, helmet, shield, and spurs ; then 
 Antonio, the Duchess, and their children, having pre- 
 sented themselves at the shrine, are, by a form of banish- 
 ment in dumb-show expressed towards them by the 
 Cardinal and the state of Ancona, banished : during alt 
 which ceremony, this ditty is su7ig, to very solemn music, 
 by divers churchmen. 
 
 Arms and honours deck thy story. 
 To thy fame's eternal glory !
 
 554 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [ACT III. 
 
 Adverse fortune ever fly thee ; lo 
 
 No disastrous fate come nigh thee ! 
 I alone will sing thy praises, 
 Whom to honour virtue raises ; 
 And thy study, that divine is, 
 Bent to martial discipline is. 
 Lay aside all those robes lie by thee ; 
 Crown thy arts with arms, they'll beautify thee. 
 O worthy of worthiest name, adorned in this manner, 
 Lead bravely thy forces on under war's warlike banner ! 
 O, mayst thou prove fortunate in all martial courses ! 20 
 
 Guide thou still by skill in arts and forces ! 
 Victory attend thee nigh, whilst fame sings loud thy powers ; 
 Triumphant conquest crown thy head, and blessings pour 
 down showers ! ' 
 
 \_Exeunt all except tlie Two Pilgrims. 
 
 I St Pil. Here's a strange turn of state ! who would have 
 thought 
 So great a lady would have matched herself 
 Unto so mean a person? yet the cardinal 
 Bears himself much too cruel. 
 
 2d Pil. They are banished. 
 
 ist Pil. But I would ask what power hath this state 
 Of Ancona to determine of a free prince ? 
 
 2(1 Pil. They are a free state, sir, and her brother showed 
 How that the Pope, forehearing of her looseness, 31 
 
 Hath seized into the protection of the church 
 The dukedom which she held as dowager. 
 
 I St Pil. But by what justice? 
 
 2d Pil. Sure, I think by none, 
 
 1 The Quarto of 1623 has the following marginal note : " The Authoi 
 disclaimes this Dittv to be his."
 
 SCENE v.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 555 
 
 Only her brother's instigation. 
 
 1st Pil. What was it with such violence he took 
 Off from her finger ? 
 
 2d Pil. 'Twas her wedding-ring ; 
 Which he vowed shortly he would sacrifice 
 To his revenge. 
 
 1st Pil. Alas, Antonio ! 
 If that a man be thrust into a well, 40 
 
 No matter who sets hand to't, his own weight 
 Will bring him sooner to the bottom. Come, let's hence. 
 Fortune makes this conclusion general, 
 All things do help the unhappy man to fall. {^Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V. — Near Loretto. 
 Enter Duchess, Antonio, Children, Cariola, and Servants, 
 
 Duch. Banished Ancona ! 
 
 Ant. Yes, you see what power 
 Lightens in great men's breath. 
 
 Duch. Is all our train 
 Shrunk to this poor remainder? 
 
 Ant. These poor men. 
 Which have got little in your service, vow 
 To take your fortune : but your wiser buntings,^ 
 Now they are fledged, are gone. 
 
 Duch. They have done wisely. 
 This puts me in mind of death : physicians thus,' 
 With their hands full of money, use to give o'er 
 Their patients. 
 
 Ant. Right the fashion of the world : 
 From decayed fortunes every flatterer shrinks ; ic 
 
 1 Birds of the sparrow family. 2 Cf. Timon of Athens, iii, 3.
 
 556 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [ACT III, 
 
 Men cease to build where the foundation sinks. 
 
 Duch. I had a very strange dream to-night. 
 
 Ant. What was't? 
 
 Duch. Methought I wore my coronet of state, 
 And on a sudden all the diamonds 
 Were changed to pearls. 
 
 Ant. My interpretation 
 Is, you'll weep shortly; for to me the pearls ^ 
 
 Do signify your tears. 
 
 Duch. The birds that live i' the field 
 On the wild benefit of nature live 
 
 Happier than we ; for they may choose their mates, 20 
 
 And carol their sweet pleasures to the spring. 
 
 Enter Bosola with a letter. 
 
 Bos. You are happily o'erta'en. 
 
 Duch. From my brother? 
 
 Bos. Yes, from the Lord Ferdinand your brother 
 All love and safety. 
 
 Duch. Thou dost blanch mischief, 
 Wouldst make it white. See, see, like to calm weather 
 At sea before a tempest, false hearts speak fair 
 To those they intend most mischief. \_Reads. 
 
 " Send Antonio to me ; I want his head in a business." 
 A politic equivocation ! 
 
 He doth not want your counsel, but your head ; 30 
 
 That is, he cannot sleep till you be dead. 
 And here's another pitfall that's strewed o'er 
 With roses ; mark it, 'tis a cunning one : \_Reads. 
 
 " I stand engaged for your husband for several debts at 
 Naples : let not that trouble him ; I had rather have his 
 heart than his money : " —
 
 SCENE v.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 557 
 
 And I believe so too. 
 
 Bos. What do you believe? 
 
 Diich. That he so much distrusts my husband's love 
 He will by no means believe his heart is with him 40 
 
 Until he sees it : the devil is not cunning enough 
 To circumvent us in riddles. 
 
 Bos. Will you reject that noble and free league 
 Of amity and love which I present you ? 
 
 Duch. Their league is like that of some politic kings, 
 Only to make themselves of strength and power 
 To be our after-ruin : tell them so. 
 
 Bos. And what from you? 
 
 A7it. Thus tell him ; I will not come. 
 
 Bos. And what of this ? 
 
 Ant. My brothers have dispersed 
 Blood-hounds abroad ; which till I hear are muzzled, 50 
 
 No truce, though hatched with ne'er such politic skill, 
 Is safe, that hangs upon our enemies' will. 
 I'll not come at them. 
 
 Bos. This proclaims your breeding : 
 Every small thing draws a base mind to fear, 
 As the adamant draws iron. Fare you well, sir : 
 You shall shortly hear from's. \_Exit. 
 
 Duch. I suspect some ambush : 
 Therefore by all my love I do conjure you 
 To take your eldest son, and fly towards Milan. 
 Let us not venture all this poor remainder 
 In one unlucky bottom. 
 
 Ant. You counsel safely. 60 
 
 Best of my life, farewell, since we must part : 
 Heaven hath a hand in't ; but no otherwise 
 Than as some curious artist takes in sunder
 
 558 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [ACT Hi. 
 
 A clock or watch, when it is out of frame, 
 To bring't in better order. 
 
 Diich. I know not which is best. 
 To see you dead, or part with you. — Farewell, boy : 
 Thou art happy that thou hast not understanding 
 To know thy misery ; for all our wit 
 
 And reading brings us to a truer sense 70 
 
 Of sorrow. — In the eternal church, sir, 
 I do hope we shall not part thus. 
 
 Ant. O, be of comfort ! 
 Make patience a noble fortitude, 
 And think not how unkindly we are used : 
 Man, like to cassia, is proved best being bruised. 
 
 Duch. Must I, like a slave-born Russian, 
 Account it praise to suffer tyranny? 
 And yet, O Heaven, thy heavy hand is in't ! 
 I have seen my little boy oft scourge his top. 
 And compared myself to't : naught made me e'er 80 
 
 Go right but Heaven's scourge-stick. 
 
 Ant. Do not weep : 
 Heaven fashioned us of nothing, and we strive 
 To bring ourselves to nothing. — Farewell, Cariola, 
 And thy sweet armful. — If I do never see thee more, 
 Be a good mother to your Uttle ones, 
 A.nd save them from the tiger : fare you well. 
 
 Duch. Let me look upon you once more, for that speech 
 Came from a dying father : your kiss is colder 
 Than that I have seen an holy anchorite 
 Give to a dead man's skull. 90 
 
 Ant. My heart is turned to a heavy lump of lead, 
 With which I sound my danger : fare you well. 
 
 S^Exeunt Antonio and his Son
 
 SCENE V.J THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 559 
 
 Duch. My laurel is all withered. 
 
 Cari. Look, madam, what a troop of armed men 
 Make towards us. 
 
 Duch. O, they are very welcome : 
 When fortune's wheel is over-charged with princes, ^ 
 The weight makes it move swift : I would have my ruin 
 Be sudden. 
 
 Re-en fer Bosola visarded, with a Guard. 
 
 I am your adventure, am I not? 
 
 Bos. You are : you must see your husband no more. 
 
 Duch What devil art thou that counterfeit'st Heaven's 
 thunder? 
 
 Bos. Is that terrible? I would have you tell me whether 
 Is that note worse that frights the silly birds loi 
 
 Out of the corn, or that which doth allure them 
 To the nets? you have hearkened to the last too much. 
 
 Duch. O misery ! like to a rusty o'er-charged cannon. 
 Shall I never fly in pieces ? — Come, to what prison ? 
 
 Bos. To none. 
 
 Duch. Whither, then? 
 
 Bos. To your palace. 
 
 Duch. I have heard 
 That Charon's boat serves to convey all o'er 
 The dismal lake, but brings none back again. 
 
 Bos. Your brothers mean you safety and pity. 
 
 Duch. Pity ! "o 
 
 With such a pity men preser\'e alive 
 Pheasants and quails, when they are not fat enough 
 To be eaten. 
 
 Bos. These are your children? 
 
 Duch. Yes.
 
 560 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [ACT in. 
 
 Bos. Can they prattle ? 
 
 Duck. No ; 
 But I intend, since they were bom accursed, 
 Curses shall be their first language. 
 
 Bo^ Fie, madam ! 
 Forget this base, low fellow, — 
 
 Dtich. Were I a man, 
 I'd beat that counterfeit face into thy other. 
 
 Bos. One of no birth. 
 
 Duch. Say that he was born mean, 120 
 
 Man is most happy when's own actions 
 Be arguments and examples of his virtue. 
 
 Bos.. A barren, beggarly virtue. 
 
 Duch. I prithee, who is greatest? can you tell? 
 Sad tales befit my woe : FU tell you one, 
 A salmon, as she swam unto the sea, 
 Met with a dog-fish, who encounters her 
 With this rough language : " Why art thou so bold 
 To mix thyself with our high state of floods,^ 
 Being no eminent courtier, but one 130 
 
 That for the calmest and fresh time o' the year 
 Dost live in shallow rivers, rank'st thyself 
 With silly smelts and shrimps? and darest thou 
 Pass by our dog-ship without reverence?" 
 " O ! " quoth the salmon, " sister, be at peace : 
 Thank Jupiter we both have passed the net ! 
 Our value never can be truly known, 
 Till in the fisher's basket we be shown : 
 I' the market then my price may be the higher. 
 Even when I am nearest to the cook and fire." 140 
 
 So to great men the moral may be stretched ; 
 
 ICf. II Henry IV, v, 2. 
 
 \
 
 scKNK 1.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 561 
 
 Men oft are valued high, .when they're most wretched. — 
 But come, whither you please. I am armed 'gainst misery ; 
 Bent to all sways of the oppressor's will : 
 There's no deep valley but near some great hill. \_Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. — An Apartment in the Duchess' Palace at Malfi. 
 Enter Ferdinand and Bosola. 
 
 Ferd. How doth our sister duchess bear herself 
 In her imprisonment? 
 
 Bos Nobly : I'll describe her. 
 She's sad as one long used to't, and she seems 
 Rather to welcome the end of misery 
 Than shun it ; a behaviour so noble 
 As gives a majesty to adversity : 
 You may discern the shape of loveliness 
 More perfect in her tears than in her smiles : 
 She will muse four hours together ; and her silence, 
 Methinks, expresseth more than if she spake. 10 
 
 Ferd. Her melancholy seems to be fortified 
 With a strange disdain. 
 
 Bos. 'Tis so ; and this restraint, 
 Like English mastiffs that grow fierce with tying, 
 Makes her too passionately apprehend 
 Those pleasures she's kept from. 
 
 Ferd. Curse upon her ! 
 I will no longer study in the book 
 Of another's heart. Inform her what I told you. {Exit.
 
 5^2 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act iv. 
 
 Enter Duchess.* 
 
 Bos. All comfort to your grace ! 
 
 Duch. I will have none. 
 Pray thee, why dost thou wrap thy poisoned pills 
 In gold and sugar? 2^ 
 
 Bos. Your elder brother, the Lord Ferdinand, 
 Is come to visit you, and sends you word, 
 'Cause once he rashly made a solemn vow 
 Never to see you more, he comes i' the night ; 
 And prays you gently neither torch nor taper 
 Shine in your chamber : he will kiss your hand. 
 And reconcile himself; but for his vow 
 He dares not see you. 
 
 Duch. At his pleasure. — 
 Take hence the lights. — He's come. 
 
 Enter Ferdinand. 
 
 Fe}-d. Where are you? 30 
 
 Duch. Here, sir. 
 
 Ferd. This darkness suits you well. 
 
 Duch. I would ask your pardon. 
 
 Ferd. You have it ; 
 For I account it the honourabl'st revenge. 
 Where I may kill, to pardon. — Where are your cubs? 
 
 Duch. Whom? 
 
 Ferd. Call them your children ; 
 For though our national law distinguish bastards 
 From true legitimate issue, compassionate nature 
 Makes them all equal. 
 
 1 Dyce suggests that here the audience had to imagine a change ot 
 scene to the lodging of the Duchess.
 
 SCENE l.l THE DUCHESS Of MALFI. 563 
 
 Duch. Do you visit me for this? 
 You violate a sacrament o' the church 
 Shall make you howl in hell for't, 
 
 Ferd. It had been well, 40 
 
 Could you have lived thus always ; for, indeed, 
 You were too much i' the light : — but no more ; 
 I come to seal my peace with you. Here's a hand 
 
 \_Gives her a dead man's hand. 
 To which you have vowed much love ; the ring upon't 
 You gave. 
 
 Duch. I affectionately kiss it. 
 
 Ferd. Pray, do, and bury the print of it in your heart. 
 I will leave this ring with you for a love-token ; 
 And the hand as sure as the ring ; and do not doubt 
 But you shall have the heart too : when you need a friend. 
 Send it to him that owned it ; you shall see 50 
 
 Whether he can aid you. 
 
 Duck. You are very cold : 
 I fear you are not well after your travel. — 
 Ha ! lights ! O, horrible ! 
 
 Ferd. Let her have lights enough. \^Extt. 
 
 Duch. What witchcraft does he practise, that he hath left 
 A dead man's hand here ? 
 
 \^Here is discovered, behind a traverse} the artificial 
 figures of Antonio and his Children, appearing 
 as if they were dead. 
 
 Bos. Look you, here's the piece from which 'twas ta'en. 
 He doth present you this sad spectacle. 
 That, now you know directly they are dead, 
 Hereafter you may wisely cease to grieve 6c 
 
 por that which cannot be recovered. 
 
 1 Curtain.
 
 564 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [ACT iv. 
 
 Diich. There is not between Heaven and earth one wish 
 I stay for after this : it wastes me more 
 Than were't my picture, fashioned out of wax, 
 Stuck with a magical needle, and then buried 
 In some foul dunghill ; and yond's an excellent property 
 For a tyrant, which I would account mercy. 
 
 Bos. What's that? 
 
 Duch. If they would bind me to that lifeless trunk, 
 And let me freeze to death. 
 
 Bos. Come, you must live. 
 
 Duch. That's the greatest torture souls feel in hell, 70 
 
 In hell, that they must live, and cannot die.^ 
 Portia, I'll new kindle thy coals again. 
 And revive the rare and almost dead example 
 Of a loving wife. 
 
 Bos. O, fie ! despair? remember 
 You are a Christian. 
 
 Duch. The church enjoins fasting: 
 I'll starve myself to death. 
 
 Bos. Leave this vain sorrow. 
 Things being at the worst begin to mend : the bee 
 When he hath shot his sting into your hand, 
 May then play with your eyelid. 8c 
 
 Duch. Good comfortable fellow. 
 Persuade a wretch that's broke upon the wheel 
 To have all his bones new set ; entreat him live 
 To be executed again. Who must despatch me? 
 I account this world a tedious theatre, 
 For I do play a part in't 'gainst my will. 
 
 Bos. Come, be of comfort ; I will save your life. 
 
 Duch. Indeed, I have not leisure to tend 
 
 1 Cf. Dante, Inferno, iii, 46.
 
 SCENE I.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 565 
 
 So small abusiness. 
 
 Bos. Now, by my life, I pity you. 
 
 Duch. Thou art a fool, then, go 
 
 To waste thy pity on a thing so wretched 
 As cannot pity itself. I am full of daggers. 
 Puff, let me blow these vipers from me. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 What are you? 
 
 Serv. One that wishes you long life. 
 
 Duch. I would thou wert hanged for the horrible curse 
 Thou hast given me : I shall shortly grow one 
 Of the miracles of pity. I'll go pray ; — 
 No, I'll go curse. 
 
 Bos. O, fie ! 
 
 Duch. I could curse the stars. 
 
 Bos. O, fearful. 
 
 Duch. And those three smiling seasons of the year 100 
 Into a Russian winter : nay, the world . 
 To its first chaos. 
 
 Bos. Look you, the stars shine still. 
 
 Duch. O, but you must 
 Remember, my curse hath a great way to go. — 
 Plagues, that make lanes through largest families. 
 Consume them ! — 
 
 Bos. Fie, lady ! 
 
 Duch. Let them, like tyrants, . 
 Never be remembered but for the ill they have done ; 
 Let all the zealous prayers of mortified 
 Churchmen forget them ! — 
 
 Bos. O, uncharitable ! "o 
 
 Duch. Let Heaven a little while cease crowning martyrs,
 
 566 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [ACT IV. 
 
 To punish them ! — 
 
 Go, howl them this, and say, I long to bleed : 
 
 It is some mercy when men kill with speed. \^Exit 
 
 Re-enter Ferdinand. 
 
 Ferd. Excellent, as I would wish ; she's plagued in art : 
 These presentations are but framed in wax 
 By the curious master in that quality, 
 Vincentio Lauriola, and she takes them 
 For true substantial bodies. 
 
 Bos. Why do you do this? 120 
 
 Ferd. To bring her to despair. 
 
 Bos. Faith, end here, 
 And go no farther in your cruelty : 
 Send her a penitential garment to put on 
 Next to her delicate skin, and furnish her 
 With beads and prayer-books. 
 
 Ferd. Damn her ! that body of hers, 
 While that my blood ran pure in't, was more worth 
 Than that which thou wouldst comfort, called a soul. 
 I will send her masks of common courtezans. 
 Have her meat served up by bawds and ruffians, 130 
 
 And, 'cause she'll needs be mad, I am resolved 
 To remove forth the common hospital 
 All the mad-folk, and place them near her lodging ; 
 There let them practise together, sing and dance. 
 And act their gambols to the full o' the moon : 
 If she can sleep the better for it, let her. 
 Your work is almost ended. 
 
 Bos. Must I see her again? 
 
 Ferd. Yes. 
 
 Bos. Never.
 
 SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFl. 567 
 
 Ferd. You must. 
 
 Bos, Never in mine own shape ', 
 That's forfeited by my intelhgence 140 
 
 And this last cruel lie : when you send me next, 
 The business shall be comfort. 
 
 Ferd. Very likely ; 
 Thy pity is nothing of kin to thee. Antonio 
 Lurks about Milan : thou shalt shortly thither, 
 To feed a fire as great as my revenge, 
 Which never will slack till it have spent his fuel : 
 Intemperate agues make physicians cruel. \_Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — Another Room in the Duchess' Lodging. 
 Enter Duchess and Cariola. 
 
 Duch. What hideous noise was that? 
 
 Cari. 'Tis the wild consort' 
 Of madmen, lady, which your tyrant brother 
 Hath placed about your lodging : this tyranny, 
 T think, was never practised till this hour. 
 
 Duch. Indeed, I thank him : nothing but noise and folly 
 Can keep me in my right wits ; whereas reason 
 And silence make me stark mad. Sit down ; 
 Discourse to me some dismal tragedy. 
 
 Cari. O, 'twill increase your melancholy. 
 
 Duch. Thou art deceived : ic 
 
 To hear of greater grief would lessen mine. 
 This is a prison ? 
 
 Cari. Yes, but you shall live 
 To shake this durance off. 
 
 Duch. Thou art a fool : 
 
 1 Company.
 
 568 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act IV. 
 
 The robin-redbreast and the nightingale 
 Never Uve long in cages. 
 
 Cari. Pray, dry your eyes. 
 What think you of, madam ? 
 
 Duch. Of nothing; 
 When I muse thus, I sleep. 
 
 Cari. Like a madman, with your eyes open? 
 
 Ditch. Dost thou think we shall know one another 
 In the other world ? 
 
 Cari. Yes, out of question. 20 
 
 Duch. O, that it were possible we might 
 But hold some two days' conference with the dead ! 
 From them I should learn somewhat, I am sure, 
 I never shall know here. I'll tell thee a miracle ; 
 I am not mad yet, to my cause of sorrow : 
 The Heaven o'er my head seems made of molten brass, 
 The earth of flaming sulphur, yet I am not mad. 
 I am acquainted with sad misery 
 As the tanned galley-slave is with his oar ; 
 Necessity makes me suffer constantly, 30 
 
 And custom makes it easy. Who do I look like now? 
 
 Cari. Like to your picture in the gallery, 
 A deal of life in show, but none in practice ; 
 Or rather like some reverend monument 
 Whose ruins are even pitied. 
 
 Duch. Very proper ; 
 And Fortune seems only to have her eyesight 
 To behold my tragedy. — How now ! 
 What noise is that? 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 Serv. I am come to tell you
 
 SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 569 
 
 Your brother hath intended you some sport. 
 
 A great physician, when the Pope was sick 40 
 
 Of a deep melancholy, presented him 
 
 With several sorts of madmen, which wild object 
 
 Being full of change and sport, forced him to laugh. 
 
 And so the imposthume broke : the self-same cure 
 
 The duke intends on you. 
 
 Duch. Let them come in. 
 
 Serv. There's a mad lawyer ; and a secular priest ; 
 A doctor that hath forfeited his wits 
 By jealousy ; an astrologian 
 That in his works said such a day o' the month 
 Should be the day of doom, and, failing oft, 50 
 
 Ran mad ; an English tailor crazed i' the brain 
 With the study of new fashions ; a gentleman-usher 
 Quite beside himself with care to keep in mind 
 The number of his lady's salutations, 
 Or " How do you," she employed him in each morning ; 
 A farmer, too, an excellent knave in grain. 
 Mad 'cause he was hindered transportation : 
 And let one broker that's mad loose to these, 
 You'd think the devil were among them. 
 
 Duch. Sit, Cariola. — Let them loose when you please, 6a 
 For I am chained to endure all your tyranny. 
 
 Enter Madmen. 
 
 Here this Song is sung to a dismal kind of music by a 
 
 Madman. 
 
 O, let us howl some heavy note, 
 
 Some deadly dogged howl. 
 Sounding as from the threatening throat 
 
 Of beasts and fatal fowl !
 
 3 70 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act iv. 
 
 As ravens, screech-owls, bulls, and bears, 
 
 We'll bell,^ and bawl our parts. 
 Till irksome noise have cloyed your ears 
 
 And corrosived your hearts. 
 At last, whenas our quire wants breath, 70 
 
 Our bodies being blest, 
 We'll sing, like swans, to welcome death, 
 
 And die in love and rest. 
 
 \ 
 
 1st Madtnan. Doom's-day not come yet ! I'll draw it 
 nearer by a perspective, or make a glass that shall set all 
 the world on fire upon an instant. I cannot sleep ; my 
 pillow is stuffed with a litter of porcupines. - 
 
 2d Madman. Hell is a mere glass-house, where the devils 
 are continually blowing up women's souls on hollow irons, 
 and the fire never goes out. 80 
 
 jst Madman. I have skill in heraldry. 
 
 2d Madman. Hast? 
 
 isi Madman. You do give for your crest a wood-cock's 
 head with the brains picked out on't ; you are a very ancient 
 gentleman. 
 
 jd Madman. Greek is turned Turk : we are only to be 
 saved by the Helvetian translation. 
 
 isi Madmati. Come on, sir, I will lay the law to you. 
 
 2d Madman. O, rather lay a corrosive : the law will eat 
 to the bone. 90 
 
 jd Madman. He that drinks but to satisfy nature is 
 damned. 
 
 4ih Madman. If I had my glass here, I woukl show a 
 sight should make all the women here call me mad doctor. 
 
 1 Bellow; so Chaucer, "As loud as belleth wind in helle." -- House of 
 Fame, iii, 713.
 
 SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 571 
 
 1st Madman. What's he? a rope-maker? 
 '* 2d Madman. No, no, no, a snuffling knave that, while he 
 shows the tombs, will have his hand in a wench's placket.' 
 
 jd Madman. Woe to the caroche ^ that brought home my 
 wife from the masque at three o'clock in the morning ! it 
 had a large feather-bed in it. 100 
 
 4th Madman. I have pared the devil's nails forty times, 
 roasted them in raven's eggs, and cured agues with them. 
 
 3d Madman. Get me three hundred milchbats, to make 
 possets to procure sleep. 
 
 4th Madtnan. All the college may throw their caps at me : 
 I have made a soap-boiler costive ; it was niy masterpiece. 
 
 \_Here a dance of Eight Madmen, luith music- 
 answerable thereto; after which, BosoL.-v, like 
 an Old Man, enters. 
 
 Duch. Is he mad too? 
 
 Sov. Pray, question him. I'll leave you. 
 
 \_Exeunt Servant and Madmen. 
 
 Bos. I am come to make thy tomb. 
 
 Duch. Ha ! my tomb ! no 
 
 Thou speak'st as if I lay upon my deathbed, 
 Gasping for breath : dost thou perceive me sick? 
 
 Bos. Yes, and the more dangerously, since thy sickness is 
 insensible. 
 
 Duch. Thou art not mad, sure : dost thou know me ? 
 
 Bos. Yes. 
 
 Duch. Who am I ? 
 
 Bos. Thou art a box of worm-seed, at best but a salva- 
 tory" of green mummy.^ What's this flesh? a little crudded 
 
 1 Petticoat. 2 Coach. 3 a. place where anything is preservecl, 
 
 ^ Mummies were used for medicinal purposes. " The Egyptian mum- 
 mies, which Cambyses or time hath spared, avarice now consumeth.
 
 5 72 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act iv. 
 
 milk, fantastical puff-paste. Our bodies are weaker than 
 those paper-prisons boys use to keep flies in ; more con- 
 temptible, since ours is to preserve earth-worms. Didst 
 thou ever see a lark in a cage? Such is the soul in the 
 body : this world is like her little turf of grass, and the 
 Heaven o'er our heads, like her looking-glass, only gives us 
 a miserable knowledge of the small compass of our prison. 
 
 Duck. Am not I thy duchess? 127 
 
 Bos. Thou art some great woman, sure, for riot begins to 
 sit on thy forehead (clad in grey hairs) twenty years sooner 
 than on a merry milkmaid's. Thou sleepest worse than if 
 a mouse should be forced to take up her lodging in a cat's 
 ear: a httle infant that breeds its teeth, should it lie with 
 thee, would cry out, as if thou vvert the more unquiet bed- 
 fellow. 
 
 Duch. I am Duchess of Malfi still. 
 
 Bos. That makes thy sleep so broken : 
 Glories like glow-worms, afar off shine bright. 
 But looked to near, have neither heat nor light.' 
 
 Duch. Thou art very plain. 139 
 
 Bos. My trade is to flatter the dead, not the living ; I am 
 a tomb- maker. 
 
 Duch. And thou comest to make my tomb ? 
 
 Bos. Yes. 
 
 Duch. Let me be a little merry : — of what stuff wilt thou 
 make it? 
 
 Bos. Nay resolve me first, of what fashion? 
 
 Duch. Why do we grow fantastical in our deathbed? do 
 we affect fashion in the grave ? 148 
 
 Mummy is become merchandize. Mizraim cures wounds, and Pharaoh 
 ji sold for balsams." — Sir Tk. Browne, Urn Burial. 
 
 1 This fine couplet is found also in Webster's H 'kite Devil.
 
 SCENE 11.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFl. 573 
 
 Bos. Most ambitiously. Princes' images on their tombs 
 do not lie, as they were wont, seeming to pray up to Heaven ; 
 but with their hands under their cheeks, as if they died of 
 the toothache : they are not carved with their eyes fixed 
 upon the stars ; but as their minds were wholly bent upon 
 the world, the self-same way they seem to turn their faces.' 
 
 Duch. Let me know fully therefore the effect 
 Of this thy dismal preparation. 
 This talk, fit for a charnel. 
 
 Bos. Now I shall : — 
 
 Enter Executioners, with a coffin, cords, afid a dell. 
 
 Here is a present from your princely brothers ; 
 And may it arrive welcome, for it brings 
 Last benefit, last sorrow. 
 
 Duch. Let me see it : 160 
 
 I have so much obedience in my blood, 
 I wish it in their veins to do them good. 
 
 Bos. This is your last presence-chamber. 
 
 Cari. O my sweet lady ! 
 
 Duch. Peace ; it affrights not me. 
 
 Bos. I am the common bellman. 
 That usually is sent to condemned persons 
 The night before they suffer. 
 
 Duch. Even now thou said'st 
 Thou wast a tomb- maker. 
 
 Bos. 'Twas to bring you 
 By degrees to mortification. Listen. 170 
 
 1 This apt criticism might have been the text from which Ruskin wrote 
 his chapter on the funeral monuments of Venice, as illustrating the worldly 
 spirit of the Renaissance. See Stones of Venice, Vol. H, chap. 3, edition 
 of 1885.
 
 5 74 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act iv 
 
 Hark, now everything is still 
 The screech-owl and the whistler shrill ^ 
 Call upon our dame aloud, 
 And bid her quickly don her shroud ! 
 Much you had of land and rent ; 
 Your length in clay's now competent : 
 A long war disturbed your mind ; 
 Here your perfect peace is signed. "^ 
 
 Of what is't fools make such vain keeping? 
 Sin their conception, their birth weeping, iSo 
 
 Their life a general mist of error. 
 Their death a hideous storm of terror. 
 Strew your hair with powders sweet. 
 Don clean hnen, bathe your feet, 
 And (the foul fiend more to check) 
 A crucifix let bless your neck : 
 'Tis now full tide 'tween night and day ; 
 End your groan, and come away. 
 Ca7i. Hence, villains, tyrants, murderers ! alas ! 
 What will you d9 with my lady ? — Call for help. 19c 
 
 Duch. To whom? to our next neighbours? they are mad- 
 folks. 
 Bos. Remove that noise. 
 Duch. Farewell, Cariola. 
 In my last will I have not much to give : 
 A many hungry guests have fed upon me ; 
 Thine will be a poor reversion. 
 Cari. I will die with her. 
 
 Duch. I pray thee, look thou giv'st my little boy 
 Some syrup for his cold, and let the girl 
 
 1 Cf. Spenser, Faerie Queene, Bk. 11, chap, xii, st. 36 : — 
 " The whistler shrill, that whoso heares doth dy."
 
 SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 575 
 
 Say her prayers ere she sleep. 
 
 [Cariola is forced out by the Executioners. 
 Now what you please : 
 What death ? 
 
 Bos. Strangling ; here are your executioners. 
 
 Duch. I forgive them : 200 
 
 The apoplexy, catarrh, or cough o' the lungs, 
 Would do as much as they do. 
 
 Bos. Doth not death fright you ? 
 
 Duch. Who would be afraid on't. 
 Knowing to meet such excellent company 
 In the other world? 
 
 Bos. Yet, methinks, 
 The manner of your death should much afflict you : 
 This cord should terrify you. 
 
 Duch. Not a whit : 
 What would it pleasure me to have my throat cut 
 With diamonds? or to be smothered 
 
 With cassia? or to be shot to death with pearls? 210 
 
 I know death hath ten thousand several doors 
 For men to take their exits ; and 'tis found 
 They go on such strange geometrical hinges, 
 You may open them both ways ; any way, for Heaven's sake. 
 So I were out of your whispering. Tell my brothers 
 That I perceive death, now I am well awake. 
 Best gift is they can give or I can take. 
 I would fain put off my last woman's fault, 
 I'd not be tedious to you. 
 
 1st Execut. We are ready. 
 
 Duch. Dispose my breath how please you ; but my body 
 Bestow upon my women, will you ? 
 
 1st Execut. Yes. 221
 
 576 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act IV. 
 
 Dtich. Pull, and pull strongly, for your able strength 
 Must pull down Heaven upon me : — 
 Yet stay ; Heaven-gates are not so highly arched 
 As princes' palaces ; they that enter there 
 Must go upon their keees {kneels). — (Zom&, violent death, 
 Serve for mandragora to make me sleep ! — 
 Go tell my brothers, when I am laid out. 
 They then may feed in quiet. ^ 
 
 {The Executioners strangle the Duchess.' 
 
 Bos. Where's the waiting woman ? 2-^0 
 
 Fetch her : some other strangle the children. 
 
 [Cariola and Children are brought in bv the Exe- 
 cutioners ; ivho presently strangle the Children. 
 Look you, there sleeps your mistress. 
 
 Cari. O, you are damned 
 Perpetually for this ! My turn is next, 
 Is't not so ordered ? 
 
 1 " All the several parts of the dreadful apparatus with which the Duchess's 
 death is ushered in, are not more remote from the conceptions of ordinary 
 vengeance, than the strange character of suffering whicli they seem to bring 
 upon their victim, is beyond the imagination of ordinary poets. As they 
 are not like inflictions of this life, so her language seems not of this -world. 
 She has lived among horrors till she is become ' native and endowed unto 
 that element.' She speaks the dialect of despair, her tongue has a smatch 
 of Tartarus and tlie souls in bale. What are ' Luke's iron crown,' the 
 brazen bull of Perillus, Procrustes's bed, to the waxen images which coun- 
 terfeit death, to the wild masque of madmen, the tomb-maker, the bell-man. 
 the living person's dirge, the mortification by degrees ! To move a horror 
 skilfully, to touch a soul to the quick, to lay upon fear as much as it can 
 bear, to wean and weary a life till it is ready to drop, and then step in with 
 mortal instruments to take its last forfeit; this only a Webster can do. 
 Writers of an inferior genius may ' upon horror's head horrors accumulate,' 
 but they cannot do this. They mistake quantity for quality, they ' terrify 
 babes with painted devils,' but they know not how a soul is capable of 
 being moved ; their terrors want dignity, their affrightments are withou' 
 decorum." — C. Lamb.
 
 SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 577 
 
 Bos. Yes, and I am glad 
 You are so well prepared for't 
 
 Cari. You are deceived, sir, 
 I am not prepared for't, I will not die ; 
 I will first come to my answer, and know 
 How I have offended. 
 
 Bos. Come, despatch her. — 
 You kept her counsel ; now you shall keep ours. 
 
 Cari. I will not die, I must not ; I am contracted 
 To a young gentleman. 
 
 1st Execut. Here's your wedding-ring. 240 
 
 Cari. Let me but speak with the duke ; I'll discover 
 Treason to his person. 
 
 Bos. Delays : — throttle her. 
 
 1st Execut. She bites and scratches. 
 
 Cari. If you kill me now, 
 I am damned ; I have not been at confession 
 This two years. 
 
 Bos. {to Executioners). When? 
 
 [ The Executioners strangle Cariola. 
 
 Bear her into the next room ; 
 Let these lie still. 
 
 \_Exeuni the Executioners tvith the body of Cariola. 
 
 Enter Ferdinand. 
 
 Ferd. Is she dead ? 
 
 Bos. She is what 
 You'd have her. But here begins your pity : 
 
 \_Sho2vs the Children strangled. 
 Alas, how have these offended? 
 
 Ferd. The death 
 Of young wolves is never to be pitied.
 
 1578 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI, [ACT IV. 
 
 Bos. Fix your eye here. 
 
 Ferd. Constantly. 
 
 Bos. Do you not weep? 250 
 
 Other sins only speak ; murder shrieks out : 
 The element of water moistens the earth, 
 But blood flies upwards and bedews the heavens. 
 
 Ferd. Cover her face ; mine eyes dazzle : she died young.' 
 
 Bos. I think not ; her infelicity 
 Seemed to have years too many. 
 
 Ferd. She and I were twins ; 
 And should I die this instant, I had lived 
 Her time to a minute. 
 
 Bos. It seems she was born first : 
 You have bloodily approved the ancient truth, 260 
 
 That kindred commonly do worse agree 
 Than remote strangers. 
 
 Ferd. Let me see her face 
 Again. Why didst not thou pity her? what 
 An excellent honest man mightst thou have been, 
 If thou hadst borne her to some sanctuary ! 
 Or, bold in a good cause, opposed thyself, 
 With thy advanced sword above thy head. 
 Between her innocence and my revenge ! 
 I bade thee, when I was distracted of my wits, 
 Go kill my dearest friend, and thou hast done't. 270 
 
 For let me but examine well the cause : 
 What was the meanness of her match to me? 
 Only I must confess I had a hope, 
 Had she continued widow, to have gained 
 .^n infinite mass of treasure by her death : 
 
 1 This is one of those lines, peculiar to Webster, in which a character is 
 revealed in half-a-dozeu words
 
 SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 5 79 
 
 And what was the main cause ? her marriage, 
 
 That drew a stream of gall quite through my heart. 
 
 For thee, as we observe in tragedies 
 
 That a good actor many times is cursed 
 
 For playing a villain's part, I hate thee for't, 280 
 
 And, for my sake, say, thou hast done much ill well. 
 
 Bos. Let me quicken your memory, for I perceive 
 You are falling into ingratitude : I challenge 
 The reward due to my service. 
 
 Ferd. I'll tell thee 
 What I'll give thee. 
 
 Bos. Do. 
 
 Ferd. I'll give thee a pardon 
 For this murder. 
 
 Bos. Ha! 
 
 Ferd. Yes, and 'tis 
 The largest bounty I can study to do thee. 
 By what authority didst thou execute 
 This bloody sentence? 
 
 Bos. By yours. 
 
 Ferd. Mine ! was I her judge ? 
 Did any ceremonial form of law 290 
 
 Doom her to not-being? did a complete jury 
 Deliver her conviction up i' the court ? 
 Where shalt thou find this judgment registered, 
 Unless in hell ? See, like a bloody fool, 
 Thou'st forfeited thy life, and thou shalt die for't. 
 
 Bos. The office of justice is perverted quite 
 When one thief hangs another. Who shall dare 
 To reveal this ? 
 
 Ferd. O, I'll tell thee ; 
 The wolf shall find her grave, and scrape it up,
 
 c8o THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act iv. 
 
 Not to devour the corpse, but to discover 300 
 
 The horrid murder.' 
 
 Bos. You, not I, shall quake for't. 
 
 Ferd. Leave me. 
 
 Bos. I will first receive my pension. 
 
 Ferd. You are a villain. 
 
 Bos. When your ingratitude \ 
 
 Is judge, I am so. 
 
 Ferd. O horror. 
 That not the fear of him which binds the devils 
 Can prescribe man obedience ! — 
 Never look upon me more. 
 
 Bos. Why, fare thee well. 
 Your brother and yourself are worthy men : 
 You have a pair of hearts are hollow graves, 310 
 
 Rotten, and rotting others ; and your vengeance, 
 Like two chained bullets, still goes arm in arm : - 
 You may be brothers ; for treason, like the plague, 
 Doth take much in a blood. I stand like one 
 That long hath ta'en a sweet and golden dream : 
 I am angry with myself, now that I wake. 
 
 Ferd. Get thee into some unknown part o' the world, 
 That I may never see thee.^ 
 
 Bos. Let me know 
 Wherefore I should be thus neglected. Sir, 
 I seived' your tyranny, and rather strove 320 
 
 To satisfy yourself than all the world : 
 
 1 A common superstition. 
 
 2 Cf. Heywood's A Challenge for Beautie : 
 
 "My friend and I 
 Like two chain-bullets, side by side, will fly 
 Thorow the jawes of death." 
 
 » Cf. King John, iv, 8.
 
 SCENE 11.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 581 
 
 And though I loathed the evil, yet I loved 
 You that did counsel it ; and rather sought 
 To appear a true servant than an honest man. 
 
 Ferd. I'll go hunt the badger by owl-light : 
 'Tis a deed of darkness. {^Exit. 
 
 Bos. He's much distracted. Off, my painted honour ! 
 While with vain hopes our faculties we tire, 
 We seem to sweat in ice and freeze in fire. 
 What would I do, were this to do again ? 330 
 
 I would not change my peace of conscience 
 For all the wealth of Europe. — She stirs ; here's life : — 
 Return, fair soul, from darkness, and lead mine 
 Out of this sensible hell : — She's warm, she breathes : — 
 Upon thy pale hps I will melt my heart, 
 To store them with fresh colour. — Who's there? 
 Some cordial drink ! — Alas, I dare not call : 
 So pity would destroy pity. — Her eye opes. 
 And Heaven in it seems to ope, that late was shut, 
 To take me up to mercy. 
 
 Duch. Antonio ! ^ 34° 
 
 Bos. Yes, madam, he is Uving ; 
 The dead bodies you saw were but feigned statues : 
 He's reconciled to your brothers ; the Pope hath wrought 
 The atonement.^ 
 
 Dicch. Mercy! \^Dies. 
 
 Bos. O, she's gone again ! there the cords of life broke. 
 O sacred innocence, that sweetly sleeps 
 On turtles' feathers, whilst a guilty conscience 
 
 1 " The idea of making the Duchess speak after she has been strangled, 
 was doubtless taken from the death of Desdemona in Othello, v, last scene.'' 
 — Dyce. 
 
 2 Reconciliation.
 
 582 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act V. 
 
 Is a black register wherein is writ 
 
 All our good deeds and bad, a perspective 
 
 That shows us hell ! That we cannot be suffered 350 
 
 To do good when we have a mind to it ! 
 
 This is manly sorrow ; 
 
 These tears, I am very certain, never grew 
 
 In my mother's milk : my estate is sunk 
 
 Below the degree of fear : where wexe 
 
 These penitent fountains while she was living? 
 
 O, they were frozen up ! Here is a sight 
 
 As direful to my soul as is the sword 
 
 Unto a wretch hath slain his father. Come, 
 
 I'll bear thee hence, 360 
 
 And execute thy last will ; that's deHver 
 
 Thy body to the reverend dispose 
 
 Of some good women : that the cruel tyrant 
 
 Shall not deny me. Then I'll post to Milan, 
 
 Where somewhat I will speedily enact 
 
 Worth my dejection. \Exif. 
 
 \ 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. — A Public Place in Milaji. 
 
 Enter Antonio and Delio. 
 
 Ant. What think you of my hope of reconcilement 
 To the Arragonian brethren ? 
 
 Delio. I misdoubt it ; 
 For though they have sent their letters of safe-conduct 
 For your repair to Milan, they appear
 
 SCENE I.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 583 
 
 But nets to entrap you. The Marquis of Pescara, 
 
 Under whom you hold certain lands in cheat, 
 
 Much 'gainst his noble nature hath been moved 
 
 To seize those lands ; and some of his dependants 
 
 Are at this instant making it their suit 
 
 To be invested in your revenues. ic 
 
 I cannot think they mean well to your life 
 
 That do deprive you of your means of life, 
 
 Your living. 
 
 Anf. You are still an heretic 
 To any safety I can shape myself. 
 
 Delia. Here comes the marquis : I will make myself 
 Petitioner for some part of your land, 
 To know whither it is flying. 
 
 Ant. I pray do. 
 
 Enter Pescara. 
 
 Delio. Sir, I have a suit to you. 
 
 Pes. To me ? 
 
 Delio. An easy one : 
 There is the Citadel of Saint Bennet, 
 
 With some demesnes, of late in the possession 2c 
 
 Of Antonio Bologna, — please you bestow them on me. 
 
 Pes. You are my friend ; but this is such a suit, 
 Not fit for me to give, nor you to take. 
 
 Delio. No, sir? 
 
 Pes. I will give you ample reason for't 
 Soon in private : — here's the cardinal's mistress. 
 
 Enter Julia. 
 
 Julia. My lord, I am grown your poor petitioner, 
 And should be an ill beggar, had I not
 
 584 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act v 
 
 A great man's letter here, the cardinal's, 
 
 To court you in my favour. ^Gives a lettei. 
 
 Pes. He entreats for you 
 The Citadel of Saint Beunet, that belonged ^c 
 
 To the banished Bologna. 
 
 Julia. Yes. 
 
 Pes. I could not have thought of a friend I could rather 
 Pleasure with it : 'tis yours. 
 
 Julia. Sir, I thank you ; 
 And he shall know how doubly I am engaged 
 Both in your gift, and speediness of giving 
 Which makes your grant the greater. \ Exit. 
 
 Ant. How they fortify 
 Themselves with my ruin ! 
 
 Delio. Sir, I am 
 Little bound to you. 
 
 Pes. Why? 
 
 Delio. Because you denied this suit to me, and gave't 
 To such a creature. 
 
 Pes. Do you know what it was ? -o 
 
 It was Antonio's land ; not forfeited 
 By course of law, but ravished from his throat 
 By the cardinal's entreaty : it were not fit 
 I should bestow so main ^ a piece of wrong 
 Upon my friend ; 'tis a gratification 
 Only due to a strumpet, for it is injustice. 
 Shall I sprinkle the pure blood of innocents 
 To make those followers I call my friends 
 Look ruddier upon me? I am glad 
 
 This land, ta'en from the owner by such wrong, re 
 
 Returns again unto so foul an use 
 
 1 Mighty, important; (Latin magnus).
 
 SCENE I.J THE DUCHESS OF MALFI, 585 
 
 As salary for his lust. Learn, good Delio, 
 To ask noble things of me, and you shall find 
 I'll be a noble giver. 
 
 Delio. You instruct me well. 
 
 Ant. Why, here's a man now would fright impudence, 
 From sauciest beggars. 
 
 Pes. Prince Ferdinand's come to Milan, 
 Sick, as they give out, of an apoplexy ; 
 But some say 'tis a frenzy : I am going 
 To visit him. \Exit. 
 
 Ant. 'Tis a noble old fellow. 
 
 Delio. What course do you mean to take, Antonio? 6q 
 
 Ant. This night I mean to venture all my fortune. 
 Which is no more than a poor hngering life. 
 To the cardinal's worst of malice : I have got 
 Private access to his chamber ; and intend 
 To visit him about the mid of night, 
 As once his brother did our noble duchess. 
 It may be that the sudden apprehension 
 Of danger, — for FU go in mine own shape, — 
 When he shall see it fraight ^ with love and duty, 
 May draw the poison out of him, and work 7a 
 
 A friendly reconcilement : if it fail, 
 Yet it shall rid me of this infamous calling ; 
 For better fall once than be ever falling. 
 
 Delio. Fll second you in all danger ; and, howe'er. 
 My life keeps rank with yours. 
 
 A7it. You are still my loved and best friend. \_Exeunt 
 
 IF; 
 
 Fraught.
 
 586 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act v. 
 
 Scene II. — A Gallery in the Cardinal's Palace at Milan. 
 Enter Pescara and Doctor. 
 
 Pes. Now, doctor, may I visit your patient ? 
 
 Doc. If't please your lordship : but he's instantly 
 To take the air here in the gallery 
 By my direction. 
 
 Pes. Pray thee, what's his disease ? 
 
 Doc. A very pestilent disease, my lord. 
 They call lycanthropia. ^ 
 
 Pes. What's that? 
 I need a dictionary to't. 
 
 Doc. I'll tell you. 
 In those that are possessed with't there o'erflows 
 Such melancholy humour they imagine 
 
 Themselves to be transformed into wolves ; 10 
 
 Steal forth to churchyards in the dead of night, 
 And dig dead bodies up : as two nights since 
 One met the duke 'bout midnight in a lane 
 Behind Saint Mark's church, with the leg of a man 
 Upon his shoulder ; and he howled fearfully ; 
 Said he was a wolf, only the difference 
 
 1 " A kind of melancholy, but strangely black and vehement. For those 
 attacked by it quit their houses in the month of February, imitate wolves in 
 almost every respect, and each night do but frequent cemeteries and grave- 
 yards. One of these melancholic lycanthropes, whom we call loups garoux, 
 carried on his shoulders the whole thigh and leg of a corpse. There was 
 also, as Job Fincel relates, a villager near Pavia in 1541 who believed that 
 he was a wolf, and assailed several men in the fields, and killed some of 
 them. At last, having been captured, but not without great difficulty, he 
 firmly asserted that he wa<; a wolf, and that there was no other difference 
 except that wolves ordinarily were hairy outside, whereas he was hairy 
 between his skin and flesh." — From the French of Goulart, Histoires 
 admirabUs ct memorables de nostre temps, 1620.
 
 SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 587 
 
 Was, a wolfs skin was hairy on the outside. 
 
 His on the inside ; bade them take their swords, 
 
 Rip up his flesh, and try : straight I was sent for, 
 
 And, having ministered to him, found his grace aa 
 
 Very well recovered. 
 
 Pes. I am glad on't. 
 
 Doc. Yet not without some fear 
 Of a relapse. If he grow to his fit again, 
 I'll go a nearer way to work with him 
 Than ever Paracelsus dreamed of;' if 
 They'll give me leave, I'll buffet his madness out of him. 
 Stand aside ; he comes. 
 
 Enter Ferdinand, Cardinal, Malatesti, and Bosola. 
 
 Ferd. Leave me. 
 
 Mai. Why doth your lordship love this solitariness? 
 
 Fej'd. Eagles commonly fly alone : they are crows, daws, 
 and starlings that flock together. Look, what's that follows 
 me? 31 
 
 Mai. Nothing, my lord. 
 
 Ferd. Yes. 
 
 Mai. 'Tis your shadow. 
 
 Ferd. Stay it : let it not haunt me. 
 
 MaL Impossible, if you move, and the sun shine. 
 
 Ferd. I will throttle it. 
 
 \Thro^vs himself down on his shadow. 
 
 Mai. O, my lord, you are angry with nothing. 
 
 Ferd. You are a fool : how is't possible I should catch my 
 shadow, unless I fall upon't? When I go to hell, I mean to 
 carry a bribe ; for, look you, good gifts evermore make way 
 for the worst persons. 4a 
 
 1 Paracelsus was born in 1493, died 1541.
 
 SSS THE DUCHESS OF MALFl. Fact v. 
 
 Pes. Rise, good my lord. 
 
 Ferd. I am studying the art of patience. 
 
 Pes. 'Tis a noble virtue. 
 
 Ferd. To drive six snails before me from this town to Mos- 
 cow ; neither use goad nor whip to them, but let them take 
 their own time ; — the patient'st man i' the world match me 
 for an experiment ; — and I'll crawl after like a sheep-biter. 
 
 Card. Force him up. \^Thfy raise him. 50 
 
 Ferd. Use me well, you were best. What I ha\-e done, 
 I have done : I'll confess nothing.^ 
 
 Doc. Now let me come to him. — Are you mad, my lord? 
 are you out of your princely wits ? 
 
 Ferd. What's he ? 
 
 Pes. Your doctor. 
 
 Ferd. Let me have his beard sawed off, and his eyebrows 
 filed more civil. 
 
 Doc. I must do mad tricks with him, for that's the only 
 way on't. — I have brought your grace a salamander's skin 
 to keep you from sun-burning. 61 
 
 Ferd. I have cruel sore eyes. 
 
 Doc. The white of a cockatrix's egg is ])resent remedy. 
 
 Ferd. Let it be a new laid one, you were best. — 
 Hide me from him : physicians are like kings, — 
 They brook no contradiction. 
 
 Doc. Now he begins to fear me : now let me alone with 
 him. 
 
 Card. How now ! put off your gown !^ 
 
 1 Cf. Othello, V, last scene, where lago says : 
 
 " Demand me nothing: what you know, you know: 
 From this time forth I never will speak word." 
 
 2 "A piece of buffoonery. The stage direction (edition of 1708) is, 'puts 
 off his four cloaks, one after another." The Gravedigger in Hamlet used to 
 do the same as late as 1830." — Dyce
 
 SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 589 
 
 Doc. Now he begins to fear me. — Can you fetch a frisk, 
 sir ? — Let him go, let him go, upon my peril : I find by his 
 eye he stands in awe of me ; I'll make him as tame as a 
 dormouse. ^ 73 
 
 Ferd. Can you fetch your frisks, sir ! — I will stamp him 
 into a cullis, flay off" his skin, to cover one of the anatomies ^ 
 this rogue hath set i' the cold yonder in Barber- Surgeon's- 
 hall. — Hence, hence ! you are all of you like beasts for 
 sacrifice : there's nothing left of you but tongue and belly. 
 
 \_Exit. 
 
 Pes. Doctor, he did not fear you throughly. 
 
 Doc. True ; I was somewhat too forward. 80 
 
 Bos. Mercy upon me, what a fatal judgment 
 Hath fali'n upon this Ferdinand ! 
 
 Pes. Knows your grace 
 What accident hath brought unto the prince 
 This strange distraction ? 
 
 Card, {aside). I must feign somewhat. — Thus they say 
 it grew. 
 You have heard it rumoured, for these many years 
 None of our family dies but there is seen 
 The shape of an old woman, which is given 
 By tradition to us to have been murdered 
 By her nephews for her riches. Such a figure 90 
 
 One night, as the prince sat up late at's book, 
 Appeared to him ; when crying out for help. 
 The gentleman of s chamber found his grace 
 All on a cold sweat, altered much in face 
 And language : since which apparition. 
 He hath grown worse and worse, and I much fear 
 He cannot live. 
 
 1 Skeletons.
 
 5 go THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act a. 
 
 Bos. Sir, I would speak with you. 
 
 Pes. We'll leave your grace, 
 Wishing to the sick prince, our noble lord, 
 All health of mind and body. 
 
 Card. You are most welcome. loo 
 
 \_Exeunt Pescara, Malatesti, and Doctor. 
 Are you come? so. — {Aside) This fellow must not know 
 By any means I had intelligence "^ 
 
 In our duchess' death ; for, though I counselled it, 
 The full of all the engagement seemed to grow 
 From Ferdinand. — Now, sir, how fares our sister? 
 I do not think but sorrow makes her look 
 Like to an oft-dyed garment : she shall now 
 Taste comfort from me. Why do you look so wildly? 
 O, the fortune of your master here the prince 
 Dejects you ; but be you of happy comfort : no 
 
 If you'll do one thing for me I'll entreat. 
 Though he had a cold tombstone o'er his bones, 
 I'd make you what you would be. 
 
 Bos. Any thing ; 
 Give it me in a breath, and let me fly to't : 
 They that think long small expedition win, 
 For musing much o' the end cannot begin. 
 
 Enter Julia. 
 
 Julia. Sir, will you come in to supper? 
 Card. I am busy ; leave me. 
 
 Julia {aside) . What an excellent shape hath that fellow ! 
 
 \_Exit. 
 Card. 'Tis thus. Antonio lurks here in Milan : 120 
 
 Inquire him out, and kill him. While he lives, 
 Our sister cannot marry ; and I have thought
 
 SCENE u.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 591 
 
 Of an excellent match for her. Do this, and style me 
 Thy advancement. 
 
 Bos. But by what means shall I find him out? 
 
 Card. There is a gentleman called Delio 
 Here in the camp, that hath been long approved 
 His loyal friend. Set eye upon that fellow ; 
 Follow him to mass ; may be Antonio, 
 
 Although he do account religion 130 
 
 But a school-name, for fashion of the world 
 May accompany him ; or else go inquire out 
 DeHo's confessor, and see if you can bribe 
 Him to reveal it. There are a thousand ways 
 A man might find to trace him ; as to know 
 What fellows haunt the Jews for taking up 
 Great sums of money, for sure he's in want ; 
 Or else to go to the picture-makers, and learn 
 Who bought her picture lately ; some of these 
 Happily may take. 
 
 Bos. Well, I'll not freeze i' the business : 140 
 
 I would see that wretched thing, Antonio, 
 Above all sights i' the world. 
 
 Card. Do, and be happy. \^Exit. 
 
 Bos. This fellow doth breed basiUsks in's eyes, 
 He's nothing else but murder ; yet he seems 
 Not to have notice of the duchess' death. 
 'Tis his cunning : I must follow his example ; 
 There cannot be a surer way to trace 
 Than that of an old fox. 
 
 Re-enter Julia. 
 
 Julia. So, sir, you are well met. 
 Bos. How now !
 
 \ 
 
 592 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act V. 
 
 Julia. Nay, the doors are fast enough : 
 Now, sir, I will make you confess your treachery. 150 
 
 Bos. Treachery ! 
 
 Julia. Yes, confess to me 
 Which of my women 'twas you hired to put 
 Love-powder into my drink ? 
 
 Bos. Love-powder ! 
 
 Julia. Yes, when I was at Malfi. 
 Why should I fall in love with such a face else ? 
 I have already suffered for thee so much pain. 
 The only remedy to do me good 
 Is to kill my longing. 
 
 Bos. Sure, your pistol holds 
 Nothing but perfumes or kissing-comfits.^ 
 Excellent lady ! i5o 
 
 You have a pretty way on't to discover 
 Your longing. Come, come, I'll disarm you. 
 And arm you thus : yet this is wondrous strange. 
 
 Julia. Compare thy form and my eyes together. 
 You'll find my love no such great miracle. 
 Now you'll say 
 
 I am wanton : this nice modesty in ladies 
 Is but a troublesome familiar 
 That haunts them. 
 
 Bos. Know you me, I am a blunt soldier. 170 
 
 Julia. The better : 
 Sure, there wants fire where there are no lively sparks 
 Of roughness. 
 
 Bos. And I want compliment. 
 Julia. Why, ignorance 
 In courtship cannot make you do amiss, 
 
 1 Perfumed sugar-plums for the breath.
 
 SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFl. 593 
 
 If you have a heart to do welL 
 
 Bos. You are very fair. 
 
 Julia. Nay, if you lay beauty to my charge, 
 I must plead unguilty. 
 
 Bos. Your bright eyes 
 Carry a quiver of darts in them sharper 180 
 
 Than sunbeams. 
 
 Julia. You will mar me with commendation, 
 Put yourself to the charge of courting me, 
 Whereas now I woo you. 
 
 Bos. {aside). I have it, I will work upon this creature. — 
 Let us grow most amorously familiar : 
 If the great cardinal now should see me thus, 
 Would he not count me a villain ? 
 
 Julia. No ; he might count me a wanton. 
 Not lay a scruple of offence on you ; 
 
 For if I see and steal a diamond, 190 
 
 The fault is not i' the stone, but in me the thief 
 That purloins it. I am sudden with you : 
 We that are great women of pleasure use to cut off 
 These uncertain wishes and unquiet longings. 
 And in an instant join the sweet delight 
 And the pretty excuse together. Had you been i' the street 
 Under my chamber-window, even there 
 I should have courted you. 
 
 Bos. O, you are an excellent lady ! 
 
 Julia. Bid me do somewhat for you presently 20c 
 
 To express I love you. 
 
 Bos. I wiH ; and if you love me. 
 Fail not to effect it. 
 
 The cardinal is grown wondrous melancholy ; 
 Demand the cause, let him not put you off
 
 594 I'HE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act v. 
 
 With feigned excuse ; discover the main ground on't. 
 
 Julia. Why would you know this? 
 
 Bos. I have depended on him, 
 And I hear that he is fall'n in some disgrace 
 With the emperor : if he be, Hke the mice 
 That forsake falhng houses, I would shift 
 To other dependance. 
 
 Julia. You shall not need 210 
 
 Follow the wars : I'll be your maintenance. 
 
 Bos. And I your loyal servant : but I cannot 
 Leave my calling. 
 
 Julia. Not leave an ungrateful 
 General for the love of a sweet lady ! 
 You are like some cannot sleep in feather-beds, 
 But must have blocks for their pillows. 
 
 Bos. Will you do this? 
 
 Julia. Cunningly. 
 
 Bos. To-morrow I'll expect the intelligence. 
 
 Julia. To-morrow ! get you into my cabinet ; 
 You shall have it with you. Do not delay me, 220 
 
 No more than I do you : I am like one 
 That is condemned ; I have my pardon promised, 
 But I would see it sealed. Go, get you in : 
 You shall see me wind my tongue about his heart 
 Like a skein of silk. \_Exit Bosola. 
 
 Re-enter Cardinal. 
 
 Card. Where are you? 
 
 Enter Servants. 
 Servants. Here. 
 
 Card. Let none, upon your lives, have conference 
 With the Prince Ferdinand, unless 1 know it. —
 
 SCENE IlJ THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 595 
 
 {Aside) In this distraction he may reveal 
 
 The murder. \_Exeunt Servants. 
 
 Yond's my lingering consumption : 
 I am weary of her, and by any means 230 
 
 Would be quit of. 
 Julia. How now, my lord ! what ails you? 
 
 Card. Nothing. 
 
 Julia. O, you are much altered : 
 Come, I must be your secretary, and remove 
 This lead from off your bosom : what's the matter? 
 
 Card. I may not tell you. 
 Julia. Are you so far in love with sorrow 
 You cannot part with part of it ? or think you 
 I cannot love your grace when you are sad 
 As well as merry? or do you suspect 
 
 I, that have been a secret to your heart 24a 
 
 These many winters, cannot be the same^ 
 Unto your tongue ? 
 
 Card. Satisfy thy longing, — 
 The only way to make thee keep my counsel 
 Is, not to tell thee. 
 
 Julia. Tell your echo this, 
 Or flatterers, that like echoes still report 
 What they hear though most imperfect, and not me ; 
 For if that you be true unto yourself, 
 I'll know. 
 
 Card. Will you rack me? 
 Julia. No, judgment shall 
 Draw it from you : it is an equal fault, 
 To tell one's secrets unto all or none. 25a 
 
 Card. The first argues folly. 
 
 1 Cf. this passage with / Henry IV, ii, 3.
 
 596 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [acT V. 
 
 Julia. But the last tyranny. 
 
 Card. Very well : why, imagine I have committed 
 Some secret deed which I desire the world 
 May never hear of. 
 
 Julia. Therefore may not I know it ? 
 You have concealed for me as great a sin 
 As adultery. Sir, never was occasion 
 For perfect trial of my constancy 
 Till now : sir, I beseech you — 
 
 Card. You'll repent it. 
 
 Julia. Never. 
 
 'Card. It hurries thee to ruin : I'll not tell thee. 
 Be well advised, and think what danger 'tis 260 
 
 To receive a prince's secrets : they that do, 
 Had need have their breasts hooped with adamant 
 To contain them. I pray thee, yet be satisfied ; 
 Examine thine own frailty ; 'tis more easy 
 To tie knots than unloose them : 'tis a secret 
 That, like a lingering poison, may chance lie 
 Spread in thy veins, and kill thee seven year hence. 
 
 Julia. Now you dally with me. 
 
 Card. No more j thou shalt know it. 
 By my appointment the great Duchess of Malfi 
 And two of her young children, four nights since, 270 
 
 Were strangled. 
 Julia. O Heaven ! sir, what have you done? 
 
 Card. How now? how settles this? think you your bosom 
 Will be a grave dark and obscure enough 
 For such a secret? 
 
 Jilia. You have undone yourself, sir. 
 
 Card. Why? 
 J II lid. It lies not in me to conceal it.
 
 SCENE 11.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. .597 
 
 Card. No? 
 Come, I will swear you to't upon this book. 
 Julia, Most religiously. 
 
 Card. Kiss it. \She kisses the book. 
 
 Now you shall never utter it ; thy curiosity 
 Hath undone thee : thou'rt poisoned with that book ; 
 Because I knew thou couldst not keep my counsel, 2S0 
 
 I have bound thee to't by death. 
 
 Re-enter Bosola. 
 
 Bos. For pity-sake, hold ! 
 
 Card. Ha, Bosola ! 
 
 Julia. I forgive you 
 This equal piece of j ustice you have done ; 
 For I betrayed your counsel to that fellow : 
 He overheard it ; that was the cause I said 
 It lay not in me to conceal it. 
 
 Bos. O foolish woman, 
 Couldst not thou have poisoned him? 
 
 Julia. 'Tis weakness, 
 Too much to think what should have been done. I go, 
 I know not whither. \^Dies. 
 
 Card. Wherefore com'st thou thither? 290 
 
 Bos. That I might find a great man like yourself, 
 Not out of his wits as the Lord Ferdinand, 
 To remember my service. 
 
 Card. I'll have thee hewed in pieces. 
 
 Bos. Make not yourself such a promise of that life 
 Which is not yours to dispose of. 
 
 Card. Who placed thee here? 
 
 Bos. Her lust, as she intended. 
 
 Card. Very well :
 
 59^ THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [ACT v. 
 
 Now you know me for your fellow-murderer. 
 
 Bos. And wherefore should you lay fair marble colours 
 Upon your rotten purposes to me ? 
 
 Unless you imitate some that do plot great treasons, 300 
 
 And when they have done, go hide themselves i' the graves 
 Of those were actors in't ? 
 
 Card. No more ; there is 
 A fortune attends thee. 
 
 Bos. Shall I go sue to Fortune any longer? 
 'Tis the fool's pilgrimage. 
 
 Card. I have honours in store for thee. 
 
 Bos. There are many ways that conduct to seeming 
 honour, 
 And some of them very dirty ones. 
 
 Card. Throw to the devil 
 Thy melancholy. The fire burns well ; 
 What need we keep a stirring oft, and make 
 A greater smother? Thou wilt kill Antonio? 310 
 
 Bos. Yes. 
 
 Card. Take up that body. 
 
 Bos. I think I shall 
 Shortly grow the common bier for churchyards. 
 
 Card. I will allow thee some dozen of attendants 
 To aid thee in the murder. 
 
 Bos. O, by no means. Physicians that apply horse- 
 leeches to any rank swelling used to cut off their tails, that 
 the blood may run through them the faster ; let me have 
 no train when I go to shed blood, lest it make me have a 
 greater when I ride to the gallows. 
 
 Card. Come to me after midnight, to help to remove 320 
 That body to her own lodging : I'll give out 
 She died o' the plague ; 'twill breed the less inquiry
 
 SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 599 
 
 After her death. 
 
 Bos. Where's Castruccio her husband? 
 
 Card. He's rode to Naples, to take possession 
 Of Antonio's citadel. 
 
 Bos. Believe me, you have done a very happy turn. 
 
 Card. Fail not to come : there is the master-key 
 Of our lodgings ; and by that you may ponceive 
 What tnist I plant in you. 
 
 Bos. You shall find me ready. \^Exit Cardinal. 
 
 O poor Antonio, though nothing be so needful 330 
 
 To thy estate as pity, yet I find 
 Nothing so dangerous ; I must look to my footing : 
 In such slippery ice-pavements men had need 
 To be frost-nailed well, they may break their necks else ; 
 The precedent's here afore me. How this man 
 Bears up in blood ! seems fearless ! Why, 'tis well : 
 Security some men call the suburbs of hell, 
 Only a dead wall between. Well, good Antonio, 
 I'll seek thee out ; and all my care shall be 
 To put thee into safety from the reach 340 
 
 Of these most cruel biters that have got 
 Some of thy blood already. It may be, 
 I'll join with thee in a most just revenge : 
 The weakest arm is strong enough that strikes 
 With the sword of justice. Still methinks the duchess 
 Haunts me : there, there ! 'Tis nothing but my melancholy. 
 O Penitence, let me truly taste thy cup, 
 That throws men down only to raise them up ! \_Exit} 
 
 1 The numbering of the lines in this scene, and in other parts of this 
 volume, is only approximately exact : for in the Elizabethan plays many 
 passages are printed as blank verse that cannot possibly be scanned.
 
 6oo THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act v. 
 
 Scene III. — A Fortification at Milan. 
 Enter Antonio and Delio. 
 
 Delia. Yond's the cardinal's window. This fortification 
 Grew from the ruins of an ancient abbey ; 
 And to yond side o' the river Hes a wall, 
 Piece of a cloister, which in my opinion 
 Gives the best echo that you ever heard. 
 So hollow and so dismal, and withal 
 So plain in the distinction of our words, 
 That many have supposed it is a spirit 
 That answers. 
 
 A7it I do love these ancient ruins. 
 We never tread upon them but we set lo 
 
 Our foot upon some reverend history : 
 And, questionless, here in this open court, 
 Which now lies naked to the injuries 
 Of stormy weather, some men lie interred 
 Loved the church so well, and gave so largely to't, 
 They thought it should have canopied their bones 
 Till doomsday ; but all things have their end : 
 Churches and cities, which have diseases like to men, 
 Must have like death that we have. 
 
 Echo. " Like death that we have." 20 
 
 Delio. Now the echo hath caught you. 
 
 Ant. It groaned, methought, and gave 
 A very deadly accent. 
 
 Echo. " Deadly accent." 
 
 Delio. I told you 'twas a pretty one : you may make it 
 A huntsman, or a falconer, a musician. 
 Or a thing of sorrow.
 
 SCENE III.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFL 6oi 
 
 Echo. " A thing of sorrow." 
 
 Ant. Ay, sure, that suits it best. 
 
 Echo. "That suits it best." 
 
 AnA 'Tis very like my wife's voice. 
 
 Echo. " Ay, wife's voice." 
 
 Delio. Come, let us walk further from't. 
 1 would not have you go to the cardinal's to-night : 
 Do not. 
 
 Echo. " Do not." 30 
 
 Delio. Wisdom doth not more moderate wasting sorrow 
 Than time : take time for't ; be mindful of thy safety. 
 
 Echo. " Be mindful of thy safety." 
 
 Ant. Necessity compels me : 
 Make scrutiny throughout the passages 
 Of your own life, you'll find it impossible 
 To fly your fate. 
 
 Echo. " O, fly your fate." 
 
 Delio. Hark ! the dead stones seem to have pity on you. 
 And give you good counsel. 
 
 Ant. Echo, I will not talk with thee, 40 
 
 For thou art a dead thing. 
 
 Echo. "Thou art a dead thing." 
 
 Ant. My duchess is asleep now, 
 And her little ones, I hope sweetly : O Heaven, 
 Shall I never see her more ? 
 
 Echo. " Never see her more." 
 
 Ant. I marked not one repetition of the echo 
 But that ; and on the sudden a clear light 
 Presented me a face folded in sorrow. 
 
 Delio. Your fancy merely. 
 
 Ant. Come, I'll be out of this ague. 
 For to live thus is not indeed to live ; 50
 
 602 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [ACT v 
 
 It is a mockery and abuse of life : 
 
 I will not henceforth save myself by halves ; 
 
 Lose all, or nothing. 
 
 Delia. Your own virtue save you ! 
 I'll fetch your eldest son, and second you : 
 It may be that the sight of his own blood 
 Spread in so sweet a figure may beget 
 The more compassion. However, fare you well, 
 Though in our miseries Fortune have a part. 
 Yet in our noble sufferings she hath none : 
 Contempt of pain, that we may call our own. {^Exeunt. 60 
 
 Scene IV. — An Apartment in the Cardinal's Palace. 
 
 Enter Cardinal, Pescara, Malatesti, Roderigo, and 
 
 Grisolan. 
 
 Card. You shall not watch to-night by the sick prince ; 
 His grace is very well recovered. 
 
 Mai. Good my lord, suffer us. 
 
 Card. O, by no means ; 
 The noise, and change of object in his eye, 
 Doth more distract him : I pray, all to bed ; 
 And though you hear him in his violent fit, 
 Do not rise, I entreat you. 
 
 Pes. So, sir ; we shall not. 
 
 Card. Nav, I must have you promise 
 Upon your honours, for I was enjoined to't 
 By himself; and he seemed to urge it sensibly. m 
 
 Pes. Let our honours bind this trifle. 
 
 Card. Nor any of your followers. 
 
 Mai. Neither.
 
 SCENE IV.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFl. 603 
 
 Card. It may be, to make trial of your promise, 
 \V' hen he's asleep, myself will rise and feign 
 Some of his mad tricks, and cry out for help, 
 And feign myself in danger. 
 
 Mai. If your throat were cutting, 
 I'd not come at you, now I have protested against it. 
 
 Card. Why, I thank you. 
 
 Gris. 'Twas a foul storm to-night. 20 
 
 Rod, The Lord Ferdinand's chamber shook like an osier. 
 
 Mai. 'Twas nothing but pure kindness in the devil, 
 To rock his own child. {^Exeunt all except the Cardinal. 
 
 Card. The reason why I would not suffer these 
 
 About my brother, is, because at midnight 
 
 I may with better privacy convey 
 
 Julia's body to her own lodging. O, my conscience ! 
 
 I would pray now ; but the devil takes away my heart 
 
 For having any confidence in prayer. 
 
 About this hour I appointed Bosola 30 
 
 To fetch the body : when he hath served my turn, 
 
 He dies. \_Exit. 
 
 Enter Bosola. 
 
 Bos. Ha ! 'twas the cardinal's voice j I heard him name 
 Bosola and my death. Listen ; I hear one's footing. 
 
 Enter Ferdinand. 
 
 Ferd. Strangling is a very quiet death. 
 
 Bos. {aside). Nay, then, I see I must stand upon my 
 
 guard. 
 Ferd. What say you to that ? whisper softly ; do you 
 agree to't ? So ; it must be done i' the dark : the cardinal 
 would not for a thousand pounds the doctor should see it. 
 
 S^Exit
 
 6o4 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act V. 
 
 Bos. My death is plotted ; here's the consequence of 
 murder. 40 
 
 We value not desert nor Christian breath, 
 When we know black deeds must be cured with death. 
 
 Enter Antonio and Servant. 
 
 Serv. Here stay, sir, and be confident, I pray : 
 I'll fetch you a dark lantern. \_Exif. 
 
 Ant Could I take him at his prayers,^ 
 There were hope of pardon. 
 
 Bos. Fall right, my sword ! — \_Stabs hi?n. 
 
 I'll not give thee so much leisure as to pray. 
 
 Ant. O, I am gone ! Thou hast ended a long suit 
 In a minute. 
 
 Bos. What art thou ? 
 
 Ant. A most wretched thing, 
 That only have thy benefit in death, 
 To appear myself. 
 
 Re-enter Servant with a lantern. 
 
 Serv. Where are you, sir? ' 50 
 
 Ant. Very near my home. — Bosola ! 
 
 Sei-v. O, misfortune ! 
 
 Bos. Smother thy pity, thou art dead else. — Antonio ! 
 The man I would have saved 'bove mine own life ! 
 We are merely the stars' tennis-balls, struck and l^andied 
 Which way please them. — O good Antonio, 
 I'll whisper one thing in thy dying ear 
 Shall make thy heart break quickly ! thy fair duchess 
 And two sweet children — 
 
 Ant. Their very names 
 Kindle a little life in me. 
 
 1 Cf. Hamlet, iii, 3.
 
 SCENE IV.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 6O5 
 
 Bos. Are murdered. 
 
 Ant. Some men have wished to die 60 
 
 At the hearing of sad things ; I am glad 
 That I shall do't in sadness ^ : I would not now 
 Wish my wounds balmed nor healed, for I have no use 
 To put my life to. In all our quest of greatness, 
 Like wanton boys, whose pastime is their care. 
 We follow after bubbles blown in the air. 
 Pleasure of life, what is't? only the good hours 
 Of an ague ; merely a preparative to rest, 
 To endure vexation. I do not ask 
 
 The process of my death ; only commend me 70 
 
 To Delio. 
 
 Bos. Break, heart ! 
 
 Afit. And let my son fly the courts of princes. \_Dies. 
 
 Bos. Thou seem'st to have loved Antonio? 
 
 Serv. I brought him hither, 
 To have reconciled him to the cardinal. 
 
 Bos. I do not ask thee that, 
 lake him up, if thou tender thine own life. 
 And bear him where the lady Julia 
 Was wont to lodge. — O, my fate moves swift ; 
 I have this cardinal in the forge already ; 
 Now I'll bring him to the hammer. O direful misprision- ! 
 I will not imitate things glorious, 81 
 
 No more than base ; I'll be mine own* example. — 
 On, on, and look thou represent, for silence. 
 The thing thou bear'st. [^Exeunt. 
 
 1 Seriousness. 2 jsjeglect, oversight ; hence, mistake.
 
 6o6 THE DUCHESS OF MALFL [act V. 
 
 Scene V. — Another Apartment in the Same, 
 
 Enter Cardinal, with a book. 
 
 Card. I am puzzled in a question about hell : 
 He says, in hell there's one material fire, 
 And yet it shall not burn all men alike. 
 Lay him by. How tedious is a guilty conscience ! 
 When I look into the fish-ponds in my garden, 
 Methinks I see a thing armed with a rake, 
 That seems to strike at me. 
 
 Enter Bosol-a., and Servant beaming Antonio's body. 
 
 Now, art thou come? 
 Thou look'st ghastly : 
 
 There sits in thy face some great determination 
 Mixed with some fear. 
 
 Bos. Thus it lightens into action : lo 
 
 I am come to kill thee. 
 
 Card. Ha ! — Help ! our guard ! 
 
 Bos. Thou art deceived ; 
 They are out of thy howling. 
 
 Card. Hold ; and I will faithfully divide 
 Revenues with thee. 
 
 Bos. Thy prayers and ])roffers 
 Are both unreasonable. 
 
 Card. Raise the watch ! we are betrayed ' 
 
 Bos. I have confined your flight : 
 I'll suffer your retreat to Julia's chamber, 
 But no further. 
 
 Card. Help ! we are betrayed !
 
 SCENE v.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 607 
 
 Enter, above^ Pescara, Malatesti, Roderigo, and 
 
 Grisolan. 
 Mai. Listen. 
 
 Card. My dukedom for rescue ! 
 
 Rod. Fie upon his counterfeiting ! 20 
 
 Mai. Why, 'tis not the cardinal. 
 
 Rod. Yes, yes, 'tis he : 
 But I'll see him hanged ere I'll go down to him. 
 
 Card. Here's a plot upon me ; I am assaulted ! I am lost, 
 Unless some rescue. 
 
 Gris. He doth this pretty well ; 
 But it will not serve to laugh me out of mine honour. 
 
 Card. The sword's at my throat ! 
 
 Rod. You would not bawl so loud then. 
 
 Mai. Come, come, let's go 
 To bed : he told us thus much aforehand. 
 
 Pes. He wished you should not come at him ; but, 
 believe 't. 
 The accent of the voice sounds not in jest : 30 
 
 I'll down to him, howsoever, and with engines 
 Force ope the doors. \_Exit above. 
 
 Rod. Let's follow him aloof. 
 And note how the cardinal will laugh at him. 
 
 \_Exeunf, above, Malatesti, Roderigo, and Grisolan. 
 
 Bos. There's for you first, 
 'Cause you shall not unbarricade the door 
 To let in rescue. \^Kills the Servant 
 
 Card. What cause hast thou to pursue my life ? 
 
 Bos. Look there. 
 
 Card. Antonio ! 
   Bos. Slain by my hand unwittingly. 
 
 1 The raised platform towards the back of the stage.
 
 6lO THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act V. 
 
 Poisoned by this man ; and lastly for myself, 
 
 That was an actor in the main of all 
 
 Much 'gainst mine own good nature, yet i' the end 
 
 Neglected. 
 
 Pes. How now, my lord ! 
 
 Card. Look to my brother : 
 He gave us these large wounds, as we were struggling 
 Here i' the rushes.^ And now, I pray, let me 
 Be laid by and never thought of. \^Dies. 
 
 Pes. How fatally, it seems, he did withstand 
 His own rescue ! 
 
 Mai. Thou wretched thing of blood ^ 9c 
 
 How came Antonio by his death? 
 
 Bos. In a mist ; I know not how : 
 Such a mistake as I have often seen 
 In a play. O, I am gone ! 
 We are only like dead walls or vaulted graves, 
 That, ruined, yield no echo. Fare you well. 
 It may be pain, but no harm, to me to die 
 In so good a quarrel. O, this gloomy world ! 
 In what a shadow, or deep pit of darkness, 
 Doth womanish and fearful mankind live ! icx) 
 
 Let worthy minds ne'er stagger in distrust 
 To suffer death or shame for what is just : 
 Mine is another voyage. \^Dies. 
 
 Pes. The noble Delio, as I came to the palace, 
 Told me of Antonio's being here, and showed me 
 A pretty gentleman, his son and heir. 
 
 Enter Delio and Antonio's Son. 
 
 Mai. O sir, you come too late ! 
 
 1 Floors were commonly strewn with rushes. 
 
 2 Cf. Coriolanus, ii, 2 : " He was a thing of blood."
 
 SCENE v.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 6ll 
 
 Delia. I heard so, and 
 Was armed for't, ere I came. Let us make noble use 
 Of this great ruin ; and join all our force 
 To establish this young hopeful gentleman no 
 
 In's mother's right. These wretched eminent things 
 Leave no more fame behind 'em, than should one 
 Fall in a frost, and leave his print in snow ; 
 As soon as the sun shines, it ever melts, 
 Both form and matter. I have ever thought 
 Nature doth nothing so great for great men 
 As when she's pleased to make them lords of truth : 
 Integrity of life is fame's best friend, 
 Which nobly, beyond death, shall crown the end. 
 
 \Exeunt
 
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 TWELFTH NIGHT, lxix + 129 pages 
 
 IN PREPARATION 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 
 
 CYMBELINE 
 
 KING HENRY THE FOURTH, Part I 
 
 KING HENRY THE FOURTH, Part II 
 
 KING HENRY THE EIGHTH 
 
 OTHELLO 
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE 
 
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