^1 l(rtl -**— ^1 f ^ \1 S^./^ O a_ 5' P *- 1 jR ■LIBRARY, .«^^. A>:lOSANCfli f^'if^HD,, , ,;^/^ ^lOSANCEli \ -^ "" o ^2 . 3 li- es ^ / . <^UIBRAI. cvrt.ja =o a; "% ^OFCA! ^OFCAtlF0% ^ ,^ ^n I '^^ :>T7:::.j^; — kp =- 3^: ^\WEUNIVER% ^lOSANCElfj-^ OS <: !^i ifei w(, , |] THE PLAYS OF PHILIP MASSINGER. ADAPTED FOR FAMILY READING, AND THE USE OF YOUNG PERSONS, BY THE OMISSION OF OBJECTIONABLE PASSAGES. VOL. II. LONDON : JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE -STREET. MDCCCXXX. LONDON': rn,vTEn..vx„OM.sn.vx.sox,>vmTEru,.ns. CONTENTS. The Duke of Milan The City Madam The Unnatural Combat The Picture Selections iroxM the Roman Actor Page 1 . 109 . 213 . 2fiy . 3G1 47 THE DUKE OF MILAN. VOL. II. The Duke of Milan.] Of this tragedy there are two editions in quarto ; the first, which is very correct, and now very rare, bears date 1G23; the other, of little value, l(i'38. It does not appear in the Office-book of the licenser ; from which, we may be pretty certain that it was among the author's earliest performances. Massinger has strangely perverted the few historical facts on which he touches, and brought together events considerably distant in time. When the French king invaded Italy in 1525, Sforza was on the side of the emperor in fact, the French began by an incursion into the Milanese, and the siege of the capital, which they continued, at intervals, till their rout before Pavia. In the following year, indeed, the duke of Milan entered into a league with Francis, who had now regained his liberty, against the emperor, and was driven out of his duchy, which he did not recover till 1530, when he pre- sented himself before Charles, at Bologna, but not in the way described by 3Iassinger, for he abjectly surrendered all his rights to the emperor, who reinstated him in them, on his agreein.'r to certain stipulations. The duke is named Ludovico in tlie list of dramatis persona; ; and it is observable that Massinger has entered with great accuracy into the vigorous and active character of that prince : he, however, had long been dead, and Francis Sforza, the real agent in this play, was little capable of the spirited part allotted to him. The Italian writers term him a weak and irresolute prince, the sport of fortune, and the victim of indecision. In justice to Massinger, it should be observed, that he appears aware of the distinction here noticed, and probably also of the fabulous nature of his materials, for, in the list of dramatis persona;, Ludovico Sforza is called a sitpposed duke of JMilan. The character of Sforza himself is strongly conceived. His passionate fondness for JMarcelia — his sudden rage at her apparent coolness — his resolute renunciation of her his speedy repentance, and fretful impatience of her absence— his vehement defence of her innocence — his quick and destructive vengeance against her, upon a false assertion of her dishonour, and his b2 protestations, and mad embraces of her dead body, show the force of dotage and hate in their extremes. His actions are wild and ungoverned, and his whole life (as he says) is made up of frenzy. The remaining part of the plot is from Josephus's History of the Jews, lib. xv. ch. 4 ; an interesting story, which h.is been told in many languages, and more than once in our own. The action of this piece is highly animating and interesting ; and its connexion, at the very opening, with an important passage of history, procures for it at once a decided attention. This is well maintained by strong and rapid alternations of fortune, till the catastrophe is matured by the ever-working vengeance of Francisco. Even here, the author has continued a novelty of interest little expected by the reader ; and the late appearance of the injured Eugenia throws a fresh emotion into the conclusion of the play, while it explains a considerable part of the plot, with which, mdeed, it is essentially connected- In the over-weening passion of Sforza for his wife, .iNIassinger has described, in the Duke of Milan, an incident which he afterwards repeated in the Picture. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, AND MUCH ESTEEMED FOR HER HIGH BIRTH, BUT MORE ADMIRED FOR HER VIRTUE, THE LADY KATHERINE STANHOPE, WIFE TO PHILIP, LORD STANHOPE, BARON OF SHELFORD. MADAM, If I were not most assured that works of this nature have found both patronage and protection amongst the greatest princesses of Italy, and are at this day cherished by persons most eminent in our kingdom, I should not presume to offer these my weak and imperfect labours at the altar of your favour. Let the example of others, more knowing, and more experienced in this kindness (if my boldness offend), plead my pardon ; and the rather, since there is no other means left me (my misfortunes having cast me on this course) to publish to the world (if it hold the least good opinion of me) that I am ever your ladyship's creature. Vouchsafe, therefore, with the never-failing clemency of your noble disposition, not to con- temn the tender of his duty, who, while he is, will ever be An humble servant to your Ladyship, and yours, PHILIP MASSINGER. DRAMATIS PERSONJ^.. LuDOVico Sforza, supposed Duke of Milan. Francisco, his especial favourite. TiBEiiio, I j^^.^^ ^.^^.^ council. bTEPIIANO, S GuACciio, a creature of Mauias a. Julio, ? .. f, ' > courtiers. Giovanni, ^ C'hahles, the emprror. Pescara, an imperialist, but a friend to Sforza. Hernando,! Medina, J- captains to the emperor, AlI'HONSO, ) Three Geutlemcii. Fiddlers. An Officer. Two Doctors. Two Couriers. Marcelia, the duchess, ■wife to Sforza. Isabella, mother to Sforza. Mariana, wife to Francisco, and sister to Sforza. Eugenia, sister to Francisco. A Gentle-woman. Guards, Servants, Attendants. SCENE, for the first and second acts, in IMilan ; during part of the third, in tlie Imperial Camp near Pavia ; the rest of the play, in 3Iilan, and its neighbourhood. THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT I. SCENE I. Milan. An outer Room in the Castle^. Enter Graccho, Julio, and Giovanni, with Flagons. Grac. Take every man his flagon : give the oath To all you meet ; I am this day the state-drunkai'd, I am sure against my will ; and if you find A man at ten that 's sober, he 's a traitor. And, in my name, arrest him. Jul. Very good, sir: But, say he be a sexton ? Grac. If the bells Ring out of tune ^, as if the street were burning, And he cry, 'Tis rare music! bid him sleep: ' Milan. An outer Hoom in the Castle.^ The old copies have no distirxtion of scenery. I have ventured to supply it, in conformity to the modern mode of printing Shakspeare, and to consult the ease of the general reader — Gifford. 3 Out of time, &c.] i. e. backward: the usual signal of alarm, on the breaking out of fires.— Gifford. 8 THE DUKE OF MILAX. ACT I. 'Tis a sign lie has ta'en his liquor; and if you meet An officer preaching of sobriety. Unless he read it in Geneva print'. Lay him by the heels. Jul. But think you 'tis a fault To be found sober ? Grac. It is capital treason ; Or, if you mitigate it, let such pay Forty crowns to the poor : but give a pension To all the magistrates you find singing catches. Or their wives dancing ; for the courtiers reeling, And the duke himself, I dare not say distemper'd". But kind, and in his tottering chair carousing, They do the country service. If you meet One that eats bread, a child of ignorance, And bred up in the darkness of no drinking, Against his will vou mav initiate him In the true posture ; though he die in the taking His drench, it skills not^ : what 's a private man, For the public honour ! We 've nought else to think on, And so, dear friends, copartners in my travails. Drink hard ; and let the health run through the city. Until it reel again, and with me cry. Long live the duchess ! Enter Tiberio and Stephaxo. Jul. Here are two lords ; — what think you .'' Shall we give the oath to them > Grac. Fie ! no : I know them, > Unless he read it in Geneva print.] Alluding to the spirituous liquor so called. — M. Mason. '-' Distempered,'] i. c. intoxicated. 3 // skills not.] It viatters not. SC. I. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 9 You need not swear them ; your lord, by his patent. Stands bound to take his rouse'. Long live the duchess! \_E,reiml Grac. 3v\.. mid Gio. Steph. The cause of this? but yesterday the court Wore the sad livery of distrust and fear j No smile, not in a buffoon to be seen. Or common jester: the Great Duke himself Had sorrow in his face ! which, waited on By his mother, sister, and his fairest duchess, Dispersed a silent mourning through all Milan ; As if some great blow had been given the state^ Or were at least expected. Tib. Stephano, I know as you are noble, you are honest. And capable of secrets of more weight Than now I shall deliver. If that Sforza, The present duke, (though his whole life hath been But one continued pilgrimage through dangers. Affrights, and horrors, which his fortune, guided By his strong judgment, still hath overcome) Appears now shaken, it deserves no wonder : All that his youth hath labour'd for, the harvest Sown by his industry ready to be reap'd too, • Rouse,'] i. e. a drinking lout. Mr. GifFord conceives, that ro2(se and carouse, like vi/c and revye, are but the recipro- cation of the same action, and must, theiefore, be derived from the same source. A rouse was a large glass, in which a health was given, the drinking of which by the rest of the party formed a carouse. But Dr. Nares objects that there is a want of analogy to justify forming carouse thus from rouse; besides, carouse is clearly from the French, and rouse immediately from the German rusch. I" TIIK DIKE OF MILAN. ACT I. Being now at stake ; and all his hopes confirm'd. Or lost for ever. Sleph. I know no such hazard : His guards are strong and sure, his coffers full ; The people well affected ; and so wisely His provident care hath wrought, that though war rages In most parts of our western world, there is No enemy near us. TU). Dangers, that we see To threaten ruin, are with ease prevented ; But those strike deadly that come unexpected : The lightning is far off, yet, soon as seen. We may behold the terrible effects That it produceth. But I '11 help your knowledge. And make his cause of fear familiar to you. The wars so long continued between The emperor Charles, and Francis, the French king. Have interess'd, in cither's cause, the most Of the Italian princes ; among which, Sforza, As one of greatest power, was sought by both ; But with assurance, having one his friend. The other lived his enemy. Sleph. 'Tis true: And 'twas a doubtful choice. Tib. But he, well knowing, And hating too, it seems, the Spanish pride. Lent his assistance to the king of France : ^^'hich hath so far incensed the emperor. That all his hopes and honours are embark'd With his great patron's fortune. Sleph. ^V'hich stands fair. For aught I yet can hear. Til). But should it change. SC. I. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 1 1 The duke 's undone. They have drawn to the field Two royal armies, full of fiery youth ; Of equal spirit to dare, and power to do : So near intrench'd', that 'tis beyond all hope Of human counsel they can e'er be sever 'd. Until it be determined by the sword. Who hath the better cause : for the success Concludes the victor innocent, and the vanquish'd IMost miserably guilty. How uncertain The fortune of the war is, children know ; And, it being in suspense, on whose fair tent Wing'd Victory will make her glorious stand. You cannot blame the duke, though he appear Perplex'd and troubled. Steph. But why, then. In such a time, when every knee should bend For the success and safety of his person, Are these loud triumphs-? in my weak opinion. They are unseasonable. Tib. I judge so too ; But only in the cause to be excused. It is the duchess' birthday, once a year Solemnized with all pomp and cei'emony; In which the duke is not his own, but hers : Nay, every day, indeed, he is her creature. For never man so doted ; — but to tell The tenth part of his fondness to a stranger. Would argue me of fiction. ' So near inlrench''d, &c.] The French army was at this time engaged in the siege of Pavia, under the walls of which the decisive battle was fought, on the 24th of February, 1525 GiFFORD. 2 TriuT)ij)7is,] i. e. a pageant. 12 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT I. Sleph. She's, indeed, A lady of most exquisite form. Til). She knows it. And how to prize it. Sleph. I ne'er heard her tainted In any point of honour. Tib. On my life. She's constant to his bed, and well deserves His largest favours. But, when beauty is Stamp'd on great women, great in birth and fortune. And blown by flatterers greater than it is, 'Tis seldom unaccompanied with pride ; Nor is she that way free : presuming on The duke's affection, and her own desert, Slie bears herself with such a majesty. Looking with scorn on all as things beneath her. That Sforza's mother, that would lose no part Of what was once her own, nor his fair sister, A lady too acquainted with her worth. Will brook it well ; and howsoe'er their hate Is smothcr'd for a time, 'tis more than fear'd It will at length break out. Sleph. He in whose power it is. Turn all to the best ! Tib. Come, let us to the court ; We there shall see all bravery and cost, That art can boast of. Sleph. I '11 bear you company. [^Exeunt. SC II. THE DUKE OF MILAN'. 13 SCENE II. Another Room in the same. Filter Francisco, Isabella, and Mariana. Mart. I will not go; I scorn to be a spot' In lier proud train. laah. Shall I, that am his mother. Be so indulgent, as to wait on her That owes me duty } Fran. 'Tis done to the duke. And not to her : and, my sweet wife, remember. And, madam, if you please, receive my counsel. As Sforza is your son, you may command him ; And, as a sister, you may challenge from him A brother's love and favour : but, this granted. Consider he's the prince, and you his subjects, And not to question or contend with her Whom he is pleased to honour. Private men Prefer their wives ; and shall he, being a prince. And blest with one that is the paradise Of sweetness, and of beauty, to whose charge The stock of women's goodness is given up. Not use her like herself.'' I sab. You are ever forward To sing her praises. Mari. Others are as fair; I am sure, as noble. Fran. I detract from none. In giving her what's due. Were she deform'd. Yet being the duchess, I stand bound to serve her ; ' / scorn to he a spot, &c.] ISIariana alludes to the spots (eyes) in the peacock's tail. — Giffokd. 14 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT I. But, as she is, to admire her. Never wife INlet with a purer heat her husbaiul's fervour; A happy pair, one in the other blest ! She confident in herself he's wholly hers. And cannot seek for change ; and he secure, That 'tis not in the power of man to tempt her. And therefore to contest with her, that is The stronger and the better part of him. Is more than folly : you know him of a nature Not to be play'd with ; and, should you forget To obey him as your prince, he'll not remember The duty that he owes you. Isab. 'Tis but truth : Come, clear our brows, and let us to the banquet ; But not to serve his idol. Mart. I shall do What may become the sister of a prince ; But will not stoop beneath it. Fran. Yet, be wise ; Soar not too high, to fall ; but stoop to rise. \^Exeniit. SCENE III. A Slate Room in the same. Enter three Gentlemen, setting forth a banquet. 1 Gent. Quick, quick, for love's sake ! let the court put on Her choicest outside : cost and bravery Be only thought of. 2 Gent. All that may be had To ])lease the eye, the ear, taste, touch, or smell. Are carefully provided. SC in. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 15 3 Gent. There 's a masque : Have you heard what 's the invention ? 1 Geut. No matter : It is intended for the duchess' honour ; And if it give her glorious attributes. As the most fair, most virtuous, and the rest, 'Twill please the duke. \_Loud musicr\ They come. 3 Gent. All is in order. Flourish. Enter Tiberio, Stephano, Fuancisco, Sforza, IMarcelia, Isabella, Mariana, and Attendufits. Sfor. You are the mistress of the feast — sit here, O my soul's comfort ! and when Sforza hows Thus low to do you honour, let none think The meanest service they can pay my love. But as a fair addition to those titles They stand possest of. Let me glory in iNIy happiness, and mighty kings look pale With envy, while I triumph in mine own. O mother, look on her ! sister, admire her ! And, since this present age yields not a woman Worthy to be her second, borrow of Times past, and let imagination help. Of those canonized ladies Sparta boasts of. And, in her greatness, Rome was proud to owe ', To fashion one ; yet still you must confess. The phoenix of perfection ne'er was seen. But in my fair Marcelia. Fran. She's, indeed. The wonder of all times. Tib. Your excellence, ' Owe,'] i. c. oxvn, poiscus. 1-6 THR DUKE OF MILAN. ACT I. Though I confess you give her but her own, Forces her modesty to the defence Of a sweet blush. Sfor. It need not, my JNIarcelia ; When most I strive to praise thee, I appear A jioor detractor : for thou art, indeed. So absolute in body and in mind. That, but to speak the least part to the height, Would ask an angel's tongue, and yet then end In silent admiration ! Isah. You still court her. As if she were a mistress, not your wife. Sfor. A mistress, mother ! she is more to me. And every day deserves more to be sued to. Marc. My worthiest lord ! The only object I behold with pleasure, — IMy pride, my glory, in a word, my all ! Bear witness, heaven, that I esteem myself In nothing worthy of the meanest praise You can bestow, unless it be in this. That in my heart I love and honour you. And, but that it would smell of arrogance, To speak my strong desire and zeal to serve you, I then could say, these eyes yet never saw The rising sun, but that my vows and prayers Were sent to heaven for the prosperity And safety of my lord : nor have I ever Had other study, but how to appear Worthy your favour ; and that my affection INlight yield a fruitful harvest of content For all your noble travail, in the purchase Of her that 's still your servant : By these lips, Which, pardon me, that I presume to kiss Sfor. O swear, for ever swear ! SC. III. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 17 Marc. I ne'er will seek Delight but in your pleasure : and desire, When you are sated Avith all earthly glories. And age and honours make you fit for heaven. That one grave may receive us. Sfor. 'Tis believed, Believed, my blest one. Mart. How she winds herself Into his soul ! Sfor. Sit all. — Let others feed On those gross cates, while Sforza banquets with Immortal viands ta'en in at his eyes. I could live ever thus. — Command the eunuch To sing the ditty that I last composed. Enter a Courier. In praise of my IMarcelia. From whence } Cour. From Pavia, my dread lord. Sfor. Speak, is all lost } Cour. [Delivers a letter. 1 The letter will inform you. [_Exit. Fran. How his hand shakeS;, As he receives it ! Mari. This is some allay To his hot passion. Sfor. Though it bring death, I '11 read it : May it please your excellence to understand, that the very hour I wrote this, I heard a bold dejiance delivered by a herald from the emperor, which was cheerfully received by the king o/" France. The battailes being ready to join, and the vans,uard committedto my charge, enforces me to end abruptly. Your highness's humble servant, Gaspero» VOL. II. c 18 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT I. Ready to join! — By this, then, I am nothing, Or my estate secure. \_Aside. Marc. IMy lord. SJor. To dcubt. Is worse than to have lost ; and to despair. Is but to antedate those miseries That must fall on us ; all my hojjes depending Upon this battle's fortune. In my soul, ]Methinks, there should be that imperious power. By supernatural, not usual means, T' inform me what I am. The cause consider'd. Why should I fear ? The French are bold and strong. Their numbers full, and in their councils wise ; But then, the haughty Spaniard is all iire. Hot in his executions ; fortunate In his attempts ; married to victory : — Ay, there it is that shakes me. [_Aside. Fran. Excellent lady. This day was dedicated to your honour; One gale of your sweet breath will easih'' Disperse these clouds; and, but yourself, there 'snone That dare speak to him. Marc. I will run the hazard. — My lord ! Sfor. Ila ! — pardon me, IMarcelia, I am troubled; And stand uncertain, whether I am master Of aught that 's worth the owning. Marc. I am yours, sir; And I have heard you swear, I being safe, There was no loss could move you. This day, sir. Is by your gift made mine. Can you revoke A grant made to jMarcelia.? your JMarcelia .^ — For whose love, nay, whose honour, gentle sir. All deep designs, and state-affairs deferr'd, B'e, as you purposed, merry. SC. HI. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 19 Sfor. Out of my sight ! [Throws away the letter. And all thoughts that may strangle mirth forsake me. Fall what can fall, I dare the worst of fate : Though the foundation of the earth should shrink. The glorious eye of heaven lose his splendour. Supported thus, I '11 stand upon the ruins. And seek for new life here. Why are you sad? No other sports ! by heaven, he 's not my friend That wears one furrow in his face. I was told There was a masque. Fran. They wait your highness' pleasure, And when you please to have it. Sfor. Bid them enter : Come, make me happy once again. I am rapt — 'Tis not to-day, to-morrow, or the next. But all my days, and years, shall be employ'd To do thee honour. Marc. And my life to serve you. \_A horn tvithoul. Sfor. Another post i Go hang him, hang liim, I say; I will not interrupt my present pleasures. Although his message should import my head : Hang him, I say. Marc. Nay, good sir, I am pleased To grant a little intermission to you : Who knows but he brings news we wish to hear. To heighten our delights. Sfor. As wise as fair ! Enter another Courier. From Gaspero ? c 2 20 .THE DUKE OF MILAX. ACT I. Cour. That was, my lord. Sfor. How ! dead ? Cour. \_DiTivers a letter.'^ With the delivery of this, and prayers. To guard your excellency from certain dangers. He ceased to be a man. [_Exit. 'Sfor. All that my fears Could fashion to me, or my enemies wish. Is fallen upon me. — Silence that harsh music; 'Tis now unseasonable : a tolling bell. As a sad harbinger to tell me, that This paniper'd lump of flesh must feast the worms. Is fitter for me : — I am sick. Marc. jVIy lord! Sfor. Sick to the death, JMarcelia. Remove These signs of mirth ; they were ominous, and but usher'd Sorrow and ruin. Marc. Bless us, heaven ! Isah. My son. Marc. What sudden change is this .'' 'V/or. All leave the room ; I '11 bear alone the burden of mv ifrief. And must admit no partner. I am yet Your prince, where 's your obedience.^ — Stay, IMarcelia ; I cannot be so greedy of a sorrow. In which you must not share. lEjceunl TinKitio, Stkimiano, Francisco, Is.v- iJKLLA, Makiana, und Alteuilaiils. Marc. And cheerfully I will sustain my part. Why look you pale ? ^\'hcre is that wonted constancv and courajie. SC. III. TnE DUKE OF MILAN. 21 That dared the worst of fortune ? where is Sfurza, To whom all dangers that fright common men Appear'd but panic terrors ? why do you eye me With such fix'd looks ? Love, counsel, duty, service, IVIa}^ flow from me, not danger. Sfor. O, JMarcelia! It is for thee I fear ; for thee, thy Sforza Shakes like a coward : for myself, unmoved, I could have heard my troops were cut in pieces, IVIy general slain, and he, on whom my hopes Of rule, of state, of life, had their dependence. The king of France, my greatest friend, made prisoner To so proud enemies. Marc. Then you have just cause To show you are a man. Sfor. All this were nothing. Though I add to it, that I am assured. For giving aid to this unfortunate kmg, The emperor, incensed, lays his command On his victorious army, flesh'd with spoil. And bold of conquest, to march up against me. And seize on my estates : suppose that done too. The city ta'en, the kennels running blood. The ransack'd temples falling on their saints ; ]\Iy mother, in my sight, toss'd on their pikes. And sister ravish'd ; and myself bound fast In chains, to grace their triumph ; or what else An enemy's insolence could load me with, I would be Sforza still. But, when I think That ray INIarcelia, to whom all these Are but as atoms to the greatest hill. Must suflfer in my cause, and for me suffer I 22 TIIK DUKE OF MILAN. ACT I. All earthly torments, nay, even those the damn'd Howl for in hell, are gentle strokes^ compared To what I feel, IMarcelia'. Marc. Good sir, have patience : I can as well partake your adverse fortune, As I thus long have had an ample share In your prosperity. 'Tis not in the power Of fate to alter me ; for while I am. In spite of it, I 'm yours. Sfor. But should that will To be so be forced, Marcclia ; and I live To see those eyes I prize above my own. Dart favours, though compell'd, upon another ; Or those sweet lips, yielding immortal nectar, Be gently touch'd by any but myself; Think, think, IMarcelia, what a cursed thing I were, beyond expression ! Marc. Do not feed Those jealous thoughts; the only blessing that ' There is a striking similarity (as Mr. Gilchrist observes) between this passage, and the parting speech of Hector to Andromache : AXX en f/,01 TpuuM TOfftioy //.iXii aXyo; oviffireay Out avTVS 'ExaS»f, ovrt U^iaftaio avccKre;, OuTi KariyvyiToiii, oi Kiv -roXii; n xa.i iir^Xoi Kv xDMWi wiiriniv vt' avopari ovr/utvamv, Offffov (Til, X. T. a.. II. vi. 450. But no grief For Ilium ; for her people ; for the king, Uly warlike sire ; nor even for the queen ; Nor for the numerous and the valiant band INIy brothers, destined, all, to bite the ground, So moves me, as my grief for thee alone. Cowper's Translation. SC. III. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 23 Heaven hath bestow'd on us, more than on beasts. Is, that 'tis in our pleasure when to die. Besides, were I now in another's power, There are so many ways to let out life, I would not live, for one short minute, his : I was born only yours, and I will die so, Sfor. Angels reward the goodness of this woman ! Enter Francisco. All I can pay is nothing. — Why, uncall'd for ? Fran. It is of weight, sir, that makes me thus press Upon your privacies. Your constant friend. The marquis of Pescara, tired with haste. Hath business that concerns your life and fortunes. And with speed, to impart. Sfor. Wait on him hither. \_Exit Francisco. And, dearest, to thy closet. Let thy prayers Assist my councils. Marc. To spare imprecations Against myself, without you I am nothing. \_Exit. Sfor. The marquis of Pescara! a great soldier'; And, though he served upon the adverse party. Ever my constant friend. Re-enter Francisco with Pescara. Fran. Yonder he walks. Full of sad thoughts. > Sfor. The marquis of Pescara! a great soldier.] The duke does not exaggerate the merits of Pescara : he was, indeed, a great soldier, a fortunate commander, an able negotiator, in a word, one of the chief ornaments of a period which abounded in extraordinary characters — Gifford. 24 THK DUKE OF MILAX. ACT I. Pesc. Blame him not, good Francisco, He liatli much cause to grieve; woukl I might end so, And not add this, — to fear ! SJhr. i\Iy dear Pescara ; A miracle in these times ! a friend, and happy. Cleaves to a falling fortune ! Pesc. If it were As well in my weak power, in act, to raise it. As 'tis to bear a part of sorrow with you. You then should have just cause to say, Pescara Look'd not upon your state, but on your virtues. When he made suit to be writ in the list Of those vou favour'd. But my haste forbids All compliment ; thus, then, sir, to the purpose : The cause that, unattended, brought me hither. Was not to tell you of your loss, or danger ; For fame hath many wings to bring ill tidings, And I presume you 've heard it ; but to give you Such friendly counsel, as, perhaps, may make Your sad disaster less. Sfor. You are all goodness; And I give up myself to be disposed of, As in your wisdom you think fit. Pesc. Thus, then, sir : To hope you can hold out against the emperor. Were flattery in yourself, to your undoing : Therefore, the safest course that you can take, Is, to give up yourself to his discretion. Before you be compell'd ; for, rest assured, A voluntary' yielding may find grace. And will admit defence, at least, excuse : But, should you linger doubtful, till his powers SC. III. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 2S Have seized your person and estates perforce. You must expect extremes. Sfor. I understand you ; And I will put your counsel into act. And speedily. I only will take order For some domestical affairs, that do Concern me nearly, and with the next sun Ride with you: in the mean time, my best friend. Pray take your rest. Pesc. Indeed, I have travell'd hard ; And will embrace your counsel. \_Exil. Sfor. With all care. Attend my noble friend. Stay you, Francisco. You see how things stand with me '^ Fran. To my grief: And if the loss of my poor life could be A sacrifice to restore them as they were, I willingly would lay it down. Sfor. I think so : For I have ever found you true and thankful. Which makes me love the building I have raised In your advancement ; and repent no grace I have conferr'd upon you. And, believe me, Though now I should repeat my favours to you. The titles I have given you, and the means Suitable to your honours ; that I thought you Worthy my sister and my family. And in my dukedom made you next myself; It is not to upbraid you ; but to tell you I find you are worthy of them, in your love And service to me. Fran. Sir, I am your creature ; 26 Tni3 DUKE OF MILAN. ACT I. And any shape, that you wouhl have me wear, I gladly will put on. Sfor. Thus, then, Francisco : I now am to deliver to your trust A weighty secret; of so strange a nature. And 'twill, I know, appear so monstrous to you, That you will tremble in the execution. As much as I am tortured to command it : For 'tis a deed so horrid, that, but to hear it. Would strike into a ruffian flesh'd in murders. Or an obdurate hangman, soft compassion ; And yet, Francisco, of all men the dearest. And from me most deserving, such my state And strange condition is, that thou alone Must know the fatal service, and perform it. Fran. These preparations, sir, to work a stranger, Or to one unacquainted with your bounties, jNIight appear useful ; but to me they arc Needless impertinencies : for I dare do Whate'er you dare command. Sfor. But you must swear it ; And put into the oath all joys or torments That fright the wicked, or confirm the good ; Not to conceal it only, that is nothing, But. whcnsoe'er my will shall speak, Strike now ! To fall upon 't like thunder. Fran. JNIinister The oath in any way or form you please, I stand resolved to take it. Sfor. Thou must do, then. What no malevolent star will dare to look on. It is so wicked : for which men will curse thee For being the instrument ; and the blest angels SC. III. THE DUKE OF 5I1LAX. 27 Forsake me at my need, for being the author : For 'tis a deed of night, of night, Francisco ! In which the memory of all good actions We can pretend to shall be buried quick : Or, if we be remember' d, it shall be To fright posterity by our example. That have outgone all precedents of villains That were before us ; and such as succeed, Though taua-ht in hell's black school, shall ne'er come near us. — Art thou not shaken yet ? Fran. I grant vou move me: But to a man confirm'd Sfor. I '11 try your temper : What think you of my wife ? Fran. As a thing sacred ; To whose fair name and memory I pay gladly These signs of duty. Sfor. Is she not the abstract Of all that's rare, or to be wish'd in woman ? Fran. It were a kind of blasphemy to dispute it ; But to the purpose, sir. Sfor. Add too, her goodness, Her tenderness of me, her care to please me. Her unsuspected chastity, ne'er equall'd ; Her innocence, her honour : — O, I am lost In the ocean of her virtues and her graces. When I think of them ! Fran. Now I find the end Of all your conjurations ; there's some service To be done for this sweet lady. If she have enemies. That she would have removed 28 TIIK DUKE OF MILAN. ACT I. Sfo7\ Alas ! Francisco, Her greatest enemy is her greatest lover ; Yet, in that hatred, her idolater. One smile of hers would make a savage tame ; One accent of that tongue would calm the seas. Though all the winds at once strove there for empire. Yet I, for whom she thinks all this too little. Should I miscarry in this present journey. From whence it is all number to a cipher, I ne'er return with honour, by thy hand Blust have her murder'd. Frau. IMurder'd ! — She that loves so. And so deserves to be beloved again ! And I, who sometimes you were pleased to favour, Pick'd out the insti'ument! Sfor. Do not fly off: What is decreed can never be recall'd ; 'Tis more than love to her, that marks her out A wish'd companion to me in both fortunes: And strong assurance of thy zealous faith. That gives up to thy trust a secret, that Racks should not have forced from me. O, Francisco ! There is no heaven without her ; nor a hell. Where she resides. I ask from her but justice. And what I would have paid to her, had sickness. Or any other accident, divorced Her purer soul from her unspotted body. The slavish Indian princes, when they die. Are cheerfully attended to tlie fire By the wife and slave that, living, they loved best. To do them service in another world : Nor will I be less honour'd, that love more. SC. III. THE UUKE OF MILAN. 29 And therefore trifle not, but, in thy looks. Express a ready purpose to perform What I command ; or, by ]Marcelia's soul, This is thy latest minute. Fran. 'Tis not fear Of death, but love to you, makes me embrace it ; But for mine own security, when 'tis done. What warrant have I ? If you please to sign one, I shall, though with unwillingness and horror. Perform your dreadful charge. Sfor. I will, Francisco : But still remember, that a prince's secrets Are balm conceal'd ; but poison, if discover'd. I may come back ; then this is but a trial To purchase thee, if it were possible, A nearer place in my affection : — but I know thee honest. Fran. 'Tis a character I will not part with. Sfor. 1 may live to reward it^ [Exemit. > If we compare this scene with the celebrated scene between King John and Hubert, in Shakspeare's tragedy of King John, we shall perceive this remarkable difference, that Sforza, while he proposes to his brother-in-law and favourite the eventual murder of his wife, whom he idolizes, is consistent and determined; his mind is filled with horror of the deed, but borne to the execution of it by the impulse of an extravagant and fantastic delicacy : John, who is actuated solely by the desire of removing his rival in the crown, not only fears to communicate his purpose to Hubert, though he perceives him to be " A ftllow by the hand of nature mark'd, Quoted, and sign'd to do a deed of shame," but, after having sounded him, and found him ready to 30 THE UUKE OF MILAN. ACT II. ACT II. SCENE I. The name. An open Space before the Castle. Enter Tibkrio and Stephaxo. Steph. How ! left the court ? Tib. Witliout guard or rctiuue Fitting a prince. Step//. No enemy near, to force him To leave his own strengths, yet deliver up Himself, as 'twere, in bonds, to the discretion Of him that hates him ! 'tis beyond example. You never lieard the motives that induced him To this strange course.'' Tib. No, those are cabinet councils. And not to be communicated, but execute whatever he can propose, he only hints at the deed. Sforza enlarges on the cruelty and atrocity of his design : John is afraid to utter liis in the view of the sun ; nay, the sanguinary Richard hesitates in proposing the murder of his nephews to Buckingham. In this instance, then, as well as that of Charelois, our poet may seem to deviate from nature, for ambition is a stronger passion than love; yet Sforza decides with more promptness and confidence than either of Shakspcare's characters, ^^'e must consider, however, that timidity and irresolution are characteristics of John, and that liichard"s hesitation appears to be assumed, only in order to transfer the guilt and odium of the action to Buckingham FERniAU. This scene seems to have engrossed the critics' attention to the neglect of the rest ; let me suggest, in justice to IVIassinger, tliat it is equalled, if not surpassed, by some of the succeeding ones, and, among the rest, by that which concludes the second act. — Giffobd. SC. I. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 31 To such as are his own, and sure. Alas ! We fill up empty places, and in public Are tuutrht to oive our sufFrao;es to that Which was before determined ; and are safe so. Signior Francisco (upon whom alone His absolute power is, with all strength, conferr'd. During his absence) can with ease resolve you : To me they are riddles. Steph. Well, he shall not be My CEdipus ; 1 11 rather dwell in darkness. But, my good lord Tiberio, this Francisco Is, on the sudden, strangely raised. Tib. O sir. He took the thriving course : he had a sister', A fair one too, with whom, as it is rumour'd. The duke was too familiar ; but she, cast off, (What promises soever pass'd between them) Upon the sight of this- forsook the court. And since was never seen. To smother this. As honours never fail to purchase silence, Francisco first was graced, and, step by step. Is raised up to this height. Steph. But how is His absence borne .'' Tib. Sadly, it seems, by the duchess ; ' He had a sister, IVIarc. For you, puppet - Mari. What of me, pine-tree 9] " Now I perceive that she hath made compare Between our statures." Puppet and maij.pole, and many other terms of equal elegance, are bandied about in the quarrel between Hermia and Helena, in Midsummer-Night's Dream, which is here too closely imi- tated. I forbear to quote the passages, which are familiar to every reader of Shakspeare. These traits, however disgusting, are not without their value ; they strongly mark the prevailing features of the times, which were universally coarse and in- delicate : they exhibit also a circumstance worthy of particular notice, namely, that those vigorous powers of genius, which carry men far beyond the literary state of their age, do not en- able them to outgo that of its manners. This must serve as an apology for our author ; indeed, it is the only one which can be offered for many who stand higher in the ranks of fame than Massinger, and who have still more need of it. — Giffobd. 38 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT II. Mart. To you ? Marc. To me : and therefore, as a vassal. From this hour leani to serve me, or you 11 feel I must make use of my authority. And, as a princess, punish it. Isah. A princess ! Mari. I had rather he a slave unto a Moor, Than know thee for my equal, Isah Scornful thing ! Proud of a white face. Mari. Oh, that I could reach you ! The little one you scorn so, with her nails Would tear your painted face, and scratch those eyes out. Do hut come down. Marc. Were there no other way. But leaping on thy neck, to break mine own. Rather than be outbraved thus. \^She retires. Grac. Forty ducats Upon the little hen ; she 's of the kind. And will not leave the pit. \_Aside. Mari. That it were lawful To meet her with a poniard and a pistol ! But these weak hands shall show my spleen — Re-enter Marcelia below. Marc. Where are you. You modicum, you dwarf ! Mari. Here, giantess, here. Enter Francisco, Tirehio, Stepiiano, and Guards. Fran. A tumult in the court ! Mari. Let her come on. SC. I. THE DUKE OF MILAX. 39 Fran, What wind hath raised this tempest ? Sever them, I command you. What 's the cause ? Speak, IMariana. Mart. I am out of breath ; But we shall meet, we shall. — And do you hear, sir! Or right me on this monster, (she 's three feet Too high for a woman,) or ne'er look to have A quiet hour with me. Isab. If my son were here. And would endure this, may a mother's curse Pursue and overtake him ! Fran. O forbear : In me he 's present, both in power and will ; And, madam, I much grieve that, in his absence. There should arise the least distaste to move you ; It being his principal, nay, only charge. To have you, in his absence, served and honour'd. As when himself perform'd the willing office. Mart. This is fine, i' faith. Grac. I would I were well off! Fran. And therefore, I beseech you, madam, frown not. Till most unwittingly he hath deserved it. On your poor servant ; to your excellence I ever was and will be such ; and lay The duke's authority, trusted to me. With willingness at your feet. Marl. O base ! Isab. We are like To have an equal judge ! Fran. But, should I find That you are touch'd in any point of honour. Or that the least neglect is fall'n upon you, I then stand up a prince. 40 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT 11. 1 Fid. Without reward. Pray you dismiss us. Grac. Would I were five leagues hence ! Fran. I will be partial To none, not to myself; Be you but pleased to show me my offence. Or if you hold me in your good opinion, Name those that have offended you. I sab. I am one. And I will justify it. Mari. Thou art a base fellow. To take her part. Fran. Remember, she 's the duchess. Marc. But used with more contempt, than if I were A peasant's daughter ; with loud noises forced Forth from my prayers ; and my private chamber. Which with all willingness I would make my prison During the absence of my lord, denied me : But if he e'er return — Frati. Were you an actor In this vile comedy ? Mari. Ay, marry was I ; And will be one again. Isab. I '11 join with her. Though you repine at it. Fran. Think not, then, I speak. For I stand bound to honour, and to serve you ; But that the duke, that lives in this great lady. For the contempt of him in her, commands you To be close prisoners. Isab. Mari. Prisoners ! Fran. Bear them hence; SC. r. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 41 This is your charge, my lord Tiberio, And, Stephano, this is yours. Marc. I am not cruel. But pleased they may have liberty. Isab. Pleased, with a mischief ! Mari. I'll rather live in any loathsome dungeon. Than in a paradise at her entreaty : And, for you, upstart Stcph. There is no contending. Tib. What shall become of these? Fran. See them well whipp'd. As you will answer it. Tib. Now, signor Graccho, What think you of your greatness ? Grac. I preach patience. And must endure my fortune. 1 Fid. I was never yet At such a hunt's upS nor was so rewarded. [^E.reuni all but Francisco a7id Mabcelia. ' A hiinfs np-l The hunt''s up was a lesson on the horn, played under the windows of sportsmen, to call them up in the morning. It was, probably, sufficiently obstreperous, for it is frequently applied by our old writers, as in this place, to any noise or clamour of an awakening or alarming nature. The tune, or rather, perhaps, the words to it, was composed by one Gray, in the time of Henry VIII. who, as Puttenham tells us, in his Art of English Poesy, was much pleased with it. Of its popularity there can be no doubt, for it was one of the songs travestied by the Scotch Reformers into "■ ane gude and godly ballate," for the edidcation of the elect. The tune, I suppose, is lost; but we have a hunt''s up of our own, which is still played under the windows of the sluggish sportsman, and con- sists of a chorus of men, dogs, and horns, not a little alarming. — GlFFORD. 42 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT II. Fran. Let them first know themselves, and how you are To be served and honour'd; which, when they confess, You may again receive them to your favour : And then it will show nobly. Marc. With my thanks The duke shall pay you his, if he return To bless us with his presence. Frail. There is nothing That can be added to your fair acceptance ; That is the prize, indeed ; all else are blanks. And of no value. As, in virtuous actions. The undertaker finds a full reward. Although conferr'd upon unthankful men ; So, any service done to so much sweetness. However dangerous, and subject to An ill constructi(m, in your favour finds A wisli'd and glorious end. Marc. From you, I take this As loyal duty; but, in any other. It would appear gross flattery. Fran. Flattery, madam ! You are so rare and excellent in all things. And raised so high upon a rock of goodness. As that vice cannot reach you ' ; who but looks on This temple, built by nature to perfection. But must bow to it ; and out of that zeal. Not only Icai-n to adore it, but to love it ? Marc. Whither will tliis fellow ? \^J.side. Fran. Pardon, therefore, madam. If an excess in me of humble duty, ' T/iat vice,] i. e. Jlattcnj. SC. T. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 43 Teach me to hope, and though it be not in The power of man to merit such a blessing, ]\Iy piety, for it is more than love. May find reward. Marc. You have it in my thanks ; And, on my hand, I am pleased that you shall take A full possession of it : but, take heed That you fix here, and feed no hope beyond it ; If you do, it wiU prove fatal. Fran. Be it death. And death with torments tyrants ne'er found out. Yet I must say, I love you. Marc. As a subject; And 'twill become you. Fran. Farewell, circumstance ! And since you are not pleased to understand me. But by a plain and usual form of speech ; All superstitious reverence laid by, I love you, lady. Why do you start, and fly me ? I am no monster, and you but a woman, A woman made to yield, and by example Told it is lawful : favours of this nature Are, in our age, no miracles in the greatest ; And, therefore, lady • Marc. Keep off! — O you Powers! Libidinous beast ! and, add to that, unthankful ! A crime, which creatures wanting reason fly from. Are all the princely bounties, favours, honours. Which, with some prejudice to his own wisdom, Thy lord and raiser hath conferr'd upon thee. In three days' absence buried ? Hath he made thee, A thing obscure, almost without a name. The envy of great fortunes ? Have I graced thee. Beyond thy rank, and entertain'd thee, as 44 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT 11. A friend, and not a servant ? and is this, This impudent attem])t to taint mine honour. The fair return of both our ventured favours ! Fran. Hear my excuse. Marc. The devil may plead mercy. And with as much assurance, as thou yield one. Is passion so mad in thee ? or is thy pride Grown up to such a height, that, but a princess, No woman can content thee ; and, add to it. His wife and princess, to whom thou art tied In all the bonds of duty.^ — Read iny life ; And find one act of mine so loosely carried. That could invite a most self-loving fool. Set off with all that fortune could throw on him. To the least hope to find way to my favour. Frail. 'Tis acknowledged, madam. That your whole course of life hath been a pattern For chaste and virtuous women. In your beauty. Which I first saw, and loved, as a fair crystal, I read your heavenly mind, clear and untainted ! And while the duke did prize you to your value, Could it have been in man to pay that duty, I well might envy him, liut durst not hope To stop you in your full career of goodness : But now I find that he's fall'n from his fortune. And, howsoever he would appear doting. Grown cold in his affection ; I presume. From his most barbarous neglect of you. To offer my true service. Nor stand I bound. To look back on the courtesies of him. That, of all living men, is most unthankful. JSIarc. Unheard-of impudence ! Fran. You'll say I am modest. When I have told the story. Can he tax me. SC. I. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 45 That have received some worldly trifles from himj> For being ungrateful ; when he, that first tasted. And hath so long enjoy'd, your sweet affection. In which all blessings that our frail condition Is capable of, are wholly comprehended, As cloy'd with happiness, contemns the giver Of his felicity ; and, as he reach'd not The masterpiece of mischief which he aims at. Unless he pay those favours he stands bound to. With fell and deadly hate! — You think he loves you With unexampled fervour ; nay, dotes on you. As there were something in you more than woman : When, on my knowledge, he long since hath wish'd You were among the dead ; — and I, you scorn so, Perhaps, am your preserver. Mai'c. Bless me, good angels. Or I am blasted ! Lies so false and wicked. And fashion'd to so damnable a purpose. Cannot be spoken by a human tongue. IMy husband hate me ! give thyself the lie. False and accurs'd ! Thy soul, if thou hast any, Can witness, never lady stood so bound To the unfeign'd affection of her lord. As I do to my Sforza. If thou wouldst work Upon my weak credulity, tell me, rather. That the earth moves ; the sun and stars stand still ; The ocean keeps nor floods nor ebbs ; or that There's peace between the lion and the lamb; Or that the ravenous eagle and the dove Keep in one aerie', and bring up their young; Or any thing that is averse to nature : And I will sooner credit it, than that ' Aerie, '\ i. e. nest. 46 THE DUKE OF MILAX. ACT II. IMy lord can think of me, but as a jewel, He loves more than himself, and all the world. Fran. O innocence abused ! simplicity cozen'd ! It were a sin, for which we have no name. To keej) you longer in this wilful error. Read his affection here; — [^Gives her a paper.'] — and then observe How dear he holds you ! 'Tis his character, Which cunning yet could never counterfeit. Marc. 'Tis his hand, I'm resolved' of it. I'U try What the inscription is. Fran. Pray you, do so. IMarc. [^reads.]] Yon know my pleasure, and the hour of Marcelia's death, which fail not to e.recute, as you will answer tlie contrary., not with your head alone, but witJi the ruin of your whole family. And this, written with mine own hand, and .signed with my privy signet, shall be your sufficient warrant. LoDOVico Sfokza. I do obey it ! every word 's a poniard, And reaches to my heart. \_Swoons. Fran. What have I dcme? Aladam ! for Heaven's sake, madam ! — O my fate ! I '11 bend her body-' forward. Dearest lady ! — She stirs. For the duke's sake, for Sforza's sake — Marc. Sforza's ! standoff! though dead, I will be his, ' J?('.?o/irfZ,] i. e. convinced. - I'll hriid tier budy,] — to try if there be any life in it. Thus, in The I\I aid's Tra-^udy : " I 've heard, if there be any life, but bow The budi/ thus, and it will show itself." GIFFORD. SC. I. THE DUKE OF BIILAN. 47 And even my ashes shall abhor the touch Of any other. — O unkind and cruel ! Learn, women, learn to trust in one another ; There is no faith in man : Sforza is false. False to JMarcelia ! Fran. But I am true. And live to make you happy. All the pomp. State, and observance you had, being his. Compared to what you shall enjoy, when mine. Shall be no more remember'd. Lose his memory. And look with cheerful beams on your new crea- ture ; And know, what he hath plotted for your good. Fate cannot alter. If the emperor Take not his life, at his return he dies. And by my hand ; my wife, that is his heir. Shall quickly follow : — then we reign alone ! For with this arm I '11 swim through seas of blood. Or make a bridge, arch'd with the bones of men. But I will grasp my aims in you, my dearest. Dearest, and best of women ! Marc. Thou art a villain ! All attributes of arch- villains made into one Cannot express thee. I prefer the hate Of Sforza, though it mark me for the grave. Before thy base affection. I am yet Pure and unspotted in my true love to him ; Nor shall it be corrupted, though he 's tainted : Nor will I part with innocence, because He is found guilty. For thyself, thou art A thing, that, equal with the devil himself, I do detest and scorn. Fran. Thou, then; art nothing: 48 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT 11, Thy life is in my power, disdainful woman ! Think on 't, and tremble. Marc. No, though thou wert now To play thy hangman's part. — Thou well may'st be ]My executioner, and art only fit For such employment ; but ne'er hope to have The least grace from me. I will never see thee. But as the shame of men : so, with my curses Of horror to thy conscience in this life. And pains in hell hereafter, I spit at thee ; And, making haste to make m}-^ peace with Heaven, Expect thee as my hangman. \_Ejcit. Fran. I am lost In the discovery of this fatal secret. Cursed hope, that flatter'd me that wrongs could make her A stranger to her goodness ! all my plots Turn back upon myself; but I am in, And must go on : and, since I have put off From the shore of innocence, guilt be now my pilot ! Revenge first wrought me'; murder's his twin- brother ; One deadly sin, then, help to cure another ! \_Exit. ' Revenge first wrovs^ht me^ &c.] The reader should not suffer these hints, of which he will find several in the succeed- ing pages, to escape him : tliey are not thrown out at random by 3Iassinger, but intended to prepare the mind for the dread- ful retaliation which follows — Gifford. ACT III. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 49 ACT III. SCENE I. The Imperial Camp, before Pavia. Enter Medina^ Hernando, and Alphonso. Med. The spoils the spoil ! 'tis that the soldier fights for. Our victory, as yet, affords us nothing But wounds and empty honour. We have pass'd The hazard of a dreadful day, and forced A passage with our swords through all the dangers That, page-like, wait on the success of war, And now expect reward. Hern. Hell put it in The enemy's mind to be desperate, and hold out ! Yieldings and compositions will undo us ; And what is that way given, for the most part. Comes to the emperor's coffers, to defray The charge of the great action, as 'tis rumour'd : When, usually, some thing in grace, that ne'er heard The cannon's roaring tongue, but at a triumph. Puts in, and for his intercession shares All that we fought for; the poor soldier left To starve, or fill up hospitals. Alph. But, when We enter towns by force, and carve ourselves Pleasure with pillage, and the richest wines Open our shrunk-up veins, and pour into them New blood and fervour Med. I long to be at it ; VOL. II. E 50 THE DUKE OF JIILAX. ACT III. To see these chuffs S that every day may spend A soldier's entertainment for a year. Yet make a third meal of a bunch of raisins'^: These sponges, that suck up a kingdom's fat. Battening like scarabs^ in the dung of peace. To be squeezed out by the rough hand of war ; And all that their whole lives luive heap'd together. By cozenage, perjury, or sordid thrift. With one gripe to be ravish'd. Hern. INIy main hope is. To begin the sport at 3Iilan : there 's enough. And of all kinds of pleasure we can wish for. To satisfy the most covetous. Alph. Every day We look for a remove. Med. For Lodowick Sforza, The Duke of IMilan, I, on mine own knowledge. Can say thus much : he is too much a soldier. Too confident of his own worth, too rich too. And understands too well the emperor hates him. To hope for composition. Alph. On my life, We need not fear his coming in"*. Hern. On mine, ' These chuffs.^ This word is always used in a bad sense, and means a coarse unmannered clown, at once sordid and weaLliy. ^ A third meal of a hunch of raisius,'\ — i. e. three meals of one bunch of raisins. — This simjjle passage was the occasion of much discussion between Mr. GifFord and the Edinburgh Re- viewers. 3 Scarahs.,'\ — i. e. hectics. ■1 His coming i«,] — i. c. Itis surrender of himself. SC. I. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 51 I do not wish it : I had rather that. To show his valour, he 'd put us to the trouble To fetch him in by the ears. Med. The emperor ! Flourish. Enter Charles, Pescara, a?td At- tendants. Charl. You make me wonder: — nay, it is no counsel ', You may partake it, gentlemen : who 'd have thought. That he, that scorn'd our proiFer'd amity When he was sued to, should, ere he be summon'd, (Whether persuaded to it by base fear. Or flatter'd by false hope, which, 'tis uncertain,) First kneel for mercy ? Med. When your majesty Shall please to instruct us who it is, we may Admire it with you. Charl. Who, but the Duke of ]\Iilan, The right band of the French ! of all that stand In our displeasure, whom necessity Compels to seek our favour, I would have sworn Sforza had been the last. Hern. And should be writ so. In the list of those you pardon. Would his city Had rather held us out a siege, like Troy, Than, by a feign'd submission, he should cheat you Of a just revenge, or us of those fair glories We have sweat blood to purchase ! Med. With your honour You cannot hear him. » No counsel,'] — i. e. no secret. E 2 52 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT III. A I ph. The sack alone of iMilan Will pay the army. Churl. I am not so weak. To be wrought on, as you fear ; nor ignorant That money is the sinew of the war : And on what terms soever he seek peace, 'Tis in our power to grant it, or deny it : Yet, for our glory, and to show him tliat We 've brought him on his knees, it is resolved To hear him as a suppliant. Bring him in ; But let him see the eftects of our just anger. In the guard that you make for him. \_Exil Pes CAR A. Hern. I am now Familiar with the issue ; all plagues on it ! He will appear in some dejected habit. His countenance suitable, and for his order, A rope about his neck : then kneel, and tell Old stories, what a worthy thing it is To have power, and not to use it ; then add to that A tale of King Tigranes, and great Pompev, ^\'ho said, forsooth, and wisely! 'twas more honour To make a king, than kill one : which, applied To tlie emperor and himself, a pardon 's granted To him an enemy; and we, his servants, Condemn'd to lieggary. [_Ai>ide to Med. yicd. Yonder he comes ; But not as you expected. lic-eiiler Pescaka ?i>Uh Sforza, strongly guarded. Alph. He looks as if Ho would outface liis dangers. Hern. I am cozen'd: A suitor, in tlie devil's name ! SC. r. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 53 Med. Hear him speak. Sfor. I come not, emperor, to invade thy mercy. By fawning on thy fortune ; nor bring with me Excuses or denials. I profess, And with a good man's confidence, even this instant That I am in thy power, I was thine enemy ; Thy deadly and vow'd enemy : one that wish'd Confusion to thy person and estates ; And with my utmost powers, and deepest counsels. Had they been truly foUow'd, further'd it. Nor will I now, although my neck were under The hangman's axe, with one poor syllable Confess, but that I honour'd the French king JMore than thyself and all men. Med. By saint Jaques, This is no flattery. Hern. There is fire and spirit in 't ; But not long-lived, I hope. Sfor. Now give me leave, ]My hate against thyself, and love to him Freely acknowledged, to give up the reasons That made me so affected : In my wants I ever found him faithful; had supplies Of men and monies from him ; and my hopes. Quite sunk, were, by his grace, buoy'd up again : He was, indeed, to me, as my good angel To guard me from all dangers. I dare speak. Nay, must and will, his praise now, in as high And loud a key, as when he was thy equal. — The benefits he sow'd in me met not Unthankful ground, but yielded him his own With fair increase, and I still glory in it. And, though my fortunes, poor, compared to his. And IMilan, weigh'd with France, appear as nothing, Are in thy fury burnt, let it be mention' d, 54 THE DUKp: of MILAN". act III. They served but as small tapers to attend The solemn flame at this great funeral : And with them I will gladly waste myself, Rather than undergo the imputation Of being base, or unthankful. Alph. Nobly spoken ! Hern. I do begin, I know not why, to hate him Less than I did. Sfor. If that, then, to be grateful For courtesies received, or not to leave A friend in his necessities, be a crime Amongst you Spaniards, which other nations That, like you, aim'd at empire, loved, and cherish'd Where'er they found it, Sforza brings his head To pay the forfeit. Nor come I as a slave, Pinion'd and fetter'd, in a squalid weed. Falling before thy feet, kneeling and howling. For a forestall'd remission : that were poor. And would but shame thy victory; for conquest Over base foes, is a captivity. And not a triumph. I ne'er fear'd to die, IMore than I wish'd to live. When I had reach'd My ends in being a duke, I wore these robes. This crown upon my head, and to my side This sword was girt ; and witness truth, that, now Tis in another's power, when I shall part With them and life together, I 'm the same : ]\Iy veins then did not swell with pride ; nor now Shrink they for fear. Know, sir, that Sforza stands Prepared for either fortune. Hern. As I live, I do begin strangely to love this fellow ; And could part with three quarters of my share in The promised spoil, to save him. SJbr. But, if example SC. I. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 6o Of my fidelity to the French, whose honours. Titles, and glories, are now mix'd with yours. As hrooks, devour'd by rivers, lose their names, Has power to invite you to make him a friend. That hath given evident proof, he knows to love, And to be thankful : this my crown, now yours, You may restore me, and in me instruct These brave commanders, should your fortune change. Which now I wish not, what they may expect From noble enemies, for being faithful. The charges of the war I will defray. And, what you may, not without hazard, force. Bring freely to you : I '11 prevent the cries Of murder'd infants, and of ravish'd maids. Which, in a city sack'd, call on heaven's justice. And stop the course of glorious victories : And, when I know the captains and the soldiers. That have in the late battle done best service. And are to be rewarded, I myself. According to their quality and merits. Will see them largely recompensed. — I have said. And now expect my sentence. Alph. By this light, 'Tis a brave gentleman. Med. How like a block The emperor sits ! Hern. He hath deliver'd reasons. Especially in his purpose to enrich Such as fought bravely, (I myself am one, I care not who knows it,) as I wonder that He can be so stupid. Now he begins to stir : Mercy, an't be thy will ! - Chart. Thou hast so far - 56 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT III. Outgone my expectation, noble Sforza, For such I hold thee ; — and true constancy. Raised on a brave foundation, bears such palm And privilege with it, that where we behold it. Though in an enemy, it does command us To love and honour it. By my future hopes, I am glad, for thy sake, that, in seeking favoui'. Thou didst not borrow of vice her indirect. Crooked, and abject means ; and for mine own. That, since my purposes must now be changed. Touching thy life and fortunes, the world cannot Tax me of levity in my settled counsels; I being neither wrought by tempting bribes. Nor servile flattery; but forced into it By a fair war of virtue. Hern. This sounds well. Charl. All former passages of hate be buried : For thus with open arms I meet thy love. And as a friend embrace it ; and so far I am from robbing thee of the least honour. That with my hands, to make it sit the faster, I set thy crown once more upon thy head ; And do not only style thee Duke of Milan, But vow to keep thee so. Yet, not to take From others to give only to myself, I will not hinder your magnificence To my commanders, neither will I urge it ; But in that, as in all things else, I leave you To be your own disposer. \_Flonrish. Ea,'it with Attendants. Sfor. ]\Iay I live To seal my loyalty, though with loss of life. In some brave service worthy Caesar's favour, And I shall die most happy ! Gentlemen, SC. I. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 57 Receive me to your loves ; and if henceforth There can arise a difference between us, It shall be in a noble emulation Who hath the fairest sword, or dare go farthest. To fight for Charles the emperor. Hern. We embrace you, As one well read in all the points of honour : And there we are your scholars. Sfor. True ; but such As far outstrip the master. We '11 contend In love hereafter ; in the mean time, pray you. Let me discharge my debt, and, as an earnest Of what 's to come, divide this cabinet : In the small body of it there are jewels Will yield a hundred thousand pistolets. Which honour me to receive. Med. You bind us to you. Sfo?: And when great Charles commands me to his presence. If you will please to excuse my abrupt departure. Designs that most concern me, next this mercy. Calling me home, I shall hereafter meet you. And gratify the favour. Hern. In this, and all things. We are your servants. >Sfu)\ A name I ever owe you. ^Exeu7it Medina, Hernando, fuid Alphoxso. Pesc. So, sir ; this tempest is well overblown. And all things fall out to our wishes : but, In my opinion, this quick return. Before you 've made a party in the court Among the great ones, (for these needy captains Have little power in peace,) may beget danger. At least suspicion. 58 THE DITKE OF MILAN. ACT III. Sfor. Where true honour lives. Doubt hath no being : I desire no pawn Beyond un emperor's word, for my assurance. Besides, Pescara, to thyself, of all men, I will confess my weakness: — though my state And crown 's restored me, though I am in grace, And that a little stay might be a step To greater honours, I must hence. Alas ! I live not here ; my wife, ray wife, Pescara, Being absent, I am dead. Prithee, excuse, And do not chide, for friendship's sake, my fondness. But ride along with me ; I '11 give you reasons, And strong ones, to plead for me. Peso. Use your own pleasure ; I '11 bear you company. Sfor. Farewell, grief! I am stored with Two blessings most desired in human life, A constant friend, an unsuspected wife. ^Exeunt. SCENE II. Milan. A Room in the Castle. Enter an Officer with Graccho. Offic. What I did, I had warrant for; you have tasted My office gently, and for those soft strokes, Flea-bitings to the jerks I could have lent you. There does belong a feeling. Grac. Must I pay For being tormented, and dishonour'd .-* Offiic. 'Fie! no. Your honour 's not impair'd in 't. What 's the letting out SC. II. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 59 Of a little corrupt blood, and the next way too ? There is no surgeon like me. Grac. Very good^, sir : But am I the first man of quality That e'er came under your fingers ? Offic. Not by a thousand ; And they have said I have a lucky hand too : Both men and women of all sorts have bow'd Under this sceptre. I have had a fellow That could indite, forsooth, and make fine metres To tinkle in the ears of ignorant madams. That, for defaming of great men, was sent me Threadbare and lousy, and in three days after. Discharged by another that set him on, I have seen him Cap a pie gallant, and his stripes wash'd off With oil of angels'. Grac. 'Twas a sovereign cure. Offic. There was a sectary too, that would not be Conformable to the orders of the church. Nor yield to any argument of reason. But still rail at authority, brought to me, When I had worm'd his tongue, and truss'd his haunches. Grew a fine pulpitman, and was beneficed : Had he not cause to thank me ? Grac. There was physic Was to the purpose. Offic. And, for women, sir. For your more consolation, I could tell you I TViih oil of angels.] It may be just necessary to observe, that this is a pleasant allusion to the gold coin of that name. — GlFFORD. 60 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT III. Twenty fine stories of them. — Speak but truth , then. Is not my office lucky ? Grac. Go, there 's for thee ; But what will be my fortune .'' Offic. If you thrive not After that soft correction, come again. Grac. I thank you, knave. Offic. And then, knave, I will fit you. \_Exit. Grac. Whipt like a rogue ! no lighter punish- ment serve To balance with a little mirth ! 'Tis well ; ]\Iy credit sunk for ever, I am now Fit company only for pages and for footboys. That have perused the porter's lodge '. Enter Julio and Giovanni. Giov. See, Julio, Yonder the proud slave is. How he looks now. After his castigation ! Jnl. Let 's be merry with him. Grac. How they stare at me ! am I turn'd to an owl ? — The wonder, gentlemen ? Jul. I read, this morning, Strange stories of the passive fortitude Of men in former ages, which I thought Impossible, and not to be believed : But now I look on you, my wonder ceases. Grac. The reason, sir } ' Tliat have perused the porter'' s lodge. ] i. e. that have been ■whipt there. The porter's lodge, in our author's days, when the great claimed, and, indeed, t'rcciuently exercised, tlie right of chastising their servants, was the usual place of punishment,— GlFFORD. SC. II. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 61 Jul. Why, sir, you have been whipt, Whipt, signior Graccho ; and the whip, I take it, Is to a gentleman the greatest trial That may be of his patience. Grac. Sir, I '11 call you To a strict account for this. Giov. I 11 not deal with you. Unless I have a beadle for my second : And then I '11 answer you. Jul. Farewell, poor Graccho. [_Exeiint Julio and Giovanni. Grac. Better and better still. If ever wrongs Could teach a wretch to find the way to vengeance^ Enter Francisco and a Servant. Hell now inspire me ! How, the lord protector ! My judge ; I thank him ! Whither thus in private ? I will not see him. \_Sta7ids aside. Fran. If I am sought for. Say I am indisposed, and will not hear Or suits, or suitors. Serv. But, sir, if the princess Inquire, what shall I answer? Fran. Say, I am rid Abroad to take the air ; but by no means Let her know I 'm in court, Serv. So I shall tell hei*. ^Exit. Fran. Within there, ladies ! Enter a Gentleivo)/uin. Gentlew. My good lord, your pleasure ? Fran. Prithee, let me beg thy favour for access To the duchess. Gentlew. In good sooth, my lord, I dare not ; She's very private. 62 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT III. Fran. Come, there's gold to buy thee A new gown, and a rich one. — Where 's thy lady ? Gcntletv. She 's walking in the gallery. Fran. Bring me to her. Genllov. I fear you 11 have cold entertainment, when You are at your journey's end. [_E.veunl Frax. and Gentlew. Grac. A brave discovery beyond my hope, A plot even ofter'd to ray hand to work on ! If I am dull now, may I live and die The scorn of w^orms and slaves ! — Let me consider ; My lady and her mother first committed. In the favour of tlie duchess; and I wliipt ! That, with an iron pen, is writ in brass On my tough heart, now grown a harder metal. — And all his bribed approaches to the duchess To be conceal'd ! good, good. This to my lady Deliver" d, as I '11 order it, runs her mad. — But this may prove but courtship ' ! let it be, I care not, so it feed her jealousy. \_Exit, SCENE III. Another Roo7n in the same. Enter IMakcelia and Francisco. Marc. Believe thy tears or oaths ! can it be hoped. After a practice so abhorr'd and horrid, Repentance e'er can find thee .'' » TItis maij prove hut courts/tip! Sec] This is, merely paying his court to her as duchess. — M. ."Mason. SC. III. THF DUKE OF MILAN. 63 Fran. Dearest lady. Great in your fortune, greater in your goodness. Make a superlative of excellence. In being greatest in your saving mercy. I do confess, humbly confess my fault. To be beyond all pity ; my attempt, So barbarously rude, that it would turn A saint-like patience into savage fury. But you, that are all innocence and virtue, No spleen or anger in you of a woman. But when a holy zeal to piety fires you. May, if you please, impute the fault to love ; A sin, a monstrous sin ! yet with it many That did prove good men after, have been tempted ; And, though I m crooked now, 'tis in your power To make me straight again. Marc. Is't possible This can be cunning ! \^Aside. Fran. But, if no submission. Nor prayers can appease you, that you may know 'Tis not the fear of death that makes me sue thus. But a loath'd detestation of my madness. Which makes me wish to live to have your pardon ; I will not wait the sentence of the duke. Since his return is doubtful, but I myself Will do a fearful justice on myself. No witness by but you, there being no more. When I offended. Yet, before I do it. For I perceive in you no signs of mercy, I will disclose a secret, which, dying with me, ]May prove your ruin. Marc. Speak it; it will take from The burden of thy conscience. Fran. Thus, then, madam : 64 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT III. The warrant by my lord sign'd for your death, Was but conditional ; but you must swear By your unspotted ti*uth not to reveal it. Or I end here abruptly. Marc. By my hopes Of joys hereafter. On. Fran. Nor was it hate That forced him to it, but excess of love. And, if I ne'er return^, (so said great Sforza,) No living man deserving to pos.iess My best Marcelia, with thcjirst news That J am dead, fail not to kill her But till certain proof Assure thee I am lost, (these Avere his words,) Observe and honour her, as if the soul Of woman s goodness only dwelt in hers. This trust I have abused, and basely wrong'd ; And, if the excelling pity of your mind Cannot forgive it, as I dare not hope it. Rather than look on my offended lord, I stand resolved to punish it. \_Draivs his sivord. Marc. Hold ! 'tis forgiven, And by me freely pardon'd. In thy fair life ' And tf I nc^cr irtitni, &c.] I have regulated this speech, which was exceedingly harsh and confused in all the printed copies, according to i\Iassinger's manuscript corrections. The repetitions must be attributed to the embarrassed state of Francisco's mind. In the seventh line, the poet has altered " seal of woman's goodness," (tlie reading of all the copies,) to soul. No sagacity in another could have furnished this most happy emendation, which now appears so necessary, and so obvious. I have been tempted to smile in the course of this revision at the surprising gravity with which we sometimes labour to explain the unin« telligible blunders of a careless compositor. — Gifford. SC. HI. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 65 Hereafter, study to deserve this bounty. Which thy true penitence, such I believe it. Against my resolution hath forced from me. — But that my lord, my Sforza, should esteem IMy life tit only as a page, to wait on The course of his uncertain fortunes, grieves me ; Nor does his envy less deserve mine anger. Which though, such is my love, I would not noui'ish. Will slack the ardour that I had to see him Return in safety. Fran. But if your entertainment Should give the least ground to his jealousy. To raise up an opinion I am false. You then destroy your mercy. Therefore, madam, (Though I shall ever look on you as on jNIy life's preserver, and the miracle Of human pity,) would you but vouchsafe. In company, to do me those fair graces. And favours, which your innocence and honour May safely warrant, it would to the duke, I being to your best self alone known guilty. Make me appear most innocent. Marc. Have your wishes ; And something I may do to try his temper. At least to make him know a constant wife Is not so slaved to her husband's dotins humours. But that she may deserve to live a widow. Her fate appointing it. Fran. It is enough ; Nay, all I could desire; and will make way To my revenge, which shall disperse itself On him, on her, and all. [Aside and exit. — Shont and Jioiirish. VOL. n. F 66 THE DUKE OF MILAN.- ACT III. Marc. What shout is that ? Elder Tiber lo and Stephano. Tib. All happiness to the duchess, that may flow From the duke's new and wish'd return ! Marc. He 's welcome. Slcph. How coldly she receives it ! Til). Observe the encounter. Flourish. Eiiler Sforza, Pkscara. Isabella, Mariaxa, Graccho, a7id Allcndants. Mari, What you have told me, Graccho, is believed, And I '11 find time to stir in 't. Grac. As you see cause; I will not do ill offices. Sfor. I have stood Silent thus long, Marcelia, expecting When, with more than a greedy haste, thou wouldst Have flown into my arms, and on my lips Have printed a deep welcome. My desires To glass myself in these fair eyes have borne me With more than human speed; nor durst I slay In any temple, or to any saint To pay my vows and tlianks for my return. Till I liad seen thee. ]\Iarc. Sir, I am most happy To look upon you safe, and would express ]\Iy love and duty in a modest fashion, Sudi as might suit witli the behaviour Of one that is a wife ; nor can it wrong mc To love discreetly. SC. in. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 67 Sfor. How ! why, can there be A mean in your affections ? Do not move me ; My passions to you are in extremes. And know no bounds : — come ; kiss me. Marc. I obey you. Sfor. By all the joys of love, she does salute me As if I were her grandfather ! What witch, With cursed spells, hath quench'd the fervent love That lived upon these lips ? Tell me, Marcelia, And truly tell me, is 't a fault of mine That hath begot this coldness.'' or neglect Of others, in my absence } Marc. Neither, sir : I stand indebted to your substitute. Noble and good Francisco, for his care And fair observance of me : there was nothing That I dare say I wanted. But, sir, in troth, you are too great a doter. Let us love temperately ; things violent last not ; And too much dotage rather argues folly Than true affection. Grac. Observe but this. And how she praised my lord's care and observance ; And then judge, madam, if my intelligence Have any ground of truth. Mari. No more ; I mark it. Sleph. How the duke stands ! Tib. As he were rooted there. And had no motion. Pesc. ]\Iy lord, from whence Grows this amazement .f" Sfor. It is more, dear my friend ; For 1 am doubtful whether I 've a being, F 2 68 THE DUKK OF MILAN. ACT III. But certain that my life 's a burden to me. Take mc back, good Pescara; show me to Caesar In all liis rage and fury ; I disclaim His mercy : to live now, which is his gift. Is worse than death, and with all studied torments. IMarcelia is unkind ; nay, worse, grown cold In her affection ; my excess of fervour. Which yet was never equall'd, grown distasteful. — But have thy wishes, woman ; thou shalt know That I can be myself, and thus shake off The fetters of fond dotage. From my sight. Without reply ; for I am apt to do Something 1 may repent. — [_Ex'it IMahc.]] — Oh ! who would place His happiness in most accursed woman. In whom obsequiousness engenders pride, And harshness deadly hatred.'' From this hour I '11 labour to forget there are such creatures ; True friends be now my mistresses. Clear your brows, And, though my heart-strings crack for 't, I will be To all a free example of delight. We will have sports of all kinds, and propound Rewards to such as can produce us new ; Unsatisfied, though we surfeit in their store : And never think of cursed ^larcelia more. [^Eseunt. ACT IV. THE DUKE OF MILAN'. 69 ACT IV. SCENE I. The same. A Room hi the Castle. f Enter Francisco and Graccho. Frart. And is it possible thou shouldst forget A wrong of such a nature, and then study My safety and content ? Grac. Sir, but allow me Only to have read the elements of courtship ' , Not the abstruse and hidden arts to thrive there, And you may please to grant me so much know- ledge. That injuries from one in grace, like you. Are noble favours. Is it not grown common -, In every sect, for those that want, to suffer From such as have to give ? Your captain cast. If poor, though not thought daring, but approved so. To raise a coward into name, that 's rich, Suffers disgraces publicly, but receives Rewards for them in private. Fran. Well observed. Put on3 ; we'll be familiar, and discourse A little of this argument. That day > OfcourtsIiij},]i.e.ofcmirt.policy. — M.Mason. 2 Is it not groun com?non, &c.] Graccho is an apt scholar: these notable observations are derived from the lessons of the officer in the last act. — Gifford. 3 Put on,] Be covered; a frequent expression in these pla}'s Gifford. 70 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT IV. In which it was first rumoui"'d, then confirm'd. Great Sforza thought me wortliy of his favour, I found myself to be another thing, Not what I was before. I passed then For a pretty fellow, and of pretty parts too. And was perhaps received so; but, once raised. The liberal courtier made me master of Those virtues which I ne'er knew in myself: If I pretended to a jest, 'twas made one By their interpretation ; if I offer'd To reason of philosophy, though absurdly. They liad helps to save me, and without a blush ^^'ould swear that I, by nature, had more know- ledge Than others could acquire by any labour: Nay, all I did, indeed, which in another Was not remarkable, in me show'd rarely. Grac. But then they tasted of your bounty. Frail. True : They gave me those good parts I was not born to ; And, by my intercession, they got that "\Miich, had I cross'd them, they durst not have ho])ed for. Grac. All this is oracle : and shall I, then. For a foolisli whipping, leave to honour him That holds the wheel of fortune ? no ; that savours Too much of the ancient freedom. Since great men Receive disgraces and give thanks, poor knaves IMust liave nor spleen nor anger. Though I love l\Iy limbs as well as any man, if you had now A luimour to kick me lame into an office, M'herc I might sit in state and undo others^ SC. I. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 71 Stood I not bound to kiss the foot that did it ? Though it seem strange^ there have been such things seen In the memory of man. Fran. But to the purpose ; And then, that service done, make thine own fortunes. ]\Iy wife, thou say'st, is jealous I am too Familiar with the duchess. Grac. And incensed For her commitment in her brother's absence ; And by her mother's anger is spurr'd on To make discovery of it. This her purpose Was trusted to my charge, which I declined As much as in me lay ; but, finding her Determinately bent to undertake it, Though breaking my faith to her may destroy My credit with your lordship, I yet thought. Though at my peril, I stood bound to reveal it. Fran. I thank thy care, and will deserve this secret, In making thee acquainted with a greater. And of more moment. Come into my bosom. And take it from me: Canst thou think, dull Graccho, My power and honours were conferr'd upon me. And add to them this form, to have my pleasures Confined and limited .'' I delight in change And sweet variety ; that 's my heaven on earth. For which I love life only. Therefore, Graccho, So far I am from stopping Mariana In making her complaint, that I desire thee To urge her to it. 72 THE DUKE OF MfLAX. ACT IV. Grac. Tliat may prove your ruin ; The duke already being, as 'tis reported. Doubtful she hath play'd false. Fran. There thou art cozen'd ; His dotage, like an ague, keeps his course. And now 'tis strongly on him. But I lose time ; And therefore know, whether thou wilt or no. Thou art to be my instrument ; and, in spite Of the old saw, that says. It is not safe On any terms to trust a man that 's wrong'd, I dare thee to be false. Grac. This is a language, ]My lord, I understand not. Fran. You thought, sirrah. To put a trick on me for the relation Of what I knew before ; and having won Some weighty secret from me, in revenge To play the traitor. Know, thou wretched thing. By my command thou wert wliipt ; and every day I '11 have thee freshly tortured, if thou miss In the least charge that I impose upon thee. Though what thou speak'st,for the most part,istrue: Nay, grant thou hadst a thousand witnesses To be deposed they heard it, 'tis in me, With one word, such is Sforza's confidence Of my fidelity not to be shaken. To make all void, and ruin my accusers. Therefore look to 't ; bring my wife hotly on To accuse me to the duke — 1 have an end in't; Or tliink what 'tis makes man most miserable. And that shall fall upon thee. Thou wert a fool To hope, by being acquainted with my courses. To curl) and awe me ; or that I should live SC. I. THE DUKE OF MII.AN. 73 Thy slave, as thou didst saucily divine : For prying in my counsels, still live mine. \^E.i'it. Grac. I am caught on both sides. This 'tis for a puisne' In Policy's Protean school, to try conclusions With one that hath commenced, and gone out doctor-. If I discover what but now he bragg'd of, I shall not be believed : if I fall off From him, his threats and actions go together. And there 's no hope of safety. Till I get A plummet that may sound his deepest counsels, I must obey and serve him. Want of skill Now makes me play the rogue against my will. l^Eo'it. ' Puisne,] i. e. putiy. Freshmen at Oxford, where I\Ias- singer was educated, were sometimes called punks for the first year of their entering the University. 2 To try conclusions With one that hath commenced, and gone out doctor.] To irij conclusions, a very common expression, is, to try cxperi. ments. Commenced, and gone out, which occur in the next line, are University terms, and to be met with in most of our old dramas. Graccho styles himself a puisne or freshman in the school of PoHcy, and Francisco one who had taken the highest degree of doctor. 74 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT IV. SCENE II. Anolher Rooin i?i the same. Enler Marcelia, Tiberio, Stephano, and Gentlewoman. Marc. Command me from his sight, and with such scorn As he wouhl rate his shxve ! 2'ib. 'Twas in his fury. Slepli. A7id he repents it, madam. Marc. Was I born To observe his humours ? or, because he dotes, IMust I run mad ? Tib. If that your excellence Would please but to receive a feeling knowledge Of what he suffers, and liow deep the least Unkindncss wounds from you, you would excuse His hastv Lunfuaue. Slcplt. He hath paid the forfeit Of his offence, I 'm sure, with such a sorrow As, if it had l)een greater, would deserve A full remission. Marc. Why, perhaps he hath it ; And I stand more afflicted for his absence, Than lie can be f(n- mine: — so, pray you, tell him. But, till I have digested some sad thoughts. And reconciled passions that are at war Within myself, I purpose to be jirivate ; And have you care, unless it be Francisco, That no man be admitted. [^Exit Gentlewomaii. SC. II. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 75 Tih. How ! Francisco ? Sieph. These things concern not us ; yet if I were The duke, (I freely must confess my weakness,) Entei- Francisco. I should wear yellow breeches ^ Here he comes. Tib. Nay, spare your labour, lady ; we know our exit. And quit the room. Stejj/i. Is this her privacy ! Though with the hazard of a check, perhaps. This may go to the duke. \_Exeu)it TiBKRio and Stephano. Marc. Your face is full Of fears and doubts : the reason ? Fran. O, best madam. They are not counterfeit. I, your poor convert. That only wish to live in sad repentance ; That have no ends nor aims, but that your good- ness ]\Iight be a witness of my penitence. Which seen, would teach you how to love your mercy. Am robb'd of that last hope. The duke, the duke, I more than fear, hath found that I am guilty. Marc. By my unspotted honour, not from me ; Nor have 1 with him changed one syllable. Since his return, but what you heard. Fran. Yet malice Is eagle-eyed, and would see that which is not ; And jealousy's too apt to build upon Unsure foundations. ' Wear yellow hreeches,'\ i. e. he jealous ; yellow, with our old poets, being the livery of jealousy. — Giffoed. 7^ THE DUKE OF MILAX. ACT IV. Marc. Jealous}'- ! Fran. \_Asuh.^ It takes. Marc. Who dares but only think I can be tainted ? But for him, though almost on certain proof, To give it hearing, not belief, deserves ]\Iy hate for ever. Fran. Whether grounded on Your noble yet chaste favours shovrn unto me. Or her imprisonment, for her contempt To you, by my command, my frantic wife Hath put it in his head. Marc. Have I then lived So long, now to be doubted ? Are my favours Tlie themes of her discourse ? or what I do. That never trod in a suspected path. Subject to base construction? Be undaunted; For now, as of a creature that is mine, I rise up your protectress : all the grace I hitherto have done you was bestow'd With a shut hand ; it shall be now more free, Open, and liberal. But let it not, Though counterfeited to the life, teach you To nourish saucy hopes. Fran. ]\Iay I be blasted. When I prove sucli a monster ! Marc. I will stand then Between you and all danger. He shall know. Suspicion overturns what confidence builds ; And he that dares but doubt when there 's no ground Is neither to himself nor others sound. [^Ej-il. Fran. So, let it work ! Her goodness, that denied My service, branded with the name of love. SC. III. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 11 Shall now destroy itself; and she shall find. When he 's a suitor, that brings cunning arm'd With power to be his advocates, the denial Is a disease as killing as the plague, And chastity a clue that leads to death. Hold but thy nature, duke, and be but rash And violent enough, and then at leisure Repent ; I care not. And let my plots produce this long'd-for birth. In my revenge I have my heaven on earth. \_EAL SCENE III. Another Room in the same. Enter Sforza, Pescara, and three Gentlemen. Peso. You promised to be merry. 1 Gent. There are pleasures. And of all kinds, to entertain the time. 2 Gent. Your excellence vouchsafing to make choice Of that which best affects you. Sfor. Hold your prating. Learn manners too ; you ai'e rude. 3 Gent. I have my answer Before I ask the question. ^Askle. Peso. I must borrow The privilege of a friend, and will ; or else I am like these, a servant ; or, what 's worse, A parasite to the sorrow Sforza worships In spite of reason. Sfor. Pray you, use your freedom ; And so far, if you please, allow me mine. 78 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT IV. To hear you only, not to be compell'd To take your moral potions. I am a man ; And tliough philosophy, your mistress, rage for 't. Now I have cause to grievcj I must be sad ; And I dare show it. Vcsc. ^V'ould it were bestow'd Upon a worthier subject ! Sfor. Take heed, friend. You rub a sore whose pain will make me mad ; And I shall then forget myself and you. Lance it no further. Pesc. Have you stood the shock Of thousand enemies, and outfaced the anger Of a great emperor, that vow'd your ruin, Tliough by a desperate, a glorious way. That had no precedent.'' are you return'd with honour. Loved by your subjects.^ does your fortune court you. Or rather say, your courage does command it ? Have you given proof, to this hour of your life, Prosperity, that searches the best temper, Could never puff you up, nor adverse fate Deject your valour? Shall, I say, these virtues. So many and so various trials of Your constant mind, be bui'ied in the frown (To please you, I will say so) of a fair woman .'' — Yet I have seen her equals. tS/'or. (jood Pescara, This language in another were profane ; In you it is unmannerly. — Her equal ! I tell you as a friend, and tell you plainly, (To all men else my sword should make reply,) Her goodness does disdain comparison. SC. III. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 79 Andj but herself, admits no parallel*. But you will say she 's cross ; 'tis fit she should be. When I am foolish ; for she 's wise, Pescara, And knows how far she may dispose her bounties. Her honour safe ; or, if she were averse, 'Twas a prevention of a greater sin Ready to fall upon me ; for she 's not ignorant. But truly understands how much I love her. And that her rare parts do deserve all honour. Her excellence increasing with her years too, I might have fallen into idolatiy. And, from the admiration of her worth. Been taught to think there is no Power above her ; • Her goodness docs disdain comparison. And, hut herself, admits no parallel.] The reader who has any acqviaintance with the littrary squabbles of the last century cannot but recollect how Theobald was annoyed by the jests levelled at him for this line in The Double Falsehood, "None but himself can be his parallel." He justified it, indeed, at some Jenglh ; but "it is not for gravity," as Sir Toby well observes, " to play at cherry-pit with Safari." His waggish antagonists drove him out of his patience, and hj, who had every thing but wit on his side, is at this moment labouring under the consequences of his imagined defeat. ^Vith respect to the phrase in question, it is sufficiently common ; and I could produce, if it were necessary, twenty in- stances of it from Massinger's contemporaries alone: nor is it peculiar to this country, but exists in every language with which I am acquainted. Even while I am writing this note, the fol- lowing pretty example lies before me, in the address of a grate- ful Hindoo to Sir A\'illiam Jones : " To you there are many liice me ; yet to me there is none like yon hut yourself: there are numerous groves of night- flowers; yet the night-flower sees nothing like the vicon hut the moon. A hundred chiefs rule the world ; but thou art an ocean, and they t're mere wells : many luminaries are av/ake in the sky ; but which of them can be compared to the sun ?" — See Memoirs of his Life, by Lord Teignmouth. — Giffoud. 80 THE DUKE OF MILAX. ACT IV, And yet I do believe, liad angels sexes, The most would be such women, and assume No other shape, when they were to appear In their full glory. Pcsc. ^Vell, siv, I '11 not cross you. Nor labour to diminish your esteem. Hereafter, of her. Since your happiness, As you will have it, has alone dependence Upon her favour, from my soul I wish you A fair atonement ^ Sfor. Time, and my submission. Enter Tiberio and Stepiiano. May work her to it. — O ! you are well return'd : Say, am I blest '•! hath she vouchsafed to hear you .'' Is there hope left that she may be appeased.-* Let her propound, and gladly I '11 subscribe To her conditions. Til). Slie, sir, yet is froward. And desires respite and some privacy. Steph. She was harsh at first ; but, ere we parted, scem'd not Implacable. Sfor. There 's comfort yet. I '11 ply her Each hour with new ambassadors of more honours, Titles, and eminence : my second self, Francisco, shall solicit her. Stepli. That a wise man. And what is more, a prince that may command, Should sue thus poorly, and treat with his wife As she were a victorious enemy At whose proud feet himself, his state, and country, Baselv betriT'd mercv ! -eo ' Atonement. "l i. c reconciliation. SC. III. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 81 Sfor. What is that you mutter ? I '11 have thy thoughts. Sieph. You shall. You are too fond. And feed a pride that 's swollen too big already. And surfeits with observance. Sfor. O my patience ! My vassal speak thus? Steph. Let my head answer it, If I offend. She, that you think a saint, I fear may play the devil. Pesc. Well said, old fellow. ^Aside. Sleph. And he that hath so long engross'd your favours. Though to be named with reverence, lord Francisco, Who, as you purpose, shall solicit for you, I think 's too near her. [[Sforza lays his hand on his sword. Pesc. Hold, sir ! this is madness. Sfor. Let me go, I scorn to touch him ; he deserves my pity. And not my anger. Dotard ! and to be one Is thy protection, else thou durst not think That love to my ]\Iarcelia hath left room In my full heart for any jealous thought : — That idle passion dwell with thick-skinn'd trades- men ! Lock up thy own wife, fool. I smile to think What wretched things they are that dare be jealous. Were I match'd to another IMessaline ', While I found merit in myself to please her, ' Mcssalinc.'] The wife of the Emperor Claudius. She was disgraced by the most abominable excesses of licentiousness and cruelty, which have rendered her name infamous with posterity. VOL. II. G 82 THE DUKE OF MILAN*. ACT IV. I should believe her chaste, and would not seek To find out my own torment ; but, alas ! Enjoying one that, but to me, 's a Dian, I am too secure. Tib. This is a confidence Beyond example. Enter Graccho, Isabella, aiid Mariana. Grac. There he is — now speak. Or be for ever silent. Sfor. If you come To bring me comfort, say th:^ you have made My peace with my ^larcelia. Isab. I had rather Wait on you to your funeral. SJur. You are my mother ; Oi-, by her life, you were dead else. Mali. Would you were, To your dishonour ! and, since dotage makes you Wilfully blind, borrow of me my eyes. Or some part of my spirit. Are you all flesh ? A lump of patience only ? no fire in you } But do your pleasure : — here your mother was Committed by your servant, (for I scorn To call him husband,) and myself, your sister. If that you dare remember such a name, ]\Iew'd up, to make the way open and free For the adulteress, I am unwilling To sav a part of Sforza. SJor. Take her head off! She hath blasphemed, and by our law must die. Isab. Blas))hemed ! Sfor. What do I suffer ! SC. III. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 83 Mart. Is it treason For me^ that am a subject, to endeavour To save the honour of the duke, and that He should not be disg-raced on record ? For by posterity 'twill be believed. As certainly as now it can be proved, Francisco, the great minion, that sways all. To meet the chaste embraces of the duchess Sfor. Some proof, vile creature ! or thou hast spoke thy last. Mart. Their hourly private meetings ; and e'en now, When, under a pretence of grief or anger. You 're made a stranger to her, at all times The door stands open to him. To a Dutchman, This were enough ; but to a right Italian, A hundred thousand witnesses. Sfor. O the malice And envy of base women, that, with horror. Knowing their own defects and inward guilt. Dare lie, and swear, and damn, for what's most false. To cast aspersions upon one untainted ! Ye are in your natures devils, and your ends. Knowing your reputation sunk for ever. And not to be recover'd, to have all Wear your black livery. Wretches ! you have raised A monumental trophy to her pureness. In this your studied purpose to deprave her : And all the shot made by your foul detraction, Falling upon her sure-arm'd innocence. Returns upon yourselves ; and, if my love Could suffer an addition, I 'm so far G 2 84 THE DUKE OF MI LAX, ACT IV. From giving credit to you, this would teach me ]More to admire and serve her. You are not worthy To fall as sacrifices to appease her ; And therefore live till your own envy burst you. Isah. All is in vain ; he is not to be moved. ]\Iari. She has bewitch'd him. Pesc. 'Tis so past belief. To me it shows a fable. Enter Francisco, speaking to a Servant within. Fran. On thy life, Provide my horses, and without the port With care attend me. Serv. [jwith'in.~\ I shall, my lord. Grac. He 's come. What gimcrack have we next ? Fran. Great sir. Sfor. Francisco. Fran. I would impart. Please you to lend your ear, a weighty secret I am in labour to deliver to you. 'Sj'ur. All leave the room. \^Ej:cnnt Isah. !Mari. and GRALC110.3 — Excuse me, good Pcscara ; Ere long I will wait on you. Peso. You speak, sir. The language I should use. [^Exit. Sfor. Be within call ; Perhaps we may have use of you. 2'i/). We shall, sir. [^Exeunt Tib. and Steph. Sfor. Say on, my comfort. Fran. Comfort ! no, your torment ; For so my fate appoints me. I could curse The hour that gave me being. SC. HI. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 85 Sfor. What new monsters Of misery stand ready to devour me ? Let them at once despatch me. Fran. Draw your sword, then. And, as you wish your own peace, quickly kill me : Consider not, but do it. SJor. Art thou mad ? Fran. Or, if to take my life be too much mercy. As death, indeed, concludes all human sorrows. Cut off my nose and ears ; pull out an eye. The other only left to lend me light To see my own deformities. Why was I born Without some mulct imposed on me by nature ? Would from my youth a loathsome leprosy Had run upon this face, or that my breath Had been infectious, and so made me shunn'd Of all societies ! Cursed be he that taught me Discourse or manners, or lent any grace That makes the owner pleasing in the eye Of wanton women ! since those parts which others Value as blessings are to me afflictions. Such my condition is. Sfor. I am on the rack : Dissolve this doubtful riddle ' . Fran. That I alone. Of all mankind, that stand most bound to love you. And study your content, should be appointed. Not by my will, but forced by cruel fate. To be your greatest enemy ! — Not to hold you In this amazement longer, in a word. Your duchess loves me. > Dissolve,] i. e. solve. Our old writers used the words indiscriminately. 80 THE DUKE OF .MILAN. ACT IV. Sfor. Loves thee ! Fran. Is mad for me. Pursues me liourlv. Sfor. Oh! Fran. And from hence grew Her Lvte neglect of you. Sfor. O women ! women ! Fran. I labour'd to divert her hy persuas^ion ; Then urged your much h)ve to her, and the dangers- Denied her, and with scorn. Sfor. 'Twas like thyself. Fran. But when I saw her smile, then heard her say Your love and extreme dota Grac. In the devil's name, what means he ! Enter Servants. Fran. Take my friend Into your custody, and bind him fast : I would not part with him. Grac. ]\Iy good lord. Fran. Despatch : 'Tis for your good, to keep you honest, Graccho : I would not have ten thousand ducats tempt you, Being of a soft and waxlike disposition. To play the traitor ; nor a foolish itch To be revenged for your late excellent whipping Give you the opportunity to offer IMy head for satisfaction. Why, thou fool ! I can look through and through thee : thy intents Appear to me as written in thy forehead In plain and easy characters : and but that I scorn a slave's base blood should rust that sword SC. II. THE DUKE OF MILAN. ^7 That from a prince expects a scarlet dye. Thou now wert dead ; but live, only to pray For good success to crown my undertakings ; And then, at my return, perhaps 1 11 free thee. To make me further sport. Away with him ! I will not hear a syllable. [_Exeunt Servants with Graccho. We must trust Ourselves, Eugenia ; and though we make use of The counsel of our servants, that oil spent. Like snuffs that do offend, we tread them out. — But now to our last scene, which we 11 so carry. That few shall understand how 'twas begun. Till all, with half an eye, may see 'tis done. {_Exeunt. SCENE II. Milan. A Room in the Castle. Enter Pescara, Tiberio, and Stephano. Peso. The like was never read of. Sfeph. In my judgment. To all that shall but hear it, 'twill appear A most impossible fable. Tib. For Francisco, My wonder is the less, because there are Too many precedents of unthankful men Raised up to greatness, which have after studied The ruin of their makers. Steph. But that melancholy. Though endino; in distraction, should work So far upon a man as to compel him VOL. II. H 98 THE Dt'KE or MILAN. ACT V. To court a thing that has nor sense nor being. Is unto me a miracle. Pe.sc. 'Troth, I '11 tell you, And briefly as I can, by what degrees He fell into this madness. When, by the care Of his physicians, he was brought to life, As he had only pass'd a fearful dream, And had not acted what I grieve to think on. He call'd for fair IVIarcelia, and being told That she was dead, he broke forth in extremes, (I would not say blasphemed,) and cried that Heaven, For all the offences that mankind could do, ^\'ould never be so cruel as to rob it Of so much sweetness, and of so much goodness ; That not alone was sacred in herself. But did preserve all others innocent That had but converse with her. Then it came Into his fancy that she was accused By his mother and his sister ; thrice he cursed them. And thrice his desperate hand was on his sword T 'have kill'd them both ; but he restrain'd, and they Shunning liis fury, s])ite of all prevention He would have turn'd his rage upon himself; When wisely his physicians, looking on The duchess' wound, to stay his ready hand. Cried out it was not mortal. Tib, 'Twas well thoucrht on. Pesc. He easily believing what he Avish'd, IMore than a perpetuity of pleasure In any object else ; flatter'd by hope. Forgetting his own greatness, he fell prostrate At the doctors' feet, implored their aid, and swore. Provided thev recover'd her, he woidd live A private man, and they should share his dukedom. SC. II. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 99 They seem'd to promise fair, and every hour Vary their judgments, as they find his fit To suffer intermission or extremes : For his behaviour since Sfor. [within.'] As you have pity, Support her gently. Pesc. Now be your own witnesses ; I am prevented. Enter Sforza, Isabella, Mariana, Doctors and Servants with the body o/'Marcelia. Sfor. Carefully, I beseech you. The gentlest touch torments her ; and then think What I shall suffer. O you earthly gods. You second natures, that from your great master, Whojoin'd the limbs of torn Hippolitus, And drew upon himself the Thunderer's envy. Are taught those hidden secrets that restore To life death-wounded men ! you have a patient On whom to express the excellence of art Will bind even Heaven your debtor, though it pleases To make your hands the organs of a work The saints will smile to look on, and good angels Clap their celestial wings to give it plaudits. — How pale and wan she looks ! — O pardon me That I presume (dyed oer with bloody guilt. Which makes me, I confess, far, far unworthy) To touch this snow-white hand. How cold it is ! This once was Cupid's fire-brand, and still 'Tis so to me. How slow her pulses beat too ! Yet in this temper she is all perfection. And mistress of a heat so full of sweetness, h2 100 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT V. The blood of virgins, in their pride of youth. Are balls of snow or ice compared unto her. Mari. Is not this strange ? Isaf). Oh ! cross him not, dear daughter ; Our conscience tells us we have been abused. Wrought to accuse the innocent, and with him Are guilty of a fact E7ilcr a Servant, and whispers Pescara. Mari. Tisnow past help. Peso. With me? What is he? Serv. He has a strange aspect ; A Jew by birth, and a physician By his profession, as he says, who, hearing Of the duke's frenzy, on the forfeit of His life will undertake to render him Perfect in every part : — provided that Your lordship's favour gain him free access. And yoiu- power with the duke a safe protection. Till the great work be ended. Peso. Bring me to him. As I find cause, I '11 do. lExeiint Pesc. and Serv. SJ'or. How sound she sleeps ! Heaven keep her from a lethargy ! How long (But answer me with comfort, I beseech you) Does your sure judgment tell you that these lids. That cover richer jewels than themselves. Like envious night, will bar these glorious suns From shining on me? 1 Docl. We have given her, sir, A sleepy potion that will hold her long, That she may be less sensible of the torment The searching of her wound will put her to. SC. II. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 101 '2 Docl. She now feels little ; but, if we should wake her, To hear her speak would fright both us and you. And therefore dare not hasten it. Sfor. I am patient. You see I do not rage, but wait your pleasure. What do you think she dreams of now ? for sure. Although her body's organs are bound fast. Her fancy cannot slumber. 1 Doct. That, sir, looks on Your sorrow for your late rash act with pity Of what you suffer for it, and prepares To meet the free confession of your guilt With a glad pardon. Sfur. She was ever kind ; And her displeasure, though calld on, short-lived Upon the least submission. O you Powers, That can convey our thoughts to one another Without the aid of eyes or ears, assist me ! Let her behold me in a pleasing dream [K7ieeh-. Thus, on my knees before her ; (yet that duty In me is not sufficient;) let her see me Compel my mother, from whom I took life, And this my sister, partner of my being. To bow thus low unto her ; let her hear us In my acknowledgment freely confess That we in a degree as high are guilty As she is innocent. Bite your tongues, vile creatures. And let your inward horror fright your souls. For having belied that pureness, to come near which All women that posterity can bring forth Must be, though striving to be good, poor rivals. And for that dog Francisco, that seduced me. 102 THE DLKE OF MILAN. ACT V. In wounding her, to rase a temple built To cluistitv and sweetness, let her know I '11 follow him to hell but I will find him, And there live a fourth Fury to torment him. Then, for this cursed hand and arm that guided The wicked steel, I '11 have them, joint by joint, With burning irons scar'd off, which I will eat, I being a vulture fit to taste such carrion. Lastly - 1 I)ocl. You are too loud, sir ; you disturb Her sweet repose. Sjor. I am hush'd. Yet give us leave. Thus prostrate at her feet, our eyes bent down- wards. Unworthy, and ashamed, to look upon hei". To expect her gracious sentence. 2 Doct. He s past hope. 1 Doct. The body, too, will putrify, and then We can no longer cover the imposture Tib. Which in his death will quickly be dis- cover" d. I can but weep his fortune. Steph. Yet be careful You lose no minute to preserve him ; time IMay lessen his distraction. lic-entcr Pkscaka, ivilh Fraxcisco as a Jew doctor^ and Eutir.xiA disguised as before. Fran. I am no god, sir. To give a new life to her ; yet I '11 hazard Bly head I '11 work tlie senseless trunk t' appear To him as it had got a second being, Or that the soul that 's fied from 't were call'd back To govern it again. I will preserve it SC. II. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 103 In the first sweetness, and by a strange vapour. Which I '11 infuse into her mouth, create A seeming breath : I '11 make her veins run high too. As if they had true motion. Pesc. Do but this. Till we use means to win upon his passions T' endure to hear she's dead with some small patience. And make thy own reward. Fran. The art I use Admits no looker on : I only ask The fourth part of an hour to perfect that I boldly undertake. Pesc. I will procure it. 2 Doct. What stranger 's this ? Pesc. Sooth me in all I say; There 's a main end in it. Fra?i. Beware ! Eug. I am warn'd. Pesc. Look up, sir, cheerfully; comfort in me Flows strongly to you. Sfor. From whence came that sound ? Was it from my IMarcelia } If it were, [^Rises. 1 rise, and joy will give me wings to meet it. Pesc. Nor shall your expectation be deferr'd But a few minutes. Your physicians are Mere voice, and no performance ; I have found A man that can do wonders. Do not hinder The duchess' wish'd recovery, to inquire Or what he is, or to give thanks, but leave him To work this miracle. Sfor. Sure 'tis my good angel. I do obey in all things : be it death 104 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT V. For any to disturb him, or come near. Till he be pleased to call us, O be prosperous. And make a duke thy bondman ! [Exeunt all but Francisco a7id Eugenia. Fran. 'Tis my purpose; If that to fall a long-wish'd sacrifice To my revenge can be a benefit. I 11 first make fast the doors ; — so ! EuQ. You amaze me : What follows now ? Fran. A full conclusion Of all thy wishes. Look on this, Eugenia; Even such a thing the proudest fair on earth (For whose delight the elements are ransack'd, And art with nature studied to preserve her,) Must be when she is summon'd to appear In the court of Death. But I lose time. Eug. What mean you ? Fran. Disturb me not. — Your ladyship looks pale; But I, your doctor, have a ceruse for you. — See, my Eugenia, how many faces. That are adored in court, borrow these helps, ^Paints the face. And pass for excellence when the better part Of them are like to this. — These hands too, that disdain'd to take a touch From any lip whose owner writ not lord, Are now but as the coarsest earth ; but I Am at the charge, my bill not to be paid too. To give them seeming beauty. \_Vaints the hands.'^ — So! 'tis done. How do you like my workmanship ? Eug. I tremble: SC. II. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 105 And thus to tyrannize upon the dead Is most inhuman. Fran. Come we for revenge. And can we think on pity } Now to the upshot ; And, as it proves, applaud it. — My lord the duke ! Enter with joy, and see the sudden change Your servant's hand hath wrought. Re-enter Sforza and the rest. Sfor. I live again In my full confidence that Marcelia may Pronounce my pardon. Can she speak yet } Fran. No : You must not look for all your joys at once: That will ask longer time. Peso. 'Tis wondrous strange! Sfor. By all the dues of love I have had from her. This hand seems as it was when first I kiss'd it. These lips invite too : I could ever feed Upon these roses, they still keep their colour And native sweetness : only the nectar 's wanting, That, like the morning dew in flowery ]\Iay, Preserved them in their beauty. Enter Graccho hastily. Grac. Treason, treason ! Tib. Call up the guard. Fran. Graccho ! then we are lost. [_ Aside. Enter Guard. Grac. I am got off, sir Jew ; a bribe hath done it. lOG THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT V. For all your serious charge ; there 's no disguise Can keep you from my knowledge. Sfor. Speak. Grac. I am out of breath, But this is Fran. Spare thy labour, fool, — Francisco'. All. IMonster of men ! Fran. Give me all attributes Of all you can imagine, yet I glory To be the thing I was born. I am Francisco ; Francisco, that was raised by you, and made The minion of the time ; the same Francisco, Whose art hath breathed a jealousy upon thee. As killing as those damps that belch out plagues When the foundation of the earth is shaken : I made thee do a deed Heaven will not pardon. Which was — to kill an innocent. Sfor. Call forth the tortures For all that flesh can feel. Fran. I dare the worst. Only, to yield some reason to the world Why I pursued this course, look on this face, Made old by thy base falsehood: 'tis Eugenia. Sfor. Eugenia! Fran. Does it start you, sir > my sister, ' Fran. Sparc iliij labour, fool, — Francisco.] Francisco's bold avowal of his guilt, with an eniphatical repetition of his name, and the enumeration of his several acts of villany, whicli he justifies from a spirit of revenge, in all probability gave rise to one of the most animated scenes in dramatic poetry. The reader will easily see that I refer to the last act of Dr. Young's Revenge, where Zanga, like Francisco, defends every cruel and treacherous act he has committed from a principle of deep resentment. — Davie s. SC. II. TIIK DUKE OF MILAN. 107 Seduced and fool'd by thee : but thou must pay The forfeit of thy falsehood. Does it not work yet.>— Whate'er becomes of me, which I esteem not, Tiiou art mark'd for the grave: I've given thee poison In this cup', now observe me, which, thy love Carousing deeply of, made thee forget Thy vow'd faith to Eugenia. Pesc. O damn'd villain ! Isab. How do you, sir ? Sfor. Like one That learns to know in death what punishment Waits on the breach of faith. Oh ! now I feel An ^tna in my entrails. — I have lived A prince, and my last breath shall be command. — I burn, I burn ! yet ere life be consumed. Let me pronounce upon this wretch all torture That witty cruelty can invent. Pesc. Away with him ! Tib. In all things we will serve you. Fran. Farewell, sister ! Now I have kept my word, torments I scorn : I leave the world with glory. They are men. And leave behind them name and memory. That, wrong'd, do right themselves before they die. ^Exeunt Guard with Fkancisco. Sfeph. A desperate wretch ! ' /« i/iis CHj},^ i. e. in the lips of Marcclia. This is a terrible scene, and has the air of being taken from some Italian story. The circumstance of rubbing poison on the lips of a dead beauty occurs in a dreadful passage in the Revenger''s Tragedy, by Cyril Tourner, 1G09. There, too, the Duke is poisoned by kissing them. — Gifford. lOS THE »UKK OF MILAN'. ACT V. Sfor. I come : Deatli ! I obey thee. Yet I will not die raging ; for, alas ! JMy whole life was a frenzy. Good Eugenia, In death forgive me. — As you love me, bear her To some religious house, there let her spend The remnant of her life : when I am ashes. Perhaps she '11 l)e appeased, and spare a prayer F'or my poor soul. Bury me with IVIarcelia, And let our epitaph be \_Die.s. Til). His speecli is stopp'd. Steph. Already dead ! Pesc. It is in vain to labour To call him back. We '11 give him funeral. And then determine of the state affairs : And learn, from this example. There 's no trust In a foundation that is built on lust. \_ExeHnt. THE CITY MADAM. The City Madam. ] This admirable comedy was licensed by Sir Henry rierl)ert, .^lay 2."), lG:i2, and acted by the king's company. It is not easy to speak in appropriate terms of praise of this production: it exhibits equal copiousness of matter and power of thought. The circumstantial detail of the manners of the age, the impression with which the moral lessons are con- veyed, and the strong incidents with which the scenes abound, fill the mind witli variety of excellence. It is a powerful and masterly composition, and has the effect of history, satire, and comedy united. The play was received with great applause at its first repre- sentation, but was not printed till 1 ()")!(. Alterations of it have been made more than once in modern times, and produced at different theatres, but with little success. Of those the best, perhaps, is Sir J. B. Burges's play of Kiches, in which Mr. Kcan performed Luke with considerable effect. TO THE TRULY NOBLE AND VIUTUOUS LADY ANN, COUNTESS OF OXFORD'. HONOURED LADY, In that age when wit and learning were not conquered by injury and violence, this poem was the object of love and commendations ; it being composed by an infallible pen, and censured by an unerring auditory. In this epistle I shall not need to make an apology for plays in general, by exhibiting their antiquity and utility: in a word, they are mirrors or glasses which none but deformed faces and fouler consciences fear to look into. The encouragement I had to prefer this dedication to your powerful protection proceeds from the uni- versal fame of the deceased author, who (although he composed many) wrote none amiss, and this may justly be ranked among his best. I have redeemed it from the teeth of Time by com- mitting of it to the press, but more in imploring your patron- age. I will not slander it with my praises : it is commendation enough to call it Massingeu's. If it may gain your allow- ance and pardon, I am highly gratified, and desire only to wear the happy title of, Madam, your most humble servant, ANDREW PENNYCUICKE. ' Daughter of Paul, Viscount Binnyng, and wife of Aubrey de Vere, Earl of Oxford. DRAMATIS PERSONS. Loud Lacy. Sir John Frugal, a merchant. Sir IMaurice Lacy, sou to Lord Lacy. Mr. Plenty, a countnj gentleman. Luke Frugal, hrothcr to Sir John. GoLDWiRE senior, } , ,, r,. . > two ircntlemcfi. Iradewell ir«/.,'\ i. e. an old-clot lies shop: the word is pure French, but occurs in most of our ancient dramatists. ■^ The s/icriff's basla'f.'\ " The poorer sort of prisoners, as well in this counter, as in that in Wood-street, receive daily rehef from the slieri//"s tabic of all the broken bread and meat." — t>TOW, 13. iii. p. 51. SC. I. THE CITY MADAM. 119 Were your festival-exceedings ? and is this So soon forgotten ? Luke. I confess I am Your creature, madam. L. Frug. And good reason why You should continue so. Anne. Who did new clothe you ? Marg. Admitted you to the dining-room > Mill. Allow'd you A fresh bed in the garret ? L. Fms. Or from whom Received you spending money r Luke. I owe all this To your goodness, madam ; for it you have my prayers. The beggar's satisfaction : all my studies (Forgetting what I was, but with all duty Remembering what I am) are how to please you. And if in my long stay I have offended, I ask your pardon : though you may consider. Being forced to fetch these from the Old Exchange, These from the Tower, and these from Westminster, I could not come much sooner. Gold. Here was a walk To breathe a footman ! Anne. 'Tis a curious fan. Mary. These roses will show rarely. Luke. I was with The lady, and deliver'd her the satin For her gown, and velvet for her petticoat. This night she vows she '11 pay you. i^Aside to GOLDAVIKE. Gold. How I am bound To your favour, master Luke ! 120 THE CITY MADAM. ACT I. Mill, As I live, you will Perfume all rooms you walk in. L. Friig. Get your fur'; You shall pull tlicm on within. \^Exit Luke. Gold. That servile office Her pride imposes on him. Sir John. \_wiihin.~\ Golchvire ! Tradewell ! Trade. I\Iy master calls. — We come^ sir. ^Exeunt GoLinviRE and Tradewell. Enter Holdfast, and Porters ivith baskets, S^c. L. Frug. What have you brought there.'' Hold. The cream o' the market ; Provision enough to serve a garrison. I weep to think on 't : when my master got His wealth, his family fed on roots and livers. And necks of beef on Sundays. But now I fear it will be spent in poultry ; Butcher's-meat will not go down. L. Frng. Why, you rascal, is it At your expense ? What cooks have you provided .'' Hold. The best of the city : they've wrought at my lord mayor's. Anne. Fie on them ! they smell of Fleet-lane, and Pie-corner. Man/. And think the happiness of man's life consists In a mighty shoulder of mutton. E. Frug. I '11 have none Shall touch what I shall eat, you grumbling cur, ' Gel i/onr fur.] To put under her feet while he tried on her shoes. — M. Masqs. SC. II. THE CITY MADAM. 121 But Frenchmen and Italians ; they wear satin. And dish no meat but in silver. Hold. You may want, though, A dish or two when the service ends. L. Frug. Leave prating ; I '11 have my will : do you as I command you. \_Exeunl. SCENE II. The Street before Frugal'* House. Enter Sir Maurice Lacy and Page. Sir Maw. You were with Plenty? Page. Yes, sir. Sir Maur. And what answer Return'd the clown ? Pas;c. Clown, sir ! he is transform'd. And gi-own a gallant of the last edition ' ; More rich than gaudy in his habit ; yet The freedom and the bluntness of his language Continues with him. When I told him that You gave him caution, as he loved the peace And safety of his life, he should forbear To pass the merchant's threshold, until you. Of his two daughters, had made choice of her Whom you design'd to honour as your wife. He smiled in scorn. Sir Maur. In scorn ! Pase. His words confirm'd it ; ' 0/thc last edition;] i. e. of the newest fashion. 122 THE CITY MADAM. ACT I. They were few, but to this purpose : Tell your master, Though his lordship in reversion were now his, It cannot awe me. I was born a freeman, And will not yield, in the way ofajf'ection, Precedence to him : I will visit them. Though he sate porter to deny me entrance : When I meet him next, 1 'II say more to his face. Deliver thou this : then gave me a piece. To help my memory, and so we parted. Sir Maur. Where got he this spirit ? Page. At the academy of valour, Newly erected for the institution Of elder brothers; where they are taught the ways, Though they refuse to seal for a duellist, How to decline a challenge. lie himself Can best resolve you. Enter Plenty and three Servants. Sir Maur. You, sir ! Plenty. What with mc, sir? How big you look ! I will lose a hat To a hair's breadth : move your beaver, I '11 move mine ; Or if you desire to prove your sword, mine hangs As near my right hand, and will as soon out; though I keep not A fencer to breathe me. Walk into Moorfields — I dare look on your Toledo. Do not show A foolish valour in the streets, to make SC. II. THE CITY JIADAJI. 123 Work for shopkeepers and their clubs'; 'tis scurvy, And the women will laugh at us. Sir Maur. You presume On the protection of your hinds. Plenty. I scorn it : Though I keep men, I fight not with their fingers, Nor make it my religion to follow The gallant's fashion, to have my family Consisting in a footman and a page. And those two sometimes hungry. I can feed these. And clothe them too, my gay sir. Sir Maur. What a fine man Hath your tailor made you ! Plenty. 'Tis quite contrary ; I have made my tailor, for my clothes are paid for As soon as put on ; a sin your man of title Is seldom guilty of: but. Heaven forgive it ! I have other faults, too, very incident To a plain gentleman : I eat my venison With my neighbours in the country, and present not My pheasants, partridges, and grouse to the usurer ; Nor ever yet paid brokage to his scrivener. I flatter not my mercer's wife, nor feast her With the first cherries, or peascods, to prepare me Credit with her husband, when I come to London. The wool of my sheep, or a score or two of fat oxen In Smithfield, give me money for my expenses. I can make my wife a jointure of such lands too ' For shopkeepers and their cluhs.l In any public affray, the cry was clubs ! clubs ! by way of calling for persons to part the combatants. It appears that shopkeepers generally kept clubs in readiness for this very purpose. 124 THE CITY MADAM. ACT I. As are not encumber'd ; no annuity Or statute lying on them. This I can do, An it please your future honour ; and why, there- fore. You should forbid my being suitor with you. My dulness apprehends not. Page. This is bitter. \^Aside. Sir Manr. I have heard you, sir, and in my patience shown Too much of the stoic. But to parley further. Or answer your gross jeers, would write me coward. This only, — thy great grandfather was a butcher. And his son a grazier ; thy sire, constable Of the hundred, and thou the first of your dunghill Created gentleman. Now you may come on, sir. You and your thrashers. P/enti/. Stir not, on your lives. This for the grazier, — this for the butcher. \_TheyJ!ght. Sir Maur. So, sir ! Page. I '11 not stand idle ; draw ! \_to the Ser- vants.'] ]My little rapier Against your bumb blades ! I '11 one by one de- spatch you, Then house this instrument of death and horror. Enter Siii John Frugal, Luke, Goi^dwirv. junior, and Tkauewell junior. Sir John. Beat down their weapons. My gate ruffian's hall ! What insolence is this .'' Luke. Noble Sir IMaurice, Worshipful master Plenty — Sir Jolin. I blush for you. SC. II. THE CITY MADAM. 125 ]Men of your quality expose your fame To every vulgar censure ! This at midnight After a drunken supper in a tavern, (No civil man abroad to censure it',) Had shown poor in you ; but in the day, and view Of all that pass by, monstrous ! Plenti/. Very well, sir ; You look'd for this defence. Sir Maur. 'Tis thy protection ; But it will deceive thee. Sir John. Hold, if you proceed thus, I must make use of the next justice' power. And leave persuasion ; and in plain terms tell you. Enter Lady Frugal, Anne, Mary, and Millis- CENT. Neither your birth. Sir Maurice, nor your wealth. Shall privilege this riot. See whom you have drawn To be spectators of it ! Can you imagine It can stand with the credit of my daughters To be the argument of your swords } i' the street too? Nay, ere you do salute, or I give way To any private conference, shake hands In sign of peace : he that draws back parts with My good opinion. \_They shake hands.'] This is as it should be. Make your approaches, and if their affection Can sympathise with yours, they shall not come. On my credit, beggars to you. I will hear What you reply within. » Civil man.,'] i. e. citizen, or, perhaps, owe invested 'cith civil authority. 12fi THE CITY MADAM. ACT I. iSir Moiir. IMay I have the honour To support you, lady? [To Anne. Plenty. I know not what's supporting, But, by this fair hand, glove and all, I love you. [To Mary. \_Exe2mt all but Luke. Enter HoYST, Penury, and Fortune. Luke. You are come with all advantage. I will help you To the speech of my brother. For. Have you moved him for us ? Luke. With the best of my endeavours, and I hope You '11 find him tractable. Pen. Heaven grant he prove so ! Hot/st. Howe'er, 1 11 speak my mind. Enter Lord Lacy. Luke. Do so, master Hoyst. Go in : I '11 pay my (hity to this lord. And then I am wholly yours. — Heaven bless your honour ! \_Exeunt Hoyst, Penury, and Fortune. L. Lacij. Your hand, master Luke : the world 's much changed with you Within tliese few months; then you were the gallant : No meeting at the horse-race, cocking, hunting. Shooting or bowling, at which master Luke Was not a principal gamester, and companion For the nobility. Luke. I have paid dear For those follies, my good lord ; and 'tis but justice SC. 11. THE CITY JIADAM. 127 That such as soar above their pitch, and will not Be warn'd by my example, should, like me, Shai'e in the miseries that wait upon it. Your honour, in your charity, may do well Not to upbraid me with those weaknesses. Too late repented. L. Lacif. I nor do, nor will; And you shall find I '11 lend a helping hand To raise your fortunes. How deals your brother with you } Luke. Beyond my merit, I thank his goodness for 't. I am a free man, all my debts discharged ; Nor does one creditor, undone by me. Curse my loose riots. I have meat and clothes. Time to ask Heaven remission for what 's past ; Cares of the world by me are laid aside, Bly present poverty's a blessing to me ; And though I have been long, I dare not say I ever lived till now. L. Lacy. You bear it well ; Yet as you wish I should receive for truth What you deliver, with that truth acquaint me With 3^our brother's inclination. I have heard, In the acquisition of his wealth, he weighs not Whose ruins he builds upon. Luke. In that, report Wrongs him, my lord. He is a citizen. And would increase his heap, and will not lose What the law gives him : such as are worldly wise Pursue that track, or they will ne'er wear scarlet'. > Wear scaikt.] i. e. risr to city honours. Our old writers have innumerable allusions to the scarlet gowns of the rcayors and aldermen of London. — Gifford. 128 TIIK CITY MADAM. ACT I. But if your honoui* please to know his temper, You are come o})portunely. I can bring you Where you, unseen, shall see and hear his carriage Towards some poor men, whose making, or undoing, Depends upon his pleasure. L. Lacij. To my wish: I know no object that could more content me. \_Exeunl. SCENE III. A Counting-room in Frugal'* House. Enter Sir Jonx Frugal, IIoyst, Fortune, Penury, and Goldw irk Junior. Sir John What would you have me do.'' reach me a chair. Wlien I lent my monies I appear'd an angel ; But now I would call in mine own, a devil. Hoyst. Were you the devil's dam, you must stay till I have it. For as I am a gentleman , lie-enter Luke, behind, with Lord Lacy, whom he 2)laces near the door. Luke. There you may hear all. Hoijst. I pawn'd you my land for the tenth part of the value : Now, 'cause I am a gamcstei", and keep ordinaries. None will be bound for me ; you must give me longer day. Or I shall <;row verv angrv. Sir John. Fret, and spare not. I know no obligation lies upon me SC. Ill, THE CITY MADAM. 129 With my honey to feed drones. But to the purpose : How much owes Penury ? Gold. Two hundred pounds : His bond three times since forfeited. Sir John. Is it sued? Gold. Yes, sir, and execution out against him. Sir John. For body and goods ? Gold. For both, sir. Sir John. See it served. Pen. I am undone ; my wife and family Must starve for want of bread, Sir John. JMore infidel thou. In not providing better to support them. What 's Fortune's debt ? Gold. A thousand, sir. Sir John. An estate For a good man ! You were the glorious trader Embraced all bargains ; the main venturer In every ship that launch'd forth ; kept your wife As a lady ; she had her caroch ', her choice Of summer-houses built with other men's moneys Ta'en up at interest, the certain road To Ludgate^ in a citizen. Pray you acquaint me. How were my thousand pounds employ'd ? For. Insult not On my calamity ; though, being a debtor. And a slave to him that lends, I must endure it. Yet hear me speak thus much in my defence : Losses at sea, and those, sir, great and many, ' Caroch,'] i. e. a coach. "^ Ludgate.] This prison was anciently appropriated to the freemen of the city, and to clergymen : it is, says " The Com. panion for Debtors," (a book of Massinger's age,) the best pri- son about London, both in regard to its endowment and govern- ment GlFFORD. VOL. II. K 130 TIIK CITY MADAM. ACT I. By storms and tempests, not domestical riots In soothintr my wife's humour or mine own. Have brought me to this low ebb. Sir John. Suppose this true. What is't to nie ? I must and will have my money. Or I'll protest you first, and, that done, have The statute made for bankrupts served upon you. For. 'Tis in your power, but not in mine to shun it. Luke, \_coiiies Jhrii The other icorW,] i. e. the East Indies. 138 TIIK CITY J.IADAM. ACT II. I wonder you should urge tliis, having felt What misery follows riot. Trade. And the penance You endured for 't in the counter. Lvke. You are fools ! The case is not the same : I spent mine own money ; And my stock being small, no marvel 'twas soon wasted ; But you, without the least doubt or suspicion. If cautelous, may make bold with your master's. As, for example, when his ships come home, And you take your receipts, as 'tis the fashion. For fifty bales of silk you may write forty ; Or for so many pieces of cloth of bodkin'. Tissue, gold, silver, velvets, satins, taffetas, A piece of each deducted from the gross Will ne'er be miss'd, a dash of a pen will do it. Trade. Ay, but our fathers' bonds, that lie in pawn For our honesties, must pay for't. Luke. A mere l)ugbeai'. Invented to fright children ! As I live. Were I the master of my brother's fortunes, I should glory in such servants. Didst thou know What ravishing luxury it is to enter An ordinary, cap-a-pie, trinim'd like a gallant, For which, in trunks conceal'd, be ever furnish'd ; The reverence, respect, the crouches, cringes, The musical chime of gold in your cramui'd pockets Commands from the attendants, and poor porters ' Chiih ofho'ihiii:'\ a rich kind of cloth, made partly of silk and j)art]y of gold or silver. Tlir word hoilkin is a corruption of b(iu(i/{iii, from U\c low Latin Iii/lilr/:hiiis, wliiih itself was derived from Baldach, an oriental name for 15abylon, from whicli place the stuff was said to be brought. — Nares. SC. I. THE CITY MADAM. 139 Trade. O rare ! Luke. Then sitting at the table with The braveries of the kingdom, you shall hear Occurrents from all corners of the world. The plots, the counsels, the designs of princes. And freely censure them ; the city wits Cried up, or decried, as their passions lead them ; Judgment having nought to do there. Trade. Admirable ! Luke. My lord no sooner shall rise out of his chair. The gaming lord I mean, but you may boldly. By the privilege of a gamester, fill his room, For in play you are all fellows ; have your knife As soon in the pheasant; drink your health as freely ; And, striking in a lucky hand or two, Buy out your time. Trade. This may be ; but suppose We should be known } Luke. Have money and good clothes. And you may pass invisible. Gold. Master Luke, You shall be of my counsel, and we two sworn brothers ; And therefore I '11 be open. I am out now Six hundred in the cash ; yet, if on a sudden I should be call'd to account, I have a trick How to evade it, and make up the sum. Trade. Is 't possible ? Luke. You can instruct your tutor. How, how, good Tom ? Gold. Why, look you. We cash-keepers Hold correspondence, supply one another I 10 THE CITY MADAM, ACT II. On all occasions : I can borrow for a week Two hundred pounds of one, as much of a second, A third lays down the rest; and, when they want. As my master's moneys come in I do repay it : Ka me, ka thee ' / Luke. An excellent knot ! 'tis pity It e'er should be unloosed ; for me it shall not. You are shown the way, friend Tradcwell ; you may make use on 't. Or freeze in the vvarehouse, and keep company With the cater^, Holdfast. Trade. No, I am converted. A Barbican broker will furnish me with outside. And then a crash at the ordinary ! Gold. I am for The lady you saw this morning, who indeed is IMy proper recreation. Ijike. Go to, Tom ; What did you make me? Gold. I '11 do as much for you. Employ me when you jileasc. Luke. If you are inquired for, I will excuse you both. Trade. Kind master Luke ! Gold. We 11 break my master to make you. You know Luke. I cannot love money. Go, boys ! [_Exeu/il GoLDWiRE atid Tkadewklk. ' Ka mc, ha tliee !~\ i. e. invite we, 7 7/ invite thee! This proverb, of Scottish orijj;in, is often met with in our old dramas. " It was spo'Ken," says Kelly, in his Scottish Proverbs, " when great people feast one another, and neglect the poor." In Eng- land the phrase seems to have been u:^cd in the sense of " one good turn deserves anotlier." * Cater, \ i. c. purveyor. SC. II. THE CITY MADAM. 141 When time serves. It shall appear I have another end in't'. [_Exit. SCENE II. Another Room in the same. Enter Sir John Frugal, Lord Lacy, Sir Maurice Lacy, Plenty, Lady Frugal, Anne, Mary, and MiLLiscENT. Sir John. Ten thousand pounds a-piece I 'U make their portions, xVnd after my decease it shall be double, Provided you assure them, for their jointures. Eight hundred pounds per annum, and entail A thousand more upon the heirs male Of these my daughters. L. Lacy. You surely bind us, sir. To very strict conditions. Plenty. You, my lord, INIay do as you please : but to me it seems strange We should conclude of portions, and of jointures. Before our hearts are settled. L. Frug. You say right : There are counsels of more moment and import- ance. On the making up of marriages, to be Consider'd duly, than the portion or the jointures, • The real character of Luke opens, in this scene, with sur- prising art. He had deeply studied the dispositions of the two apprentices, and his language is nicely calculated to betray them into a confession of their respective propensities, and thus render them subservient to his future views. — Gifford. 142 THE CITY MADAM. ACT II. In which a mother's care must be exacted ; And I, by special privilege, may challenge A casting voice. Ij. Lacif. How 's this? L. Frifg. Even so, my lord; In these aftairs I govern. L. Lacy. Give you way to't.'' Sir John. I must, my lord. L. Frug. 'Tis fit he should, and shall. You may consult of something else : this province Is wholly mine. Sir Mattr. By the city custom, madam } L. Frug. Yes, my young sir ; and both must look my daughters Will hold it by my copy. Pleiity. Brave, i'faith ! Sir John. Give her leave to tallc, we have the power to do : And now touching the business we last talk'd of — In private, if you please. L. Lacij. 'Tis well rcmember'd : You sliall take your own way, madam. \_Exmnl liOKu Lacy and Sir John Frugal. Sir Main: A\'hat strange lecture Will she read unto us ? L, Frug. Such as wisdom warrants From the superior bodies. Is Stargaze ready With his several schemes .'' Mill. Yes, madam, and attends Your pleasure. Sir Maur. Stargaze, lady ! what is he ? L. Frug. Call him in. — \_E,vit jMilmsckxt.^ — You shall first know him, then admire him For a man of many parts, and those parts rare ones. SC. II. THE CITY MADAM. 1 13 He 's every thing, indeed ; parcel physician. And as such prescribes my diet ; parcel poet. And sings encomiums to my virtues sweetly ; My antecedent, or my gentleman-usher. And as the stars move, with that due proportion He walks before me : but an absolute master In the calculation of nativities ; Guided by that ne'er-erring science call'd Judicial astrology. Plenty. Stargaze ! sure I have a penny almanack about me Inscribed to you as to his patroness. In his name publish'd. L. Frug. Keep it as a jewel. Some statesmen that I will not name are wholly Govern'd by his predictions ; for they serve For any latitude in Christendom, As well as our own climate. Re-enter Mii,liscent Jhllowed hy Stargazk 7vith two schemes. Sir Maitr. I believe so. Plenty. Must we marry by the almanack ? L. Frug. Be silent ; And ere we do articulate, much more Grow to a full conclusion, instruct us Whether this day and hour, by the planets, promise Happy success in marriage. Star. In omni Parte, et toto. Plenty. Good learn'd sir, in English ; And since it is resolved we must be coxcombs. Make us so in our own language. 144 Tlin CITY MADAM. ACT II. Star. You are pleasant : Thus in our vulgar tongue then. L. Friig. Pray you observe him. Star. Venus, in the west angle, the house of marriage the seventh house ; and Mars almuthen, or lord of the horoscope. P/enti/. Heyday ! L. Fn/g. The angels' language ! I am ravish'd ! Forward ! Star. Mars, as I said, lord of the horoscope, she in her exaltation, and he in his triplicite trine, and face, assure a fortunate combination to Hymen, excellent, prosperous, and happy. L. Frug. Kneel, and give thanks. \^The Wotnen kneel. Sir Maur. For what we understand not .? Plenti/. And have as little faith in.'' L. Frifg. Be incredulous; To me 'tis oracle. Slar. Now for the sovereignty of my future ladies, your daughters, after they are married. Plenty. Wearing the breeches, you mean.-* L. Frug. Touch that point home : It is a principal one, and, with London ladies. Of main consideration. Star. This is infallible : Saturn out of all dig- nities in his detriment and fall combust : and Venus in the south angle elevated above him, lady of both their nativities, in her essential and ac- cidental dignities, argue, foretel, and declare rule, pre-eminence, and al)S()lutc sovereignty in women. L. Frug. Is 't possible .-* Star. 'Tis drawn, I assure you, from the apho- risms of the old Chaldeans, Zoroastes, the first and SC. II. THE CITY MADAM. 145 greatest magician, Blercurius Trismegistus, the later Ptolemy, and the everlasting prognosticator, old Erra Pater. L. Frug. Are you yet satisfied ? Plenty. In what? L. Frug. That you Are bound to obey your wives ; it being so Determined by the stars, against whose influence There is no opposition. Plenty. Since I must Be married by the almanack, as I may be, 'Twere requisite the services and duties Which, as you say, I must pay to my wife. Were set down in the calendar. Sir Maur. With the date Of my apprenticeship. L. Frug. i\Iake your demands : I '11 sit as moderatrix, if they press you With over-hard conditions. Sir Maur. IMine hath the van ; I stand your charge, sweet. Star. Silence. Anne. I require first — And that, since 'tis in fashion with kind husbands, In civil manners you must grant — my will In all things whatsoever; and that will To be obey'd, not argued. L. Frug. And good I'eason, Plenty. A gentle imprimis! Sir Maur. This in gross contains all : But your special items, lady. Anne. Vv hen I am one. And you are honour'd to be styled my husband, To urge my having my page, my gentleman-usher, VOL. II. I' 146 THE CITY MAUAM. ACT II. My woman sworn to my secrets, my caroch Drawn by six Flanders mares, my coachman, grooms, Postilion, and footmen. Sir Maitr. Is there aught else To be demanded? Anne. Yes, sir, mine own doctor, French and Italian cooks, musicians, songsters. And a chaplain that must preach to please my fancy ; A friend at court to place me at a masque ; The private box ta'en up at a new jjlay. For me and my retinue ; a fresh habit. Of a fashion never seen before, to draw The gallants' eyes, that sit on the stage, upon me ; Some decay'd Lidy for my parasite, To Hatter me, and rail at other madams ; And there ends my ambition. Sir Maitr. Your desires Are modest, I confess ! Anne. These toys subscribed to. And you continuing an obedient husband, Upon all lit occasions you shall find me A most indulgent wife. L. Fnig. You have said ; give place. And hear your younger sister. Plcntij. If she sjicak Her language, may the great fiend, booted and spurr'd, With a sit he at his girdle, as the Scotchman says, Ride headlong down her thi'oat ! Sir Maiir. Curse not the judge Before you hear the sentence. Morij. In some part ]\Iy sister hath spoke well for the city pleasures, But I am for the country's; and must say, SC. II. THE CITY MADAM. 147 Under correction, in her demands She was too modest. Sir Maur. How like you this exordium ? Plenty. Too modest, with a mischief 1 Mary. Yes, too modest: I know my value, and prize it to the worth. My youth, my beauty- Plenty. How your glass deceives you ! Mary. The greatness of the portion I bring with me. And the sea of happiness that from me flows to you. Sir Maur. She bears up close. Mary. And can you, in your wisdom Or rustical simplicity, imagine You have met some innocent country girl, that never Look'd further than her father's farm, nor knew more Than the price of corn in the market ; or at what rate Beef went a stone ? that would survey your dairy. And bring in mutton out of cheese and butter ? Plenty. These arts would grace you, though you should put in Obedience and duty. Mary. Yes, and patience, To sit like a fool at home, and eye your thrashers ; Then make provision for your slavering hounds. When you come drunk from an alehouse, after hunting With your clowns and comrades, as if all were yours. You the lord paramount, and I the drudge : The case, sir, must be otherwise. Plenty. How, I beseech you.'' l2 148 THE CITY MADAM. ACT 11. Mary. IMarry, thus : I will not, like m_v sister, challenge What 's useful or superfluous from my husband, That 's base all o'er ; mine shall receive from me What I think fit : I '11 have the state convey'd Into my hands, and he put to his pension, Which the wise viragos of our climate practise ; — I will receive your rents. Plenty. You shall be hang'd first. Mary. Make sale or purchase : nay, I '11 have my neighbours Instructed, when a passenger shall ask, "Whose house is this? (though you stand by) to answer. The Lady Plenty's. Or, Who owns this manor? The Ladv Plentv. Whose sheep are these, whose oxen ? The Lady Plenty's. Plenty. A plentiful curse upon you ! Mary. Since you '11 marry In the city for our wealth, injustice we ]\Iust have the country's sovereignty. Plenty. And we nothing. Mary. A nag of forty shillings, a couple of .s))aniels. With a sparhawk, is sufficient ; and these too. As you shall behave yourself, during my pleasure, I will not greatly stand on. I have said, sir ; Now if you like me, so'. 1 / liave said, sir, Nou.' if you li/a- vie, so.] Before we accuse the poet of abusing the license of comedy in these preposterous slipuhitions, it may not he improper to look back for a moment on the ])eri(Hl in which he wrote, and inquire if no examples of a similur nature were then to be found m real life. A sliort time before this play was written, Elizabeth Spencer, daughter and SC. II. THE CITY MADAM. 149 L. Frug. At my entreaty. The articles shall be easier. heir of Sir John Spencer, lord mayor of London, was married to William, Lord Compton. With less integrity and candour than the daughters of Sir John Frugal, she made few previous stipulations, but, not long after the conclusion of the nuptial ceremony, sent her husband a modest and consolatory letter, which is yet extant ; and from which the following items, among many others, are verbally taken : " Alsoe I will have 3 horses for my owne saddle, that none shall dare to lend or borrowe ; none lend but I, none borrowe but you. Alsoe, I would have two gentlewomen, leaste one should be sicke, or have some other lett. Alsoe beleeve yt, it is an undecent thinge for a gentlewoman to stand mumpinge alone, when God hath blessed their lord and lady w''' a greate estate. Alsoe, when I ride a huntinge or a hawkeinge, or tra- vayle from one howse to another, I will have them attendinge; soe for either of those said woemen, I must and will have for either of them a horse. Alsoe, I will have (» or 8 gentlemen ; and I will have my twoe coaches, one lyned with velvett to myselfe, w'l* 4 very fayre horses, and a coache for my woemen, lyned w"" sweete cloth, one laced w""" gold, the other w"' Scar- lett, and laced with watched lace and silver, w'i> 4 good horses. Alsoe, I will have twoe coachmen, one for my own coache, the other for my women. Alsoe, att any tyme when I travayle, I will be allowed not only carroches, and spare horses for me and my women, but I will have such carryadgs, as shal be fittinge for me all orderly ; not pestringe my things w'l" my woemens, nor theirs w'*" either chambermayds, or theirs w'** wase maids. Alsoe, for laundresses, when I travayle I will have them sent away before w'l" the carryadgs to see all safe, and the chamber- mayds I will have goe before w^^ the groomes, that a chamber may be ready, sweete and cleane. Alsoe, for that yt is unde- cent to croud upp myself w"' my gentl. ssher in my coache, I will have him to have a convenyent horse to attend me either in city or country. And I must have 2 footemen. And my desire is, that you defray all the chardges for me." It may not be impertinent to add, that Lord Compton, as might reasonably be conjectured after such a letter as this, reaped little comfort from his wife, and less from her immense fortune.— GiF FORD. 150 THE CITY MADAM. ACT II. Plenty. Sliall they, i'faith ? Sir Main: Use fair words, master Plenty. Pleittj/. I cannot. I have read of a house of pride, and now I have found one; A whirlwind overturn it ! Sir Maur. On these terras. Will your minxship be a lady ? Plenty. A lady in a morris, Anne. Wooing do you call this? Mary. A bear-baiting rather. Plenty. Were you worried, you deserve it, and I hope I shall live to see it. Sir Maur. 1 11 not rail, nor curse you : Only this, you are pretty peats, and your great por- tions Add much unto your handsomeness ; but as You would command your husbands, you are beg- gars, Deform'd and ugly. L. Frug. Hear me. Plenty. Not a word more. \_Exeunt Sir Maurice Lacy a7id Plenty. Anne. I ever thought that it would come to this. Mary. We may lead apes for husbands, if you bind us To articulate thus with our suitors. \_Both speak weeping. Star. Now the cloud breaks. And the storm will fall on me. \_Aside. L. Frng. You rascal! juggler! [_She breaks Stargaze'* head, ajid beats hiin^ Star. Dear madam. SC. Ill- THE CITY MADAM. 151 L. Frus:. Hold vou intelligence with the stars. And thus deceive me ! Star. My art cannot err; If it does, I '11 burn my astrolabe. In mine own star I did foresee this broken head, and beating ; And now your ladyship sees, as I do feel it. It could not be avoided. L. Frug. Did you ? Star. IMadara, Have patience but a week, and if you find not All my predictions true, touching your daughters. And a change of fortune to yourself, a rare one. Turn me out of doors. These are not the men the planets Appointed for their husbands ; there will come Gallants of another metal. Mid. Once more trust him. Amie. Mary. Do, lady-mother. L. Frug. I am vex'd. Look to it ; Turn o'er your books : if once again you fool me. You shall graze elsewhere. Come, girls. Star. I am glad I scaped thus. \_Aside. E.reunt. SCENE III. Aiiother Room in the same. Enter Lord Lacy and Sir John Frugal. L. Lacy. The plot shows very likely'. • Tlic plot slioxcs vcrij fdrli/.] It appears from this that Sir John had instilkd his suspicions of his brother into Lord Lacy. It is finely contrived, to confirm the.n in the execution of their design by a new instance of unfeeling pride in his family — Gifford. J 52 TIIK CITY MADAM. ACT H. Sir John. I repose My principal trust in your lordship ; 'twill prepare The physic I intend to minister To my wife and daughters. L. Lacy. I will do my parts. To set it off to the life. Enter Sir Maurice Lacy, aiid Pi.exty. Sir John. It may produce A scene of no vulgar mirth. Here come the suitors: When we understand how they relish my wife's humours. The rest is feasible. L. Laci/. Their looks are cloudy. Sir John. How sits the wind? are you ready to launch forth Into this sea of marriage ? Plenty. Call it rather A whirlpool of afflictions. Sir Manr. If you please To enjoin me to it, I will undertake To find the north passage to the Indies sooner'. Than plough with your proud heifer. Plenlif. I will court J^roseqiine in Pluto's sight, his three-headed porter, Cerberus, standing by, and all the P\iries With their whips to scourge me for't, rather than say, I, Jeffrey, take you, Mary, for my wife. > The north passage to the Indies.] This was the grand object of our niaritiine expeditions in those days, and was prosecuted with a boldness, dexterity, and perseverance which, though since equalled, perhaps, in the same fruitless pursuit, have not yet been surpassed. — Gufoiii). SC. in. THE CITY MADAM, 153 L. Lacy. Why, what 's the matter ? Sir Mati7\ The mother (with your pardon, I cannot but speak so much) is a most unsufFerable, Proud, insolent lady. Plenty. And the daughters worse. Sir Maur. With reverence to your wealth, I do begin To think you of the same leaven. Sir John. You go too far, sir. Sir Maur. They have so articled with us ! Plenty. And will not take us For their husbands, but their slaves ; and so afore- haud They do profess they '11 use us. Sir John. Leave this heat : Though they are mine, I must tell you, the per- verseness Of their manners (which they did not take from me. But from their mother) qualified, they deserve Your equals. Sir Maur. True ; but what 's bred in the bone Admits no hope of cure. Plenty. Though saints and angels Were their physicians. Sir John. You conclude too fast. Plenty. Good-by to you ! I '11 travel three years, but I '11 bury This shame that lives upon me. Sir Maur. With your license, I '11 keep him company. L. Lacy. Who shall furnish you For your expenses. Plenty. He shall not need your help. 154 THE CITY MADAM. ACT HI. INIy purse is his ; we were rivals, but now friends. And will live and die so. Sir Mditr. Ere we go, I '11 pay My duty as a son. Plenlif. And till then leave you. \_Ejt'iint SiK IMauku 1', Lacy and Plenty. L. L(tcy. They are strangely moved. Sir John. What's wealth, accompanied With disobedience in a wife and children .^ i\Iy heart will break. L. Lacij. 13e comforted, and hope better : We '11 ride abroad ; the fresh air and discourse INIay yield us new inventions. Sir John. \o\x are noble. And shall in all things, as you please, command me. \_Exe%int, ACT III. SCENE I. A lioom in Sir John Frugal'* House. Enter Lukk. Anne. \jvilhin.~\ Where is this uncle ? L. Fruii. \_n'ithin.~\ Call this beadsman-brother'; He hath forgot attendance. Mart). \_within."\ Seek him out ; Idleness spoils him. Lnkc. I deserve much more Than their scorn can load me with, and 'tis but justice That I should live the family's drudge, design'd To all the sordid offices their pride Imposes on me ; since, if now I sat ' Beadsiuait-hrothei;] i. e. dependant on our charity. SC. I. THE CITY MADAM. 155 A judge in mine own cause, I should conclude I am not worth their pity. Such as want Discourse' and judgment,and through weakness fall. May merit man's compassion ; but I — That knew profuseness of expense the parent Of wretched poverty, her fatal daughter. To riot out mine own, to live upon The alms of others, steering on a rock^ I might have shunn'd ! — O Heaven ! it is not fit I should look upward, much less hope for mercy^. Enter Lady Frugal, Anne, Mary, Stargaze, and MiLLiscENT. L. Frng. What are you devising, sir ? Annr. My uncle is much given To his devotion. Mary. And takes time to mumble A paternoster to himself. L. Frug. Know you where Your brother is? It better would become you (Your means of life depending wholly on him) To give your attendance. Luke. In my will I do : But since he rode forth yesterday with Lord Lacy, I have not seen him. L. Frng. And why went not you By his sttrrup ? How do you look ! Were his eyes closed. You *d be glad of such employment. ' Discourse,] i. e. reason. ' This penitential speech of Luke is introduced with admira- ble artifice, at the period of his breaking forth in his true cha- racter; nor is the insolence of Lady Frugal and her daughters less judiciously timed — Gifford. 156 THE CITY MADAM. ACT III. Luke. 'Twas his pleasure I should wait your commands, and those I am ever Most ready to receive. L. Frifg. I know you can speak well ; But say and do. Enter Lord Lacy. Lvkc. Here comes my lord. L. Friirr, Further off: You are no companion for him, and his business Aims not at you, as I take it. Luke. Can I live In this base condition ? [_He stands aside. L. Frug. I hope, my loi'd, You had l)rou4.y»/c. Luke. Off with these rags, and then to bed ; there dream Of future greatness, which, when you awake, I '11 make a certain truth : but I must be A doer, not a promiser. The performance Requiring haste, I kiss your hands, and leave vou. L. Lacy. Are we all tum'd statues? have his strange words chann'd us ? What muse you on, lady ? L. Frug. Do not trouble me. L. Lacy. Sleep you, too, young ones ? Anne. Swift-wing'd time till now Was never tedious to me. Would 'twere niy ihc ahliniiii:/,] i. c. wli'wh otihj exists in tJi-e imaginalioH of Ihc alc/icmist. SC. II. THE CITY JMADAJI. 165 A manor bound fast in a skin of parchment, The wax continuing hard, the acres melting ; Here a sure deed of gift for a market- town^, If not redeem'd this day, which is not in The unthrift's power : there being scarce one shire In Wales or England, where my monies are not Lent out at usury, the certain hook To draw in more. I am sublimed ! gross earth Supports me not ; I walk on air ! — Who 's there ? Enter Lord Lacy with Sir Joiim Frugal, Sir Maurice Lacy, and Plenty, painted and dis- guised as Indians. Thieves ! raise the street ! thieves ! L. I.acy. What strange passion's this! Have you your eyes ? do you know me ? Luke. You, my lord, I do: but this retinue, in these shapes too. May well excuse my fears. When 'tis your pleasure That I should wait upon you, give me leave To do it at your own house, for I must tell you, Things as they now are with me well consider'd, I do not like such visitants. L. Lacij. Yesterday, When you had nothing, praise your poverty for 't. You could have sung secure before a thief ; But now you are grown rich, doubts and suspicions. And needless fears, possess you. Thank a good brother ; But let not this exalt you. Luke. A good brother' ! Good in his conscience, I confess, and wise, ' A good brother!^ i. e. a rich brotJir? ; Luke use.s the word good in its mercantile sense. 166 THE CITY MADAM. ACT lit. In giving o'er the world. But his estate. Which your lordship may conceive great, no way answers The general opinion : alas ! ^Vith a great charge, I am left a poor man by him. L. Lacy. A poor man, say you } Luke. Poor, compared with what 'Tis thought I do possess. Some little land, Fair household furniture, a few good debts. But empty bags, I find : yet I will be A faithful steward to his wife and daughters ; And, to the utmost of my power, obey His will in all things. L. Lacy. I '11 not argue with you Of his estate, but bind you to performance Of his last request, which is, for testimony Of his religious charity, that you would Receive these Indians, lately sent him from \'^irginia, into your liouse ; and labour. At any i*ate, with tlie best of your endeavours. Assisted by the aids of our divines. To make them Christians. Luke. Call you this, my lord. Religious charity ; to send infidels. Like hungry locusts, to devour the bread Should feed his family .^ I neither can. Nor will consent to 't. L. Laci/. Do not slight it ; 'tis With him a business of such consequence, That should he only hear 'tis not embraced. And cheerfully, in this his conscience aiming At the saving of three souls, 'twill draw him o'er To see it himself accomplish'd. Ltike. Heaven forbid SC. II. THE CITY MADAM. 167 I should divert him from his holy purpose, To worldly cares again ! I rather will Sustain the burthen, and, with the converted. Feast the converters, who, I know, will prove The greater feeders. Sir John. Oh, ha, eneivah Chrish bully leika. Plenty. Enaiila. Sir Maur. Harrico botikia honnery. Luke. Ha ! in this heathen language. How is it possible our doctors should Hold conference with them, or I use the means For their conversion } L. Lacy. That shall be no hindrance To your good purposes: they have lived long In the English colony, and speak our language As their own dialect ; the business does concern you: Mine own designs command me hence. Continue, As in your poverty you were, a pious And honest man. ^Exit. Luke. That is, interpreted, A slave and beggar. Sir John. You conceive it right ; There being no religion, nor virtue. But in abundance, and no vice but want. All deities serve Plutus. Luke. Oracle ! Sir John. Temples raised to ourselves in the in- crease Of wealth and reputation, speak a wise man ; But sacrifice to an imagined Power, Of which we have no sense but in belief, A superstitious fool. Luke. True worldly wisdom ! Sir John. All knowledge else is folly. 1 68 THE CITY MADAM. ACT IV. Sir Main: Now we are yours^ Be confident your better angel is Enter'd your house. Pleiili/. There being nothing in The compass of your wishes^ but shall end In their fruition to the full. Sir John. As yet. You do not know us ; but when you understand The wonders we can do, and what the ends wei'e That brought us hither^ you will entertain us ^V'ith more respect. Luke. There 's s;)mcthing whispers to me These are no common men. \_Aside.~\ — My house is yours. Enjoy it freely: only grant me this. Not to be seen abroad till I have heard More of your sacred principles. Pray enter : You are learned Europeans, and we worse Tliun ii^norant Americans. Sir John. You shall find it. \_Exeuni. ACT IV. SCENE I. A Room in Fklgal'a' House. Enter Dixcj'k.m, Gettall, and Holdfast. Ding. Not speak with him ! with fear survey me better. Thou fiij-ure of famine ! Gelt. Coming, as we do, From his quondam patrons, his dear ingles now". The brave spark Tradewell — • His dear Ingles,] i. c. his hosom friends, his associales. SC I. THE CITY MADAM. 169 Ding. And the man of men In the service of a ladv, gallant Goldwire ! Enter Luke. Hold. I know them for his prentices, without These flourishes. — Here are rude fellows, sir. Ding. Not yours, you rascal ! Hold. No ; you may seek your fellows In Bridewell, or the hole ; here are none of your comrogues. Luke. One of them looks as he would cut my throat : Your business, friends ? Hold. I '11 fetch a constable ; Let him answer him in the stocks. Ding. Stir, an thou darest : Fright me with Bridewell and the stocks ! they are fleabitings I am familiar with. [Draws. Luke. Pray you put up : And, sirrah, hold your peace. [To Holdfast. Ding. Thy word 's a law. And I obey. Live, scrape-shoe, and be thankful. Thou man of muck and money, for as such I now salute thee, the suburbian gamesters Have heard thy fortunes, and I am, in person. Sent to congratulate. Gett. The news hath reach'd The ordinaries, and all the gamesters are Ambitious to shake the golden golls' • Galls,] i. e. hands, fists. A cant word which occurs con- tinually in our old poets. 1 70 THE CITY MADAM. ACT IV. Of worshipful master Luke. I come from Trade- well, Your fine facetious factor. Dirig. I from Goldwire : He and his Helen have prepared a banquet To entertain thee. Gett. Blind chance hath frown'd upon Brave Tradewell : he 's blown up, but not without Hope of recovery, so you supply hiui Willi a good round sum. In my house, I can assure you, There 's half a million stirring. Luke. What hath he lost .'' Gelt. Three hundred. Luke. A trifle. Gett. Make it up a thousand. And I will fit him with such tools as shall Bring in a myriad. Luke. They know me well. Nor need you use such circumstances for them : What 's mine is theirs. They are my friends, not servants. But in their care to enrich me ; and these courses. The speeding means. Your name, I pray you ? Getf.. Gcttall. I have been many years an ordinary-keeper, JMy box my poor revenue '. ' My box mi/ poor meniic] " If the caster throws three mains, or wins by throwing three times successively, he pays to the tai-keepcr, for tlie use of the house, a stipulated sum (varying, according to the dignity of the place, from eighteen pence to ten and sixpence) : if the caster wins six times suc- cessively, he is expected, besides the usual payment to the house, to make the box-keeper a handsome donation." For this, SC. I. THE CITY MADAM. 171 Luke. Your name suits well With your profession. Bid him bear up ; he shall not Sit long on Penniless-Bench. Gett. There spake an angel ! Luke. You know mistress Shave'em ? There let him meet me Some two hours hence. Tell Goldwire I '11 then be with him, Furnish'd beyond his hopes ; and let your mistress Appear in her best apparel. Di)ig. Oh ! I fly To keep them sober till thy worship come ; They will be drunk with joy else. Gett. I '11 run with you. \_Exeinit Ding'em and Gettali.. Hold. You will not do as you say, I hope .'' Luke. Inquire not ; I shall do what becomes me. — \_K710cking within.'] — To the door. \_Exit Holdfast. Xew visitants ! Re-enter Holdfast. AVhat are they ? Hold. A whole batch, sir. Almost of the same leaven : your needy debtors. Penury, Fortune, Hoyst. Luke. They come to gratulate The fortune fallen upon me. Hold. Rather, sir. Like the others, to prey on you. and what else occurs on the subject of dice, I am indebted to a writer in the MontJily Mirror, whom I believe to be Mr. Du Eois GlFFOHD. 1 72 THE CITY MADAM. ACT IV. Luke. I am simple; they Know my good nature : but let tliem in^ however. Ilvld. >V11 will come to ruin ! I see besrirarv Already knocking at the door. — You mav enter — \_Speaking lo those wilhoul. But use a conscience, and do not work upon A tender-hearted gentleman too much; 'Twill show like charity in you. Enter Fortune, Penury, a7id Hoyst. Luke. Welcome, friends : I know your hearts and wishes ; you are glad You have changed your creditor. Pen. I weep for joy To look upon his Avorship's face. For. His worship's ! I see lord mayor written on his forehead ; The cap of maintenance and city sword Borne up in state l)efore him. Hoyst. Hospitals, And a third Burse ', erected by his honour. Pen. The city jioet on the pageant day Preferring him before Gresham. Hoi/st. All the conduits Spouting canary sack. For. Not a prisoner left Under ten pounds. Pen. We, liis poor beadsmen, feasting Our neighbours on his bounty. Luke. iMay I make good • Tli'uil liinse.] The two Burses, to wliich the muni- ficence of Luke was to add a third, were, the Royal Jixchani^e and the New Exchange in the Strand. SC. I. THE CITY MADAM. 1 73 Your prophecies, gentle friends, as I '11 endeavoui'. To the utmost of my power ! Hold. Yes, for one year. And break the next. Luke. You are ever prating, sirrah. Your present business, friends .'' For. Were your brother present, jNIine had been of some consequence ; but, now Tlie power lies in your worsliip's hand, 'tis little. And will, I know, as soon as ask'd, be granted. Luke. 'Tis very probable. For. The kind forbearance Of my great debt, bv vour means. Heaven be praised for't! Hath raised my sunk estate. I have two ships, A^Hiich I long since gave for lost, above my hopes Return'd from Barbary, and richly freighted. Luke. Where are they .'' For. Near Gravesend. Luke. I am truly glad of it. For. I find your v^'orship's charity, and dare swear so. Now may I have your license, as I know Vv'ith Avillingness I shall, to make the best Of the commodities, though you have execution And after judgment against all that's mine. As my poor body, I shall be enabled To make payment of my debts to all the world, And leave myself a competence. Luke. You much wrong me If you only doubt it. Yours, master Hoyst ? Hoijst. 'Tis the surrendering back the mort- gage of 1 74 THE CITY MADAM. ACT IV. My lands, and on good terras, but three days' pa- tience ; By an uncle's death I have means left to redeem it. And cancel all the forfeited bonds I seal'd to. In my riots, to the merchant ; for I am Resolved to leave off play, and turn good husband, Luke. A good intent, and to be cherish'd in you. Yours, Penury ? Pen. My state stands as it did, sir: What I owed I owe, but can pay nothing to you. Yet, if you please to trust me with ten pounds more, I can buy a commodity of a sailor Will make me a freeman. There, sir, is his name. And the parcels I am to deal for. \_Gives him a paper. Luke. You arc all so reasonable In your demands, that I must freely grant them. Some three hours hence meet me on the Exchange, You shall be amply satisfied. Pen. Heaven preserve you ! For. Happy were London, if within her walls She had many such rich men ! Luke. No more ; now leave me : I am full of various thoughts, ^Exeunt Fortune, Hovst, and Pkxikv. Be careful, Holdfast ; I have much to do. lluhl. And I something to say, Would you give me hearing. Luke. At my better leisure. Till my return look well unto the Indians ; In the mean time, do you as this directs you. \_Gives him a paper. Exeunt. SC. II. THE CITY MADAM. 175 SCENE II. A Room in Shavk'em'* House. Enter Goldwire junior, Tradewell junior, Shave'em, Secret, Gettall, and Ding'em. Gold. All thai is mine is theirs. Those were his words ? Ding. 1 am authentical. Trade. And that / should not Sit long on Penniless-Bench ? Gelt. But suddenly start up A gamester at the height, and cry At allK' Shave. And did he seem to have an inclination To see me, Ding'em ? Ding. He wish'd you would put on Your best habiliments, for he resolved To make a jovial day on 't. Shave. Confound my doctor ! He should have brought me some fresh oil of talc ; These ceruses are common"^. ' At all !'\ "■ If the caster is full of cash and spirit, it is usual for him to say At all in the ring ! meaning, that he will play for any sums the company may choose to risk against him." ^ He should have hrottght me some fresh oil of talc ; These ceruses are common.^ Talc is a fossil easily divisible into thin laminas. From its smoothness, unctuosity, and bright- ness, it has been greatly celebrated as a cosmetic, and the chymists have submitted it to a variety of operations for pro- curing from it oils, salts, tinctures, magisteries, &c. for that purpose ; but all their labours have been in vain, and all the preparations sold under the name of oil of talc, &c. have either contained nothing of that mineral, or only a fine powder of it. 176 THE CITY MADAM. ACT IVi Secret. 'Troth, sweet lady. The colours are well laid on. Gold. And thick enough ; I find that on my lips. Shave. Do you so, Jack Sauce ! 1 11 keep them further off. Gold. Have an eye to the door ; And let loud music, when this monarch enters, Proclaim his entertainment. Ding. That 's my office. [_Floiirish of cornets within. The consort's ready. Enter Luke. Trade. And the god of pleasure, iNIaster Luke, our Comus, enters. Gold. Set your face in order, I will prepare him. — Live I to see this day. And to acknowledge you my royal master? Trade. Let the iron chests fly open, and the gold. Rusty for want of use, appear again ! (^elf. INfake my ordinary flourish ! Shave. Welcome, sir. To your own palace ! [^The music plays. Gold. Kiss your Cleopatra, And show yourself, in your magnificent hounties, A second Antony ! Dins. All the nine worthies ! Secret. Variety of pleasures wait upon you ! To this information, wliich I owe to the Encyclopjpdia Britan- nica, I have only to add that a deleterious composition, under this name, was sold by the quacks of IVIassingev's time as a wash for the complexion, and is mentioned by all his contem- poraries. Ceruse (white paint), I fear, isyct in use Giffoud. SC. II. THE CITY MADAM. 1/7 Luke. Give me leave to breathe^ I pray you. I am astonish'd ! all this preparation Made for me ? All. We are all your creatures. Luke. A house well furnish'd ! Gold. At your own cost, sir ; Glad I the instrument. I prophesied You should possess what now you do, and therefore Prepared it for your pleasure. All, on my know- ledge, Derived from your brother's cash : the lease of the house. And furniture, cost near a thousand, sir. Shave. But now you are master both of it and me, I hope you '11 build elsewhere. Luke. And see you placed, Pair one, to your desert. As I live, friend Trade - well, I hardly knew )'ou, your clothes so well become you. What is your loss } speak truth, Trade. Three hundred, sir. Gelt. But, on a new supply, he shall recover The sum told twenty times o'er. Shave. The banquet waits you. Ltike. Your music 's harsh, discharge it ; I have provided A better consort, and you shall frolic it In another place. \_The music ceases. Gold. But have you brought gold a?id store, sir^ ? ' But have you hroiiglU gold and store, sir ?] This is a line of an old ballad. VOL. II. N 178 THE CITY MADAM. ACT IV. Trade. I long to Ware the caster* ! Gold. I to appear In a fresh habit. Shave. jMy mercer and my silkman Waited me two hours since. Luke. I am no porter. To cany so much gold as will supply Your vast desires ; but I have ta'en order for you : Enter Sheriff, Marshal, and Officers. You shall have what is fitting, and they come here Will see it perform'd. — Do your offices : you have My lord chief-justice's warrant for't. Sher. Seize them all. Shave. The city mar.shal ! Gold. And the sheriff! I know him. Secret. We are betray'd. Ding. Undone. Gett. Dear master Luke. Gold. You cannot be so cruel ; your persuasion Chid us into these courses, oft repeating, Show yourselves city sparks, and hang up money ! > Ware the castcr.'\ "•'When a setter supposes himself to possess more money than the caster, it is usual for him, on putting his stake into the ring, to cry, Wurc caster! The caster tlien declares at all under such a sum — ten, twenty, or fifty pounds, for instance ; or else to i)lace iigainst the stakes of certain sellers tlie corresponding simis, and cry, Ware cover'd only!" — ( Mfiuthhi Mirror.) This explanation undoubtedly adds greatly to the force and luimour of this character. " 'J'he anil)itious Tradcwell expects, by the assistance of Luke, to be lord-p:iraniount of the gaming-table; as caster, to ha At all ! and, as setter, to Ware the caster .'^^ — Giffoed. SC. 11. THE CITY MADAM. 179 Luke. True : when it was my brotlier's^ I con- temn'd it ; But now it is mine own the case is alter'd. Trade. Will you prove yourself a devil ? tempt us to mischief. And then discover it ? Luke. Argue that hereafter : In the mean time, master Goldwire, you that made Your ten pound suppers; held correspondence With your fellow-cashiers, and knew, in your ac- compts, To cheat my brother ; if you can, evade me. If there be law in London, your father's bonds Shall answer for what you are out. Gold. You often told us It was a bugbear. Luke. Such a one as shall fright them Out of their estates, to make me satisfaction To the utmost scruple. And for you, madam, My Cleopatra, by your own confession. Your house, and all your moveables, are mine ; Nor shall you nor your matron need to trouble Your mei'cer or your silkman; a blue gown'. And a whip to boot, as I will handle it. Will serve the turn in Bridewell ; and these soft hands. When they are inured to beating hemp, be scour'd In your penitent tears, and quite forget their powders And bitter almonds. Shave. Secret. Ding. Will you show no mercy ? ' A blue gowii,^ i. e. the livery of Bridewell. It appears, from many passages, that this was the dress in which loose women were compelled to do penance there. N 2 180 THE CITY MADAM. ACT IV. Luke. I am inexorable. Geti. I '11 make bold To take my leave ; the gamesters stay my coming. Luke. We must not part so, gentle master Gettall. Your box, your certain income, must pay back Three hundred, as I take it, or you lie by it. There's liolf a millioH stirring in i/oitr Jiousc, This a poor trifle. — IMaster shrieve and master marshal. On your perils, do your offices. Gold. Dost thou cry now [To Tradkwell. Like a maudlin gamester after loss? I '11 suffer Like a boman ', and now, in my misery. In scorn of all thy wealth, to thy teeth tell thee Thou wert my pander. Luke. Shall 1 hear this from ]\Iy prentice ? i^Iar. Stop his mouth. Shcr. Away with them. \_Kxcu))t Sheriff. Mors}ial,and Officer::, with G()i,i>. Tkauk. Siiavk. Seckkt. Gett. and DixG. Luke. A prosperous omen in my entrance to ]\Iy alterd nature! these house-thieves removed, And what was h st, beyond my hopes, rccover'd. Will add unto my heap ; increase of wealth Is the rich man's and)ition, and mine Shall know no bounds. The valiant INIacedon, Having in his conceit subdued one world. Lamented that there were no more to conquer : ' A bntii(iii,'\ in the lanjtiiage of Alsatia (i. e. of M'hite Friars, a •.eceptacle for frauiluleiit ck-blors, gamblers, and thieves), means a "■''llant fellow, — 31, HIason. SC. III. THE CITY MADAM. 181 In my way, he shall be my great example. And when my private house, in cramm'd abundance. Shall prove the chamber of the city poor, And Genoa's bankers shall look pale with envy When I am mentiond, I shall grieve there is No more to be exhausted in one kingdom. Religion, conscience, charity, farewell ! To me you are words only, and no more ; All human happiness consists in store. [_ExU. SCENE III. A Street. Enter Serjeants with Fortune, Hoyst, and Penury. For. At master Luke's suit ! the action twenty thousand ! 1 Serj. With two or three executions, which shall grind you To powder when we have you in the counter. For. Thou dost belie him, varlet ! He, good gen- tleman. Will weep when he hears how we are used. 1 Serj. Yes, millstones. Pen. He promised to lend me ten pound for a bargain : He will not do it this way. 2 Serj. I have warrant For what I have done. You are a poor fellow; And there being little to be got by you. In charity, as I am an officer, I would not have seen you, but upon compulsion. And for mine own security. 3 Serj. You are a gallant. 182 THE CITY MADAM. ACT IV. And I '11 do you a courtesy, provided That you have money : for a piece an hour, I '11 keep you in the house till you send for bail. 2 SerJ. In the mean time, yeoman, run to the other counter. And search if there be aught else out against him. 3 SerJ. That done, haste to his creditors : he 's a prize ; And as we are city pirates by our oaths, We must make the best on 't. Hoyst. Do your w^orst, I care not. I '11 be removed to the Fleet, and have my riot there In spite of your teeth. I now repent I ever Intended to be honest. Enter Luke. 3 Serj . Here he comes You had best tell so. For. Worshipful sir. You come in time to free us from these bandogs. I know you gave no way to't. Pen. Or if you did, 'Twas but to try our patience. Hoyst. I must tell you I do not like such trials. Lithe. Are you serjeants. Acquainted with the danger of a rescue. Yet stand here prating in the street? the counter Is a safer place to parley in. For. Are you in earnest .'' Luke. Yes, faith ; I will be satisfied to a token ', Or, build upon 't, you rot there. ' A token,] i. e. a farthing. SC. HI. THE CITY MADAM. 183 For. Can a gentleman Of your soft and silken temper speak such language ? Pen. So honest, so religious ? Hoijst. That preach' d So much of charity for us to your brother ? Luke. Yes, when I was in poverty it show'd well ; But I inherit with his state his mind And rougher nature. I grant then, I talk'd. For some ends to myself conceal'd, of pity. The poor man's orisons, and such like nothings : But what I thought you all shall feel, and with rigour ; Kind master Luke says it. Who pays for your at- tendance ? Do you wait gratis ? For. Hear us speak. Luke. While I, Like the adder, stop mine ears: or did I listen. Though you spake with the tongues of angels to me, I am not to be alter'd. For. Let me make the best Of my ships and their freight. Pen. Lend me the ten pounds you promised. Hoysl. A day or two's patience to redeem my mortgage. And you shall be satisfied. For. To the utmost farthing. Luke. I 11 show some mercy ; which is, that I will not Torture you with false hopes, but make you know What you shall trust to. — Your ships to my use Are seized on. — I have got into my hands Your bargain from the sailor : 'twas a good one For such a petty sura. — I will likewise take 184 THE CITY MADAM. ACT IV. The extremity of your mortgage, and the forfeit Of your several bonds ; the use and principal Shall not serve. — Think of the basket, wretches. And a coalsack for a winding-sheet. For. Broker ! Hoy St. Jew ! For. Impostor ! Hoyst. Cut-throat! For. Hypocrite ! Luke. Do, rail on ; IMove mountains with your breath, it shakes not me. Pen. On my knees I beg compassion. My wife and children Shall hourly pray for your worship. For. Mine betake thee To the devil, thy tutor '. Pen. Look upon my tears, Hoyst. My rage. ^ For. My wrongs. Luke. They are all alike to me ; Entreaties, curses, prayers, or imprecations. Do your duties, Serjeants; I am elsewhere look'd for. [Exit. 3 Se?j. This your kind creditor ! 2 SerJ. A vast villain, rather. Pen. See, see, the Serjeants pity us ! yet he 's marble. Hoyst. Buried alive ! For. There 's no means to avoid it. [^Exeunt. ' Mine betake thee To the devil, tlnj tutor.] To he/ahr is to commit, to con- sign, to give over: My wife and children, says Penury, shall pray for you. Mine, (i. e. my wife and children,^ adds For- tune, shall consign you to the devil, your tutor. — Giffoud. SC. IV. THE CITY MADAM. 185 SCENE IV. A Room 171 Sir John Frugal'.? House. Enter Holdfast, Stargaze, and Milliscent. Slar. Not wait upon ray lady ? Hold. Nor come at her ; You find it not in your almanack. Mill. Nor I have license To bring her breakfast ? Hold. jNIy new master hath Decreed this for a fasting-day. She hath feasted long ; And, after a carnival^ Lent ever follows. Mill. Give me the key of her wardrobe. You '11 repent this; I must know what gown she '11 wear. * Hold. You are mistaken. Dame president of the sweetmeats; she and her daughters Are turn'd philosophers, and must carry all Their wealth about them : they have clothes laid in their chamber. If they please to put them on, and without help too, Or they may walk naked. You look, master Star- gaze, As you had seen a strange comet, and had now foretold The end of the world, and on what day : and you. As the wasps had broke into the gallipots. And eaten up your apricots. L. Frug. [M'«7/a'«.] Stargaze ! IMilliscent ! Mill. My lady's voice. ISfi Tin; CITY JIAUAM. ACT IV. Hold. Stir not, you are confined here. Your ladyship may approach them, if you please ; But they are bound in this circle. [^Aloud, L. Friig. \_)vit]ii)i.'\ Mine own bees Rebel against me' ! When my kind brother knows this, I will be so revenged ! Hold. The world 's weU alter'd. He 's your kind brother now ; but yesterday Your slave and jesting-stock. Eiiler Lady Frugal, Anne, Mary, in coarse hahit.i, weepbig. Mill. "\^'hat witch hath transform'd you ? Star. Is this the glorious shape your cheating brother Promised you should appear in ? Mill. IVIy young ladies In buffin'^ gowns and green aprons ! tear them off. Hold. It is more comely than their other whim- whams. Mill. A French hood too, now it is out of fashion ! A fool's cap would show better. L. Fnig. We 're fool'd indeed ! By whose com- mand are we used thus ? Enter Luke, Hold. Here he comes can best resolve you. ' Mine own bcrs.] This is a strange expression ; but it is probably genuine : the lady seems still to consider herself as the quern of the hive. — (»ll"FOUD. 'Biiffi)!.] M'hethir literally of />«/" leather, or coarse stuff of that colour, does not appear. — Naees. SC. IV. THE CITY MADAM. 187 L. Frug. O, good brother ! Do you thus preserve your protestation to me .'' Can queens envy this habii ? or did Juno E'er feast in such a shape ? Anne. You talk'd of Hebe, Of Iris, and I know not what ; but were they Dress'd as we are .'' they were sure some chandler's daughters Bleaching Jinen in Moorfields. Mary. Or Exchange wenches. Coming from eating pudding-pies on a Sunday, At Pimlico or Islington. Luke. Save you, sister ! I now dare style j'ou so : you were before Too glorious to be look'd on ; now you appear Like a city matron, and my pretty nieces Such things as were born and bred there. Why should you ape The fashions of court-ladies, whose high titles. And pedigrees of long descent, give warrant For their superfluous bravery ? 'twas monstrous : Till now you ne'er look'd lovely. L. Frug. Is this spoken In scorn .'' Luke. Fie ! no ; with judgment. I make good My promise, and now show you like yourselves. In your own natural shapes; and stand resolved You shall continue so. L. Frug. It is confess'd, sir. Liike. Sir ! sirrah : use your old phrase, I can bear it. L. Frug. That, if you please, forgotten, we ac- knowledge We have deserved ill from you ; yet despair not. 188 TlIK CITY MADAM. ACT IV. Though we are at your 'Hsposure, you '11 maintain us Like your brother's wife and daughters. Luke. 'Tis my purpose. L. Frug. And not make us ridiculous. Lulc. Admired rather. As fair examples for our proud city dames, And their proud brood to imitate. Do not frown ; If you do, I laugh, and glory that I have The power, in you, to scourge a general vice. And rise up a new satirist : but hear gently. And in a gentle phrase I '11 reprehend Your late disguised deformity, and cry up This decency and neatness, with the advantage You shall receive by 't. L. Frug. We are bound to hear you. Luke. With a soul inclined to learn. Your father was An honest country farmer, goodman Humlile, By his neighbours ne'er call'd Master. Did your pride Descend from him ? but let that pass : your fortune. Or rather your husband's industry, advanced you To the rank of a merchant's wife. He made a kniglit, And your sweet mistress-ship ladyficd, you wore Satin on solemn days, a chain of gold, A velvet hood, rich borders, and sometimes A dainty miniver cap', a silver pin ' A m'luivcr cap.] IM'niivcr, as I learn from Cotgrave, is the fur of the ermine mixed with tliat of the small weasel, {invnii vair,) called gris or gray. In the days of our author, and in- deed long before, the use of furs was almost universal. The nobility had them of ermi:ie and sable, the wealthy merchants of vair and gray, (the daintij miniver of Luke,) and the lower SC. IV. THE CITY MADAM. 189 Headed with a pearl worth three-pence ; and thus far You were privileged, and no man envied it ; It being; for the citv's honour that There should be a distinction between The wife of a patrician, and plebeian. Mill. Pray you, leave preaching, or choose some other text : Your rhetoric is too moving, for it makes Your auditory weep. Luke. Peace, chattering magpie ! I '11 treat of you anon. — But when the height And dignity of London's blessings grew Contemptible, and the name lady mayoress Became a by-word, and you scorn'd the means By which you were raised, my brother's fond in- dulgence Giving the reins to it, and no object pleased you But the glittering pomp and bravery of the court. What a strange, nay monstrous, metamorphosis follow'd ! No English workman then could please your fancy. The French and Tuscan dress your whole discourse; This bawd to prodigality, entertain'd To buzz into your ears what shape this countess Appeai-'d in the last masque, and how it drew The young lord's eyes upon her ; and this usher Succeeded in the eldest prentice' place^ To walk before you L. Friig. Pray you, end. order of people of such home materials as were easiest procured — squirrel, lamb, and, above all, rabbits' skins. For this last article the demand was anciently so great, that innumerable warrens were established in the vicinity of the metropolis. — Gifford. 190 THE CITY MADAM. ACT IV. Hold. Proceed, sir; I could fast almost a prenticeship to hear you. You touch them so to the quick. Luke. Then, as I said. The reverend hood cast off, your borrow'd hair, Powder'd and curl'd, Avas by your dresser's art Form'd like a coronet, hang'd with diamonds. And the richest orient pearl ; your carcanets That did adorn your neck, of equal value ; Your Hungerland bands, and Spanish quellio rufts ' ; Great lords and ladies feasted to survey Embroider'd petticoats ; and sickness feign'd. That your night-rails of forty pounds a piece Might be seen, with envy, of the visitants ; Rich pantofles in ostentation shown. And roses worth a family- : you were served in plate ; Stirr'd not a foot without your coach ; and going To church, not for devotion, but to show Your pomp, you were tickled when the beggars cried. Heaven save your honour ! this idolatry Paid to a painted room. ' Qudlio ruff's,] i. e. ruffs fur the iicck. Quellio is a cor- ruption of cucllo., which is Spanish for a collar. Luke furnishes the most complete picture of the dress, manners, &c. of the diftl'rcnt classes of citizens' wives at that time, that is to be found on the ancient staj;e. 'i Jiosc.i worth a fa mil;/.] These knots of ribands for the shoes were exceedingly large ; and it appears from Stow that they were extrcnuly dear. " Concerning shoc-roscs either of silke or what stuffe soever, they were not then (in the reign of queen Klizabeth) used nor known; nor was there any garters above the price of five shillings a payrc, altho at this day (James I.) men of meane rank weare irr/r/tTi- and shoc-roscs of more than five pounds price." P. 1039. fol. 1031. SC. IV. THE CITY MADAM. "191 Hold. Nay, you have reason To blubber, all of you. Luke. And when you lay In childbed, at the christening of this minx, I well remember it, as you had been An absolute princess, since they have no more. Three several chambers hung, the first with arras. And that for waiters ; the second crimson satin. For the meaner sort of guests ; the third of scarlet Of the rich Tyrian dye ; a canopy To cover the brat's cradle ; you in state. Like Pompey's Julia. L. Frug. No more, I pray you. Luke. Of this, be sure, you shall not. I '11 cut oft Whatever is exorbitant in you Or in your daughters, and reduce you to Your natural forms and habits ; not in revenge Of your base usage of me, but to fright Others by your example : 'tis decreed You shall serve one another, for I will Allow no waiter to you. Out of doors With these useless drones ! Hold. Will you pack ? Mill. Not till I have My trunks along with me. Luke. Not a rag ; you came Hither without a box. Star. You '11 show to me, I hope, sir, more compassion. Hold. Troth I '11 be Thus far a suitor for him : he hath printed An almanack, for this year, at his own charge ; Let him have the impression with him, to set up with. 192 THE CITY MADAM. ACT IV. Luke. For once I '11 be entreated ; let it be Thrown to him out of the window. Sta?: O cursed stars That rcign'd at my nativity ! how have you cheated Your poor observer ! Anne. ]\Iust we part in tears ? Mary. Farewell, good Milliscent ! L. Frug. I am sick, and meet with A rough physician. O my pride and scorn ! How justly am I punish'd ! ]\Iari/. Now we suffer For our stubbornness and disobedience To our good father. Aline. And the base conditions We imposed upon our suitors. Luke. Get you in^ And caterwaul in a comer. L. Frus- There 's no contendintr. [^Ladv Fkuj;al^ Annk, and Mary, g^o off at one door, Stargaze and Milliscent at the other. Luke. How Lik'st thou my carriage. Holdfast .'' Hold. Well in some parts ; But it relishes, I know not how, a little Of too mucli tyranny. Luke. Thou art a fool : He's cruel to himself, that dares not be Severe to those that used him cruelly. \_Exeunt. ACT V. THE CITY MADAM. 193 ACT y. SCENE I. A Boom in Sib John Frugal'* House. Enter Luke, Sir John Frugal, Sir Maurice Lacy, a7id Plenty. Luke. You care not then, as it seems, to be con- verted To our religion ? Sir John. We know no such word. Nor power but the devil, and him we serve for fear. Not love. Luke. I am glad that charge is saved. Sir John. We put That trick upon your brother, to have means To come to the city. Now, to you, we'll discover The close design that brought us, with assurance. If you lend your aids to furnish us with that Which in the colony was not to be purchased. No merchant ever made such a return For his most precious venture, as you shall Receive from us ; far, far above your hopes. Or fancy, to imagine. Luke. It must be Some strange commodity, and of a dear value, (Such an opinion is planted in me You will deal faii-ly,) that I would not hazard : Give me the name of it. Sir Maur. I fear you will make Some scruple in your conscience, to grant it. Luke. Conscience ! no, no ; so it may be done with safety, And without danger of the law. VOL. II, o 194 THE CITY MADAM. ACT V. P lent II. For that, You shall sleep securely : nor shall it diminish. But add unto your heap such an increase. As what you now possess shall appear an atom. To the mountain it hrings with it. Luke. Do not rack me With expectation. Sir John. Thus then in a word: The devil — why start you at his name .'' if you Desire to wallow in wealth and worldly honours. You must make haste to be familiar with him. — This devil, whose priest I am, and by him made A deep magician, (for I can do wonders,) Appear'd to me in Virginia, and commanded. With many stripes, for that 's his cruel custom, I should provide, on pain of his fierce wrath. Against the next great sacrifice, at which We, grovelling on our faces, fall before him. Two Christian virgins, that, with their pure blood, JMight die his horrid altars ; and a third, In his hate to such embraces as are lawful. Married, and with your ceremonious rites, As an oblation unto Hecate, And wanton Lust, her favourite. Luke. A devilish custom ! And yet why should it startle me ? — There are Enough of the sex fit for this use ; but virgins. And such a matron as you speak of, hardly To be wrought to it. Plcnhi. A mine of gold, for a fee. Waits him that undertakes it and })erforms it. Sir Maur. Know you no distressed widow, or poor maids. SC. I. THE CITY MADAM. 195 Whose want of dower, though well bom, makes them weary Of their own country ? Sir John. Such as had rather be Miserable in another world, than where They have surfeited in felicity ? Luke. Give me leave [_fValks aside. I would not lose this purchase, A grave matron ! And two pure virgins ! Umph ! I think my sister. Though proud, was ever honest ; and my nieces Untainted yet. Why should not they be shipp'd Yor this employment ? they are burthensome to me. And eat too much ; and if they stay in London, They will find friends that, to my loss, will force me To composition : 'twere a masterpiece. If this could be effected. They were ever Ambitious of title: should I urge, ^Matching with these they shall live Indian queens. It may do much : but what shall I feel here. Knowing to what they are design'd ? they absent. The thought of them will leave me. It shall be so. [lieliirns. I '11 furnish you, and, to endear the service. In mine own family, and my blood too. Sir John. Make this good, and your house shall not contain The gold we '11 send you. Luke. You have seen my sister And my two nieces ? Sir Jolin. Yes, sir. Luke. These persuaded How happily they shall live, and in what pomp. When they are in your kingdoms, for you must Work them a belief that you are kings o2 1 96 THE CITY MADAM. ACT V. Plenty. We are so. Li/ke. I '11 put it in practice instantly '. Study you For moving language. Sister ! nieces ! • I ^11 pill it in practice i>ista7i/h/.'\ Hitherto the character of Luke has been supported with matchless judgment and dexterity : the present design, however, of sacrificing his bro- ther's wife and daughters to Lust and Hecate has always struck the critics as unnatural and improbable in the liighest degree. " Bloody, indeed, it is;" but is it out of character ? liuke is the creature of no ordinary hand, and he who conducted him thus far with such unexampled skill was little likely to desert him at the end. It appears that Ulassinger was desirous of showing, in the person of lAike, the hideous portraiture of avarice personified. The love of money is the ruling passion of his soul ; it gathers strength with indulgence ; and the pro- spect of such unbounded wealth as is here held out to him is properly calculated to overcome the fear of law, and the re- monstrances of the few scruples of conscience which yet tor- ment him. History furnishes examples of men who have sacrificed friends, kindred, all, to the distant view of wealth ; and we might have known, without the assistance of Luke, that avarice, while it depraves the feelings, enfeebL-s the judgment, and renders its votaries at once credulous and unnatural. AVith respect to another objection which has been raised, that " Luke is too much a man of tlie world to be so grossly imposed upon," it is more easily obviated. Instead of going back to the age of the poet, we inconsiderately bring him forward to our own, and invest him with all our knowledge. This is an evil as common as it is grievous. That the Indians do not wor.-^hip the devil, we know; but did IMassingcr know it? Our old writers partook of the general credulity, and believed the wonders which the/ told ; tliey would not else have told them so well. All the first discoverers, and all the first historians, of America were themselves fully persuaded, and earnestly la- boured to persuade others, that the natives worshii)pcd the devil. Lvery shapeless block, every rude stone painfully battered by the poor savages into a distant resemblance of animated nature, and therefore prized by them, was, by their more savage visitors, SC. r. THE CITY MADAM. 197 Enter Lady FkugaLj Anne, and Mary. How ! Still mourning? dry your eyes, and clear these clouds That do obscure your beauties. Did you believe My personated reprehension, though It show'd like a rough anger, could be serious ? Forget the fright I put you in : my end In humbling you was to set off the height Of honour, principal honour, which my studies. When you least expect it, shall confer upon you ! Still you seem doubtful : be not wanting to Yourselves, nor let the strangeness of the means. With the shadow of some danger, render you Incredulous. L. Frug. Our usage hath been such. As we can faintly hope that your intents And language are the same. Luke. 1 11 change those hopes . To certainties. Sir John. With what art he winds about them ! [_Asidc. Luke. What will you say, or what thanks shall I look for. If now I raise you to such eminence, as The wife and daughters of a citizen taken for a representation of some mis-shapen fiend to whom they offered human sacrifices : nay, so rooted was this opinion, that the author of the New English Canaan (printed not many years before this play), a man well disposed towards the Indians, says, "some correspondency they have with the devil, nut of all doubt/'''' and, indeed, I scarcely know a writer of j\Iassinger's time who was not of the same belief. — Gii'ford. 1&8 THE CITY MADAM. ACT V. Never arrived at ! man}% for their wealtli, I grant. Have written ladies of honour, and some few Have higher titles, and that 's the furthest rise You can in England hope for. What think you. If I should mark you out a way to live Queens in another climate ? A?ine. We desire A competence. Marl/. And prefer our country's smoke Before outlandish fire. L. Frug. But should we listen To such impossibilities, 'tis not in The power of man to make it good. Luke. I '11 do it : Nor is this seat of majesty far removed ; It is but to Virginia. L. Frug. How ! Virginia ! High heaven forbid ! Remember, sir, I beseech you. What creatures are shipp'd thither. Anne. Condemn'd wretches. Forfeited to the law. Mary. Who for th' abomination of their life, Are cast from their own country. Luke. Your false fears Abuse my noble purposes. Such indeed Are sent as slaves to labour there ; but you. To absolute sovereignty. Observe these men. With reverence observe them : they are kings of Such spacious territories and dominions, As our Great Britain measured will appear A garden to it. Sir Maur. You shall be adored there As goddesses. SC. I. THE CITY MADAM, 199 Sh' Jokti. Your litters made of gold. Supported by your vassals, proud to bear The burthen on their shoulders. Plentif. Pomp, and ease, With delicates that Europe never knew. Like pages shall wait on you. Luke. If you have minds To entertain the greatness ofFer'd to you. With outstretch'd arms, and willing hands, em- brace it. But this refused, imagine what can make you Most miserable here ; and rest assured. In storms it falls upon you : take them in. And use your best persuasion. If that fail, I '11 send them aboard in a dry vat. ^Exeunl all but Sir John Frugal and Luke. Sir John. Be not moved, sir; We '11 work them to your will. Yet, ere we part. Your worldly cares deferr'd, a little mirth Would not misbecome us. Ltike. You say well : and now It comes into my memory, 'tis my birthday. Which with solemnity I would observe. But that it would ask cost. Sir John. That shall not grieve you. By my art I will prepare you such a feast. As Persia, in her height of pomp and riot. Did never equal ; and such ravishing music As the Italian princes seldom heard At their greatest entertainments. Name your guests. Luke. I must have none. Sir John. Not the city senate ? Luke. No; Nor yet poor neighbours: the first would argue me 200 THE CITY MADAM. ACT V. Of foolish ostentation, and the latter Of too much hospitality; a virtue Grown obsolete, and useless. I will sit Alone, and surfeit in my store, while others With envy pine at it ; ray genius pamper'd With the thought of what I am, and what they suffer I have mark'd out to misery. - Sir John. You shall : And something I will add you yet conceive not. Nor will I be slow-paced. Luke. I have one business. And, that despatch'd, I am free. Sir John. About it, sir. Leave the rest to me. Luke. Till now I ne'er loved magic. ^Exeunt. SCENE II. AnoUicr Room in the same. Enter Lord Lacy, Goldwire senior, and Trade- well senior. L. Lacy. Believe me, gentlemen, I never was So cozen'd in a fellow. He disguised Hypocrisy in such a cunning shape Of real goodness, that I would have sworn This devil a saint. JMasters Goldwire and Trade- well, What do you mean to ^o} Put on'. Gold With your lordship's favour. L. Laci). 1 11 have it so. ' Put o»,] i. e. he covered. SC. II. THE CITY MADAM. 201 Trade, Your will, my lord, excuses The rudeness of our manners. L. Lacy. You have received Penitent letters from your sons, I doubt not ? Trade. They are our only sons. Gold. And as we are fathers. Remembering; the errors of our vouth. We would pardon slips in them. Trade. And pay for them In a moderate way. Gold. In which we hope your lordship Will be our mediator. Li. Lacy. All my power Enter Luke, richly dressed. You freely shall command ; 'tis he ! You are well met. And to my wish, — and wondrous brave ! your habit Speaks j'ou a merchant royal'. Luke. What I wear I take not upon trust. L. Lacy. Your betters may. And blush not for 't. Luke. If you have nought else with me But to argue that, I will make bold to leave you. L. Lacy. You are very peremptory; pray you stay: — I once held you An upright honest man. • Merchant royal.'] This is not a mere sounding expression. The Sanudos, the Giustiniani, the Grimaldi of Venice, who erected principalities in the Archipelago, which their descendants enjoyed, and the i\Iedici of Florence, were truly merchants royal. Sir Thomas Gresham was, in our own country, on account of his great wealth and his transacting the mercantile business of Queen Elizabeth, commonly called The Royal Merchant. 202 THE CITY MADAM. ACT V, Luke, I am honester now Bv a hundred thousand pound, I thank my stars for 't, Upon the Exchange ; and if your late opinion Be alter'd, who can help it ? Good my lord, To the point ; I have other business than to talk Of honesty, and opinions. L. Lacif. Yet j'ou may Do well, if you please, to show the one, and merit The other from good men, in a case that now Is offer'd to you. Ltikc. What is it ? I am troubled. Z/. Lacy. Here are two gentlemen, the fathers of Your brother's prentices. Luke. IMine, my lord, I take it. L. Lactj. Goldwire and Tradewell. Luke. They are welcome, if They come prepared to satisfy the damage I have sustain'd by their sons. Gold. We are, so you please To use a conscience. Trade. Which we hope you will do. For your own worship's sake. Luke. Conscience, my friends, And wealth, are not always neighbours. Should I part With what the law gives me, I should suffer mainly In my reputation; for it would convince' me Of indiscretion : nor will you, I hope, move me To do myself such prejudice. L. Laci/. No moderation ? Ijuke. They cannot look for't, and preserve in me A thriving citizen's credit. Your bonds lie > Convince,] i. e. convict. SC. II. THE CITY MADAM. 203 For your sons' truth, and they shall answer all They have run out : the masters never prosper'd Since gentlemen's sons grew prentices : when we look To have our business done at home, they are Abroad in the tennis-court, or in Partridge-alley, In Lambeth IMarsh, or a cheating ordinary, Where I found your sons. I have your bonds, look to't. A thousand pounds apiece, and that will hardly Repair my losses. L. Lacy. Thou dar'st not show thyself Such a devil ! Luke. Good words. L. Lacy. Such a cut-throat ! I have heard of The usage of your brother's wife and daughters ; You shall find you are not lawless, and that your monies Cannot justify your villanies. Luke. I endure this. And, good my lord, now you talk in time of monies. Pay in what you owe me. And give me leave to wonder Your wisdom should have leisure to consider The business of these gentlemen, or my carriage To my sister, or my nieces, being yourself So much in my danger'. L. Lacy. In thy danger? Luke. Mine. I find in my counting-house a manor pawn'd, Pawn'd, my good lord ; Lacy manor, and that manor. From which you have the title of a lord, • In my danger, ^ i. e. in my deli. 204 THE CITY MADAM. ACT V. An it please your good lordship ! You are a noble- man ; Pray you pay in my monies : the interest Will eat faster in 't, than aquafortis in iron. Now though you bear me hard, I love your lord- shij]. I grant your person to be privileged From all arrests ; yet there lives a foolish creature Call'd an under-sheriff, who, being well paid, will serve An extent ^ on lords or lowns' land. Pay it in : I would be loth your name should sink, or that Your hopeful son, when he returns from travel, Should find you my lord-without-land. You are angry For my good counsel : look you to your bonds ; had I known Of your coming, believe 't, I would have had Ser- jeants ready. Lord, how you fret ! but that a tavern's near. You should taste a cup of muscadine in my house, To wash down sorrow ; but there it will do better : I know you '11 drink a health to me. [_Exil. L. hacif. To thy damnation. Was there ever such a villain ! heaven forgive me For speaking so uncln-istiauly, though he deserves it. Gold. We are undone. Trade. Our families quite ruin'd. L. Lac)/. Take courage, gentlemen ; comfort may appear. And punishment overtake him, when he least ex- pects it. [_^Excunt. ^ Ah extent,^ i.e. an execution. SC. III. THE CITY MADAM. 205 SCENE III. Another Room in the same. Enter Sir John Frugal and Holdfast. Sir John. Be silent, on your life. Hold. I am o'erjoy'd. Sir John. Are the pictures placed as I directed? Hold. Yes, sir. Sir John. And the musicians ready ? Hold. All is done As you commanded. Sir John, \_gocs to the door. 1 Blake haste ; and be careful ; You know your cue and postures ? Plentij. \jn'ithin.~\ We are perfect. Sir John. 'Tis well. The rest are come, too.'' Hold. And disposed of To your own wish. Eiiter Servants with a rich banquet. Sir John. Set forth the table : so ! A perfect banquet. At the upper end. His chair in state : he shall feast like a prince. Hold. And rise like a Dutch hangman'. ' A Dutch hanffman.] In some old account of the Low Coun- tries, while under the Spanish government, I remember to have read, among many things, that the office of a hangman was con- sidered so infamous, that no one would sit at table with him, or even touch the meat of which he partook. Not aware that such a passage would ever be of use to me, I made n.o reference, and cannot now discover the place. The allusion, however, to the 206 TUE CITY MADAM. ACT V. Enter Luke. Sir John, Not a word more. How like you the preparation ? Fill your room, And taste the cates ; then in your thought consider A rich man, that lives wisely to himself^ In his full height of glory. Lulce. I can brook No rival in this happiness. How sweetly These dainties, when unpaid for, please my palate ! Some wine. Jove's nectar ! Brightness to the star That govern'd at my birth ! shoot down thy influ- ence. And with a perpetuity of being Continue this felicity, not gain'd By vows to saints above, and much less purchased By thriving industry ; nor fallen upon me As a reward to piety and religion. Or service to my country : I owe all This to dissimulation and the shape I wore of goodness. Let my brother number His beads devoutly, and believe his alms To beggars, his compassion to his debtors. Will wing his better part, disrobed of flesh. To soar above the firmament. I am well ; And so I surfeit here in all abundance. Though styled a cormorant, a cut-throat, Jew, And pi'osecuted with the fatal curses Of widows, undone orphans, and what else degraded state of common exccutiouers on the continent is to be found in others of our old writers. Indeed, in one of Broome's comedies (Novella), a principal part of the plot is niade to turn on the horror with which the hangman was regarded. — GliJOUD. SC, III. THE CITY MADAM. 207 Such as malign my state can load me with, I will not envy it. You promised music. Sir Ju/ifi. And you shall hear the strength and power of it. The spirit of Orpheus raised to make it good. And, in those ravishing strains with which he moved Charon and Cerberus to give him way. To fetch from hell his lost Eurydice. —Appear ! swifter than thought ! [_Aloud. Music. Enter at one door Cerberus, at the other Charon, Orpheus, and Chorus. Luke. 'Tis wondrous strange ! \They represent the sturi/ of Orpiievs, with dance and gesttcre. Sir John. Does not the object and the accent take you ? Luke. A pretty fable'. \_Exe. Orph. and the rest!] But that music should Alter in fiends their nature, is to me Impossible; since, in myself, I find What I have once decreed shall know no change. Sir John. You are constant to your purposes; yet I think That I could stagger you. Luke. How .'' Sir John. Should I present Your servants, debtors, and the rest that suffer By your fit severity, I presume the sight Would move you to compassion, Luke. Not a mote. ' From this it appears that the fable of Orpheus and Eurydice was acted in dumb show. Few of Massinger's plays ate with- out a masque or an interlude of some kind or other. — Giffobd. 208 THE CITY MADAM. ACT V. The music that your Orpheus made was harsh To the dcli";ht I should I'eceive in hearina; Their cries and groans : if it be in your power, I would now see them. Sir John. Spirits, in their shapes. Shall show them as they are : but if it should move you ? Luke. If it do, may I ne'er find pity ! Sir John. Be your own judge. Appear ! as I commanded ! Sad Music. Enter Golt>wxv.e Junior, and Tradk- WELi.Ju?iior, as from prison ; Foktlne, Hoyst, and Penury J Serjeants with Tradewell se- nior, and Goldwire senior; — these followed hy Siiave'eji, in a blue gown, Secret, and Dixge'm ; they all kneel to Lukp,, lifting vp their hands. Stargaze is seen with a pack of almanacks, and MiLLlSCENT. Luke. Ha, ha, ha ! This move me to compassion, or raise One sign of seeming pity in my face ! You are deceived : it rather renders me IMore fiintv and obdurate. A south wind Shall sooner soften marble, and the rain That slides down gently from his flaggy wings O'erflow the Alps, than knees, or teai's, or groans. Shall wrest compunction from me, 'Tis my glory That they are wretched and by me made so ; It sets my happiness off*: I could not triumph If these were not my captives. — Ha ! my terriers. As it appears, have seized on these old fo.\es, As I gave order; new addition to SC. III. THE CITY MADAM. 209 My scene of mirth: ha, ha! — They now grow tedious ; Let them be removed. {^Exeunt Gold. a7id the rest. Some other object, if Your art can show it. Sii- John. You shall perceive 'tis boundless. Yet one thing real, if you please. Luke. What is it ? Sir John. Your nieces, ere they put to sea, crave humbly, Though absent in their bodies, they may take leave Of their late suitors' statues. Enter Lady Frugal, Anne, and Mary. Luke. There they hang : In things indifferent I am tractable. Sir John. There pay your vows, you have liberty. Anne. O sweet figure \_Kneels. Of my abused Lacy ' ! when removed Into another world, I '11 daily pay A sacrifice of sighs to thy remembrance ; And with a shower of tears strive to wash oft" The stain of that contempt my foolish pride And insolence threw upon thee. Mary. I had been ' My abused Lacy !'[ There is some difficulty in understand, ing the mechanism of this scene. IMassinger, like all his con- temporaries, confounds statue with picture, and this creates confusion. It seems as if Lacy and Plenty by some con- trivance stood within the frames, and in the exact dress and attitudes of their respective portraits, which Sir John appears to have procured, and, after taking out the canvas, hung up in the back part of the room; from whence, at a preconcerted signal, they descend and come forward-. The direction, in the quarto, is, Plenty and Lacy ready belaud. — Gifford. VOL. II. p 210 TMV. CITY MADAM. ACT V. Too happy if I had enjoy'd the substance ; But far unworthy of it, now I fall Thus prostrate to thy statue. [^Ktieels. L. Fn/g. INIy kind husband, [_Kncels. (Bless'd in my misery,) from the monastery To which my disobedience confined thee, With thy soul's eye, which distance cannot hinder. Look on my penitence. O, that I could Call back time past ! thy holy vow dispensed. With wdiat humility would I observe I\Iy long-neglected duty ! Si?- John. Does not this move you r Luke Yes, as they do the statues, and her sorrow INIy absent brother. If, by your magic art, You can give life to these, or bring him hither To witness her repentance, I may have. Perchance, some feeling of it. Sir John. For your sport You shall see a masterpiece. Here 's nothing but A superficies; colours, and no substance. Sit still, and, to your wonder and amazement, I '11 give these organs. This the sacrifice To make the great work perfect. [^Bitrns incense, and makes mystical gesticu- lations. Sir Maurice Lacy awrf Plenty give signs of animation. Lnlte. Prodigious ! Sir John. Nay, they have life and motion. De- scend ! QSiR JMaurice Lacy and Plenty descend atid come forward. And for your absent brother, — this wash'd off. Against your will you shall know him. \_Discovers himself. SC. III. THE CITY MADAM, 211 Enter Lokd Lacy, with Goldwire senior and junior, Tradewell senior and junior, the Debtors, S^c. c^-c. as before. Luke. I am lost. Guilt strikes me dumb. Sir John. You have seen, my lord, the pageant ? L,. Lacy. I have, and am ravish'd with it. Sir John. What think you now Of this clear soul ? this honest, pious man ? Have I stripp'd him bare, or will your lordship have A further trial of him? 'Tis not in A wolf to change his nature. L. Lacy. I long since Confess'd my error. Sir John. Look up ; I forgive you. And seal your pardons thus. [^Raises and embraces Lady Frugal, AnxVe, a?id Mary. L. Frus. I am too full Of joy, to speak it. Anne. I am another creature ; Not what I was. Mary. I vow to show myself. When I am married, a humble wife. Not a commanding mistress. Plenty. On those terms I gladly thus embrace you. [JFo Mary. Sir Maur. Welcome to IVIy bosom : as the one half of myself 1 11 love and cherish you. [_To Anne, Gold. jun. Mercy ! Trade, jun. and the rest. Good sir, mercy ! Sir John. Thisdayis sacred to it. All shall find me, p 2 212 THE CITY MADAM. ACT V. As far as lawful pity can give way to 't. Indulgent to your wishes, though with loss Unto myself. — INIy kind and honest brother, Looking into yourself, have you seen the Gorgon ? What a golden dream you have had, in the possession Of my estate! — but here's a revocation That wakes you out of it. Monster in nature! Revengeful, avaricious atheist. Transcending all example ! — but I shall be A sharer in thy crimes should I repeat them — What wilt thou do ? turn hypocrite again. With hope dissimulation can aid thee .'' Or that one eye will shed a tear in sign Of sorrow for thee ? I have warrant to IMake bold with mine own, pray you uncase: this key, too, I must make bold wath. Hide thyself in some desert. Where good men ne'er may find thee; or injustice Pack to Virginia, and repent; not for Those horrid ends to which thou didst design these. Luke. I care not where I go : what 's done, with words Cannot be undone. \_Exlt. L. Frug. Yet, sir, show some mercy; Because his cruelty to me and mine Did good upon us. ISir John. Of that at better Icisui-e, As his penitency shall work me. JMake you good Your promised reformation, and instruct Our city dames, whom wealth makes proud, to move In their own spheres; and willingly to confess. In their liabits, manners, and their highest port, A distance 'twixt the city and the court. \_Excuut. THE UNNATUKAL COMBAT. The Unnatural Combat.] This tragedy was one of Massinger's earliest productions. It was first published in 16.'i9. The title-page informs us that it was acted by the ''• King's majesty's servants, at the Globe." The two first acts are, perhaps, as vigorous and interesting as any thing our author has ever written ; and the third act, of which great part has been retained in the present publication for the sake of the animated episode of Belgarde, is also enter- taining ; but the rest of the play, notwithstanding many forcible and eloquent passages, is in the highest degree offensive from the disgusting tenor of the incidents introduced ; and every reader of good taste and feeling will be thankful for being pared the perusal of them. TO MY MUCH HONOUHED FRIEND, ANTHONY SENTLEGER, OF OAKHAM IN KENT, ESQ. SIR, That the patronage of trifles, in this kind, hath long since rendered dedications and inscriptions obsolete and out of fashion, I perfectly understand, and cannot but ingenuously confess, that I, walking in the same path, may be truly argued by you of weakness, or wilful error : but the reasons and defences for the tender of my service this way to you are so just, that I cannot (in my thankfulness for so many favours received) but be ambitious to publish them. Your noble father, Sir Warham Sentleger (whose remarkable virtues must be ever remembered), being, while he lived, a master, for his pleasure, in poetry, feared not to hold converse with divers whose necessitous fortunes made it their profession, among which, by the clemency of his judgment, I was not in the last place admitted. You (the heir of his honour and estate) inherited his good inclinations to men of my poor quality, of which I cannot give any ampler testimony than by my free and glad profession of it to the world. Besides (and it was not the least encouragement to me) many of eminence, and the best of such, who disdained not to take notice of me, have not thought themselves disparaged, I dare not say honoured, to be celebrated the patrons of my humble studies. In the first file of which, I am confident, you shall have no cause to blush to find your name written. I present you with this old tragedy, without prologue or epilogue, it being composed in a time (and that too, peradventure, as knowing as this) when such by- ornaments were not advanced above the fabric of the whole work. Accept it, I beseech you, as it is, and continue your favour to the author, Your servant, PHILIP MASSINGER. DRAMATIS PERSONvE. Beaufort senior, governor of Marseilles. 3eav FORT junior, his sou. Malefort senior, admiral of Marseilles. Maletout junior, /tis son. Chamont, ^ flIONTAiGNE, > assistants to the governor. Lanour, j IVIoNTREViLLE, a preteiidcd friend to Malefort senior. Belgrade, a poor captain. Three Sea Captains, of the navy of Maeetout junior, A Steward. An Usher. A Page. Theocrine, daughter to Malefort senior. Two JVuiting-wo7nen. Servants and Soldiers. SCENE, MarseUles, THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. ACT I. SCENE I. A Hall in the Court of Justice. Enter Montreville, Theocrine, Usher, Page, and Waiting-women. Montr. Now to be modest, madam, when you are A suitor for you father, would appear Coarser than boldness ; you awhile must part with Soft silence, and the blushings of a virgin : Though I must grant, did not this cause com- mand it. They are rich jewels you have ever worn To all men's admiration. In this age. If, by our own forced importunity. Or others' purchased intercession, or Corrupting bribes, we can make our approaches To justice, guarded from us by stem power. We bless the means and industry. Ush. Here 's music In this bag shall wake her^ though she had drunk opium. 218 THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. ACT I. Or eaten mandrakes ^ Let commanders talk Of cannons to make breaches, give but tire To this petard*, it shall blow open, madam. The iron doors of a judge, and make you entrance ; When they (let them do what they can), with all Their mines, their culverins, and basiliscos, Shall cool their feet without ; this being the pick- lock That never fails. Mo?i/r. 'Tis true, gold can do much. But beauty more. Were I the governor. Though the admiral, your father, stood convicted Of what he 's only doubted, half a dozen Of kisses, lady, from these cherry lips, Should sign his general pardon. Theoc. These light words, sir, Do ill become the weight of my sad fortune ; And I much wonder, you, that do profess Yourself to be my father's bosom friend. Can raise mirth from his misery. Monlr. You mistake me ; I share in his calamity, and only Deliver my thoughts freely, what I should do For such a rare petitioner : and if You '11 follow the directions I prescribe. With ray best judgment I'll mark out the way For his enlargement. ' Mandrakes.] Dr. Hill observes, that " the mandrakf. has a soporific quality, and that it was used by the ancients when they wanted a narcotic of a most powerful kind." To this there are perpetual allusions in our old writers. — GlFFORD. ^ Petard,] i. e. an engine, containing gunpowder, used in blowing up towns. HC. I. THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. 219 Theoc. With all real joy I shall put what you counsel into act. Provided it be honest. Enter Newport Junior, and Belgrade. Montr. Here 's brave young Beaufort, The meteor of IMarseilles ', one that holds The governor his father's will and power In more awe than his own ! Burn your petition, burn it ; he dotes on you. Upon my knowledge. Come, come, advance ; Be the cause right or wrong, you'U have your father Released with much facility. \_Exit. Beaiif.jiin. There is neither Employment yet, nor money. Belg. I have commanded. And spent my own means in my country's service. In hope to raise a fortune. Beauf. jun. Many have hoped so; But hopes prove seldom certainties with soldiers. Belg. If no preferment, let me but receive My pay that is behind, to set me up A tavern. Beauf. Jun. As our prizes are brought in. Till then you must be patient. Belg. In the mean time. How shall I do for clothes ? « Marseilles.] It may be proper to observe here, once for all, that JMarseilles, or, as IMassinger spells it, IMarsellis, is commonly used by him as a trisyllable, which, in fact, it is — GiFFORD. 220 THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. ACT 1. Jieaiif. jim. As most captains do: Philosopher-like, carry all you have about you'. Belg. But how shall I do to satisfy colon*, monsieur ? There lies the doubt. Beaiif.jun. That's easily decided; I\Iy father's table's free for any man That hath borne arras. Belg. And there 's good store of meat .•* Beanf. jun. Never fear that. Belg. I '11 seek no other ordinary then. But be his daily guest without invitenient ; And if my stomach hold, I '11 feed so heartily. As he shall pay me suddenly to be quit of me. BeanJ\ jun. 'Tis she. Belg. And further Beaiif.jun. Away, you are troublesome; Designs of more weight Belg. Ha ! fair Theocrine ! This is, indeed, great business ; mine, a gewgaw. I may dance attendance ; this must be despatch'd. And suddenly, or all will go to wreck. [_Exit. Beauf. jun. [raising Theoc.J'rom her 1{nees.~\ Nay, pray you, madam, rise, or I'll kneel with vou. What is it can deserve so poor a name ' Philosoj)}icr-Ukc, carry all yon have ahorit ?/o«.] Alluding to the well-known saying of Simonides, Omnia mea mecum porta. — GiFioiiu. ' Co/o7«,] i. e. the cravings of hunger: the colon is the largest of the human intestines. It frequently occurs in the same sense as here in our old poets.— GifFOHD. aC. I. THE UNNATURAL COMBAT, 22 i As a suit to me ? This more than mortal form Was fashion'd to command^ and not euti'eat : Your will but known is served. Thcoc. Great sir ! my father, iMy brave, deserving father ,• — but that sorrow Forbids the use of speech Beauf.jun. I understand you, Without the aids of those intei-preters That fall from your fair eyes : I know you labour The liberty of your father ; at the least. An equal' hearing to acquit himself: And, 'tis not to endear my service to you. Though I must add, and pray with patience hear it, 'TIs hard to be effected, in respect The state 's incensed against him : all presuming. The world of outrages his impious son, Turn'd worse than pirate in his cruelties, Express'd to this poor country, could not be With such ease put in execution, if Your father, of late our great admiral. Held not or correspondence, or connived At his pi'oceedings. Theoc. And must he then suffer. His cause unheard ? Beaitf.jun. As yet it is resolved so In their determination. But suppose (For I would nourish hope, not kill it, in you) I should divert the torrent of their purpose. And render them, that are implacable, Impartial judges, and not sway'd with spleen; Will you, I dare not say in recompense. For that includes a debt you cannot owe me, ' Equal,'\ i. e. just, linjjdtt'iuJ. 222 THE UXXATUKAL COMBAT. ACT I. But in your liberal bounty, in my suit To you, be gracious ? Theoc. You entreat of me, sir. What I should offer to you, with confession That you much undervalue your own worth, Should vou receive me, since there come with vou Not passionate fires, but fair and lawful flames. But I must be excused ; 'tis now no time For me to think of hymeneal joys. Can he (and pray you, sir, consider it) That gave me life, and faculties to love. Be, as he 's now, ready to be devour'd By ravenous wolves, and at that instant I But entertain a thought of those delights, In which, perhaps, my ardour meets with yours.'* Duty and piety forbid it, sir. Beaiif. jun. But this eft'ected, and your father free. What is your answer .'' Theoc. Every minute to me Will be a tedious age, till our true love Receives my father's sanction. ' Bean f. jun. I urge no more. Ush. They are the loving'st couple ! Enter Beacfokt senior, Montaigne, Cuamont, and Lanour. Beauf.jun. Here comes my father. With the Council of War : deliver your petition. And leave the rest to me. [^TiiEOCRiNE offers a paper. Beauf. sen. I am sorry, lady. Your father's guilt compels your innocence To ask what I injustice must deny. SC. r. THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. 223 Bemif.jun. For my sake, sir, pray you receive and read it. Beaiif. sen. Thou foolish boy ! I can deny thee nothing. ^Takes the paper from Theoc. Bemif. jun. Thus far we are happy, madam : quit the place ; You shall hear how we succeed. Theoc. Goodness reward you ! ^Eocetmt Theocrine, Usher, Page, a?id Women. Mont. It is apparent ; and we stay too long To censure Malefort' as he deserves. \_They lake their seals. Cham. There is no colour of reason that makes for him : Had he discharged the trust committed to him. With that experience and fidelity He practised heretofore, it could not be Our navy should be block'd up, and, in our sight. Our goods made prize, our sailors sold for slaves. By his prodigious^ issue. La7i. I much grieve. After so many brave and high achievements. He should in one ill forfeit all the good He ever did his country. Beauf. sen. Well, 'tis granted'. • To censure Male/ort, &c.] Censure, i. e. pass sentence on. — Male/ort is here, and generally throughout the play, pro- perly used as a trisyllable. ' Prodigious.'] i. e. unnatural, horrible. 3 Well, 'tis granted.] It appears, from the subsequent s{>€eches, that young Beaufort had been soliciting his father to allow Malefort to plead without his chains. — Gifford. 224 THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. ACT I. Beauf.jun. I humbly thank you, sir. Beauf. sen. He shall have hearing, His irons too struck oft. Bring him before us ; But seek no further favour. lieauf.jun. Sir, I dare not. ^Exil. Beauf. sen. IVIonsieur Chamont, IMontaigne, Lanour, assistants. By a commission from the most christian king. In punishing or freeing IMalefort, Our late great admiral ! though I know you need not Instructions from me, how to dispose of Yourselves in this man's trial, that exacts Your clearest judgments, give me leave, witli favour, To offer my opinion. We are to hear him, A little looking back on his fair actions. Loyal, and true demeanour ; not as now By the general voice already he's condemn'd. But if we find, as most believe, he hath held Iniellisrence with his accursed son. Fallen oft from all allegiance, and turn'd (But for what cause we know not) the most bloody And fatal enemy this country ever Repented to have brought forth ; without com- passion Of what he was, or may be, if now pardon'd ; We sit engaged to censure him with all Extremity and rigour. Cliam. Your lordship shows us A path which we will tread in. Lan. He that leaves To follow, as you lead, will lose himself. SC. I. THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. 225 Mont. I '11 not be singular. 'b'- Re-enter Beaufort junior, with Montreville, Malefort senior, Belgrade, and Officers. Beatif. sen. He comes, but with A strange distracted look. Malej. sen. Live I once more ' To see these hands and arms free ! these, that, often. In the most dreadful horror of a fight. Have been as seamarks to teach such as were Seconds in my attempts, to steer between The rocks of too much daring, and pale fear. To reach the port of victory ! when my sword. Advanced thus, to my enemies appear'd A hairy comet, threatening death and ruin To such as durst behold it ~ ! These the legs. That, when our ships were grappled, carried me ^\'ith such swift motion from deck to deck. As they that saw it, with amazement cried. He does not run, but flies ! ' Malef. sen. Live I once more, &c.] There is something very striking in the indignant burst of savage ostentation with which tbis old warrior introduces himself on the scene. GiFrORD. 2 A hairy comet, &c.] From this, and the passage in the text, Milton, who appears, by various marks of imitation, to have been a careful reader of JNIassinger, probably formed the magnificent and awful picture which follows : " On the other side, Incensed with indignation, Satan stood Unterrified, and like a comet hurn''d. That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge In the arctic sky, and from his horrid hair Shakes pestilence and war." — Gifford. VOL. II. Q 226 THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. ACT I. Mont. He still retains The greatness of his spirit. MalcJ] sen. Now crampt with irons, Hunger, and cold, they hardly do support me — But 1 forget myself". (), my good lords, That sit there as my judges, to determine The life and death of jMalefort, where are now Those shouts, those cheerful looks, those loud applauses. With which, when I return'd loaden with spoil, You entertain'd your admiral ? all 's forgotten ; And I stand here to give account of that Of which I am as free and innocent As he that never saw the eyes of him For whom I stand suspected. Beaiif. sen. JMonsieur Malefort, Let not your passion so far transport you. As to believe from any private malice. Or envy to your person, you are question'd : Nor do the suppositions want weight. That do invite us to a strong assurance. Your son Malef. sen. INIy shame ! Bcaiif. sen. Pray you, hear with patience, — never, Without assistance or sure aids from you. Could, with the pirates of Argiers and Tunis, Even those that you had almost twice defeated. Acquire such credit as with them to be Made absolute commander, (pray you observe me,) If there had not some contract pass'd between you. That, when occasion served, you would join with them. To the ruin of Marseilles ? SC. I. THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. 227 Mont. jNIore, what urged Your son to turn apostata? Cham. Had he from The state, or governor, the least neglect, Which envy could intei-pret for a wrong? Lan. Or, if you slept not in your charge, how could So many ships as do infest our coast. And have in our own harbour shut our navy. Come in unfought with ? Beau f. Jim. They put him hardly to it. Malef. sen. My lords, with as much brevity as I can, I '11 answer each particular objection With which you charge me. The main ground on which You raise the building of your accusation Hath reference to my son : should I now curse him. Or wish, in the agony of my troubled soul. Lightning had found him in his mother's womb. You '11 say 'tis from the purpose ; and I, therefore, Betake him ' to the devil, and so leave him ! Did never loyal father but myself Beget a treacherous issue ? was 't in me To fashion up his mind? or must it follow. Because that he is impious, I am false ? I would not boast my actions, yet 'tis lawful To upbraid my benefits to unthankful men. Who sunk the Turkish galleys in the straits. But JNIalefort ? Who rescued the French mer- chants. When they were boarded, and stow'd under hatches ' Betake lilm^ &c.] i. e. co.nigii, male him over. q2 228 THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. ACT I. By the pirates of Argiers, when every minute They (lid expect to be chain'd to the oar. But your now-doubted admiral? then you fill'd The air with shouts of joy, and did proclaim, When hope had left them, and grim-look'd despair Hover'd with sail-stretch'd wings ' over their heads. To me, as to the Neptune of the sea. They owed the restitution of their goods. Their lives, their liberties. O, can it then Be probable, my lords, that he that never Became the master of a pirate's ship, But at the mainyard hung the captain up. And caused the rest to be thrown overboard, Sliould, after all these proofs of deadly hate. So oft express'd against them, entertain A thought of quarter with them ; but much less (To the perpetual ruin of my glories) To join with them to lift a wicked arm Against my mother-country, this INIarscilles, Which, with my prodigal expense of blood, I have so oft protected ! BeaiiJ'. sen. W hat you have done Is granted and applauded ! but yet know This glorious - relation of vour actions I\Iust not so blind our judgments as to suffer This most unnatural crime you stand accused of To pass unquestion'd. Cliaui. No ; you must produce Reasons of more validity and weight ' SuU-ii retell' d zviiigs, itc] Jonson, FlutcliLT, and Milton, too, have the same bold expression : the original to whirli they are all indebted is, perhaps, a sublime passage m the Fairy Queen, B. I. c. xi. st. 10 Giffoud. * Glorious,^ u e. vain, boasffiil, from the Latin glorlosus. SC. I. TUE UNNATURAL COMBAT. 229 To plead in your defence, or we shall hardly Conclude you innocent. Mont. The large volume of Your former worthy deeds, with your experience Both what and when to do, but makes against you. Lan. For had your care and courage been the same As heretofore, the dangers we are plunged in Had been with ease prevented. Malef. sell. What have I Omitted, in the power of flesh and blood. Even in the birth to strangle the designs of This hell-bred wolf my son ? Alas ! my lords, I am no god, nor like him could foresee His cruel thoughts and cursed purposes : Nor would the sun at my command forbear To make his progress to the other world. Affording to us one continued light. Nor could my breath disperse those foggy mists, Cover'd with which, and darkness of the night. Their navy undiscern'd, without resistance. Beset our harbour : make not that my fault, Which you injustice must ascribe to fortune. — But if that nor my former acts, nor what I have deliver'd, can prevail with you. To make good my integrity and truth. Rip up this bosom, and pluck out the heart That hath been ever loyal. l^A trumpet ivtthin. Beauf. sen. How! a trumpet? Inquire the cause. l^Ejcit INIontreville. Malef. sen. Thou searcher of men's hearts. And sure defender of the innocent, (My other crying sins — awhile not look'd on) If I in this am guilty, strike me dead. 2'M) THE INNATURAL COMBAT. ACT I. Or by some unexpected means confirm I mil accused unjustly ! [^Aside. Ilc^cnier Montr eville with a Sea Captain. Beauf. sen. Speak, the motives That brinfj thee hither ? Capl. From our admiral thus : He does salute you fairly, and desires It may be understood no public hate Hath brought him to Marseilles ; nor seeks he The ruin of" his country, but aims only To wreak a private wrong: and if from you He may have leave and liberty to decide it In single com])at, he'll give up good pledges. If he fall in the trial of his right, ^V'e shall weigh anchor, and no more molest This town with hostile arms. Bean/', .sen. Speak to the man. If in this presence he appear to you To whom you bring this challenge. Capl. 'Tis to you. Beauf. sen. His father! Nunlr. Can it be ? Bean/', jnn. Strange and prodigious ! Male), sen. Thou seest I stand unmoved : were thy voice thunder. It should not shake me; say, what would the viper? Capl. The reverence a father's name may chal- lenge, And duty of a son, no more remember'd. He does defy thee to the death. Ma/ef. sen. Go on. Ca])l. And with his sword will prove it on thy head, SC. I. THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. 231 Thou art a murderer, an atheist ; And that all attributes of men turn'd furies Cannot express thee : this he will make good. If thou dar'st give him meeting. Malef. sen. Dare I live? Dare I, when mountains of my sins o'erwhelm me. At my last gasp ask for mercy ? How I bless Thy coming, captain ! never man to me Arrived so opportunely ; and thy message. However it may seem to threaten death. Does yield to me a second life in curing iNIy wounded honour. Stand I yet suspected As a confederate with this enemy. Whom of all men, against all ties of nature. He marks out for destruction? You are just, Immortal Powers, and in this merciful ; And it takes from my sorrow, and my shame For being the father to so bad a son, In that you are pleased to offer up the monster To my correction. Blush, and repent. As you are bound, my honourable lords. Your ill opinions of me. Not great Brutus, The father of the Roman liberty. With more assured constancy beheld His traitor sons, for labouring to call home The banish'd Tarquins, scourged with rods to death. Than I will show when I take back the life This prodigy of mankind received from me. Beauf. sen. We are sorry, monsieur Malefort, for our error. And are much taken with your resolution ; But the disparity of years and strength Between you and your son duly consider' d. We would not so expose you 232 'VUE UNNATURAL COMBAT. ACT I. Malcf. sen. Then you kill mc^ Under pretence to save me. O my lords, As you love honour and a wrong'd man's fame. Deny mc n(»t this fair and noble means To make me right again to all the world. Should any other but myself be chosen To punish this apostata with death. You rob a wretched fixther of a justice That to all aftei-- times will be recorded. I wish his strength were centuple, his skill equal To my experience, tliat in his fall He may not shame my victory ! I feel The powers and spirits of twenty strong men in me. Were he with wild fire circled, I undaunted Would make way to him. — As you do att'ect, sir. My daughter Theocrine'; as you are My true and ancient friend; as thou art valiant-; And as all love a soldier, second me [They all sue to the Governor. In this my just petition. In your looks I see a grant, my lord. Beaiif. sen. You shall o'erbear me; And since you are so confident in your cause. Prepare you for the combat. Mah'f. sen. With more joy Than yet I ever tasted. By the next sun. The disobedient rebel shall hear from me. -rine.^ The word is used as a quadrisyllable. It ; observed, that ;is the story ai.d the names are French, ' Theocri should be o^o^..^^, .i.... ..>, ^..^ .,^^.j .-,.« ...^ .,„...^^ , 3IasNingcr adopts the French mode of enouncing them. The reader must bear this in mind. — (Jiffokd. ^ y/.v tlinii ml vdliaiit.l Tliis is said to the captain who brought the challenge : the other persons adjured are Young Beaufort and 3Iontreville. — Giffoud. ACT II. THE UNNATURAL, COMBAT. 233 And so return in safety. [^To the Captain. ~\ My good lords, To all my service. — I will die, or purchase Rest to IMarseilles ; nor can I make doubt But his irapiety is a potent charm. To edge my sword^ and add strength to my arm. ^Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I. An open Space without the City. Eiiter three Sea Captains. 2 Capt. He did accept the challenge, then ? 1 Capt. Nay more. Was overjoy'd in 't ; and, as it had been A fair invitement to a solemn feast. And not a combat to conclude with death, He cheerfully embraced it. 3 Capt. Are the articles Sign'd to on both parts ? 1 Capt. At the father's suit. With much unwillingness the governor Consented to them. 2 Capt. You are inward with Our admiral ; could you yet never learn What the nature of the quarrel is, that renders The son more than incensed, implacable. Against the father? 1 Capt. Never; yet I have. As far as manners would give warrant to it. With my best curiousness of care observed him. 234 THE INXATURAL COIIBAT. ACT II. I have sat with him in his cahin a day together', Yet not a sylhible exchanged between us. Sigh he did often, as if inward grief And mehmcholy at that instant wouhl C'hoke up his vital spirits, and now and then A tear or two, as in derision of The tougliness of his rugged temper, woukl Fall on his hollow cheeks, which but once felt, A sudden Hash of fury did dry up ; And laying then his hand upon his sword. He would murmur, but yet so as I oft heard him. We shall meet, cruel father; yes, we shall; When I '11 exact, for every womanish drop Of sorrow from these eyes, a strict accompt Of much more from thy heart. 2 Capt. 'Tis wondrous strange. 3 Cajtl. And past my apprehension. 1 Capl. Yet what makes The miracle greater, when from the maintop A sail 's descried, all thoughts that do concern Himself laid by, no lion, pinch'd with hunger. Rouses himself more fiercely from his den. Than he comes on the deck ; and there how wisely He gives directions, and how stout he is In his executions, we, to admiration. Have been eyewitnesses : yet he never minds The booty when 'tis made ours ; but as if The danger, in the purchase of the prey, Delighted him much more than the reward. His will made known, he does retire himself ' / have sat U'it/i film in his cabin,Sic.] Thisbeautifiil passage, expressing concealed resentment, deserves to be remarked by every reader of taste and judgment — Coxeter. SC. I. THE UNNATURAL COMBAT, 235 To his private contemplation, no joy Express'd by him for victory. Enter Malv:foiit Junior. 2 Capf. Here he comes. But with more cheerful looks than ever yet I saw him wear. Mnlef. jiin. It was long since resolved on, Nor must I stagger now in 't. May the cause That forces me to this unnatural act Be buried in everlasting silence. And I find rest in death or my revenge ! To either I stand equal. Pray you, gentlemen. Be charitable in your censures of me. And do not entertain a false belief That I am mad, for undertaking that Which must be, when effected, still repented. It adds to my calamity, that I have Discourse ' and reason, and but too well know I can nor live, nor end a wretched life, » It adds to my calamity, that I have Discourse and reason.'] It is very difficult to determine the precise meaning which our ancestors gave to discourse, or to distinguish tlie line which separated it from reason. Perhaps it indicated a more rapid deduction of consequences from pre- mises, than was supposed to be effected by reason : — but I speak with hesitation. The acute Glanville says, "The act of the mind which connects propositions, and deduceth conclusions from them, the schools call discourse ; and we shall not miscall it, if we name it reason.'''' Whatever be the sense, it frequently ap- pears in our old writers, by whom it is usually coupled with reason or judgment, which last should seem to be the more proper word — Giffoud. ]\Ir. Gifford's note is retained, though the editor apprehends that discourse, in the above lines, simply means the faculty of speech. 236 THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. ACT II. But both ways I am impious. Do not, therefore. Ascribe the perturbation of my soul To a servile fear of death ; I oft have view'd All kinds of his inevitable darts. Nor are they terrible. Were I condemn'd to leap From the cloud-cover'd brows of a steep rock Into the deep J or, Curtius like, to fill up. For my country's safety and an after-name, A bottomless abyss, or charge through lire. It could not so much shake me as th' encounter Of this day's single enemy. 1 Capl. If you please, sir. You may shun it, or defer it. Malef. jun. Not for the world : Yet two things I entreat you : the tirst is. You '11 not inquire the difference between Myself and him, which as a fixther once I honoiir'd, now my deadliest enemy ; The last is, if I fall, to bear my body Far from this place, and where you please inter it.— I should say more, but by his .sudden coming I am cut off. Enter Bkaufokt Jimior and INIontrkvii.le, lead- ing in IMalefort senior; Sklgarde Jollo?ving, with others. Beau/', juii. Let me, sir, have the honour To be your .second. Montr. With your pardon, sir, I must put in for that, since out tried friendship Hath lasted fnmi our infancy. Belg. I have served Under your connnand, and you have seen me fight. And handsomely, though I say it ; and if now. SC. I, THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. 237 At this downright game, I may but hold your cards, I '11 not pull down the side '. Male/', sen. I rest much bound To your so noble ofters, and I hope Shall find your pardon, though I now refuse them ; For which I '11 yield strong reasons, but as briefly As the time will give me leave. For me to borrow (That am supposed the weaker) any aid From the assistance of my second's sword. Might write me down in the black list of those That have nor fire nor spirit of their own ; But dare and do as they derive their courage From his example, on whose help and valour They wholly do depend. Let this suffice. In my excuse, for that. Now, if you please. On both parts, to retire to yonder mount. Where you, as in a Roman theatre. May see the bloody difference determined. Your favours meet my wishes. Malef. jun. 'Tis approved of Byrne; and I command you {_To his Captains.~\ lead the way. And leave me to my fortune. Bemif. jun. I would gladly Be a spectator (since I am denied To be an actor) of each blow and thrust. And punctually observe them. Malef, jun. You shall have ' Pull (loun the side,'\ i. e. injure your cause: the same expression occurs in The Grand Duke of Florence: — The allu- sion is to a party at cards: to set ttp a side was to become partners in a game; to inill or pluck down a side (for both these terms are found in our old plays) was to occasion its loss by ignorance or treachery — Gifford. 238 THE UXNATLRAL COMBAT. ACT II. All you desire ; for in a word or two I must make bold to entertain the time. If he give sufirage to it. Mal Spring np,] i. e. cause if to spring up. This sense of the word is familiar to IMassinger and lus contemporaries. 264 THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. ACT III. Chatn. I, to my power. Will follow the example. Mont. Take this, captain, 'Tis all my present store ; but when you please. Command me further. IjU?!. I could wish it more. Belg. This is the luckiest jest ever came from me. Let a soldier use no other scribe to draw The form of his petition. This will speed When your thrice-humble supplications. With prayers for increase of health and honours To their grave lordships, shall, as soon as read. Be pocketed up, the cause no more remembcr'd : ^Vhen this dumb rhetoric l^Aside.'J — Well, I have a life. Which I, in thankfulness for your great favours, ]\Iy noble lords, when you please to command it, ]\Iust never think mine own. — Broker, be happy, These golden birds fly to thee. [^Exit. Bcauf. sen. You are dull, sir. And seem not to be taken with the passage You saw presented. Mah'f. Passage ! I observed none ; JMy thoughts were elsewhere busied. Where 's my Theocrine } Bcauf. sen. Your daughter 's safe, and now ex- changing courtship With my son, her servant. Come, I will bring you to them. ^E.veunt. SC. IV. THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. 265 SCENE IV. Afi open Space before the Town. — A Storm, with Thunder and Lightning. Enter Male fort'. Do, do rage on ! rend open, tEoIus, Thy brazen prison, and let loose at once Thy stormy issue ! Blustering Boreas, Aided with all the gales the pilot numbers Upon his compass, cannot raise a tempest Through the vast region of the air like that I feel within me : for I am possess'd With whirlwinds, and each guilty thought to me is A dreadful hurricano. Though this centre Labour to bring forth earthquakes, and hell open Her wide-stretch'd jaws, and let out all her furies, They cannot add an atom to the mountain Of fears and terrors that each minute threaten To fall on my accursed head. — Enter the Ghost of young Malefort, naked from the waist, full of wounds, leading in the Shadow of a Lady, her face leprous. Ha ! is 't fancy ? Or hath hell heard me, and makes proof if I Dare stand the trial ? Yes, I do ; and now > I here pass at once to that part of the last «cene of the last act which concludes the main incident of the play, by ac counting for the unnatural enmity that subsisted between Malefort and his son, and visiting the father's sin with its just punishment. 266 THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. ACT III. I view these apparitions, I feel I once did know the substances. For what come you ? Are your aerial forms deprived of language. And so denied to tell me, that by signs \_The Ghosts use various gestures. You bid me ask here of myself ? 'Tis so: And there is something here makes answer for you. You come to lance my sear'd-up conscience ; yes. And to instruct me, that those thunderbolts That hurl'd me headlong from the height of glory, Wealth, honours, worldly happiness, were forged Upon the anvil of my impious wrongs And cruelty to you ! I do confess it ; And that my lust compelling me to make way For a second wife, I poison'd thee ; and that The cause (which to the world is undiscover'd) That forced thee to shake off thy filial duty To me, thy father, had its spring and source From thy impatience, to know thy mother. That with all duty and obedience served me, (For now with horror I acknowledge it) Removed unjustly : yet, thou being my son, Wert not a competent judge mark'd out by heaven For her revenger, which thy falling by My weaker hand confirm'd. — [^Answer'd still hij signs.^ — 'Tis granted by thee. Can any penance expiate my guilt. Or can repentance save me ? — [^The Ghosts disappear. They are vanish'd ! ' You bid me ask here of myself f'\ Auictikus, pointing to his breast. SC. IV. THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. 267 What 's left to do then ? I '11 accuse my fate. That did not fashion me for nobler uses : For if those stars cross to me in my birth Had not denied their prosperous influence to it. With peace of conscience, like to innocent men, I might have ceased to be, and not as now, To curse my cause of being [//e is /ailed with a jlash of lightning. THE PICTURE. The Picture.] This play, or, as the old quarto calls it, this " true Hungarian history," was licensed by Sir H. Her- bert, June 8th, 1629, and was first printed in 1C30. The plot is taken from the twenty-eighth novel of the second volume of Painter's Palace of Pleasure, 1567- The magical circumstance, from which the play takes its name, is found in many authors ; it has all the appearance of an Arabian fiction, and was, at a very early period, introduced into our romances. The imme- diate source from which our old writers derived the story was the Novclle of Bandello. The play was much approved at its first appearance, when it was acted, as the phrase is, by the whole strength of the house. ]\Iassinger himself speaks of his production with com- placency ; and indeed its claims to admiration are of no common kind. The work is distinguished by a peculiar live- liness of fancy, and an intimate knowledge of the heart. It is sportive and tender : it amuses and affects us ; and a vein of humour, more brisk than usual, relieves the impression of the serious events. If it is more than usually difficult to ascertain the influence of sudden passions in bosoms generally virtuous and well regu- lated, to balance the struggle between habitual principle and accidental temptation, to measure their impression and resist- ance, and to determine the side to which the victory is due; it is the praise of JMassinger to have surmounted this difficulty, in the characters of IMathias and Sophia; in the exquisite de- scription of their tender attachment, the casual interruption of their peace, its happy restoration, and the proper triumph of virtue. His address is I'urtlier displayed in the difference of the causes which bring them back to their duty and to each other. The fortitude, contcntcdness, and simplicity of Sophia are the surer guardians of her conduct ; while the ardent spirit of Mathias, bold in seeking advantages abroad, but impatient concerning his happiness at home, exposes him more to the in- fluence of dangerous impressions. Accordingly, after a tempo- rary illusion, she rescues herself from mischief by the force of her own mind. He is preserved by other causes — the unex- pected refusal of Honoria, and the renewed certainty of the con- stancy of his wife. As to the queen herself, the cause of their unhappiness, she is described with much novelty and truth of nature. She tempts IMathias, without any genuine attachment, from mere envy of his love, and of the constancy between him and Sophia, and a malicious determination to show her own superiority, at what- ever risk. Her constitutional vanity, dangerously nursed by the doting admiration of her husband, impels her to seduce a virtuous man whom she does not love. An unsuccessful attempt to revive this play was made by the Rev. Bate Dudley, some twenty or thirty years ago. TO MY HONOURED AKD SELECTED FRIENDS, OF THE NOBLE SOCIETY OF THE INNER TEMPLE. It may be objected, my not inscribing their names, or titles, to whom I dedicate this poem, proceedeth either from my dif. fidence of their affection to me, or their unwillingness to be pub- lished the patrons of a trifle. To such as shall make so strict an inquisition of me, I truly answer, The play in the present- ment found such a general approbation, that it gave me assurance of their favour to whose protection it is now sacred ; and they have professed they so sincerely allow of it, and the maker, that they would have freely granted that in the publication, which, for some reasons, I denied myself. One, and that is a main one, 1 had rather enjoy (as I have done) the real proofs of their friendship, than, mountebank-like, boast their numbers in a catalogue. Accept it, noble gentlemep, as a confirmation of his service, who hath nothing else to assure you, and witness to the world, how much he stands engaged for your so frequent bounties ; and in your charitable opinion of me believe, that you now may, and shall ever command. Your servant, PHILIP 3IASSINGER. VOL. II. DRAMATIS PERSON.^. LaDislaus, king of Hungary. Ferdtnaxd, general of the army. EuBULus, an old counsellor. Mathias, a knight of Bohemia. Ubaldo, > .,, R,„ ' > wild courtiers. ICARDO, ^ Julio Baptista, a great scholar. Hii.AUio, servant to Sophia, Two Boijs, representing Apollo and Pallas. Tzco Couriers. A Guide. Servants to the queen. Servants to Matiiias. IIoxoniA, the queen. Sophia, 'wife to Mathias, ACANTHE, > ., „, t,,„ . ' > maids of honour. bYLVIA, \ •' CoRiscA, SophiaV woman. Maskers, Attendants, Officers, Captains, ^e. SCENE, partly in Hungary, and partly in Bohemia. THE PICTURE. ACT I. SCENE I. The Frontiers of Bohemia. Enlei' Mathias, Sophia, Cokisca, HilariOj with other Servants. Math. Since we must part, Sophia, to pass further Is not alone impertinent, hut dangerous. We are not distant from the Turkish camp Above five leagues, and who knows but some party Of his Timariots^, that scour the country. May fall upon us ? — be now as thy name Truly interpreted hath ever spoke thee, Wise and discreet ; and to thy understanding IVIarry thy constant patience. Soph. You put me, sir. To the utmost trial of it. Math. Nay, no melting; Since the necessity that now separates us We have long since disputed, and the reasons I T'imariots.'\ They are the Turkish ciivalri/, a sort of feudal yeomanry, v/ho hold their lands on condition of service. GiFFORD, t2 276 THE PICTURE. ACT I. Forcing me to it too oft wash'd in tears. I grant that you, in birth, were far above me. And great men, my superiors, rivals for you ; But mutual consent of heart, as hands, Join'd by true love, hath made us one, and equal : Nor is it in me mere desire of fame. Or to be cried up by the public voice For a brave soldier, that puts on my armour : Such air)" tumours take not me. You know How narrow our demeans are', and, what's more. Having as yet no charge of children on us. We hardly can subsist. Sujjii. In you alone, sir, I have all abundance. Mcdh. For my mind's content. In your own language I could answer you. You have been an obedient wife, a riglit one ; And to my power, though short of your desert, I have been ever an indulgent husband. We have long enjoy'd the sweets of love, and though Not to satiety or loathing, yet We must not live such dotards on our pleasures. As still to hug them, to the certain loss Of profit and preferment. Competent means IMaintains a quiet bed ; want breeds dissension. Even in good women. Soph. Have you found in me, sir, Anv distaste or sign of discontent For want of what 's superfluous .^ Math. No, Sophia; Nor shalt thou ever have cause to repent ' Demeans,] here used for means, as demerits for merits, 6i.c. — GiFfonD. SC. I. THE PICTUKE. 277 Thy constant course in goodness, if Heaven bless ]My honest undertakings. 'Tis for thee That I turn soldier, and put forth, dearest^ Upon this sea of action, as a factor. To trade for rich materials to adorn Thy noble parts, and show them in full lustre. I blush that other ladies, less in beauty And outward form, but in the harmony Of the soul's ravishing music, the same age Not to be named with thee, should so outshine thee In jewels and variety of wardrobes ; While you, to whose sweet innocence both Indies Compared are of no value, wanting these. Pass unregarded. Soph. If I am so rich, or In your opinion, why should you borrow Additions for me ? Math. Why ! I should be censured Of ignoi-ance, possessing such a jewel Above all price, if I forbear to give it The best of ornaments : therefore, Sophia, In few words know my pleasure, and obey me, As you have ever done. To your discretion I leave the government of mv familv And our poor fortunes ; and from these command Obedience to you as to myself : To the utmost of what 's mine, live plentifully ; And, ere the remnant of our store be spent. With my good sword I hope I shall reap for you A harvest in such full abundance as Shall make a merry winter. Soph. Since you are not 2/8 THE PICTURE. ACT I. To be diverted, sir, from what you purpose, All arguments to stay you here are useless : Go when you please, sir. Eyes, I charge you waste not One drop of sorrow ; look you hoard all up Till in my widow'd bed I call upon you, But then be sure you fail not. You blest angels, Guardians of human life, I at this instant Forbear t 'invoke you : at our parting, 'twere To personate devotion'. ]My soul Shall go along with you, and, when you are Circled with death and horror, seek and find you ; And then I M'ill not leave a saint unsued to For your protection. To tell you what I will do in your absence, would show poorly ; IMy actions shall speak for me : 'twere to doubt you. To beg I may hear from you ; where you are You cannot live obscure, nor shall one post. By night or day, pass unexamined by me. — [^Kisses him. Farewell, my lord ; I pray thee turn from me. All tliat I can, is spoken. [_Exit. Mat/i. Follow your mistress. Forbear your wishes for me ; let me find them. At my return, in your prompt will to serve her. Hil. For my part, sir, I will grow lean with study To make her merry. — Come, my lady stays for us. [^E.reiinl Hii.ario, Couisca, and the rest. Math. I am strangelv troubled vet whv I should nourish ' Personate,'] i. e. jjrctend. SC. I. THE PICTURE. 279 A fury here^ and with imagined food. Having no real grounds on which to raise A building of suspicion she was ever Or can be false hereafter. I in this But foolishly inquire the knowledge of A future sorrow, which, if I find out. My present ignorance were a cheap purchase. Though with my loss of beijig. I have already Dealt with a friend of mine, a general scholar. One deeply read' in nature's hidden secrets. And, though with much unwillingness, have won him To do as much as art can, to resolve me My fate that follows —To my wish, he 's come. Enter Baptista. Julio Baptista, now I may affirm Your promise and performance walk together ; ' A general scholar, One deeply read, ^c] In the list of dramatis personae, too, he is called a great scholar. The character of Baptista is founded upon a notion very generally received in the dark ages, that men of leaTiiiiig were conversant in the operations of magic : and, indeed, a scholar and a magician are frequently confounded by our old writers, or rather considered as one and the same. The notion is not yet obsolete among the vulgar. Baptista Porta has given an elaborate account, in his treatise de IVIagia naturali, of the powers once supposed to be possessed and exercised by magicians. I once thought that this treatise was not published in Massinger's time, but have since learned that it appeared at Antwerp in 1585, and at Frankfort in 1007- Probably there were other editions : at all events, both the au> thor and his work had long been known in this country. It is an ingenious conjecture of Mr. Gilchrist, that he took the name of his " deep-read scholar" from Bajitista Porta. — GtFFORn. 2vS0 THE PICTURE. ACT I. And therefore, without circumstanccj to the point . Instruct me what I am. Bapt. I couhl wish you had jMade trial of ray love some other way. Math. Nay, this is from the purpose. Bapt. If you can Proportion your desire to any mean, I do pronounce you hapjiy ; I have found. By certain rules of art, your matchless wife Is to thispi'esent hour from all pollution Free and untainted. Math. Good. Bapt. In reason, therefore. You should fix here, and make no further search Of what may fall hereafter. Math. O, Baptista, 'Tis not in me to master so my passions ; I must know further, or you have made good But half your promise. While my love stood by. Holding her upright, and my presence was A watch upon her, her affection met too With equal ardour from me, what one proof Could she give of her constancy, being untempted.'' But when I am absent, and my coming back Uncertain, she the absolute disposer Of herself without control; nay, more, invited By opportunity, and all strong temptations. If then she hold out — Bapt. As, no doubt, she will. Math. Those doubts must be made certainties, Baptista, By your assurance ; or your boasted ai't Deserves no admiration. How you trifle^ SC. r. THE PICTURE. 281 And play with my affliction ! I am on The rack, till you contirm me. Bapt. Sure^ Matliias, I am no god, nor can I dive into Her hidden thoughts, or know what her intents are ; That is denied to art, and kept conceal'd E'en from the devils themselves: they can but guess, Out of long observation, what is likely ; But positively to foretel that shall be. You may conclude impossible. All I can, I will do for you ; when you are distant from her A thousand leagues, as if you then were with her. You shall know truly when she is solicited. And how far wrought on. Math. I desire no more. Bapt. Take then this little model of Sophia, With more than human skill limn'd to the life ; \_Gives him a picture. Each line and lineament of it, in the drawing. So punctually observed, that, had it motion. In so much 'twere herself. Math. It is, indeed. An admirable piece ! but if it have not Some hidden virtue that I cannot guess at. In what can it advantage me } Bapt. 1 11 instruct you : Carry it still about you, and as oft As you desire to know how she 's affected. With curious eyes peruse it : while it keeps The figure it now has, entire and perfect. She is not only innocent in fact, But unattempted ; but if once it vary From the true form, and what 's now white and red 282 THE IMCTURK. ACT I. Incline to yellow, rest most confident She 's with all violence courted, but unconquer'd ; But if it turn all black, 'tis an assurance Her faith, by composition or surprise. Is forced, or with her free consent surrender'd. Malh. How much you have engaged me for this favour. The service of my whole life shall make good, Dapt. We will not part so, I '11 along with you. And it is needful : with the rising sun. The armies meet ; yet, ere the fight begin. In spite of opposition, I will place you In the head of the Hungarian general's troop. And near his person. Malh. As my better angel. You shall direct and guide me. Bapt. As we ride I '11 tell you more. Malli. In all things I '11 obey you. \_Ex'eunl. SCENE II. Hungary. Alba liegalisK A Slate-room in the Palace. Enter Ubaldo and Ricakdo. Ric. When came the post .'' Uhald. The last niglit. Ixic. From the camp ? ' AJhn lirgdlis.] This was the name of the town where the kings of Iluiigary were anciently crowned. It is now dwindled to a paltry village called Stalweissenburgh. SC. II. THE PICTURE. 283 Ubald. Yes, as 'tis said, and the letter writ and sign'd By the general, Ferdinand. Ric. Nay, then, sans question, It is of moment. Uhald. It concerns the lives Of two great armies. Ric. Was it cheerfully Received by the king .'' Ubald. Yes ; for being assured The armies were in view of one anothei'. Having proclaim'd a public fast and prayer For the good success, he despatch'd a gentleman Of his privy chamber to the general. With absolute authority from him. To try the fortune of a day. Ric. No doubt then The general will come on, and fight it bravely. Heaven prosper him ! This military art, I grant to be the noblest of professions ; And yet, I thank my stars for 't, I was never Inclined to learn it ; since this bubble honour (Which is, indeed, the nothing soldiers fight for,) With the loss of limbs or life, is, in my judgment. Too dear a purchase. Ubald. Give me our court warfare : The danger is not great in the pursuit Of a fair mistress. Ric. Being, as I am, A likely man, my good parts are my curses : There 's no beauty, but yields ere it be suramon'd. Half my estate, as I live, I would part with 284 THE PICTURE. ACT I. To tind that only phoenix in my search. That couhl hokl out against mc. Ubald. Be not rapt so ; You may spare that labour. As she is a woman. What think j^ou of the queen ? Ric. She 's still excepted : Yet, were she not my king's, being the abstract Of all that 's rare in woman — but we talk of Impossibilities : as she hath a beauty Would make old Nestor young; such majesty Draws forth a sword of terror to defend it. As would fright Paris, though the queen of love Vow'd her best furtherance to him. Ubald. Have you observed The gravity of her language, mix'd with sweetness? Ric. Then, at what distance she reserves herself. When the king himself makes his approaches to her — Ubald. As she were still a virgin, and his life But one continued wooing. Ric. All his thoughts Are buried in her ; the loud noise of war Cannot awake him. Ubald. At this very instant, When both liis life and crown are at the stake. He only studies her content, and when She 's pleased to show herself, music and masks Are with all care and cost provided for her. Ric. This night she promised to appear. Ubald. You may Believe it by the diligence of the king, As if he were her harbinger. SC. II. THE PICTURE. 285 Enter Ladislaus, Eubulus, and Attendanls with perfumes. Ladis. These rooms Are not perfumed as we directed. Eubii. Not, sir ! I know not what you would have ; I am sure the smoke Cost treble the price of the whole week's provision Spent in your majesty's kitchens. Ladis. How I scorn Thy gross comparison ! When ray Honoria, The amazement of the present time^ and envy Of all succeeding ages, does descend To sanctify a place, and in her presence I\Iakes it a temple to me, can I be Too curious, much less prodigal, to receive her ? But that the splendour of her beams of beauty Hath struck thee blind — £ubti. As dotage hath done j'ou. Ladis. Dotage ? O blasphemy ! is it in me To serve her to her merit ? Is she not The daughter of a king? Eubu. And you the son Of ours, I take it ; by what privilege else. Do you reign over us ? for my part, I know not Where the disparity lies. Ladis Her birth, old man. Old in the kingdom's service, which protects thee, Is the least grace in her : and though her beauties INIight make the Thunderer a rival for her. They are but superficial ornaments. And faintly speak her : from her heavenly mind. 286 THE PICTURE. ACT I. Were all antiquity and fiction lost. Our modern poets could not, in their fancy, But fashion a Minerva far transcending The imagined one whom Homer only dreamt of. But then add this, she's mine, mine, Euhulus^ ! And though she knows one glance from her fair eyes Must make all gazers her idolaters. She is so sparing of their influence That, to shun superstition in others. She shoots her powerful heams only at me. And can I, then, whom she desires to hold Her kingly captive above all the world. Whose nations and empires, if she pleased. She might command as slaves, but gladly pay The humble tribute of my love and service. Nay, if I said of adoration, to her, I did not err ? Eiihu. Well, since you hug your fetters, In Love's name wear them ! You are a king, and that Concludes you wise : your will a powerful reason. Which we, that are foolish subjects, must not argue. And what in a mean man 1 should call folly. Is in your majesty remarkable wisdom : But for me, I subscribe. Lad'is. Do, and look up. Upon this wonder. ' But then add litis, she's 7)ihic, mhic, EiiLuliis!] Our old writers were very lax in their use of foreign names. JMassinger was a scholar, yet he pronounces Eul)ulus much as Shakspeare would have done it (iiiFoKD. \\'liich proves that Sliak- speare's trips in quantity aftbrd no proof of his being ignorant of Greek and Latin. SC. II. THE PICTURB. 287 Loud music. Enter Honoria m state, under a canopy; her tram borne tcp by Sylvia and ACANTHE. Ric. Wonder ! It is more, sir. Ubald. A rapture, an astonishment. Ric. What think you, sir? Enbu. As the king thinks ; that is the surest guard We courtiers ever lie at'. — Was prince ever So drown'd in dotage } Without spectacles I can see a handsome woman, and she is so : But yet to admiration look not on her. Heaven, how he fawns ! and, as it were his duty. With what assured gravity she receives it ! Her hand again ! O she at length vouchsafes Her lip, and as he had suck'd nectar from it. Hew he 's exalted ! Women in their natures Affect command ; but this humility In a husband and a king, marks her the way To absolute tyranny. \_The king seals her on his throne.'] So ! Juno 's placed In Jove's tribunal: and, like Mercury, (Forgetting his own greatness,) he attends For her employments. She prepares to speak ; What oracles shall we hear now .'' ^Aside. Hon. That you please, sir. With such assurances of love aiid favour, ' the surest guard We courtiers ever lie at,^ i. e. the surest posture of defence, " Thou knowest," says FalstafF, " my old 'uiard ; thus I lay.'" Guard and zimrd are the same word. — Gifford. 288 THE PICTURE. ACT I. To grace your handmaid, but in being yours, sir, A matchless queen, and one that knows herself so, Binds me in retribution to deserve The grace conferr'd upon me. Ladls. You transcend In all tilings excellent ; and it is my glory. Your worth weigh'd truly, to depose myself From absolute command, surrendering up iMy will and faculties to your disposure : And here I vow, not for a day or year. But my whole life, which I Avish long to serve you. That whatsoever I, in justice, may Exact from these my subjects, you from me May boldly challenge : and when you require it. In sign of my subjection, as your vassal, Thus I will pay my homage. Hon. O forbear, sir ! Ladis. Gi-acious sovereiijn ! Boundless in bounty ! Eitbu. Is not here fine fooling ! He 's questionless bewitch'd. Although I forfeit Bly life for 't, I must speak. — By your good leave, sir — ^Passing before t/ic kijig. I have no suit to you, nor can you grant one. Having no power : you arc like me, a subject. Her more than serene majesty being present. And I must tell you, 'tis ill manners in you. Having deposed yourself, to keep your hat on, And not stand bare, as we do, being no king, But a fellow-subject with us. Gentlemen-ushers, It does belong to your place, see it rcform'd ; He has given away his crown, and cannot challenge The privilege of his bonnet. sc. rr. THE PICTURE. 289 Ladis. Do not tempt me. Eubu. Tempt you ! in what? in following your example ? If you are angry, question me hereafter. As Ladislaus should do Eubulus, On equal terms. You were of late my sovereign ; But weary of it, I now bend my knee To her divinity, and desire a boon From her more than magnificence. Hoti. Take it freely. Nay, be not moved; for our mirth's sake let us hear him. Eubu. 'Tis but to ask a question : Have you ne'er read The story of Semiramis and Ninus ? Hon. Not as I remember. Eubu. I will then instruct you. And 'tis to the purpose : This Ninus was a king, And such an impotent loving king as this was. But noAv he 's none ; this Ninus (pray you observe me) Doted on this Semiramis, a smith's wife ; (I must confess, there the comparison holds not — You are a king's daughter, yet, under your cor- rection. Like her, a woman ;) this Assyrian monarch. Of whom this is a pattern, to express His love and service, seated her, as you are. In his regal throne, and bound by oath his nobles. Forgetting all allegiance to himself. One day to be her subjects, and to put In execution whatever she Pleased to impose upon them : — pray you command him VOL. II. u 290 THE PICTURK. ACT I. To minister the like to us, and then You shall hear what follow'd. Ladis. Well, sir, to your story. Eubii. You have no warrant, stand by; let me know Your pleasure, goddess. Hon. Let this nod assure you. Enhu. Goddess-like, indeed ! as I live, a pretty idol ! She knowing her power, wisely made use of it ; And fearing his inconstancy, and repentance Of what he had granted, (as, in reason, madam, You may do his,) that he might never have Power to recall his grant, or question her For her short government, instantly gave order To have his head struck off. Ladis. Is 't possible ? Eubu. The story says so, and commends her wisdom For making use of her authority. And it is worth your imitation, madam : He loves subjection, and you are no queen Unless you make him feel tlic weight of it. You are more than all the world to him ; and that He may he so to you, and not seek change When his delights are sated, mew him up In some does prison, if you let him live, Which is no policy. L'huld. ]>evilish counsel ! Ric. The king's amazed. Uhald. The queen appears, too, full Of deep imaginations; Eubulus Hath put both to it. SC. II. THE PICTURE. 291 Ric. Now she seems resolved : long to know the issue. I^HoNORiA descends from the throne. Hon. Give me leave, Dear sir, to reprehend you for appearing Perplex'd with what this old man, out of envy Of your unequal graces shower'd upon me. Hath, in his fabulous story, saucily Applied to me. 8ir, that you only nourish One doubt Honoria dares abuse the power With which she is invested by your favour ; Or that she ever can make use of it To the injury of you, the great bestower. Takes from your judgment. It was your delight To seek to' me with more obsequiousness Than I desired : and stood it with my duty Not to receive what you were pleased to offer .'' I do but act the part you put upon me ; And though you make me personate a queen. And you my subject, when the play, your pleasure^. Is at a period, I am what I was Before I enter'd, still your humble wife. And you my royal sovereign. Ric. Admirable ! Hon. Shall I, sir, blame your fondness.'' or can it swell me Beyond my just proportion .-^ Ubald. Above wonder ! Ladis. Heaven make me thankful for such sood- Hon. Now, siri ness ! To seek to,]'i. e. to supplicate, to entreat, to have recourse to. v2 292 THE PICTURE. ACT I. The state I took to satisfy your pleasure, I change to this humility ; and the oath You made to me of homage, I thus cancel. And seat you in your own. [^Leacis (he king lo the throne. Ladis. I am transported Beyond myself. Hon. And now to your wise lordship: Am I proved a Semiramis ? or hath IMy Ninus, as maliciously you made him. Cause to repent the excess of favour to me. Which you call dotage ? Ladis. Answer, wretch ! Eubii. I dare, sir, And say, however the event may plead In your defence, you had a guilty cause ; Nor was it wisdom in you, I repeat it. To teach a lady humble in herself, With the ridiculous dotage of a lover. To be ambitious. Hun. Eubulus, I am so ; 'Tis rooted in me ; you mistake my temper. I do profess myself to be the most Ambitious of my sex, but not to hold Command over my lord ; such a i)roud torrent Would sink me in my wishes : not that I Am ignorant how much I can deserve. And may with justice challenge. Eubii. This I look'd for ; After this seeming humble ebb, I knew A gushing tide would follow. \_Aside. Hon. liy my birtli. And liberal gifts of nature as of fortune, SC. II. THE PICTURE. 293 From you, as things beneath me, I expect What's due to majesty, in which I am A sharer with your sovereign. Euhu. Good again ! Hon. And as I am most eminent in place. In all my actions I would appear so. Ladis. You need not fear a rival. Hon. I hope not ; And till I find one, I disdain to know What envy is. Ladis. You are above it, madam. Hon. For beauty without art, discourse, and free From affectation, with what graces else Can in the wife and daughter of a king Be wish'd, I dare prefer myself, as Eubu. I Blush for you, lady. Trumpet your own praises ! This spoken by the people had been heard With honour to you. Does the court afford No oil-tongued parasite, that you are forced To be your own gross flatterer .'' Ladis. Be dumb. Thou spirit of conti'adiction ! Hon. The wolf But barks against the moon, and I contemn it. The mask you promised. ^A horn sounded within. Ladis. Let them enter. Enter a Courier. How ! Eubu. Here 's one, I fear, unlook'd for. Ladis. From the camp ? Cour. The general, victorious in your fortune. Kisses your hand in this, sir. [_Delivers a letter. 294 . THE PICTURE. ACT II, Ladis. That great Power, Who at his pleasure does dispose of battles. Be ever praised for 't ! Read, sweet, and partake it : The Turk is vanquish'd, and with little loss Upon our part, in which our joy is doubled. Eubu. But let it not exalt you ; bear it, sir. With moderation, and pay what you owe for't. Ladis. I understand thee, Eubulus. I '11 not now Inquire particulars. — \_Exit Courier.~\ — Our de- lights deferr'd. With reverence to the temples ; there we '11 tender Our souls' devotions to his dread might. Who edged our swords, and taught us how to fight. [_Exennt. ACT II. SCENE I. Alba Regalis. An anle-room in the Palace. Enter Eubulus, Ubaldo, Ricardo, and others. Eubti. Are the gentlemen sent before, as it was order 'd By the king's direction, to entertain The general ? liic. Long since ; they by this have met him. And given him the bienvenu. Eubu. I hope I need not Instruct you in your parts. Ubald. How ! us, my lord ? Fear not; we know our distances and degrees To the very inch where we are to salute him. SC. I. THE PICTLRi:. 295 Hie. The state were miserable if the court had none Of her own breed, familiar with all garbs Gracious in England, Italy, Spain, or France, With form and punctuality to receive Stranger ambassadors : for the general. He 's a mere native, and it matters not Which way we do accost him. Uhald. 'Tis great pity That such as sit at the helm provide no better For the training up of the gentry. In my judgment. An academy erected, with large pensions To such as in a table could set down The congees, cringes, postures, methods, phrase. Proper to every nation Ric. O, it were An admirable piece of work ! Uhald. And yet rich fools Throw away their charity on hospitals For beggars and lame soldiers, and ne'er study The due regard to compliment and courtship'. Matters of more import ; and are indeed The glories of a monarchy ! Eubu. These, no doubt. Are state points, gallants, I confess ; but, sure. Our court needs no aids this way, since it is A school of nothing else. There are some of you. Whom I forbear to name, whose coining heads Are the mints of all new fashions, that have done More hurt to the kingdom by superfluous bravery^, ' CourtsJiip,'] i. e. courtly manners. ^ Bravery,'] i. e. finery, costly apparel. 296 THE PICTUKK. ACT II. Which the foolish gentry imitate, than a war, Or a long famine : all the treasure, by This foul excess, is got into the merchant. Embroiderer, silkman, jeweller, tailor's hand. And the third part of the land too, the nobility Engrossing titles only. Ric. My lord, you are bitter. \_A trumpei. Enter a Servant. Serv. The general is alighted, and now enter'd. Ric. Were he ten generals, I am prepared, And know what I will do. Eiihu. Pray you what, Ricardo.'' Ric. I '11 fight at compliment with him. Ubald. I '11 charge home too. Eubu. And that's a desperate service, if you come off well. Enter Ferdinand, Mathias, Baptista, and Captains. Ferd. Captain, command the officers to keep The soldier, as he march'd, in rank and file. Till they hear further from me. ^Exeunt Captains. Euhii. Here 's one speaks In another key ; this is no canting language Taught in your academy. Ferd. Nay, I will present you To the king himself. Math. A grace beyond my merit. Ferd. You undervalue what I cannot set Too high a price on. Eubu. With a friend's true heart I gratulate your return. SC. I. THE PICTURE. 297 Ferd. Next to the favour Of the great king, I am happy in your friendship. Uhald. By courtship, coarse on both sides ! Ferd. Pray you receive This stranger to your knowledge ; on my credit, At all parts he deserves it. Eubu. Your report Is a strong assurance to me. — Sir, most welcome. Math. This said by you, the reverence of your age Commands me to believe it. Ric. This was pretty ; But second me now. 1 cannot stoop too low ' To do your excellence that due observance Your fortune claims. Eubu. He ne'er thinks on his virtue ! Ric. For being, as you are, the soul of soldiers, And bulwark of Bellona- Ubald. The protection Both of the court and king: Ric. And the sole minion Of mighty Mars Ubald. One that with j ustice may Increase the number of the worthies Eubu. Heyday ! Ric. It being impossible in my arms to circle Such giant worth Ubald. At distance we presume To kiss your honour'd gauntlet. Eubu. What reply now Can he make to this foppery .'' Ferd. You have said. Gallants, so much, and hitherto done so little. 298 THE PICTURE. ACT II That, till I learn to speak, and you to do, I must take time to thank you. Euhu. As I live, Answer'd as I could wish. How the fops gape now ! Ric. This was harsh and scurvy. Ubald. We will be revenged When he comes to court the ladies, and laugh at him. Eubu. Nay, do your offices, gentlemen, and con- duct The general to the presence. Ric. Keep your order. Ubald. j\Iake way for the general. L \_Exeunt all bill Eubulus. Euhu. What wise man That, with judicious eyes, looks on a soldier But must confess that fortune's swing is more O'er that profession than all kinds else Of life pursued by man ? They, in a state, Are but as surgeons to wounded men. E'en desperate in their hopes : while pain and an- guish IMake them blaspheme, and call in vain for death. Their wives and children kiss the surgeon's knees, Promise him mountains, if his saving hand Restore the tortured wretch to former strength : But when grim death, by ^sculapius' art. Is frighted from the house, and health appears In sanguine colours on the sick man's face. All is forgot ; and, asking his reward, He 's paid with curses, often receives wounds From him whose wounds he cured. So soldiers. Though of more worth and use, meet the same fate. SC. r. THE PICTURE. 299 As it is too apparent. I have observed^ When horrid JMars, the touch of whose rough hand With palsies shakes a kingdom^ hath put on His dreadful helmet, and with terror fills The place where he, like an unwelcome guest. Resolves to revel, how the lords of her, like The tradesman, merchant, and litigious pleader. And such like scarabs bred in the dung of peace. In hope of their protection, humbly offer Their daughters for their brides, heirs to their service, And wash with tears their sweat, their dust, their scars : But when those clouds of war that menaced A bloody deluge to the aiFrighted state Are, by their breath, dispersed and overblown. And famine, blood, and death, Bellona's pages, Whipt from the quiet continent to Thrace'; Soldiers, that, like the foolish hedge-sparrow. To their own ruin, hatch this cuckoo, peace, Are straight thought burthensome ; since want of means. Growing from want of action, breeds contempt ; ' Whipt from the quiet contineiif to T/irace.] The ancients comprehended under the name of Thrace much of the north- eastern part of Europe, the fierce inhabitants of which were supposed to worship Slars and Bellona; who, in return, made the country the peculiar place of their residence. Thence they are frequently described with great magniiicence by the poets, as setting forth to kindle war, '• with their pages, famine, blood, and death ;" and thither, when peace was restored, they were supposed to retire again. The same idea, and nearly in the same words, occurs in the Roman Actor. In Thrace, too, was the temple of 3Iars Giffohd. 300 THE PICTURE. ACT II. And thatj the worst of ills, falls to their lot. Their service, with the danger, soon forgot. Enter a Servant. Sen. The queen, my lord^ hath made choice of this room To see the masque. Eubu. I '11 be a looker on : My dancing days are past. Loud music. Enter Ubaldo, Ricardo, Ladislaus, Ferdinand, Honokia, IMatiiias, Sylvia, Acan- THE, Baptista, Captains, and others. As they pass, a Song in praise of war. Ladis. This courtesy To a stranger, my Honoria, keeps fair rank With all your rarities. After your travail. Look on our court delights ; but first, from your Relation, with erected ears I '11 hear The music of your war, which must be sweet. Ending in victory. Ferd. Not to trouble Your majesties with description of a battle Too full of horror for the place, and to Avoid particulars, which should I deliver, I must trench longer on your patience than ]\Iy manners will give way to; — in a word, sir, It was well fought on both sides, and almost With equal fortune, it continuing doubtful Upon whose tents plumed Victory would take Her glorious stand. Impatient of delay. With the flower of our prime gentlemen, I charged SC. I. THE PICTURE. 301 Their main battalia, and with their assistance Brake in ; but, when I was almost assured That they were routed, by a stratagem Of the subtile Turk, who open'd his gross body, And rallied up his troops on either side, I found myself so far engaged, for I Must not conceal my errors, that I knew not Which way with honour to come off. Eiibu. I like A general that tells his faults, and is not Ambitious to engross unto himself All honour, as some have, in which, with justice, They could not claim a share. Ferd. Being thus hemm'd in. Their scimitars raged among us ; and, my horse Kill'd under me, I every minute look'd for An honourable end, and that was all IMy hope could fashion to me : circled thus With death and horror, as one sent from heaven. This man of men, with some choice horse^ that follow'd His brave example, did pursue the track His sword cut for them, and, but that I see him Already blush to hear what he, being present, I know would wish unspoken, I should say, sir. By what he did, we boldly may believe All that is writ of Hector. Math. General, Pray spare these strange hyperboles. Eubn. Do not blush To hear a truth ; here are a pair of nionsieurs. Had they been in your place, would have run away. And ne'er changed countenance. 302 THE PICTURE. ACT 11 Ubald. We have your good word still. Eubu. And shall, while you deserve it. Ladis. Silence ; on. Ferd. He, as I said, like dreadful lightning thrown From Jupiter's shield, dispersed the armed gyre' With which I was environed ; horse and man Shrunk under his strong arm : more, with his looks Frighted, the valiant Hed, with which encouragetl, iVIy soldiers, (like young eaglets preying under The wings of their fierce dam), as if from him They took hoth spirit and fire, bravely came on. By him I was remounted, and inspired With treble courage ; and such as fled befoi'e Boldly made head again ; and, to confirm them. It suddenly was apparent, that the fortune Of the day was ours ; each soldier and commander Perform'd his part ; but this was the great wheel By wliicli the lesser moved'^; and all rewards And signs of honour, as the civic garland. The mural wreath, the enemy's prime horse, ' Gjirr,'] i.e. a circle described h>j an;/ tiling in motion. * This was the great ufuci, &c.] JMasainger has used this figure more than once before. It is surprising how seldoni these repetitions occur in Shaicspearj. When we consider how much he wrote, the exuberance of his resources will appear truly wonderful. INIassinger seems to be indebted to Daniel's Philotas for the original idea: — " For this great motion of a state we see, Doth turne on many wheels ; and some, though small. Do yet the greater move, who in degree Stirre those who likewise turne the great'st of all." GiFFOHD. SC. I. THE PICTURE. 303 With the general's sword and ai'mour, (the old honours With which the Romans crown'd their several leaders,) To him alone are proper. Ladis. And they shall Deservedly fall on him. Sit ; 'tis our pleasure. Ferd. Which I must serve, not argue. Hon. You are a stranger. But, in your service for the ting, a native. And, though a free queen, I am bound in duty To cherish virtue wheresoe'er I find it : This place is yours. Math. It were presumption in me To sit so near you. Hon. Not having our warrant. \_Music wilhin. Ladis. Let the maskers enter: by the prepara- tion, 'Tis a French brawl, an apish imitation Of what you really perform in battle : And Pallas, bound up in a little volume ', Apollo, with his lute, attending on her. Serve for the induction. Enter Maskers, Sfc: Pallas, accompanied by Apollo on the lute. Though we cotiteinplate to express^ The glory of your happiness, ' A little volume,'] i. e. played by a short performer. '^ Though we, 8lc.] This song is evidently incomplete. From the stage direction, " a song in praise of the victorious soldier," it would seem as if the care of these things had been left to the prompter. Just above we have "• a song in praise of war ;" and, in the following act, another "on pleasure." Gifford. 304 THE PICTURE. ACT 11. Th(tl, hrf your poiverfnl arm, have been Su true a victor, that no sin Could ever taint you with a blame To lessen your deserved fame. Or, though we contend to set Your worth in the full height, or gel Celestial singers crown d with bays, With Jlourishes to dress your praise: You know your conquest; but your story Lives in your triumphant glory. \_A dance. Ladis. Our thanks to all. To the banquet that 's prepared to entertain them : — l^Exeunt Maskers, Apollo, and Pallas. What would my best Honoria .'' Hon. IMay it please IMy king, that I, who, by his suffrage, ever Have had power to command, may now entreat An honour from him. Ladis. Why should you desire What is your own ? whate'er it be, you are The mistress of it. Hon. I am happy in Your grant : my suit, sir, is, that your commanders. Especially this stranger, may, as I, In my discretion, shall think good, receive What's due to their deserts. Ladis. What you determine Shall know no alteration. 7!,'?/*'^?/. The soldier Is like to have good usage, when he depends Upon her pleasure ! Are all the men so bad. SC. I. THE PICTURE. 305 Thatj to give satisfaction, we must have A woman treasurer ? Heaven help all ! Hon. With you, sir, \_^^o Mathias. I will begin, and, as in my esteem You are most eminent, expect to have What 's fit for me to give, and you to take. The favour in the quick despatch being double. Go fetch my casket, and with speed. \_Exit AcANTHE. Eiibu. The kingdom Is very bare of money, when rewards Issue from the queen's jewel-house. Give him gold And store', no question the gentleman wants it. Good madam, what shall he do with a hoop ring, And a spark of diamond in it ? though you take it, Re-etiler Ac ant he with a Cas/cel. For the greater honour, from your majesty's finger, 'Twill not increase the value. He must purchase Rich suits, the gay comparison- of courtship. Revel and feast, which, the war ended, is A soldier's glory ; and 'tis fit that way Your bounty should provide for him. Hofi. You are rude, And by your narrow thoughts proportion mine. What I will do now shall be worth the envy Of Cleopatra. Open it ; see here ' [^HoNORiA descends from the state. 1 Give him gold And store-l This expression, which is taken from an old ballad, frequently occurs in these plays. — Gifford. ^ Comparison,] i. e. caparison; the word is frequently written thus in our old dramatists. Courtship., which occurs in the same line, means the cost and magnificence of a court. VOL. II. X 30G THE PICTURE* ACtt' II. The lapidary's idol ! Gold is trash. And a poor salary fit for grooms ; wear these, As studded stars in your armour, and make the sun Look dim with jealousy of a greater light Than his beams gild the day with : when it is Exposed to view, call it Honoria's gift, The Queen Honoria's gift, that loves a soldier; And, to give ornament and lustre to him. Parts freelv with lier own ! Yet, not to take From the magnificence of the king, I will Dispense his bounty too, but as a page To wait on mine; for other tosses', take A hundred thousand crowns: — your hand, dear sir — \_Tuhes ojf tlic king's signet. And this shall be thy warrant. Ell bit. I perceive I was cheated in this woman: now she is In the giving vein to soldiers, let her be proud, And the king dote, so she go on, I care not. Hun. This done, our pleasure is, that all arrear- ages Be paid unto the captains, and their troops ; With a large donative, to increase their zeal For the service of the kingdom. Eubu. Better stiU : Let men of arms he used thus, if they do not Charge desperately ujjcm the cannon's mouth. Though the devil roar'd, and fight like dragons, hang me ! Now they may drink sack ; but small beer, with a passport ' For ether tosses.'\ Cleaning, perhaps, in the slight manner in which slie notices this part of her bounty, yjjr trash to Jling uuai/ GiFiOKD. 6C. 1. THE PICTURE. 307 To beg with as they travel, and no money. Turns their red blood to buttermilk. Hon. Are you pleased, sir. With what I have done ? Ladis. Yes, and thus confirm it. With this addition of mine own: You have, sir. From our loved queen received some recompense For your life hazarded in the late action ; And, that we may follow her great example In cherishing valour, without limit ask What you from us can wish. Math. If it be true, Dread sir, as 'tis affirm'd, that every soil. Where he is well, is to a valiant man His natural country, reason may assure me I should fix here, where blessings beyond hope. From you, the spring, like rivers, flow unto me. If wealth were my ambition, by the queen I am made rich already, to the amazement Of all that see, or shall hei'eafter read 1 he story of her bounty ; if to spend The remnant of my life in deeds of arms. No region is more fertile of good knights. From whom my knowledge that way may be bet- ter' d. Than this your warlike Hungary ; if favour. Or grace in court could take me, by your gi'ant. Far, far, beyond my merit, I may make In yours a free election ; but, alas ! sir, I'm not mine own, but by my destiny (Which I cannot resist) forced to prefer ^l\ countrv's smoke, before the sjlorious fire With which your bounties warm me. All I ask, sir, x2 308 THE PICTURE. ACT II. Though I cannot be ignorant it must relish Of foul ingratitude, is your gracious licence For my departure. Ladis. Whither?. Math. To my own home, sir, IMy own poor home ; which will, at my return. Grow rich by your magnificence. I am here But a body without a soul; and, till I find it In the embraces of my constant wife. And, to set off" that constancy, in her beauty And matchless excellencies without a rival, I' am but half myself. Hon. And is she then So chaste and fair as you infer .^ Malh. (), madam. Though it must argue weakness in a rich man, To show his gold before an armed thief. And I, in praising of my wife, but feed The fire of love in others to attempt her ; Such is my full-sail'd confidence in her virtue, Thou2;h in mv absence she were now besieged By a strong army of lascivious wooers, And every one more export in his art, Than those that tempted chaste Penelope ; Though they raised batteries by prodigal gifts, By amorous letters, vows made for her service, ^V'ith all the engines wanton appetite Could mount to sliake the fortress of her honour. Here, here is my assurance she holds out, [^Kh.^es the pictvrc. And is impregnable. Hon. What's that? Math. Her fair fisrure. SC. I. THE PICTURE. 309 Ladis. As I live, an excellent face ! Hon. You have seen a better. Ladis. I ever except yours : — nay, frown not, sweetest. The Cyprian queen, compared to you, in my Opinion, is a negro. As you order'd, I 'll see the soldiers paid ; and, in my absence. Pray you use your powerful arguments, to stay This gentleman in our service. Hon. I will do My parts. Ladis. On to the camp. \_E,reHnt Ladislaus, Ferdinand, Eubulus, Baptista, and Officers. Hon. I am full of thoughts. And something there is here I must give form to, Though yet an embryon : [^Aside.'l You, signiors. Have no business with the soldier; quit the place. But be within call. \_Exeunt Ubaldo and Ricardo. You may perceive the king is no way tainted With the disease of jealousy, since he leaves me Thus private with you. Math. It were in him, madam, A sin unpardonable to distrust such pureness. Though I were an Adonis. Hon. I presume He neither does nor dares : and yet the story Deliver'd of you by the general. With your heroic courage, which sinks deeply Into a knowing woman's heart, besides Your promising presence, might beget some scruple In a meaner man ; but more of this hereafter. I '11 take another theme now, and conjure you 310 THE PICTURE. ACT 11. By the honours you have won, and by the love Sacred to your dear wife, to answer truly To what 1 shall demand. Math. You need not use Charms to this purpose, madam. Hu)i. Tell me, then. Being yourself assured 'tis not in man To sully with one spot the' immaculate whiteness Of your wife's honour, if you have not, since The Gordian of your love was tied by marriage, Play'd false with her? Mal/t. By the hopes of mercy, never. Hon. It may be, not frequenting the converse Of handsome ladies, you were never tempted. And so your faith 's untried yet. MaUi. I have been Received to the society of the best And fairest of our climate. Hon. Strange ! and do you think The earth can show no beauty that can drench In Lethe all remembrance of the favour You now bear to your own } Math. Nature must find out Some other mould to fashion a new creature Fairer than her Pandora, ere I prove Guilty, or in my wishes or my thoughts. To my Sophia. Hon. Sir, consider better; Not one in our whole sex .-^ Math. I am constant to IMy resolution. Hon. But dare you stand The opposition, and bind yourself By oath for the performance .'' SC I. THE PICTURE. 311 Math. My faith else Had but a weak foundation. Hon. I take hold Upon your promise, and enjoin your stay For one month here. Math. I am caught ! [_Aside. Hon. And if I do not Produce a lady, in that time, that shall Make you confess your error, I submit Myself to any penalty you shall please To impose upon me : in the mean space, write To your chaste wife, acquaint her with your fortune: The jewels that were mine you may send to her. For better confirmation. 1 11 provide you Of trusty messengers : but how far distant is she .'' Math. A day's hard riding. Hon. There is no retiring ! I '11 bind you to your word. Math. Well, since there is No way to shun it, I will stand the hazard, And instantly make ready my despatch : Till then, I '11 leave your majesty. \_Exit. Hon. How I burst With envy, that there lives, besides myself, One fair and loyal woman ! 'twas the end Of my ambition to be recorded The only wonder of the age, and shall I Give way to a competitor? Nay more. To add to my affliction, the assurances That I placed in my beauty have deceived me : I thought one gentle glance of mine could bring All hearts to my subjection; but this stranger. Unmoved as rocks, contemns me. But I cannot Sit down so with mine honour : I will gain 312 THE PICTURE. ACT III. A double victory, by working him To my desire, and taint her in her hononr. Or lose myself: I have read that sometime poison Is useful. — To supplant her I '11 employ. With any cost, Ubaldo and Ricardo, Two noted courtiers of approved cunning; And in corrupting him, I will outgo Nero's Poppaea : if he shut his ears Against my syren notes, I '11 boldly swear, Ulysses lives again ; or that I have found A frozen cynic', cold in spite of all Allurements ; one whom beauty cannot move. Nor softest blandishments entice to love. [_Ea,-it. ACT III. SCENE I. Bohemia. A Space near the Entrance of Matiiias' House. Enter Ubaldo, Ricakdo, and a Guide. Guide. That 's her castle. Upon my certain knowledge. Ubald. Our horses held out To my desire. I am afire to be at it. Ric. Take the jades for thy reward. Give me the cabinet : So ; leave us now. Guide. Good fortune to you, gallants ! \^E.vit. Ubald. Being joint agents, in a design of trust too, ' A frozen cynic, &c.] Ilonoria evidciuly means Stoic, which ought probably to be the reading of the text. The Cynics Were never distinguisiied for temperance. SC. II. THE PICTURE. 313 For the service of the queeii;, and our own pleasure, Let us proceed with judgment. Ric. Make your approaches As I directed. Ubald. I need no instruction ; I work not on your anvil. Who have we here ? Enter Hilario. Ric. Where dost thou dwell ? Hil. Dwell, sir ! my dwelling is Yon goodly house ; the habitation Of the good kniffht JMathias. Ubald. We come from him. With presents to his lady. Hil. But, are you sure He is in health ? Ric. Never so well : conduct us To the lady. Hil. Though a poor snake, I will leap Out of my skin for joy : methinks already I 'm knuckle deep in the fleshpots. Follow. Ubald. A mad fellow. [Exeunt. SCENE II. A Room in Mathias' House. Enter Sophia and Corisca. Soph. Do not delude me. Coris. Indeed I do not, madam, I stood, as you commanded, in the turret. Observing all that puss'd by ; and even now, I did discern a pair of cavaliers. 311 THE PICTURE. ACT III, For such their outside spoke them, with their guide, Dismountinjx from their horses; they said some- thing To our hungry centinel, that made him caper And frisk in the air for joy : and, to confirm this. See, madam, they're in view. Enter Hilario, Ubaldo, and Ricardo. HU. News from my lord I Tidings of joy ! Ubald. Fair lady, since mine eyes Were never happy in so sweet an object. Without inquiry, I presume you are The lady of the house, and so salute you. liic. This letter, with these jewels, from your lord. Warrant my boldness, madam. \_D('Iivcrs a letter and a casket. Ubald. In being a servant To such rare beauty, you must needs deserve This courtesy from a stranger. {^Salutes Corisca. liic. You are still Beforehand with me. Pretty one, I descend To take the height of your lip. [_Salutcs Coris. ('oris. These gentlemen Have had good breeding. [_In the interim, Sophia reads the letter, and opens the casket. Soph. Heaven, in thy mercy, make me Thy thankful handmaid for this boundless blessing In thy goodness shower'd upon me ! Ubald. I do not like This simple devotion in her ; it is seldom Practised among my mistresses. SC. II. THE PICTURE. 315 Ric. Or mine. Would they kneel to I know not who, for the pos- session Of such inestimable wealth, before They thanked the bringers of it ? The poor lady Does want instruction ; but I '11 be her tutor. And read her another lesson. Soph. If I have Shown want of manners, gentlemen, in my slow- ness To pay the thanks I owe you for your travail, To do my lord and me, howe'er unworthy Of such a benefit, this noble favour. Impute it, in your clemency, to the excess Of joy that overwhelm'd me. Blc. She speaks well. Ubald. Polite and courtly. Soph. And howe'er it may Increase the offence, to trouble you with more Demands touching my lord, before I have Invited you to rest, such as the coarseness Of ray poor house can offer ; pray you connive On my weak tenderness, though I entreat To learn from you something he hath, it may be. In his letter left unmention'd. Ric. I can only Give you assurance that he is in health. Graced by the king and queen. Uhald. And in the court With admiration look'd on. Ric. You must therefore Put off these widow's garments, and appear Like to yourself. 316 THE PICTURE. ACT III. Ubald. And entertain all pleasures Your fortune marks out for you. ll'ic. There are other Particular privacies, which on occasion I will deliver to you. Soph. You oblige me To your service ever. Ric. Good ! your service; mark that. Sop/i. In the mean time, by 3'ourgood acceptance, make IMy rustic entertainment relish of The curiousness of the court. Ubald. Your looks, sweet madam. Cannot but make each dish a feast. Soph. It shall be Such, in the freedom of my will to please you. I '11 show you the way : this is too great an honour. From such brave guests, to me so mean an hostess. \_Exctcnt. SCENE III. Alba Regalis. An outer Room in the Palace. Enter AcANTiiE, and four or Jive Servants with visors. Acan. You know your charge : give it action, and expect Rewards beyond your hopes. 1 Serv. If we but eye them. They are ours, I warrant you. 2 Serv. IMay we not ask why We are put upon this .'' SC. in. THE PICTURE. 31/ Acan. Let that stop your mouth ; [^Gives them money. And learn more manners, groom. 'Tis upon the hour In which they used to walk here : when you have them In your power, with violence carry them to the place Where I appointed ; there I will expect you ; Be bold and careful, [_Exit. Enter Mathias and Baptista. 1 Sei'v. These are they. 2 Serv. Are you sure ? 1 Scrv. Am I. sure I am myself.-* 2 Serv. Seize on him strongly ; if he have but means To draw his sword, 'tis ten to one we smart for 't : Take all advantages. Math. I cannot guess What her intents are ; but her carriage was As I but now related. Bapt. Your assurance In the constancy of your lady is the armour That must defend vou. Where 's the picture ? Math. Here, And no way alter'd. Bapt. If she be not perfect. There is no truth in art. Math. By this, I hope, She hath received my letters. Bapt. Without question : These courtiers are rank riders when they are To visit a handsome ladv. 318 THE PICTURE. ACT III. Math. Lend me your ear. One piece of her entertainment will require Your dearest privacy. I Serv. Now they stand fair : Upon them. \_'^hey rush forward. Malh. Villains ! 1 Serv. Stop their moutlis. We come not To try your valours. Kill him, if he offer To ope his mouth. We have you : 'tis in vain To make resistance. JMount them^, and away ! {^Exeunt ivilh Matiii.\s and Baptista. SCENE IV. Another Room in the same. Enter Acantiie and the visored Servants, with Math IAS and Baptista blindfolded. Acan. You have done bravely. Lock this in that room. There let him ruminate ; I '11 anon unhood him : \_Thci/ carry o^" Baptista. The other must stay here. As soon as I Have quit the place, give him the liberty And use of his eyes ; that done, disperse yourselves As privately as you can : but, on your lives. No word of wliat hath pass'd. \_Exit. \ Serv. If I do, sell iMy tongue to a tripe- wife. Come, unbind his arms : You are now at your own disposure ; and however We used you roughly, I hope you will find here SC. IV. THE PICTURE. 31 9 Such entertainment as will give you cause To thank us for the service : and so I leave you. l^Ejceuni Servauls, Math. If I am in a prison, 'tis a neat one. What Qidipus can resolve this riddle ? Ha ! I never gave just cause to any man Basely to plot against my life. — But what is Become of my true friend ? for him I suffer i\Iore than myself. Acaii. \jvii.hin.~\ Remove that idle fear; He 's safe as j^ou are. Math. Whosoe'er thou art, For him I thank thee. I cannot imagine Where I should be : though I have read the tales Of errant-knighthood, stuff'd with the relations Of magical enchantments ; yet I am not So sottishly credulous to believe the devil Hath that way power. Ha ! music ? [^JSIiisic above. A song of pleasure^. A song too ! certainly, be it he or she That owes this voice, it hath not been acquainted With much affliction. Whosoe'er you are That do inhabit here, if j^ou have bodies. And are not mere aerial forms, appear. Enter Honoria, masked. And make me know your end with me. Most strange ! What have 1 conjured up? Sure, if this be A spirit, it is no daran'd one. What a shape's here ! ' From this stage direction, it seems that no song was originally provided by the author. Indeed, it is a doubt with me whether most of these things were not supplied by the poet in waiting. — GiFFOKD. 320 THE PICTURE. ACT III. Theiij with what majesty it moves ! If Juno Were now to keep her state among the gods. And Hercules to be made again her guest, She coukl not put on a more glorious habit. Though her handmaid, Iris, lent her various colours, (^r old Oceanus ravish'd from the deep All jewels shipwreck'd in it. As you have Thus far made known yourself, if that your face Have not too much divinity about it For mortal eyes to gaze on, perfect what You have begun, with wonder and amazement To my astonish'd senses. [Honoria tuimashs.'] How ! the queen ! [Kneels. Hon. Rise, sir, and hear my reasons in defence Of the rape (for so you may conceive) which I, By my instruments, made upon you. You, perhaps. May think what you have suft'er'd for my love Is a common practice with me ; but I call Those ever shining lamps and their great IMaker As witnesses of my innocence : I ne'er look'd on A man but your best self, on whom I ever (Except the king) vouchsafed an eye of favour. Malh. The king, indeed, and only such a king. Deserves your rarities, madam ; for myself, I am a thing obscure, disfurnish'd of All merit that can raise me higher than. In my most humble thankfulness for your bounty. To hazai'd my life for you ; and that way I am most amliitious. Hon. 1 desire no more Than what you promise. If you dare expose Your life, as you profess, to do me service. How can it better be cmploy'd than in Preserving mine ? which only you can do. SC. IV. THE PICTURE. 321 And must do with the danger of your own, A desperate danger too ! If private men Can brook no rivals in what they affect. But to the death pursue such as invade What law makes their inheritance, the king — • To whom you know I am dearer than his crown. His health, his eyes, his after hopes, with all His present blessings — must fall on that man Like dreadful lightning that is won by prayers. Threats, or rewards, to stain his bed or make His hoped-for issue doubtful. Math. If you aim At what I more than fear you do, the reasons Which you deliver should, in judgment, rather Deter me, than invite a grant with my Assured ruin. Hon. True ; if that you were Of a cold temper, one wliom doubt or fear. In the most horrid forms they could put on. Might teach to be ingrateful. Your denial To me, that have deserved so much, is more. If it can have addition. Math. I know not What your commands are. Hon. If you will press me To speak in plainer language Math. Pray you, forbear; I would I did not understand too much ! Already, by your words, I am instructed To credit that which, not confirm'd by you. Had bred suspicion in me of untruth. Though an angel had affirm'd it. But suppose That, cloy'd with happiness, which is ever built On virtuous chastity, among ten thousand VOL. II. V 322 TIIK PICTURE. ACT III. Far apter to be wrought on, such as owe you Obedience, being your subjects, why should you JMake choice of me, a stranger ? Hon. Though yet reason Was ne'er admitted in the court of Xowc, I '11 yield you one unanswerable. As I urged In our last private conference, you have A pretty promising presence ; init there are IMany, in limbs and feature, who may take That way the riglit-hand file of you : besides. Your I\Iay of youth is past ; and that high valoux". Set off' with better fortune, which, it may be, Swells you above your bounds, is not the hook That hath caught me, good sir. I need no cham- pion With his sword to guard my honour or my beauty ; In both I can defend myself, and live My own protection. Malh. If these advocates. The best that can plead for me, have no power. What can you find in me that may allure you ? Hon. You have a jewel of such matchless worth, As does disdain comparison, and darkens All that is rare in other men ; and that I must or win or lessen. Math. You heap more Amazement on me. What am I possess'd of That you can covet ? make me understand it. If it have a name. Hon. Yes, an imagined one; But is, in substance, nothing ; being a garment Worn out of fashicm, and long since given o'er By the court and country : 'tis your loyalty And constancy to your wife ; 'tis that I dote on, SC. IV. THE PICTURE. 323 And does deserve my envy; and that jewel, Or by fair play or foul, I must win from you. Math. These are mere contraries. If you love me, madam. For my constancy, why seek you to destroy it ? In my keeping it preserve me worth your favour'. Or, if it be a jewel of that value, As you with labour'd rhetoric would persuade me, What can you stake against it ? Hon. A queen's fame. And equal honour. Math. So, whoever wins. Both shall be losers. Hon. That is that I aim at : Yet on the die I lay my youth, my beauty ; — Do you find them infectious, that you start, As frighted with their touch ? Math. Is it in man To resist such strong temptations ? Hun. He begins To waver. \^.t.side. Math. Madam, as you are gracious, Grant this short night's deliberation to me ; And, with the rising sun, from me you shall Receive full satisfaction. Hon. Though extremes Hate all delay, I will deny you nothing. This key will bring you to your friend ; you are safe both ; • In my keeping it preserve 7ne worth your favour.'] The meaning is, " If you love me for my constancy, why do you seek to destroy it ? Why not rather, in allowing nie to keep it, suffer me to remain a proper object of your kindness ?"— GlFFORD. v2 321 THE PICTt'RK. ACT III. l) And all things useful that could be prepared For one I love and honour, wait upon you. Take council of your pillow, such a fortune As with affection's swiftest wings flies to you, Will not be often tender'd. [^Exil. Math. How my blood Rebels ! I now could call her back — and yet There's something stays me; if the king had tender'd Such favours to my wife ; 'tis to be doubted They had not been refused : but, being a man, I should not yield first, or prove an example. For her defence, of frailty. By this, sans question. She 's tempted too ; and here I may examine \^Lou/cs on I he piclure. How she holds out. She's still the same, the same Pure crystal rock of chastity. Perish all Allurements that may alter me ! rewards nor titles, Nor certain death from the refused queen, Shall shake my faith ; since I resolve to be Loyal to her, as she is true to me. [_Exil. SCENE V. Bohemia. A Gallery in JMatiiias' House. Elder Ubaldo and Ricaroo. Ubald. What we spake on the voley ' begins to work ; We have laid a good foundation. ' On the volcij.] A literal translation of the French phrase a la votce, which signifies at random, or inconsldcratitij. — 31. Mason. SC. V. THE PICTURE. 325 Ric. Build it up. Or else 'tis nothing : you have by lot the honour Of the first assault ; but, as it is condition'd. Observe the time proportion'd : I '11 not part with IMy share in the achievement ; when I whistle. Or hem, fall off. Enter Sophia. Ubald. She comes. Stand by, I '11 watch My opportunity. C^'^'^j/ walk aside. Soph. I find myself Strangely distracted with the various stories, Now well, now ill, then doubtfully, by my guests Deliver'd of my lord : and, like poor beggars That in their dreams find treasure, by reflection Of a wounded fancy, make it questionable Whether they sleep or not ; yet, tickled with Such a fantastic hope of happiness. Wish they may never wake. In some such measure, Incredulous of what I see and touch. As 'twere a fading apparition, I Am still perplex'd, and troubled ; and when most Confirmd 'tis true, a curious jealousy To be assured, by what means, and from whom. Such a mass of wealth was first deserved, then gotten. Cunningly steals into me. I have practised. For my certain resolution, with these courtiers, Promising private conference to either. And, at this hour : — if in search of the truth, I hear, or say, more than becomes my virtue, Forgive me, my Mathias. Ubald. Now I make in. — [^Comes forward. Madam, as you commanded, I attend Your pleasure. 326 THE PICTURK. ACT III. Soph. I must thank you for the favour. Uhald. I am no ghostly father; yet, if you have Some scruples touching your lord, you would be resolved of, I am prepared. Suph. But will you take your oath. To answer truly ? Ubald. On thy fair hand, sweet lady, if you please : A vow I dare not break, it being a book I would gladly swear on. Soplt, To spare, sir, that trouble, I '11 take your word, which, in a gentleman. Should be of equal value. — You would put, now, A foolish jealousy in my head, my lord Ilath gotten a new mistress. I Ixdd. One ! a hundred ; But under seal I speak it: I presume Upon your silence, it being for your profit. vSuch a soldier and a courtier never came To Alba Regalis ; the ladies run mad for him. And there is such contention among them, Who shall engross him wholly, that the like Was never heard of. Sopli. Are they handsome women ? L.hdld. Fie ! no ; coarse mammets. lUc. \_)vhlsllc.s.~\ Sir, I must fetch you off. \_Asidc. Ubald. A business of import Calls me away ; but, that despatch'd, I will Be with you presently. [^IValhs aside. Sop/i. There is something more In this than bare suspicion. liic. [comes fornun-d.'] Save you, lady ; Now you look like yourself! I have not look'd on A lady more complete, yet have seen a madam SC. V. THE PICTURE. 327 Wear a garment of this fashion, of the same stuff too. One just of your dimensions: — Sat the wind there, boy !' Soph. What lady, sir ? Ric. Nay, nothing ; and methinks I should know this ruby : very good ! 'tis the same. This chain of orient pearl, and this diamond too. Have been worn often, — much good may they do you ! Before he got them. Suph. Why, how were they gotten? Ric. Not in the field with his sword, upon my life. (^Ubaldo hems. Run the minutes so fast ? [^Aside.^— Fray you, ex- cuse my manners ; I left a letter in my chamber window. Which I would not have seen on any terms; fie on it. Forgetful as I am ! but I '11 straight attend you. [ Walks aside. Soph. This is strange. His letters said these jewels were Presented him by the queen, as a reward For his good service, and the trunks of clothes. That follow'd them this last night, with haste made By his direction. Ubuld. \_comcs forward.~\ I was telling you Of wonders, madam. Soph. If you are so skilful. Without premeditation answer me ; Know you this gown, and these rich jewels? Ubald, Heaven, How things will come out ! But that I should of- fend you. 328 THE PICTURE. ACT III. And wrong ray more than noble friend, your hus- band, (For we are sworn brothers,) in the discovery Of his nearest secrets, I could SopJi. By the hope of favour That you have fi-om me, out with it. Lbald. "j'is a potent spell I can't resist : Why, I will tell you, madam. And to how many several women you are Beholding for your bi-avery. This was The wedding gown of Paulina, a wanton lady, Worn but a day, when she married old Gonzaga. Soph. O my poor heart ! U/jald. And this resplendent chain Of pearl was a great widow's, that invited Your lord to a mask ; but how he came by it I know not. Soph. Perjured man ! Lbald. This diamond Was madam Acanthe's, given him for a song W^hen the queen ask'd for 't. You 're happy in a husband. Soph. I do commend him, sir : but pray you leave me A little to myself. Ubiild. You may command Your servant, madam. — [^JValks aside.'] — Slie's stung unto ihe quick, lad. Ric. I did my part ; if this potion work not, hang me ! Let her sleep as well as she can to-night, to-morrow We '11 mount new batteries. Lbald. And till then leave her. [^E.veunt Ubaldo and Ric.\rdo. SC. V. THE PICTURE. 329 Soph. You Powers, that take into your care the guard Of innocence, aid me ! for I am a creature So forfeited to despair, hope cannot fancy A ransom to redeem me. I begin To waver in my faith, and make it doubtful, Whether the saints, that were canonized for Their holiness of life, sinn'd not in secret ; Since my iMathias is fallen from his virtue. In such an open fashion. — ^V^as 't for this he left me. And, on a feign'd pretence, for want of means To give me ornament? — Suppose these men are false, if he were true. Why stays he so long from me, being made rich. And that the only reason why he left me ? No, he is lost ; and shall I wear the spoils And salaries of his treason ? they cleave to me. Like Nessus' poison'd shirt : no, in my rage, I '11 tear them off, and from my body wash The venom with my tears. Have 1 no spleen, Nor anger of a woman } shall he build Upon my ruins, and I, unrevenged. Deplore his falsehood } no ; with the same trash For which he had dishonour'd me, I '11 purchase A just revenge : I am not yet so much In debt to years, nor so mis-shaped, that all Should fly from my embraces : Chastity, Thou only art a name, and I renounce thee ! I am now a servant to voluptuousness. Wantons of all degrees and fashions, welcome ! You shall be entertain'd ; and, if I stray. Let him condemn himself, that led the way. [Exit. 330 THE PICTURE. ACT IV. ACT IV. SCENE I. Alba Regalis. A Room in the Palace. Enter Mathias and Baptista. Bapl. We are in a desperate strait ; there 's no evasion. Nor hope left to come off, but by your yielding To the necessity; you must feign a grant To her violent passion, or Math. What, my Baptista? Bapt. We are but dead else. Math. Were the sword now heaved up. And my neck upon the block, I would not buy An hour's reprieve with the loss of faith and virtue. To be made immortal here. Art thou a scholar. Nay, almost without parallel, and yet fear To die, which is inevitable ! You mav urjje The many years that, by the course of nature. We may travel in this tedious pilgrimage. And hold it as a blessing; as it is. When innocence is our guide : yet know, Baptista, Our virtues are preferr'd before our years. By the gi'eat Judge : to die untainted in Our fame and reputation is the greatest ; And to lose that, can we desire to live'.'' Or shall I be for perjury remember'd In a still living epitaph ? no, Baptista, ' And to lose that, can we desire to livcf] Et j)rojiter vitam, vivcndi perdcrc vausas. Jcv. Sat. viii. SC. I. THE PICTURE. 331 Since my Sophia will go to her grave Unspotted in her faith, I '11 follow her With equal loyalty. \_Takcs out the picture.'] But look on this. Your own great work, your masterpiece, and then, She being still the same, teach nie to alter ! Ha ! sure I do not sleep ! or, if I dream. This is a terrible vision ! I will clear My eyesight ; perhaps melancholy makes me See that which is not. Bapt. It is too apparent. I grieve to look upon 't : besides the yellow. That does assure she 's tempted, there are lines Of a dark colour, that disperse themselves O'er every miniature of her face, and those Confirm Math. She is turn'd false ! Bapt. I must not say so. Yet, as a friend to truth, if you will have me Interpret it, — in her consent and wishes She 's false, but not in fact yet. Math. Fact, Baptista ! Make not yourself a partner to her looseness, In labouring to palliate what a visor Of impudence cannot cover. Bapt. Pray you, temper The violence of your passion. Math. In extremes Of this condition, can it be in man To use a moderation ? I am thrown From a steep rock headlong into a gulf Of misery, and find myself past hope In the same moment that I apprehend That I am falling : and this, the figure of 332 THE PICTURE. ACT IV. My idol, few hours since, while she continued In her perfection, that was late a min-or. In which I saw miraculous shapes of duty. Staid manners, with all excellency a husband Could wish in a chaste wife, is on the sudden Turn'd to a m-agical glass, and does present Nothing but shame and horror. Bapt. You may yet. And 'tis the best foundation, build up comfort On your own goodness. Math. No, that hath undone me ; For now I hold my temperance a sin Worse than excess, and what was vice a virtue. Have I refused a queen, and such a queen. Whose ravishing beauties at the first sight had tempted A hermit from his beads, and changed his prayers To amorous sonnets, to preserve my faith Inviolate to thee, with the hazard of My death with torture, since she could inflict No less for my contempt ; and have I met Such a return from thee ! I will not curse thee. Nor, for thy falsehood, rail against the sex ; 'Tis poor and common : I '11 only, with wise men. Whisper unto myself, howe'er they seem, Nor present, nor past times, nor the age to come. Hath heretofore, can now, or ever shall. Produce one constant woman. Bapt. This is more Than the satirists wrote against them. Math. There 's no language That can express the poison of these aspics. These weeping crocodiles, and all too little That hath been said against them. But I '11 mould SC. I. THE PICTURE. 333 My thoughts into another form ; and, if She can outlive the report of what I have done. This hand, when next she comes within my reach. Shall be her executioner. Enter Honoria and Acanthk. Bopt. The queen, sir. Hon. Wait our command at distance: — [_Exit AcANTHE.] — Sir, you too have Free liberty to depart. Bapt. I know my manners. And thank you for the favour. \_Exil. Hon. Have you taken Good rest in your new lodgings ? I expect now Your resolute answer; but advise maturely Before I hear it. Math. Let my actions, madam, For no words can dilate my joy, in all You can command, with cheerfulness to serve you. Assure your highness ; and, in sign of my Submission, and contrition for my error, ]VIy lips, that but the last night shunn'd the touch Of yours as poison, taught humility now. Thus on your robe, and that too great an honour For such an undeserver, seal my duty. A cloudy mist of ignorance, equal to Cimmerian darkness, would not let me see then What now, with adoration and wonder. With reverence I look up to : but those fogs Dispersed and scatter'd by the powerful beams With which yourself, the sun of all perfection, Vouchsafe to cure my blindness ; like a suppliant. As low as I can kneel, I humbly beg What you once pleased to tender. 334 THE PICTURE. ACT IV. Hon. This is more Than I could hope ! [^Asi anticipations of future fame by great minds. They are the Howery spots in the poet's thorny way, which beguile the weari- someness of his pilgrimage, and in despite of coldness and neglect, reconcile him to his fate Giffqrd. '^ Great .i^ i. e. the lump, the piece. A A 2 356 THE PICTURE. ACT V. Ferd. Is your theorbo ' Turn'd to a clistafF, signior? and youi' voice, With which you chanted, Room fur a lusty gallant ! Tuned to the note oi Lachrymcc'^? Ei/hii. Prithee tell me. For I know thou 'rt free, how oft, and to the pur- pose. You 've been merry with this lady. Bic. Never, never. Ladis. Howsoever, you should say so for your credit, Beinu the onlv court-bull. Ubald. O, that ever I saw this kicking heifer ! Soph. You see, madam. How I have cured your servants, and what favours They liave won from me. The gentlemen have learnt Their several trades to live by, and paid nothing But cold and hunger for them ; and may now Set up for themselves, for here I give them over. ' Thcorlo.] This was a large lute for playing a thorough Irass. used by tlie Italians. '■^ L(icfir>/>/ur?'\ This (as Sir John Hawkins informs us in his History of INIusic) was the title of a musical work composed by John Doiilar.d, a celfbratcd lutanist in the time of King James I. The title of it at length is : — " Lachryma-, or seven Tearcs figured in seaven jiassionate Pavans, with divers other Pavans, (ialiards, and Almans, set forth to the Lute, Viol, or ^'iolin, ill five Parts." To this performance, which was once exceedingly jiopular, allusions are found in most of our old dramatists. I do not know what the "seven passionate" (i. e. affecting) conipobitions were, wliich made up the bulk of this colkctioii, but Mr. (iilchrist lias been led K) suppose that one of them was the beautiful and pathetic Lamentation of Lady Ann Eothwell. GlilOKD. PC. in. THE PICTURE. 357 And now to you, sir ; why do you not again Peruse your picture, and take the advice Of your learned consort ? Math. I know not which way to entreat your pardon. Nor am I worthy of it. INIy Sophia, My best Sophia, here before the king. The queen, these lords, and all the lookers on, I do renounce my error, and embrace you. As the great example to all aftertimes. For such as would die chaste and noble wives. With reverence to imitate. Soph. Not so, sir; I yet hold off. However I have purged My doubted innocence, the foul aspersions. In your unmanly doubts, cast on my honour. Cannot so soon be wash'd off. Euhu. Shall we have IMore jiggobobs yet ? Soph. When you went to the w^ars, I set no spy upon you, to observe Which way you wander' d, though our sex by nature Is subject to suspicions and fears; INIy confidence in your loyalty freed me from them. But, to deal, as you did, against your religion. With this enchanter, to survey my actions. Was more than woman's weakness ; therefore know. And 'tis my boon unto the king, I do Desire a separation from your bed; For I will spend the remnant of my life In prayer and meditation. Math. O take pity Upon my weak condition, or I am More wretched in your innocence, than if 358 TIIK PICTLRE. ACT V. I had found you guilty. Have you shown a jewel Out of the cabinet of your rich mind, To lock it up again ? — She turns away. Will none speak for me .'' shame and sin have robb'd me Of the use of my tongue. Ladis. Since you have conqucr'd, madam, You wrong the glory of your victory. If you use it not with mercy. Ferd. Any penance You please to impose upon liim, I dare warrant He will gladly suffer. Ell bit. Have I lived to see But one good woman, and shall we for a trifle Have her turn nun ? I will first pull down the cloister. 'Tis not alone enough that you are good. We must have some of the breed of you : will you destroy The kind and race of goodness ? I am converted, And ask your pardon, madam, for my ill opinion Against the sex; and show mc but two such more, I 'II marry yet, and love them. Hun. She that yet Ne'er knew what 'twas to bend but to the king. Thus be£S remission for him. Sop/;. O, dear madam, Wronj; not vour greatness so. Omnes. We all are suitors. Ubahl. I do deserve to be heard among the rest. Ric. And we have sutferd for it. Soph. I perceive There 's no resistance : but, suppose I pardon SC. HI. THE PICTURE. 359 What 's past, who can secure me he '11 be free From jealousy hereafter ? Math. I will be My own security : go, ride where you please ; Feast, revel, banquet, and make choice with whom, I '11 set no watch upon you ; and, for proof of it, This cursed picture I surrender up To a consuming fire. Bapt. As I abjure The practice of my art. Soph. Upon these terms I am reconciled ; and, for these that have paid The price of their folly, I desire your mercy. Ladis. At your request they have it. Ubald. Hang all trades now ! Ilk. 1 will find a new one, and that is, to live honest. Ladis. So, all ends in peace now. And, to all married men, be this a caution. Which they should duly tender as their life, Neither to dote too much, nor doubt a wife. \_Exeiinl. s SELECTIONS FROM THE EOMAN ACTOE. The Roman Actor.] This tragedy, whicli was licensed by Sir H. Herbert, Oct. 11, 1G2C, and printed in 1629, was a great favourite with its author. Massinger speaks of it as the " most perfect birth of his IMinerva ;" but, like many other authors, he appears to have made a false estimate of his own productions, and to have preferred tliat on which he had exercised the greatest labour and displayed most ingenuity in handling an unwieldy subject, before others which had flowed more readily from his pen, and where ihe happy choice of his story presented him with fewer difficulties to be overcome. The main plot of the Roman Actor, slight and unpleasing in itself, is carried on by a succession of dramatic representations, performed in the court of Domitian. These interludes destroy the unity of the work ; they give it the air of a collection of de- tached scenes : and, though very skilfully devised and artificially introduced, have the effect of distracting the attention from the main incident, and dissipate the interest they were intended to heighten. The following selections, which are from the best parts of the play, will, it is apprehended, be considered quite sufficient to satisfy the curiosity of the reader. DRA]\rATIS PERSONS. Paris, the Roman actor. Lattxus, } , ^.sopus, \P^">J''-'- Aretinus. Senators. Lictors. SELECTIONS FROM THE ROMAN ACTOR. THE ROMAN ACTOR'S DEFENCE. The Theatre. Enter Paris, Latinus, and ^sopus. JEsop. What do we act to-day ? Led Agave's frenzy. With Pentheus' bloody end. Par. It skills not what^; The times are dull, and all that we receive Will hardly satisfy the day's expense. The Greeks, to whom we owe the first invention Both of the buskin'd scene and humble sock. That reign in every noble family. Declaim against us : and our theatre. Great Pompey's work, that hath given full delight Both to the eye and ear of fifty thousand Spectators in one day, as if it were Some unknown desert, or great Rome unpeopled. Is quite forsaken. • Skills ?K)<,] i, e. matters not. 3GG SELECTIONS FROM Lat. Pleasures of worse natures Are gladly entertained. Par. Yet they grudge us. That with delight join profit, and endeavour To build their minds up fair, and on the stage Decipher to the life what honours wait On good and glorious actions, and the shame That treads upon the heels of vice, the salary Of six sestertii^. jEsop. For the profit, Paris, And mercenary gain, they are things beneath us ; Since, while you hold your grace and power with^ Cccsar, > We, from your bounty, find a large supply. Nor can one thought of want ever approach us. Par. Our aim is glory, and to leave our names To aftertime. Lat. And, would they give us leave, There ends all our ambition. /E.wp. We have enemies. And great ones too, I fear. 'Tis given out lately, The consul Aretinus, Caesar's spy. Said at his table, ere a month expired. For beintj gall'd in our last comedv. He 'd silence us for ever. Par. I expect No favour from him ; my strong Aventine- is, That great ]3omitian, whom we oft have cheer'd In his most sullen moods, will once return. Who can repair, with ease, the consul's ruins. ' Sii .iestcrtii,'\ about eleven pence. ^ Aventine,] i. e. tkfcnce. The Aventine was a post of great strength. It is used in the same metaphorical sensj by others of our old dramatists. — GiFi'OUD. THE ROMAN ACTOR, 367 Ldt. 'Tis frequent' in the city, he hath subdued The Catti and. the Daci, and, ere long. The second time will enter Rome in triumph. Enter two Licto7's. Par. Jove hasten it? With us? — I now believe The consul's threats, ^sopus. 1 Lict. You are summon'd To appear to-day in senate. 2 Lict. And there to answer What shall be urged against you. Par. We obey you. Nay, droop not, fellows ; innocence should be bold. We, that have personated in the scene The ancient heroes, and the falls of princes. With loud applause ; being to act ourselves, Must do it with undaunted confidence. Whate'er our sentence be, think 'tis in sport : And, though condemn'd, let 's hear it without sorrow. As if we were to live again to-morrow. 1 Lict. 'Tis spoken like yourself. Lat. I am glad the state is So free from matters of more weight and trouble. That it has vacant time to look on us. Par. That reverend place, in which the affairs of kings And provinces were determined, to descend To the censure of a bitter word, or jest, Dropp'd from a poet's pen ! [_Exeuiii Lictors, Paris, Latin us, and , 372 SELECTIONS FKOM To Starve the while for hunger ; if a matron, However great in fortune, birth, or titles. Guilty of such a foul unnatural sin. Cry out, 'Tis writ for me, — we caxnot help it. Or, when a covetous man's express'd, whose wealth Arithmetic cannot number, and whose lordships A falcon in one day cannot fly over ; Yet he so sordid in his miud, so griping. As not to afford himself the necessaries To maintain life ; if a patrician, (Though honour'd with a consulship,) find himself Touch'd to the quick in this, — we cannot ueia' it. Or, when we show a judge that is corrupt, And will give up his sentence, as he favours The person, not the cause ; saving the guilty. If of his faction, and as oft condemning The innocent, out of particular spleen ; If any in this reverend assembly. Nay, even yourself, my lord, that are the image Of absent Caesar, feel something in your bosom That puts you in remembrance of things past. Or things intended, — 'tis not in us to help it. I have said, my lord : and now, as you find cause. Or censure us, or free us with applause — Laf. Well pleaded, on my life I I never saw him Act an orator's part before. JEsop. We might have given Ten double fees to Regulus, and yet Our cause deliver'd worse. [_A shout wilhin. Arcl. What shout is that.'' 3 Sen. Ciesar, our lord, married to conquest, is Return'd in triumph. Fill. Let 's all haste to meet liim. THE ROMAN ACTOR. 3/3 Aret. Break up the court ; we will reserve to him The censure of this cause. All. Long life to Csesar ! ^Ejceunl. THE EPISODE OF PHILARGUS. PERSONS. DOMITIANUS C^SAR. PhILARGUS. Paris. Parthenius. yEsopus. DoMiTiA. Latinus. Aiteudants. A State Room in the Palace. Enter Philargus in rags, and Parthenius. Phil. My son to tutor me ! Know your obedience. And question not my will. Parth. Sir, were I one. Whom want compell'd to wish a full possession Of what is yours ; or had I ever number'd ' Your years, or thought you lived too long, with reason You then might nourish ill opinions of me : Or did the suit that I prefer to you Concern myself, and aim'd not at your good. You might deny, and I sit down with patience. And after never press you. Phil. In the name of Pluto, What wouldst thou have me do .'' Parth. Right to yourself; « Number'' d your years.'\ This was accounted a high degree of unnaturalness and impiety among all nations : pairios in- quircrc in antws is reckoned by Ovid among the prominent causes which provoked Jupiter to destroy the old world by a deluge. — GiiFORD. 374 SELECTIONS FROM Or suffer me to do it. Can you imagine This nasty hat^ this tatter'd cloak, rent shoe, This sordid linen, can become the master Of your fair fortunes ? whose superfluous means. Though I were burthensome, could clothe you in The costliest Persian silks, studded with jewels. The spoils of provinces, and every day Fresh change of 'I'yrian purple, Phil. Out upon thee I jMy monies in my coffers melt to hear thee. Purple ! hence, prodigal ! Shall I make my mercer Or tailor heir, or see my jeweller purchase ? No, I hate pride. Partli. Yet decency would do well. Tliough, for your outside, you will not be altcr'd, Let me prevail so far yet, as to win you Not to deny your body nourishment ; Neither to think you 've feasted, when 'tis cramm'd With mouldy barley-bread, onions and leeks. And the drink of bondmen, water. Pliil. Wouldst thou have me Be an Apicius, or a LucuUus, And riot out my state in curious sauces ? Wise nature with a little is contented ; And, following her, my guide, I cannot err. Parth. But you destroy her in your want of care (I blush to see, and speak it) to maintain her In perfect licalth and vigour ; when you suffer. Frighted with the charge of physic, rheums, catarrhs. The scurf, ache in your bones, to grow^ upon you. And hasten on your fate with too much sparing : When a cheap purge, a vomit, and good diet, IMay lengthen it. Give me but leave to send The emperor's doctor to you. THE ROMAN ACTOR. 37.> Phil. I'll be borne first. Half rotten, to the fire that must consume me ! No ; I '11 not lessen my dear golden heap. Which, every hour increasing, does renew My youth and vigour ; but, if lessen'd, then, Then my poor heart-strings crack. Let me enjoy it. And brood o'er't, while I live, it being my life, I\Iy soul, my all : but when I turn to dust. And part from what is more esteem'd, by me, Than all the gods Rome's thousand altars smoke to. Inherit thou my adoration of it. And, like me, serve my idol. \_Exit. Parth. What a strange torture Is avarice to itself ! what man, that looks on Such a penurious spectacle, but must Know what the fable meant of Tantalus, Or the ass whose back is crack'd with curious viands. Yet feeds on thistles. Some course I must take. To make my father know what cruelty He uses on himself. Enter Paris. Par. Sir, with your pardon, I make bold to inquire the emperor's pleasure ; Foi, being by him commanded to attend, Your favour may instruct us what 's his will Shall be this night presented. Parth. My loved Paris, Without my intercession, you well know. You may make your own approaches, since his ear To you is ever open. Par. I acknowledge The grace he pleases to confer upon me, 376 SELECTIONS FROM Which, I may say without a boast, was never Employ'd to wrong the innocent, or to incense His fury. Parth. 'Tis confess'd : many men owe you For provinces they ne'er hoped for ; and their lives. Forfeited to his anger : — you being absent, I could say more. Par. You still are my good patron ; And, lay it in my fortune to deserve it, You should perceive the poorest of your clients To his best abilities thankful. Parth. I believe so. JMet you my father .'' Par. Yes, sir, with much grief, To see him as he is. Can nothing work him To be himself.'^ Parth. O, Paris, 'tis a weight Sits heavy here ; and could this right hand's loss Remove it, it should off: but he is deaf To all persuasion. Par. Sir, with your pardon, I '11 offer my advice : I once observed. In a tragedy of ours, in which a murder Was acted to the life, a guilty hearer. Forced by the terror of a wounded conscience. To make discovery of that which torture Could not wring from him. Nor can it appear Like an impossibility, but that Your father, looking on a covetous man Presented on the stage, as in a mirror, INIay see his own deformity, and loathe it. Now, could you but persuade the emperor To sec a comedy we have, that 's styled The Cure of Avarice, and to command THE ROMAN ACTOR. 377 Your father to be a spectator of it. He shall be so anatomized in the scene. And see himself so personated, the baseness Of a self-torturing miserable wretch Truly described, that I much hope the object Will work compunction in him. Parlh. There 's your fee ; I ne'er bought better counsel. Be you in readiness, I will effect the rest. Par. Sir, when you please ; We'll be prepared to enter. — Sir, the emperor. \_Ex'ii. Enter Cesar, Domitia, and Attendants. [^Partiienius kneeling, whispers C^sar. CcES. Thy suit is granted, Whate'er it be, Parthenius, for thy service Done to Augusta. Only so } a trifle : Command him hither. If the comedy fail To cure him, I will minister something to him That shall instruct hira to forget his gold. And think upon himself. Parth. May it succeed well. Since my intents are pious ! \_Exit. Cces. \Jo Domitia.^ Thus, love, I seat you By Caesar's side, commanding these, that once Were the adored glories of the time. To witness to the world they are your vassals. At your feet to attend you. Dom. 'Tis your pleasure. And not my pride. And yet, when I consider That I am yours, all duties they can pay I do receive as circunstances due To her you please to honour. 378 SELECTIONS FKOM Re-enter Parthenius and Philargus. Parth. Cfesar's will Commands you hither, nor must you gainsay it. Phil. Lose time to see an interlude ! must I pay, too. For my vexation ? Parth. Not in the court : It is the emperor's charge. Phil. I shall endure My torment then the better. Ca's. Can it be This sordid thing, Parthenius, is thy father? No actor can express him : I had held The fiction for impossible in the scene. Had I not seen the substance. — Sirrah, sit still. And give attention ; if you but nod. You sleep for ever. — Let them spare the prologue, And all the ceremonies proper to ourself, And come to the last act — there, where the cure By the doctor is made perfect. Begin there. Enter Paris, like a doctor of phj/sic, and ^.sopus: Latinus iff broiajht forth asleep in a chair, a key in his mouth. vEsop. master doctor, he is past recovery; A lethargy hath seized him ; and, however His sleep resemble death, his watchful care To guard that treasure he dares make no use of, Works strongly in his soul. Par. Mltat 's that he holds So fast between his teeth :^ i^sop. The key that opens His iron chests, cramm'd with accursed gold. THE ROMAN ACTOR. 3/9 Rusty with long imprisonment. There 's no duty In me, his son, nor confidence in friends, That can persuade him to deliver up That to the trust of any. Phil. He is the wiser: We were fashion'd in one mould. jEsop. He eats ivith it; And when devotion calls him to the temple Of Mammon^, ivhom, of all the gods, he kneels to. That held thus still, his orisons are paid: Nor will he, though the wealth of Rome were pawn'd For the restoring of 't, for one short hour Be v)on to part with it. Phil. Still, still myself! And if like me he love his gold, no pawn Is good security. Par. Ill try if I can force it It will not be. His avaricious mind, Like men in rivers drown d, make him gripe fast. To his last gasp, ivhat he in life held dearest ^ And, if that it were possible in nature. Would carry it ivith him to the other world. Phil. As I would do to hell, rather than leave it. ^sop. Is he not dead? Par. Long since to all good actions, Or to himself, or others, for which wise men Desire to live. You may ivith safety pinch him, Or under his nails stick needles, yet he stirs not; Anxious fear to lose what his soul dotes on. Renders his flesh insensible. We must use Some means to rouse the sleepiing faculties • Of Mammon, &c.] There seems a want of judgment in the introduction of Mammon (a deity unknown to the Romans), when Plutus would have servtd the turn as well. — Gifford. 380 SELECTIONS FROM Of his mind; there lies the lethargt/. Take a trumpet, Atid blow it into his ears: — 'tis to no pui'pose : The roaring noise of thunder cannot wake him: — And yet despair not; I have one trick left yet. ^sop. What is it? Par. / will cause a fearful dream To steal into his fancy, and disturb it With the horror it brings icith it, and so free His body's organs. But if this should Jail, \^A chest brought in. I'll give him o'er. So; with all violence Rend ope this iron chest, for here his life lies Bound up in fetters, and in the defence Of what he values higher, 'twill return, And f II each vein and artery. — Louder yet! — 'Tis open, and already he begins To stir; mark with what trouble. [Latinus stretches himself. Phil. As you are Cicsar, Defend this honest, thrifty man ! they are thieves, And come to rob him. Parth. Peace ! the emperor frowns. Par. So; now pour out the bugs upon the table ; Remove his Jewels, and his bonds. — Again, Ring a second golden peal. His eyes are open; He stares as he had seen Medusa's head, And were turn'd marble. — Once more. Lat. Murder! murder! They come to murder me. My son in the plot? Thou worse than parricide! if it be death To strike thy father's body, can all tortures The Furies in hell practise be suj/icient For thee, that dost assassinate my soul ? — My gold! my bonds! my jewels! dost thou envy THE ROMAN ACTOR. 381 My glad possession of them for a day ; Extinguishing the taper of my life Consumed unto the snuff':* Par. Seem not to mind him. Lat. Have I, to leave thee rich, denied myself The joys of human being ; scraped and hoarded A mass of treasure, ivhich had Solon seen. The Lyd/an Croesus had appear d to him Poor as the beggar Irus:* And i/et I, Solicitous to increase it, ivhen my entrails Were clemm'd^ with keeping a perpetual fast. Was deaf to their loud windy cries, as fearing. Should I disburse one penny to their use, My heir might curse me. And, to savj expense In outward ornaments, I did expose Ml/ tiaked body to the winter s cold, And summer s scorching heat : nay, when diseases Grew thick upon me, and a little cost Had purchased my recovery, I chose rather To have my ashes closed up in my urn. By hasting on my fate, than to diminish The gold my prodigal son, while I am living. Carelessly scatters. JEsoT^. Would you'd despatch and die once-! Your ghost should feel in hell, that is my slave Which ivas your inaster. Phil. Out upon thee, varlet ! Par. And what then follows all your carke and caring, ' Clemni'd,] i. e. slirunk up u/ilh hunger, so as to cTuig to- gctlicr. 2 Once,'\ i. e. once for all. The word is often so used by 3Iassingei- and his contemporaries. 382 SELECTIONS FKOM And self-affliction? When your sfarvcd trunk is Turnd to forgotten dust, this hopful youth Sco)-iis at i/our monument, never remembering How much for him you suffer d; and then tells, To the companions of his icanton riots, The hell you did endure on earth, to leave him Large means to be an epicure, and to feast His senses all at once, a happiness You never granted to yourself. Your gold, then, Got with vexation, and preserved with trouble. Maintains a ruffian and licentious creiv That quaff damnations to your memory. For living so long here. Lat. It icill he so ; I see it — O, that I could redeem the time that's past.' I would live and die like myself; and make true use Of what my industry purchased. Par. Covetous men. Having one foot in the grave, lament so ever: But grant that I by art could yet recover Your desperate sickness, lengthen out your life A dozen of years; as I restore your body To perfect health, will you with care endeavour To rectify your mi)id'? Lat. 1 should so live then. As neither my heir should have just cause to think I lived too lung, for being close -handed to him, Or cruel to myself. Par. Have your desires. Phwbus assisting me, I will repair The ruind building of your health; and think not You have a son that hates you ; the truth is. This means, with his consent, I practised on you THE ROMAN ACTOR. 383 To this good end: it being a device In you to show the Cure of Avarice. \_Excunt Paris, Latinus, and jEsopus. Phil. An old fool, to be guU'd thus ! had he died As I resolve to do, not to be alter'd, It had gone off twanging. /-• TT » & l^ces. How approve you, sweetest. Of the matter and the actors .-* Dom. For the subject', I like it not ; it was filch'd out of Horace. — Nay, I have read the poets. Cas. To your rest, love ; There is a business that I must despatch. And I will straight be with you. [Exeunt Domitia and her Attendants. Parth. Now, my dread sir. Endeavour to prevail. Cces. One way or other We '11 cure him, never doubt it. Now, Philargus, Thou wretched thing, hast thou seen thy sordid baseness. And but observed what a contemptible creature A covetous miser is } Dost thou in thyself Feel true compunction, with a resolution To be a new man.-* Phil. This crazed body 's Cajsar's ; But for my mind C(ES. Trifle not with my anger. Canst thou make good use of what was now pre- sented ; > Dom. For Ihe subject, J like it not ; it was fikWd out of Horace.] I differ from Domitia. There is uncommon spirit and beauty in this little interlude. The outline indeed, as the lady observes, is from Horace; but it is filled up with a masterly pencil Giffgrd. 384 SKLECTIONS FROM THE ROMAN ACTOR. And imitate, in tliy sudden change of life. The miserable rich man, that express'd What thou art to the life ? Phil. Pray you, give me leave To die as I have lived. I must not part with IMy gold ; it is my life : I am past cure. Cces. No ; by IMinerva, thou shalt never more Feel the least touch of avarice. Take him hence, And hang him instantly. If there be gold in hell, Enjoy it: — thine here, and thy life together, Is forfeited. Phil. Was I sent for to this purjiose .^ Parth. Alercy for all my service ; Ca;sar, mercy ! C;^t•llBRARYar .^tllBRAl XJ 10^ '^.ynjnv") V Y o -^' CI •'(^Aiivaaui'^' ^^OF-CALIf %Aavaai. ^v %a3^^'!l >- < OC .§ ■« 14 ^,VX•llBRARYQ^ s^jSMIB R iiim 11 If. 3 1158 01124 2269 :.