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THE WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 GEORGE CHAPMAN 
 
 PLAYS 
 
 EDITED WITH NOTES BY 
 
 RICHARD HERNE SHEPHERD 
 
 A NEW EDITION 
 
 iLontion 
 CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY 
 
 1889 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PACK 
 
 THE BLIND BEGGAR OF ALEXANDRIA i 
 
 AN HUMOROUS DAY'S MIRTH . . . C.2 
 
 ALL FOOLS . ..... 4-, 
 
 THE GENTLEMAN USHER . *% . v . . 78 
 
 MONSIEUR D'OLIVE . .113 
 
 BUSSY D'AMBOIS 140 
 
 THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS ,:/S 
 
 BYRON'S CONSPIRACY , -. . . 214 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF CHARLES DUKE OF BYRON . . .243 
 
 MAY-DAY , . 275 
 
 THE WIDOW'S TEARS * . . 307 
 
 THE MASK OF THE MIDDLE TEMPLE AND LINCOLN'S INN . 341 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF C^SAR AND POM.PEY 351 
 
 ALPHONSUS EMPEROR OF GERMANY 381 
 
 REVENGE FOR HONOUR 416 
 
 PLA YS WRITTEN IN CONJUNCTION WITH BEN JONSON, 
 MARSTON, AND SHIRLEY. 
 
 EASTWARD HO , 45* 
 
 Till-: BALI ' 486 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF PHILIP CHABG f , ADMIRAL OF FRANCE . 519 
 
The Blind Beggar of Alexandria.* 
 
 Enter Queen ^Egiale, lanthe her maid, 
 two councillors. 
 
 JEgi. Leave me awhile, my lords, and 
 
 wait for me 
 
 At the black fountain, by Osiris' grove, 
 I'll walk alone to holy Irus' cave, 
 Talking a little while with him and then 
 return. 
 
 [Exeunt omnes. Manet yEgiale. 
 lanthe, begone. 
 
 Now, Irus, let thy mind's eternal eye, 
 Extend the virtue of it past the Sun. 
 Ah ! my Cleanthes, where art thou be- 
 come? 
 But since I saved thy guiltless life from 
 
 death, 
 
 And turn'd it only into banishment, 
 Forgive me, love me, pity, comfort me. 
 
 Enter Irus the Beggar with Pego. 
 Pe. Master. 
 Ir. Pego. 
 
 Pe. Wipe your eyes and you had them. 
 Ir. Why, Pego. 
 Pe. The Queen is here to see your 
 
 blindness. 
 Ir. Her Majesty is welcome, Heavens 
 
 preserve, 
 
 And send her highness an immortal reign. 
 &gi. Thanks, reverent Irus, for thy 
 
 gentle prayer, 
 ' Dismiss thy man awhile and I will lead 
 
 thee, 
 
 For I have weighty secrets to impart. 
 Pe. Would I were blind that she might 
 
 lead me. [Exit. 
 
 &gi. Irus, thy skill to tell the drifts of 
 
 fate, 
 
 * " The Blinde begger of Alexandria, most 
 pleasantly discoursing his variable humours 
 in disguised shapes full of conceite and (lea- 
 sure. As it hath beene sundry times pubhckly 
 acted in London, by the right honorable the 
 Earle of Nottingham, Lord High Admirall his 
 seruantes. By George Chapman : Gentleman. 
 Imprinted at London for William lones, dwelling 
 at the signe of the Gun, neere Holburne Con- 
 duict. 1598." 
 VOL. T. 
 
 Our fortunes and things hid from sensual 
 
 eyes, 
 
 Hath sent me to thee for advertisement 
 Where Duke Cleanthes lives, that was 
 
 exiled 
 
 This kingdom for attempting me with love, 
 And offering stain to Egypt's royal bed. 
 
 Ir. I hope your majesty will pardon me, 
 
 If conscience make me utter what I think, 
 
 Of that high love-affairs 'twixt him and you. 
 
 &gi. I will, sweet Irus, being well 
 
 assured 
 
 That whatsoever thy sharp wisdom sees 
 In my sad frailty, thou wilt have regard 
 To my estate and name and keep it close. 
 Ir. Of that your highness may be well 
 
 assured : 
 
 Then I am bound, madam, to tell you this, 
 That you yourself did seek Cleanthes' 
 
 love, 
 
 And to aspire it, made away his Duchess, 
 Which he well knowing and affecting her 
 Dear as his life, denied to satisfy 
 That kindness offer'd 'twixt yourself and 
 
 him ; 
 
 Therefore did you in rage inform the Duke 
 He sought your love, and so he banish'd 
 
 him. 
 JRgi. Too true it is, grave Irus, thou 
 
 hast told : 
 But for my love's sake, which not gods 
 
 can rule, 
 Strike me no more of that wound yet too 
 
 green, 
 
 But only tell me where Cleanthes is, 
 That I may follow him in some disguise, 
 And make him recompence for all his 
 
 wrong. 
 
 Ir. Cleanthes is about this city oft, 
 With whom your majesty shall meet ere 
 
 long, 
 And speak with him, if you will use such 
 
 means 
 
 As you may use, for his discovery. 
 /Egi. What shall I use then, what is in 
 
 my power 
 
 I will not use for his discovery? 
 I'll bind the wings of love unto mine arms, 
 
THE BLIND BEGGAR OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 And like an eagle prying for her prey, 
 Will overlook the earth's round face for 
 
 him, 
 
 Were this sufficient. 
 
 Or I will Moorlike learn to swim and dive 
 Into the bottom of the sea for him, 
 Lest being the sun of Egypt, and now set, 
 Thetis in rage with love would ravish him, 
 Were this sufficient. 
 
 Ir. But, madam, this must be the like- 
 liest mean 
 To seek him out, and have him at your 
 
 will. 
 Let his true picture through your land be 
 
 sent, 
 Proposing great rewards to him that finds 
 
 him, 
 And threatening death to them that 
 
 succour him, 
 So I'll assure your grace shall meet with 
 
 him. 
 sRgi. Happy and blest be Irus for his 
 
 skill 
 
 He sweetly plants in my contentious mind, 
 For which, most reverent and religious 
 
 man, 
 
 I give this jewel to thee, richly worth 
 A quintal or an hundred weight of gold. 
 Bestow it as thou list on some good work, 
 For well I know thou nothing dost reserve 
 Of all thy riches men bestow on thee. 
 But wouldst thou leave this place and poor 
 
 man's life, 
 The Count of Egypt should embrace thy 
 
 feet, 
 
 And topless honours be bestow 'd on thee. 
 Jr. I thank your highness for thus rais- 
 ing me ; 
 
 But in this barrenness I am most renown 'd. 
 For wisdom and the sight of heavenly 
 
 things 
 Shines not so clear as earthly vanities. 
 
 ^E.gi. Most rich is Irus in his poverty ! 
 Oh, that to find his skill my crown were 
 
 lost; 
 
 None but poor Irus can of riches boast. 
 Now, my Cleanthes, I will straight advance 
 Thy lovely pictures on each monument 
 About the city and within the land. 
 Proposing twice five thousand crowns to 
 
 him 
 
 That finds him, to be tender'd by my hands, 
 And a kind kiss at my imperial lips. 
 To him that succours him I'll threaten 
 
 death, 
 
 But he that doth not succour him shall die, 
 For who is worthy life will see him want ? 
 To all his pictures when they be dispersed 
 Will I continual pilgrimages make, 
 
 ! As to the saints and idols I adore, 
 Where I will offer sighs, and vows, and tears. 
 And sacrifice a hecatomb of beast, 
 On several altars built where they are 
 
 placed, 
 
 By them shall Isis' statue gently stand, 
 And I'll pretend my jealous rites to her ; 
 But my Cleanthes shall the object be, 
 And I will kneel and pray to none but he. 
 
 \EacU. 
 Ir. See, Earth and Heaven, where her 
 
 Cleanthes is. 
 
 I am Cleanthes and blind Irus too, 
 And more than these, as you shall soon 
 
 perceive, 
 
 Yet but a shepherd's son at Memphis born ; 
 And I will tell you how I got that name. 
 My father was a fortune-teller and from 
 
 him I learnt his art, 
 And knowing to grow great, was to grow 
 
 rich, 
 
 Such money as I got by palmistry, 
 I put to use and by that means became 
 To take the shape of Leon, by which name, 
 I am well known a wealthy usurer, 
 And more than this I am two noblemen : 
 Count Hermes is another of my names, 
 And Duke Cleanthes whom the Queen so 
 
 loves. 
 
 For till the time that I may claim the crown, 
 I mean to spend my time in sports of love, 
 Which in the sequel you shall plainly see, 
 And joy, I hope, in this my policy. 
 
 Enter Pego, Elimine, Samathis, and 
 Martia, with their men Menippus, 
 Pollidor, and Druso. 
 
 Pe. Oh, master, here comes the three 
 
 wenches ! now strike it dead, for a 
 
 fortune. 
 
 Ir. These are the nymphs of Alexandria, 
 So call'd because their beauties are so rare. 
 With two of them at once am I in love 
 Deeply and equally ; the third of them, 
 My silly brother here as much affects, 
 Whom I have made the Burgomaster of 
 
 this rich town, 
 With the great wealth, I have bestow 'd on 
 
 him. 
 
 All three are maids kept passing warily, 
 Yet lately being at their father's house, 
 As I was Leon the rich usurer, 
 I fell in love with them, and there my 
 
 brother too, 
 
 This fitly chanceth that they have liberty 
 To visit me alone : now will I tell their 
 
 fortunes so 
 As may make way to both their loves at 
 
 once; 
 
THE BLIND BEGGAR OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 The one as I am Leon the rich usurer, 
 The other as I am the mad-brain Count, 
 And do the best too for my brother's love. 
 Pe. Thanks, good master brother, but 
 
 what are they 
 That talk with them so long? are they 
 
 wooers trow? 
 I do not like it, would they would come 
 
 near. 
 Jr. Oh, those are three servants that 
 
 attend on them ; 
 
 Let them alone, let them talk awhile. 
 Eli. Tell us, Menippus, Druso, and 
 
 Pollidor, 
 Why all our parents gave you three such 
 
 charge, 
 
 To wait on us and oversee us still, 
 What do they fear, think you, that we 
 
 would do ? 
 
 Me. Their fear is lest you should ac- 
 company 
 
 Such as love wanton talk and dalliance. 
 Eli. Why, what is wanton talk ? 
 Me, To tell you that were to offend 
 
 ourselves 
 And those that have forbidden you should 
 
 hear it. 
 Sa. Why, what is dalliance, says my 
 
 servant, then ? 
 Dru. You must not know, because you 
 
 must not dally. 
 
 Sa. How say you by that? well, do you 
 keep it from us, as much as you can, we'll 
 desire it nevertheless, I can tell ye. 
 Ma. Lord, what strait keepers of poor 
 
 maids are you, 
 
 You are so chaste you are the worse again. 
 Eli. Pray you, good servants, will you 
 
 do us the service, 
 To leave us alone awhile? 
 Me. We are commanded not to be from 
 
 you, 
 
 And therefore to leave you alone, 
 Were to wrong the trust your parents put 
 
 in us. 
 
 Ma. I cry you mercy, sir, yet do not 
 Stand all on the trust our parents put in 
 you, but put us in a little too, I pray. 
 Sa. Trust us, good servants, by ourselves \ 
 
 awhile. 
 Dru. Let us, my masters, and you say | 
 
 the word, 
 They'll but to Irus for to know their 
 
 fortunes, 
 
 And he's a holy man, all Egypt knows. 
 Me. Stay not too long, then, mistress, I 
 
 and content. 
 
 Eli. That's my good servant, we will 
 straight return. 
 
 Po. And you, mistress. 
 Ma. And I, trusty servant. 
 Po. Faith then I'll venture my charge 
 i among the rest. \Exeunt. 
 
 Ma. A mighty venture ! you shall be 
 | chronicled in Abraham's asses' catalogue 
 of coxcombs for your resolution. 
 
 Eli. Now the great fool take them all ! 
 Who could have pick'd out three such 
 
 lifeless puppies, 
 
 Never to venture on their mistresses. 
 Sa. One may see by them it is not meet 
 
 choice men should have offices. 
 Ma. A pretty moral ! work it in the sam- 
 pler of your heart. 
 Eli. But are we by ourselves ? 
 Ma. I think so, unless you have alone* 
 
 in your belly. 
 Eli. Not I, God knows ; I never came 
 
 where they grew yet, 
 
 Since we are alone let's talk a little merrily, 
 Methinks I long to know what wanton talk 
 
 and dalliance is. 
 
 Sa. I'll lay my life 'tis that my mother 
 uses when she and others do begin to talk, 
 and that she says to me, "Maid, get ye 
 hence, fall to your needle : what, a maid 
 and idle ?" 
 Ma. A maid and idle ! Why, maids must 
 
 be idle, but not another thing. 
 Sa. Then do not name it, for I fear 'tis 
 
 naught. 
 
 For yesterday I heard Menippus say 
 As he was talking with my mother's maid, 
 And I stood hearkening at the chamber 
 
 door, 
 That with that word a maid was got with 
 
 child. 
 
 Eli. How, with the very word ? 
 Sa. I mean with that the word seems to 
 
 express. 
 Ma. Nay, if you be so fine you will not 
 
 name it now, 
 
 We are all alone, you are much too nice. 
 Eli. Why, let her choose, let us two 
 
 name it. 
 
 Ma. Do then, Elimine. 
 Eli. Nay do you, Martia. 
 Ma. Why, woman, I dare. 
 Eli. Do then, I warrant thee. 
 Ma. I'll warrant myself, if I list, but 
 
 come let it alone, 
 Let us to Irus for our fortunes. 
 Eli. God save grave Irus ! 
 Ir. Welcome, beauteous nymphs. 
 Sa. How know you, Irus, we are beautiful, 
 And cannot see ? 
 
 * Sic in Orig. 
 
 B 2 
 
THE BLIND BEGGAR OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 Ir. Homer was blind, yet could he best 
 
 discern 
 
 The shapes of everything, and so may I. 
 Eli. Indeed, we hear your skill can 
 
 beautify 
 Beauty itself, and teach dames how to 
 
 deck 
 Their heads and bodies fittest to their 
 
 forms, 
 
 To their complexions and their coun- 
 tenances. 
 Ir. So can I, beauteous nymphs, and 
 
 make all eyes 
 
 Sparkle with love-fire from your excellence. 
 Eli. How think you we are tyred to 
 
 tempt men's looks. 
 Being thus nymphlike is it not too strange ? 
 
 Ir. It is the better so it doth become. 
 But that I may disclose to you your 
 
 fortunes, 
 
 Tell me first, Pego, their true faces' forms ? 
 Pe. Marry, sir, this that speaks to you 
 has a face thin like unto water gruel, but 
 yet it would do your heart good if you 
 could see it. 
 
 Ir. I know and see it better than thyself, 
 The blaze whereof doth turn me to a fire, 
 Burning mine entrails with a strong desire. 
 Eli. Why turn'st thou from us, Irus? 
 
 tell my fortune. 
 
 Ir. I wonder at the glory it presents 
 To my soul's health, that sees upon your 
 
 head 
 
 A coronet, and at your gracious feet, 
 Nobles and princes in their highest state, 
 Which state shall crown your fortune ere 
 
 you die, 
 And ere the heart of Heaven, the glorious 
 
 sun, 
 Shall quench his roseate fires within the 
 
 west, 
 
 You shall a husband have noble and rich. 
 Sa. Happy, Elimine, oh that I might 
 
 too. 
 Eli. Thanks for this news, good Irus, 
 
 but disclose 
 
 The means to this, if it be possible. 
 Ir. When you come home ascend your 
 
 father's tower, 
 
 If you see a man come walking by, 
 And looking up to you, descend, 
 And issue, for you shall have leave, 
 And if he woo you, choose him from the 
 
 world. 
 Though he seem humorous and want an 
 
 eye, 
 
 Wearing a velvet patch upon the same, 
 Choose him your husband, and be blest in 
 him. 
 
 Eli. I'll do as thou advisest, gentle Irus, 
 And proving this, I'll love thee whilst I 
 
 live. 
 
 Sa. My fortune now, sweet Irus. 
 Ir. What face hath this nymph, Pego ? 
 Pe. Marry, sir, a face made in form like 
 
 the ace of hearts. 
 
 Ir. And well compared, for she com- 
 mands all hearts ; 
 
 Equal in beauty with that other nymph, 
 And equally she burns my heart with love. 
 Sa. Say, say, sweet Irus, what my for- 
 tune is, 
 Thou turn'st from me, as when thou didst 
 
 admire 
 The happy fortune of Elimine. 
 
 Ir. So might I well, admiring yours 
 
 no less. 
 Then when the light-crown'd monarch of 
 
 the heavens 
 Shall quench his fire within the Ocean's 
 
 breast, 
 
 Rise you and to your father's garden hie, 
 There in an arbour do a banquet set, 
 And if there comes a man that of himself 
 Sits down, and bids you welcome to your 
 
 feast, 
 
 Accept him, for he is the richest man 
 That Alexandria or Egypt hath ; 
 And soon possessing him with all his 
 
 wealth, 
 
 In little time you shall be rid of him, 
 Making your second choice 'mongst mighty 
 
 kings. 
 Sa. Blest be thy lips, sweet Irus, and 
 
 that light 
 That guides thy bosom with such deep 
 
 foresight ! 
 Sleep shall not make a closet for these 
 
 eyes 
 
 All this succeeding night, for haste to rise. 
 Ma. My fortune now, sweet Irus, but 
 
 i'faith, 
 
 I have some wrong to be the last of all, 
 For I am old as they, and big enough 
 To bear as great a fortune as the best of 
 
 them. 
 
 Ir. What face hath this nymph, Pego? 
 Pe. Oh ! master, what face hath she 
 not? If I should beg a face, I would 
 have her face. 
 
 Ir. But is it round, and hath it ne'er a 
 
 blemish, 
 
 A mouth too wide, a look too impudent ? 
 Pe. Oh ! master, 'tis without all these, 
 and without all cry. 
 
 Ir. Round faces and thin-skinn'd are 
 
 happiest still. 
 And unto you, fair nymph, 
 
r 
 
 THE BLIND BEGGAR OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 Shall fortune be exceeding gracious too. 
 When the next morning therefore you 
 
 shall rise, 
 Put in your bosom rosemary, thyme, and 
 
 rue, 
 
 And presently stand at your father's door. 
 He that shall come offering kindness there, 
 And crave for favour those same wholesome 
 
 herbs, 
 
 Bestow them on him ; and if meeting him, 
 He keep the nuptial rosemary and thyme, 
 And tread the bitter rue beneath his feet, 
 Choose him your husband, and be blest in 
 
 him. 
 Ma. I will, sweet Irus ; nothing grieves 
 
 me now 
 
 But that Elimine this night shall have 
 Her happy husband, and I stay till morning. 
 Eli. Nought grieves me, Irus, but that 
 
 we are maids, 
 Kept short of all things, and have nought 
 
 to give thee ; 
 
 But take our loves, and in the wished proof 
 Of these high fortunes thou foretellest us, 
 Nothing we have shall be too dear for thee. 
 Sa. We that are sisters, Irus, by our vow, 
 Will be of one self blood and thankful 
 
 mind 
 To adore so clear a sight in one so blind. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 Ir. Farewell, most beauteous nymphs, 
 
 your loves to me 
 
 Shall more than gold or any treasure be. 
 Now to my wardrobe for my velvet gown ; 
 
 now doth the sport begin ; 
 Come, gird this pistol closely to my side, 
 By which I make men fear my humour 
 
 still, 
 And have slain two or three, as 'twere my 
 
 mood, 
 
 When I have done it most advisedly 
 To rid them as they were my heavy foes ; 
 Now am I known to be the mad-brain 
 
 Count, 
 Whose humours twice five summers I have 
 
 held, 
 
 And said at first I came from stately Rome, 
 Calling myself Count Hermes, and assuming 
 The humour of a wild and frantic man, 
 Careless of what I say or what I do ; 
 And so such faults as I of purpose do 
 Is buried in my humour and this gown I 
 
 wear 
 
 In rain, or snow, or in the hottest summer, 
 And never go nor ride without a gown, 
 Which humour does not fit my frenzy well, 
 
 Enter Pego, like a Burgomaster. 
 
 Pe. Ho\v now, master brother? 
 
 Ir. Oh, sir, you are very well suited. 
 Now, master Burgomaster, I pray you re- 
 member 
 
 To seize on all Antistenes his goods, 
 His lands and chattels, to my proper use, 
 As I am Leon, the rich usurer ; 
 The sun is down, and all is forfeited. 
 
 Pe. It shall be done, my noble Count. 
 
 Ir. And withal, sir, I pray you, forget 
 
 not your love 
 To-morrow morning, at her father's door. 
 
 Pe. Ah, my good Count, I cannot that 
 
 forget, 
 
 For still to keep my memory in order, 
 As I am Burgomaster, so love is my 
 recorder. {Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Elimine, above, on the walls. 
 
 Now see a morning in an evening rise, 
 The morning of my love and of my joy, 
 I will not say of beauty, that were pride ; 
 Within this tower I would I had a torch 
 To light, like Hero, my Leander hither. 
 Who shall be my Leander? Let me see, 
 Rehearse my fortune. 
 When you see one clad in a velvet gown, 
 And a black patch upon his eye, a patch, 
 Patch that I am, why, that maybe a patch 
 Of cloth, of buckram, or of fustian cloth, 
 Say, with a velvet patch upon his eye, 
 And so my thoughts may patch up love 
 
 the better ; 
 
 See, where he comes, the Count ; what, 
 girl, a countess ? 
 
 Enter Count. 
 
 See, see, he looks as Irus said he should : 
 Go not away, my love, I'll meet thee 
 
 straight. 
 Count. Oh, I thank you : I am much 
 
 beholding to you, 
 I saw her in the tower, and now she is 
 
 come down, 
 Luck to this patch and to this velvet gown, 
 
 Enter Elimine and Bragadino, a Spaniard, 
 
 following her. 
 Count. How now, shall I be troubled 
 
 with this rude Spaniard now ? 
 Brag. One word, sweet nymph. 
 Count. How now, sirrah, what are 
 
 you? 
 
 Brag. I am Signor Bragadino, the 
 martial Spaniardo, the aid of Egypt in 
 
 But hides my person's form from being i her present wars ; but, Jesu, what art thou 
 known, j that hast the guts of thy brains griped with 
 
 When I Cleanthes am to be descried. j such famine of knowledge not to know me? 
 
THE BLIND BEGGAR OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 Count. How now, sir ! I'll try the proof Brag. By thy sweet favour, 
 of your guts with my pistol, if you be so Count. Well, sir, go on. 
 saucy, sir. Brag. Sweet nymph, I love few words ; 
 
 Brag. Oh, I know him well : it is the \ you know my intent, my humour is in- 
 nide Count, the uncivil Count, the unstaid j sophistical and plain ; I am Spaniard a 
 Count, the bloody Count, the Count of all born, my birth speaks for my nature, my 
 Counts ; better I were to hazard the nature for your grace, and should you see 
 dissolution of my brave soul against an a whole battail ranged by my skill, you 
 
 host of giants than with this loose Count, 
 otherwise I could tickle the Count ; i'faith, 
 my noble Count, I do descend to the 
 craving of pardon love blinded me ; I 
 knew thee not. 
 
 Count. Oh, sir, you are but bonaventure, 
 not right Spanish, I perceive ; but do you 
 hear, sir, are you in love ? 
 
 Brag* Surely the sudden glance of this 
 lady nymph hath suppled my Spanish 
 disposition with love that never before 
 dreamt of a woman's concavity. 
 
 Count. A woman's concavity, 'sblood, 
 what's that ? 
 
 Brag. Her hollow disposition which you 
 see sweet nature will supply, or otherwise 
 stop up in her with solid or firm faith. 
 
 Count. Give me thy hand, we are lovers 
 both : shall we have her both ? 
 
 Brag. No, good sweet Count, pardon 
 me. 
 
 Count. Why then, thus it shall be ; we'll 
 strike up a drum, set up a tent, call people 
 together, put crowns apiece, let's rifle for 
 her. 
 
 Brag. Nor that, my honest Count. 
 
 Count. Why then, thus it shall be : we'll 
 AVOO her both, and him she likes best shall 
 lead her home through streets, holding her 
 by both her hands, with his face towards 
 her ; the other shall follow with his back 
 towards her, biting of his thumbs. How 
 sayest thou by this ? 
 
 Brag. It is ridiculous, but I am pleased ; 
 for, upon my life, I do know this, the 
 shame will light on the neck of the Count. 
 
 Count. Well, to it ; let's hear thee. 
 
 would commit your whole self to my affec- 
 tion ; and so, sweet nymph, I kiss your 
 hand. 
 
 Count. To see a whole battail, ha, ha, 
 ha ! what a jest is that ; thou shalt see a 
 whole battail come forth presently of me, 
 fa, fa, fa ! 
 
 Brag. Put up thy pistol, 'tis a most 
 dangerous humour in thee. 
 
 Count. Oh, is that all? why, see 'tis up 
 again : now thou shalt see 111 come to her 
 in thy humour. Sweet lady, I love sweet 
 words, but sweet deeds are the noble 
 sounds of a noble Spaniard, noble by 
 country, noble by valour, noble by birth ; 
 my very foot is nobler than the head of 
 another man ; upon my life I love, and 
 upon my love I live, and so, sweet nymph, 
 I kiss your hand ; why, lo, here we are both, 
 I am in this hand, and he is in that : handy 
 dandy prickly prandy, which hand will 
 you have ? 
 
 Eli. This hand, my lord, if I may 
 have my choice. 
 
 Count. Come, Spaniard, to your pe- 
 nance ; bite your thumbs. 
 
 Brag. Oh, base woman ! 
 
 Count. 'Sblood ! no base woman ; but 
 bite your thumbs quickly. 
 
 Brag. Honour commands ; I must do it. 
 
 Count. Come on, sweet lady, give me 
 your hands if you are mine, I am yours ; 
 if you take me now at the worst, I am the 
 more beholding to you, if I be not good 
 enough, I'll mend ; what would you more ? 
 
 Eli. It is enough, my lord, and I am 
 yours. 
 
 Brag. Sweet nymph, a Spaniard is Since I well know my fortune is to have 
 
 compared to the great elixir, or golden 
 medicine. 
 
 Count. What, dost thou come upon 
 her with medicines? Dost thou think 
 she is sore ? 
 
 Brag. Nay, by thy sweet favour, do not 
 interrupt me. 
 
 Count. Well, sir, go forward. 
 
 Brag. I say a Spaniard is like the 
 philosopher's stone. 
 
 Count. And I say another man's stone 
 may be as good as a philosopher's, at all 
 times. 
 
 you. 
 Now must I leave the pleasant maiden 
 
 chase, 
 
 In hunting savage beasts with Isis' nymphs, 
 And take me to a life* which 1, God knows, 
 Do know no more than how to scale the 
 
 heavens. 
 
 Count. Well, I'll teach you, fear not 
 you ; what, signior, not bite your thumbs? 
 Brag. Pardon me, sir, pardon me. 
 Count. By God's blood, I will not par- 
 don you ; therefore bite your thumbs. 
 Brag. By thy sweet let me speak one 
 
THE BLIND BEGGAR OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 word with thee : I do not like this humour 
 in thee in pistoling men in this sort, it is a 
 most dangerous and stigmatical humour ; 
 for, by thy favour, 'tis the most finest 
 thing of the world for a man to have a 
 most gentlemanlike carriage of himself, 
 for otherwise I do hold thee for the most 
 tall, resolute, and accomplished gentleman 
 on the face of the earth ; hark ye, we'll 
 meet at Corrucus, and we'll have a pipe of 
 tobacco. Adieu, adieu. 
 
 Count. Do you hear, sir? Put your 
 thumbs in your mouth without any more 
 ado; by the heavens, I'll shoot thee through 
 the mouth. 
 
 Brag. It is base and ridiculous. 
 
 Count. Well, thou shalt not do it ; lend 
 me thy thumbs, I'll bite them for thee. 
 
 Brag. Pardon me. 
 
 Count. 'Swounds and you had I would 
 have made such a woful parting betwixt 
 your fingers and your thumb, that your 
 Spanish fists should never meet again, in 
 this world. Will you do it, sir? 
 
 Brag. I will, I will ; presto and I will 
 follow thee. 
 
 Count. Why so ! Oh, that we had a noise 
 of musicians to play to this antic as we 
 go. Come on, sweet lady, give me your 
 hands, we'll to church and be married 
 straight ; bear with my haste now, I'll be 
 slow enough another time, I warrant you. 
 Come spaniola questo, questo, spaniola 
 questo. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter ^Egiale, Herald, Euribates, 
 Clearchus with a picture. 
 
 &gi. Advance that picture on this fatal 
 
 spring, 
 And Herald, speak, uttering the king's 
 
 edict. 
 
 He. Ptolemy, the most sacred king of 
 Egypt, first of that name, desiring peace 
 and amity with his neighbour princes, 
 hath caused this picture of Cleanthes to 
 be set up in all places, proposing great 
 rewards to him that finds him, and 
 threatening death to him that succours 
 him. 
 
 sgi. Which gods forbid, and put it in 
 
 his mind 
 
 Not so to stomach his unjust exile 
 That he convert the fury of his arm, 
 Against forsaken Egypt taking part, 
 With those four neighbour kings that 
 
 threaten him, 
 
 And have besieged his most Imperial town. 
 Clear. Now may it please your high- 
 ness to leave your discontented passions, 
 
 and take this morning's pride to hunt the 
 boar. 
 la. We have attended on your grace 
 
 thus far. 
 
 Out of the city, being glad to hear 
 Your highness had abandon'd discontent, 
 And now will bend yourself to merriment. 
 sEgi. So will I, lovely lanthe, come 
 
 then, 
 
 Let us go call forth sacred Isis' nymphs 
 To help us keep the game in ceaseless 
 
 view, 
 
 That to the busy brightness of his eyes 
 We may so intervent his shifts to 'scape 
 That giddy with his turning he may fall, 
 Slain with our beauties more than swords 
 
 or darts. 
 
 [Exit with a sound of horns. 
 
 Enter Leon with his sword. 
 
 Le. Now I am Leon, the rich usurer, 
 And here, according to the king's com- 
 mand 
 And mine own promise, I have brought my 
 
 sword, 
 
 And fix it by the statue she set up. 
 By this am I known to be Cleanthes, 
 Whose sudden sight I now will take upon 
 
 me, 
 
 And cause the nobles to pursue my shadow, 
 As for my substance they shall never find, 
 Till I myself do bring myself to light. 
 Cleanthes, Cleanthes ; stop, Cleanthes, see 
 
 Cleanthes, 
 Pursue Cleanthes, follow Cleanthes. 
 
 Enter three Lords with swords drawn. 
 
 ist Lord. Where is Cleanthes, Leon? 
 sawest thou him ? 
 Le. Ay, why should I else have thus 
 
 cried out on him? 
 I saw him even now, here did he fix his 
 
 sword, 
 
 And not for dastard fear or cowardice, 
 For know all Egypt rings of his renown, 
 But fearing for his noble service done, 
 To be rewarded with ingratitude, 
 He fled from hence fearing to be pursued. 
 znd Lord. Come on, my lords, then, let us 
 
 follow him, 
 
 And pursue him to the death. [Exeunt. 
 
 Le. O, do not hurt him, gentle citizens ! 
 
 See how they fly from him whom they 
 
 pursue, 
 
 I am Cleanthes, and whilst I am here, 
 In vain they follow for to find him out. 
 But here comes my love bright Samathis, 
 Whom I love equally with fair Elimine ; 
 See, here she comes, as I appointed her. 
 
THE BLIND BEGGAR OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 Enter Samathis and her maids "with a 
 banquet. 
 
 Jaquine. But i' faith, mistress, is this 
 
 for a wooer? 
 
 Sa. Not for a wooer only, my Jaquine, 
 But a quick speeder, girl ; for this is he, 
 That all my fortune runs upon, I tell thee. 
 Ja. Oh, dainty mistress, send for some 
 
 more banquet. 
 Sa. No, my fine wench, this and myself 
 
 is well. 
 And let him not sit down like the ox and 
 
 the ass, 
 But give God thanks, for we are worthy of 
 
 it, though we say't. 
 Ja. Mistress, 'tis true. And that he may 
 
 be good, 
 
 I conjure him by these three things a cross, 
 Now let him come he shall be good, I 
 
 warrant ye. 
 
 Le. Nay, do not fly me, gentle Samathis. 
 Sa. Pardon me, sir, for if I see a man, 
 I shall so blush still that I warrant you 
 I could make white wine claret with my 
 
 looks. 
 Le. But do not blush and fly an old 
 
 man's sight. 
 Sa. From whom if not from old men 
 
 should I fly ? 
 Le. From young men rather that can 
 
 swift pursue, 
 
 And then it is some credit to outgo them, 
 Yet though my years would have me old 
 
 I am not, 
 
 But have the gentle jerk of youth in me, 
 As fresh as he that hath a maiden's chin. 
 Thus can I bend the stiffness of my limbs, 
 Thus can I turn and leap and hoyse my 
 
 gate, 
 
 Thus can I lift my love as light as air. 
 Now say, my Samathis, am I old or young? 
 Sa. I would have my love neither old nor 
 
 young 
 
 But in the middle, just between them both. 
 Le. Fit am I then for matchless Samathis; 
 And will be bold to sit. For bachelors, 
 Must not be shamefaced when they meet 
 
 with maids ; 
 
 My sweet love, now let me entreat you sit, 
 And welcome you to your own banquet 
 
 here. 
 Sa. Even thus did Iras say that he 
 
 should say : 
 
 Then by your leave, sir, I will sit with you. 
 Le. Welcome as gold into my treasury. 
 And now will I drink unto my love, 
 With the same mind that drinking first 
 began to one another. 
 
 Sa. And what was that, I pray, sir ? 
 Le. I'll tell my love the first kind cause 
 
 of it, 
 And why 'tis used as kindness still amongst 
 
 us : 
 
 If it be used aright 'tis to this end, 
 When I do say " I drink this, love, to you," 
 I mean I drink this to your proper good, 
 As if I said " What health this wine doth 
 
 work in me ; 
 
 Shall be employ'd for you at your com- 
 mand and to your proper use ;" 
 And this was first th'intent of drinking 
 
 to you. 
 
 Sa. Tis very pretty, is it not, Jaquine ? 
 Ja. Oh ! excellent, mistress ; he's a 
 
 dainty man. 
 Le. Now to your use, sweet love, I drink 
 
 this wine, 
 And with a merry heart that makes long 
 
 life, 
 Over the cup I'll sing for my love's sake. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Health, fortune, mirth, and win*. 
 
 To thee, my love divine. 
 I drink to my darling, 
 
 Give me thy hand, sweeting. 
 With cup full ever plied. 
 And hearts full never dried. 
 Mine own, mine own dearest sweeting, 
 
 Oh, oh, mine own dearest sweeting. 
 
 What frolic, love ! mirth makes the banquet 
 
 sweet. 
 
 Sa. I love it, sir, as well as you love me. 
 Le. That is as well as I do love myself. 
 I will not joy, my treasure, but in thee, 
 And in thy looks I'll count it every hour, 
 And thy white arms shall be as bands to 
 
 me, 
 
 Wherein are mighty lordships forfeited ; 
 And all the dames of Alexandria 
 For their attire shall take their light from 
 
 thee. 
 Sa. Well, sir, I drink to you and pray 
 
 you think 
 
 You are as welcome to me as this wine. 
 Le. Thanks, gentle Samathis, but deli- 
 cious love, 
 
 Hath been the fig I eat before this wine, 
 Which kills the taste of these delicious 
 
 cates : 
 
 Will you bestow that banquet, love, on me ? 
 Sa. Nay, gentle Leon, talk no more of 
 
 love, 
 
 If you love God or a good countenance, 
 For I shall quite be out of countenance 
 
 then. 
 
THE BLIND BEGGAR OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 Le. Love decks the countenance, spirit- 
 
 eth the eye, 
 
 And tunes the soul in sweetest harmony: 
 Love then, sweet Samathis. 
 Sa. What shall I do, Jaquine ? 
 Ja. Faith, mistress, take him. 
 Sa. Oh, but he hath a great nose. 
 Ja. Tis no matter for his nose, for he 
 
 is rich. 
 Sa. Leon, I love, and since 'tis forth, 
 
 farewell. 
 Le. Then triumph, Leon, richer in thy 
 
 love, 
 
 Than all the heaps of treasure I possess : 
 Never was happy Leon rich before, 
 Nor ever was I covetous till now, 
 That I see gold so fined in thy hair. 
 Sa. Impart it to my parents, gentle 
 
 Leon, 
 
 And till we meet again at home, farewell. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Le. Soon will I talk with them and follow 
 
 thee, 
 
 So now is my desire accomplished. 
 Now was there ever man so fortunate 
 To have his love so sorted to his wish ? 
 The joys of many I in one enjoy. 
 Now do I mean to woo them crossly both, 
 The one as I am Leon the rich usurer, 
 The other as I am the mad -brain 
 
 Count. 
 
 Which if it take effect, and rightly prove, 
 Twill be a sport for any emperor's love. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Enter Ptolemy, ^Egiale, Doricles, Aspasia, 
 lanthe, Euphrosyne, Clearchus, Euri- 
 bates, with sound. 
 
 Pto. Prince of Arcadia, lovely Doricles, 
 Be not discouraged that my daughter here, 
 Like a well-fortified and lofty tower, 
 Is so repulsive and unapt to yield. 
 The royal siege of your heroic parts 
 In her achievement will be more renown'd, 
 And with the greater merit is employ'd. 
 The beauteous queen, my wife, her mother 
 
 here, 
 Was so well mann'd, and yet had never 
 
 man 
 
 So main a rock of chaste and cold dis- 
 dain. 
 JEgi. My lord, what mean ye? go, 
 
 Aspasia, 
 
 Send for some ladies to go play with you, 
 At chess, at billiards, and at other game ; 
 lanthe, attend her. 
 
 You take a course, my lord, to make her coy, 
 To urge so much the love of Doricles, 
 And frame a virtue of her wanton hate, 
 
 We must persuade her that he loves her 
 
 not, 
 
 But that his services and vows of love 
 Are but the gentle compliments of court, 
 So would she think that if she would have 
 
 loved, 
 She might have won him. And with that 
 
 conceit 
 
 Of hardness to be won, his merit's grace 
 Will shine more clearly, in her turning 
 
 eyes: 
 Things hard to win with ease makes love 
 
 incited, 
 And favours won with ease are hardly 
 
 quited ; 
 
 Then make as if you loved her not, my lord. 
 Do. Love that has built his temple on 
 
 my brows 
 
 Out of his battlements into my heart, 
 And seeing me to burn in my desire, 
 Will be I hope appeased at the last. 
 
 . Be ruled by me yet, and I warrant 
 
 you 
 
 She quickly shall believe you love her not. 
 Do. What shall I do, madam ? 
 &gi. Look not on her so much. 
 Do. I cannot choose, my neck stands 
 
 never right, 
 
 Till it be turn'd aside and I behold her. 
 sEgi. Now trust me such a wry-neck 'd 
 
 love was never seen, 
 
 But come with me, my lord, and I'll in- 
 struct you better. 
 Pto. So, madam, I leave you; now from 
 
 our love-sports, 
 To Antistenes and his great suit with Leon. 
 
 Enter Antistenes, Leon, and Burgo- 
 master. 
 
 See the Burgomaster, Antistenes. and Leon 
 come together. Stay, master Burgo- 
 master, what reason made you use your 
 office on the Lord Antistenes, seizing on 
 all his moveables and goods at the suit of 
 Leon? 
 
 Pe. I will tell your grace the reason of 
 it or anything else ; for I know you are a 
 wise prince, and apt to learn. 
 
 Pto. I thank you for your good opinion, 
 sir ; but the reason of your office done upon 
 this nobleman and his lands ? 
 
 Pe. The reason why I have put in office 
 or execution my authority upon this noble- 
 man consisteth in three principal points or 
 members, which indeed are three goodly 
 matters. 
 
 Pto. I pray you let's hear them. 
 
 Pe. The first is the credit of this honest 
 man, because he is rich. 
 
THE BLIND BEGGAR OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 Plo. Why is he honest because he is rich ? 
 Pe. Oh, I learn that in any case ; the 
 next is the forfeit of his assurance, and the 
 last I will not trouble your grace withal. 
 
 An. But this it is whereof I most com- 
 plain unto your grace, that having occasion 
 in your grace's service, to borrow money 
 of this Leon here, for which I mortgaged 
 all my lands and goods, he only did agree 
 that paying him four thousand pound at 
 the day I should receive my statute safely, 
 Which now not only falsely he denies, 
 But that he hath received one penny due, 
 Which this my friend can witness I repaid, 
 Upon the Stone of Irus the blind man, 
 Four thousand pound in jewels and in gold, 
 And therefore crave I justice in this case. 
 Le. Vouchsafe, dread sovereign, an un- 
 
 partial ear 
 
 To that I have to say for my reply. 
 He pleads the payment of four thousand 
 
 pound 
 
 Upon the stone before blind Irus' cave. 
 To which I answer and do swear by heaven, 
 He spake with me at the aforesaid place, 
 And promised payment of four thousand 
 
 pound, 
 
 If I would let him have his statutes in, 
 And take assurance for another thousand, 
 Some three months to come or thereabouts. 
 Which I refusing he repaid me none, 
 But parted in a rage and cared not for me. 
 Gen. Oh monstrous ! who ever heard 
 
 the like ? 
 
 My lord, I will be sworn he paid him, 
 On poor Irus' stone four thousand pound, 
 Which I did help to tender ; and hast thou 
 A hellish conscience and such a brazen 
 
 forehead, 
 
 To deny it against my witness, 
 And his noble word? 
 
 Le. Sir, against your witness and his 
 
 noble word 
 
 I plead mine own and one as good as his, 
 That then was present at our whole con- 
 ference. 
 An. My lord, there was not any but 
 
 ourselves : 
 But who was it that thou affirm 'st was 
 
 there ? 
 Le. Count Hermes, good my lord, a 
 
 man well known, 
 
 Though he be humorous, to be honourable. 
 Pto. And will he say it ? 
 Le. He will, my gracious lord, I am 
 
 well assured, 
 
 And him will I send hither presently, 
 Entreating your gracious favour if the im- 
 pediment 
 
 Of a late sickness cause me not return, 
 For I am passing ill. 
 
 Pto. Well, send him hither and it shall 
 suffice. 
 
 Le. I will, my gracious lord, and stand 
 To any censure passing willingly, 
 Your highness shall set down or command 
 Worshipful master Burgomaster, your 
 
 officer, 
 To see perform'd betwixt us. [Exit. 
 
 Pe. We thank you heartily ; alas, poor 
 
 soul, 
 
 How sick he is ! 
 
 Truly I cannot choose but pity him, 
 In that he loves your gracious officers. 
 
 Enter Count. 
 
 Pto. Oh, I thank you, sir. 
 Count. King, by your leave, and yet I 
 need not ask leave, because I am sent for ; 
 if not, I'll begone again, without leave. 
 Say, am I sent for, yea or no ? 
 
 Pto. You are to witness 'twixt Antistenes 
 and wealthy Leon. 
 
 Count. I know the matter, and I come 
 from that old miser Leon, who is suddenly 
 fallen sick of a knave's evil ; which of you 
 are troubled with that disease, masters ? 
 
 Pto. Well, say what you know of the 
 matter betwixt them. 
 
 Co^tnt. Then thus I say : my Lord Anti- 
 stenes came to the stone of the blind fool 
 Irus, that day when four thousand pounds 
 were to be paid, where he made proffer of 
 so much money if Leon would return the 
 mortgage of his lands, and take assurance 
 for another thousand to be paid I trow 
 I some three months to come or thereabout ; 
 ' which Leon, like an old churl as he was, 
 i most uncourteously refused : my Lord 
 Antistenes, as he might very well, departed 
 in a rage ; but if it had been to me I 
 would have pistoled him, i'faith. 
 
 An. But you are wondrously deceived, 
 
 my lord, 
 And was not by when he and we did 
 
 talk. 
 
 Count. 'Swounds, then I say you are de- 
 ceived, my lord, 
 For I was by now, by my honour and by 
 
 all the gods. 
 An. Then you. stood close, my lord, 
 
 unseen to any. 
 Count. Why, I stood close to you and 
 
 seen of all, 
 
 And if you think I am too mad a fellow 
 To witness such a weighty piece of work, 
 The holy beggar shall perform as much, 
 For he was by at our whole conference. 
 
THE BLIND BEGGAR OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 Pto. But say, Count Hermes, was the 
 
 beggar by ? 
 Count. I say he was and he shall say he 
 
 was. 
 Eu. But he is now they say lock'd in 
 
 his cave, 
 
 Fasting and praying, talking with the gods, 
 And hath an iron door'twixt him and you: 
 How will you then come at him ? 
 
 Count. I'll fetch him from his cave in 
 spite of all his gods and iron doors, or 
 beat him blind when as I do catch him 
 next. Farewell, my lords, you have done 
 with me. I'll send the beggar presently, for 
 I am now riding to Corrucus. {Exit. 
 
 Pto. 1 know not what to think in these 
 
 affairs: 
 
 I cannot well condemn you, my lord, 
 And your sufficient witness, being a gentle- 
 man, 
 
 Nor yet the other two, both men of credit, 
 Though in his kind this Count be hu- 
 morous ; 
 
 But stay, we shall hear straight what Irus 
 will depose. 
 
 Enter Irus. 
 
 //-. Oh, who disturbs me in my holy 
 
 prayers ? 
 
 Oh that the king were by that he might hear, 
 What thundering there is at my farther 
 
 door, 
 Oh, how the good of Egypt is disturb'd in 
 
 my devotion ! 
 Pto. I am here, Irus, and it was Count 
 
 Hermes 
 
 That was so rude to interrupt thy prayers, 
 But I suppose the end of thy repair, 
 Being so weighty could not have displeased, 
 For on thy witness doth depend the living 
 Of Lord Antistenes, who doth affirm 
 That three days past he tender 'd at thy 
 
 stone 
 
 Four thousand pounds to Leon, and de- 
 sired 
 
 His mortgage quitted, which he promising 
 On such assurance, more as he proposed, 
 Received at that time his four thousand 
 
 pounds. 
 Ir. I then was in the hearing of them 
 
 both, 
 
 But heard no penny tender'd, only pro- 
 mised 
 By Lord Antistenes, if he would bring him 
 
 in 
 His mortgage, and take assurance for 
 
 another thousand 
 
 Some three months to come, or there- 
 abouts, 
 
 Which Leon most uncourteously refused. 
 My lord was angry, and I heard no more, 
 And thus must I crave pardon of your 
 grace. {Exit. 
 
 Pto. Farewell, grave Irus. 
 An. Gods are become oppressors of the 
 
 right. 
 
 Eu. Never had right so violent a wrong. 
 For let the thunder strike me into hell, 
 If what I have reported be not true. 
 Pto. This holy man no doubt speaks 
 
 what he heard, 
 
 And I am sorry for Antistenes. 
 But I'll relieve your low estate, my lord, 
 And for your service done me, guerdon 
 
 you. 
 Master Burgomaster, let the lord have 
 
 liberty, 
 And I will answer Leon what is due. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Elimine, Martia, Samathis. 
 
 Eli. Soft, Mistress Burgomaster, pray 
 
 you stay, 
 
 Your heart is greater than your person far, 
 Or your state either ; do we not know ye, 
 
 trow ? 
 What woman you are but a Burgomaster's 
 
 wife, 
 
 And he no wiser than his neighbours neither? 
 Give me the place according to my calling. 
 
 Ala. What skill for places, do we not all 
 call sisters ? 
 
 Eli. No, by my faith, I am a countess 
 
 now, 
 
 I should have one to go before me bare, 
 And say "stand by there" to the best of 
 
 them, 
 
 And one to come behind and bear my train, 
 Because my hands must not be put unto it. 
 My husband is a lord, and past a lord. 
 
 Sa. And past a lord ; what is that past, 
 I pray ? 
 
 Eli. Why, he's a what-you-call't. 
 
 Ma. A what-you-call't? Can you not 
 name it ? 
 
 Eli. I think I must not name it. 
 
 Sa. And why so, I pray? 
 
 Eli. Because it comes so near a thing 
 that I know. 
 
 Ma. Oh, he is a Count, that is, an Earl. 
 
 Sa. And yet he is not known to have 
 much land. 
 
 Eli. Why, therefore he is an unknown 
 man. 
 
 Ma. Ay, but my husband is the king's 
 officer. 
 
 Sa. Ay, but my husband is able to 
 buy both yours. 
 
12 
 
 THE BLIND BEGGAR OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 L 
 
 Eli. You say husband I may say my lord. 
 Ma. And methinks husband is worth ten 
 of lord. 
 Eli. Indeed, I love my lord to call me 
 
 wife 
 
 Better than madam, yet do I not mean 
 To lose my lady's titles at your hands ; 
 I may for courtesy, and to be term'd 
 A gentle lady, call you sisters still, 
 But you must say, "and, please your 
 
 ladyship, 
 'Tis thus and so," and, "as your honour 
 
 please," 
 Yet shall my husband call me wife, like 
 
 yours ; 
 For why made God the husband and the 
 
 wife 
 But that those terms should please us more 
 
 than others ? 
 
 New-fashion terms I like not ; for a man 
 To call his wife cony, forsooth, and lamb : 
 And pork, and mutton, he as well may say. 
 Ma. Well, madam, then, and please 
 
 your ladyship, 
 What gownsand head-tires will yourhonour 
 
 wear? 
 
 Eli. Twenty are making for me, head- 
 tires and gowns, 
 
 Head-tires enchased, in order like the stars, 
 With perfit, great, and fine-cut precious 
 
 stones ; 
 
 One hath bright Ariadne's crown in it, 
 Even in the figure it presents in heaven ; 
 Another hath the fingers of Diana, 
 And Berenice's ever-burning hair ; 
 Another hath the bright Andromeda 
 With both her silver wrists bound to a rock, 
 And Perseus that did loose her and save 
 
 her life, 
 
 All set in number and in perfect form, 
 Even like the Asterisms fix'd in heaven ; 
 And even as you may see in moonshine 
 
 nights, 
 The moon and stars reflecting on their 
 
 streams, 
 So from my head shall you see stars take 
 
 beams. 
 
 Ma. Oh, brave ! God willing, I will 
 have the like. 
 
 Sa. And so will I, by God's grace, if I 
 live. 
 
 Eli. Come up to supper, it will become 
 the house wonderful well. 
 
 Ma. Well, if my husband will not, let 
 him not look for one good look of me. 
 Sa. Nor mine, I swear. 
 Ma. I'll ask my husband when I am 
 
 with child, 
 And then I know I shall be sped, i'faith. 
 
 Eli. But every pleasure hath a pain, 
 
 they say ; 
 
 My husband lies each other night abroad. 
 Sa. And so doth mine, which I like but 
 
 little. 
 Ma. Well, time, I hope, and change of 
 
 company 
 
 Will teach us somewhat to bear out the 
 absence. [Exit. 
 
 Eli. I know not what to say: 
 My husband makes as if each other night 
 
 he had occasion 
 To ride from home : at home serves not 
 
 his turn ; 
 To my good turn it, Cupid, I beseech you. 
 
 Enter Leon, and ~Dmso following him. 
 
 Le. Now will I try to make myself, the 
 
 Count, 
 
 An arrant cuckold and a wittol too. 
 Dru. Now may I chance to prove a 
 
 cunning man, 
 And tell my mistress where my master 
 
 haunts. 
 Le. Bright nymph, I come in name of 
 
 all the world 
 That now sustains dead winter in the 
 
 spring, 
 
 To have a graces from thy summer darted. 
 Thy love, sweet soul, is all that I desire, 
 To make a general summer in this heart, 
 Where winter's double wrath hath tyran- 
 nized. 
 Eli. How dare you, Leon, thus solicit 
 
 me, 
 Where if the Count my husband should 
 
 come now, 
 
 And see you courting you were sure to die ? 
 Le. Oh, but he is safe, for at my house, 
 Booted and spurr'd and in his velvet gown, 
 He took his horse and rode unto Corrucus, 
 And therefore, beauteous lady, make not 
 
 strange 
 
 To take a friend and add unto thy joys 
 Of happy wedlock : the end of every act 
 Is to increase contentment and renown, 
 Both which my love shall amply joy in you. 
 Eli. How can renown ensue an act of 
 
 shame? 
 
 Le. No act hath any shame within itself, 
 But in the knowledge and ascription 
 Of the base world, from whom shall this 
 
 be kept, 
 
 As in a labyrinth or a brazen tower. 
 Eli. But virtue's sole regard must hold 
 
 me back. 
 Le. The virtue of each thing is in the 
 
 praise, 
 And I will rear thy praises to the skies. 
 
THE BLIND BEGGAR OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 Out of my treasury choose the choice of 
 
 ' gold, 
 Till thou find some matching thy hair in 
 
 brightness, 
 But that will never be, so choose thou 
 
 ever. 
 Out of my jewelry, choose thy choice of 
 
 diamonds, 
 Till thou find some as brightsome as thine 
 
 eyes, 
 
 But that will never be, so choose thou ever. 
 Choose rubies out until thou match thy 
 
 lips, 
 
 Pearl till thy teeth, and ivory till thy skin 
 Be match'd in whiteness, but that will 
 
 never be. 
 
 Nor never shall my treasury have end, 
 Till on their beauties ladies loathe to spend ; 
 But that will never be, so choose thou ever. 
 Eli. Now what a God's name would 
 
 this vain man have ? 
 
 Do you not shame to tempt a woman thus ? 
 I know not what to say, nor what to do ; 
 He would have me do that I fear I should 
 
 not, 
 Something it is he seeks that he thinks 
 
 good, 
 And methinks he should be more wise 
 
 than I ; 
 
 I am a foolish girl, though I be married, 
 And know not what to do, the gods do 
 
 know. 
 Le. Are you content, sweet love, to grant 
 
 rne love ? 
 
 Eli. And what then, sir? 
 Le. To grant me lodging in your house 
 
 this night ? 
 Eli. I think the man be weary of his 
 
 life; 
 
 Know you the Count my husband ? 
 Le. Marvellous well, and am assured of 
 
 him. 
 
 Eli. Faith, thatyouare, as sure as I myself: 
 So you did talk of gold and diamonds. 
 Le. Ay, and gold and diamonds shall 
 
 my sweet love have. 
 Eli. Well, I'll not bid you, sir, but if you 
 
 come, 
 
 At your own peril, for I'll wash my hands. 
 {Offer to go out. 
 
 Le. A plague of all sanguine simplicity ! 
 Eli. But do you hear, sir, pray you do 
 not think that I granted you in any case. 
 Le. No, I warrant you I'll have no such 
 
 thought. 
 
 Oh, this is old excellent. 
 Now who can desire better sport? 
 This night my other wife must lie alone, 
 And next night this wife must do the like. 
 
 Now will I woo the other as the Count, 
 Which if she grant and they do break their 
 
 troth, 
 
 I'll make myself a cuckold 'twixt them both. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Dru. I'll follow him until he take the 
 
 earth, 
 And then I'll leave him. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Samathis alone. 
 
 Sa. Now if my husband be not all alone, 
 He is from home and hath left me alone, 
 So I must learn to lie, as children go, 
 All alone, all alone, which lesson now 
 I am able to bear a child is worse to me 
 Than when I was a child ; the moral this, 
 Strength without health a disadvantage is. 
 
 Enter Druso. 
 
 Dru. Mistress, what will you say if I 
 can tell you where my master is ? 
 Sa. Where, Druso, I pray thee ? 
 Dru. Even close with the young countess 
 i'faith. 
 Sa. Out on her, strumpet ; doth she brag 
 
 so much 
 Of her great Count, and glad to take my 
 
 husband ? 
 Hence comes her head-tires and her fair 
 
 gowns, 
 Her train borne up and a man bare before 
 
 her. 
 Was this my fortune that should be so 
 
 good? 
 I'faith, you beggar you, you old false 
 
 knave, 
 
 You holy villain, you prophetic ass, 
 Know you no better what shall come to 
 
 pass? 
 
 I'll be revenged i'faith, i'faith I'll be re- 
 venged. [Exit. 
 
 Enter ^Egiale with the guard. 
 . Oh, Irus, shall thy long approved 
 
 Fail in my fortunes only, when shall I meet 
 With my Cleanthes? What a world of 
 
 time, 
 
 Is it for me to lie as in a swound. 
 Without my life Cleanthes ! can it be, 
 That I shall ever entertain again, 
 Having the habit of cold death in me, 
 My life, Cleanthes? 
 
 Count [knock within]. Let me come in, 
 you knaves, I say let me come in. 
 
 ist Guard. Sir, we are set to guard this 
 place as our lives, and none without a 
 warrant from the King or the Queen must 
 enter here. 
 
THE BLIND BEGGAR OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 Count. 'Swounds, tell not me of your 
 warrants ; let me come in, I say. 
 
 ist Guard. My lord, we are commanded 
 to keep out all comers, because of the 
 branch wherein the king's life remains. 
 
 Count. Let me come in, you knaves ; how 
 dare you keep me out ? 'Twas my gown to a 
 mantle of rug, I had not put you all to the 
 pistol. 
 
 ^gl. Shall we be troubled now with 
 this rude Count ? 
 
 Count. How now, Queen ! what art 
 thou doing ? passioning over the picture of 
 Cleanthes, I am sure ; for I know thou 
 lovest him. 
 
 sEgi. What's that, you traitor ? 
 
 Count. No traitor neither, but a true 
 friend to you, for had I been otherwise I 
 should have disclosed the secret talk thou 
 hadst with Cleanthes in the arbour, the 
 night before he was banished, whilst I 
 stood close and heard all. 
 
 ^Egi. The man is mad : chains and a 
 whip for him ! 
 
 Count. Be patient, my wench, and I'll 
 tell thee the very words: "Oh! my 
 Cleanthes, love me, pity me, hate me not 
 for love, and it is not lust that hath made 
 me thus importunate, for then there are 
 men enough besides Cleanthes." Go to, 
 tell me, were not these your words, and I 
 like no traitor to you, but a trusty friend ? 
 Now by this pistol, which is God's angel, 
 I never uttered them till now. 
 
 ALgi. I spake them not ; but had you 
 
 been so bad 
 As some men are, you might have said as 
 
 much 
 
 By fictions only, therefore I must needs 
 Think much the better of you to conceal it. 
 
 Count. Oh, you're a cunning wench, and 
 am not I a mad slave to have such virtue 
 as secrecy in me and none never looked for 
 any such thing at my hands ? and here's a 
 branch forsooth of your little son turned to 
 a Mandrake tree, by Hella the sorceress. 
 
 sEgi. 'Tis true, and kills me to remember 
 it. 
 
 Count. Tut, tut, remember it and be 
 wise ; thou wouldst have Cleanthes come 
 again, wouldst thou not ? 
 
 s&gi. The king is so advised to give him 
 death. 
 
 Count. The king ! come, come, 'tis you 
 rule the king. Now, would any wise 
 woman in the world be so hunger-starved 
 for a man, and not use the means to have 
 him ? Think'st thou Cleanthes will come 
 again to have his head chopped off so soon 
 
 as he comes ? but had you plucked up this 
 branch wherein the king thy husband's life 
 consists and burnt it in the fire, his old 
 beard would have stunk for't in the grave 
 ere this, and then thou shouldst have seen 
 whether Cleanthes would have come unto 
 thee or no. 
 
 j&gi. Oh, execrable counsel ! 
 Count. Go to, 'tis good counsel, take the 
 grace of God before your eyes, and follow 
 it : to it, wench, coraggio ; I know I have 
 gotten thee with child of a desire, and thou 
 long'st but for a knife to let it out ; hold, 
 there 'tis ; serve God and be thankful . N ow, 
 you knaves, will you let me come out, 
 trow? 
 
 ij/ Guard. Please your lordship to be- 
 stow something on us, for we are poor 
 knaves. 
 
 Count. Hark you, be even knaves still, 
 and if you be poor long, you're foolish 
 knaves, and so I'll leave you. 
 
 2nd Guard. Nay, 'swounds, my lord ; no 
 knaves neither. 
 
 Count. Then he was a knave that told 
 
 me so ; what dost thou tell me that ? [Exit. 
 
 /Egi. This serpent's counsel stings me 
 
 to the heart, 
 Mounts to my brain, and binds my prince 
 
 of sense, 
 
 My voluntary motion and my life, 
 Sitting itself triumphing in their thrones, 
 And that doth force my hand to take this 
 
 knife, 
 That bows my knees and sets me by thy 
 
 branch, 
 
 Oh ! my Diones, oh ! my only son, 
 Canst thou now feel the rigour of a knife ? 
 No, thou art senseless, and I'll cut thee up, 
 I'll shroud thee in my bosom safe from 
 
 storms, 
 And trust no more my trustless guard with 
 
 thee. 
 
 Come then, return unto thy mother's arms, 
 And when I pull thee forth to serve the 
 
 fire, 
 
 Turn thyself wholly into a burning tongue 
 Invoking furies and infernal death, 
 To cool thy torments with thy father's 
 
 breath. 
 
 Enter Elimine and Samathis. 
 
 Sa. Now, madam countess, do you make 
 account 
 
 To take up husbands by your countess- 
 ship? 
 
 Have you the broad seal for it, are you so 
 high, 
 
 And stoop to one so low as is my husband ? 
 
THE BLIND BEGGAR OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 Hence come your head-tires and your costly 
 
 gowns, 
 Your train borne up and a man bare before 
 
 you, 
 Now fie on pride when women go thus 
 
 naked ! 
 
 I ever thought that pride would have a fall, 
 But little thought it would have such a fall. 
 Eli. What fall, I pray you ? 
 Sa. There you lay last, forsooth, there 
 you lay last. 
 
 Eli. Be not so angry, woman ; you are 
 deceived. 
 
 Sa. 1 know I am deceived, for thou 
 
 deceivedst me, 
 Thou mightest as well have pick'd my 
 
 purse, I tell thee ; 
 "Oh," would my mother say, "when you 
 
 have a husband, 
 
 Keep to him only ;" but now one may see 
 How horrible a thing it is to change, 
 Because it angers one so horribly, 
 You must have ushers to make way before 
 
 you. 
 
 Eli. The dame is mad : I'll stay no 
 
 longer with her. \Exit Elimine. 
 
 Sa. Well, madam short-heels, I'll be 
 
 even with you, 
 See, where the mad -brain Count, her 
 
 husband, conies. 
 
 Enter Count. 
 
 Sa. I will begone. 
 
 Count. Here, you usurer's wife, stay a 
 on you, stay ; whither go you so 
 "? Why, did I ever hurt any of your 
 sex yet ? 
 
 Sa. Why no, my lord. 
 
 Count. Why no, my lord why the devil 
 do you turn tail when you should not? 
 When you should, you will not be half so 
 hasty. A man must love you, woo you, 
 spend upon you, and the devil of one of 
 you is worthy to kiss the hem of my riding- 
 gown here. 
 
 Sa. Is this your riding-gown, my lord ? 
 
 Count. Tis no matter what it is, talk 
 not to me : what the devil did I mean to 
 call thee back again ? 
 
 Sa. Why, my lord, I mean not to trouble 
 you. 
 
 Count. Go to, stay, I say, 'tis against 
 my will that I use you so kindly, I can tell 
 you. 
 
 Sa. Why, you may choose, my lord. 
 
 Count. Ay, but I cannot choose : there 
 you lie now ; 'tis love, forsooth, that entails 
 me to you, for if it had not been for love, 
 I had not been here now ; for the gods do 
 
 know I hold thee dearer than the pome- 
 granate of mine eye, and that's better, by 
 threepence, than the apple of mine eye. 
 
 Sa. My lord, I am sorry for your hea'vi- 
 ness. 
 
 Count. Nay, 'tis no matter. I am not 
 the first ass that hath borne Cupid's 
 treasury. 
 
 Sa. My lord, 'tis enough to make an ass 
 wise to bear treasure. 
 
 Count. Why then, be you that wise ass, 
 and bear me, for I have some treasure 
 about me : will you love me ? 
 
 Sa. Love you, my lord? It is strange 
 you will ask it. 
 
 Count. I am not the first hath desired 
 you. 
 
 Sa. Nor you shall not be the last I will 
 refuse. 
 
 Count. Nor are you the fairest I have 
 seen. 
 
 Sa. Nor the foulest you have loved. 
 
 Cuunt. Nor the fittest to be beloved. 
 
 Sa. Nor the unfittest to hate. 
 
 Count. Do and you dare, but, sirrah, 
 and thou wilt not love, I pray thee be 
 proud. 
 
 Sa. Why so, my lord ? 
 
 Count. Because I would have thee fall, 
 for pride must have a fall. 
 
 Sa. Do you delight in my fall so much ? 
 
 Count. As much as in mine own rising, 
 i'faith ; but do not you think it strange 
 that I do love you ; for before I did love 
 you, Cupid pricked me a Spanish leather 
 jerkin with shooting at me, and made it so 
 full of holes that I was fain to leave it off, 
 and this loss have I had for your sake. 
 
 Sa. My lord, I'll bestow an old jerkin 
 on you. 
 
 Count. Nay, that shall not serve your 
 turn, for I have had a greater loss than 
 that : I lost my left eye for your sake. 
 
 Sa. I do not think so. 
 
 Count. Ay, but I'll tell you how : as I 
 was hunting in the park, I saw Cupid 
 shooting a cockhye into your face, and 
 gazing after his arrow, it fell into mine eye. 
 
 Sa. A pretty fiction. 
 
 Count. But I find this no fiction, and 
 you shall make me amends with love, 
 or by this patch of mine eye, and the patch 
 thou wottest where, I will swear to all the 
 city I have lain with thee. 
 
 Sa. I hope your lordship will not do me 
 that wrong. 
 
 Count. Then do you me right, and let 
 me lie with you ; I have made the bottle- 
 nosed knave your husband so drunk that 
 
i5 
 
 THE BLIND BEGGAR OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 he is not able to stand ; go, get you home, 
 I'll follow you. 
 
 Sa. Why, my lord, what will you do 
 there ? 
 
 Count. Go to, make no more questions, 
 but say I shall be welcome ; or, by mine 
 honour, I'll do as I say ; otherwise, be as 
 secret as death. 
 
 Sa. Twenty to one he will : well, my 
 lord, if you come, you come. 
 
 Count. Oh, I thank you heartily ; oh, 
 excellent, or never trust me. 
 
 Enter Menippus and Elimine. 
 
 Me. Madam, your honour is come some- 
 what too soon. 
 
 Eli. Why so, Menippus ? 
 
 Me. Had you stayed never so little 
 longer, you should have met my lord 
 coming out of Leon's house, and out of 
 his moveables. 
 
 Eli. How, out of his moveables ? 
 
 Me. Even in plain troth, I see him woo 
 her, win her, and went in with her. 
 
 Eli. Now, of mine honour, I will be 
 revenged. Fetch me the Burgomaster, 
 Menippus ; I'll have them both whipped 
 about the town. 
 
 Me. Nay, madam, you must not dis- 
 honour him so. 
 
 Eli. What shall mine honour do, then? 
 
 Me. Do but tongue-whip him, madam, 
 
 and care not, 
 
 And so I leave him to the mercy of your 
 tongue. 
 
 Eli. My tongue shall have hell, and no 
 mercy in it. 
 
 Enter the Count. 
 
 Count. Excellent music, excellent music. 
 
 Eli. And the devil take the instrument ! 
 
 Count. What, art thou so nigh? 
 
 Eli. Ay, and it were a good deed to be 
 a little nigher too ; you make a Count ass 
 of me, indeed, as if I were too little for 
 you ; but bigness is my fault, unless I were 
 a little better used at your hands. 
 
 Count. Why, thou wilt be too perfit if I 
 should use thee much, fov use makes per- 
 fitness. 
 
 Eli. Ay, but I cannot be too perfit, and 
 therefore I'll spoil her perfections that 
 helps to spoil mine, I warrant her. 
 
 Count. Why may not I lie with her, as 
 well as thou layest with her husband ? 
 
 Eli. I defy you and all the world, that 
 can say black is mine eye. 
 
 Count. I think so indeed, for thine eye 
 is grey, but thou didst lie with him by 
 
 that same token he gave thee a carcanet, 
 and thou told'st me that thy mother sent 
 it thee : thou didst promise to banquet him 
 when I was next abroad, thou didst say he 
 
 I could not be so old as he made himself to 
 
 i be, thou didst say 'twas pity of his nose, 
 for he would have been a fine man else, 
 
 j and that God did well to make him a rich 
 man, for he was a good man too ; and these 
 
 I tokens I think are sufficient, for these he 
 told me with his own mouth. 
 
 Eli. He lied like an old knave as he ' 
 was, and that he shall know the next time 
 these lips open, in faith! oh, wicked per- 
 jured man would he disclose my secrets? 
 i'faith, what woman would trust any man 
 alive with her honesty ? [Exit. 
 
 Count. Ha, ha, ha, I have sent her in a 
 
 | pelting chase, but I'll follow her and make 
 
 \ her mad with anger. 
 
 Enter Poruskingof ./Ethiopia, Rhesus king 
 <y Arabia, Bion king of Phasiaca, Be- 
 britius king of Bebritia, with soldiers 
 and drum and ensign. 
 
 Po. Thus have we trod the sandy vales 
 
 of Egypt, 
 
 Adjoining to the plains of Alexandria, 
 Where proud King Ptolemy keeps his 
 
 residence, 
 
 Securely trusting to his prophecies, 
 Which hath foretold him many years ago, 
 That if the young Arcadian Doricles 
 Should link in marriage with his lovely 
 
 daughter, 
 He then should conquer all our bordering 
 
 lands, 
 
 And make us subject to his tyranny. 
 Rhe. Trusting to his fond fantastic 
 
 dreams, 
 
 He hath exiled the warlike Duke Cleanthes, 
 Whose name was terror to our valiant 
 
 troops. 
 
 Bi. Cleanthes exiled gives us easy way 
 To our attempts where had he stay'd, 
 And been a friend to him, yet should he 
 
 not 
 
 Escape subjection. 
 Be. We will divide his kingdom 'twixt 
 
 us four, 
 
 And reave from him his four chief orna- 
 ments, 
 And for to grieve his aged mind the 
 
 more, 
 
 He shall bs kept in lasting servitude, 
 So to fulfil what fate to him assign'd. 
 Po. Come, let us march and brave him 
 
 at the walls. 
 If Porus live to wield his martial sword, 
 
THE BLIND BEGGAR OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 His city walls shall not preserve him safe, 
 
 But he shall die by Porus and his friends. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Doricles and Aspasia. 
 
 Do. Sweet madam, grant me once a 
 
 cheerful look 
 
 To glad my dying heart with sorrow kill'd : 
 Your father hath resign'd his free consent ; 
 You bound by duty to obey his will. 
 
 As. Nay, rather let him hail me to my 
 
 death, 
 
 Than 'gainst my will constrain me match 
 myself. 
 
 Enter Count. 
 
 Count. Die, thou vile wretch, and live, 
 
 Aspasia ; 
 
 Even now I heard thy father Ptolemy, 
 With words that still do tingle in mine ears, 
 Pronounce him heir to Alexandria. 
 "Tis time for me to stir when such young 
 
 boys 
 Shall have their weak necks over-poised 
 
 with crowns, 
 
 Which must become resolved champions, 
 That for a crown's exchange will sell their 
 
 souls. [He kills him. 
 
 As. Wicked Count Hermes, for this 
 
 monstrous deed, 
 Egypt will hate thce and thou sure must 
 
 die : 
 
 Then hie thee to the hills beyond the Alps, 
 Fly to unknown and unfrequented climes, 
 Some desert place that never saw the sun. 
 For if the king or any of his friends 
 Shall find Count Hermes, thou art surely 
 
 dead. 
 Count. I'll fly no more than doth a 
 
 settled rock, 
 No more than mountains or the steadfast 
 
 poles ; 
 But come, sweet love, if thou wilt come 
 
 with me, 
 We two will live amongst the shadowy 
 
 groves, 
 
 And we will sit like shepherds on a hill, 
 And with our heavenly voices 'tice the trees 
 To echo sweetly our celestial tunes. 
 Else will I angle in the running brooks, 
 Seasoning our toils with kisses on the 
 
 banks ; 
 Sometime I'll dive into the murmuring 
 
 springs, 
 And fetch thee stones to hang about thy 
 
 neck. 
 Which by thy splendour will be turn'd to 
 
 pearl. 
 
 Say, fair Aspasia. wilt thou walk with me ? 
 VOL. T. 
 
 As. No, bloody Count, but 1 will clear 
 
 myself, 
 
 And tell thy murders to the amazed court. 
 Count. Nay, if thou wilt not choose, you 
 
 peevish girl, 
 Thou canst not say but thou wert offer'd 
 
 fair. 
 But here must end Count Hermes' strange 
 
 disguise. 
 
 My velvet gown, my pistol, and this patch 
 No more must hide me in the Count's 
 
 attire. 
 Now will I turn my gown to usurer's 
 
 coats, 
 
 And thus appear unto the world no more. 
 
 Farewell, Aspasia. [Exit Count. 
 
 As. Go, wretched villain, hide thy hated 
 
 head 
 Wheie never heaven's light may shine on 
 
 thee, 
 Who's there? come forth, for here is 
 
 murder done, 
 Murder, murder of good prince Doricles. 
 
 Enter Euribates. 
 Eu. Who calls out murther ? lady, was 
 
 it you? 
 As. As I was walking in the pleasant 
 
 weeds, 
 
 With Doricles, the young Arcadian prince, 
 Rush'd in Count Hermes and in desperate 
 
 words 
 
 Hath slain this prince. 
 Eu. A baleful deed ! Pursue the mur- 
 derer, 
 And tell the king of this foul accident. 
 
 Enter Ptolemy. 
 
 Pto. Oh, tell no more ; instead of tears, 
 My beating heart dissolves in drops of 
 
 blood, 
 And from mine eyes that stare upon this 
 
 corse 
 
 Leaps out my soul and on it I will die. 
 Oh, Doricles, oh, dear Arcadian prince, 
 The bulwark and supporter of my life, 
 That by decree of fates was promised 
 To add four neighbour kingdoms to my 
 
 crown, 
 And shield me from a most abhorred 
 
 death, 
 Now shall my kingdom leave me with my 
 
 life, 
 
 And suddenly look for some monstrous fate, 
 Shall fall like thunder on my wretched 
 
 state. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mes. Arm, arm, my lord ! my lords, to 
 instant arms, 
 
 C 
 
iS 
 
 THE BLIND BEGGAR OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 Four mighty kings are landed in thy coast, 
 And threaten death and ruin to thy land, 
 Black Porus, the Ethiopian king, 
 Comes marching first with twenty thousand 
 
 men, 
 
 Next Rhesus, king of sweet Arabia, 
 In warlike manner marcheth after him, 
 In equal number and in battle 'ray. 
 Next Bion, king of rich Phasiaca, 
 And stern Bebritius of Bebritia, 
 1 With each of them full twenty thousand 
 
 strong, 
 
 All which hath vow'd the death of Ptolemy, 
 And thus they hither bend their speedy 
 
 feet. 
 
 Pto. How suddenly is weather overcast, 
 How is the face of peaceful Egypt 
 
 changed, 
 Like as the smiling flowers above the 
 
 ground 
 
 By keenest edge of Eurus' breath is cut. 
 Eu. To arms, my lord, and gather up 
 
 your strength, 
 
 Your bands in Memphis and in Caspia, 
 join'd with your power of Alexandria, 
 Will double all the forces of these kings. 
 Pto. All shall be done we may, mean- 
 while 
 
 Bury the body of this slaughter'd prince, 
 Lest with the view my senses follow his. 
 Curst be his hand that wrought the 
 
 damned deed, 
 
 Cold and uncover'd may his body lie, 
 Let storm and hail and thunder beat on him, 
 And every bird and beast run over him, 
 That robb'd poor Ptolemy of such a hope. 
 Pursue the desperate Count that rnurder'd 
 
 him, 
 A thousand kingdoms shall not save his 
 
 life. 
 
 Enter Leon. 
 
 Le. A miracle, a miracle, a dreadful 
 
 miracle ! 
 Pto. What miracle, oh ! what will heavens 
 
 do more, 
 
 To punish Egypt and her hapless king ? 
 Le. As I was walking through the Syrian 
 
 groves, 
 
 I saw the desperate Count, the murderer 
 Of good prince Doricles, as I hear say, 
 Fly through the deserts to the Memphic 
 
 shades, 
 
 Where hell to interrupt his passage thither, 
 Raving beneath the groundwork of the 
 
 earth 
 
 As if ten thousand vapours burst in her, 
 Sever'd her womb and swallow'd quick 
 
 miserable Count. 
 
 Pto. Just are the heavens in his most 
 
 dreadful end. 
 
 But come, my lords, let us to instant arms, 
 To drive away more mischiefs from our 
 
 land. \Exe^lnt. 
 
 Le. So get you gone and perish all with 
 
 him, 
 Now shall you know what want you have 
 
 of me. 
 
 Now will I gather up my sums of money, 
 And of my creditors borrow what I can. 
 Because as Leon I'll be seen no more, 
 This day they promised for to meet me 
 
 here, 
 And here comes some of them. 
 
 Enter First Messenger. 
 
 ist Mess. My master, sir, your friend 
 Calatius, hath sent you, sir, your five hun- 
 dred crowns for the rich jewel that he 
 bought of you. 
 
 Le. I thank him heartily ; this jewel of 
 so many thousand crowns the Queen of 
 Egypt did bestow on me, when that I told 
 her in poor Irus" shape where her Cle- 
 anthes was ; but soft, who have we here ? 
 
 Enter Second Messenger. 
 
 2nd Mess. Druso, the Italian merchant, 
 
 here by me, 
 Hath sent you, sir, in diamonds and in 
 
 pearls 
 So much as mounteth to five thousand 
 
 crowns, 
 And craves no more assurance but your 
 
 word. 
 
 Le. There's my bill, and thank thy mas- 
 ter ; he shall have more than word. 
 
 \Exeunt. Manet Leon. 
 Never shall he nor they see this again, 
 Nor me neither, as I am this present man ; 
 This, with the rest I have will make a 
 
 pretty sum, 
 
 With this will I employ me in these wars. 
 Now will I take on me the form and shape 
 Of Duke Cleanthes ; but what intends this 
 
 alarum ? \A larum . 
 
 Enter Clearchus. 
 
 Clear. Where may I seek to find Clean- 
 thes out, 
 
 That martial prince whom Ptolemy, un- 
 kind, 
 
 Hath banished from out the Egyptian 
 land; 
 
 Our warlike troops are scatter 'd and o'er- 
 thrown, 
 
 And his dear friends Acates and Acanthes 
 
THE BLIND BEGGAR OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 Lie in the field besmired in their bloods. 
 I'll run through all these groves to find him 
 out. \Exit. 
 
 Le. My sweet Acates and Acanthes 
 
 slain ! 
 
 Grief to my heart and sorrow to my soul. 
 Then rouse thyself, Cleanthes, and re- 
 venge 
 
 Their guiltless blood on these base mis- 
 creants. 
 
 Oh, let the canker'd trumpet of the deep 
 Be rattled out and ring into their ears 
 The dire revenge Cleanthes will inflict 
 On these four kings and all their 'com- 
 plices. [Alarum. Excursions. 
 
 Enter Cleanthes, leading Porus, Rhesus, 
 Bion, Bebritius ; Pego, Clearchus, 
 Euribatus. 
 
 Cle. Thus have you strove in vain 
 
 against those gods, 
 
 That rescue Egypt in Cleanthes' arms ; 
 Come, yield your crowns and homages to 
 
 me. 
 
 Though Ptolemy is dead, yet I survive, 
 Elect and chosen by the peers to scourge 
 The vile presumption of your hated lives ; 
 Then yield as vanquish d unto Egypt's 
 
 king. 
 Po. First by thy valour and the strength 
 
 of arms, 
 
 Porus, the wealthy Ethiopian king, 
 Doth yield his crown and homage unto 
 
 thee, 
 
 Swearing by all my gods whom I adore, 
 To honour Duke Cleanthes whilst he live, 
 And in his aid with twenty thousand men, 
 Will always march 'gainst whom thou 
 
 mean'st to fight. 
 Bi. Bion, whose neck was never forced 
 
 to bow, 
 Doth yield him captive to thy warlike 
 
 sword. 
 
 Command whatso thou list, we will per- 
 form, 
 
 And all my power shall march at thy com- 
 mand. 
 Rhe. Rhesus doth yield his crown and 
 
 dignity 
 
 To great Cleanthes, Egypt's only strength ; 
 For if Cleanthes lives, who ever lived 
 More likelier to be monarch of the world? 
 Then here accept my vow'd allegiance, 
 Which as the rest I render unto thee. 
 
 Be. So saith Bebritius of Bebritia, 
 And lays his crown and homage at thy 
 
 feet. 
 
 Cle. Hold, take your crowns again, 
 And keep your oaths and fealties to me. 
 
 So shall you live as free as heretofore, 
 And ne'er hereafter stoop to conquest more. 
 
 Enter Elimine and Samathis with child. 
 
 Pe. Here comes the two widows of the 
 beggar and the king ; little know they that 
 both their husbands are turned into one 
 king ; there would be old striving who 
 should be queen, i'faith. 
 Eli. Pity, dread sovereign. 
 Sa. Pity, gracious lord. 
 Cle. What are your suits? 
 Eli. I, the poor Countess and the widow 
 
 left 
 
 Of late Count Hermes, having all my goods 
 Seized to our late king's use, for murder 
 
 done, 
 Of young prince Doricles, humbly pray 
 
 your grace 
 I may have somewhat to maintain my 
 
 state, 
 
 And this poor burthen which I go withal, 
 The hapless infant of a hapless father. 
 Sa. And I, my lord, humbly entreat 
 
 your grace, 
 
 That where my husband Leon is deceased, 
 And left me much in debt, his creditors 
 Having seized all I have into their hands, 
 And turn'd me with this hapless burthen 
 
 here, 
 
 Into the streets, your highness will descend 
 To my relief by some convenient order. 
 Cle. Poor souls, I most extremely pity 
 
 them. 
 
 But say, is Leon dead ? 
 Clear. Men say, my lord he cast his 
 
 desperate body 
 
 From th' Alexandrian Tower into the sea. 
 Cle. Who saw the sight, or gave out 
 
 this report ? 
 
 You, master Burgomaster ? 
 Pe. I did, my gracious lord. 
 Cle. So I devised indeed that he should 
 
 say, 
 That none should never look for Leon 
 
 more. 
 
 But these my widows here must not be left, 
 Unto the mercy of the needy world, 
 Nor mine own issue that they go withal 
 Have such base fortunes and their sire so 
 
 great. 
 
 Widows, in pity of your widowhood, 
 And the untimely ends of both your hus- 
 bands, 
 The slaughter of the Count, your husband, 
 
 madam, 
 
 Shall be remitted, and yourself enjoy 
 The utmost of the living he possess'd, 
 So will I pay your husband Icon's debt, 
 
 C 2 
 
THE BLIND BEGGAR OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 And both shall live fitting their wonted 
 
 states, 
 Kings in their mercy come most near the 
 
 gods, 
 
 And can no better show it than in ruth, 
 Of widows and of children fatherless. 
 Myself will therefore be to both your births 
 A careful father in their bringing up. 
 Am. The gods for ever bless your ma- 
 jesty ! 
 Cle. But tell me, were your husbands 
 
 such bad men, 
 
 That every way they did deserve such ends ? 
 Eli. Mine was a husband to my heart's 
 
 content, 
 
 But that he used the privilege of men. 
 Cle. What privilege of men ? 
 Eli. To take some other love besides his 
 
 wife, 
 Which men think by their custom they 
 
 may do, 
 Although their wives be strictly bound to 
 
 them. 
 Cle. With whom suspect you he was 
 
 great withal? 
 Eli. With this poor widow here, the 
 
 world supposeth. 
 Sa. So thinks the world my husband 
 
 was with you. 
 Pe. Fair dames, what will you say to 
 
 me, 
 
 If I can tell you where your husbands be ? 
 Cle. What ! can you, sir? 
 Pe. Nay nothing, sir, I did but jest with 
 you; I feared* him, i'faith; but I'll be secret, 
 that's flat. 
 
 Cle. Well, master Burgomaster, see that 
 
 you restore 
 
 The goods and lands you seized 
 Both of the Countess and rich Leon's wife. 
 Not pity of their widowhoods alone, 
 But their rare beauties move me to this 
 
 good ; 
 Oh, master Burgomaster, see here's your 
 
 wife, 
 Come to welcome you home from wars. 
 
 Enter Martia with a child. 
 
 Mar. Oh husband, husband, will you go 
 to war, and leave me in this taking ? 
 
 Pe. This taking ! why, this is a very 
 good taking ; how say you, is it not, and 
 like your majesty? 
 
 Cle. 'Tis very well, master Burgo- 
 master. 
 
 * Feared him/, e. , frightened. Or perhaps a 
 misprint for scared. 
 
 Pe. But shall I entreat one boon of 
 your majesty ? 
 
 Cle. What's that, master Burgomaster ? 
 Pe. Marry, even to be godfather to my 
 young Burgomaster here. 
 Cle. With all my heart, sir. 
 Mar. Come on, sweet husband, for my 
 time draws near. 
 
 Pe. Fear not, thou shalt be a joyful 
 mother, I warrant thee. 
 
 Cle. How say you, my lords ; is not our 
 
 Burgomaster a tall man every way ? Did 
 
 you not mark how manfully he behaved 
 
 himself in our late battle ? 
 
 Po. We did, my lord, and wonder at his 
 
 courage. 
 Rhe. His merit doth deserve a better 
 
 place 
 
 Than to be Burgomaster of Alexandria. 
 Cle. Then say, my lords r htw shall we 
 
 deal with him ? 
 Bi. Had he been widower he might have 
 
 wedded with this Countess here. 
 Pe. Oh ! I have one of mine own, I thank 
 you, sir ; here's one has the sweet of 
 them, i' faith. 
 Po. My lord, the offer had been too 
 
 high a grace, 
 
 For ne'er did eye behold a fairer face. 
 Be. So saith mine eye that hath my heart 
 
 incensed. 
 Bi. And, Rhesus, methinks this exceeds 
 
 her far. 
 
 Rhe. No question of it, as the sun a star. 
 Po. As suddenly as lightning beauty 
 
 wounds. 
 Be. None ever loved, but at first sight 
 
 they loved. 
 Po. Love's darts are swift as is the 
 
 lightning- fire. 
 Rhe. See, he shoots arrows burning from 
 
 her eyes. 
 
 Po. Why, which loves Rhesus ? 
 Rhe. This celestial dame. 
 Po. And which loves Bion ? 
 Bi. Even the very same. 
 Po. Then may I freely joy the Countess 
 
 here. 
 Beb. No, Porus, for Bebritius loves her 
 
 too. 
 Cle. Are they in love ? oh ! gods would 
 
 that were true, 
 
 My loving joy the fresh desire of kings. 
 How now, my lords, doth beauty startle 
 
 you? 
 Po. More than dead stocks would startle 
 
 at such beauty. 
 
 Be. In vain do I resist my passions. 
 Mighty Cleanthes, to annex my heart 
 
THE BLIND BEGGAR OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 In love to thee as well as victory, 
 
 Grant this fair Countess here may be my 
 
 queen. 
 Po. No, great Cleanthes, give her to my 
 
 hand, 
 Whose heart was first the subject of her 
 
 graces. 
 Rhe. Then let the Arabian king make 
 
 this his queen. 
 Bi. Nay, this, Cleanthes, let my love 
 
 enjoy. 
 Cle. How fatal are these loves ; now I 
 
 perceive, 
 
 Their fortunes that I told as I was Irus 
 Will now in force, I see, be come to pass. 
 Sa. Oh! holy Irus, blessed be thy 
 
 tongue, 
 
 That like an orator hath told our fortunes. 
 Eli. He told us we should soon lose our 
 
 first loves, 
 Making our second choice 'mongst greatest 
 
 kings. 
 Cle. 1 did indeed, but God knows knew 
 
 not how. 
 Pe. How say you, master brother, am 
 
 not I secret now? 
 Cle. Thou art, and be so still, for not the 
 
 world 
 
 Shall ever know the mad pranks I have 
 play'd. 
 
 Now stand fair, my lords, and let these 
 
 ladies view you. 
 Eli. In my eye now the blackest is the 
 
 fairest, 
 
 For every woman chooseth white and red. 
 Come, martial Porus, thou shall have my 
 
 love. 
 Be. Out on thee, foolish woman, thou 
 
 hast chose a devil. 
 Pe. Not yet, sir, till he have horns. 
 Sa. Tis not the face and colour I regard, 
 j But fresh and lovely youth allures my 
 
 choice, 
 
 And thee, most beauteous Bion, I affect. 
 Rhe. Hapless is Rhesus ! 
 Bebri. Accursed Bebritius ! 
 Cle. Have patience, gentle lords ; I will 
 
 provide 
 
 Other Egyptian ladies for your turn, 
 So will we link in perfit league of love. 
 So shall the victory you lost to me 
 Set double glory on your conquer'd heads. 
 So let us go to frolic in our Court, 
 Carousing free whole bowls of Greekish 
 
 wine, 
 
 In honour of the conquest we have made, 
 That at our banquet all the gods may 
 
 'tend, 
 
 Plauding our victory and this happy end. 
 {Exeunt. 
 
An Humorous Day's Mirth. 
 
 Enter the Count Labervele, in his shift 
 and nightgown, with two jewels in his 
 hand, 
 
 La, Yet hath the morning sprinkled 
 
 through the clouds 
 
 But half her tincture, and the soil of night 
 Sticks still upon the bosom of the air : 
 Yet sleep doth rest my love for nature's 
 
 debt, 
 And through her window and this dim 
 
 twilight 
 
 Her maid, nor any waking I can see. 
 This is the holy green, my wife's close walk, 
 To which not any but herself alone 
 Hath any key, only that I have clapt 
 Her key in wax, and made this counterfeit, 
 To which I steal access to work this rare 
 And politic device. 
 
 Fair is my wife, and young and delicate, 
 Although lop religious in the purest sort, 
 But pure religion being but mental stuff 
 And sense indeed, all for itself, 
 Is to be doubted, that when an object 
 
 comes 
 
 Fit to her humour, she will intercept 
 Religious letters sent unto her mind, 
 And yield unto the motion of her blood. 
 Here have I brought, then, two rich agates 
 
 for her, 
 Graven with two posies of mine own 
 
 devising, 
 For poets I'll not trust, nor friends, nor 
 
 any. 
 
 She longs to have a child, which yet, alas ! 
 I cannot get, yet long as much as she ; 
 And not to make her desperate, thus I write 
 In this fair jewel, though it simple be, 
 Yet 'tis mine own, that meaneth well in 
 
 nought. 
 
 * "A Pleasant Comedy entituled: An Nu- 
 merous dayes Myrth. As it hath been sundrie 
 times publikely acted by the right honourable 
 the Earle of Nottingham Lord high Admirall 
 his seruants. By G. C. At London Printed by 
 Valentine Syms : 1599." 
 
 Despair not of children, 
 Love with the longest; 
 
 When man is at the weakest, 
 God is at the strongest. 
 
 I hope 'tis plain and knowing; in this other 
 that I write, 
 
 God will reward her a thousand-fold, 
 That takes what age can, and not what age 
 would. 
 
 I hope 'tis pretty and pathetical. Well, 
 
 even here 
 
 Lie both together till my love arise, 
 And let her think you fall out of the skies : 
 I will to bed again. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Lemot and Colenet. 
 
 Le. How like you this morning, Colenet? 
 What, shall we have a fair day? 
 
 Co. The sky hangs full of humour, and 
 I think we shall have rain. 
 
 Le. Why, rain is fair weather when the 
 ground is dry and barren, especially when 
 it rains humour, for then do men, like hot 
 sparrows and pigeons, open all their wings 
 ready to receive them. 
 
 Co. Why, then, we may chance to have 
 a fair day, for we shall spend it with so 
 humorous acquaintance as rains nothing 
 but humour all their life-time. 
 
 Le. True, Colenet, over which will I sit 
 like an old king in an old-fashion play, 
 having his wife, his council, his children, 
 and his fool about him, to whom he will 
 sit, and point very learnedly, asfolloweth: 
 
 "My council grave, and you, my noble 
 
 peers, 
 
 My tender wife, and you my children dear, 
 And thou, my fool. " 
 
 Co. Not meaning me, sir, I hope. 
 
 Le. No, sir : but thus will I sit, as it 
 were, and point out all my humorous 
 companions. 
 
 Co. You shall do marvellous well, sir. 
 
AN HUMOROUS DAY'S MIRTH. 
 
 Le. I thank you for your good en- 
 couragement : but, Colenet, thou shalt see 
 Catalian bring me hither an odd gentle- 
 man presently, to be acquainted withal, 
 who, in his manner of taking acquaintance 
 will make us excellent sport. 
 
 Co. Why, Lemot, I think thou send'st 
 about of purpose for young gallants to be 
 acquainted withal, to make thyself merry in 
 the manner of taking acquaintance. 
 
 Le. By heaven I do, Colenet ; for there 
 is no better sport than to observe the com- 
 pliment, for that's their word compliment, 
 do you mark, sir ? 
 
 Co. Yea, sir, but what humour hath this 
 gallant in his manner of -taking acquain- 
 tance ? 
 
 Le. Marry thus, sir : he will speak the 
 very selfsame word, to a syllable, after him 
 of whom he takes acquaintance : as if I 
 should say, "I am marvellous glad of 
 your acquaintance, " he will reply ' ' I am 
 marvellous glad of your acquaintance;" 
 "I have heard much good of your rare 
 parts and fine carriage," "I have heard 
 much good of your rare parts and fine 
 carriage." So long as the compliments of 
 a gentleman last, he is your complete ape. 
 
 Co. Why, this is excellent. 
 
 Le. Nay, sirrah, here's the jest of it: when 
 he is past this gratulation, he will retire 
 himself to a chimney, or a wall, standing 
 folding his arms thus; and go you and 
 speak to him so far as the room you are in 
 will afford you, you shall never get him from 
 that most gentlemanlike set, or behaviour. 
 
 Co. This makes his humour perfit ; I 
 would he would come once. 
 
 Enter Catalian and Blanuel. 
 
 Le. See where he comes. Now must I 
 say, Lupus est in fabula, for these Latin 
 ends are part of a gentleman and a good 
 scholar. 
 
 Ca. O, good morrow, Monsieur Lemot ; 
 here is the gentleman you desired so much 
 to be acquainted withal. 
 
 Le. He is marvellous welcome. I shall be 
 exceeding proud of your acquaintance. 
 
 Bla. I shall be exceeding proud of your 
 acquaintance. 
 
 Le. I have heard much good of your rare 
 parts and fine carriage. 
 
 Bla. I have heard much good of your rare 
 parts and fine carriage. 
 
 Le. I shall be glad to be commanded by 
 you. 
 
 Bla. I shall be glad to be commanded by 
 you. 
 
 Le. I pray do not you say so. 
 
 Bla. I pray do not you say so. 
 
 Le. Well, gentlemen, this day let's con- 
 secrate to mirth ; and, Colenet, you know, 
 no man better, that you are mightily in 
 love with love, by Martia, daughter to old 
 Foyes. 
 
 Co. I confess it : here are none but 
 friends. 
 
 Le. Well, then, go to her this morning 
 in Countess Moren's name, and so perhaps 
 you may get her company, though the old 
 churl be so jealous that he will suffer no 
 man to come at her, but the vain gull 
 Labesha for his living sake, and he as yet 
 she will not be acquainted withal. 
 
 Co. Well, this I'll do, whatsoever come 
 on it. 
 
 Le. Why, nothing but good will come 
 of it, ne'er doubt it, man. 
 
 Ca. He hath taken up his stand, talk a 
 little further and see and you can remove 
 him. 
 
 Le. I will, Catalian. Now, Monsieur 
 Blanuel, mark, I pray. 
 
 Bla. I do, sir, very well, I warrant you. 
 
 Le. You know the old Count Labervele 
 hath a passing fair young lady, that is a 
 passing foul Puritan. 
 
 Bla. I know her very well, sir ; she goes 
 more like a milkmaid than a Countess, for 
 all her youth and beauty. 
 
 Le. True, sir, yet of her is the old Count 
 so jealous that he will suffer no man to 
 come at her ; yet I will find a means that 
 two of us will have access to her, though 
 before his face, which shall so heat his 
 jealous humour till he be stark mad : but, 
 Colenet, go you first to lovely Martia, for 
 'tis too soon for the old lord and his fair 
 young lady to rise. 
 
 Co. Adieu, Monsieur Blanuel. 
 
 Bla. Adieu, good Monsieur Colenet. 
 
 [Exit Col. 
 
 Le. Monsieur Blanuel, your kindness in 
 this will bind me much to you. 
 
 Bla. Monsieur Lemot, your kindness in 
 this will bind me much to you. 
 
 Le. I pray you do not say so, sir. 
 
 Bla. I pray you do not say so, sir. 
 
 Le. Will't please you to go in ? 
 
 Bla. Will't please you to go in ? 
 
 Le. I will follow you. 
 
 Bla. I will follow you. 
 
 Le. It shall be yours. 
 
 Bla. It shall be yours. 
 
 Le. Kind Monsieur BlanueL 
 
 Bla. Kind Monsieur Lemot. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
AN HUMOROUS DAY'S MIRTH. 
 
 Enter Foyes, and Martia, and Besha. 
 
 Fo. Come on, fair daughter, fall to your 
 work of mind, and make your body fit to 
 embrace the body of this gentleman, 'tis 
 art : happy are they, say I. 
 
 Be. I protest, sir, you speak the best 
 that ever I heard. 
 
 Fo. I pray, sir, take acquaintance of my 
 daughter. 
 
 Be. I do desire you of more acquain- 
 tance. 
 
 Fo. Why dost not thou say yea, and I 
 the same of you ? 
 
 Mar. That everybody says. 
 
 Fo. Oh, you would be singular. 
 
 Mar. Single, indeed. 
 
 Fo. Single, indeed, that's a pretty toy, 
 Your betters, dame, bear double, and so 
 shall you. 
 
 Be. Exceeding pretty, did you mark it 
 forsooth ? 
 
 Mar. What should I mark forsooth? 
 
 Be. Your bearing double, which equivo- 
 cate is and hath a fit allusion to a horse 
 that bears double, for your good father 
 means you shall endure your single life no 
 longer, not in worse sense than bearing 
 double forsooth. 
 
 Mar. I cry you mercy, you know both 
 belike. 
 
 Be. Knowledge, forsooth, is like a 
 horse, and you that can bear double : it 
 nourisheth both Bee and Spider the Bee 
 honeysuckle, the Spider poison. I am that 
 bee. 
 
 Mar. I thought so, by your stinging wit. 
 
 Be. Lady, I am a bee without a sting, no 
 way hurting any, but good to all, and 
 before all, to your sweet self. 
 
 Fo. Afore God, daughter, thou art not 
 worthy to hear him speak : but who comes 
 here? 
 
 Enter Colenet. 
 
 Co. God save you, sir. 
 
 Fo. You are welcome, sir; for ought that 
 I know yet. 
 
 Co. I hope I shall be so still, sir. 
 
 Fo. What is your business, sir, and then 
 I'll tell you. 
 
 Co. Marry thus, sir : the Countess 
 Moren entreats your fair daughter to bear 
 her company this forenoon. 
 
 Fo. This forenoon, sir. Doth my lord or 
 lady send for her, I pray ? 
 
 Co. My lady, I assure you. 
 
 Fo. My lady, you assure me ; very well, 
 sir ; yet that house is full of gallant gentle- 
 
 men ; dangerous thorns to prick young 
 maids, I can tell you. 
 
 Co. There are none but honest and 
 honourable gentlemen. 
 
 Fo. All is one, sir, for that ; I'll trust my 
 daughter with any man, but no man with 
 my daughter, only yourself, Monsieur 
 Besha, whom I will entreat to be her guar- 
 dian, and to bring her home again. 
 
 Co. I will wait upon her, and it please 
 you. 
 
 Fo. No, sir, your weight upon her will 
 not be so good : here, Monsieur Besha, I 
 deliver my daughter unto you a perfect 
 maid, and so I pray you look well unto 
 her. 
 
 Co. Farewell, Monsieur Foyes. 
 
 Be. I warrant I'll look unto her well 
 
 enough. 
 Mistress will it please you to preambulate? 
 
 Mar. With all my heart. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter the Puritan. 
 
 Flo. What have I done? Put on too 
 many clothes ; the day is hot, and I am 
 hotter clad than might suffice health ; my 
 conscience tells me that I have offended, 
 and I'll put them off. That will ask time 
 that might be better spent, one sin will 
 draw another quickly so ; see how the devil 
 tempts. But what's here? jewels? how 
 should these come here ? 
 
 Enter Labervele. 
 
 La. Good morrow, lovely wife ; what 
 hast thou there ? 
 
 Flo. Jewels, my lord, which here I 
 strangely found. 
 La. That's strange indeed ; what, where 
 
 none comes 
 But when yourself is here? Surely the 
 
 heavens 
 
 Have rain'd thee jewels for thy holy life, 
 And using thy old husband lovingly ; 
 Or else do fairies haunt this holy green, 
 As evermore mine ancestors have thought. 
 Flo. Fairies were but in times of i&no- 
 
 rance, 
 Not since the true pure light hath been 
 
 reveal'd, 
 And that they come from heaven I scarce 
 
 believe : 
 For jewels are vain things, much gold is 
 
 given 
 
 For such fantastical and fruitless jewels, 
 And therefore heaven I know will not 
 
 maintain 
 
 The use of vanity. Surely I fear I have 
 much sinned to stoop and take them up, 
 
AN HUMOROUS DAY'S MIRTH. 
 
 bowing my body to an idle work ; the 
 strength that I have had to this very deed 
 might have been used to take a poor soul 
 up in the highway. 
 
 La. You are too curious, wife ; behold 
 your jewels : what ! methinks there's posies 
 written on them. 
 
 Then he reads : 
 
 Despair not of children, 
 
 Love with the longest ; 
 When man is at the -weakest, 
 
 God is at the strongest. 
 
 Wonderful rare and witty, nay divine ! 
 Why, this is heavenly comfort for thee, wife. 
 What is this other? 
 
 God will reward her a thousand-fold. 
 That takes what age can, and not what 
 age would. 
 
 The best that e'er I heard; no mortal 
 
 brain 
 
 I think did ever utter such conceit 
 For good plain matter, and for honest 
 
 rhyme. 
 Flo. Vain poetry, I pray you burn them, 
 
 sir. 
 
 La. You are to blame, wife ; heaven 
 hath sent you them to deck yourself 
 withal, like to yourself, not to go thus 
 like a milk-maid ; why, there is difference 
 in estates by all religion. 
 Flo. There is no difference. 
 La. I prithee, wife, be of another mind, 
 And wear these jewels and a velvet hood. 
 Flo. A velvet hood ! O vain devilish 
 
 device ! 
 
 A toy made with a superfluous flap, 
 Which being cut off, my head were still as 
 
 warm. 
 
 Diogenes did cast away his dish, 
 . Because his hand would serve to help him 
 
 drink, 
 
 Surely these heathens shall rise up against us. 
 La. Sure, wife, I think thy keeping 
 always close, making thee melancholy, is 
 the cause we have no children, and there- 
 fore if thou wilt, be merry, and keep com- 
 pany a God's name. 
 
 Flo. Sure, my lord, if I thought I should 
 be rid of this same punishment of barren- 
 ness, and use our marriage to the end it 
 was made, which was for procreation, I 
 should sin, if by my keeping house I 
 should neglect the lawful means to be a 
 fruitful mother, and therefore if it please 
 you I'll use resort. 
 
 La. Gods my passion, what have I done ? 
 I who would have thought her pureness 
 
 I ._ 
 
 would yield so soon to courses of tempta- 
 tions? Nay, hark you, wife, I am not sure 
 that going abroad will cause fruitfulness 
 in you ; that, you know, none knows but 
 God himself. 
 
 Flo. I know, my lord, 'tis true ; but the 
 lawful means must still be used. 
 
 La. Yea, the lawful means indeed must 
 still ; but now I remember that lawful 
 means is not abroad. 
 
 Flo. Well, well, I'll keep the house still. 
 
 La. Nay, hark you, lady, I would not 
 have you think, marry, I must tell you 
 this, if you should change the manner of 
 your life, the world would think you 
 changed religion too. 
 
 Flo. 'Tis true, I will not go. 
 
 La. Nay, if you have a fancy. 
 
 Flo. Yea, a fancy, but that's no matter. . 
 
 La. Indeed, fancies are not for judicial 
 and religious women. 
 
 Enter Catalian like a scholar. 
 
 Ca. God save your lordship, and you, 
 most religious lady. 
 
 La. Sir, you may say God save us well 
 
 indeed, 
 That thus are thrust upon in private walks. 
 
 Ca. A slender thrust, sir, where I touch'd 
 you not. 
 
 La. Well, sir, what is your business ? 
 
 Ca. Why, sir, I have a message to my 
 lady from Monsieur du Barte. 
 
 La. To your lady ! well, sir, speak your 
 mind to your lady. 
 
 Flo. You are very welcome, sir, and I 
 pray how doth he ? 
 
 Ca. In health, madam, thanks be to- 
 God, commending his duty to your lady- 
 ship, and hath sent you a message which 
 I would desire your honour to hear in pri- 
 vate. 
 
 Flo. ' ' My ladyship " and ' ' my honour !" 
 they be words which I must have you 
 leave, they be idle words, and you shall 
 answer for them truly : " my duty to you," 
 or " I desire you," were a great deal better 
 than "my ladyship," or " my honour." 
 
 Ca. I thank you for your Christian ad- 
 monition. 
 
 Flo. Nay, thank God for me. Come, I 
 will hear your message with all my heart, 
 and you are very welcome, sir. 
 
 La. ' ' With all my heart, and you are 
 very welcome, sir, " and go and talk with a 
 young lusty fellow able to make a man's 
 hair stand upright on his head ! What purity 
 is there in this, trow you ? ha, what wench 
 of the faculty could have been more for- 
 
AN HUMOROUS DAY'S MIRTH, 
 
 ward ? Well, sir, I will know your message, 
 you sir ; what says the holy man, sir? Come, 
 tell true, for by heaven or hell I will have 
 it out. 
 
 Ca. Why, you shall, sir, if you be so 
 desirous. 
 
 La. Nay, sir, I am more than so de- 
 sirous ; come, sir, study not for a new 
 device now. 
 
 Ca. Not I, my lord, this is both new 
 and old . I am a scholar, and being spiri- 
 tually inclined by your lady's most godly 
 life, I am to profess the ministry, and to 
 become her chaplain, to which end Mon- 
 sieur du Barte hath commended me. 
 
 La. Her chaplain in the devil's name, 
 fit to be vicar of hell. 
 
 Flo. My good head, what are you afraid 
 of? he comes with a godly and neighbourly 
 suit : what, think you his words or his 
 looks can tempt me? have you so little 
 faith? If every word he spake were a 
 serpent as subtle as that which tempted 
 Eve, he cannot tempt me, / warrant you. 
 
 La. Well answered for him, lady, by my 
 faith. Well, hark you, I'll keep your 
 chaplain's place yonder for awhile, and at 
 length put in one myself. \_Enter Lemot.] 
 What, more yet ? Gods my passion, whom 
 do I see? the very imp of desolation, the 
 minion of our king, whom no man sees to 
 enter his house but he locks up his wife, 
 his children, and his maids, for where he 
 goes he carries his house upon his head, 
 like a snail : now, sir, I hope your business 
 is to me. 
 
 Le. No, sir, I must crave .a word with 
 my lady. 
 
 La. These words are intolerable, and 
 she shall hear no more. 
 
 Le. She must hear me speak. 
 
 La. Must she, sir ; have you brought the 
 king's warrant for it ? 
 
 Le. I have brought that which is above 
 kings. 
 
 La. Why, every man for her sake is a 
 Puritan. The devil I think will shortly 
 turn Puritan, or the Puritan will turn devil. 
 
 Flo. What have you brought, sir ? 
 
 Le. Marry this, madam ; you know we 
 ought to prove one another's constancy, 
 and I am come in all chaste and honour- 
 able sort to prove your constancy. 
 
 Flo. You are very welcome, sir, and I 
 will abide your proof. It is my duty to 
 abide your proof. 
 
 La. You'll bide his proof ; it is your 
 duty to bide his proof ; how the devil will 
 you bide his proof? 
 
 Flo. My good head, no otherwise than 
 before your face in all honourable and 
 religious sort ; I tell you I am constant to 
 you, and he comes to try whether I be so 
 or no, which I must endure. Begin your 
 proof, sir. 
 
 Le. Nay, madam, not in your husband's 
 hearing, though in his sight ; for there is 
 no woman will show she is tempted from 
 her constancy, though she be a little. 
 Withdraw yourself, sweet lady. 
 
 La. Well, I will see, though I do not 
 hear ; women may be courted without 
 offence, so they resist the courtier. 
 
 Le. Dear and most beautiful lady ; of 
 all the sweet, honest, and honourable 
 means to prove the purfty of a lady's 
 constancy, kisses are the strongest. I will, 
 therefore, be bold to begin my proof with 
 a kiss. 
 
 Flo. No, sir, no kissing. 
 
 Le. No kissing, madam? how shall I 
 prove you then sufficiently, not using the 
 most sufficient proof? To flatter yourself 
 by affection of spirit, when it is not per- 
 fectly tried, is sin. 
 
 Flo. You say well, sir ; that which is 
 truth is truth. 
 
 Le. Then do you well, lady, and yield 
 to the truth. 
 
 Flo. By your leave, sir, my husband 
 sees ; peradventure it may breed an offence 
 to him. 
 
 Le. How can it breed an offence to your 
 husband to see your constancy perfectly 
 tried ? 
 
 Flo. You are an odd man, I see ; but 
 first I pray tell me how kissing is the best 
 proof of chaste ladies. 
 
 Le. To give you a reason for that, you 
 must give me leave to be obscure and 
 philosophical. 
 
 Flo. I pray you be. I love philosophy well. 
 
 Le. Then thus, madam : every kiss is 
 made as the voice is, by imagination 
 and appetite, and as both those are pre- 
 sented to the ear in the voice, so are they 
 to the silent spirits in our kisses. 
 
 Flo. To what spirit mean you ? 
 
 Le. To the spirits of our blood. 
 
 Flo. What if it do? 
 
 Le. Why, then, my imagination and 
 mine appetite working upon your ears in 
 my voice, and upon your spirits in my 
 kisses, piercing therein the more deeply, 
 they give the stronger assault against your 
 constancy. 
 
 Flo. Why, then, to say, "prove my con- 
 stancy," is as much as to say, "kiss me." 
 
AN HUMOROUS DAY'S MIRTH. 
 
 Le. Most true, rare lady. 
 
 Flo. Then prove my constancy. 
 
 Le. Believe me, madam, you gather 
 exceeding wittily upon it. 
 
 La. Oh, my forehead, my very heart 
 aches at a blow ; what dost thou mean, 
 wife? thou wilt lose thy fame, discredit 
 thy religion, and dishonour me for ever. 
 
 Flo. Away, sir ; I will abide no more of 
 your proof, nor endure any more of your 
 trial. 
 
 Le. Oh, she dares not, she dares not ; I 
 am as glad I have tried your purity as may 
 be : you the most constant lady in France ? 
 I know an hundred ladies in this town 
 that will dance, revel all night amongst 
 gallants, and in the morning go to bed to 
 her husband as clear a woman as if she 
 were new christened ; kiss him, embrace 
 him, and say, " no, no, husband, thou 
 art the man ;" and he takes her for the 
 woman. 
 
 Flo. And all this can I do. 
 
 La. Take heed of it, wife. 
 
 Flo. Fear not, my good head ; I warrant 
 you for him. 
 
 Le. Nay, madam, triumph not before the 
 victory ; how can you conquer that against 
 which you never strive, or strive against 
 that which never encounters you ? To live 
 idle in this walk, to enjoy this company, to 
 wear this habit, and have no more delights 
 than those will afford you, is to make virtue 
 an idle housewife, and to hide herself 
 in slothful cobwebs, that still should be 
 adorned with actions of victory : no, 
 madam, if you will unworthily prove your 
 constancy to your husband, you must put 
 on rich apparel, fare daintily, hear music, 
 read sonnets, be continually courted, kiss, 
 dance, feast, revel all night amongst 
 gallants, then if you come to bed to your 
 husband with a clear mind and a clear 
 body, then are your virtues ipsissima ; 
 then have you passed the full test of ex- 
 periment, and you shall have an hundred 
 gallants fight thus far in blood for the 
 defence of your reputation. 
 
 La. Oh, vanity of vanities ! 
 
 Flo. Oh, husband, this is perfect trial 
 indeed. 
 
 La. And you will try all this now, will 
 you not ? 
 
 Flo. Yea, my good head ; for it is written, 
 we must pass to perfection through all 
 temptation, Abacuk the fourth. 
 
 La. Abacuk ! cuck me no cucks ; in a 
 doors, I say ; thieves, Puritans, murderers ; 
 in a doors, I say. \Exit. 
 
 Le. So now is he stark mad, i'faith ; but 
 sirrah, as this is an old lord jealous of his 
 young wife, so is ancient Countess Moren 
 jealous of her young husband ; we'll thither 
 to have some sport, i'faith. \_Exit. 
 
 Enter Besha hanging upon Martia's sleeve, 
 and the Lord Moren comes to them. 
 
 Mar. I prithee, Besha, keep a little oft'; 
 hang not upon her shoulders thus for 
 shame. 
 
 Be. My lord, Pardon a moy, I must not 
 let her talk alone with any one, for her 
 father gave me charge. 
 
 Mar. Oh, you are a goodly charger for a 
 goose. 
 
 Be. A goose ! you are a gander to call 
 me goose ; I am a Christian gentleman as 
 well as you. 
 
 Mo. Well, sirrah, get you hence, or by 
 my troth I'll have thee taken out in a 
 blanket, tossed from forth our hearing. 
 
 Be. In a blanket ? what, do you make a 
 puppy of me ? By skies and stones, I will 
 go and tell your lady. [Exit. 
 
 Mo. Nay, but, Besha. 
 
 Mar. Nay, he will tell, my lord. 
 
 Enter the Countess Moren and Besha. 
 
 Coun. Why, how now, my lord ! what, 
 thought you I was dead, that you are 
 wooing of another thus, or are you laying 
 plots to work my death ? 
 
 Mo. Why, neither, sweet bird ; what 
 need you move these questions unto me, 
 who you know loves you above all the 
 women in the world ? 
 
 Coun. How he can flatter now he hath 
 made a fault. 
 
 Be. He can do little, and he cannot cog. 
 
 Mo. Out, you ass ! 
 
 Coun. Well, come tell me what you did 
 entreat. 
 
 Mo. Nothing, by heaven, sweet bird, I 
 swear, but to entreat her love. 
 
 Coun. But to entreat her love ! 
 
 Mo. Nay, hear me out. 
 
 Coun. Nay, here you are out, you are 
 out too much, methinks, and put me in. 
 
 Mo. And put you in ? 
 
 Coun. In a fair taking, sir, I mean. 
 
 Mo. Oh, you may see what hasty taking 
 is ; you women evermore scramble for 
 our words, and never take them mannerly 
 from our mouths. 
 
 Coun. Come, tell me what you did 
 entreat. 
 
 Mo. I did entreat her love to Colenet. 
 
 Coun. To Colenet? Oh, he is your dear 
 
23 
 
 AN HUMOROUS DAY'S MIRTH. 
 
 cousin, and your kind heart i 'faith is never 
 well but when you are doing good for 
 every man ; speak, do you love me ? 
 
 Mo. I'faith, sweet bird. 
 
 Coun. Best of all others? 
 
 Mo. Best of all others. 
 
 Coun. That's my good bird, i'faith. 
 
 Be. Oh, mistress, will you love me so ? 
 
 Mar. No, by my troth will I not. 
 
 Be. " No, by my troth, will I not :" why 
 that's well said, I could never get her to 
 flatter me yet. 
 
 Enter Lemot, Blanuel, and Catalian, 
 and Colenet. 
 
 Le. Good morrow, my good lord, and 
 these passing lovely ladies. 
 
 Ca. So now we shall have all manner 
 of flattering with Monsieur Lemot. 
 
 Le. You are all manner of ways deceived, 
 madam, for I am so far from flattering you, 
 that I do not a whit praise you. 
 
 Coun. Why do ' you call us passing 
 lovely then ? 
 
 Le. Because you are passing from your 
 loveliness. 
 
 Mar. Madam, we shall not have one 
 mot of Monsieur Lemot, but it shall be as 
 it were a moat to drown all our conceit in 
 admiration. 
 
 Le. See what a mote her quick eye can 
 spy in mine, before she looks in it. 
 
 Mar. So mote I thee, thine answer is as 
 good as mought be. 
 
 Le. Here's a poor name run out of 
 breath quickly. 
 
 Co. Why, Monsieur Lemot, your name 
 is run out of breath at every word you 
 speak. 
 
 Le. That's because my name signifies 
 word. 
 
 Mar. Well hit, Monsieur veroum. 
 
 Le. What, are you good at Latin, lady? 
 
 Mar. No, sir, but I know what verbum 
 is. 
 
 Le. Why, 'tis greenbum : ver is green, 
 and you know what bum is, I am sure of 
 that. 
 
 Mar. No, sir, 'tis a verb, and I can de- 
 cline you. 
 
 Le. That you can, I'll be sworn. 
 
 Mar. What can I do? 
 
 Le. Decline me, or take me a hole 
 lower, as the proverb is. 
 
 Mar. Nay, sir, I mean plain grammati- 
 cal declination. 
 
 Le. Well, let's hear your scholarship, 
 | and decline me. 
 
 Mar. I will, sir : moto, motas. 
 
 Be. O excellent ! she hath called him ass 
 in Latin. 
 
 Le. Well, sir, forward. 
 
 Mar. Nay, there's enough to try both 
 our scholarships. 
 
 Le. Moto, motas ; nay, 'faith forward to 
 motavi, or motandi. 
 
 Mar. Nay, sir, I'll leave when I am well. 
 
 Co. Why, Monsieur Lemot, your name 
 being in word general, is in nini, or in 
 hammer, or in cock, or in buzzard. 
 
 Le. Or in wagtail, or in woodcock, or in 
 dotteril, or in dizard. 
 
 Mar. Or in clot, or in head, or in cow, 
 or in baby. 
 
 Le. Or in mawkin, or in trash, or in 
 pap, or in lady. 
 
 Co. Or indeed in everything. 
 
 Le. Why then 'tis in thing. 
 
 Mar. Then, good Monsieur Thing, there 
 let it rest. 
 
 Le. Then above all things I must have a 
 word with you. 
 
 Be. Hands off, sir ; she is not for your 
 mowing. 
 
 Le. She is for your mocking. 
 
 Be. And she mock me, I'll tell her 
 father. 
 
 Le. That's a good child ; thou smellest 
 of the mother, and she was a fool, I war- 
 rant you. 
 
 Be. Meddle with me, but do not meddle 
 with my mother. 
 
 Le. That's a good child ; come, I must 
 needs have a word with you. 
 
 Be. You shall do none of your needs with 
 her, sir. 
 
 Ca. Why, what will you do? 
 
 Be. What will I do? you shall see what 
 I'll do. {Then he offereth to draw. 
 
 Bla. Go to, you ass ; offer to draw here, 
 and we'll draw thee out of the house by the 
 heels. 
 
 Be. What, three against one ? now was 
 ever proper hard-favoured gentleman so 
 abused? Go to, mistress Martia, I see you 
 well enough ; are you not ashamed to 
 stand talking alone with such a one as he ? 
 
 Le. How, sir? with such a one as I, sir? 
 
 Be. Yea, sir, with such a one as you, sir. 
 
 Le. Why, what am I ? 
 
 Be. What are you, sir ? why, I know you 
 well enough. 
 
 Le. Sirrah, tell me what you know me 
 for, or else by heaven I'll make thee better 
 thou hadst never known how to speak. 
 
 Be. Why, sir, if you will needs know, I 
 know you for an honourable gentleman and 
 the king's minion, and were it not to you, 
 
AN HUMOROUS DAY'S MIRTH. 
 
 29 
 
 there's ne'er a gentleman in Paris should 
 have had her out of my hands. 
 
 Mar. Nay, he's as tall a gentleman of 
 his hands as any is in Paris. 
 
 Col. There's a favour for you, sir. 
 
 Le. But I can get no favour for you, sir. 
 
 Bla. I pray, my lord, entreat for your 
 cousin Colenet. 
 
 Mo. Alas ! man, I dare not for my wife. 
 
 Ca. Why, my lord, she thinks it is for 
 nothing, but to speak for your cousin. 
 
 Mo. I pray you, bird, give me leave to 
 speak for my cousin. 
 
 Conn. I am content for him. 
 
 Mo. Then one word with you more, 
 cotwrteous lady Martia. 
 
 Be. Not, and you were my father. 
 
 Mo. Gentlemen, for God sake thrust this 
 ass out of the doors. 
 
 Lc. Nay, by'rlady, he'll run home and 
 tell her father. 
 
 Ca. Well, go to her ; I warrant he shall 
 not trouble you. Kind gentleman, how we 
 dote on thee : embrace him, gentlemen. 
 
 Bla. Oh ! sweet Resha, How we honour 
 thee! 
 
 Ca. Nay, gentlemen, look what a pierc- 
 ing eye he hath. 
 
 Be. An eye ? I have an eye and it were a 
 pole-cat. 
 
 Ca. Nay, look what a nose he hath. 
 
 Be. My nose is net crimson. 
 
 Ca. Nay, look what a handsome man he 
 is. Oh ! Nature, Nature, thou never madest 
 man of so pure a feature. 
 
 Be. Truly, truly, gentlemen, I do not 
 deserve this kindness. 
 
 Ca. O lord, sir, you are too modest : 
 come, shall we walk? 
 
 Be. Whither ? to the alehouse ? 
 
 Le. Hark you, madam, have you no 
 more care of the right of your husband, 
 than to let him talk thus affectionately with 
 another ? 
 
 Coun. Why, he speaks not for himself, 
 but for his cousin Colenet. 
 
 Enter Lemot. 
 
 Lc. Gods my life? he tells you so, nay 
 and these excuses may serve I have done. 
 
 Coun. By the mass, now I' observe him, 
 he looks very suspiciously indeed ; ne'er 
 trust me if his looks and his gesture do not 
 plainly show himself to swear, ' ' by this 
 light I do love thee." 
 
 Le. By'rlady, madam, you guess shrewdly 
 indeed ; but hark you, madam, I pray let 
 not me be the author of discord between 
 my good lord and you. 
 
 Coun. No, no, Monsieur Lemot, I were 
 blind if I could not see this ; I'll slit her 
 nose, by Jesus. 
 
 Mo. How now, what's the matter? 
 
 Coun. What's the matter? If I could 
 come at your mistress, she should know 
 what's the matter. 
 
 Mo. My mistress ? 
 
 Coun. Yea, your mistress. Oh, here's fair 
 dissimulation. Oh, ye impudent gossip ; 
 do I send for you to my house to make you 
 my companion, and do you use me thus? 
 Little dost thou know what 'tis to love a 
 man truly, for if thou didst, thou wouldst 
 be ashamed to wrong me so. 
 
 Mar. You wrong me, madam, to say I 
 wrong you. 
 
 Coun. Go to, get you out of my house. 
 
 Mar. I am gone, madam. 
 
 Mo. Well, come in, sweet bird, and I'll 
 persuade thee ; there's no harm done. 
 
 Coun. Well, we shall hear your per- 
 suasions. 
 
 Le. Well, God knows, and I can partly 
 guess what he must do to persuade her. 
 Well, take your fair charge, fair and manly, 
 Monsieur Labesha. 
 
 Mo. One word with you more, fair lady. 
 
 Le. Not a word ; no man on pain of 
 death, not a word ; he comes upon my 
 rapier's point, that comes within forty foot 
 on her. 
 
 Be. Thanks, good Lemot, and thanks, 
 gentlemen all ; and her father shall thank 
 you. 
 
 Mo. Much good do it you, sir. Come, 
 gentlemen, let's go wait upon the king, 
 and see the humour of the young lord j 
 Dowsecer. 
 
 Le. Excuse me to the king, and tell him 
 I will meet him there. So this is but the 
 beginning of sport between this fine lord 
 and his old lady. But this wench Martia ' 
 hath happy stars reigned at the dispo- 
 sition of her beauty, for the king himself ! 
 doth mightily dote on her. Now to my I 
 Puritan, and see if I can make up my full 
 proof of her. 
 
 Enter the Puritan in her best attire. 
 
 Flo. Now am I up and ready ready ? 
 why? Because my clothes once on, that 
 call we ready. But readiness I hope hath 
 reference to some fit action for our several 
 state; for when I am attired thus, Countess- 
 like, 'tis not to work, for that befits me 
 not ; 'tis on some pleasure, whose chief 
 object is one man's content, and he my 
 husband is ; but what need I thus bo 
 
AN HUMOROUS DAY'S MIRTH. 
 
 attired, for that he would be pleased with 
 | meaner weed? Besides, I take no pleasure 
 thus to please him ; I am content, because 
 it is my duty to keep to him, and not to 
 seek no further ; but if that pleasure be a 
 thing that makes the time seem short, if it 
 do laughter cause, if it procure the tongue 
 but heartily to say, " I thank you," I have 
 no such thing, nor can the godliest woman 
 in the world, against her nature please her 
 sense, or soul ; she may say, this I will, or 
 this I will not. But what shall she reap 
 hereby ? Comfort in another world, if she 
 will stay till then. 
 
 Enter her husband behind her. 
 
 La. Yea, marry, sir ; now I must look 
 about : now if her dissolute prover come 
 again, shall I admit him to make farther trial ? 
 I'll have a dialogue between myself and 
 manly reason to that special end. Reason, 
 shall I endure a dissolute man to come and 
 court my wife, and prove her constancy ? 
 Reason : "To court and prove her you 
 
 may bear, my lord, 
 
 For perfit things are not the worse for trial ; 
 Gold will not turn to dross for deepest trial." 
 Before God a comfortable saying. Thanks, 
 gentle Reason, I'll trouble you no more. 
 God save, sweet wife, look up, thy tempter 
 comes. 
 
 Flo. Let him, my lord ; I hope I am 
 more blest than to relent in thought of 
 lewd suggestion. 
 
 La. But if by frailty you should yield in 
 thought, what will you do? 
 
 Flo. Then shall you keep me close, and 
 never let me see man but yourself ; if not, 
 then boldly may I go abroad. 
 
 La. But how shall I know whether you 
 yield or no ? 
 
 Flo. Hear us yourself, my lord. 
 
 La. Tut, that were gross, for no woman 
 will yield in her husband's hearing. 
 Flo. Then to assure you if I yield or no, 
 mark but these signs : as he is proving 
 me, if I do yield, you shall perceive my face 
 blush and look pale, and put on heavy 
 looks. If I resist, I will triumph, and 
 smile, and when I hold up my finger, stop 
 his vain lips, or thrust him on the breast ; 
 then is he overthrown both horse and foot. 
 
 La. Why, this doth satisfy me mightily ; 
 see, he is come. 
 
 Le. Honour to my good lord, and his 
 fair young lady. 
 
 La. Now, Monsieur Sathan, you are come 
 to tempt and prove at full the spirit of my 
 wife. 
 
 Le. \ am, my lord ; but vainly, I suppose. 
 
 La. You see she dares put on this brave 
 attire fit with the fashion, which you think 
 serves much to lead a woman into light 
 desires. 
 
 Le. My lord, I see it : and the sight 
 thereof doth half dismay me to make 
 further proof. 
 
 La. Nay, prove her, prove her, sir, and 
 spare not : what doth the witty minion of 
 our king think any dame in France will 
 say him nay ? But prove her, prove her, 
 see and spare not. 
 
 Le. Well, sir, though half discouraged 
 in my coming, yet I'll go forward : lady, by 
 your leave. 
 
 Flo. Now, sir, your cunning in a lady's 
 proof. 
 
 Le. Madam, in proving you I find no 
 proof against your piercing glaaeiflgs, but 
 swear I am shot through with your love. 
 
 Flo. I do believe you : who will swear 
 he loves, to get the thing he loves not ? if 
 he love, what needs more perfit trial ? 
 
 Le. Most true, rare lady. 
 
 Flo. Then we are fitly met : I love you 
 too. 
 
 Le. Exceeding excellent. 
 
 Flo. Nay, I know you will applaud me 
 in this course ; but to let common circum- 
 stances pass, let us be familiar. 
 
 Le. Dear life, you ravish my conceit with 
 joy. 
 
 La. I long to see the signs that she will 
 make. 
 
 Flo. I told my husband I would make 
 these signs : if I resisted, first hold up my 
 finger, as if I said, "i* faith, sir, you are 
 gone," but it shall say, "i" faith, sir, we 
 are one." 
 
 La. Now she triumphs, and points to 
 heaven, I warrant you. 
 
 Flo. Then must I seem as if I would 
 hear no more, and stop your vain lips :.go, 
 cruel lips, you have bewitched me, go. 
 
 La. Now she stops in his scorned words, 
 and rates him for his pains. 
 
 Flo. And when I thrust you thus against 
 the breast, then are you overthrown both 
 horse and foot. 
 
 La. Now is he overthrown, both horse 
 and foot. 
 
 Flo. Away, vain man, have I not answered 
 you? 
 
 Le. Madam, I yield and swear I never 
 saw so constant, nor so virtuous a lady. 
 
 La. Now, speak, I pray, and speak but 
 truly, have you not got a wrong sow by 
 the ear ? 
 
AN HUMOROUS DAY'S MIRTH. 
 
 Le. My lord, my labour is not altoge 
 st. for now I find that which I n 
 
 thcr 
 never 
 
 lost, for now 
 thought. 
 
 La. Ah, sirrah, is the edge of your 
 Steel wit rebated then against her ada- 
 mant ? 
 
 Le. It is, my lord ; yet one word more, 
 fair lady. 
 
 La. Fain would he have it do, and it will 
 not be : hark you, wife, what sign will 
 you make me now if you relent not ? 
 
 Flo. Lend him my handkercher to wipe 
 his lips of their last disgrace. 
 
 La. Excellent good ; go forward, see, I 
 pray. 
 
 Flo. Another sign, i'faith, love is re- 
 quited. 
 
 Le. Let him have signs enow, my 
 heavenly love ; then know there is a private 
 meeting this day at Yerone's ordinary, 
 where if you will do me the grace to come, 
 and bring the beauteous Martia with you, 
 I will provide a fair and private room, 
 where you shall be unseen of any man, 
 only of me, and of the king himself, whom 
 I will cause to honour your repair with his 
 high presence, and there with music and 
 quick re veilings you may revive your 
 spirits so long time dulled. 
 
 Flo. I'll send for Martia then, and meet 
 you there, and tell my husband I will lock 
 myself in my choice walk till supper-time. 
 We pray, sir, wipe your lips of the disgrace 
 They took in their last labour. 
 
 Le. Marry, the devil was never so de- 
 spited. 
 
 La. Nay, stay, see. 
 
 Le. No, no, my lord, you have the con- 
 stant 'st wife that ever: well, I'll say no 
 more. \Exit. 
 
 La. Never was minion so disminioned. 
 Come, constancy, come, my girl, I'll leave 
 thee loose to twenty of them, i'faith. 
 
 Flo. Come (then he sighs], my good 
 head, come. [Exit. 
 
 Enter the King and all the Lords with the 
 trumpets. 
 
 King. Why sound these trumpets in the 
 devil's name ? 
 
 Ca. To show the king^ comes. 
 
 King. To show the king comes? Go 
 hang the trumpeters, they mock me 
 boldly, and every other thing that makes 
 me known, not telling what I am, but 
 what I seem, a king of clouts, a scare- 
 crow, full of cobwebs, spiders and earwigs, 
 that sets jackdaw's long tongue in my 
 bosom, and upon my head ; and such are 
 
 all the affections of love swarming in me, 
 without command or reason. 
 
 Le. How now, my liege ! what, quag- 
 mired in philosophy, bound with love's 
 whipcord, and quite robbed of reason : and 
 I'll give you a receipt for this presently. 
 
 King. Peace, Lemot ; they say the young 
 Lord Dowsecer is rarely learned, and 
 nothing lunatic as men suppose, but 
 hateth company, and worldly trash, the 
 judgment and the just contempt of them, 
 have in reason arguments that break affec- 
 tion (as the most sacred poets write) and 
 still the roughest wind : and his rare 
 humour come we now to hear. 
 
 Le. Yea, but hark you, my liege, I'll tell 
 you a better humour than that : here pre- 
 sently will be your fair love Martia, to see 
 his humour, and from thence fair Countess 
 Florilla, and she will go unto Verone's 
 ordinary, where none but you and I, and 
 Count Moren, will be most merry. 
 
 King. Why, Count Moren, I hope, dares 
 not adventure into any woman's company 
 but his wife's. 
 
 Le. Yes, as I will work, my liege, and 
 then let me alone to keep him there till his 
 wife comes. 
 
 King. That will be royal sport : see 
 where all comes : welcome, fair lords and 
 ladies. 
 
 Enter Labervele, Labesha, and all the 
 rest. 
 
 La. My liege, you are welcome to my 
 poor house. 
 
 Le. I pray, my liege, know this gentle- 
 man especially ; he is a gentleman born, I 
 can tell you. 
 
 King. With all my heart : what might I 
 call your name ? 
 
 La. Monsieur Labesha, SignordeFoulasa. 
 
 King. De Foulasa, an ill-sounding bar- 
 rendry, of my word ! but to the purpose, 
 Lord Labervele ; we are come to see the 
 humour of your rare son, which by some 
 means, I pray, let us partake. 
 
 La. Your highness shall too unworthily 
 partake the sight which I with grief and 
 tears daily behold, seeing in him the end of 
 my poor house. 
 
 King. You know not that, my lord, 
 your wife is young, and he perhaps here- 
 j after may be moved to more society. 
 
 La. Would to God he would, that we 
 j might do to your crown of France more 
 worthy and more acceptable service. 
 
 King . Thanks, good my lord ; see where 
 | he appears. 
 
AN HUMOROUS DAY'S MIRTH. 
 
 Enter Lavel with a picture, a pair of large 
 hose, a codpiece, and a sword. 
 
 King. Say, Lavel, where is your young 
 friend, the young lord Dowsecer ? 
 
 Lav. I look, my liege, he will be here 
 anon, but then I must entreat your 
 Majesty and all the rest, to stand unseen, 
 for he as yet will brook no company. 
 
 King. We will stand close, Lavel ; but 
 wherefore bring you this apparel, that pic- 
 ture, and that sword ? 
 
 Lav. To put him by the sight of them 
 in mind of their brave states that use them, 
 or at the least, of the true use they 
 should be put unto. 
 
 King. Indeed the sense doth still stir up 
 the. soul, and though these objects do not 
 work, yet it is very probable in time she 
 may at least, we shall discern his humour 
 of them. 
 
 Le. See where he comes contemplating ; 
 stand close. 
 
 Enter Dowsecer. 
 
 Quid Dei potes videri magnum in rebus 
 humanis quce (sterni omncs to thy ousqite 
 notas sic omnibus magna tutor. 
 "What can seem strange to him on earthly 
 
 things, 
 
 To whom the whole course of eternity, 
 And the round compass of the world is 
 
 known ?' ' 
 
 A speech divine, but yet I marvel much 
 How it should spring from thee, Mark 
 
 Cicero, 
 
 That sold for glory the sweet peace of life, 
 And made a torment of rich nature's work, 
 Wearing thyself by watchful candle-light, 
 When all the smiths and weavers were at rest, 
 And yet was gallant ere the day-bird sung 
 To have a troop of clients at thy gates, 
 Arm'd with religious supplications 
 Such as would make stern Minos laugh to 
 
 read : 
 
 Look on our lawyers' bills, not one con- 
 tains virtue or honest drifts ; but he cares, 
 he cares, he cares ; for acorns now are in 
 request, but the oak's poor fruit did nourish 
 men, men were like oaks of body, tough, 
 and strong men were like giants then, but 
 pigmies now, yet full of villanies as their 
 skin can hold. 
 
 Le. How like you this humour, my liege? 
 
 King. This is no humour, this is but 
 perfit judgment. 
 
 Coun. Is this a frenzy ? 
 
 Mar. Oh, were all men such, 
 Men were no men, but gods : this earth a 
 heaven. 
 
 Do. See, see, the shameless world, that 
 dares present her mortal enemy with these 
 gross ensigns of her lenity, iron and steel, 
 uncharitable stuff, good 'spital-founders, 
 enemies to whole skins : as if there were 
 not ways enough to die by natural and 
 casual accidents, diseases, surfeits, brave 
 carouses, old aqua-vitae, and too base 
 wives, and thousands more : hence with 
 this art of murder. But here is goodly 
 gear, the soul of man, for 'tis his better 
 part; take away this, and take away their 
 merits, and their spirits, scarce dare they 
 come in any public view, without this 
 countenance-giver, and some dare not 
 come, because they have it too ; for they 
 may sing, in written books they find it; 
 what is it then the fashion, or the cost, the 
 cost doth match, but yet the fashion more; 
 for let it be but mean, so in the fashion, 
 and 'tis most geritleman-like, is it so? 
 make a hand in the m argent, and burn the 
 book, a large house and a codpiece makes 
 a man a codpiece, nay, indeed, but the 
 house must down : well for your gentle 
 forgers of men, and for you come to 
 rest me into fashion, wear you thus, and 
 sit upon the matter. 
 
 La. And he doth despise our purposes. 
 Ca. Bear with him yet, my lord, he is 
 not resolved. 
 La. I would not have my friend mock 
 
 worthy men, 
 For the vain pride of some that are not so. 
 Do. I do not here deride difference of 
 
 states, 
 No not in show, but wish that such as 
 
 want show 
 Might not be scorn'd with ignorant Turkish 
 
 pride, 
 
 Being pompous in apparel, and in mind : 
 Nor would I have with imitated shapes, 
 Men make their native land the land of 
 
 apes, 
 
 iving like strangers when they be at home, 
 And so perhaps bear strange hearts to 
 
 their home, 
 
 SJor look a snuff like a piannet's tail, 
 For nothing but their tails and formal locks, 
 When like to cream-bowls, all their virtues 
 
 swim 
 
 In their set faces, all their in parts then, 
 Fit to serve peasants, or make curds for 
 
 daws : 
 
 But what a stock am I thus to neglect 
 This figure of man's comfort, this rare 
 
 piece ? 
 
 La. Heavens grant that make him more 
 humane and sociable. 
 
AN HUMOROUS DAY'S MIRTH. 
 
 33 
 
 King. Nay, he's more humane than all 
 we are. 
 
 La. I fear he will be too sharp to that 
 sweet, sex. 
 
 Do. She is very fair, I think that she be j 
 painted ; and if she be, sir, she might ask . 
 of me, how many is there of our sex that 
 are not ? 'tis a sharp question : marry and 
 I think they have small skill, if they were 
 all of painting, 'twere safer dealing with 
 them ; and indeed were their minds strong 
 enough to guide their bodies, their beaute- 
 ous deeds should match \vith their heavenly 
 looks, 'twere necessary they should wear 
 them, and would they vouchsafe it, even I 
 would joy in their society. 
 
 Mar. And who would not die with such 
 a man? 
 Do. But to admire them as our gallants 
 
 do, 
 "Oh, what an eye she hath ! Oh ! dainty 
 
 hand, 
 Rare foot and leg !" and leave the mind 
 
 respectless, 
 This is a plague that in both men and 
 
 women 
 
 Makes such pollution of our earthly being: 
 Well, I will practise yet to court this piece. 
 La. Oh ! happy man, now have I hope 
 in her. 
 
 King. Methinks I could endure him 
 days and nights. 
 
 Do. Well, sir, now thus must I do, sir, 
 ere it come to women ; now, sir, a plague 
 upon it, 'tis so ridiculous I can no further : 
 what poor ass was it that set this in my 
 way ? Now if my father should be the man! 
 God's precious coals, 'tis he. 
 
 La. Good son, go forward in this gentle 
 humour : observe this picture : it presents a 
 maid of noble birth and excellent of parts, 
 whom for our house and honour sake, I 
 wish thou wouldst confess to marry. 
 
 Do. To marry, father? why, we shall 
 I have children. 
 
 La. Why, that's the end of marriage, and 
 \ the joy of men. 
 
 Do. Oh, how you are deceived ! you 
 have but me, and what a trouble am I to 
 your joy ! but, father, if you long to have 
 some fruit of me, see, father, I will creep into 
 this stubborn earth and mix my flesh with it, 
 and they shall breed grass, to fat oxen, 
 asses, and such-like, and when they in the 
 grass thespring converts intobeasts' nourish- 
 ment, then comes the fruit of this my body 
 forth ; then may you well say, seeing my 
 race is so profitably increased, that good 
 fat ox, and that same large-eared ass are 
 VOL. I. 
 
 my son's sons, that calf with a white face is 
 his fair daughter ; with which, when your 
 fields are richly filled, then will my race 
 content you ; but for the joys of children, 
 'tush, 'tis gone children will not deserve, 
 nor parents take it : wealth is the only 
 father and the child, and but in wealth no 
 man hath any joy. 
 
 La. Some course, dear son, take for thy 
 honour sake. 
 
 Do. Then, father, here's a most excellent 
 course. 
 
 La. This is some comfort yet. 
 
 Do. If you will straight be gone and 
 leave me here, I'll stand as quietly as any 
 lamb, and trouble none of you. 
 
 La. An hapless man. 
 
 Le. How like you this humour yet, my 
 liege ? 
 
 King. As of a holy fury, not a frenzy. 
 
 Mo. See, see, my liege, he hath seen us, 
 sure. 
 
 King. Nay, look how he views Martia, 
 and makes him fine. 
 
 Le. Yea, my liege, and she as I hope 
 well observed, hath uttered many kind 
 conceits of hers. 
 
 King. Well, I'll be gone, and when she 
 comes to Verone's ordinary, I'll have her 
 taken to my custody. 
 
 Le. I'll stay, my liege, and see the event 
 of this. 
 
 Kin Do so, Lemot. [Exit the King. 
 
 Do. What have I seen ? how am I burnt 
 to dust with a new Sun, and made a novei 
 Phoenix ; is she a woman that objects this 
 sight, able to work the chaos of the world 
 into gestion ? Oh, divine aspect ! the 
 excellent disposer of the mind shines in 
 thy beauty, and thou hast not changed my 
 soul to sense, but my sense unto soul, 
 And I desire thy pure society, 
 But even as angels do to angels fly. [Exit. 
 
 Mar. Fly, soul, and follow him. 
 
 La. I marvel much at my son's suddea 
 strange behaviour. 
 
 Le. Bear with him yet, my lord, 'tis 
 but his humour : come, what, shall we go 
 to Verone's ordinary ? 
 
 La. Yea, for God's sake, for I am passing 
 hungry. 
 
 Mo. Yea, come, Monsieur Lemot ; will i 
 you walk? 
 
 Coun. What, will you go ? 
 
 Mo. Yea, sweet bird. I have promised 
 so. 
 
 Coun. Go to, you shall not go and leave 
 me alone. 
 
 Mo. For one meal, gentle bird. Verone 
 
34 
 
 AN HUMOROUS DAY'S MIRTH. 
 
 invites us to buy some jewels he hath 
 brought of late from Italy : I'll buy the j 
 best, and bring it thee, so thou wilt let me ! 
 go. 
 
 Coun. Well said, flattering Fabian ; but j 
 tell me then what ladies will be there? 
 
 Mo. Ladies ? why, none. 
 
 Le. No ladies use to come to ordinaries, ' : 
 madam. 
 
 Coun. Go to, bird, tell me now the very ' 
 truth. 
 
 Mo. None, of mine honour, bird ; you , 
 never heard that ladies came to ordi- j 
 naries. 
 
 Coun. Oh, that's because I should not go j 
 With you. 
 
 Mar. Why, 'tis not fit you should. 
 
 Coun. Well, hark you, bird, of my word 
 you shall not go, unless you will swear 
 to me you will neither court nor kiss a 
 dame in any sort, till you come home 
 again. 
 
 Mar. Why, I swear I will not. 
 
 Coun. Go to, by this kiss. 
 
 Mar. Yea, by this kiss. 
 
 -Fo. Martia, learn by this when you are 
 a wife. 
 
 La. I like the kissing well. 
 
 Flo. My lord, I'll leave you; your son 
 Dowsecer hath made me melancholy with 
 his humour, and I'll go lock myself in my 
 close walk till supper-time. 
 
 La. What, and not dine to-day? 
 
 Flo. No, my good head : come, Martia, 
 you and I will fast together. 
 
 Mar. With all my heart, madam. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 La. Well, gentlemen, I'll go see my 
 son. [Exit. 
 
 Fo. By'rlady, gentlemen, I'll go home 
 to dinner. 
 
 La. Home to dinner? by'rlord, but you 
 shall not ; you shall go with us to the or- 
 dinary, where you shall meet gentlemen of 
 so good carriage, and passing compliments, 
 it will do your heart good to see them ; 
 why, you never saw the best sort of gen- 
 tlemen if not at ordinaries. 
 
 Fo. I promise you that's rare, my lord ; 
 and Monsieur Lemot, I'll meet you there 
 presently. 
 
 Le. We'll expect your coming. 
 
 [Exeunt all. 
 
 Enter Verone with his napkin upon his 
 shoulder, and his man Jaques with 
 another, and his Son bringing in cloth 
 and napkins. 
 
 Ve. Come on, my masters : shadow these 
 
 tables with their white veils, accomplish 
 the court cupboard, wait diligently to-day 
 for my credit and your c\vn, that if the 
 meat should chance to be raw, yet your 
 behaviours being neither rude nor raw, 
 may excuse it ; or if the meat should chance 
 to be tough, be you tender over them in 
 your attendance, that the one may bear 
 with the other. 
 
 Ja. Faith, some of them be so hard to 
 please, finding fault with your cheer, and 
 discommending your wine, saying, they 
 fare better at Valere's for half the 
 money. 
 
 Boy. Besides, if there be any cheboules in 
 your napkins, they say your nose or ours 
 have dropt on them, and then they throw 
 them about the house. 
 
 Ve. But these be small faults ; you may 
 bear with them ; young gentlemen and 
 wild heads will be doing. 
 
 Enter the Maid. 
 
 Maid. Come, whose wit was it to cover 
 in this room, in the name of God, I trow 
 ye? 
 
 Boy. Why, I hope this room is as fair as 
 the other. 
 
 Maid. In your foolish opinion. You 
 might have told a wise body so, and kept 
 yourself a fool still. 
 
 Fo. I cry for mercy ; how bitter you are 
 in your proverbs. 
 
 Maid. So bitter I am, sir. 
 
 Ve. Oh, sweet Sateena ! I dare not say 
 I love thee. 
 
 Ja. Must you control us, you proud 
 baggage you ? 
 
 Maid. Baggage? you are a knave to 
 call me baggage. 
 
 Ja. A knave? my master shall know- 
 that. 
 
 Ve. I will not see them. 
 
 Ja. Master, here is your maid uses 
 herself so saucily, that one house shall not 
 hold us two long, God willing. 
 
 Ve. Come hither, huswife. Pardon 
 me, sweet Jacenan : I must make an 
 angry face outwardly, though I smile in- 
 wardly. 
 
 Maid. Say what you will to me, sir. 
 
 Ve. Oh, you are a fine gossip ; can I 
 not keep honest servants in my house, but 
 you must control them ? you must be their 
 mistress. 
 
 Maid. Why, I did but take up the 
 cloth, because my mistress would have the 
 dinner in another room ; and he called me 
 baggage. 
 
AN HUMOROUS DAY'S MIRTH. 
 
 35 
 
 t 
 
 at old Lucilla's house, the muster-mistress 
 of all the smock-tearers in Paris, and both 
 the bawd and the pander were carried to 
 the dungeon. 
 
 Ve. There was dungeon upon dungeon ; 
 but call you her the muster-mistress of all 
 the smock-tearers in Paris ? 
 
 Ber. Yea, for she hath them all trained 
 up afore her. 
 
 Enter Blanuel. 
 
 Bla. Good morrow, my host ; good 
 morrow, gentlemen all. 
 
 Ve. Good morrow, Monsieur Blanuel ; 
 I am glad of your quick delivery. 
 
 Bla. Delivery ! what, didst thou think I 
 was with child ? 
 
 Ve. Yea, of a dungeon. 
 
 Bla. Why, how knew you that ? 
 
 Ro. Why, Berger told us. 
 
 Bla. Berger, who told you of it ? 
 
 Ber. One that I heard, by the lord. 
 
 Bla. Oh excellent, you are still playing 
 the wag. 
 
 Enter Lemot and Moren. 
 
 Le. Good morrow, gentlemen all ; good 
 morrow, good Monsieur Rowl. 
 
 Ro. At your service. 
 
 Le. I pray, my lord, look what a pretty 
 falling band he hath, 'tis pretty fantasti- 
 cal, as I have seen made, with good judg- 
 ment, great show, and but little cost. 
 
 Mo. And so it is, I promise you ; who 
 made it, I pray ? 
 
 Ro. I know not, i'faith, I bought it by 
 chance. 
 
 Le. It is a very pretty one, make much 
 of it. 
 
 Enter Catalian, sweating. 
 
 Ca. Boy, I prithee call for a coarse 
 napkin. Good morrow, gentlemen ; I 
 would you had been at the tennis court, 
 you should have seen me a beat Monsieur 
 Besan, and I gave him fifteen and all hi? 
 faults. 
 
 Le. Thou didst more for him than ever 
 G*od will do for thee. 
 
 Ca. Jaques, I prithee fill me a cup of 
 canary, three parts water. 
 
 Le. You shall have all water and if it 
 please you. 
 
 Enter Ua.\A.' 
 
 Maid. Who called for a coarse napkin ? 
 
 Ca. Marry I, sweetheart ; do you take 
 the pains to bring it yourself ? have at you, 
 by my host's leave. 
 
 Maid. Away, sir ! fie, for shame ! 
 
 D 2 
 
 Ja. You called me knave and fool, I 
 thank you, small bones. 
 
 Maid. Go to, go to, she were wise 
 enough would talk with you. 
 
 Boy. Go thy ways for the proudest 
 harlotry that ever came in our house. 
 
 Ve. Let her alone, boy; I have schooled 
 her, I warrant thee ; she shall not be my 
 maid long, if I can help it. 
 
 Boy. No, I think so, sir; but what, shall 
 I take up the cloth ? 
 
 Ve. No, let the cloth lie ; hither they'll 
 come first I am sure of it. Then if they 
 will dine in the other room, they shall. 
 
 Enter Rowl. 
 
 Ro. Good morrow, my host ; is nobody 
 come yet ? 
 
 Ve. Your worship is the first, sir. 
 
 Ro. I was invited by my cousin Colenet, 
 to see your jewels. 
 
 Ve. I thank his worship and yours. 
 
 Ro. Here's a pret ty place for an ordinary. 
 I am very sorry I have not used to come to 
 ordinaries. 
 
 Ve. I hope we shall have your company 
 hereafter. 
 
 Ro. You are very like so. 
 
 Enter Berger. 
 
 Ber. Good morrow, my host ; good 
 morrow, good Monsieur Rowl. 
 
 Ro. Good morrow to you, sir. 
 
 Ber. What, are we two the first ? give's 
 the cards. Here, come, this gentleman and 
 I will go to cards while dinner be ready. 
 
 Ro. No, truly, I cannot play at cards. 
 
 Ber. How ! not play ? Oh for shame, 
 say not so ; how can a young gentleman 
 spend his time but in play, and in courting 
 his mistress ? Come, use this, lest youth 
 take too much of the other. 
 
 Ro. Faith, I cannot play, and yet I care 
 not so much to venture two or three 
 crowns with you. 
 
 Ber. Oh, I thought that I should find 
 of you ; I pray God I have not met with 
 my match. 
 
 Ro. No, trust me, sir, I cannot play. 
 
 Ber. Hark you, my host ; have you a 
 
 pipe of good tobacco ? 
 
 Ve. The best in the town, 
 leaf. 
 
 Boy, dry a 
 
 Boy. There's none in the house, sir. 
 Ve. Dry a dock leaf. 
 Be. My host, do you know Monsieur 
 Blanuel? 
 
 Ve. Yea, passing well, sir. 
 
 Be. Why, he was taken learning tricks 
 
AN HUMOROUS DAY'S MIRTH. 
 
 Ca. Hark you, my host, you must i Ro. Lemot, will you play ? 
 marry this young wench ; you do her j Le. Pardon, good Monsieur Rowl ; if I 
 mighty wrong else. had any disposition to gaming, your com- 
 
 Ver. Oh. sir. you 
 
 Oh, sir, you are a merry man. 
 Enter Foyes and Labesha. 
 
 Fo. Good morrow, gentlemen, you see 
 I am as good as my word. 
 
 Mo. You are, sir, and I am very glad of 
 it. 
 
 Le. You are, welcome, Monsieur Foyes : 
 but you are not, no, not you. 
 
 Be. No, welcome that gentleman ; 'tis 
 no matter for me. 
 
 Le. How, sir ? no matter to you ! By this 
 rush I am angry with you, as if all our 
 loves protested unto you were dissembled ; 
 no matter for you ? 
 
 Be. Nay, sweet Lemot, be not angry ; I 
 did but jest, as I am a gentleman. 
 
 Le. Yea, but there's a difference of jest- 
 ing, you wrong all our affections in so 
 doing. 
 
 Be. Faith and troth, I did not, and I 
 hope, sirs, you take it not so. 
 
 All. "No matter for me!" 'twas very 
 kindly said, I must needs say so. 
 
 La. You see how they love me. 
 
 Fo. I do, sir, and I am very glad of it. 
 
 Be. And I hope, Lemot, you are not 
 angry with me still. 
 
 Le. No, faith, I am not so very a fool 
 
 pany should draw me before any man's 
 here. 
 
 Fo. Labesha, what will you play ? 
 
 La. Play, yea, with all my heart; I pray 
 lend me threepence. 
 
 Ro. I'll play no more. 
 
 Ca. Why, have you won or lost ? 
 
 Ro. Faith, I have lost two or three 
 crowns. 
 
 Ca. Well, to him again, I'll be your half. 
 
 Le. Sirrah Catalian, while they are 
 playing at cards, thou and I will have some 
 excellent sport : sirrah, dost thou know 
 that same gentleman there ? 
 
 Ca. No, i'faith, what is he ? 
 
 Le. A very fine gull, and a neat reveller, 
 one that's heir to a great living, yet his 
 father keeps him so short, that his shirts 
 will scant cover the bottom of his belly, for 
 all his gay outside, but the linings be very 
 foul and sweaty, yea, and perhaps lousy, 
 with despising the vain shifts of the world. 
 
 Ca. But he hath gotten good store of 
 money now methinks. 
 
 Le. Yea, and I wonder of it ; some 
 ancient serving-man of his father's, that 
 hath gotten forty shillings in fifty years 
 upon his great good husbandry, he 
 swearing monstrous oaths to pay him 
 
 to be angry with one that cares not for me. i again, and besides to do him a good turn 
 Be. Do not I care for you ? nay then. I (when God shall hear his prayer for his 
 Ca. What, dost thou cry? | father) hath lent it him, I warrant you ; but, 
 
 Be. Nay, I do not cry, but my stomach i howsoever, we must speak him fair. 
 
 waters to think that you should take it so 
 
 heavily ; if I do not wish that I were cut 
 
 into three pieces, and that these pieces 
 
 Rowl 
 
 were turned into three black puddings, 
 and that these three black puddings were 
 turned into three of the fairest ladies in 
 the land for your sake, I would I were 
 hanged ; what a devil can you have more 
 than my poor heart ? 
 
 Ca. Well, hark you, Lemot, in good 
 faith you are to blame to put him to this 
 unkindness, I prithee be friends with him. 
 
 Le. Well, I am content to put up this 
 unkindness for this once, but while you 
 live take heed of "no matter for me." 
 
 Be. Why is it such a heinous word ? 
 
 Le. O, the heinousest word in the world ! 
 
 Be. Well, I'll never speak it more, as I 
 am a gentleman. 
 
 Le. No, I pray do not. 
 
 Fo. My lord, will your lordship go to 
 cards ? 
 
 Lor. Yea, with you, Monsieur Foyes. 
 
 Ca. Oh, what else ! 
 
 Le. God save sweet Monsieur 
 what, lose or win, lose or win? 
 
 Ro. 'Faith sir, save myself, and lose my 
 money. 
 
 Le. There's a proverb hit dead in the 
 neck like a cony ; why, hark thee, Catalian, 
 I could have told thee before what he 
 would have said. 
 
 Ca. I do not think so. 
 
 Le. No, thou see'st here's a fine plump 
 of gallants, such as think their wits sin- 
 gular, and themselves rarely accomplished ; 
 yet to show thee how brittle their wits be, 
 I will speak to them severally, and I will 
 tell thee before what they shall answer 
 me. 
 
 Ca. That's excellent, let's see that, i'faith. 
 
 Le. Whatsoever I say to Monsieur Rowl, 
 he shall say, " Oh, sir, you may see an ill 
 weed grows apace." 
 
 Ca. Come, let's see. 
 
 Le. No\v, Monsieur Rowl, methinks you 
 
AN HUMOROUS DAY'S MIRTH. 
 
 37 
 
 arc exceedingly grown since your coming 
 to Paris. 
 
 Ro, Oh, sir, you may see an ill weed 
 grows apace. 
 
 Ca. This is excellent; forward, sir, I pray. 
 
 Le. Whatsoe'er I say to Labesha, he 
 shall answer me, ' ' Black will bear no other 
 hue," and that same old Justice, as greedy 
 of a stale proverb, he shall come in the 
 neck of that and say, " Black is a pearl in 
 a woman's eye." 
 
 Ca. Yea, much i 'faith. 
 
 Le. Look thee, he comes hither. 
 Labesha, Catalian and I have been talk- 
 ing of thy complexion, and I say, that all 
 the fair ladies in France would have been 
 in love with thee, but thou art so black. 
 
 La. Oh, sir, black will bear no other hue. 
 
 Fo. Oh, sir, black is a pearl in a woman's 
 eye. 
 
 Le. You say true, sir, you say true, sir. 
 Sirrah Catalian, whatsoe'er I say to Berger 
 that is so busy at cards, he shall answer 
 me, " 'Sblood, I do not mean to die as 
 long as I can see one alive." 
 
 Ca. Come, let us see you. 
 
 Le. Why, Berger, I thought thou hadst 
 been dead ; I have not heard thee chide all 
 this while. 
 
 Bcr. 'Sblood, I do not mean to die as 
 long as I can see one alive. 
 
 Ca. Why, but hark you, Lemot, I hope 
 you cannot make this lord answer so 
 roundly. 
 
 Le. Oh, as right as any of them all, and 
 he shall answer me with an old Latin Pro- 
 verb, that is, " Usus promptus facit." 
 
 Ca. Once more, let's see. 
 
 Le. My lord, your lordship could not 
 play at this game very lately, and now 
 methinks you are grown exceeding perfit. 
 
 Mo. Oh, sir, you may see, Usus promp- 
 tus facit. 
 
 Enter Jaques. 
 
 Ja. Monsieur Lemot, here is a gentle- 
 man and two gentlewomen do desire to 
 speak with you. 
 
 Le. What, are they come? Jaques, 
 convey them into the inward parlour by 
 the inward room, and there is a brace of 
 crowns for thy labour ; but let nobody 
 know of their being here. 
 
 Ja. I warrant you, sir. 
 
 Le. See, where they come ! welcome, my 
 good lord and ladies, I'll come to you 
 presently : so, now the sport begins, I 
 shall start the disguised King plaguily, 
 nay, I shall put the lady that loves me in a 
 
 monstrous fright, when her husband comes 
 and finds her here. 
 
 Boy. The gentleman and the two gentle- 
 women desire your company. 
 
 Le. I'll come to them presently. 
 
 Fo. Gentlemen, I'll go speak with one, 
 and come to you presently. 
 
 [The Boy speaks in Foyes's ear. 
 
 Le. My lord, I would speak a word with 
 your lordship, if it were not for interrupting 
 your game. 
 
 Lord. No, I have done, Lemot. 
 
 Le. My lord, there must a couple of 
 ladies dine with us to-day. 
 
 Lord. Ladies ? God's my life, I must be 
 gone. 
 
 Le. Why, hark you, my lord, I knew 
 not of their coming, I protest to your lord- 
 ship, and would you have me turn such 
 fair ladies as these are away ? 
 
 Lord. Yea, but hark you, Lemot ; did 
 not you hear me swear to my wife, that I 
 would not tarry if there were any women ? I 
 wonder you would suffer any to come there. 
 
 Le. Why, you swore but by a kiss, and 
 kisses are no holy things, you know that. 
 
 Lord. Why, but hark you, Lemot, 
 indeed I would be very loth to do any- 
 thing, that if my wife should know it, 
 should displease her. 
 
 Le. Nay, then, you are too obsequious ; 
 hark you, let me entreat you, and I'll tell 
 you in secret, you shall have no worse 
 company than the King's. 
 
 Lord. Why, will the King be there ? 
 
 Le. Yea, though disguised. 
 
 Lord. Who are the ladies ? 
 
 Le. The flowers of Paris, I can tell you : 
 fair Countess Florilla, and the lady Martia, 
 
 Enter Jaques. 
 
 Ja. Monsieur Lemot, the gentleman 
 and the two gentlewomen desire your com- 
 pany. 
 
 Le. I'll come to them straight : but, 
 Jaques, come hither, I prithee ; go to 
 Labesha, and tell him that the Countess 
 Florilla and the lady Martia be here at 
 thy master's house: and if it come in 
 question hereafter, deny that thou told'st 
 him any such thing. 
 
 Ja. What, is this all? 'Sblood, I'll 
 deny it, and forswear it too. 
 
 Le. My lord, I'll go and see the room 
 be neat and fine, and come to you 
 presently. 
 
 Lord. Yea ; but, hark you, Lemot, I 
 prithee take such order that they be not 
 nown of any women in the house. 
 
AN HUMOROUS DAY'S MIRTH. 
 
 Le. Oh, how should they? now to his 
 wife ; go, i'faith ? [Exit. 
 
 Ja. Hark you, Monsieur Labesha, I 
 pray let me speak a word with you. 
 
 La. With all my heart ; I pray look to 
 my stake, there's threepence under the 
 candlestick. 
 
 Ja. I pray see ; do you know the 
 Countess Florilla, and the lady Marti a ? 
 
 La. Do I know the lady Martia? I knew 
 her before she was born : why do you ask 
 me? 
 
 Ja. Why, they are both here at my 
 master's house. 
 
 La. What, is mistress Martia at an 
 ordinary ? 
 
 Ja. Yea, that she is. 
 
 La. By skies and stones, I'll go and 
 tell her father. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Lemot and the Countess. 
 
 Conn. What, you are out of breath, 
 methinks, Monsieur Lemot? 
 
 Le. It is no matter, madam, it is spent 
 in your service, that bear your age with 
 your honesty, better than an hundred of 
 these nice gallants ; and indeed it is a 
 shame for your husband, that contrary to 
 his oath made to you before dinner, he 
 should be now at the ordinary with that 
 light huswife Martia, which I could not 
 choose but come and tell you ; for indeed 
 it is a shame that your motherly care 
 should be so slightly regarded. 
 
 Coun. Out on thee, strumpet, and 
 accursed, and miserable dame ! 
 
 Le. Well, there they are, nothing else ; 
 now to her husband go I. [Exit. 
 
 Coun. Nothing else, quoth you, can 
 there be more ? Oh ! wicked man, would 
 he play false that would so simply vow, 
 and swear his faith, and would not let me 
 be displeased a minute, but he would sigh 
 and weep till I were pleased. I have a 
 knife within that's razor-sharp, and I will 
 lay an iron in the fire, making it burning 
 hot, to mark the strumpet ; but 'twill be 
 cold too ere I can come thither. Do 
 something, wretched woman ; stay'st thou 
 here? [Exit. 
 
 Enter Lemot. 
 
 Le. My lord, the room is neat and fine 
 will't please you go in ? 
 
 Ve. Gentlemen, your dinner is ready. 
 
 Le. And we are ready for it. 
 
 Lc. Jaques, shut the doors : let nobod) 
 coine in. \Exeunt omnes 
 
 Enter Labervele, Foyes, Labesha, and the 
 Countess. 
 
 La. Where be these puritans, these 
 murderers ? Let me come in, here. 
 
 Fo. W T here is the strumpet ? 
 
 Coun. Where is this harlot? Let us 
 come in, here. 
 
 La. What shall we do? the streets do 
 wonder at us, and we do make our shame 
 known to the world. Let us go and com- 
 plain us to the King. 
 
 Fo. Come, Labesha, will you go ? 
 
 La. No, no, I scorn to go ; no king 
 shall hear my plaint: I will in silence live a 
 man forlorn, 
 
 Mad, and melancholy as a cat, 
 And never more wear hatband on my hat. 
 
 Enter Moren and Martia. 
 
 Mo. What dost thou mean? Thou 
 must not hang on me. 
 
 Ma. Oh, good lord Moren, have me 
 home with you ; you may excuse all to my 
 father for me. 
 
 Enter Lemot. 
 
 Le. Oh, my lord, be not so rude to leave 
 her now. 
 
 Lord. Alas, man, and if my wife should 
 see it, I were undone. 
 
 Enter the King and another. 
 King. Puisue them, sirs, and taking 
 Martia from him, convey her presently to 
 Verone's house. 
 
 Enter the Puritan to Lemot. 
 
 Pu. What villain was it that hath utter'd 
 this? 
 
 Le. Why, 'twas even I : I thank you for 
 your gentle terms : you give me villain at 
 the first. I wonder where's this old doter? 
 what, doth he think we fear him ? 
 
 Flo. Oh, monstrous man ! what wouldst 
 thou have him take us ? 
 
 Le. Would I ? quoth you ; yea, by my 
 troth, would I. I know he is but gone 
 to call the constable, or to raise the 
 streets. 
 
 Flo. What means the man, trow ? is he 
 mad? 
 
 Le. No, no, I know what I do I do it 
 of purpose ; I long to see him come and 
 rail at you, to call you harlot, and to spurn 
 you too. Oh, you'll love me a great deal the 
 better ; and yet let him come, and if he 
 touch but one thread of you, I'll make 
 that thread his poison. 
 
 Flo. I know not what to say. 
 
AN HUMOROUS DAY'S MIRTH. 
 
 39 
 
 Le. Speak, do you love me ? 
 
 Flo. Yea, surely do I. 
 
 Le. Why, then have not I reason, that 
 love you so dearly as I do, to make you 
 hateful in his sight, that I might more 
 ! freely enjoy you ? 
 
 Flo. Why, let us be gone, my kind 
 i Lemot, and not be wondered at in the 
 I open streets. 
 
 Le. I'll go with you through fire, through 
 death, through hell. Come, give me your 
 own hand, my own dear heart, this hand 
 that I adore and reverence, and loath to 
 have it touch an old man's bosom. Oh, let 
 me sweetly kiss it. [He bites^} 
 
 Flo. Out on thee, wretch ! he hath bit me 
 to the bone ; oh, barbarous cannibal ! now I 
 perceive thou wilt make me a mocking 
 stock to all the world. 
 
 Le. Come, come, leave your passions, 
 they cannot move me ; my father and my 
 mother died both in a day, and I rung me 
 a peal for them, and they were no sooner 
 brought to the church and laid in their 
 graves, but I fetched me two or three fine 
 capers aloft, and took my leave of them, 
 as men do of their mistresses at the ending 
 of a galliard ; Besilas manos. 
 
 Flo. Oh, brutish nature, how accursed 
 was I ever to endure the sound of this 
 damned voice ! 
 
 Le. Well, and you do not like my 
 humour I can be but sorry for it. I bit 
 you for good will, and if you accept it, so ; 
 if no, go. 
 
 Flo. Villain, thou didst it in contempt of 
 me. 
 
 Le. Well, and you take it so, so be it : 
 hark you, madam, your wisest course is 
 even to become Puritan again, put off this 
 vain attire, and say, "I have despised all : 
 thanks my God, good husband, I do love 
 thee in the Lord ;" and he (good man) will 
 think all this you have done was but to 
 show thou couldst govern the world, and 
 hide thee as a rainbow doth a storm : my 
 dainty wench, go, go; what, shall the flat- 
 tering words of a vain man make you for- 
 get your duty to your husband? Away, 
 repent, amend your life, you have discre- 
 dited your religion for ever. 
 
 Flo. Well, wretch, for this foul shame 
 
 thou putt'st on me, 
 The curse of all affection light on thee. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Le. Go, Abacuck, go; why, this is excel- 
 lent: I shall shortly become a schoolmaster, 
 to whom men will put their wives, to prac- 
 tise ; well, now will I go set the Queen upon 
 
 the King, and tell her where he is close 
 with his wench : and he that mends my 
 humour, take the spurs : sit fast, for by 
 heaven I'll jerk the horse you ride on. 
 
 Enter my Host, Catalian, Blanuel, Rerger, 
 Jaques, Maid, and Boy. 
 
 Host. Well, gentlemen, I am utterly un- 
 done without your good helps; it is reported 
 that I received certain ladies or gentle- 
 women into my house : now, here's my 
 man, my maid, and my boy, now if you 
 saw any, speak boldly before these gentle- 
 men. 
 
 fa. I saw none, sir. 
 
 Maid. Nor I, by my maidenhead. 
 
 Boy. Nor I, as I am a man. 
 
 Ca. Well, my host, we'll go answer for 
 your house at this time, but if at other 
 times you have had wenches, and would 
 not let us know it, we are the less beholding 
 to you. [Exeunt all but my Host and the 
 Gentleman. 
 
 Ber. Peradventure the more beholding to 
 him. But I lay my life Lemot hath devised 
 some jest ; he gave us the slip before dinner. 
 
 Ca. Well, gentlemen, since we are so 
 fitly met, I'll tell you an excellent subject 
 for a fit of mirth, and it be well handled. 
 
 Ber. Why, what is it ? 
 
 Ca. Why, man, Labesha is grown mar- 
 vellous malcontent upon some amorous 
 disposition of his mistress, and you know 
 he loves a mess of cream and a spice- cake 
 with his heart, and I am sure he hath not 
 dined to day, and he hath taken on him 
 the humour of the young lord Dowsecer, 
 and we will set a mess of cream, a spice- 
 cake, and a spoon, as the armour, picture, 
 and apparel was set in the way of Dowsecer, 
 which I doubt not but will work a rare cure 
 upon his melancholy. 
 
 Host. Why, this is excellent ; I'll go 
 fetch the cream. 
 
 Ca. And /-the cake. 
 
 Ber. And 7 the spoon. 
 
 [Exeunt, and come in again. 
 
 Ca. See where he comes, as like the lord 
 Dowsecer as may be ; now you shall hear 
 him begin with some Latin sentence that he 
 hath remembered ever since he read his 
 Accidence. 
 
 Enter Labesha. 
 
 La. Felix quern faciunt aliena pericula 
 cautum. Oh! silly state of things, for 
 things they be that cause this silly state : 
 and what is a thing ? a bauble, a toy, that 
 stands men in small stead. [He spies th> 
 
AN HUMOROUS DAY'S MIRTH. 
 
 cream."] But what have \ve here? what 
 vanities have we here ? 
 
 Host. He is strongly tempted ; the Lord 
 strengthen him. See what a vein he hath. 
 
 La. Oh, cruel fortune ! and dost thou 
 spit thy spite at my poor life ? but oh ! sour 
 cream, what thinkest thou that I love thee 
 still ? no, no, fair and sweet is my mistress ; 
 If thou hadst strawberries and sugar in 
 thee : but it may be thou art set with stale 
 cake to choke me : well, taste it, and try it, 
 spoonful by spoonful : bitterer and bitterer 
 still, but oh ! sour cream, wert thou an 
 onion, since Fortune set thee for me, I will 
 eat thee, and I will devour thee in spite of 
 Fortune's spite. . 
 
 Choke I, or burst I, mistress, for thy sake, 
 To end my life eat I this cream and cake. 
 
 Ca. So he hath done ; his melancholy is 
 well eased, I warrant you. 
 
 Host. God's my life, gentlemen, who hath 
 been at this cream ? 
 
 La. Cream, had you cream? where is 
 your cream? I'll spend my penny at your 
 cream. 
 
 Ca. Why, did not you eat this cream ? 
 
 La. Talk not to me of cream, for such 
 
 vain meat 
 
 I do despise as food, my stomach dies 
 Drown'd in the cream-bowls of my mistress' 
 eyes. 
 
 Ca. Nay stay, Labesha. 
 
 La. No, not I, not I. 
 
 Host. Oh, he is ashamed, i'faith: but I 
 will tell thee how thou shalt make him mad 
 indeed. Say his mistress for love of him 
 hath drowned herself. 
 
 Ca. 'Sblood, that will make him hang 
 himself. [Exezint omnes. 
 
 Enter the Queen, Lemot, and all the rest 
 of the Lords, and the Countess: Lemot's 
 arm in a scarf. 
 
 Le. Have at them, i'faith, with a lame 
 
 counterfeit humour : 
 
 Ache on, rude arm, I care not for thy pain, 
 I got it nobly in the King's defence, 
 And in the guardiance of my fair Queen's 
 
 right. 
 Queen. Oh, tell me, sweet Lemot, how 
 
 fares the King, 
 Or what his right was that thou didst 
 
 defend ? 
 
 Le. That you shall know when other 
 things are told. 
 
 La. Keep not the Queen too long 
 without her longing. 
 
 Fo. No ; for I tell you, it is a dangerous 
 thing. 
 
 Conn. Little care cruel men how women 
 long. 
 
 Le. What, would you have me then 
 put poison iu my breath, and burn the ears 
 of my attentive Queen ? 
 
 Queen. Tell me, whate'er it be, I'll bear 
 it all. 
 
 Le. Bear with my rudeness, then, in 
 telling it, for, alas, you see, I can but act 
 it with the left hand : this is my gesture now. 
 
 ueen. 'Tis well enough. 
 e. Yea, well enough, you say, this 
 recompence have I for all my wounds : 
 then thus, the King, enamoured of another 
 lady, compares your face to hers, and says 
 that yours is fat and flat, and that your 
 nether lip was passing big. 
 
 Queen. Oh, wicked man ! Doth he so 
 suddenly condemn my beauty, that when 
 he married me he thought divine? For 
 ever blasted be that strumpet's face, as all 
 my hopes are blasted, that did change them! 
 
 Le. Nay, madam, though he said your 
 face was fat, and flat, and so forth, yet he 
 liked it best, and said, a perfect beauty 
 should be so. 
 
 La. Oh ! did he so ? Why, that was 
 right even as it should be. 
 
 Fo. You see now, madam, how much 
 too hasty you were in your griefs. 
 
 Queen. If he did so esteem of me indeed, 
 happy am I. 
 
 Coun. So may your highness be that 
 hath so good a husband, but hell hath no 
 plague to such an one as I. 
 
 Le. Indeed, madam, you have a bad 
 husband. Truly, then did the King grow 
 mightily in love with the other lady, 
 And swore no king could more enriched be, 
 Than to enjoy so fair a dame as she. 
 
 Ca. Oh, monstrous man, and accursed, 
 most miserable dame ! 
 
 Le.. But, says the King, I do enjoy as fair, 
 And though I love her in all honour'd sort, 
 Yet I'll not wrong my wife for all the world. 
 
 Fo. This proves his constancy as firm 
 as brass. 
 
 Queen. It doth, it doth: oh, pardon me, 
 
 my lord, 
 That I mistake thy royal meaning so. 
 
 Coun. In heaven your highness lives, but 
 I in hell. 
 
 Le. But when he view'd her radiant eyes 
 
 again, 
 Blind was ha stricken with her fervent 
 
 beams ; 
 And now, good king, he gropes about in 
 
 corners, 
 Void of the cheerful light should guide us all. 
 
AN HUMOROUS DAY'S MIRTH. 
 
 Queen. Oh, dismal news ! What, is my 
 sovereign blind ? 
 
 Le. Blind as a. beetle, madam, that 
 
 awhile 
 
 Hovering aloft, at last in cowsheds falls. 
 La. Could her eyes blind him ? 
 Le. Eyes, or what it was, I know not, 
 but blind I am sure he is, as any stone. 
 
 Queen. Come, bring me to my prince, 
 my lord, that I may lead him ; none alive 
 but I may have the honour to direct his 
 feet. 
 
 Le. How lead him, madam? Why, he 
 can go as right as you, or any here, and is 
 not blind of eyesight. 
 Queen. Of what, then ? 
 Le. Of reason. 
 
 Queen. Why, thou saidst he wanted his 
 cheerful light. 
 
 Le. Of reason still I meant, whose light, 
 you know, should cheerfully guide a 
 worthy king ; for he doth love her, and 
 hath forced her into a private room, where 
 now they are. 
 
 Queen. What mocking changes is there 
 
 in thy words, 
 Fond man, thou murtherest me with these 
 
 exclaims. 
 
 Le. Why, madam, 'tis your fault, you 
 cut me oft" before my words be half done. 
 
 Queen. Forth and unlade the poison of 
 thy tongue. 
 
 Le. Another lord did love this curious 
 lady, who, hearing that the king had 
 forced her, as she was walking with 
 another earl, ran straight ways mad for 
 her, and with a friend of his, and two or 
 three black ruffians more, brake de- 
 sperately upon the person of the king, 
 swearing to take from him, in traitorous 
 fashion, the instrument of procreation : 
 with them I fought awhile, and got this 
 wound, but being unable to resist so 
 many, came straight to you to fetch you 
 to his aid. 
 
 La. Why raised you not the streets? 
 Le. That I forbore, because I would 
 not have the world to see what a disgrace 
 my liege was subject to, being with a 
 woman in so mean a house. 
 
 Foy. Whose daughter was it that he 
 forced, I pray? 
 
 Le. Your daughter, sir. 
 La. Whose son was it that ran so mad 
 for her? 
 
 Le. Your son, my lord. 
 La. O gods and fiends forbid t 
 Co. I pray, sir, from whom did he take 
 the lad v? 
 
 Le. From your good lord. 
 
 Co. Oh, lord, I beseech thee no. 
 
 Le. Tis all too true. Come, follow the. 
 queen and I where I shall lead you. 
 
 Queen. Oh, wretched queen, what would 
 they take from him ? 
 
 Le. The instrument of procreation. 
 
 Enter Moren. 
 
 Mo. Now was there ever man so much 
 accursed, that when his mind misgave him 
 such a man was hapless, to keep him com- 
 pany? Yet who would keep him company 
 but I ? O vile Lemot, my wife and I are 
 bound to curse thee while we live, but 
 chiefly I, well seek her, or seek her not, 
 find her, or find her not, I were as good 
 see how hell opens as look upon her. 
 
 Enter Catalian, and Berger behind him. 
 
 Co.. We have [him] i'faith, stop thou 
 him there, and I will meet him here. 
 
 Mo. 'Well, I will venture once to seek 
 her. 
 
 Ber. God's lord, my lord, come you this 
 way. Why, your wife runs raging like as if 
 she were mad, swearing to slit your nose, 
 if she can catch you. [Exit. 
 
 Mo. What shall I do at the sight of her 
 and hern ? 
 
 Ca. God's precious, my lord, come you 
 this way. Your wife comes raging with a 
 troop of dames, like Bacchus' drunken 
 foes, just as you go ; shift for yourself, my 
 lord. 
 
 Mo. Stay, good Catalian. 
 
 Ca. No, not I, my lord. [Exit. 
 
 Mo. How now, Jaques, what's the news? 
 
 Enter Jaques. 
 
 Ja. None but good, my lord. 
 
 Mo. Why, hast not seen my wife run 
 round about the streets ? 
 
 Ja. Not I, my lord. I come to you from 
 my master, who would pray you to speak 
 to Lemot, that Lemot might speak to the 
 king, that my master's lottery for his 
 jewels may go forward. He hath made the 
 rarest device that ever you heard. We have 
 fortune in it, and she our maid plays, and 
 I and my fellow carry two torches, and 
 our boy goes before and speaks a speech. 
 Tis very fine, i'faith, sir. 
 
 Mo. Sirrah, in this thou mayest highly 
 pleasure me. Let me have thy place to bear 
 a torch, that I may look on my wife and 
 she not see me ; for if I come into her sight 
 abruptly, I were better be hanged. 
 
 J 
 
AN HUMOROUS DAY'S MIRTH. 
 
 Ja. Oh, sir, you shall, or anything that 
 I can do : I'll send for your wife too. 
 Mo. I prithee do. \Exeunt loth. 
 
 Enter the Queen, and all that were 
 in before. 
 
 Le. This is the house where the mad 
 lord did vow to do the deed. Draw all 
 your swords, courageous gentlemen. 
 I'll bring you there where you shall honour 
 
 win; 
 
 But I can tell you, you must break your 
 shin. 
 
 Ca. Who will not break his neck to save 
 his king ? Set forward, Lemot. 
 
 Le. Yea, much good can I do with a 
 wounded arm. Ill go and call more 
 help. 
 
 Qiieen. Others shall go. Nay, we will 
 raise the streets ; better dishonour than 
 destroy the King. 
 
 Le. 'Sblood, I know not how to excuse 
 my villany. I would fain be gone. 
 
 Enter Dowsecer and his friend. 
 
 Do. I'll geld the adulterous goat, and 
 
 take from him 
 
 The instrument that plays him such sweet 
 music. 
 
 La. Oh, rare ! This makes my fiction 
 true : now I'll stay. 
 
 Queen. Arrest these faithless, traitorous 
 gentlemen. 
 
 Do. What is the reason that you call us 
 traitors? 
 
 Le. Nay, why do you attempt such vio- 
 lence against the person of the King ? 
 
 Do. Against the King ! Why, this is 
 strange to me. 
 
 Enter the King and Martia. 
 
 King. How now, my masters ? What, 
 weapons drawn ! Come you to murder me? 
 
 Queen. How fares my lord ? 
 
 King. How fare I ? Well ; but you i'faith 
 shall get me speak for you another time ; 
 he got me here to woo a curious lady, and 
 she tempts him, say what I can, over what 
 state I will, in your behalf. Lemot, she will 
 not yield. 
 
 Le. I'faith, my liege, what a hard heart 
 hath she ! Well, hark you, I am content 
 your wit shall save your honesty for this 
 once. 
 
 King. Peace, a plague on you, peace ! 
 But wherefore asked you how I did ? 
 
 Queen. Because I feared that you were 
 hurt, my lord. 
 
 King. Hurt, how, I pray? 
 
 Le. Why hurt, madam? I am well 
 again. 
 
 Queen. Do you ask ? Why, he told me 
 Dowsecer and this his friend threatened 
 to take away 
 
 King. To takeaway? What should they 
 take away? 
 
 La. Name it, madam. 
 
 Queen. Nay, I pray name it you. 
 
 Le. Why then, thus it was, my liege. I 
 told her Dowsecer, and this his friend, 
 threatened to take away, and if they could, 
 the instrument of procreation ; and what 
 was that now but Martia? being a fair 
 woman, is not she the instrument of pro- 
 creation, as all women are ? 
 
 Queen. O, wicked man ! 
 
 Le. Go to, go to, you are one of those 
 fiddles too, i'faith. 
 
 King. Well, pardon my minion that 
 
 hath fray'd you thus ; 
 'Twas but to make you merry in the end. 
 
 Queen. I joy it ends so well, my gracious - 
 lord. 
 
 Fo. But say, my gracious lord, is no 
 harm done between my loving daughter 
 and your grace ? 
 
 King. No, of my honour and my soul, 
 Foyes. 
 
 Do. The fire of love which she hath kin- 
 dled in me being greater than my heat of 
 vanity, hath quite expelled. 
 
 King. Come, Dowsecer, receive with 
 your lost wits your love, though lost ; I 
 know you'll yield, my lord, and you her 
 father. 
 
 Both. Most joyfully, rny lord. 
 
 King. And for her part I know her dis- 
 position well enough. 
 
 Le. What, will you have her ? 
 
 Do. Yea, marry will I. 
 
 Le. I'll go and tell Labesha presently. 
 
 Enter Jaques and my Host. 
 
 Ja. Monsieur Lemot, I pray let me 
 speak with you { I come to you from the 
 Lord Moren, who would desire you to 
 speak to the King for my master's lottery, 
 and he hath my place to bear a torch, for 
 barefaced he dares not look upon his wife, 
 for his life. 
 
 Le. Oh, excellent ! I'll further thy 
 master's lottery, and it be but for this 
 jest only. Hark you, my liege, here's the 
 poor man hath been at great charges for 
 the preparation of a lottery, and he hath 
 made the rarest device, that I know you 
 will take great pleasure in it. I pray let 
 him present it before you at Verone's house. 
 
AN HUMOROUS DAY'S MIRTH. 
 
 43 
 
 King. With all my heart. Can you be 
 ready so soon ? 
 
 Host. Presently and if it like your grace. 
 
 King. But hark you, Lemot ; how shall 
 we do for every man's posie ? 
 
 Le. Will you all trust me with the 
 making of them ? 
 
 All. With all our hearts. 
 
 Le. Why, then I'll go to make the posies, 
 and bring Labesha to the lottery presently. 
 
 Enter Florilla like a Puritan. 
 
 Flo. Surely the world is full of vanity ; a 
 woman must take heed she do not hear a 
 lewd man speak ; for every woman cannot, 
 when she is tempted, when the wicked 
 fiend gets her into his snares, escape like 
 me ; for grace's measure is not so filled up, 
 nor so pressed down, in every one as me, 
 but yet I promise you a little more. Well, 
 I'll go seek my head, who shall take me 
 in the gates of his kind arms, untouched 
 of any. 
 
 King. What, madam, are you so pure 
 now? 
 
 Flo. Yea, would not you be pure ? 
 
 King. No puritan. 
 
 Flo. You must then be a devil, I can 
 tell you. 
 
 La. Oh, wife ! where hast thou been ? 
 
 Flo. Where did I tell you I would be, I 
 pray? 
 
 La. In thy close walk, thou said'st. 
 
 Flo. And was I not ? 
 
 La. Truly, I know not ; I neither looked 
 nor knocked ; for Labesha told me that 
 you and fair Martia were at Verone's 
 ordinary. 
 
 King. Labesha? My lord, you are a 
 wise man to believe a fool. 
 
 Flo. Well, my good head ; for my part 
 I forgive you. But surely you do much 
 offend to be suspicious ; where there is no 
 trust, there is no love, and where there is 
 no love "twixt man and wife, there's no 
 good dealing, surely ; for as men should 
 ever love their wives, so should they ever 
 trust them ; for what love is there where 
 there is no trust ? 
 
 King. She tells you true, my lord. 
 
 La. She doth, my liege; and, dear wife, 
 pardon this, and I will never be suspicious 
 more. 
 
 Flo. Why, I say I do. 
 
 Enter Lemot, leading Labesha in a 
 halter. 
 
 Le. Look you, my liege, I have done 
 simple service a'ncr-73'. you. Here is one ! 
 
 had hanged himself for love, thinking his 
 mistress had done so for him. Well, see, 
 your mistress lives. 
 
 La. And doth my mistress live ? 
 
 King. She doth, O noble knight ; but 
 not your mistress now. 
 
 La. 'Sblood, but she shall for me, or 
 for nobody else. 
 
 Le. How now ! What, a traitor ! Draw 
 upon the King! 
 
 La. Yea, or upon any woman here in a 
 good cause. 
 
 King. Well, sweet Besha, let her marry 
 Dowsecer ; I'll get thee a wife worth 
 fifteen of her; wilt thou have one that cares 
 not for thee ? 
 
 La. Not I ; by the Lord, I scorn her ! 
 I'll have her better, if I can get her. 
 
 King. Why, that's well said. 
 
 Le. What, madam, are you turned 
 puritan again ? 
 
 Flo. When was I other, pray ? 
 
 Le. Marry, I'll tell you when ; when 
 you went to the ordinary, and when you 
 made false signs to your husband, which I 
 could tell him all. 
 
 Flo. Cursed be he that maketh debate 
 'twixt man and wife. 
 
 Le. Oh, rare scripturian ! you have sealed 
 up my lips; a hall, a hall ! the pageant of 
 the buttery. 
 
 Enter two with torches, the one of them 
 Moren, then my Host and his Son, 
 then his Maid dressed like Queen' 
 Fortune, with two pots in her hands. 
 
 King. What is he? 
 
 Le. This is Verone's son, my liege. 
 
 King. What shall he do ? 
 
 Ca. Speak some speech that his father 
 hath made for him. 
 
 Queen. Why, is he good at speeches? 
 
 Ca. Oh, he is rare at speeches. 
 
 Boy. Fair ladies most tender, 
 And nobles most slender, 
 
 And gentles whose wits be scarce. 
 
 King. My host, why do you call us 
 "nobles most slender?' 
 
 Host. And it shall please your grace, to 
 be slender is to be proper, and therefore 
 when my boy says "nobles most slender," 
 it is as much to say, fine and proper 
 nobles. 
 
 Le. Yea, but why do you call us ' ' gentles 
 whose wits are scarce?" 
 
 Host. To be scarce is to be rare : and 
 therefore, whereas he says "gentles whose 
 wits be scarce," is as much as to say, 
 gentles whose wits be rare. 
 
44 
 
 AN HUMOROUS DAY'S MIRTH. 
 
 Le. Well, forwards, trunchman. 
 
 Boy, Fair ladies most tender, 
 And nobles most slender, 
 
 And gentles whose wits be scarce ; 
 Queen Fortune doth come 
 With her trump and her drum, 
 
 As it may appear by my voice. 
 
 La. Come hither ; are you a school- 
 master, where was Fortune Queen, of what 
 country or kingdom ? 
 
 Host. Why, sir, Fortune was Queen 
 over all the world. 
 
 La. That's a lie ; there's none that ever 
 conquered all the world but master Ali- 
 sander, I am sure of that. 
 
 Le. O rare Monsieur Labesha! Who 
 would have thought he could have found 
 so rare a fault in the speech ? 
 
 Host. I'll alter it, if it please your grace. 
 
 King. No, 'tis very well. 
 
 Boy. Father, I must begin again, they 
 interrupt me so. 
 
 Host. I beseech your grace give the boy 
 leave to begin again. 
 
 King. With all my heart, 'tis so good 
 we cannot hear it too oft. 
 
 Boy. Fair ladies most tender, 
 And nobles most slender, 
 
 And gentles whose wits are scarce, 
 Queen Fortune doth come 
 With her fife and her drum, 
 
 As it doth appear by my voice. 
 
 Here is Fortune good, 
 But ill by the rood, 
 
 And this naught but good shall do you, 
 Dealing the lots, 
 Out of our pots, 
 
 And so good Fortune to you, sir. 
 
 Le. Look you, my liege, how he that 
 carries the torch trembles extremely. 
 
 King. 1 warrant 'tis with care to carry 
 his torch well. 
 
 Le. Nay, there is something else in the 
 wind : why, my host, what means thy 
 man Jaques to tremble so ? 
 
 Host. Hold still, thou knave. What, 
 art thou afraid to look upon the goodly 
 presence of a king ? Hold up, for shame. 
 
 Le. Alas, poor man, he thinks 'tis Jaques 
 his man : poor lord, how much is he 
 bound to suffer for his wife ! 
 
 King, Hark you, mine host, what 
 goodly person is that? is it Fortune herself? 
 
 Host. I'll tell your majesty in secret who 
 it is ; it is my maid Jaquena. 
 
 King. I promise you she becomes her. 
 state rarely. 
 
 Le. Well, my liege, you were all content 
 
 that I should make your posies : well, 
 here they be every one : give Master 
 Verone his five crowns. 
 
 King. There's mine and the Queen's. 
 
 La. There's ours. 
 
 Do. And there is mine and Martia's. 
 
 Le. Come, Labesha, thy money. 
 
 La. You must lend me some, for my 
 boy is run away with my purse. 
 
 Le. Thy boy? I never knew any that 
 thou hadst. 
 
 La. Had not I a boy three or four 
 years ago, and he ran away ? 
 
 Le. And never since he went thou hadst 
 not a penny ; but stand by, I'll excuse 
 you. But, sirrah Catalian, thou shall 
 stand on one side and read the prizes, 
 and I will stand on the other and read the 
 posies. 
 
 Ca. Content, Lemot. 
 
 Le. Come on, Queen Fortune, tell every 
 man his posie ; this is orderly, the King and 
 Queen are first. 
 
 King. Come, let us see what goodly 
 posies you have given us. 
 
 Le. This is your Majesty's, "At the 
 fairest, so it be not Martia. " 
 
 King. A plague upon you ! You are still 
 playing the villain with me. 
 
 Le. This is the Queen's; "Obey the 
 Queen;" and she speaks it to her husband, 
 or to Fortune, which she will. 
 
 Ca. A prize ! your Majesty's is the sum 
 of four shillings in gold. 
 
 King. Why, how can that be ? There is 
 no such coin. 
 
 Host. Here is the worth of it, if it please 
 your grace. 
 
 Queen. Well, what's for me ? 
 
 Ca. A heart of gold. 
 
 Queen. A goodly jewel. 
 
 Le. Count Labervele and Florilla. 
 
 La. What's my posie, sir, I pray ? 
 
 Le. Marry, this, my lord : 
 "Of all Fortune's friends, that hath joy in 
 
 this life, 
 
 He is most happy that puts a sure trust in 
 his wife." 
 
 La. A very good one, sir ; I thauk you 
 for it. 
 
 Flo. What's mine, I pray? 
 
 Le. Marry, this, madam, 
 "Good fortune, be thou my good-fortune 
 
 bringer, 
 
 And make me amends for my poor bitten 
 finger." 
 
 La. Who bit your finger, wife? 
 
 Flo. Nobody ; 'tis vain posie. 
 
 Ca. Blank for my Lord Labervele, for 
 
AN HUMOROUS DAY'S MIRTH. 
 
 45 
 
 his wife a posie, a pair of holy beads with 
 a crucifix. 
 
 Flo. Oh, 'bomination idol ! I'll none of 
 them. 
 
 King. Keep them thyself, Verone ; she 
 will not have them. 
 
 Le. Dowsecer and Martia, I have fitted 
 your lordship for a posie. 
 
 Do. Why, what is it ? 
 
 Le. Ante omnia una. 
 
 Alar. And what is mine, sir ? 
 
 Le. A serious one, I warrant you. 
 " Change : for the better." 
 
 Ma. That's not amiss. 
 
 Ca. A prize : Dowsecer hath a cat's 
 eyes, or Mercury's rod of gold, set with 
 jacinths and emeralds. 
 
 Do. What is for Martia ? 
 
 Ca. Martia hath the two serpents' heads 
 set with diamonds. 
 
 Le. What my host Verone? 
 
 King. What, is he in for his own jewels ? 
 
 Le. Oh, what else, my liege, 'tis our 
 bounty, and his posie is 
 
 To tell you the truth, in words plain and 
 
 mild, 
 Verone loves his maid, and she isgreatwith 
 
 child. 
 
 King. What, Queen Fortune with child ; 
 shall we have young Fortunes, my host ? 
 
 Host. I am abused, and if it please your 
 majesty. 
 
 Maid. I '11 play no more. 
 
 Le. No, 'faith, you need not now, you 
 have played your bellyful already. 
 
 Host. Stand still, good Jaquena, they do 
 but jest. 
 
 Maid. Yea, but I like no such jesting. 
 
 Le. Come, great Queen Fortune, let see 
 your posies ; what, madam ! alas, your 
 ladyship is one of the last. 
 
 Coun. What is my posie, sir, I pray ? 
 
 Le. Marry, madam, your posie is made 
 in manner and form of an Echo ; as, if you 
 were seeking your husband, and Fortune 
 should be the Echo, and this you say : 
 "Where is my husband hid so long un- 
 masked?" "Masked," says the Echo. 
 
 "But in what place, Sweet Fortune? let 
 me hear." " Here," says the Echo. 
 
 King. There you lie, Echo, for if he 
 were here, we must needs see him. 
 
 Le. Indeed, sweet King, methinks 'tis 
 one of them that carries the torches. No, 
 that cannot be neither, and yet, by the 
 mass, here's Jaques ; why, my host, did 
 not you tell me that Jaques should be a 
 torch-bearer? Who is this? God's my 
 life, my lord. 
 
 Mo. And you be gentlemen, let me 
 
 go- 
 
 Conn. Nay, come your way, you may be 
 well enough ashamed to show your face 
 that is a perjured wretch ; did not you 
 swear if there were any wenches at the 
 ordinary you would straight come home ? 
 
 King. Why, who told you, madam, 
 there were any there ? 
 
 Coun. He that will stand to it ; Lemot, 
 my liege. 
 
 Le. Who ? I stand to it ? Alas ! I told 
 you in kindness and good will, because I 
 would not have you company long from 
 your husband. 
 
 Mo. Who lo you bird ; how much you 
 are deceived ! 
 
 Coun. Why, wherefore were you afraid 
 to be seen ? 
 
 Mo. Who? I afraid? Alas! I bore a 
 torch to grace this honourable presence 
 for nothing else, sweet bird. 
 
 King. Thanks, good Moren : see, lady, 
 
 with what wrong 
 You have pursued your most enamour'd 
 
 lord. 
 But come, now all are friends, now is this 
 
 day 
 
 Spent with unhurtful motives of delight, 
 And o'er joys more my senses at the 
 
 night. 
 
 And now for Dowsecer : if all will follow 
 my device, his beauteous love and he shall 
 married be ; and here I solemnly invite 
 you all 
 Home to my court, where with feasts we 
 
 will crown 
 This mirthful day, and vow it to renown. 
 
All Fools.* 
 
 TO 
 
 MY LONG LOVED AND HONOURABLE FRIEND, 
 
 SIR THOMAS WALSINGHAM, KNIGHT. 
 
 SHOULD I expose to every common eye, 
 The least allow'd birth of my shaken 
 
 brain ; 
 
 And not entitle it particularly 
 To your acceptance, I were worse thaii 
 
 vain. 
 And though I am most loth to pass your 
 
 sight 
 
 With any such like mark of vanity ; 
 Being mark'd with age for aims of grealer 
 weight, 
 
 And drown 'd in dark death-ushering 
 
 melancholy, 
 
 Yet lest by others' stealth it be imprest, 
 Without my passport, patch'd with 
 
 others' wit, 
 Of two enforced ills I elect the least ; 
 
 And so desire your love will censure it ; 
 Though my old fortune keep me still 
 
 obscure, 
 The light shall still bewray my old love 
 
 sure.t 
 
 PROLOGUS. 
 
 THE fortune of a Stage (like Fortune's self), 
 Amazeth greatest judgments ; and none 
 
 knows 
 
 The hidden causes of those strange effects, 
 That rise from this Hell, or fall from this 
 
 Heaven: 
 Who can show cause why your wits, that 
 
 in aim 
 At higher objects, scorn to compose 
 
 . plays ; 
 (Though we are sure they could, would 
 
 they vouchsafe it ?) 
 Should (without means to make) judge 
 
 better far, 
 Than those that make; and yet ye see they 
 
 can. 
 
 For without your applause, wretched is he 
 That undertakes the Stage ; and he's more 
 
 blest, 
 
 That with your glorious favours can con- 
 test. 
 
 * " Al Fooles. A Comedy, Presented at the 
 Black Fryers, And lately before his Maiestie. 
 Written by George Chapman. At London, 
 Printed for Thomas Thorpe. 1605." 
 
 Who can show cause why th' ancient 
 
 Comic vein 
 
 Of Eupolis and Cratinus (now revived, 
 Subject to personal application) 
 Should be exploded by some bitter spleens? 
 Yet merely Comical and harmless jests 
 (Though ne'er so witty) be esteem'd but toys, 
 If void of th' other satyrism's sauce? 
 Who can show cause why quick Ve- 
 
 nerian jests 
 Should sometimes ravish? sometimes fall 
 
 far short 
 Of the just length and pleasure of your 
 
 ears? 
 When our pure dames think them much 
 
 less obscene, 
 Than those that win your panegyric 
 
 spleen ? 
 But our poor dooms, alas ! you know are 
 
 nothing 
 
 t This Sonnet is only found in one or two of the 
 original copies. The leaf containing it is sup- 
 posed to have been cancelled, for some reason 
 or other, before the publication of the play. 
 
 I ED. 
 
ACT I., SCENE I.] 
 
 ALL FOOLS. 
 
 47 
 
 To your inspired censure ; ever we 
 
 Must needs submit ; and there's the 
 
 mystery. 
 Great are the gifts given to united 
 
 heads, 
 
 To gifts, attire, to fair attire, the stage 
 
 Helps much ; for if our other audience see j How \ve shall then appear, we must refer 
 You on the stage depart before we end ; j To magic of your dooms, that never err. 
 
 Our wits go with you all, and we are 
 fools. 
 
 So Fortune governs in these stage events ; 
 
 That merit bears least sway in niost con- 
 tents. 
 
 Aurtcu/as Asini quis non habet ? 
 
 ACTORS. 
 
 Gostanzo, *l , ff 
 Mare Antonio, | A;// ^ /J> 
 Valeric, son to Gostanzo. 
 Fortunio, elder son to Marc Antonio. 
 Rinaldo, the younger. 
 
 Cornelio, a start-up Gentleman. 
 Curio, a Page. 
 Kyte, a Scrivener. 
 Francis Pock, a Surgeon. 
 Gazetta, wife to Cornelio. 
 Bellanora, daughter to Gostanzo, 
 Gratiana, stolen -wife to Valeria, 
 
 ACT THE FIRST. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 Enter Rinaldo, Fortunio, Valerio. 
 
 Ri. Can one self cause, in subjects so 
 
 alike 
 
 As you two are, produce effect so unlike ? 
 One like the Turtle all in mournful strains, 
 Wailing his fortunes. Th' other like the 
 
 Lark 
 Mounting the sky in shrill and cheerful 
 
 notes ; 
 Chanting his joys aspired, and both for 
 
 love ? 
 
 In one, love raiseth b> his violent heat 
 Moist vapours from the heart into the eyes, 
 From whence they drown his breast in 
 
 daily showers : 
 
 In th' other, his divided power infuseth 
 Only a temperate and most kindly warmth, 
 That gives life to those fruits of wit and 
 
 virtue, 
 Which the unkind hand of an uncivil 
 
 father 
 Had almost nipp'd in the delightsome 
 
 blossom. 
 Fo, O, brother, love rewards our 
 
 services 
 
 With a most partial and injurious hand, 
 If you consider well our different fortunes : 
 Valerio loves, and joys the dame he loves ; 
 I love, and never can enjoy the sight 
 
 Of her I love ; so far from conquering 
 In my desires' assault, that I can come 
 To lay no battery to the fort I seek, 
 All passages to it so strongly kept, 
 By strait guard of her father. 
 
 Ri. I dare swear, 
 
 If just desert in love measured reward, 
 Your fortune should exceed Valerio's far ; 
 For I am witness (being your bedfellow) 
 Both to the daily and the nightly service 
 You do unto the deity of love, 
 In vows, sighs, tears, and solitary watches. 
 He never serves him with such sacrifice, 
 Yet hath his bow and shafts at his com- 
 mand : 
 Love's service is much like our humorous 
 
 lords, 
 
 Where minions carry more than servitors, 
 The bold and careless servant still obtains; 
 The modest and respective nothing gains ; 
 You never see your love unless in dreams, 
 He, Hymen puts in whole possession. 
 What different stars reign 'd when your 
 
 loves were born, 
 He forced to wear the willow, you the 
 
 horn? 
 
 But, brother, are you not ashamed to make 
 Yourself a slave to the base lord of love, 
 Begot of fancy, and of beauty born ? 
 And what is beauty ? a mere quintessence, 
 Whose life is not in being, but in seeming ; 
 And therefore is not to all eyes the same, 
 But like a cozening picture, which one way 
 
ALL FOOLS. 
 
 [ACT 
 
 Shows like a crow, another like a swan ; 
 And upon what ground is this beauty 
 
 drawn ? 
 
 Upon a woman, a most brittle creature, 
 And would to God (for my part) that were 
 
 all. 
 Fo. But tell me, brother, did you never 
 
 love ? 
 Ri. You know I did, and was beloved 
 
 again, 
 And that of such a dame as all men 
 
 deem'd 
 Honour'd, and made me happy in her 
 
 favours : 
 
 Exceeding fair she was not ; and yet fair 
 In that she never studied to be fairer 
 Than Nature made her ; beauty cost her 
 
 nothing, 
 Her virtues were so rare, they would have 
 
 made 
 
 An Ethiop beautiful : at least so thought 
 By such as stood aloof, and did observe her 
 With credulous eyes ; but what they were 
 
 indeed 
 I'll spare to blaze, because I loved her 
 
 once, 
 
 Only I found her such, as for her sake, 
 I vow eternal wars against their whole sex, 
 Inconstant shuttlecocks, loving fools, and 
 
 jesters ; 
 
 Men rich in dirt, and titles sooner won 
 With the most vile than the most virtuous ; 
 Found true to none : if one amongst whole 
 
 hundreds 
 Chance to be chaste, she is so proud 
 
 withal, 
 Wayward and rude, that one of unchaste 
 
 life 
 
 Is oftentimes approved a worthier wife : 
 Undressed, sluttish, nasty to their hus- 
 bands, 
 Spunged up, adorned, and painted to their 
 
 lovers : 
 
 All day in ceaseless uproar with their house- 
 holds, 
 If all the night their husbands have not 
 
 pleased them ; 
 Like hounds, most kind, being beaten and 
 
 abused ; 
 Like wolves, most cruel, being kindliest 
 
 used. 
 Fo. Fie, thou profanest the deity of 
 
 their sex. 
 
 Ri. Brother, I read that Egypt hereto- 
 fore 
 Had Temples of the richest frame on 
 
 earth ; 
 
 Much like this goodly edifice of women : 
 With alabaster pillars were those Temples 
 
 Upheld and beautified, and so are women, 
 Most curiously glazed, and so are women, 
 Cunningly painted too, and so are women, 
 In outside wondrous heavenly, so are ; 
 
 women ; 
 But when a stranger view'd those fanes 
 
 within, 
 Instead of gods and goddesses, he should 
 
 find 
 
 A painted fowl, a fury, or a serpent ; 
 And such celestial inner parts have women. 
 Va. Rinaldo, the poor fox that lost his 
 
 tail, 
 
 Persuaded others also to lose theirs : 
 Thyself, for one perhaps that for desert 
 Or some defect in thy attempts refused 
 
 thee, 
 Revilest the whole sex, beauty, love, and 
 
 all: 
 
 I tell thee Love is Nature's second sun ; 
 Causing a spring of virtues where he shines, 
 And as without the sun, the world's great 
 
 eye, 
 All colours, beauties, both of Art and 
 
 Nature, 
 
 Are given in vain to men, so without love 
 All beauties bred in women are in vain ; 
 All virtues born in men lie buried, 
 For love informs them as the sun doth 
 
 colours, 
 
 And as the sun, reflecting his warm beams 
 Against the earth, begets all fruits and 
 
 flowers ; 
 
 So love, fair shining in the inward man, 
 Brings forth in him the honourable fruits 
 Of valour, wit, virtue, and haughty 
 
 thoughts, 
 
 Brave resolution, and divine discourse : 
 Oh, 'tis the Paradise, the heaven of earth ; 
 And didst thou know the comfort of two 
 
 hearts, 
 
 In one delicious harmony united, 
 As to joy one joy, and think both one 
 
 thought, 
 
 Live both one life, and therein double life ; 
 To see their souls met at an interview 
 In their bright eyes, at parley in their lips, 
 Their language, kisses : and to observe the < 
 
 rest, 
 
 Touches, embraces, and each circumstance 
 Of all love's most unmatched ceremonies : 
 Thou wouldst abhor thy tongue for blas- 
 phemy. 
 Oh ! who can comprehend how sweet love ; 
 
 tastes 
 
 But he that hath been present at his feasts ? 
 
 Ri. Are you in that vein too, Valeric ? 
 
 Twere fitter you should be about your 
 
 charge. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 ALL FOOLS. 
 
 How plough and care goes forward ; I have 
 
 known 
 
 Your joys were all employ 'd in husbandry, 
 Your study was how many loads of hay 
 A meadow of so many acres yielded ; 
 How many oxen such a close would fat. 
 And is your rural service now converted 
 From Pan to Cupid ? and from beasts to 
 
 women ? 
 
 Oh, if your father knew this, what a lec- 
 ture 
 
 Of bitter castigation he would read you ! 
 Va. My father? why, my father? does 
 
 he think 
 
 To rob me of myself? I hope I know 
 I am a gentleman ; though his covetous 
 
 humour 
 
 And education hath transform'd me baily, 
 And made me overseer of his pastures, 
 I'll be myself, in spite of husbandry. 
 
 Enter Gratiana. 
 
 And see, bright heaven, here comes my 
 husbandry. \_Amplectitur earn.* 
 
 Here shall my cattle graze, here Nectar 
 drink, 
 
 Here will I hedge and ditch, here hide 
 my treasure: 
 
 O poor Fortunio, how wouldst thou 
 triumph, 
 
 If thou enjoy 'd'st this happiness with my 
 
 sister ! 
 Fo. I were in heaven if once 'twere 
 
 come to that. 
 
 Ri. And methinks 'tis my heaven that 
 I am past it, 
 
 And should the wretched Machiavellian, 
 
 The covetous knight, your father, see this 
 sight, 
 
 Lusty Valerio ? 
 
 Va. 'Sfoot, sir, if he should, 
 
 He shall perceive ere long my skill ex- 
 tends 
 
 To something more than sweaty hus- 
 bandry. 
 
 Ri. I'll bear thee witness, thou canst 
 skill of dice, 
 
 Cards, tennis, wenching, dancing, and 
 what not? 
 
 And this is something more than hus- 
 bandry : 
 
 Th'art known in ordinaries, and tobacco- 
 shops, 
 
 Trusted in taverns and in vaulting-houses, 
 
 * The stage directions are given sometimes 
 in English and sometimes in Latin. It has been 
 thought best to reproduce them here just as they 
 appear in the original. ED. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 And i'ms is something more man nus- [ 
 
 bandry. 
 Yet all this while, thy father apprehends 
 
 thee 
 For the most tame and thrifty groom in 
 
 Europe. 
 
 Fo. Well, he hath ventured on a mar- 
 riage, 
 Would quite undo him, did his father 
 
 know it. 
 Ri. Know it? Alas, sir, where can i 
 
 he bestow 
 This poor gentlewoman he hath made his 
 
 wife, 
 
 But his inquisitive father will hear of it ? 
 Who, like the dragon to th'Hesperian fruit, 
 Is to his haunts? 'Slight hence, the old 
 
 knight comes. 
 
 Intrat Gostanzo. Omnes aufugiunt.* 
 Go. Rinaldo. 
 
 Ri. Who's that calls ? What, Sir Gos- 
 tanzo ? 
 How fares your knighthood, sir? 
 
 Go. Say, who was that 
 Shrunk at my entry here ? was't not your 
 
 brother ? 
 Ri. He shrunk not, sir ; his business 
 
 call'd him hence. 
 Go. And was it not my son that went 
 
 out with him ? 
 Ri. I saw not him ; I was in serious 
 
 speech 
 
 About a secret business with my brother. 
 Go. Sure 'twas my son ; what made he 
 
 here ? I sent him 
 
 About affairs to be dispatch'd in haste. 
 Ri. Well, sir, lest silence breed unjust 
 
 suspect, 
 
 I'll tell a secret I am sworn to keep, 
 And crave your honoured assistance in it. 
 Go. Whatis't, Rinaldo? 
 Ri. This, sir ; 'twas your son. 
 Go. And what young gentlewoman 
 
 graced their company ? 
 Ri. Thereon depends the secret I must 
 
 utter ; 
 
 That gentlewoman hath my brother mar- 
 ried. 
 
 Go. Married ? What is she ? 
 Ri. 'Faith, sir, a gentlewoman ; 
 But her unnourishing dowry must be told 
 Out of her beauty. 
 
 Go. Is it true, Rinaldo ? 
 And does your father understand so much ? 
 Ri. That was the motion, sir, I was en- 
 treating 
 
 Your son to make to him, because I know 
 He is well spoken, and may much prevail 
 
 E 
 
ALL FOOLS. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 In satisfying my father, who much loves 
 
 him, 
 
 Both for his wisdom and his husbandry. 
 Go. Indeed, he's one can tell his tale, I 
 
 tell you, 
 And for his husbandry 
 
 Ri. Oh, sir, had you heard 
 What thrifty discipline he gave my brother, 
 For making choice without my father's 
 
 knowledge, 
 
 And without riches, you would have ad- 
 mired him. 
 Go. Nay, nay, I know him well; but 
 
 what was it ? 
 Ri. That in the choice of wives men 
 
 must respect 
 
 The chief wife, riches, that in every course 
 A man's chief load-star should shine out of 
 
 riches; 
 Love nothing heartily in this world but 
 
 riches ; 
 
 Cast off all friends, all studies, all delights, 
 All honesty, and religion for riches ; 
 And many such, which wisdom sure he 
 
 learn'd 
 I Of his experient father ; yet my brother 
 
 So soothes his rash affection, and presumes 
 ' So highly on my father's gentle nature, 
 That he's resolved to bring her home to 
 
 him, 
 And like enough he will. 
 
 Go. And like enough 
 Your silly father too, will put it up ; 
 An honest knight, but much too much 
 
 indulgent 
 To his presuming children. 
 
 Ri. What a difference 
 Doth interpose itself 'twixt him and you, 
 Had your son used you thus ? 
 
 Go. My son, alas ! 
 
 I hope to bring him up in other fashion ; 
 Follows my husbandry, sets early foot 
 Into the world ; he comes not at the city, 
 Nor knows the city arts. 
 Ri. But dice and wenching. [Avemts. 
 Go. Acquaints himself with no delight 
 
 but getting, 
 
 A perfect pattern of sobriety, 
 Temperance and husbandry, to all 
 
 household ; 
 And what's his company, I pray? not 
 
 wenches. 
 Ri. Wenches? I durst be sworn he 
 
 never smelt 
 A wench's breath yet ; but methinks 'twere 
 
 You sought him out a wife. 
 
 Go. A wife, Rinaldo ? 
 He dares not look a woman in the face. 
 
 my 
 
 Ri. 'Sfoot, hold him to one ; your son 
 
 such a sheep ? 
 Go. 'Tis strange in earnest. 
 Ri. Well, sir, though for my thriftless 
 
 brother's sake, 
 
 I little care how my wrong'd father takes it, 
 Yet for my father's quiet, if yourself 
 Would join hands with your wise and 
 
 toward son, 
 I should deserve it some way. 
 
 Go. Good Rinaldo, 
 
 I love you and your father, but this matter 
 Is not for me to deal in ; and 'tis needless. 
 You say your brother is resolved, pre- 
 suming 
 Your father will allow it. 
 
 Enter Marc Antonio. 
 
 Ri. See, my father ! 
 Since you are resolute not to move him, 
 
 sir, 
 In any case conceal the secret, 
 
 [Abscondit se. 
 By way of an atonement let me pray you 
 
 will. 
 
 Go. Upon mine honour. 
 Ri. Thanks, sir. 
 Ma. God save thee, honourable Knight 
 
 Gostanzo. 
 Go. Friend Marc. Antonio ! welcome ; 
 
 and I think 
 
 I have good news to welcome you withal. 
 Ri. He cannot hold. 
 Ma. What news, I pray you, sir ? 
 Go. You have a forward, valiant, eldest 
 
 son ; 
 
 But wherein is his forwardness and valour ? 
 Ma. I know not wherein you intend 
 
 him so. 
 Go. Forward before, valiant behind, his 
 
 duty; 
 
 That he hath dared before your due con- 
 sent 
 
 To take a wife. 
 
 Ma. A wife, sir? what is she ? 
 Go. One that is rich enough: her hair 
 
 pure amber ; 
 
 Her forehead mother of pearl, her fair eyes 
 Two wealthy diamants; her lips, mines of 
 
 rubies ; 
 Her teeth are orient pearl, her neck pure 
 
 ivory. 
 Ma. Jest not, good sir, in an affair so 
 
 serious ; 
 
 I love my son, and if his youth reward me 
 With his contempt of my consent in 
 
 marriage, 
 
 'Tis to be fear'd that hi2 presumption 
 builds not 
 
I SCENE I.] 
 
 ALL FOOLS. 
 
 Of his good choice, that will bear out 
 
 itself ; ' 
 And being bad, the news is worse than 
 
 bad. 
 Go. What call you bad ? is it bad to be 
 
 poor? 
 Ma. The world accounts it so ; but if 
 
 my son 
 Have in her birth and virtues held his 
 
 choice 
 
 Without disparagement, the fault is less. 
 Go. Sits the wind there? Blows there 
 
 so calm a gale 
 
 From a contemned and deserved anger? 
 Are you so easy to be disobey'd ? 
 
 Ma. What should I do? If my en- 
 
 amour'd son 
 
 Have been so forward, I assure myself 
 He did it more to satisfy his love 
 Than to incense my hate, or to neglect me. 
 Go. A passing kind construction ! suffer 
 
 this, 
 
 You ope him doors to any villany ; 
 He'll dare to sell, to pawn, run ever riot, 
 Despise your love in all, and laugh at you. 
 And that knight's competency you have 
 
 gotten 
 With care and labour, he with lust and 
 
 idleness 
 
 Will bring into the stipend of a beggar 
 All to maintain a wanton whirligig, 
 Worth nothing more than she brings on 
 
 her back, 
 
 Yet all your wealth too little for that back. 
 By heaven, I pity your declining state, 
 For, be assured, your son hath set his foot 
 In the right pathway to consumption : 
 Up to the heart in love ; and for that love 
 Nothing can be too dear his love desires : 
 And how insatiate and unlimited 
 Is the ambition and the beggarly pride 
 Of a dame hoised from a beggar's state 
 To a state competent and plentiful, 
 You cannot be so simple not to know. 
 Ma. I must confess the mischief : but, 
 
 alas ! 
 
 Where is in me the power of remedy ? 
 Go. Where ? In your just displeasure : 
 
 cast him off, 
 
 Receive him not ; let him endure the use 
 Of their enforced kindness that must trust 
 
 him 
 
 For meat and money, for apparel, house, 
 And everything belongs to that estate, 
 Which he must learn with want of misery, 
 Since pleasure and a full estate hath 
 
 blinded 
 
 His dissolute desires. 
 Ma. What should I do ? 
 
 If I should banish him my house and sight, 
 What desperate resolution might it breed 
 To run into the wars, and there to live 
 In want of competency, and perhaps 
 Taste th' unrecoverable loss of his chief 
 
 limbs, 
 Which while he hath in peace, at home 
 
 with me, 
 
 May, with his spirit, ransom his estate 
 From any loss his marriage can procure. 
 Go. Is't true ? No, let him run into the 
 
 war, 
 And lose what limbs he can : better one 
 
 branch 
 Be lopp'd away, than all the whole tree 
 
 should perish : 
 And for his wants, better young want than 
 
 old. 
 
 You have a younger son at Padua 
 I like his learning well make him your heir, 
 And let your other walk : let him buy wit 
 At's own charge, not at's father's ; if you 
 
 lose him, 
 
 You lose no more than that was lost before; 
 If you recover him, you find a son. 
 Ma. I cannot part with him. 
 Go. If it be so, 
 
 And that your love to him be so extreme, 
 In needful dangers ever choose the least : 
 If he should be in mind to pass the seas, 
 Your son Rinaldo (who told me all this) 
 Will tell me that, and so we shall prevent it. 
 If by no stern course you will venture that, 
 Let him come home to me with his fair 
 
 wife ; 
 And if you chance to see him, shake him 
 
 up, 
 
 As if your wrath were hard to be reflected, 
 That he may fear hereafter to offend 
 In other dissolute courses. At my house, 
 With my advice, and my son's good 
 
 example, 
 
 Who shall serve as a glass for him to see 
 His faults, and mend them to his precedent, 
 I make no doubt but of a dissolute son 
 And disobedient, to send him home 
 Both dutiful and thrifty. 
 
 Ma. Oh, Gostanzo ! 
 Could you do this, you should preserve 
 
 yourself 
 
 A perfect friend of me, and me a son. 
 Go. Remember you your part, and fear 
 
 not mine : 
 Rate him, revile him, and renounce him 
 
 too : 
 
 Speak, can you do't, man ? 
 Ma. I'll do all I can. [Exit Marc. 
 
 Go. Alas ! good man, how nature over- 
 
 weighs him ! 
 
 2 
 
ALL FOOLS. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 Rinaldo comes forth. 
 
 Ri. God save you, sir. 
 Go. Rinaldo, all the news 
 You told me as a secret, I perceive 
 Is passing common ; for your father knows 
 
 it; 
 
 The first thing he related was the mar- 
 riage. 
 
 Ri. And was extremely moved ? 
 Go. Beyond all measure : 
 But I did all I could to quench his fury : 
 Told him how easy 'twas for a young man 
 To run that amorous course : and though 
 
 his choice 
 Were nothing rich, yet she was gently 
 
 born, 
 
 Well qualified, and beautiful. But he still 
 Was quite relentless, and would needs 
 
 renounce him. 
 Ri. My brother knows it well, and is 
 
 resolved 
 
 To trail a pike in field, rather than bide 
 The more fear'd push of my vex'd father's 
 
 fury. 
 Go. Indeed, that's one way : but are 
 
 no more means 
 Left to his fine wits, than t'incense his 
 
 father 
 
 With a more violent rage, and to redeem 
 A great offence with greater ? 
 
 Ri. So I told him : 
 
 But to a desperate mind all breath is lost. 
 Go. Go to, let him be wise, and use his 
 
 friends, 
 Amongst whom I'll be foremost, to his 
 
 father : 
 
 Without this desperate error he intends 
 Join'd to the other ; I'll not doubt to make 
 
 him 
 
 Easy return into his father's favour ; 
 So he submit himself, as duty binds him : 
 For fathers will be known to be them- 
 selves, 
 
 And often when their angers are not deep 
 Will paint an outward rage upon their 
 
 looks. 
 Ri. All this I told him, sir ; but what 
 
 says he ? 
 
 " I know my father will not be reclaim'd, 
 He'll think that if he wink at this offence, 
 'Twill open doors to any villany. 
 I'll dare to sell, to pawn, and run all riot, 
 To laugh at all his patience, and consume 
 All he hath purchased to an honour'd pur- 
 pose, 
 
 In maintenance of a wanton whirligig, 
 Worth nothing more than she wears on 
 her back." 
 
 Go. The very words I used t'incense 
 
 his father \ 
 
 But, good Rinaldo, let him be advised : 
 How would his father grieve, should he 
 
 be maim'd, 
 
 Or quite miscarry in the ruthless war ? 
 Ri. I told him so; but, "Better far," 
 
 said he, 
 
 "Onebrar.ch should utterly be lopp'd away, 
 Than the whole tree of all his race should 
 
 perish ; 
 And for his wants, better young want than 
 
 old." 
 Go. By heaven, the same words still I 
 
 used to his father ! 
 Why, how comes this about ? Well, good 
 
 Rinaldo, 
 
 If he dare not endure his father's looks, 
 Let him and his fair wife come home to 
 
 me, 
 
 Till I have qualified his father's passion. 
 He shall be kindly welcome, and be sure 
 Of all the intercession I can use. 
 
 Ri. I thank you, sir ; I'll try what I can 
 
 do, 
 
 Although I fear me I shall strive in vain. 
 Go. Well, try him, try him. [Exit. 
 
 Ri. Thanks sir, so I will. 
 See, this old politic dissembling knight, 
 Now he perceives my father so affectionate, 
 And that my brother may hereafter live 
 By him and his, with equal use of either, 
 He will put on a face of hollow friendship. 
 But this will prove an excellent ground to 
 
 sow 
 The seed of mirth amongst us ; I'll go 
 
 seek 
 
 Valeric and my brother, and tell them 
 Such news of their affairs as they'll admire. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Enter Gazetta, Bellanora, Gratiana. 
 
 Ga. How happy are your fortunes above 
 
 mine ! 
 Both still being woo'd and courted ; still so 
 
 feeding 
 
 On the delights of love, that still you find 
 An appetite to more ; where I am cloy'd, 
 And being bound to love-sports, care not 
 
 for them. 
 Be. That is your fault, Gazetta ; we have 
 
 loves, 
 
 And wish continual company with them 
 In honour'd marriage-rites, which you 
 
 enjoy. 
 
 But seld* or never can we get a look 
 Of those we love. Fortunio, my dear choice, 
 Dare not be known to love me, nor come 
 
 near 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 ALL FOOLS. 
 
 53 
 
 I 
 
 My father's house, where I as in a prison 
 Consume my lost days, and the tedious 
 
 nights, 
 
 My father guarding me for one I hate. 
 And Gratiana here, my brother's love, 
 Joys him by so much stealth that vehement 
 
 fear 
 Drinks up the sweetness of their stolen 
 
 delights : 
 Where you enjoy a husband, and may 
 
 freely 
 
 Perform all obsequies you desire to love. 
 Ga. Indeed I have a husband, and his 
 
 love 
 
 Is more than I desire, being vainly jealous ; 
 Extremes, tho' contrary, have the like 
 
 effects, 
 
 Extreme heat mortifies like extreme cold ; 
 Extreme love breeds satiety as well 
 As extreme hatred ; and too violent rigour 
 Tempts chastity as much as too much 
 
 licence ; 
 There's no man's eye fix'd on me, but doth 
 
 pierce 
 
 Myhusband's soul : If any ask my welfare, 
 He straight doubts treason practised to his 
 
 bed: 
 
 Fancies but to himself all likelihoods 
 Of my wrong to him, and lays all on me 
 For certain truths ; yet seeks he with his 
 
 best 
 
 To put disguise on all his jealousy, 
 Fearing perhaps lest it may teach me that 
 Which otherwise I should not dream upon : 
 Yet lives he still abroad at great expense, 
 Turns merely gallant from his fanner's 
 
 state, 
 
 Uses all games and recreations ; 
 Runs races with the gallants of the Court, 
 Feasts them at home, and entertains them 
 
 costly, 
 And then upbraids me with their company. 
 
 Enter Cornelio. 
 
 See, see, we shall be troubled with him 
 
 now. 
 Co. Now, ladies, what plots have we now 
 
 in hand ? 
 
 They say, when only one dame is alone 
 She plots some mischief ; but if three to- 
 gether, 
 They plot three hundred. Wife, the air is 
 
 sharp, 
 Y'ad best to take the house, lest you take 
 
 cold. 
 Ga. Alas! this time of year yields nosuch 
 
 danger. 
 Co. Go in, I say; a friend of yours attends 
 
 you. 
 
 Ga. He is of your bringing, and maystay. 
 Co. Nay, stand not chopping logic ; in, 
 
 I pray. 
 
 Ga. Ye see, gentlewomen, what my happi- 
 ness is, 
 
 These humours reign in marriage, humours, 
 humours. [Exif, hcfolloweth. 
 
 Gr. Now by my sooth, I am no fortune- 
 teller, 
 
 And would be loth to prove so ; yet pro- 
 nounce 
 
 This at adventure, that 'twere indecorum 
 This heifer should want horns. 
 
 Be. Fie on this love ! 
 I rather wish to want than purchase so. 
 Gr. Indeed, such love is like a smoky 
 
 fire 
 In a cold morning ; though the fire be 
 
 cheerful, 
 
 Yet is the smoke so sour and cumbersome, 
 'Twere better lose the fire than find the 
 
 smoke : 
 
 Such an attendant then as smoke to fire, 
 Is jealousy to love ; better want both 
 Than have both. 
 
 Enter Valerio and Fortunio. 
 
 Va. Come, Fortunio, now take hold 
 On this occasion, as my myself on this : 
 One couple more would make a barley- 
 break. 
 Fo. I fear, Valerio, we shall break too 
 
 soon, 
 
 Your father's jealous spy-all, will dis- 
 please us. 
 Va. Well, wench, the day will come 
 
 his Argus eyes 
 Will shut, and thou shalt open : 'sfoot, I 
 
 think 
 Dame Nature's memory begins to fail 
 
 her; 
 
 If I write but my name in mercer's books, 
 I am as sure to have at six months' end, 
 A rascal at my elbow with his mace, 
 As I am sure my father's not far hence ; 
 My father yet hath ought Dame Nature 
 
 debt, 
 These threescore years and ten, yet calls 
 
 not on him ; 
 
 But if she turn her debt-book over once, 
 And finding him her debtor, do but send 
 Her Serjeant, John Death, to arrest his 
 
 body, 
 Our souls shall rest, wench, then, and the 
 
 free light 
 Shall triumph in our faces : where now 
 
 night, 
 
 In imitation of my father's frown, 
 Lowers at our meeting. 
 
54 
 
 ALL FOOLS. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Enter Rinaldo. 
 
 See where the scholar comes. 
 
 Ri, Down on your knees, poor lovers, 
 
 reverence learning. 
 Fo. I pray thee, why, Rinaldo ? 
 Ri, Mark, what cause 
 Flows from my depth of knowledge to 
 
 your loves, 
 To make you kneel and bless me while 
 
 you lire. 
 Va. I pray thee, good scholar, give us 
 
 cause. 
 Ri. Mark, then, erect your ears ; you 
 
 know what horror 
 Would fly on your love from your father's 
 
 frowns, 
 If he should know it. And your sister 
 
 here 
 (My brother's sweetheart) knows as well 
 
 what rage, 
 Would seize his powers for her, if he 
 
 should know 
 My brother woo'd her, or that she loved 
 
 him. 
 
 Is not this true ? speak all. 
 Omn. All this is true. 
 Ri. It is as true that now you meet by 
 
 stealth, 
 
 In depth of midnight, kissing out at grates, 
 Climb over walls. And all this I'll reform. 
 Va. By logic ? 
 
 Ri. Well, sir, you shall have all means 
 To live in one house, eat and drink together, 
 Meet and kiss your fills. 
 Va. All this by learning ? 
 Ri. Ay, and your frowning father know 
 
 all this. 
 Va. Ay, marry, small learning may 
 
 prove that. 
 Ri. Nay, he shall know it, and desire it 
 
 too, 
 Welcome my brother to him, and your 
 
 wife, 
 Entreating both to come and dwell witl 
 
 him. 
 
 Is not this strange ? 
 Fo. Ay, too strange to be true. 
 Ri. 'Tis in this head shall work it 
 
 therefore, hear : 
 
 Brother, this lady you must call your wife, 
 For I have told her sweetheart's father 
 
 here 
 That she is your wife ; and because my 
 
 father, 
 
 (Who now believes it) must be quieted, 
 Before you see him, you must live awhile, 
 As husband to her, in his father's house. 
 Valerio, here's a simple mean for you 
 
 To lie at rack and manger with your 
 
 wedlock, 
 
 And, brother, for yourself to meet as freely 
 With this your long-desired and barred 
 
 love. 
 
 Fo. You make us wonder. 
 Ri. Peace ; be ruled by me, 
 And you shall see to what a perfect shape 
 I'll bring this rude plot, which blind 
 
 chance (the ape 
 Of counsel and advice) hath brought forth 
 
 blind. 
 
 Valerio, can your heat of love forbear, 
 Before your father, and allow my brother 
 To use some kindness to your wife before 
 
 him? 
 Va. Ay, before him, I do not greatly 
 
 care, 
 
 Nor anywhere indeed ; my sister here 
 Shall be my spy : if she will wrong herself, 
 And give her right to my wife, I am 
 
 pleased. 
 Fo. My dearest life, I know, will never 
 
 fear 
 
 Any such will or thought in all my powers. 
 When I court her, then, think I think 'tis 
 
 thee; 
 When I embrace her, hold thee in mine 
 
 arms : 
 Come, let us practise 'gainst we see your 
 
 father. 
 Va. Soft, sir ; I hope you need not do 
 
 it yet ; 
 
 Let me take this time. 
 Ri. Come, you must not touch her. 
 Va. No, not before my father. 
 Ri. No, nor now, 
 
 Because you are so soon to practise it, 
 For I must bring them to him presently. 
 Take her, Fortunio ; go hence man and 
 
 wife, 
 
 We will attend you rarely with fix'd faces. 
 Valerio, keep your countenance, and 
 
 conceive 
 
 Your father in your forced sheepishness, 
 Who thinks thou darest not look upon a 
 
 wench, 
 
 Nor know'st at which end to begin to kiss 
 her. {Exeunt. 
 
 END OF ACT I. 
 
 ACT THE SECOND. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 Gostanzo, Marc Antonio. 
 
 Go. It is your own too simple lenity, 
 And doting indulgence shown to him still, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 ALL FOOLS. 
 
 55 
 
 i That thus hath taught your son to be no 
 
 son ; 
 As you have used him, therefore, so you 
 
 have him : 
 
 Durst my son thus turn rebel to his duty, 
 Steal up a match unsuiting his estate, 
 Without all knowledge of a friend or 
 
 father, 
 And, to make that good with a worse 
 
 offence, 
 
 Adsolve to run beyond sea to the wars ; 
 Durst my son serve me thus ? Well, I 
 
 have stay'd him, 
 
 Though much against my disposition, 
 And this hour I have set for his repair 
 With his young mistress and concealed 
 
 wife ; 
 And in my house, here, they shall sojourn 
 
 both, 
 
 Till your black anger's storm be over- 
 blown. 
 Ma. My anger's storm ? Ah, poor 
 
 Fortunio, 
 One gentle word from thee would soon 
 
 resolve 
 
 The storm of my rage to a shower of tears. 
 Go. In that vein still? Well, Marc 
 
 Antonio, 
 
 Our old acquaintance and long neighbour- 
 hood 
 
 Ties my affection to you, and the good 
 Of your whole house ; in kind regard 
 
 whereof 
 
 I have advised you, for your credit's sake. 
 And for the tender welfare of your son, 
 To frown on him a little ; if you do not, 
 But at first parley take him to your favour, 
 I protest utterly to renounce all care 
 Of you and yours, and all your amities. 
 They say, he's wretched that out of him- 
 self 
 
 Cannot draw counsel to his proper weal. 
 But he's thrice wretched that has neither 
 
 counsel 
 
 Within himself, nor apprehension 
 Of counsel for his own good, from another. 
 Ma. Well, I will arm myself against 
 
 this weakness 
 
 The best I can. I long to see this Helen 
 That hath enchanted my young Paris 
 
 thus, 
 And's like to set all our poor Troy on fire. 
 
 Enter Valerio with a Page. 
 retires himself. 
 
 Marc 
 
 Go. Here comes my son. Withdraw, 
 
 take up your stand ; 
 You shall hear odds betwixt your son and 
 
 Va. Tell him I cannot do't ; shall I be 
 
 made 
 
 A foolish novice, my purse set a-broach 
 By every cheating come-you-seven; to lend 
 My money, and be laugh'd at? tell him 
 
 plain 
 
 I profess husbandry, and will not play 
 The prodigal, like him, 'gainst my pro- 
 fession. 
 
 Go. Here's a son. 
 Ma. An admirable spark ! 
 Page. Well, sir, I'll tell him so. 
 
 \_Exit Page. 
 Va. 'Sfoot, let him lead 
 A better husband's life, and live not idly ; 
 Spending his time, his coin and self on 
 
 wenches. 
 
 Go. Why, what's the matter, son ? 
 Va. Cry mercy, sir: why there comes 
 
 messengers 
 From this and that brave gallant ; and 
 
 such gallants 
 
 As I protest I saw but through a grate. 
 Go. And what's this message ? 
 Va. Faith, sir, he's disappointed 
 Of payments ; and disfurnish'd of means 
 
 present ; 
 
 If I would do him the kind office there- 
 fore 
 To trust him but some seven-night with the 
 
 keeping 
 
 Of forty crowns for me, he deeply swears, 
 As he's a gentleman, to discharge his 
 
 trust ; 
 
 And that I shall eternally endear him 
 To my wish'd service, he protests and con- 
 tests. 
 Go. Good words, Valerio ; but thou art 
 
 too wise 
 To be deceived by breath. I'll turn thee 
 
 loose, 
 
 To the most cunning cheater of them all. 
 Va. 'Sfoot ; he's not ashamed besides 
 
 to charge me. 
 
 With a late promise ; I must yield indeed 
 I did (to shift him off with some content- 
 ment) 
 Make such a frivall promise. 
 
 Go. Ay, well done ; 
 
 Promises are no fetters ; with that tongue 
 Thy promise past, unpromise it again. 
 Wherefore has man a tongue of power to 
 
 speak, 
 
 But to speak still to his own private pur- 
 pose? 
 Beasts utter but one sound ; but men have 
 
 change 
 
 Of speech and reason, even by nature ! 
 given them, 
 
ALL FOOLS. 
 
 [ACT IT. 
 
 Now to say one thing, and another now, 
 As best may serve their profitable ends. 
 Ma. By'r-lady, sound instructions to a 
 
 son. 
 Va. Nay, sir ; he makes his claim by 
 
 debt of friendship. 
 Go. Tush ; friendship's but a term, boy. 
 
 The fond world 
 
 Like to a doting mother glozes over 
 Her children's imperfections with fine 
 
 terms ; 
 What she calls friendship and true humane 
 
 kindness, 
 
 Is only want of true experience : 
 Honesty is but a defect of wit ; 
 Respect but mere rusticity and clownery. 
 Ma. Better and better. Soft, here comes 
 my son. 
 
 Enter Fortunio, Rinaldo, and Gratiana. 
 
 Ki. Fortunio, keep your countenance; 
 
 see, sir, here 
 The poor young married couple, which 
 
 you pleased 
 
 To send for to your house. 
 Go. Fortunio, welcome. 
 And in that welcome I imply your wife's, 
 Who I am sure you count your second 
 self. [He kisses her. 
 
 Fo. Sir, your right noble favours do 
 
 exceed 
 
 All power of worthy gratitude by words, 
 That in your care supply my father's 
 
 place. 
 
 Go. Fortunio, I cannot choose but love 
 you, 
 
 Being son to him who long time I have 
 
 loved : 
 From whose just anger my house shall 
 
 protect you, 
 Till I have made a calm way to your 
 
 meetings. 
 Fo. I little thought, sir, that my 
 
 father's love 
 
 Would take so ill so slight a fault as this. 
 Go. Call you it slight? Nay, though 
 
 his spirit take it 
 
 In higher manner than for your loved sake, 
 I would have wish'd him ; yet I make a 
 
 doubt, 
 
 Had my son done the like, if my affection 
 Would not have turn'd to more spleen 
 
 than your father's : 
 And yet I qualify him all I can, 
 And doubt not but that time and my per- 
 suasion, 
 Will work out your excuse : since youth 
 
 and love 
 W T ere th' unresisted organs to seduce you : 
 
 But you must give him leave, for fathers 
 
 must 
 
 Be won by penitence and submission, 
 And not by force or opposition. 
 
 Fo. Alas, sir, what advise you me to 
 
 do? 
 
 I know my father to be highly moved, 
 And am not able to endure the breath 
 Of his express'd displeasure, whose hot 
 
 flames, 
 I think my absence soonest would have 
 
 quench'd. 
 Go. True, sir, as fire with oil, or else 
 
 like them, 
 That quench the fire with pulling down 
 
 the house ; 
 You shall remain here in my house con- 
 
 ceal'd 
 
 Till I have won your father to conceive 
 Kinder opinion of your oversight. 
 Valerio, entertain Fortunio 
 And his fair wife, and give them conduct 
 
 in. 
 
 Va. Y'are welcome, sir. 
 Go. What, sirrah, is that all? 
 No entertainment to the gentlewoman ? 
 Va. Forsooth y'are welcome, by my 
 
 father's leave. 
 Go. What, no more compliment? Kiss 
 
 her, you sheep's head. 
 Why, when ? Go, go, sir, call your sister 
 
 hither. [Exit Val. 
 
 Lady, you'll pardon our gross bringing 
 
 up; 
 
 We dwell far off from court, you may per- 
 ceive : 
 
 The sight of such a blazing star as you 
 Dazzles my rude son's wits. 
 
 Gr. Not so, good sir. 
 
 The better husband, the more courtly ever. 
 Ri. Indeed a courtier makes his lips go 
 
 far, 
 As he doth all things else. 
 
 Enter Valerio, Bellanorao 
 
 Go. Daughter, receive 
 This gentlewoman home, and use her 
 kindly. [She kisses her. 
 
 Be. My father bids you kindly wel- 
 come, lady, 
 And therefore you must needs come well 
 
 to me. 
 
 Gr. Thank you, forsooth. 
 Oo. Go, dame, conduct 'em in. 
 [Exeunt Rinaldo, Fortunio, Bell. Grat. 
 Ah, errant sheep'shead, hast thou lived 
 
 thus long, 
 
 And darest not look a woman in the face? 
 Though I desire especially to see 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 ALL FOOLS. 
 
 57 
 
 My son a husband, shall I therefore have 
 
 him 
 Turn absolute cullion ? Let's see, kiss thy 
 
 hand. 
 Thou kiss thy hand? thou wipest thy 
 
 mouth, by th'mass. 
 Fie on thee, clown ! They say the world's 
 
 grown finer ; 
 
 But I for my part never saw young men 
 Worse fashion 'd and brought-up than 
 
 now-a-days. 
 'Sfoot, when myself was young, was not I 
 
 kept 
 
 As far from Court as you ? I think I was ; 
 And yet my father on a time invited 
 The Duchess of his house ; I being then 
 About some five-and-tvventy years of age, 
 Was thought the only man to entertain 
 
 her; 
 
 I had my conge" ; plant myself of one leg, 
 Draw back the t'other with a deep-fetch'd 
 
 honour ; 
 
 Then with a bel regard advant mine eye 
 With boldness on her very visnomy. 
 Your dancers all were counterfeits to me : 
 And for discourse in my fair mistress' pre- 
 sence 
 
 I did not, as you barren gallants do, 
 Fill my discourses up drinking tobacco ; 
 But on the present furnish 'd evermore 
 With tales and practised speeches; as 
 
 sometimes, 
 
 II What is't a clock ?" " What stuffs this 
 
 petticoat?" 
 " What cost the making ? What the fringe 
 
 and all?" 
 
 And ' ' what she had under her petticoat ?" 
 And such-like witty compliments : and for 
 
 need, 
 I could have written as good prose and 
 
 verse 
 
 As the most beggarly poet of 'em all, 
 Either acrostic, or-Exordion, 
 Epithalamions, Satyrs, Epigrams, 
 Sonnets in Dozens, or your Quatorzains 
 In any rhyme, Masculine, Feminine, 
 Or Sdruciolla, or couplets, or Blank Verse. 
 Y'are but bench-whistlers now-a-days to 
 
 them 
 That were in our times. Well, about your 
 
 husbandry, 
 Go, for i'faith th'art fit for nothing else. 
 
 [Exit Valeric, prodit Marc Antonio. 
 Ma. By'r-lady, you have play'd the 
 
 courtier rarely. 
 Go, But did you ever see so blank a 
 
 fool, 
 When he should kiss a wench, as my son 
 
 is? 
 
 Ma. Alas, 'tis but a little bashfulness. 
 
 You let him keep no company, nor allow 
 him 
 
 Money to spend at fence and dancing- 
 schools, 
 
 Y'are too severe, i'faith. 
 Go. And you, too supple. 
 
 Well, sir, for your sake I have stay'd your 
 son 
 
 From flying to the wars ; now see you rate 
 him, 
 
 To stay him yet from more expenceful 
 courses, 
 
 Wherein your lenity will encourage him. 
 Ma. Let me alone ; I thank you for this 
 kindness. {Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Valerio and Rinaldo. 
 
 Ri. So ! are they gone ? Now tell me, 
 
 brave Valerio, 
 Have I not won the wreath from all your 
 
 wits, 
 Brought thee t'enjoy the most desired 
 
 presence 
 Of thy dear love at home ? and with one 
 
 labour, 
 
 My brother to enjoy thy sister, where 
 It had been her undoing t'have him seen, 
 And make thy father crave what he 
 
 abhors ; 
 T'entreat my brother home t'enjoy his 
 
 daughter, 
 Command thee kiss thy wench, chide for 
 
 not kissing, 
 
 And work all this out of a Machiavel, 
 A miserable politician ? 
 I think the like was never play'd before ! 
 Va. Indeed, I must commend thy wit, 
 
 of force, 
 And yet I know not whose deserves most 
 
 praise, 
 Of thine or my wit : thine for plotting 
 
 well, 
 
 Mine, that durst undertake and carry it 
 With such true form. 
 
 Ri. Well, the evening crowns the day : 
 Persevere to the end, my wit hath put 
 Blind Fortune in a string into your hand ; 
 Use it discreetly, keep it from your father, 
 Or you may bid all your good days good- 
 night. 
 
 Va. Let me atone, boy. 
 Ri. Well, sir, now to vary 
 The pleasures of our wits ; thou know'st, 
 
 Valerio, 
 Here is the new-turn'd gentleman's fair 
 
 v/ife, 
 
 That keeps thy wife and sister company ; 
 With whom the amorous courtier Dariotto 
 
ALL FOOLS. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Is far in love, and of whom her sour 
 
 husband 
 
 Is passing jealous, puts on eagle's eyes, 
 To pry into her carriage. Shall we see 
 If he be now from home, and visit her? 
 
 Enter Gazetta sewing, Cornelio following. 
 
 See, see, the prisoner comes. 
 
 Va. But soft, sir, see 
 Her jealous jailor follows at her heels. 
 Come, we will watch some fitter time to 
 
 board her, 
 
 And in the meantime seek out our mad crew: 
 My spirit longs to swagger. 
 
 Ri. Go to, youth, 
 Walk not too boldly ; if the Serjeants meet 
 
 you, 
 
 You may have swaggering work your belly- 
 full. 
 Va. No better copesmates ; 
 
 [Gazetta sits and sings sewing. 
 I'll go seek 'em out with this light in my 
 
 hand, 
 
 The slaves grow proud with seeking out of 
 
 us. [Exeunt. 
 
 Co. A pretty work ; I pray what flowers 
 
 are these ? 
 Ga. The pansy this. 
 Co. Oh, that's for lover's thoughts. 
 What's that, a columbine ?* 
 
 Ga. No, that thankless flower fits not 
 
 my garden. 
 
 Co. Him ? yet it may mine ? 
 This were a pretty present for some friend, 
 :Some gallant courtier, as for Dariotto, 
 One that adores you in his soul, I know. 
 Ga. Me ? Why me more than yourself, 
 
 I pray? 
 Co. Oh yes, he adores you, and adhorns 
 
 me : 
 1 'faith, deal plainly, do not his kisses 
 
 relish 
 
 Much better than such peasants as I am ? 
 Ga. Whose kisses ? 
 Co. Dariotto's ; does he not 
 'The thing you wot on ? 
 
 Ga. What thing, good lord ? 
 Co. Why, lady, lie with you. 
 Ga. Lie with me ? 
 Co. Ay, with you. 
 Ga. You with me, indeed. 
 Co. Nay, I am told that he lies with you 
 too, 
 
 * An obvious allusion to Ophelia's speech in 
 
 Hamlet (act iv. sc. 5) : 
 
 " There is pansies, that's for thoughts ; there's 
 fennel for you, and columbines." ED. 
 
 And that he is the only whoremaster 
 About the city. 
 
 Ga. If he be so only, 
 
 'Tis a good hearing that there are no more. 
 Co. Well, mistress, well, I will not be 
 
 abused ; 
 Think not you dance in nets ; for though 
 
 you do not, 
 Make broad profession of your love to 
 
 him, 
 
 Yet do I understand your darkest language, 
 Your treads a'th'toe, your secret jogs and 
 
 wrings, 
 
 Your intercourse of glances, every tittle 
 Of your close amorous rites I understand. 
 They speak as loud to me, as if you said, 
 " My dearest Dariotto, I am thine." 
 Ga. Jesus ! what moods are these ? did 
 
 ever husband 
 
 Follow his wife with jealousy so unjust ? 
 That once I loved you, you yourself will 
 
 swear ; 
 
 And if I did, where did you lose my love ? 
 Indeed, this strange and undeserved 
 
 usage 
 Hath power to shake a heart were ne'er so 
 
 settled ; 
 
 But I protest all your unkindness never 
 Had strength to make me wrong you but 
 
 in thought. 
 
 Co. No, not with Dariotto ? 
 Ga. No, by heaven. 
 Co. No letters pass'd, nor no designs for 
 
 meeting? 
 
 Ga. No, by my hope of heaven. 
 Co. Well, no time past, 
 Go, go ; go in and sew. 
 
 Ga. Well, be it so. [Exit Ga. 
 
 Co. Suspicion is (they say) the first 
 
 degree 
 
 Of deepest wisdom ; and however others 
 Inveigh against this mood of jealousy, 
 For my part I suppose it the best curb, 
 To check the ranging appetites that reign 
 In this weak sex ; my neighbours point at 
 
 me 
 
 For this my jealousy ; but should I do, 
 As most of them do, let my wife fly out 
 To feasts and revels, and invite home 
 
 gallants, 
 
 Play Menelaus, give them time and place, 
 While I sit like a well-taught waiting- 
 woman 
 Turning her eyes upon some work or 
 
 picture, 
 
 Read in a book, or take a feigned nap, 
 While her kind lady takes one to her lap. 
 No, let me still be pointed at, and thought 
 A jealous ass, and not a wit tolly knave. 
 
SCEXE I.] 
 
 ALL FOOLS. 
 
 59 
 
 I have a show of courtiers haunt my house, 
 In show my friends, and for my profit too ; 
 But I perceive 'em, and will mock their 
 
 aims, 
 With looking to their mark, I warrant 
 
 'em : 
 
 I am content to ride abroad with them, 
 To revel, dice, and fit their other sports ; 
 But by their leaves I'll have a vigilant eye 
 To the main chance still. See, my brave 
 
 comrades. 
 
 Enter Dariotto, Claudio, and Valeric : 
 Valerio putting up his Sword. 
 
 Da. Well, wag, well ; wilt thou still de- 
 ceive thy father, 
 And being so simple a poor soul before 
 
 him, 
 
 Turn swaggerer in all companies besides ? 
 Cl. Hadst thou been 'rested, all would 
 
 have come forth. 
 Va. Soft, sir, there lies the point, I do 
 
 not doubt, 
 But t'have my pennyworths of these 
 
 rascals one day, 
 I'll smoke the buzzing hornets from their 
 
 nests, 
 
 Or else I'll make their leather jerkins stay. 
 The whoreson hungry horse-flies ; foot, a 
 
 man 
 
 Cannot so soon, for want of almanacks, 
 Forget his day but three or four bare 
 
 months, 
 
 But straight he sees a sort of corporals, 
 To lie in ambuscado to surprise him. 
 Da. Well, thou hadst happy fortune to 
 
 escape 'em. 
 
 Va. But they thought theirs was hap- 
 pier to 'scape me. 
 
 I walking in the place, where men's law- 
 suits 
 Are heard and pleaded, not so much as 
 
 dreaming 
 
 Of any such encounter, steps me forth 
 Their valiant foreman, with the word, 
 
 " I 'rest you." 
 
 t made no more ado, but laid these paws 
 Close on his shoulders, tumbling him to 
 
 earth ; 
 
 And there sate he on his posteriors, 
 Like a baboon ; and turning me about, 
 I straight espied the whole troop issuing 
 
 on me. 
 I stept me back, and drawing my old 
 
 friend here, 
 
 Made to the midst of there, and all unable 
 T'endure the shock, all rudely fell in rout, 
 And down the stairs they ran with such a 
 fury, 
 
 As meeting with a troop of lawyers there, 
 Mann'd by their clients : some with ten, 
 
 some twenty, 
 Some five, some three ; he that had least, 
 
 had one ; 
 Upon the stairs they bore them down afore 
 
 them ; 
 But such a rattling then was there amongst 
 
 them 
 
 Of ravish'd declarations, replications, 
 Rejoinders and petitions ; all their books 
 And writings torn and trod on, and some 
 
 lost, 
 
 That the poor lawyers coming to the bar, 
 Could say nought to the matter, but in- 
 stead, 
 Were fain to rail and talk besides their 
 
 books 
 Without all order. 
 
 Cl. Faith, that same vein of railing is 
 
 become 
 
 Now most applausive ; your best poet is 
 He that rails grossest. 
 Da. True, and your best fool is your 
 
 broad railing fool. 
 Va. And why not, sir? 
 For by the gods, to tell the naked truth, 
 What objects see men in this world, but 
 
 such 
 As would yield matter to a railing 
 
 humour ? 
 
 When he, that last year carried after one 
 An empty buckram bag, now fills a coach, 
 And crowds the senate with such troops of 
 
 clients 
 And servile followers as would put a mad 
 
 spleen 
 Into a pigeon. 
 
 Da. Come, pray leave these cross capers ; 
 Let's make some better use of precious 
 
 time. 
 See, here's Cornelio ; come, lad, shall we 
 
 to dice? 
 Co. Anything I. 
 
 Cl. Well said ; how does thy wife ? 
 Co. In health, God save her. 
 Va. But where is she, man ? 
 Co. Abroad about her business. 
 Va. Why, not at home ? 
 Foot, my masters, take her to the Court ; 
 And this rare lad, her husband : and 
 
 doest hear ? 
 
 Play me no more the miserable farmer ; 
 But be advised by friends, sell all i' th* 
 
 country ; 
 Be a flat courtier, follow some great 
 
 man, 
 Or bring thy wife there, and she'll make 
 
 thee great. 
 
6o 
 
 ALL FOOLS. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Co. What, to the Court ? then take me 
 
 for a gull. 
 Va. Nay, never shun it to be call'd a 
 
 gull; 
 
 For I see all the world is but a gull ; 
 One man gull to another in all kinds : 
 A merchant to a courtier is a gull ; 
 A client to a lawyer is a gull ; 
 A married man to a bachelor, a gull ; 
 A bachelor to a cuckold is a gull ; 
 All to a poet, or a poet to himself. 
 
 Co. Hark, Dariotto ; shall we gull this 
 
 guller ? 
 Da. He gulls his father, man; we cannot 
 
 gull him. 
 Co. Let me alone. Of all men's wits 
 
 alive, 
 
 I most admire Valerie's, that hath stolen 
 By his mere industry, and that by spurts, 
 Such qualities as no wit else can match, 
 With plodding at perfection every hour ; 
 Which, if his father knew each gift he has, 
 Were like enough to make him give all 
 
 from him : 
 
 I mean, besides his dicing and his wenching, 
 He has stolen languages ; th' Italian, 
 
 Spanish, 
 And some spice of the French ; besides 
 
 his dancing, 
 
 Singing and playing on choice instruments: 
 
 These has he got, almost against the hair. 
 
 Cl. But hast thou stolen all these, 
 
 Valerio ? 
 Va. Toys, toys, a pox ; and yet they be 
 
 such toys 
 
 As every gentleman would not be without. 
 Co. Vain-glory makes ye judge on't 
 
 light i'faith. 
 Da. Afore heaven, I was much deceived 
 
 in him ; 
 But he's the man indeed that hides his 
 
 gifts, 
 
 And sets them not to sale in every presence. 
 I would have sworn his soul were far from 
 
 music, 
 
 And that all his choice music was to hear 
 His fat beasts bellow. 
 
 Co. Sir, your ignorance 
 Shall eftsoon be confuted. Prithee, Val, 
 Take thy theorbo, for my sake, a little. 
 Va. By heaven ! this month I touch 'd 
 
 not a theorbo. 
 Co. Touch 'd a theorbo ? mark the very 
 
 word. 
 
 Sirrah, go fetch. {Exit Page. 
 
 Va. If you will have it, I must needs 
 
 confess 
 I am no husband of my qualities. 
 
 [fie untrusses and capers. 
 
 Co. See what a caper there was ! 
 
 Cl. See again. 
 
 Co. The best that ever ; and how it be- 
 comes him ! 
 
 Da. Oh that his father saw these 
 qualities ! 
 
 Enter a Page with an instrument. 
 Co. Nay, that's the very wonder of his 
 
 To 
 
 wit 
 
 3 carry all without his father's knowledge. 
 
 Da. Why, we might tell him now. 
 
 Co. No, but we could not, 
 Although we think we could ; his wit 
 
 doth charm us. 
 Come, sweet Val, touch and sing. 
 
 Da. Foot, will you hear 
 The worst voice in Italy ? 
 
 Enter Rinaldo. 
 
 Co. Oh God, sir ! \He sings.] Courtiers, 
 
 how like you this ? 
 Da. Believe it excellent. 
 Co. Is it not natural ? 
 Va. If my father heard me, 
 Foot, he'd renounce me for his natural 
 
 son. 
 Da. By heaven, Valerio, and I were 
 
 thy father, 
 
 And loved good qualities as I do my life, 
 I'd disinherit thee ; for I never heard 
 Dog howl with worse grace. 
 
 Co. Go to, Signor Courtier, 
 You deal not courtly now to be so plain, 
 Nor nobly, to discourage a young gentle- 
 man 
 In virtuous qualities, that has but stolen 
 
 'em. 
 
 Cl. Call you this touching a theorbo? 
 Omn. Ha, ha, ha. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Val. and Rin. 
 Va. How now, what's here ? 
 Ri. Zoons, a plot laid to gull thee, 
 Could thy wit think thy voice was worth 
 
 the hearing ? 
 This was the courtier's and the cuckold's 
 
 project. 
 
 Va. And is't e'en so? 'Tis very well, 
 master Courtier, and Dan Cornuto ; 
 I'll cry quit with both ; 
 And first, I'll cast a jar betwixt them both, 
 With firing the poor cuckold's jealousy. 
 I have a tale will make him mad, 
 And turn his wife divorced loose amongst 
 
 us. 
 
 But first let's home, and entertain my wife, 
 Oh father, pardon, I was born to gull 
 thee. [Exeunt. 
 
 END OF ACT II. 
 
ACT III.] 
 
 ALL FOOLS. 
 
 61 
 
 ACT THE THIRD. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Enter Fortunio, Bellanora, Gratiana, 
 Gostanzo follwing closely. 
 
 Fo. How happy am I, that by this 
 
 sweet means, 
 
 I gain access to your most loved sight, 
 And therewithal to utter my full love, 
 Which but for vent would burn my en- 
 trails up. 
 
 Go. By th'ma?s they talk too softly. 
 Be. Little thinks 
 
 The austere mind my thrifty father bears 
 That I am vow'd to you, and so am bound, 
 From him, who for more riches he would 
 
 force 
 On my disliking fancy. 
 
 /v. "I is no fault, 
 
 With just deeds to defraud an injury. 
 Go. My daughter is persuading him to 
 
 yield 
 In dutiful submission to his father. 
 
 Enter Valerio. 
 
 Va. Do I not dream ? do I behold this 
 
 sight 
 
 With waking eyes? or from the ivory gate 
 Hath Morpheus sent a vision to delude me ? 
 Is't possible that I, a mortal man, 
 Should shrine within mine arms so bright 
 
 a goddess, 
 
 The fair Gratiana, beauty's little world ? 
 Go. What have we here? 
 Va. My dearest mine of gold, 
 All this that thy white arms enfold, 
 Account it as thine own freehold. 
 Go. God's my dear soul, what sudden 
 
 change is here ? 
 
 I smell how this gear will fall out, i'faith. 
 Va Fortunio, sister, come, let's to the 
 garden. [Exeunt. 
 
 Go. Sits the wind there, i'faith? see 
 
 what example 
 
 Will work upon the dullest appetite. 
 My son, last day so bashful, that he durst 
 
 not 
 Look on a wench, now courts her ; and 
 
 by'r lady, 
 Will make his friend Fortunio wear his 
 
 head 
 
 Of the right modern fashion. What, 
 Rinaldo ! 
 
 Enter Rinaldo. 
 
 Ri. I fear I interrupt your privacy. 
 Go. Welcome, Rinaldo, would 'thad 
 been your hap 
 
 To come a little sooner, that you might 
 I lave seen a handsome sight : but let that 
 
 pass: 
 
 The short is that your sister Gratiana 
 Shall stay no longer here. 
 
 Ri. No longer, sir? 
 
 Repent you then so soon your favour to her, 
 And to my brother? 
 
 Go. Not so, good Rinaldo ; 
 But to prevent a mischief that I see 
 Hangs over your abused brother's head. 
 In brief, my son has learn 'd but too much 
 
 courtship. 
 It was my chance even now to cast mine 
 
 eye 
 
 Into a place whereto your sister enter'd : 
 My metamorphosed son : I must conceal 
 What I saw there : but to be plain, I saw 
 More than I would see. I had thought to 
 
 make 
 My house a kind receipt for your kind 
 
 brother ; 
 But I'd be loth his wife should find more 
 
 kindness 
 Than she had cause to like of. 
 
 Ri. What's the matter? 
 Perhaps a little compliment or so. 
 Go. Well, sir, such compliment perhaps 
 
 may cost 
 
 Married Fortunio the setting on. 
 Nor can I keep my knowledge ; he that 
 
 lately 
 
 Before my face I could not get to look 
 Upon your sister, by this light, now kiss'd 
 
 her, 
 Embraced and courted with as good a 
 
 grace, 
 
 As any courtier could : and I can tell you 
 
 (Not to disgrace her) I perceived the dame 
 
 Was as far forward as himself, by the mass. 
 
 Ri. You should have school'd him for't. 
 
 Go. No, I'll not see't : 
 
 For shame once found, is lost ; I'll have 
 
 him think 
 
 That my opinion of him is the same 
 That it was ever ; it will be a mean 
 To bridle this fresh humour bred in him. 
 RI. Let me then school him ; foot, I'll 
 
 rattle him up. 
 
 Go. No, no, Rinaldo, th' only remedy 
 Is to remove the cause ; carry the object 
 From his late tempted eyes. 
 
 Ri. Alas, sir, whither? 
 You know my father is incensed so much 
 He'll not receive her. 
 
 Go. Place her with some friend 
 But for a time, till I reclaim your father : 
 Meantime your brother shall remain with 
 
 me. 
 
62 
 
 ALL FOOLS. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Ri. [to himself}. The care's the less 
 
 then, he has still his longing 
 To be with this gull's daughter. 
 
 Go. What resolve you ? 
 I am resolved she lodges here no more : 
 My friend's son shall not be abused by 
 
 mine. 
 Ri. Troth, sir, I'll tell you what a sudden 
 
 toy 
 Comes in my head. What think you if I 
 
 brought her 
 Home to my father's house ? 
 
 Go. Ay, marry, sir ; 
 Would he receive her ? 
 
 Ri. Nay, you hear not all : 
 I mean, with use of some device or other. 
 Go. As how, Rinaldo ? 
 Ri. Marry, sir, to say, 
 She is your son's wife, married past your 
 
 knowledge. 
 Go. I doubt, last day he saw her, and 
 
 will know her to be Fortunio's wife. 
 Ri. Nay, as for that 
 I will pretend she was even then your son's 
 
 wife, 
 
 But feign'd by me to be Fortunio's, 
 Only to try how he would take the matter. 
 Go. 'Fore heaven 'twere pretty. 
 Ri. Would it not do well ? 
 Go. Exceeding well, in sadness. 
 Ri. Nay, good sir. 
 
 Tell me unfeignedly, do ye like't indeed ? 
 Go. The best that e'er I heard. 
 Ri. And do you think 
 He'll swallow down the gudgeon ? 
 
 Go. A my life, 
 It were a gross gob would not down with 
 
 him ; 
 
 An honest knight, but simple ; not ac- 
 quainted 
 With the fine sleights and policies of the 
 
 world, 
 As I myself am. 
 
 Ri. I'll go fetch her straight ; 
 And this jest thrive, 'twill make us princely 
 
 sport ; 
 
 But you must keep our counsel, second all ; 
 Which to make likely, you must needs 
 
 sometimes 
 
 Give your son leave (as if you knew it not) 
 To steal and see her at my father's house. 
 Go. Ay, but see you then that you keep 
 
 good guard 
 
 Over his forward new-begun affections ; 
 For, by the Lord, he'll teach your brother 
 
 else, 
 To sing the cuckoo's note ; spirit will 
 
 break out, 
 Though never so suppress'd and pinioned. 
 
 Ri. Especially your son's ; what would 
 
 he be 
 If you should not restrain him by good 
 
 counsel ? 
 Go. I'll have an eye on him, I warrant 
 
 thee. 
 I'll in and warn the gentlewoman to make 
 
 ready. 
 Ri. Well, sir, and I'll not be long aftei 
 
 you. [Exit Cost. 
 
 Heaven, heaven, I see these politicians 
 (Out of blind Fortune's hands) are our most 
 
 fools. 
 
 'Tis she that gives the lustre to their wits, 
 Still plodding at traditional devices : 
 But take 'em out of them to present actions, 
 A man may grope and tickle 'em like a 
 
 trout, 
 And take 'em from their close deer holes 
 
 as fat 
 
 As a. physician, and as giddy-headed, 
 As if by miracle heaven had taken from 
 
 them 
 Even that which commonly belongs to 
 
 fools. 
 Well, now let's note what black ball of 
 
 debate 
 
 Valerio's wit hath cast betwixt Cornelio 
 And the enamour'd courtier ; I believe 
 His wife and he will part ; his jealousy 
 Hath ever watch'd occasion of divorce ; 
 And now Valerio's villany will present it. 
 See, here comes the twin-courtier, his com- 
 panion. 
 
 Enter Claud. 
 
 Cl. Rinaldo, well encounter 'd. 
 
 Ri. Why ? what news ? 
 
 Cl. Most sudden and infortunate, 
 
 Rinaldo ; 
 
 Cornelio is incensed so 'gainst his wife 
 That no man can procure her quiet with 
 
 him. 
 
 I have assay'd him, and made Marc An- 
 tonio, 
 
 With all his gentle rhetoric, second me ; 
 Yet all, I fear me, will be cast away. 
 See, see, they come ; join thy wit, good 
 
 Rinaldo, 
 
 And help to pacify his yellow fury. 
 Ri. With all my heart. I consecrate my 
 
 wit 
 To the wish'd comfort of distressed ladies. 
 
 Enter Cornelio, Marc Antonio, Valeric, 
 Page. 
 
 Co. Will any man assure me of her good 
 behaviour ? 
 
 Va. Who can assure a jeaious spirit? 
 
SOTNE I.J 
 
 ALL FOOLS. 
 
 63 
 
 j you may be afraid of the shadow of your 
 i ears, and imagine them to be horns ; if 
 you will assure yourself, appoint keepers to 
 watch her. 
 
 Co. And who shall watch the keepers? 
 
 Ma. To be sure of that, be you her 
 keeper. 
 
 Va. Well said ; and share the horns 
 yourself ; for that's the keeper's fee. 
 
 Co. But say I am gone out of town, and 
 must trust others ; how shall I know if 
 those I trust be trusty to me? 
 
 Ri. Marry, sir, by a singular instinct 
 
 j given naturally to all you married men, 
 
 j that if your wives play legerdeheel, though 
 
 you be a hundred miles off, yet you shall be 
 
 sure instantly to find it in your foreheads. 
 
 Co. Sound doctrine, I warrant you ; I 
 am resolved, i'faith. 
 
 Pa. Then give me leave to speak, sir, that 
 hath all this while been silent ; I have heard 
 you with extreme patience ; now, therefore, 
 prick up your ears, and vouchsafe me 
 audience. 
 
 Cl. Good boy, a mine honour. 
 
 Co. Pray, what are you, sir? 
 
 Pa. I am here, for default of better, of 
 counsel with the fair Gazetta, and though 
 herself had been best able to defend her- 
 self if she had been here, and would have 
 pleased to put forth the buckler which 
 Nature hath given all women, I mean her 
 tongue 
 
 Va. Excellent good boy. 
 
 Pa. Yet, since she either vouchsafes it 
 not, or thinks her innocence a sufficient 
 shield against your jealous accusations, I 
 will presume to undertake the defence of 
 that absent and honourable lady, whose 
 sworn knight I am ; and in her of all 
 that name (for lady is grown a common 
 name to their whole sex), which sex I 
 have ever loved from my youth, and 
 shall never cease to love, till I want wit to 
 admire. 
 
 Ma. An excellent spoken boy. 
 
 Va. Give ear, Cornelio ; here is a young 
 Mercurio sent to persuade thee. 
 
 Co. Well, sir, let him say on. 
 
 Pa. It is a heavy case, to see how this 
 light sex is tumbled and tossed from post 
 to pillar, under the unsavoury breath of 
 every humorous peasant. Gazetta, you 
 said, is unchaste, disloyal, and I wot not 
 what ; alas ! is it her fault ? is she not a 
 woman? did she not suck it (as others of 
 her sex do) from her mother's breast ? and 
 will you condemn that as her fault which 
 is her nature ? Alas ! sir, you must con- 
 
 sider a woman is an unfinished creature, 
 delivered hastily to the world, before 
 Nature had set to that seal which should 
 have made them perfect. Faults they have, 
 no doubt, but are we free? Turn your 
 eye into yourself (good Signor Cornelio), 
 and weigh your own imperfections with 
 hers. If she be wanton abroad, are not 
 you wanting at home ? if she be amorous, 
 are not you jealous? if she be high set, 
 are not you taken down? if she be a 
 courtezan, are not you a cuckold ? 
 
 Co. Out, you rogue. 
 
 Ri. On with thy speech, boy. 
 
 Ma. You do not well, Cornelio, to 
 discourage the bashful youth. 
 
 Cl. Forth, boy, I warrant thee. 
 
 Pa. But if our own imperfections will 
 not teach us to bear with theirs, yet let 
 their virtues persuade us ; let us endure 
 their bad qualities for their good ; allow 
 the prickle for the rose, the brack for the 
 velvet, the paring for the cheese, and so 
 forth : if you say they range abroad, 
 consider it is nothing but to avoid idleness 
 at home ; their nature is still to be doing ; 
 keep 'em a-doing at home ; let them 
 practise one good quality or other, either 
 sewing, singing, playing, chiding, dancing, 
 or so ; and these will put such idle toys out 
 of their heads into yours ; but if you cannot 
 find them variety of business within doors, 
 yet, at least, imitate the ancient wise citizens 
 of this city, who used carefully to provide 
 their wives gardens near the town, to plant, 
 to graft in, as occasion served, only to keep 
 'em from idleness. 
 
 Va. Everlasting good boy. 
 
 Co. I perceive your knavery, sir, and 
 will yet have patience. 
 
 Ri. Forth, my brave Curio. 
 
 Pa. As to her unquietness (which some 
 have rudely termed shrewishness), though 
 the fault be in her, yet the cause is in you. 
 What so calm as the sea of its own nature? 
 Art was never able to equal it; your dicing- 
 tables nor your bowling-alleys are not 
 comparable to it ; yet, if a blast of wind do 
 but cross it, not so turbulent and violent 
 an element in the world . So (Nature in lieu 
 of women's scarcity of wit, having indued 
 them with a large portion of will) if they 
 may (without impeach) enjoy their wills, 
 no quieter creatures under heaven ; but if 
 the breath of their husbands' mouths once 
 cross their wills, nothing more tempestuous. 
 Why, then, sir, should you husbands cross 
 your wives' wills thus, considering the law 
 allows them no wills at all at their deaths, 
 
ALL FOOLS. 
 
 IACT 
 
 because it intended they should have their 
 wills while they lived ? 
 
 Va. Answer him but that, Cornelio. 
 
 Co. All shall not serve her turn ; I am 
 thinking of other matters. 
 
 Ma. Thou hast half won him, wag ; 
 ply him yet a little further. 
 
 Pa. Now, sir, for these cuckooish songs 
 of yours, of cuckolds, horns, grafting, and 
 such-like ; what are they but mere ima- 
 ginary toys, bred out of your own heads, 
 as your own, and so by tradition delivered 
 from man to man, like scarecrows, to 
 terrify fools from this earthly paradise of 
 wedlock, coined at first by some spent 
 poets, superannuated bachelors, or some 
 that were scarce men of their hands ; who, 
 like the fox, having lost his tail, would 
 persuade others to lose theirs for company?* 
 Again, for your cuckold, what is it but a 
 mere fiction? show me any such creature 
 in nature ; if there be, I could never see it ; 
 neither could I ever find any sensible 
 difference betwixt a cuckold and a Chris- 
 tian creature. To conclude, let poets coin, 
 or fools credit, what they list; for mine own 
 part, I am clear of this opinion, that your 
 cuckold is a mere chimera, and that there 
 are no cuckolds in the world but those 
 1 that have wives : and so I will leave them. 
 
 Co. 'Tis excellent good, sir ; I do take 
 I you, sir, d'ye see, to be, as it were, bastard 
 to the saucy courtier, that would have me 
 father more of your fraternity, d'ye see? 
 and so are instructed (as we hear) to second 
 that villain with your tongue, which he has 
 acted with his tenure piece, d'ye see? 
 
 Pa. No such matter, a my credit, sir. 
 
 Co. Well, sir, be as be may, I scorn to 
 set my head against yours, d'ye see? when 
 in the meantime I will firk your father, 
 whether you see or no. 
 
 [Exit drawing his rapier. 
 
 Ri. God's my life, Cornelio ! [Exit. 
 
 Va. Have at your father, i'faith, boy, if 
 he can find him. 
 
 Ma. See, he comes here; he has missed 
 him. 
 
 Enter Dariotto. 
 
 Da. How now, my hearts, what, not a 
 
 wench amongst you ? 
 'Tis a sign y'are not in the grace of 
 
 wenches 
 That they will let you be thus long alone. 
 
 Va. Well, Dariotto, glory not too much, 
 That for thy brisk attire and lips perfumed, 
 
 * Vide an fed, p. 48. 
 
 Thou play'st the stallion ever where thoti. 
 
 cotnest ; 
 And like the husband of the flock, runn'st 
 
 through 
 The whole town herd, and no man's bed 
 
 secure : 
 
 No woman's honour unattempted by thee. 
 Think not to be thus fortunate for ever : 
 But in thy amorous conquests at the last 
 Some wound will slice your mazer : Mars 
 
 himself 
 
 Fell into Vulcan's snare, and so may you. 
 Da. Alas, alas, i'faith, I have but the 
 
 name ; 
 
 I love to court and win ; and the consent 
 Without the act obtain'd, is all I seek ; 
 I love the victory that draws no blood. 
 
 Cl. Oh, 'tis a high desert in any man 
 To be a secret lecher ; I know some 
 That (like thyself) are true in nothing else. 
 Ma. And methinks it is nothing, if 
 
 not told ; 
 At least the joy is never full before. 
 
 Va. Well, Dariotto, th'hadst as good 
 
 confess, 
 
 The sun shines broad upon your practices. 
 
 Vulcan will wake and intercept you one day. 
 
 Da. Why, the more jealous knave and 
 
 coxcomb he. 
 
 What, shall the shaking of his bed a little 
 Put him in motion ? It becomes him not ; 
 Let him be dull'd and stall'd, and then be 
 
 quiet. 
 
 The way to draw my custom to his house, 
 Is to be mad and jealous ; 'tis the sauce 
 That whets my appetite. 
 
 Va. Or any man's : 
 Sine periculo friget lusus. 
 They that are jealous, use it still of pur- j 
 
 pose 
 To draw you to their houses. 
 
 Da. Ay, by heaven, 
 
 I am of that opinion. Who would steal 
 Out of a common orchard ? Let me gain 
 My love with labour, and enjoy't with fear, 
 Or I am gone. 
 
 Enter Rinaldo. 
 
 Ri. What, Dariotto here? 
 'Foot, darest thou come near Cornelio's | 
 
 house ? 
 Da. Why? is the bull run mad? what 
 
 ails he, trow ? 
 Ri. I know not what he ails ; but I 
 
 would wish you 
 To keep out of the reach of his sharp 
 
 horns, 
 
 For by this hand he'll gore you. 
 Da. And why me, 
 
ALT. FOOLS. 
 
 More than thyself, or these two other 
 
 whelps ? 
 
 You all have basted him as well as I. 
 I wonder what's the cause? 
 Ri. Nay, that he knows, 
 And swears withal, that wheresoe'er he 
 
 meets you, 
 He'll mark you for a marker of men's 
 
 wives. 
 Va. Pray heaven he be not jealous by 
 
 some tales 
 That have been told him lately ; did you 
 
 never 
 
 Attempt his wife? hath no love's har- 
 binger, 
 No looks, no letters, pass'd 'twixt you and 
 
 her? 
 
 Da. For looks I cannot answer ; I be- 
 stow them 
 At large, and carelessly, -much like the 
 
 sun ; 
 
 If any be so foolish to apply them 
 To any private fancy of their own 
 (As many do), it's not my fault, thou 
 
 knowest. 
 Va. Well, Dariotto, this set face of 
 
 thine, 
 
 (If thou be guilty of offence to him) 
 Comes out of very want of wit and feeling 
 What danger haunts thee ; for Cornelio 
 Is a tall man, I tell you ; and 'twere best 
 You shunn'd his sight awhile, till we might 
 
 get 
 His patience, or his pardon ; for past 
 
 doubt 
 Thou diest, if he but see thee. 
 
 Enter Cornelio. 
 
 Ri. 'Foot, he comes. 
 
 Da. Is this the cockatrice that kills with 
 
 sight ? 
 
 How doest thou, boy? ha? 
 Co. Well. 
 
 Da. What, lingering still 
 About this paltry town ? hadst thou been 
 
 ruled 
 By my advice, thou hadst by this time 
 
 been 
 
 A gallant courtier, and at least a knight ; 
 I would have got thee dubb'd by this time 
 
 certain. 
 Co. And why then did you not yourself 
 
 that honour? 
 Da. Tush ; 'tis more honour still to 
 
 make a knight 
 
 Than 'tis to be a knight ; to make a cuck- 
 old 
 
 Than 'tis to be a cuckold. 
 Co. Y'are a villain. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 Da. God shield man ! villain ? 
 Co. Ay, I'll prove thee one. 
 Da. What, wilt thou prove a villain ? 
 By this light thou deceivest me, then. 
 Co. Well, sir, thus I prove it. [Draws. 
 Omn. Hold, hold ! raise the streets. 
 Cl. Cornelio. 
 Ri. Hold, Dariotto, hold. 
 Va. What, art thou hurt? 
 Da. A scratch, a scratch. 
 Va. Go, sirrah, fetch a surgeon. 
 Co. You'll set a badge on the jealous 
 fool's head, sir ; now set a coxcomb on 
 your own. 
 
 Va. What's the cause of these wars, 
 Dariotto? 
 
 Da. Foot, I know not. 
 Co. Well, sir, know and spare not. I 
 will presently be divorced, and then take 
 her amongst ye. 
 
 Ri. Divorced ? nay, good Cornelio. 
 Co. By this sword I will ; the world shaft 
 not dissuade me. {Exit. 
 
 Va. Why, this has been your fault now, 
 
 Dariotto, 
 You youths have fashions : when you have 
 
 obtain 'd 
 A lady's favour, straight your hat must 
 
 wear it ; 
 Like a jackdaw, that when he lights 
 
 upon 
 A dainty morsel, kaa's and makes his 
 
 brags. 
 And then some kite doth scoop it from him 
 
 straight ; 
 
 When, if he fed without his dawish noise, 
 He might fare better and have less dis- 
 turbance. 
 Forbear it in this case ; and when you 
 
 prove 
 
 Victorious over fair Gazetta's fort, 
 Do not for pity sound your trump for joy, 
 But keep your valour close, and 'tis your 
 honour. 
 
 Enter Page and Pock. 
 
 Po. God save you, Signer Dariotto. 
 
 Da. I know you not, sir ; your name, I 
 pray? 
 
 Po. My name is Pock, sir ; a prac- 
 titioner in surgery. 
 
 Da. Pock, the surgeon ; y'are welcome, 
 sir ; I know a doctor of your name, n:aster 
 Pock. 
 
 Po. My name has made many doctors, 
 sir. 
 
 Ri. Indeed, 'tis a worshipful name. 
 
 Va. Marry is it, and of an ancient 
 descent. 
 
66 
 
 ALL FOOLS. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Po. Faith, sir, I could fetch my pedigree 
 far, if I were so disposed. 
 
 Ri. Out of France, at least. 
 
 Po. And if I stood on my arms, as 
 others do 
 
 Da. No, do not, Pock ; let others stand 
 a their arms, and thou a thy legs, as long 
 as thou canst. 
 
 Po. Though I live by my bare practice, 
 yet I could show good cards for my gen- 
 tility. 
 
 Va. Tush, thou canst not shake off thy 
 gentry, Pock ; 'tis bred i' th' bone. But to 
 the main, Pock. What thinkest thou of 
 this gentleman's wound, Pock ; canst thou 
 cure it, Pock ? 
 
 Po. The incision is not deep, nor the 
 orifice exorbitant ; the pericranion is not 
 dislocated. I warrant his life fur forty 
 crowns, without perishing of any joint. 
 
 Da. 'Faith, Pock; 'tis a joint I would 
 be loth to lose for the best joint of mutton 
 in Italy. 
 
 Ri. Would such a scratch as this 
 hazard a man's head ? 
 
 Po. Ay, by'r-lady, sir ; I have known 
 some have lost their heads for a less matter, 
 I can tell you ; therefore, sir, you must 
 keep good diet ; if you please to come 
 home to my house till you be perfectly 
 cured, I shall have the more care on you. 
 
 Va. That's your only course to have it 
 well quickly. 
 
 Po. By what time would he have it well, 
 sir? 
 
 Da. A very necessary question; canst 
 thou limit the time ? 
 
 Po. Oh, sir, cures are like causes in law, 
 which may be lengthened or shortened 
 at the discretion of the lawyer; he can 
 either keep it green with replications or re- 
 joinders, or sometimes skin it fair a' th' out- 
 side for fashion sake; but so he may be sure 
 'twill break out again by a writ of error, 
 and then has he his suit new to begin ; but 
 I will covenant with you, that by such a 
 time I'll make your head as sound as a 
 bell; I will bring it to suppuration, and after 
 I will make it coagulate and grow to a per- 
 fect cicatrice, and all within these ten days, 
 so you keep a good diet. 
 
 Da. Well, come, Pock, we'll talk farther 
 on't within ; it draws near dinner-time. 
 What's o'clock, boy? 
 
 Page. By your clock, sir, it should be 
 almost one, for your head rung noon some 
 half hour ago. 
 
 Da. Is't true, sir? 
 
 Va. Away, let him alone ; though he 
 
 came in at the window he sets the gates of 
 your honour open, I can tell you. 
 
 Da. Come in, Pock, come, apply ; and 
 
 for this deed 
 I'll give the knave a wound shall never 
 
 bleed : 
 So, sir, I think this knock rings loud 
 
 acquittance 
 For my ridiculous 
 
 [Exeunt all but Rinal. and Valer. 
 Ri. Well, sir, to turn our heads to salve 
 
 your licence, 
 
 Since you have used the matter so unwisely 
 That now your father has discern'd your 
 
 humour, 
 
 In your too careless usage in his house, 
 Your wife must come from his house to 
 
 Antonio's, 
 
 And he, to entertain her must be told 
 She is not wife to his son, but to you : 
 Which news will make his simple wit 
 
 triumph 
 
 Over your father ; and your father thinking 
 He still is gull'd, will still account him 
 
 simple . 
 Come, sir, prepare your villanous wit to 
 
 feign 
 
 A kind submission to your father's fury, 
 And we shall see what hearty policy 
 He will discover, in his feigned anger, 
 To blind Antonio's eyes, and make him 
 
 think 
 
 He thinks her heartily to be your wife. 
 Va. Oh, will I gull him rarely with my 
 
 wench, 
 
 Low kneeling at my heels before his fury, 
 And injury shall be salved with injury. 
 
 END OF ACT III. 
 
 ACT THE FOURTH. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 Marc Antonio : Gostanzo. 
 
 Ma. You see how too much wisdom 
 
 evermore 
 Out-shoots the truth : you were so forward 
 
 still 
 
 To tax my ignorance, my green experience 
 In these gray hairs, for giving such ad- 
 vantage 
 
 To my son's spirit, that he durst undertake 
 A secret match, so far short of his worth : 
 Your son so season'd with obedience, 
 Even from his youth, that all his actions 
 
 relish 
 Nothing but duty, and your anger's fear, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 ALL FOOLS. 
 
 6 7 
 
 n 
 
 What shall I say to you, if it fall out 
 That this most precious son of yours has 
 
 play'd 
 
 A part as bad as this, and as rebellious : 
 Nay, more, has grossly gull'd your wit 
 
 withal. 
 
 What if my son has undergone the blame 
 That appertain'd to yours? and that this 
 
 wench 
 With which my son is charged, may call 
 
 you father : 
 
 Shall I then say you want experience ? 
 Y'are green, y'are credulous ; easy to be 
 
 blinded. 
 
 Go. Ha, ha, ha. 
 Good Marc Antonio, when't comes to 
 
 that, 
 Laugh at me, call me fool, proclaim 
 
 me so, 
 Let all the world take knowledge I am an 
 
 ass. 
 
 Ala. Oh ! the good God of Gods, 
 How blind is pride ! what eagles we are 
 
 still 
 
 In matters that belong to other men, 
 What beetles in our own ! I tell you, 
 
 knight, 
 
 It is confess'd to be as I have told you ; 
 And Gratiana is by young Rinaldo 
 And your white son, brought to me as his 
 
 wife. 
 How think you now, sir? 
 
 Go. Even just as before, 
 And have more cause to think honest 
 
 Credulity 
 
 Is a true loadstone to draw on Decrepity ! 
 You have a heart too open to embrace 
 All that your ear receives : alas ! good 
 
 man, 
 
 i All this is but a plot for entertainment 
 Within your house ; for your poor son's 
 
 young wife 
 My house, without huge danger, cannot 
 
 hold. 
 Ma. Is't possible ; what danger, sir, I 
 
 pray? 
 Go. I'll tell you, sir ; 'twas time to take 
 
 her thence : 
 My son, that last day you saw could not 
 
 frame 
 
 His looks to entertain her, now, by'r-lady, 
 Is grown a courtier ; for myself, unseen, 
 Saw when he courted her, embraced and 
 
 kiss'd her, 
 
 And, I can tell you, left not much undone, 
 That was the proper office of your son. 
 Ma. What world is this? 
 Go. I told this to Rinaldo, 
 Advising him to fetch her from my house, 
 
 And his young wit, not knowing where to 
 
 lodge her 
 Unless with you, and saw that could not 
 
 be 
 
 Without some wile : I' presently suggested 
 This quaint device to say she was my 
 
 son's ; 
 
 And all this plot, good Marc Antonio, 
 Flow'd from this fount, only to blind our 
 
 eyes. 
 Ma. Out of how sweet a dream have 
 
 you awaked me ! 
 By heaven, I durst have laid my part in 
 
 heaven 
 
 All had been true ; it was so lively handled, 
 And drawn with such a seeming face of 
 
 truth ; 
 
 Your son had cast a perfect veil of grief 
 Over his face, for his so rash offence, 
 To seal his love with act of marriage 
 Before his father had subscribed his choice. 
 My son (my circumstance lessening the 
 
 fact) 
 
 Entreating me to break the matter to you, 
 And joining my effectual persuasions 
 With your son's penitent submission, 
 Appease your fury : I at first assented, 
 And now expect their coming to that 
 
 purpose. 
 Go. Twas well, 'twas well ; seem to 
 
 believe it still, 
 
 Let art end what credulity began ; 
 When they come, suit your words and 
 
 looks to theirs, 
 
 Second my sad son's feign'd submission, 
 And see in all points how my brain will 
 
 answer 
 
 His disguised grief, with a set countenance 
 Of rage and choler ; now observe and learn 
 To school your son by me. 
 
 Intrant Rinaldo, Valerio, Gratiana. 
 
 Ala. On with your mask ; here come 
 the other maskers, sir. 
 
 Ri. Come on, I say, 
 
 Your father with submission will be calm'd ; 
 Come on ; down a your knees. 
 
 Go. Villain, durst thou 
 Presume to gull thy father? Dost thou 
 
 not 
 
 Tremble to see my bent and cloudy brows 
 Ready to thunder on thy graceless head, 
 And with the bolt of my displeasure cut 
 The thread of all my living from thy life, 
 For taking thus a beggar to thy wife? 
 
 Va. Father, if that part I have in your 
 
 blood, 
 
 If tears, which so abundantly distil 
 Out of my inward eyes, and for a need 
 
63 
 
 ALL FOOLS. 
 
 [ACT rv. 
 
 Can drown these outward (lend me thy 
 
 handkercher), 
 
 And being, indeed, as many drops of blood 
 Issuing from the crater of my heart, 
 Be able to beget so much compassion, 
 Not on my life, but on this lovely dame, 
 Whom I hold dearer ? 
 
 Go. Out upon thee, villain ! 
 
 Ma. Nay, good Gostanzo ; think, you 
 
 are a father. 
 Go. I will not hear a word : out, out 
 
 upon thee ! 
 Wed without my advice, my love, my 
 
 knowledge, 
 
 Ay, and a beggar, too, a trull, a blowse ! 
 Hi. You thought not so last day, when 
 
 you offer'd her 
 A twelvemonths' board for one night's 
 
 lodging with her. 
 Go. Go to, no more of that ; peace, 
 
 good Rinaldo, 
 
 It is a fault that only she and you know. 
 Ri. Well, sir, go on, I pray. 
 Go. Have I, fond wretch, 
 With utmost care and labour brought thee 
 
 up, 
 
 Ever instructing thee, omitting never 
 The office of a kind and careful father, 
 To make thee wise and virtuous like thy 
 
 father : 
 
 And hast thou in one act everted all ? 
 Proclaim'd thyself to all the world a fool, 
 To wed a beggar ? 
 
 Va. Father, say not so. 
 
 Go. Nay, she's thy own ; here, rise, fool, 
 
 take her to thee, 
 Live with her still, I know thou count'st 
 
 thyself 
 
 Happy in soul, only in winning her : 
 Be happy still ; here, take her hand, enjoy 
 
 her, 
 
 Would not a son hazard his father's wrath, 
 His reputation in the world, his birth- 
 right, 
 
 To have but such a mess of broth as this ? 
 Ma. Be not so violent, I pray you, good 
 
 Gostanzo, 
 Take truce with passion, license your sad 
 
 son 
 To speak in his excuse. 
 
 Go. What ? what excuse ? 
 Can any orator in this case excuse him ? 
 What can he say? what can be said of any? 
 Va. Alas, sir, hear me ; all that I can say 
 In my excuse, is but to show love's warrant. 
 Go. Notable wag ! 
 Va. I know I have committed 
 A great impiety, not to move you first 
 Before the dame I meant to make my wife. 
 
 Consider what I am, yet young, and green, 
 Behold what she is. Is there not in her, 
 Ay, in her very eye, a power to conquer, 
 Even age itself and wisdom ? Call to mind, 
 Sweet father, what yourself being young 
 
 have been, 
 
 Think what you may be, for I do not think 
 The world so far spent with you, but you 
 
 may 
 
 Look back on such a beauty, and I hope 
 To see you young again, and to live long 
 With young affections; wisdom makes a 
 
 man 
 Live young for ever : and where is this 
 
 wisdom 
 
 If not in you ? Alas, I know not what 
 Rests in your wisdom to subdue affections, 
 But I protest it wrought with me so 
 
 strongly 
 That I had quite been drown 'd in seas of 
 
 tears 
 
 Had I not taken hold in happy time 
 Of this sweet hand; my heart had been 
 
 consumed 
 
 T'a heap of ashes with the flames of love, 
 Had it not sweetly been assuaged and 
 
 cool'd 
 
 With the moist kisses of these sugar'd lips. 
 . Go. O, puissant wag ; what huge large 
 
 thongs he cuts 
 
 Out of his friend Fortunio's stretching- 
 leather. 
 Ma. He knows he does it but to blind 
 
 my eyes. 
 Go. O, excellent ! these men will put up 
 
 anything. 
 Va. Had I not had her, I had lost my 
 
 life, 
 
 Which life indeed I would have lost before 
 I had displeased you, had I not received it 
 From such a kind, a wise, and honour'd 
 
 father. 
 
 Go. Notable boy ! 
 Va. Yet do I here renounce 
 Love, life, and all, rather than one hour 
 
 longer 
 Endure to have your love eclipsed from 
 
 me. 
 Gr. Oh, I can hold no longer ; if thy 
 
 words 
 
 Be used in earnest, my Valeric, 
 Thou wound'st my heart, but I know 'tis 
 
 in jest. 
 Go. No I'll be sworn she has her lyri- 
 
 poop too. 
 Gr. Didst thou not swear to love, spite 
 
 of father and all the world, 
 That nought should sever us but death 
 
 itself? 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 ALL FOOLS. 
 
 69 
 
 Va. I did, but if my father 
 Will have his son forsworn, upon his soul 
 The blood of my black perjury shall lie ; 
 For I will seek his favour though I die. 
 Go. No, no; live still, my son; thou well 
 
 shalt know, 
 I have a father's heart; come join your 
 
 hands, 
 
 Still keep thy vows, and live together still, 
 Till cruel death set foot betwixt you both. 
 Va. Oh, speak you this in earnest ? 
 Go. Ay, by heaven. 
 Va. And never to recall it ? 
 Go. Not till death. 
 Ri. Excellent, sir ; you have done like 
 
 yourself, 
 
 What would you more, Valerio ? 
 Va. Worshipful father. 
 Ri. Come, sir, come you in, and cele- 
 brate your joys. 
 
 {Exeunt all save the old men. 
 Go. Oh, Marc Antonio, 
 Had I not arm'd you with an expectation, 
 Would not this make you pawn your very 
 
 soul, 
 The wench had been my son's wife ? 
 
 Ma. Yes, by heaven : 
 A knavery thus effected might deceive 
 A wiser man than I, for I, alas ! 
 Am no good politician : plain believing, 
 Simple honesty, is my policy still. 
 
 Go. The visible marks of folly, honesty, 
 And quick credulity his younger brother. 
 I tell you, Marc Antonio, there is much 
 In that young boy, my son. 
 Ma. Not much honesty, if I may speak 
 
 without offence to his father. 
 Go. Oh, God, you cannot please me 
 
 better, sir. 
 
 H'as honesty enough to serve his turn, 
 The less honesty ever the more wit, 
 But go you home, and use your daughter 
 
 kindly, 
 Meantime I '11 school your son ; and do you 
 
 still 
 Dissemble what you know, keep off your 
 
 son ; 
 The wench at home must still be my son's 
 
 wife, 
 
 Remember that, and be you blinded still. 
 Ma. You must remember too to let 
 
 your son 
 
 Use his accustom 'd visitations, 
 Only to blind my eyes. 
 
 Go. He shall not fail ; 
 But still take you heed, have a vigilant eye 
 On that sly child of mine, for by this light, 
 He'll be too bold with your son's forehead 
 else. 
 
 Ma. Well, sir, let me alone, I'll bear 
 a brain. \Excunt. 
 
 Enter Valerio, Rinaldo. 
 Va. Come, they are gone. 
 Ri. Gone ? they were far gone here. 
 Va. Gull'd I my father, or gull'd he 
 
 himself? 
 
 Thou told'st him Gratiana was my wife, 
 I have confessed it, he has pardon'd it. 
 Ri. Nothing more true, enow can wit- 
 ness it. 
 And therefore when he comes to learn the 
 
 truth, 
 
 (As certainly for all these sly disguises, 
 Time will strip truth into her nakedness), 
 Thou hast good plea against him to confess 
 The honour'd action, and to claim his 
 
 pardon. 
 Va. 'Tis true, for all was done, he deeply 
 
 swore, 
 Out of his heart. 
 
 Ri. He has much faith the whiles, 
 That swore a thing so quite against his 
 
 heart. 
 
 Va. Why, this is policy. 
 Ri. Well, see you repair 
 To Gratiana daily, and enjoy her 
 In her true kind ; and now we must expect 
 The resolute and ridiculous divorce 
 Cornelio hath sued against his wedlock. 
 Va. I think it be not so ; the ass dotes 
 
 on her. 
 Ri. It is too true, and thou shalt 
 
 answer it 
 For setting such debate 'twixt man and 
 
 wife : 
 See, we shall see the solemn manner of it. 
 
 Enter Cornelio, Dariotto, Claudio, Notary, 
 Page, Gazetta, Bellanora, Gratiana. 
 
 Be. Good Signer Cornelio, let us poor 
 gentlewomen entreat you to forbear. 
 
 Co. Talk no more to me, I'll not be 
 made cuckold in my own house ; notary, 
 read me the divorce. 
 
 Ga. My dear Cornelio, examine the 
 cause better before you condemn me. 
 
 Co. Sing to me no more, syren, for I 
 will hear thee no more ; I will take no com- 
 passion on thee. 
 
 Pa. Good Signer Cornelio, be not too 
 unkind against your wife ; say y'are a 
 cuckold (as the best that is may be so at a 
 time) will you make a trumpet of your own 
 horns ? 
 
 Co. Go to, sir, y'are a rascal ; I'll give 
 you a fee for pleading for her one day. 
 Notary, do you your office. 
 
ALL FOOLS. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Va. Go to, signer, look better to your 
 wife and be better advised, before you 
 grow to this extremity . 
 
 Co. Extremity ! Go to, I deal but too 
 mercifully with her. If I should use ex- 
 tremity with her I might hang her, and her 
 copesmate my drudge here. How say you, 
 master Notary, might I not do it by law ? 
 
 No. Not hang 'em, but you may bring 
 them both to a white sheet. 
 
 Co. Nay, by the mass ! they have had 
 too much of the sheet already. 
 
 No. And besides, you may set capital 
 letters on their foreheads. 
 
 Co. What's that to the capital letter 
 that's written in mine ? I say, for all your 
 law, master Notary, that I may hang 'em. 
 May I not hang him that robs me of mine 
 honour, as well as he that robs me of my 
 horse? 
 
 No. No, sir, your horse is a chattel. 
 
 Co. So is honour. A man may buy it 
 with his penny, and if I may hang a man 
 for stealing my horse, as I say, much 
 more for robbing me of my honour ; for 
 why ? if my horse be stolen it may be my 
 own fault ; for why ? either the stable is 
 not strong enough, or the pasture not well 
 fenced, or watched, or so forth. But for 
 your wife that keeps the stable of your 
 honour ; let her be locked in a brazen 
 tower, let Argus himself keep her, yet can 
 you never be secure of your honour ; for 
 why? she can run through all with her 
 serpent noddle ; besides, you may hang a 
 lock upon your horse, and so can you not 
 upon your wife. 
 
 Ri. But I pray you, sir, what are the 
 presumptions on which you would build 
 this divorce ? 
 
 Co. Presumption enough, sir, for besides 
 their intercourse, or commerce of glances, 
 that passed betwixt this cockrill-drone and 
 her, at my table last Sunday night at sup- 
 per, their winks, their becks, due gard, 
 their treads a'the toe (as by heaven I 
 swear she trod once upon my toe instead of 
 his), this is chiefly to be noted, the same 
 night she would needs lie alone ; and the 
 same night her dog barked. Did not you 
 hear him, Valerio ? 
 
 Va. And understand him too, I'll be 
 sworn of a book. 
 
 Co. Why, very good ; if these be no I 
 manifest presumptions now, let the world 
 be judge. Therefore, without more cere- 
 mony, master Notary, pluck out your 
 instrument. 
 
 No. I will, sir, if there be no remedy. 
 
 Co. Have you made it strong in law, 
 master Notary ? have you put in words 
 enough ? 
 
 No. I hope so, sir ; it has taken me a 
 whole skin of parchment, you see. 
 
 Co. Very good ; and is egress and re- 
 press in ? 
 
 No. I'll warrant you, sir, it is forma 
 iuris. 
 
 Co. Is there no hole to be found in the 
 orthography ? 
 
 No. None in the world, sir. 
 
 Co. You have written Sunt with an S, 
 have you not ? 
 
 No. Yes, that I have. 
 
 Co. You have done the better for quiet- 
 ness' sake ; and are none of the authentical 
 dashes over the head left out ? if there be, 
 master Notary, an error will lie out. 
 
 No. Not for a dash over head, sir, I 
 warrant you, if I should oversee. I have 
 seen that tried in Butiro and Caseo, in 
 Butler and Cason's case, Decimo sexto of 
 Duke Anonimo. 
 
 Ri. Y'ave gotten a learned notary, 
 Signer Cornelio. 
 
 Co. He's a shrewd fellow indeed. I had 
 as lieve have his head in a matter of felony, 
 or treason, as any notary in Florence. Read 
 out, master Notary. Hearken you, mistress ; 
 gentlemen, mark, I beseech you. 
 
 Omn. We will all mark you, sir, I warrant 
 you. 
 
 No. I think it would be something 
 tedious to read all, and therefore, gentle- 
 men, the sum is this : That you, Signer 
 Cornelio, for divers and sundry weighty 
 and mature considerations you especially 
 moving, specifying all the particulars of 
 your wife's enormities in a schedule here- 
 unto annexed, the transcript whereof is in 
 your own tenure, custody, occupation, and 
 keeping : That for these, the aforesaid pre- 
 mises, I say, you renounce, disclaim, and 
 discharge Gazetta from being your leeful 
 or your lawful wife : And that you eftsoons 
 divide, disjoin, separate, remove, and 
 finally eloigne, sequester, and divorce her, 
 from your bed and your board ; That you 
 forbid her all access, repair, egress or 
 regress to your person or persons, mansion 
 or mansions, dwellings, habitations, re- 
 mainences or abodes, or to any shop, cellar, 
 sollar, easements' chamber, dormer, and 
 so forth, now in the tenure, custody, occu- 
 pation, or keeping of the said Cornelio ; 
 notwithstanding all former contracts, cove- 
 nants, bargains, conditions, agreements, 
 compacts, promises, vows, affiances, as- 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 ALL FOOLS. 
 
 surances, bonds, bills, indentures, pole- 
 deeds, deeds of gift, defesances, feoffments, 
 endowments, vouchers, double vouchers, 
 privy entries, actions, declarations, expli- 
 cations, rejoinders, surrejoinders, rights, 
 interests, demands, claims, or titles what- 
 soever, heretofore betwixt the one and the 
 other party, or parties, being had, made, 
 passed, covenanted, and agreed, from the 
 beginning of the world till the day of the 
 date hereof. Given the seventeenth of 
 November, fifteen hundred and so forth. 
 Here, sir, you must set to your hand. 
 
 Co, What else, master Notary ? I am 
 resolute, i'faith. 
 
 Ga. Sweet husband, forbear. 
 Co. Avoid, I charge thee in name of this 
 divorce ; thou mightst have looked to it 
 in time, yet this I will do for thee ; if thou 
 canst spy out any other man that thou 
 wouldest cuckold, thou shalt have my letter 
 to him. I can do no more. More ink, 
 master Notary ; I write my name at large. 
 No. Here is more, sir. 
 Co. Ah, ass, that thou couldst not know 
 thy happiness till thou hadst lost it ! How 
 now? my nose bleed? Shall I write in blood? 
 What! only three drops? 'Sfoot, 'tis ominous: 
 I will not set my hand to't now certain, 
 master Notary, I like not this abodement ; 
 I will defer the setting to of my hand till the 
 next court day. Keep the divorce, I pray 
 you, and the woman in your house together. 
 Omn. Burn the divorce, burn the di- 
 vorce ! 
 
 Co. Not so, sir, it shall not serve her turn. 
 Master Notary, keep it at your peril, and, 
 gentlemen, you may begone ; a God's name 
 what have you to do to flock about me 
 thus ? I am neither owlet nor cuckoo. 
 Gentlewomen, for God's sake meddle with 
 your own cases, it is not fit you should 
 haunt these public assemblies. 
 Omn. Well, farewell, Cornelio. 
 Va. Use the gentlewoman kindly, mas- 
 ter Notary. 
 
 No. As mine own wife, I assure you, 
 sir. {Exeunt. 
 
 Cl. Signer Cornelio, I cannot but in 
 kindness tell you that Valerio, by counsel 
 of Rinaldo, hath whispered all this 
 jealousy into your ears ; not that he knew 
 any just cause in your wife, but only to be 
 revenged on you for the gull you put upon 
 him when you drew him with his glory to 
 touch the theorbo. 
 
 Co. May I believe this? 
 
 Cl. As I am a gentleman ; and if this 
 
 accident of your nose had not fallen out, I 
 
 rvould have told you this before you set to 
 four hand. 
 Co. It may well be, yet have I cause 
 
 enough 
 
 To perfect my divorce ; but it shall rest 
 Till I conclude it with a counterbuff 
 Given to these noble rascals. Claudio, 
 
 thanks : 
 What comes of this, watch but my brain a 
 
 little, 
 
 And ye shall see, if like two parts in me, 
 [ leave not both these gullers" wits imbrier'd; 
 Now I perceive well where the wild wind 
 
 sits, 
 Here's gull for gull, and wits at war with 
 
 wits. {Exeunt. 
 
 END OF ACT IV. 
 
 ACT THE FIFTH. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 Rinaldo, solus. 
 
 Fortune, the great commandress of the 
 
 world, 
 
 Hath divers ways to advance her followers: 
 To some she gives honour without deserv- 
 ing, 
 
 To other some, deserving without honour ; 
 Some wit, some wealth, and some wit 
 
 without wealth ; 
 Some wealth without wit, some nor wit 
 
 nor wealth, 
 
 But good smock-faces ; or some qualities, 
 By nature without judgment, with the 
 
 which 
 
 They live in sensual acceptation 
 And make show only, without touch of 
 
 substance. 
 
 My fortune is to win renown by gulling 
 Gostanzo, Dariotto, and Cornelio ; 
 All which suppose, in all their different 
 
 kinds, 
 Their wits entire, and in themselves no 
 
 piece ; 
 All at one blow, my helmet, yet un- 
 
 bruised, 
 I have unhorsed, laid flat on earth for 
 
 gulls: 
 
 Now in what taking poor Cornelio is 
 Betwixt his large divorce and no divorce, 
 I long to see, and what he will resolve ; 
 I lay my life he cannot chew his meat, 
 And looks much like an ape had swallow'd 
 
 pills ; 
 
 And all this comes of bootless jealousy, 
 And see, where bootless jealousy appears. 
 
ALL FOOLS. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Enter Cornelio. 
 
 I'll board him straight : how now, Cornelio, 
 Are you resolved on the divorce, or no ? 
 Co. What's that to you ? Look to your 
 
 own affairs, 
 
 The time requires it : are not you engaged 
 In some bonds forfeit for Valerio ? 
 Ri. Yes, what of that ? 
 Co. Why, so am i myself, 
 And both our dangers great ; he is arrested 
 On a recognizance, by a usuring slave. 
 
 Ri. Arrested ? I am sorry with my heart, 
 It is a matter may import me much. 
 May not our bail suffice to free him, think 
 
 you? 
 Co. I think it may, but I must not be 
 
 seen in't, 
 Nor would I wish you, for we both are 
 
 parties, 
 
 And liker far to bring ourselves in trouble, 
 Than bear him out ; I have already made 
 Means to the officers to sequester him 
 In private for a time, till some in secret 
 Might make his father understand his 
 
 state, 
 Who would perhaps take present order for 
 
 him, 
 
 Rather than suffer him t'endure the shame 
 Of his imprisonment. Now, would you but 
 
 And break the matter closely to his father, 
 (As you can wisely do't) and bring him to 
 
 him, 
 
 This were the only way to save his credit, 
 And to keep off a shrewd blow from 
 
 ourselves. 
 ,Ri. I know his father will be moved 
 
 past measure. 
 
 Co. Nay, if you stand on such nice cere- 
 monies, 
 
 Farewell our substance ; extreme diseases 
 Ask extreme remedies : better he should 
 
 storm 
 
 Some little time than we be beat for ever 
 Under the horrid shelter of a prison. 
 Ri. Where is the place? 
 Co. Tis at the Half Moon Tavern. 
 Haste, for the matter will abide no stay. 
 Ri. Heaven send my speed be equal 
 with my haste. [Exit. 
 
 Co. Go, shallow scholar, you that make 
 
 all gulls, 
 
 You that can out-see clear-eyed jealousy, 
 Yet make this slight a milestone, where 
 
 your brain 
 Sticks in the midst amazed ; this gull to 
 
 him 
 And to his fellow guller, shall become 
 
 More bitter than their baiting of my 
 
 humour ; 
 
 Here at this tavern shall Gostanzo find 
 Fortunio, Dariotto, Claudio, 
 And amongst them, the ringleader his son, 
 His husband, and his Saint Valerio, 
 That knows not of what fashion dice are 
 
 made, 
 
 Nor ever yet look'd towards a red lettice 
 (Thinks his blind sire), at drinking and at 
 
 dice, 
 
 With all their wenches, and at full discover 
 His own gross folly and his son's dis- 
 tempers. 
 And both shall know (although I be no 
 
 scholar) 
 
 Yet I have thus much Latin, as to say, 
 Jam sutnus ergo pares. \Exit. 
 
 Enter Valerio, Fortunio, Claudio, Page, 
 Gratiana, Gazetta, Bellanora. A 
 Drawer or two, setting a table. 
 
 Va. Set me the table here, we will shift 
 
 rooms 
 
 To see if fortune will shift chances with us ; 
 Sit ladies, sit ; Fortunio, place thy wench, 
 And Claudio place you Dariotto's mistress. 
 I wonder where that neat spruce slave 
 
 becomes ; 
 I think he was some barber's son by th' 
 
 mass, 
 
 'Tis such a picked fellow, not a hair 
 About his whole bulk, but it stands in 
 
 print 
 Each pin hath his due place, not any 
 
 point 
 But hath his perfect tie, fashion, and 
 
 grace ; 
 
 A thing whose soul is specially employ'd 
 In knowing where best gloves, best stock- 
 ings, waistcoats 
 Curiously wrought, are sold; sacks milliners' 
 
 shops 
 For all new tires and fashions, and can tell 
 
 ye 
 
 What new devices of all sorts there are, 
 And that there is not in the whole Rialto 
 But one new-fashion'd waistcoat, or one 
 
 night-cap, 
 
 One pair of gloves, pretty or well perfumed, 
 And from a pair of gloves of half-a-crown 
 To twenty crowns, will to a very scute 
 Smell out the price ; and for these womanly 
 
 parts 
 He is esteem'd a witty gentleman. 
 
 Enter Dariotto. 
 
 Fo. See, where he comes. 
 
 Da. God save you, lovely ladies. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 ALL FOOLS. 
 
 Va. Ay, well said, lovely Paris ; your 
 
 wall eye 
 
 Must ever first be gloating on men's wives ; 
 You think to come upon us, being half 
 
 drunk, 
 
 And so to part the freshest man among us, 
 But you shall overtake us, I'll be sworn. 
 
 Da. Tush, man ; where are your dice ? 
 Let's fall to them. 
 
 Cl. We have been at 'em. Drawer, 
 call for more. 
 
 Va. First, let's have wine ; dice have no 
 
 perfect edge 
 
 Without the liquid whetstone of the syrup. 
 Fo. True ; and to welcome Dariotto's 
 
 lateness, 
 He shall (unpledged) carouse one crowned 
 
 cup 
 
 To all these ladies' health. 
 Da. I am well pleased. 
 Va. Come on, let us vary our sweet time 
 With sundry exercises. Boy ! tobacco. 
 And, drawer, you must get us music too ; 
 Call's in a cleanly noise, the slaves grow 
 
 lousy. 
 
 Dr. You shall have such as we can get 
 you, sir. {Exit. 
 
 Da. Let's have some dice ; I pray thee 
 they are cleanly. 
 
 Va. Page, let me see that leaf. 
 Pa. It is not leaf, sir ; 'tis pudding cane 
 tobacco. 
 
 Va. But I mean your linstock, sir ; what 
 leaf is that, I pray ? 
 
 Pa. I pray you see, sir, for I cannot 
 read. 
 
 Va. 'Sfoot, a rank, stinking Satyr ; 
 
 this had been 
 
 Enough to have poison'd every man of us. 
 Da. And now you speak of that, my boy 
 
 once lighted 
 
 A pipe of cane tobacco with a piece 
 Of a vile ballad, and I'll swear I had 
 A singing in my head a whole week after. 
 Va. Well, th' old verse is, A potibus 
 incipe io-c-um. 
 
 Enter Drawer, with, wine and a cup. 
 
 Va. Drawer, fill out this gentleman's 
 
 carouse, 
 And harden him for our society. 
 
 Da. Well, ladies, here is to your honour'd 
 healths. 
 
 Fo. What, Dariotto, without hat or 
 knee? 
 
 Va. Well said, Fortunio ; oh, y'are a 
 
 rare courtier, 
 
 Your knee, good signer, I beseech, your 
 knee. 
 
 Da. Nay, pray you, let's take it by 
 degrees, Valeric ; on our feet first, for this 
 will bring's too soon upon our knees. 
 
 Va. Sir, there are no degrees of order in 
 
 a tavern ; 
 
 Here you must, 1 charge ye, run all ahead, 
 'Slight, courtier, down, 
 I hope you are no elephant, you have 
 joints. 
 
 Da. Well, sir, here's to the ladies, on 
 my knees. 
 
 Va. I'll be their pledge. 
 
 Enter Gostanzo and Rinaldo. 
 
 Fo. Not yet, Valeric ; 
 This he must drink unpledged. 
 
 Va. He shall not ; I will give him this 
 advantage. 
 
 Go. How now, what's here ? Are these 
 the officers ? 
 
 Ri. 'Slight, I would all were well. 
 
 Enter Cornelio. 
 
 Va. Here is his pledge ; 
 Here's to our common friend, Cornelio's 
 
 health. 
 
 Cl. Health to Gazetta, poison to her 
 
 husband. [He kneels. 
 
 Co. Excellent guests ; these are my daily 
 
 guests. 
 Va. Drawer, make even th' impartial 
 
 scales of justice, 
 Give it to Claudio, and from him fill 
 
 round. 
 
 Come, Dariotto, set me, let me rest, 
 Come in when they have done the ladies 
 
 right. 
 Go. Set me; do you know what belongs 
 
 to setting ? 
 Ri. What a dull slave was I to be thus 
 
 guild. 
 Co. Why, Rinaldo, what meant you to 
 
 intrap your friend, 
 
 And bring his father to this spectacle ? 
 You are a friend indeed. 
 
 Ri. 'Tis very good, sir ; 
 Perhaps my friend, or I, before we part, 
 May make even with you. 
 Fo. Come, let's set him round. 
 Va. Do so ; at all. A plague upon 
 
 these dice ! 
 Another health, 'sfoot, I shall have no 
 
 luck 
 Till I be drunk: come on, here's to the 
 
 comfort 
 
 The cavalier, my father, should take in me 
 If he now saw me, and would do me 
 
 right. 
 Fo. I'll pledge it, and his health, Valeric. 
 
 I 
 
74 
 
 ALL FOOLS. 
 
 [ACT V. 
 
 Go. Here's a good husband. 
 
 Ri. I pray you have patience, sir. 
 
 Va. Now have at all, and 'twere a 
 
 thousand pounds. 
 Go. Hold, sir ; I bar the dice. 
 Va. What, sir, are you there ? 
 Fill's a fresh pottle ; by this light, sir 
 
 knight, 
 You shall do right. 
 
 Enter Marc Antonio. 
 
 Go. Oh, thou ungracious villain ! 
 
 Va. Come, come, we shall have you 
 
 now thunder forth 
 
 Some of your thrifty sentences, as gravely: 
 
 1 ' For as much, Valerius, as everything has 
 
 time, and a pudding has two ; yet ought 
 
 not satisfaction to swerve so much from 
 
 defalcation of well-disposed people, as that 
 
 indemnity should prejudice what security 
 
 doth insinuate ;" a trial yet once again. 
 
 Ma. Here's a good sight ; y'are well en- 
 
 counter'd, sir ; 
 
 Did not I tell you you'd o'ershoot yourself 
 With too much wisdom ? 
 
 Va. Sir, your wisest do so ; 
 Fill the old man some wine. 
 Go. Here's a good infant. 
 Ma. Why, sir ; alas ! I'll wager with 
 
 your wisdom, 
 
 His consorts drew him to it, for of himself 
 He is both virtuous, bashful, innocent ; 
 Comes not at city ; knows no city art, 
 But plies your husbandry ; dares not view 
 
 a wench. 
 
 Va. Father, he comes upon you. 
 Go. Here's a son. 
 Ma. Whose wife is Gratiana, now, I 
 
 pray? 
 Go. Sing your old song no more ; your 
 
 brain's too short 
 To reach into these policies. 
 
 Ma. Tis true, 
 Mine eye's soon blinded ; and yourself 
 
 would say so 
 If you knew all. Where lodged your son 
 
 last night ? 
 
 Do you know that, with all your policy ? 
 Go. You'll say he lodged with you ; and 
 
 did not I 
 
 Foretell you all this must for colour sake 
 Be brought about, only to blind your 
 
 eyes? 
 Ma. By heaven ! I chanced this morn, 
 
 I know not why, 
 
 To pass by Gratiana's bed-chamber ; 
 And whom saw I fast by her naked side 
 But your Valeric ? 
 Go. Had you not warning given ? 
 
 Did not I bid you watch my courtier well, 
 
 Or he would set a crest a your son's head? 
 
 Ma. That was not all, for by them on a 
 
 stool, 
 
 My son sat laughing, to see you so gull'd. 
 Go. 'Tis too, too plain. 
 Ma. Why, sir, do you suspect it the 
 
 more for that ? 
 Go. Suspect it ? is there any 
 So gross a wittoll, as if 'twere his wife, 
 Would sit by her so tamely ? 
 Ma. Why not, sir, to blind my eyes ? 
 Go. Well, sir, I was deceived, 
 But I shall make it prove a dear deceit 
 To the deceiver. 
 
 Ri. Nay, sir, let's not have 
 A new infliction set on an old fault : 
 He did confess his fault upon his knees, 
 You pardon 'd it, and swore 'twas from 
 
 your heart. 
 Go. Swore ; a great piece of work, the 
 
 wretch shall know 
 I have a daughter here to give my land < 
 
 too, 
 
 I'll give my daughter all : the prodigal 
 Shall not have one poor house to hide his 
 
 head in. 
 Fo. I humbly thank you, sir, and vow ! 
 
 all duty 
 My life can yield you. 
 
 Go. Why are you so thankful ? 
 
 Fo. For giving to your daughter all your 
 
 lands. 
 
 Who is my wife, and so you gave them me. 
 Go. Better, and better. 
 Fo. Pray, sir, be not moved, 
 You drew me kindly to your house, and 
 
 gave me 
 Access to woo your daughter, whom I 
 
 loved: 
 And since (by honour'd marriage) made my 
 
 wife. 
 
 Go. Now all my cholerflyoutinyour wits: 
 Good tricks of youth, i'faith, no indecorum, 
 Knight's son, knight's daughter ; Marc 
 
 Antonio, 
 
 Give me your hand, there is no remedy, 
 Marriage is ever made by destiny. 
 Ri. Silence, my masters, now here all 
 
 are pleased, 
 
 Only Cornelio; who lacks but persua- 
 sion 
 
 To reconcile himself to his fair wife : 
 Good sir, will you (of all men our best 
 
 speaker) 
 Persuade him to receive her into grace ? 
 
 Go. That I will gladly ; and he shall be 
 ruled. Good Cornelio, I have heard of 
 your wayward jealousy, and I must tell 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 ALL FOOLS. 
 
 75 
 
 you plain as a friend, y'are an ass ; you 
 must pardon me, I knew your father. 
 
 JRi. Then you must pardon him, indeed, 
 sir. 
 
 Go. Understand me : put case Dariotto 
 loved your wife, whereby you would seem 
 to refuse her ; would you desire to have such 
 a wife as no man could love but yourself? 
 
 Ma. Answer but that, Cornelio. 
 
 Go. Understand me ; say Dariotto hath 
 kissed your wife, or performed other offices 
 of that nature, whereby they did converse 
 together at bed and at board, as friends 
 may seem to do. 
 
 Ma. Mark but the "now understand me." 
 
 Go. Yet if there come no proofs but 
 that her actions were cleanly, or indiscreet 
 private, why, 'twas a sign of modesty; and 
 will you blow the horn yourself, when you 
 may keep it to yourself? Go to, you are a 
 fool ; understand me. 
 
 Va. Do understand him, Cornelio. 
 
 Go. Nay, Cornelio, I tell you again, I 
 knew your father ; he was a wise gentleman 
 and so was your mother : methinks I see 
 her yet, a lusty stout woman, bore great 
 children, you were the very scoundrel of 'em 
 all ; but let that pass ; as for your mother, 
 she was wise, a most flippant tongue she 
 had, and could set out her tail with as good 
 grace as any she in Florence, come cut and 
 long-tail ; and she was honest enough too. 
 But yet by your leave she would tickle Dob 
 now and then, as well as the best on 'em : 
 by Jove ! it's true, Cornelio, I speak it not 
 to flatter you ; your father knew it well 
 enough, and would he do as you do, think 
 you ? Set rascals to undermine her, or 
 look to her water (as they say) ? No ; when 
 he saw 'twas but her humour (for his own 
 quietness' sake) he made a back-door to his 
 house for convenience, got a bell to his fore 
 door,andhad an odd fashion in ringing, by 
 which she and her maid knew him ; and 
 would stand talking to his next neighbour 
 to prolong time, that all things might be 
 rid cleanly out a the way before he came, 
 for the credit of his wife. This was wis- 
 dom now, for a man's own quiet. 
 
 Ma. Here was a man, Cornelio. 
 
 Go. What, I say ! Young men think old 
 men are fools ; but old men know young 
 men are fools. 
 
 Co. Why, hark you, you two knights ; 
 do you think I will forsake Gazetta ? 
 
 Go. And will you not ? 
 
 Co. Why, there's your wisdom ; why did 
 I make show of divorce, think you ? 
 
 Ma. Pray you why, sir ? 
 
 Co. Only to bridle her stout stomach ; 
 and how did I draw on the colour for. my 
 divorce? I did train the woodcock 
 Dariotto into the net, drew him to my 
 house, gave him opportunity with my wife 
 (as you say my father dealt with his wife's 
 friends), only to train him in; let him alone 
 with my wife in her bedchamber, and 
 sometimes found him abed with her, and 
 went my way back again softly, only to 
 draw him into the pit. 
 
 Go. This was well handled indeed, 
 Cornelio. 
 
 Ma. Ay marry, sir, now I commend 
 your wisdom. 
 
 Co. Why, if I had been so minded as 
 you think, I could have flung his pantable 
 down the stairs, or done him s>ome other 
 disgrace ; but I winked at it, and drew on 
 the good fool more and more, only to 
 bring him within my compass. 
 
 Go. Why, this was policy in grain. 
 
 Co. And now shall the world see I am 
 as wise as my father. 
 
 Va. Is't come to this ? then will I make 
 a speech in praise of this reconcilement, 
 including therein the praise and honour of 
 the most fashionable and autentical 
 HORN: stand close, gentles, and be silent. 
 \_He gets into a chair. 
 
 Go. Come on, let's hear his wit in this 
 potable humour. 
 
 Va. The course of the world (like the 
 life of man) is said to be divided into 
 several ages. As we into infancy, child- 
 hood, youth, and so forward, to old age ; 
 so the world into the golden age, the 
 silver, the brass, the iron, the leaden, the 
 wooden, and now into this present age, 
 which we term the horned age: not that 
 but former ages have enjoyed this benefit 
 as well as our times, but that in ours it is 
 more common, and nevertheless precious. 
 It is said, that in the golden age of the 
 world, the use of gold was not then 
 known ; an argument of the simplicity of 
 that age, lest therefore succeeding ages 
 should hereafter impute the same fault to 
 us, which we lay upon the first age ; that 
 e, living in the horned age of the world, 
 should not understand the use, the virtue, 
 the honour, and the very royalty of the 
 horn, I will, in brief, sound the praises 
 thereof; that they, who are already in pos- 
 session of it, may bear their heads aloft, as 
 being proud of such lofty accoutrements, 
 and they that are but in possibility, may 
 be ravished with a desire to be in posses- 
 ion. A trophy so honourable, and ] 
 
ALL FOOLS. 
 
 [ACT r. 
 
 unmatchably powerful, that it is able 
 to. raise any man from a beggar to an 
 emperor's fellow, a duke's fellow, a 
 nobleman's fellow, alderman's fellow ; so 
 glorious, that it deserves to be worn (by 
 most opinions) in the most conspicuous 
 place about a man : for what worthier 
 crest can you bear than the horn ? which 
 if it might be seen with our mortal eyes, 
 what a wonderful spectacle would there be ! 
 and how highly they would ravish the 
 beholders. But their substance is in- 
 corporal, not falling under sense, nor mixed 
 of the gross concretion of elements, but a 
 quintessence beyond them ; a spiritual 
 essence invisible and everlasting. And this 
 hath been the cause that many men have 
 called their being in question, whether 
 there be such a thing in rerum natura, or 
 not ; because they are not to be seen, as 
 though nothing were that were not to be 
 seen. Who ever saw the wind ? yet what 
 wonderful effects are seen of it ! it drives 
 the clouds, yet no man sees it ; it rocks the 
 house, bears down trees, castles, steeples, 
 yet who sees it? In like sort does your 
 horn : it swells the forehead, yet none sees 
 it ; it rocks the cradle, yet none sees it ; so 
 that you plainly perceive sense is no judge 
 of essence. The moon to any man's 
 sense seems to be horned ; yet who knows 
 not the moon to be ever perfectly round ? 
 so, likewise your heads seem ever to be 
 round, when indeed they are oftentimes 
 horned. For their original, it is un- 
 searchable, natural they are not; for where 
 is beast born with horns more than with 
 teeth? created they were not, for Ex 
 nihilo nihilfit ; then will you ask me, how 
 came they into the world ? I know not ; 
 but I am sure women brought them into 
 this part of the world ; howsoever, some 
 doctors are of opinion that they came in 
 with the devil, and not unlike, for as the 
 devil brought sin into the world, but the 
 woman brought it to the man ; so it may 
 very well be that the devil brought horns 
 into the world, but the woman brought 
 them to the man. For their power, it is 
 general over the world : no nation so 
 barbarous, no country so proud, but doth 
 equal homage to the horn. Europa when 
 she was carried through the sea by the 
 Saturnian bull, was said (for fear of falling) 
 to have held by the horn ; and what is this 
 but a plain showing to us, that all Europa, 
 
 which took name from that Europa, should 
 likewise hold by the horn. So that I say, it 
 is universal over the face of the world, 
 general over the face of Europe, and 
 common over the face of this country. 
 What city, what town, what village, what 
 street, nay, what house, can quit itself of 
 this prerogative ? I have read that the lion 
 once made a proclamation through all the 
 forest, that all horned beasts should depart 
 forthwith upon pain of death ; if this pro- 
 clamation should be made through our 
 forest, Lord ! what pressing, what running, 
 what flying would there be even from all the 
 parts of it ! He that had but a bunch of flesh 
 in his head would away ; and some foolishly 
 fearful, would imagine the shadow of his 
 ears to be horns ; alas ! how desert would 
 this forest be left ! To conclude : for their 
 force it is inevitable, for were they not 
 irrevitable, then might either properness of 
 person secure a man, or wisdom prevent 
 'em ; or greatness exempt, or riches redeem 
 them ; but present experience hath taught 
 us, that in this case, all these stand in 
 no stead ; for we see the properest men 
 take part of them, the best wits cannot 
 avoid them (for then should poets be no 
 cuckolds), nor can money redeem them, for 
 then would rich men fine for their horns, as 
 they do for offices ; but this is held for a 
 maxim, that there are more rich cuckolds 
 than poor. Lastly, for continuance of the 
 horn, it is undeterminable till death ; neither 
 do they determine with the wife's death 
 (howsoever, ignorant writers hold opinion 
 they do), for as when a knight dies, his 
 lady still retains the title of lady ; when a 
 company is cast, yet the captain still 
 retains the title of captain ; so though the 
 wife die by whom this title came to her 
 husband, yet by the courtesy of the city, 
 he shall be a cuckold during life, let all 
 ignorant asses prate what they list. 
 
 Go. Notable wag ; come, sir, shake 
 
 hands with him 
 In whose high honour you have made this 
 
 speech. 
 Ma. And you sir, come, join hands ; 
 
 y'are one amongst them. 
 Go. Very well done ; now take your 
 
 several wives, 
 And spread like wild-geese, though you 
 
 now grow tame ; 
 Live merrily together, and agree. 
 Horns cannot be kept off with jealousy. 
 
EPILOGUE.] 
 
 ALL FOOLS. 
 
 77 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 SINCE all our labours are as you can like, 
 We all submit to you ; nor dare presume 
 To think there's any real worth in them ; 
 Sometimes feasts please the cooks, and 
 
 not the guests ; 
 Sometimes the guests, and curious cooks 
 
 contemn them. 
 Our dishes we entirely dedicate 
 
 To our kind guests; but since ye differ so, 
 Some to like only mirth without taxations, 
 Some to count such works trifles, and such- 
 like, 
 We can but bring you meat, and set you 
 
 stools, 
 
 And to our best cheer say, you all are* 
 welcome. 
 
 * Between these last two words of the Epilogue, there is in the old edition a parenthesized 
 hiatus, thus, ( ), which, taken in connexion with the title of the play, seems to imply that a very 
 obvious rhyme to the precedent line was intended to be suggested as an alternative reading to the 
 word actually printed. Another instance of this ingenious device (i.e., of substituting a word 
 which is no rhyme for an objectionable rhyming word) will be found in the doggerel lines in 
 An Humorous Day's Mirth (p. 44). ED. 
 
The Gentleman Usher.* 
 
 ACT THE FIRST. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 Enter Strozza, Cynanche, and Pogio. 
 
 St. Haste, nephew 1 what, a sluggard ? 
 
 Fie for shame ! 
 Shall he that was our morning cock, turn 
 
 owl, 
 And lock out daylight from his drowsy eyes ? 
 
 Po. Pray pardon me for once, lord 
 uncle, for I'll be sworn I had such a dream 
 this morning : methought one came with 
 a commission to take a sorrel curtoll that 
 was stolen from him, wheresoever he could 
 find him. And because I feared he would 
 lay claim to my sorrel curtoll in my stable, 
 I ran to the smith to have him set on his 
 mane again and his tail presently, that 
 the commission-man might not think him 
 a curtoll. And when the smith would not 
 do it, I fell a beating of him, so that I 
 could not wake for my life till I was re- 
 venged on him. 
 
 Cy. This is your old valour, nephew, that 
 will fight sleeping as well as waking. 
 
 . Po. 'Slud, aunt; what if my dream had 
 been true (as it might have been for any- 
 thing I knew); there's never a smith in Italy 
 shall make an ass of me in my sleep, if I 
 .can choose. 
 
 St. Well said, my furious nephew ; but 
 
 I see 
 
 You quite forget that we must rouse to- 
 day 
 
 The sharp-tusk'd boar ; and blaze our 
 huntsmanship before the duke. 
 
 Po. Forget, lord uncle? I hope not; 
 you think belike my wits are as brittle as a 
 beetle, or as skittish as your Barbary mare; 
 one cannot cry wehie, but straight she 
 cries tihi. 
 
 St. Well guessed, cousin Hysteron Pro- 
 teron. 
 
 Po. But which way will the duke's grace 
 hunt to-day? 
 
 * " The Gentleman Vsher. By George Chap- 
 man. At London Printed by V. S. for Thomas 
 Thorppe. 1606." 
 
 St. Toward Count Lasso's house his 
 
 grace will hunt, 
 
 Where he will visit his late honour'd mis- 
 tress. 
 Po. Who, Lady Margaret, that dear 
 
 young dame ? 
 
 Will his antiquity never leave his iniquity ? 
 Cy. Why, how now, nephew? turn'd 
 Parnassus lately ? 
 
 Po. Nassus? I know not ; but I would I 
 had all the duke's living for her sake ; I'd 
 make him a poor duke, i'faith. 
 
 St. No doubt of that, if thou hadst all 
 his living. 
 
 Po. I would not stand dreaming of the 
 matter as I do now. 
 
 Cy. Why, how do you dream, nephew ? 
 Po. Marry, all last night methought I 
 was tying her shoe-string. 
 
 St. What, all night tying her shoe-string? 
 Po. Ay, that I was, and yet I tied it not 
 neither ; for, as I was tying it, the string 
 broke methought, and then methought, 
 having but one point at my hose, me- 
 thought I gave her that to tie her shoe 
 withal. 
 
 Cy. A point of much kindness, I assure 
 you. 
 
 Po. Whereupon, in the very nick me- 
 thought, the Count came rushing in, and I 
 ran rushing out, with my heels about my 
 hose for haste. 
 
 St. So ! will you leave your dreaming, 
 and dispatch ? 
 
 Po. Mum, not a word more, I'll go 
 
 before, and overtake you presently. \Exit. 
 
 Cy. My lord, I fancy not these hunting 
 
 sports, 
 When the bold game you follow turns 
 
 again 
 
 And stares you in the face. Let me behold 
 A cast of falcons on their merry wings, 
 I Daring the stooped prey, that shifting 
 
 flies: 
 
 i Or let me view the fearful hare or hind, 
 I Toss'd like a music point with harmony 
 | Of well-mouth'd hounds. This is a sport 
 
 for princes, 
 
 I The other rude boars yield fit game for 
 I boors. 
 
ACT I., SCENE I.] 
 
 THE GENTLEMAN USHER. 
 
 79 
 
 St. Thy timorous spirit blinds thy judg- 
 ment, wife. 
 Those are most royal sports, that most 
 
 approve 
 The huntsman's prowess, and his hardy 
 
 mind. 
 
 Cy. My lord, I know too well your vir- 
 tuous spirit ; 
 Take heed for God's love, if you rouse the 
 
 boar, 
 You come not near him, but discharge 
 
 aloof 
 
 Your wounding pistol, or well-aimed dart. 
 St. Ay, marry, wife, this counsel rightly 
 
 flows 
 Out of thy bosom ; pray thee take less 
 
 care, 
 
 Let ladies at their tables judge of boars, 
 Lords, in the field. And so farewell, sweet 
 
 love ; 
 
 Fail not to meet me at Earl Lasso's house. 
 Cy. Pray pardon me for that. You 
 
 know I love not 
 These solemn meetings. 
 
 St. You must needs for once 
 Constrain your disposition : and indeed 
 I would acquaint you more with Lady 
 
 Margaret 
 For special reason. 
 
 Cy. Very good, my lord. 
 Then I must needs go fit me for that pre- 
 sence. 
 St. I pray thee do, farewell. [Exit Cyn. 
 
 Enter Vincentio. 
 
 Here comes my friend. 
 
 Good day, my lord ! Why does your grace 
 
 confront 
 
 So clear a morning with so cloudy looks ? 
 Vi. Ask'st thou my griefs that know'st 
 
 my desperate love 
 
 Curb'd by my father's stern rivality ? 
 Must not I mourn that know not whether 
 
 yet 
 
 I shall enjoy a stepdame or a wife ? 
 St. A wife, prince never doubt it ; your 
 
 deserts 
 
 And youthful graces have engaged so far, 
 The beauteous Margaret, that she is your 
 
 own. 
 
 Vi. Oh, but the eye of watchful jealousy 
 Robs my desires of means t'enjoy her 
 
 favour. 
 St. Despair not : there are means enow 
 
 for you : 
 
 Suborn some servant of some good respect, 
 That's near your choice, who, though she 
 
 needs no wooing, 
 May yet imagine you are to begin 
 
 Your strange young love-suit, and so speak 
 
 for you, 
 
 Bear your kind letters, and get safe access. 
 All which when he shall do, you need not 
 
 fear 
 
 His trusty secrecy, because he dares not 
 Reveal escapes whereof himself is author, 
 Whom you may best attempt, she must 
 
 reveal ; 
 
 For, if she loves you, she already knows, 
 And in an instant can resolve you that. 
 Vi. And so she will, I doubt not: 
 
 would to heaven 
 I had fit time, even now to know her 
 
 mind : 
 This counsel feeds my heart with much 
 
 sweet hope. 
 St. Pursue it then ; 'twill not be hard 
 
 t'effect. 
 
 The duke has none for him, but Medice, 
 That fustian lord, who in his buckram 
 
 face, 
 
 Bewrays, in my conceit, a map of base- 
 ness. 
 Vi. Ay, there's a parcel of unconstrued 
 
 stuff, 
 That unknown minion raised to honour's 
 
 height, 
 
 Without the help of Virtue, or of Art, 
 Or (to say true), of any honest part. 
 Oh, how he shames my father ! he goes 
 
 like 
 
 A prince's footman, in old-fashion'd silks, 
 And most times, in his hose and doublet 
 
 only, 
 
 So miserable, that his own few men 
 Do beg by virtue of his livery ; 
 For he gives none for any service done 
 
 him, 
 
 Or any honour, any least reward. 
 St. 'Tis pity such should live about a 
 
 prince : 
 I would have such a noble counterfeit, 
 
 nail'd 
 
 Upon the pillory, and after, whipt, 
 For his adultery with nobility. 
 
 Vi. Faith, I would fain disgrace him by 
 
 all means, 
 
 As enemy to his base-bred ignorance, 
 That being a great lord, cannot write nor 
 
 read. 
 St. For that, we'll follow the blind side 
 
 of him, 
 And make it sometimes subject of our 
 
 mirth. 
 
 Enter Pogio post. 
 
 Vi. See, what news with your nephew 
 Pogio ? 
 
So 
 
 THE GENTLEMAN USHER. 
 
 {ACT r. 
 
 St. None good, I warrant you. 
 
 Po. Where should I find my Lord 
 Uncle? 
 
 St. What's the huge haste with you? 
 
 Po. Oh, oh, you will hunt to-day ! 
 
 St. I hope I will. 
 
 Po. But you may hap to hop without 
 your hope : for the truth is, Kilbuck is run 
 mad. 
 
 St. What's this? 
 
 Po. Nay, 'tis true, sir : and Kilbuck 
 being run mad, bit Ringwood so by the left 
 buttock, you might have turned your nose 
 in it. 
 
 Vi. Out, ass! 
 
 Po. By heaven, you might, my lord : d'ye 
 think I lie? 
 
 Vi. Zounds, might I ? Let's blanket him, 
 my lord : a blanket here ! 
 
 Po. Nay, good my Lord Vincentio, by 
 this rush I tell you for good will : and 
 Venus your brache there, runs so proud, 
 that your huntsman cannot take her 
 down for his life. 
 
 St. Take her up, fool, thou wouldst say. 
 
 Po. Why, sir, he would soon take her 
 down, and he could take her up, I warrant 
 her. 
 
 Vi. Well said, hammer, hammer. 
 
 Po. Nay, good now, let's alone, and 
 there's your horse, Gray Strozza, too has 
 the staggers, and has strook bay-Bettrice, 
 your Barbary mare so, that she goes halting 
 a this fashion, most filthily. 
 
 St. What poison blisters thy unhappy 
 
 tongue 
 
 Evermore braying forth unhappy news ? 
 Our hunting sport is at the best, my lord : 
 How shall I satisfy the duke your father, 
 Defrauding him of his expected sport? 
 See, see, he comes. 
 
 Enter Alphonso, Medice, Sarpego, -with 
 attendants. 
 
 Al. Is this the copy of the speech you 
 
 wrote, Signor Sarpego ? 
 Sa. It is a blaze of wit poetical. 
 Read it, brave duke, with eyes pathetical. 
 Al. We will peruse it straight : well met, 
 
 Vincentio, 
 And good Lord Strozza, we commend you 
 
 both 
 For your attendance : but you must 
 
 conceive, 
 
 'Tis no true hunting we intend to-day, 
 But an inducement to a certain show, 
 Wherewith we will present our beauteous 
 
 love, 
 And therein we bespeak your company. 
 
 Vi. We both are ready to attend your 
 
 highness. 
 Al. See then, here is a poem that : 
 
 requires 
 
 Your worthy censures ; offer'd if it like 
 To furnish our intended amorous show : 
 Read it, Vincentio. 
 
 Vi. Pardon me my lord : 
 
 Lord Medice's reading will express it 
 
 better. 
 Me. My patience can digest your scoffs, 
 
 my lord. 
 
 I care not to proclaim it to the world : 
 I can nor write nor read ; and what of I 
 
 that? 
 
 I can both see and hear as well as vou. 
 Al. Still are your wits at war ? here, read 
 
 this poem. 
 Vi. "The red-faced sun hath firk'd the 
 
 flundering shades, 
 
 And cast bright ammel on Aurora's brow." 
 Al. High words and strange : read on, 
 
 Vincentio. 
 Vi. ' ' The busky groves that gag tooth 'd 
 
 boars do shroud 
 
 With cringle-crangle horns do ring aloud." 
 Po. My lord, my lord, I have a speech 
 here worth ten of this, and yet I'll mend 
 it too. 
 
 A I. How likes Vincentio ? 
 Vi. It is strangely good, 
 No inkhorn ever did bring forth the like. 
 Could these brave prancing words with , 
 
 actions spur, 
 
 Be ridden thoroughly, and managed right, 
 Twould fright the audience, and perhaps 
 
 delight. 
 
 Sa. Doubt you of action, sir ? 
 Vi. Ay, for such stuff. 
 Sa. Then know, my lord, I can both act 
 
 and teach 
 To any words ; when I in Padua school' d 
 
 it, 
 
 I play'd in one of Plautus" comedies, 
 Namely, Curculio, where his part I acted, 
 Projecting from the poor sum of four lines 
 Forty fair actions. 
 Al. Let's see that, I pray. 
 Sa. Your highness shall command. 
 But pardon me, if in my action's heat, 
 Entering in post post haste, I chance to 
 
 take up 
 Some of your honour'd heels. 
 
 Po. Y'ad best leave out that action for a 
 thing that I know, sir. 
 
 Sa. Then shall you see what I can do 
 without it. 
 
 AL See, see ! he hath his furniture and 
 all. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE GENTLEMAN USHER. 
 
 8r 
 
 Sa. You must imagine, lords, I bring 
 
 good news, 
 Whereof being princely proud I scour the 
 
 street, 
 And over-tumble every man I meet. 
 
 [Exit Sarpego. 
 
 Po. Beshrew my heart if he take up my 
 heels. 
 
 Enter Sarpego. 
 
 Sarp. Date viam mihi, Noti, atqut Ig- 
 
 noti, 
 
 Dum ego, hie, officium meumfacio. 
 Fugite omnes, abite, and de via secedite, ne 
 quern in cursu capite, aut cubito, aut 
 pectore offendam, aut genu.* 
 
 AL Thanks, good Seigneur Sarpego. 
 How like you, lords, this stirring action ? 
 St. In a cold morning it were good, my 
 
 lord, 
 
 But something harsh upon repletion. 
 Sa. Sir, I have ventured, being en- 
 
 join'd, to eat 
 Three scholars' commons, and yet drew it 
 
 neat. 
 
 Po. Come, sir, you meddle in too many 
 matters ; let us, I pray, tend on our own 
 show at my Lord Lasso's. 
 
 Sa. Doing obeisance then to every lord, 
 I now consort you, sir, even toto corde. 
 
 {Exit Sarpego and Pogio. 
 Me. My lord, away with these scholastic 
 
 wits, 
 
 Lay the invention of your speech on me, 
 And the performance too ; I'll play my 
 
 part, 
 That you shall say, Nature yields more 
 
 than Art. 
 
 A I. Be't so resolved ; unartificial truth 
 An unfeign'd passion can decipher best. 
 Vi. But 'twill be hard, my lord, for one 
 
 unlearn'd. 
 Me. Unlearn'd? I cry you mercy, sir; 
 
 unlearn'd ? 
 Vi. I mean, untaught, my lord, to make 
 
 a speech, 
 
 As a pretended actor, without clothes, 
 More gracious than your doublet and your 
 
 hose. 
 A I. What, think you, son, we mean 
 
 t' express a speech 
 
 Of special weight without a like attire ? 
 Vi. Excuse me then, my lord ; so 
 
 stands it well. 
 
 St. Has brought them rarely in, to 
 pageant him. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 PLAUT. Curcul.i act. ii. sc. 3. 
 
 Me. What think you, lord, we think 
 
 not of attire ? 
 
 Can we not make us ready at this age ? 
 St. Alas, my lord, your wit must pardon 
 
 his. 
 
 Vi. I hope it will ; his wit is pitiful. 
 St. I pray stand by, my lord ; y'are 
 
 troublesome. 
 Vi. To none but you : am I to you, my 
 
 lord? 
 
 Me. Not unto me. 
 
 Vi. Why, then, you wrong me, Strozza. 
 Me. Nay, fall not out, my lords. 
 St. May I not know 
 What your speech is, my liege ? 
 AL None but myself, and the Lord 
 
 Medice. 
 
 Me. No, pray my lord, 
 Let none partake with us. 
 
 Al. No, be assured, 
 But for another cause : a word, Lord 
 
 Strozza ; 
 
 I tell you true, I fear Lord Medice 
 Will scarce discharge the speech effectually ; 
 As we go, therefore, I'll explain to you 
 My whole intent, that you may second 
 
 him 
 
 If need and his debility require. 
 St. Thanks for this grace, my liege. 
 
 [Vincentio overhears. 
 Me. My lord, your son. 
 A I. Why, how now, son? Forbear; 
 
 yet 'tis no matter, 
 We talk of other business, Medice, 
 And come, we will prepare us to our show. 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 St. Vi. Which, as we can, we'll cast to 
 overthrow. 
 
 Enter Lasso, Corteza, Margaret, Bassiolo, 
 Sarpego, two Pages, Bassiolo bare before. 
 
 Ba. Stand by there, make place. 
 
 La. Say, now, Bassiolo, you on whom 
 
 relies 
 
 The general disposition of my house, 
 In this, our preparation for the Duke, 
 Are all our officers at large instructed 
 For fit discharge of their peculiar places? 
 
 Ba. At large, my lord, instructed. 
 
 La. Are all our chambers hung ? Think 
 you our house amply capacious to lodge 
 all the train? 
 
 Ba. Amply capacious, I am passing 
 
 glad. 
 i. Ai 
 
 La. And now, then, to our mirth and 
 
 musical show, 
 
 Which, after supper, we intend t 'endure, 
 Welcome's chief dainties ; for choice cates 
 
 at home, 
 
THE GENTLEMAN USHER. 
 
 [ACT I. 
 
 
 Ever attend on princes ; mirth abroad. 
 Are all parts perfect ? 
 Sa. One I know there is. 
 La. And that is yours. 
 Sa. Well guess'd, in earnest, lord ; 
 I need not erubescere to take 
 So much upon me : that my back will bear. 
 
 Ba. Nay, he will be perfection itself, 
 For wording well, and dextrous action, too. 
 La. And will these waggish pages hit 
 
 their songs ? 
 
 znd Page. Re, mi, fa, sol, la. 
 La. Oh, they are practising ; good boys, 
 
 well done. 
 
 But where is Pogio? There y'are over- 
 shot, 
 
 To lay a capital part upon his brain, 
 Whose absence tells me plainly he'll 
 
 neglect him. 
 Ba. Oh, no, my lord, he dreams of 
 
 nothing else, 
 
 And gives it out in wagers he'll excell ; 
 And see (I told your lordship) he is come. 
 
 Enter Pogio. 
 
 Po. How now, my lord, have you 
 borrowed a suit for me ? Seigneur Bassiolo, 
 can all say, are all things ready? The 
 duke is hard by, and little thinks that I'll 
 be an actor, i'faith ; I keep all close, my 
 lord. 
 La. Oh, 'tis well done, call all the ladies 
 
 in ; 
 Sister and daughter, come, for God's sake, 
 
 come, 
 Prepare your courtliest carriage for the 
 
 duke. 
 
 Enter Corteza, Margaret, and Maids. 
 
 Co. And, niece, in any case remember 
 
 this, 
 Praise the old man, and when you see 
 
 him first, 
 Look me on none but him, smiling and 
 
 lovingly ; 
 And then, when he comes near, make 
 
 'beisance low, 
 With both your hands thus moving, which 
 
 not only 
 
 Is as 'twere courtly, and most comely too, 
 But speaks (as who should say) ' ' Come 
 
 hither, duke ;" 
 
 And yet says nothing, but you may deny. 
 La. Well taught, sister. 
 Ma. Ay, and to much end ; 
 I am exceeding fond to humour him. 
 La. Hark ! does he come with music? 
 
 what, and bound ? 
 An amorous device : daughter, observe. 
 
 E nicr Enchanter, with spirits singing; 
 after them, Medice like Sylvanus, next 
 the Duke bound, Vincentio, Strozza, 
 with oilicrs. 
 
 Vi. Now let's gull Medice ; I do not 
 
 doubt 
 
 But this attire put on, will put him out. 
 St. We'll do our best to that end, there- 
 fore mark. 
 En. Lady or princess, both your choice 
 
 commands, 
 These spirits and I, all sen-ants of your 
 
 beauty, 
 
 Present this royal captive to your mercy. 
 Ma. Captive to me, a subject ? 
 Vi. Ay, fair nymph ; 
 And how the worthy mystery befell, 
 Sylvanus here, this wooden god, can tell. 
 A I. Now, my lord. 
 Vi. Now 'tis the time, man, speak. 
 Me. Peace. 
 A I. Peace, Vincentio. 
 Vi. 'Swounds, my lord ! 
 Shall I stand by, and suffer him to shame 
 
 you? 
 My Lord Medice. 
 
 St. Will you speak, my lord ? 
 Me. How can I ? 
 
 Vi. But you must speak in earnest ; 
 Would not your highness have him speak, 
 
 my lord ? 
 Me. Yes, and I will speak, and perhaps 
 
 speak so 
 
 As you shall never mend ; I can, I know. 
 Vi. Do then, my good lord. 
 A I. Medice, forth. 
 Me. Goddess, fair goddess, for no less, 
 
 no less. 
 A I. No less, no less ? no more, no more : 
 
 speak you. 
 
 Me. 'Swounds ! they have put me out. 
 Vi. Laugh you, fair goddess, 
 This nobleman disdains to be your fool. 
 A I. Vincentio, peace. 
 Vi. 'Swounds, my lord ! it is as good a 
 
 show; 
 
 Pray speak, Lord Strozza. 
 St. Honourable dame. 
 Vi. Take heed you be not out, I pray, 
 
 my lord. 
 
 St. I pray forbear, my Lord Vincentio. 
 How this distressed prince came thus en- 
 
 thrall'd, 
 I must relate with words of height and 
 
 wonder : 
 
 His grace this morning, visiting the woods, 
 And straying far, to find game for the 
 chase, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE GENTLEMAN USHER. 
 
 At last, out of a myrtle grove he roused 
 
 A vast and dreadful boar, so stern and 
 fierce, 
 
 As if the fiend fell Cruelty herself 
 
 Had come to fright the woods in that 
 
 strange shape. 
 A I. Excellent good ! 
 Vi. Too good, a plague on him. 
 St. The princely savage being thus on 
 foot, 
 
 Tearing the earth up with his thundering 
 hoof, 
 
 And with the enraged ^Etna of his breath 
 
 Firing the air, and scorching all the 
 woods, 
 
 Horror held all us huntsmen from pursuit, 
 
 Only the duke, incensed with our cold fear, 
 
 Incouraged like a second Hercules. 
 Vi. Zounds ! too good, man. 
 St. Pray thee let me alone ; 
 
 And like the English sign of great Saint 
 
 George 
 
 Vi. Plague of that simile. 
 St. Gave valorous example, and, like 
 fire 
 
 Hunted the monster close, and charged so 
 fierce, 
 
 That he inforced him (as our sense con- 
 ceived) 
 
 To leap for soil into a crystal spring ; 
 
 Where on the sudden strangely vanish- 
 ing, 
 
 Nymph-like for him, out of the waves 
 arose 
 
 Your sacred figure like Diana arm'd, 
 
 And (as in purpose of the beast's revenge) 
 
 Discharged an arrow through his high- 
 ness' breast ; 
 
 Whence yet no wound or any blood ap- 
 pear'd ; 
 
 With which the angry shadow left the light; 
 
 And this enchanter, with his power of 
 spirits, 
 
 Brake from a cave, scattering enchanted 
 sounds, 
 
 That struck us senseless, while in these 
 strange bands 
 
 These cruel spirits thus inchain'd his arms, 
 
 And led him captive to your heavenly eyes, 
 
 Th 'intent whereof on their report relies. 
 En. Bright nymph, that boar figured 
 your cruelty, 
 
 Chased by love, defended by your toeauty. 
 
 This amorous huntsman here we thus in- 
 thrall'd 
 
 As the attendants on your grace's charms, 
 
 And brought him hither, by your boun- 
 teous hands 
 
 To be released, or live in endless bands. 
 
 La. Daughter, release the duke ; alas ! 
 
 my liege, 
 What meant your highness to endure this 
 
 wrong? 
 Co. Enlarge him, niece ; come, dame, it 
 
 must be so. 
 Ma. What, madam, shall I arrogate so 
 
 much? 
 La. His highness' pleasure is to grace 
 
 you so. 
 A I. Perform it then, sweet love, it is a 
 
 deed 
 
 Worthy the office of your honour'd hand. 
 Ma. Too worthy, 1 confess, my lord, for 
 
 me, 
 
 If it were serious ; but it is in sport, 
 And women are fit actors for such pa- 
 geants. 
 A I. Thanks, gracious love ; why made 
 
 you strange of this ? 
 I rest no less your captive than before ; 
 For me untying, you have tied me more. 
 Thanks, Strozza, for your speech ; no 
 
 thanks to you. 
 
 Me. No, thank your son, my lord. 
 La. 'Twas very well, 
 
 Exceeding well perform'd on every part : . 
 How say you, Bassiolo ? 
 Ba. Rare, I protest, my lord. 
 Co. Oh, my Lord Medice became it 
 
 rarely, 
 
 Methought I liked his manly being out ; 
 It becomes noblemen to do nothing well. 
 La. Now then, will't please your grace 
 
 to grace our house, 
 And still vouchsafe our service further 
 
 honour ? 
 
 A I. Lead us, my lord ; we will your 
 
 daughter lead. {Exit. 
 
 Vi. You do not lead, but drag her 
 
 leaden steps. 
 
 St. How did you like my speech ? 
 Vi. Oh, fie upon't, your rhetoric was too 
 
 fine. 
 
 St. Nothing at all : 
 I hope Saint George's sign was gross 
 
 enough. 
 
 But (to be serious) as these warnings pass, 
 Watch you your father, I'll watch Medice, 
 That in your love-suit we may shun sus- 
 pect ; 
 To which end, with your next occasion, 
 
 urge 
 Your love to name the person she will 
 
 choose, 
 By whose means you may safely write or 
 
 meet. 
 
 Vi. That's our chief business ; and see, 
 here she comes. 
 
 G2 
 
THE GENTLEMAN USHER. 
 
 [ACT ir. 
 
 Enter Margaret in haste. 
 
 Ma. My lord, I only come to say, y'are 
 
 welcome, 
 
 And so must say, farewell. 
 Vi. One word, I pray. 
 Ma. What's that ? 
 Vi. You needs must presently devise, 
 What person trusted chiefly with your 
 
 guard, 
 
 You think is aptest for me to corrupt 
 In making him a mean for our safe meeting. 
 
 Ma. My father's usher, none so fit, 
 If you can work him well ; and so farewell, 
 With thanks, my good Lord Strozza, for 
 your speech. {Exit. 
 
 St. I thank you for your patience, mock- 
 ing lady. 
 Vi. Oh, what a fellow has she pick'd us 
 
 out! 
 One that I would have choosed past all the 
 
 rest 
 For his close stockings only. 
 
 St. And why not 
 
 For the most constant fashion of his hat ? 
 Vi. Nay, then, if nothing must be left 
 
 unspoke, 
 For his strict form, thus still to wear his 
 
 cloak. 
 St. Well, sir, he is your own, I make no 
 
 doubt ; 
 
 For to these outward figures of his mind, 
 He hath two inward swallowing properties 
 Of any gudgeons : servile avarice 
 And overweening thought of his own worth, 
 Ready to snatch at every shade of glory ; 
 And, therefore, till you can directly board 
 
 him, 
 
 Waft him aloof with hats and other favours 
 Still as you meet him. 
 
 Vi. Well, let me alone, 
 He that is one man's slave is free from 
 none. [Exeunt. 
 
 END OF ACT I. 
 
 ACT THE SECOND. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Enter Medice, Corteza, a Page, with a 
 cup of sack, Strozza following close. 
 
 Me. Come, lady, sit you here. Page, 
 
 fill some sack, 
 
 I am to work upon this aged dame, 
 TV> glean fiom her if there be any cause 
 tin loving others) of her niece's coyness 
 Xs> the most gracious love-suit of the duke. 
 
 Here, noble lady, this is healthful drink 
 After our supper. 
 
 Co. Oh, 'tis that, my lord, 
 That of all drinks keeps life and soul in me. 
 Me. Here, fill it, Page, for this my 
 
 worthy love. 
 Oh, how I could embrace this good old 
 
 widow ! 
 Co. Now, lord, when you do thus you 
 
 make me think 
 Of my sweet husband, for he was as like 
 
 you; 
 E'en the same words and fashion ; the 
 
 same eyes ; 
 
 Manly, and choleric e'en as you are just, 
 And e'en as kind as you for all the world. 
 Me. Oh, my sweet widow, thou dost 
 
 make me proud ! 
 Co. Nay, I am too old for you. 
 Me. Too old ! that's nothing ; 
 Come, pledge me, wench, for I am dry 
 
 again, 
 And straight will charge your widowhood 
 
 fresh, i 'faith : 
 Why, that's well done. 
 
 Co. Now fie on't, here's a draught. 
 Me. Oh, it will warm your blood ; if you 
 
 should sip, 
 
 Twould make you heartburn'd. 
 Co. 'Faith, and so they say ; 
 Yet I must tell you, since I plied this gear, 
 I have been haunted with a whoreson pain 
 
 here, 
 And every moon almost with a shrewd 
 
 fever, 
 
 And yet I cannot leave it ; for, thank God, 
 I never was more sound of wind and limb. 
 
 Enter Strozza. 
 
 Look you, I warrant you I have a leg, 
 
 [A great bumbasted leg. 
 Holds out as handsomely. 
 
 Me. Beshrew my life, 
 But 'tis a leg indeed, a goodly limb. 
 St. This is most excellent ! 
 Me. Oh, that your niece 
 Were of as mild a spirit as yourself. 
 
 Co. Alas, Lord Medice, would you have 
 
 a girl, 
 
 As well seen in behaviour as I ? 
 Ah, she's a fond young thing, and grown 
 
 so proud, 
 The wind must blow at west still or she'll 
 
 be angry. 
 Me. Mass, so methink ; how coy she's to 
 
 the duke, 
 
 I lay my life she has some younger love. 
 Co. 'Faith, like enough. 
 Me. Gods me, who should it be ? 
 
THE GENTLEMAN USHER. 
 
 Co. If it be any ; Page, a little sack, 
 If it be any ; hark now, if it be, 
 I know not, by this sack ; but if it be, 
 Mark what I say, my lord ; I drink t'ye 
 
 first. 
 Me. Well said, good widow ; much good 
 
 do thy heart, 
 So, now what if it be ? 
 
 Co. Well, if it be ; 
 
 To come to that, I said, for so I said, 
 If it be any, 'tis the shrewd young prince ; 
 For eyes can speak, and eyes can under- 
 stand, 
 And I have mark'd her eyes ; yet by this 
 
 cup, 
 
 Which I will only kiss. 
 St. Oh, noble crone, 
 Now such a huddle and kettle never was. 
 Co. I never yet have seen, not yet I 
 
 say; 
 
 But I will mark her after for your sake. 
 Me. And do, I pray ; for it is passing 
 
 like ; 
 
 And there is Strozza, a sly counsellor 
 To the young boy. Oh, I would give a 
 
 limb 
 To have their knavery limn'd and painted 
 
 out. 
 
 They stand upon their wits and paper- 
 learning ; 
 
 Give me a fellow with a natural wit 
 That can make wit of no wit ; and wade 
 
 through 
 Great things with nothing, when their wits 
 
 stick fast. 
 Oh, they be scurvy lords. 
 
 Co. Faith, so they be, 
 Your lordship still is of my mind in all, 
 And e'en so was my husband. 
 
 Me. Gods my life, 
 
 Strozza hath eavesdropp'd here, and over- 
 heard us. 
 St. They have descried me ; what, Lord 
 
 Medice 
 Courting the lusty widow ? 
 
 Me. Ay, and why not ? 
 Perhaps one does as much for you at 
 
 home. 
 St. What, choleric man? and toward 
 
 wedlock too ? 
 Co. And if he be, my lord, he may do 
 
 worse. 
 
 St. If he be not, madam, he may do 
 better. 
 
 Enter Bassiolo with Servants, with Rushes, 
 and a Carpet. 
 
 Ba. My lords, and madam, the duke's 
 grace entreats you 
 
 Into his presence. 
 St. We are ready, sir. [Exeunt. 
 
 T'attend his new-made duchess for this 
 
 night, 
 
 his p 
 
 . We 
 Ba. Come, strew this room "afresh; 
 
 spread here this carpet, 
 Nay, quickly man, I pray thee ; this way, 
 
 fool, 
 
 Lay me it smooth, and even ; look if he willl 
 This way a little more ; a little there, 
 Hast thou no forecast t 'slood, methinks a 
 
 man 
 
 Should not of mere necessity be an ass. 
 Look, how he strows here, too : come, Sir 
 
 Giles Goosecap, 
 
 I must do all myself ; lay me 'em thus, 
 In fine, smooth threaves; look you, sir, thus 
 
 in threaves. 
 
 Perhaps some tender lady will squat here, 
 And if some standing rush should chance 
 
 to prick her, 
 She'd squeak, and spoil the songs that 
 
 must be sung. 
 St. See, where he is ; now to him, and 
 
 prepare 
 Your familiarity. 
 
 Enter Vincentio and Strozza. 
 
 Vi. Save you, master Basoiolo ; 
 I pray a word, sir ; but I fear I let you. 
 
 Ba. No, my good lord, no let. 
 
 Vi. I thank you, sir. 
 
 Nay, pray be cover'd ; oh, I cry you mercy, 
 You must be bare. 
 
 Ba. Ever to you, my lord. 
 
 Vi. Nay, not to me, sir, 
 But to the fair right of your worshipful 
 place. 
 
 St. A shame of both your worships. 
 
 Ba. What means your lordship ? 
 
 Vi. Only to do you right, sir, and myself ' 
 
 ease, 
 
 And what, sir, will there be some show to- 
 night? 
 
 Ba. A slender presentation of some 
 
 music, 
 And something else, my lord. 
 
 Vi. 'Tis passing good, sir ; 
 I'll not be overbold to ask the particulars. 
 
 Ba. Yes, if your lordship please. 
 
 Vi. Oh, no, good sir ; 
 But I did wonder much, for, as methought, 
 I saw your hands at work. 
 
 Ba. Or else, my lord, 
 Our business would be but badly done. 
 
 Vi. How virtuous is a worthy man's 
 
 example ! 
 Who is this throne for, pray ? 
 
 Ba. For my lord's daughter, 
 
86 
 
 THE GENTLEMAN USHER. 
 
 [ACT IT. 
 
 Whom the duke makes to represent his 
 
 duchess. 
 Vi. 'Twill be exceeding fit ; and all this 
 
 room 
 Is passing well prepared ; a man would 
 
 swear 
 
 That all presentments in it would be rare. 
 Ba. Nay, see if thou canst lay 'em thus, 
 
 in threaves. 
 
 Vi. In threaves, d'ye call it ? 
 Ba. Ay, my lord, in threaves. 
 Vi. A pretty term. 
 Well, sir, I thank you highly for this 
 
 kindness, 
 
 And pray you always make as bold with me 
 For kindness more than this, if more may 
 
 be. 
 
 Ba. Oh, my lord, this is nothing. 
 Vi. Sir, 'tis much ; 
 And now I'll leave you, sir ; I know y'are 
 
 busy. 
 
 Ba. Faith, sir, a little. 
 Vi. I commend me t'ye, sir. 
 
 {Exit Vincentio. 
 Ba. A courteous prince, believe it ; I am 
 
 sorry 
 
 I was no bolder with him ; what a phrase 
 He used at parting ! " I commend me t'ye. " 
 I'll ha't, i'faith. 
 
 Enter Sarpego, half dressed. 
 
 Sa. Good master usher, will you dictate 
 
 to me 
 
 Which is the part precedent of this night- 
 cap, 
 
 And which posterior? I do ignorare 
 How I should wear it. 
 
 Ba. Why, sir, this, I take it, 
 Is the precedent part ; ay, so it is. 
 
 Sa. And is all well, sir, think you? 
 
 Ba. Passing well. 
 
 Enter Pogio and Fungus. 
 
 Po. Why, sir, come on ; the usher shall 
 
 be judge : 
 
 See, master usher, this same Fungus here, 
 Your lord's retainer, whom I hope you 
 
 rule, 
 
 Would wear this better jerkin for the rush- 
 man, 
 When I do play the broom-man, and speak 
 
 first. 
 Fu. Why, sir, I borrow'd it, and I will 
 
 wear it. 
 Po. What, sir, in spite of your lord's 
 
 gentleman-usher ? 
 Fu. No spite, sir, but you have changed 
 
 twice already, 
 And now would ha't again. 
 
 Po. Why, that's all one, sir, 
 Gentility must be fantastical. 
 Ba. I pray thee, Fungus, let master 
 
 Pogio wear it. 
 
 Fu. And what shall I wear then? 
 Po. Why, here is one, that was a rush- 
 man's jerkin, and I pray, were't not 
 absurd then, a broom-man should wear 
 it? 
 
 Fu. Foh, there's a reason ! I will keep it, 
 . sir. 
 Po. Will, sir? then do your office, 
 
 master Usher, 
 Make him put off his jerkin ; you may 
 
 pluck 
 His coat over his ears, much more his 
 
 jerkin. 
 
 Ba. Fungus, y'ad best be ruled. 
 Fu. Best, sir ! I care not. 
 Po. No, sir ? I hope you are my lord's 
 
 retainer. 
 
 I need not care a pudding for your lord : 
 But spare not, keep it, for perhaps I'll 
 
 play 
 My part as well in this as you in that. 
 
 Ba. Well said, master Pogio ; my lord 
 shall know it. 
 
 Enter Corteza, -with the Broom -wench 
 and Rush-wench in their petticoats, 
 cloaks over them, with hats over their 
 head-tires. 
 
 Co. Look, master Usher, are these 
 
 wags well dress'd ? 
 
 I have been so in labour with 'em truly. 
 Ba. Y'ave had a very good deliverance, 
 
 lady: 
 
 How I did take her at her labour there : 
 I use to gird these ladies so sometimes. 
 
 Enter Lasso, -with Sylvan and a Nymph, 
 a man Bug, and a Woman. 
 
 1. I pray, my lord, must not I wear this 
 hair? 
 
 La. I pray thee, ask my Usher ; come, 
 
 despatch, 
 The duke is ready ; are you ready there ? 
 
 2. See, master Usher, must he wear this 
 hair? 
 
 1. Bu. Pray, master Usher, where must 
 I come in? 
 
 2. Am not I well for a Bug, master 
 Usher? 
 
 Ba. What stir is with these boys here ! 
 
 God forgive me, 
 
 If 'twere not for the credit on't, I'd see 
 Your apish trash afire, ere I'd endure this. 
 
 i. But pray, good master Usher 
 
 Ba. Hence, ye brats, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE GENTLEMAN USHER 
 
 You stand upon your tire ; but for your 
 
 action 
 Which you must use in singing of your 
 
 songs 
 
 Exceeding dextrously and full of life, 
 I hope you'll then stand like a sort of 
 
 blocks, 
 Without due motion of your hands and 
 
 heads, 
 And wresting your whole bodies to your 
 
 words, 
 Look to't, y'are best ; and in ; go ; All go 
 
 in: 
 
 Po. Come in, my masters ; let's be out 
 anon. {Exeunf. 
 
 La. What, are all furnish'd well? 
 Ba. All well, my lord. 
 La. More lights then here, and let loud 
 
 music sound. 
 Ba. Sound, Music. \Exuint. 
 
 Enter Vincentio, Strozza, bare, Margaret, 
 Corteza, and Cynanche bearing her 
 train. After her the Duke whispering 
 with Medice, Lasso w ith Bassiolo, &*. 
 
 Al. Advance yourself, fair duchess, to 
 
 this throne, 
 As we have long since raised you to our 
 
 heart ; 
 
 Better decorum never was beheld, 
 Than 'twixt this state and you : and as all 
 
 eyes 
 
 Now fix'd on your bright graces think it fit, 
 So frame your favour to continue it. 
 Ma. My lord, but to obey your earnest 
 
 will, 
 
 And not make serious scruple of a toy, 
 I scarce durst have presumed this minute's 
 
 height. 
 La. Usher, cause other music ; begin 
 
 your show. 
 Ba. Sound Concert ; warn the Pedant 
 
 to be ready. 
 Co. Madam, I think you'll see a pretty 
 
 show. 
 
 Cy. I can expect no less in such a pre- 
 sence. 
 A I. Lo, what attention and state beauty 
 
 breeds, 
 
 Whose moving silence no shrill herald 
 needs. 
 
 Enter Sarpego. 
 
 Sa. Lords of high degree, 
 
 And ladies of low courtesy, 
 I the pedant here, 
 Whom some call schoolmaster, 
 Because I can speak best, 
 Approach before the rest. 
 
 Vi. A very good reason. 
 
 Sa. But there are others coming, 
 
 Without mask or mumming; 
 
 For they are not ashamed, 
 
 If need be, to be named, 
 
 Nor will they hide their faces, 
 
 In any place or places ; 
 
 For though they seem to come, 
 
 Loaded with rush and broom, 
 
 The broom-man, you must know, 
 
 Is Seigneur Pogiq, 
 
 Nephew, as shall appear, 
 
 To my Lord Strozza here. 
 St. Oh, Lord! I thank you, sir; you 
 
 grace me much. 
 Sa. And to this noble dame, 
 
 Whom I with finger name. 
 Vi. A plague of that fool's finger. 
 Sa. And women will ensue, 
 
 Which I must tell you true, 
 
 No women are indeed, 
 
 But pages made for need 
 
 To fill up women's places, 
 
 By virtue of their faces. 
 
 And other hidden graces. 
 
 A hall, a hall! whist, still, be mum, 
 
 For now with silver song they come. 
 
 Enter Pogio, Fungus, with the song, 
 Broom-maid and Rush-maid. After 
 which, Pogio. 
 
 Po. Heroes and heroines of gallant 
 
 strain, 
 Let not these brooms motes in your eyes 
 
 remain, 
 For in the moon there's one bears wither'd 
 
 bushes, 
 But we (dear wights) do bear green brooms, 
 
 green rushes, 
 Whereof these verdant herbals cleeped 
 
 broom, 
 
 Do pierce and enter every lady's room, 
 And to prove them high-born and no base 
 
 trash, 
 Water, with which your physnomies you 
 
 wash, 
 
 Is but a broom. And more truth to de- 
 liver, 
 
 Grim Hercules swept a stable with a river. 
 The wind that sweeps foul "clouds out of 
 
 the air, 
 
 And for you ladies makes the welkin fair, 
 Is but a broom : and oh, Dan Titan 
 
 bright, 
 
 Most clerkly call'd the scavenger of night, 
 What art thou, but a very broom of gold 
 For all this world not to be cried nor sold ? 
 Philosophy, that passion sweeps from 
 
 thought, 
 
THE GENTLEMAN USHER. 
 
 [ACT ir. 
 
 Is the soul's broom, and by all brave wits 
 
 sought. 
 
 Now if philosophers but broom-men are, 
 Each broom-man then is a philosopher. 
 And so we come (gracing your gracious 
 
 graces) 
 To sweep care's cobwebs from your cleanly 
 
 faces. 
 
 A I. Thanks, good master broom-man. 
 Fu. For me rush-man then, 
 To make rush ruffle in a verse of ten. 
 A rush which now your heels do lie on 
 
 here 
 
 Vi. Cry mercy, sir. 
 
 Fu. Was whilome used for a pungent 
 
 spear, . 
 
 In that odd battle never fought but twice 
 (As Homer sings) betwixt the frogs and 
 
 mice. 
 Rushes make true-love knots ; rushes 
 
 make rings, 
 Your rush maugre the beard of winter 
 
 springs. 
 And when with gentle, amorous, lazy 
 
 limbs, 
 Each lord with his fair, lady sweetly 
 
 swims 
 On these cool rushes ; they may with these 
 
 babies, 
 Cradles for children make, children for 
 
 cradles, 
 And lest some Momus here might now 
 
 cry "push !" 
 
 Saying our pageant is not worth a rush, 
 Bundles of rushes, lo, we hung along, 
 To pick his teeth that bites them with his 
 
 tongue. 
 
 St. See, see, that's Lord Medice. 
 Vi. Gods me, my lord, 
 Has he pick'd you out, picking of your 
 
 teeth ? 
 
 Me. What pick you out of that ? 
 St. Not such stale stuff 
 As you pick from your teeth. 
 
 A I. Leave this war with rushes, 
 Good master pedant ; pray forth with your 
 
 show. 
 Sa. Lo, thus far then (brave duke) you 
 
 see, 
 
 Mere ente'rtainment. Now our glee 
 Shall march forth in morality : 
 ( And this quaint duchess here shall see 
 I The fault of virgin nicety, 
 (First woo'd with rural courtesy: 
 Disburthen them, prance on this ground, 
 And make your Exit with your Round. 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Well have they danced, as it is meet, 
 Both with their nimble heads and feet. 
 
 I Now, as our country girls held off, 
 And rudely did their lovers scoff ; 
 Our nymph, likewise, shall only glance 
 By your fair eyes, and look askance 
 Upon her female friend that wooes her, 
 Who is in plain field forced to loose her. 
 And after them, to conclude all, 
 The purlieu of our pastoral. 
 A female bug, and eke her friend, 
 Shall only come and sing, and end. 
 
 BUG'S SONG. 
 
 This, lady and duchess, we conclude. 
 Fair virgins must not be too rude : 
 For though the rural wild and antic 
 Abused their loves as they were frantic ; 
 Yet take you in your ivory clutches, 
 This noble duke, and be his duchess. 
 Thus thanking all for their tacete, 
 I void the room, and cry valete. {Exit. 
 
 Al. Generally well, and pleasingly per- 
 formed. 
 
 Ma. Now I resign this borrow'd majesty, 
 Which sate unseemly on my worthless head, 
 With humble service to your highness' 
 
 hands. 
 Al. Well you became it, lady, and I 
 
 know 
 
 All here could wish it might be ever so. 
 St. Here's one says Nay to that. 
 Vi. Plague on you, peace. 
 La. Now let it please your highness to 
 
 accept 
 A homely banquet, to close these rude 
 
 sports. 
 
 A I. I thank your lordship much. 
 Ba. Bring lights, make place. 
 
 Enter Pogio in his cloak and broom man's 
 
 a it ire. 
 
 Po. How d'ye, my lord ? 
 Al. Oh, master broom-man, you did 
 
 passing well. 
 Vi. Ah, you mad slave, you ! You are 
 
 a tickling actor. 
 
 Po. I was not out, like my Lord Medice. 
 How did you like me, aunt ? 
 Cy. Oh, rarely, rarely. 
 St. Oh, thou hast done a work of 
 
 memory, 
 
 And raised our house up higher by a story. 
 Vi. Friend, how conceit you my young 
 
 mother here ? 
 Cy. Fitter for you, my lord, than for 
 
 your father. 
 
 Vi. No more of that, sweet friend; those 
 are bugs' words. [Exeunt. 
 
 END OF ACT II. 
 
I SCENE I.J 
 
 THE GENTLEMAN USHER. 
 
 ACT THE THIRD. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Medice after the song whispers alone with 
 his servant. 
 
 Me. Thou art my trusty servant, and 
 
 thou know'st 
 
 I have been ever bountiful lord to thee, 
 As still I will be ; be thou thankful then, 
 And do me now a service of import. 
 
 Se. Any, my lord, in compass of my life. 
 Me. To-morrow, then, the duke intends 
 
 to hunt 
 
 Where Strozza, my despiteful enemy, 
 Will give attendance busy in the chase ; 
 Wherein (as if by chance, when others 
 
 shoot 
 
 At the wild boar) do thou discharge at him, 
 And with an arrow cleave his canker 'd 
 
 heart. 
 
 Se. I will not fail, my lord. 
 Me. Be secret, then, 
 
 And thou to me shalt be the dear'st of 
 men. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Vincentio and Bassiolo. 
 
 Vi. Now Vanity and Policy enrich me 
 With some ridiculous fortune on this usher. 
 Where's master Usher? 
 
 Ba. Now I come, my lord. 
 
 Vi. Besides, good sir, your show did 
 show so well. 
 
 Ba. Did it, indeed, my lord? 
 
 Vi. Oh, sir, believe k, 
 Twas the best-fashion' d and well-order'd 
 
 thing 
 
 That ever eye beheld ; and therewithal, 
 The fit attendance by the servants used, 
 The gentle guise in serving every guest 
 In other entertainments ; everything 
 About your house so sortfully disposed, 
 That even as in a turn-spit call'd a jack, 
 One vice assists another ; the great wheels 
 Turning but softly, make the less to whirr 
 About their business ; every different part 
 Concurring to one commendable end ; 
 So, and in such conformance, with rare 
 
 grace, 
 
 Were all things order'd in your good lord's 
 house. 
 
 Ba. The most fit simile that ever was. 
 
 Vi. But shall I tell you plainly my con- 
 ceit, 
 
 Touching the man that I think caused this 
 order ? 
 
 Ba. Ay, good my lord. 
 
 Vi. You note my simile. 
 
 Ba. Drawn from the turn-spit. 
 Vi. I see you have me. 
 Even as in that quaint engine you have seen 
 A little man in shreds, stand at the winder, 
 And seems to put all things in act about 
 
 him, 
 
 Lifting and pulling with a mighty stir, 
 Yet adds no force to it, nor nothing does : 
 So (though your lord be a brave gentle- 
 man) 
 And seems to do this business, he does 
 
 nothing ; 
 
 Some man about him was the festival robe 
 That made him show so glorious and 
 
 divine. 
 Ba. I cannot tell, my lord, yet I should 
 
 know 
 If any such there were. 
 
 Vi. " Should know," quoth you ; 
 I warrant you, you know ; well, some there 
 
 be 
 Shall have the fortune to have such rare 
 
 men 
 (Like brave beasts to their arms) support 
 
 their state, 
 
 When others of as high a worth and breed 
 Are made the wasteful food of them they 
 
 feed. 
 What state hath your lord made you for 
 
 your service ? 
 Ba. He has been my good lord, for I can 
 
 spend 
 Some fifteen hundred crowns in lands a 
 
 year, 
 Which I have gotten since I served him 
 
 first. 
 Vi. No more than fifteen hundred crowns 
 
 a year ? 
 Ba. It is so much as makes me live, my 
 
 lord, 
 Like a poor gentleman. 
 
 Vi. Nay, 'tis pretty well ; 
 But certainly my nature does esteem 
 Nothing enough for virtue ; and had I 
 The duke my father's means, all should be 
 
 spent, 
 To keep brave men about me ; but, good 
 
 sir, 
 
 Accept this simple jewel at my hands, 
 Till I can work persuasion of my friend- 
 ship 
 
 With worthier arguments. 
 Ba. No, good my lord, 
 I can by no means merit the free bounties 
 You have bestow'd besides. 
 Vi. Nay, be not strange, 
 But do yourself right, and be all one man 
 In all your actions, do not think but some 
 Have extraordinary spirits like yourself, 
 
THE GENTLEMAN USHER. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 And will not stand in their society, 
 
 On birth and riches ; but on worth and 
 
 virtue, 
 With whom there is no niceness, nor 
 
 respect 
 
 Of others' common friendship ; be he poor 
 Or basely born, so he be rich in soul, 
 And noble in degrees of qualities, 
 He shall be my friend sooner than a king. 
 Ba. 'Tis a most kingly judgment in your 
 
 lordship. 
 Vi. 'Faith, sir, I know not, but 'tis my 
 
 vain humour. 
 
 Ba. Oh, 'tis an honour in a nobleman. 
 Vi. Y'ave some lords now so politic and 
 
 proud, 
 They scorn to give good looks to worthy 
 
 men. 
 Ba. Oh, fie upon 'em ! by that light, my 
 
 lord, 
 
 I am but servant to a nobleman, 
 But if I would not scorn such puppet lords, 
 Would I were breathless. 
 
 Vi. You sir? So you may, 
 For they will cog so when they wish to use 
 
 men, 
 With, "Pray be cover'd, sir," "I beseech 
 
 you sit," 
 "Who's there? wait of master Usher to 
 
 the door." 
 Oh, these be godly gudgeons : where's the 
 
 deeds ? 
 
 The perfect nobleman ? 
 Ba. Oh, good my lord. 
 Vi. Away, away, ere I would flatter so 
 I would eat rushes like Lord Medice. 
 Ba. Well, well, my lord, would there 
 
 were more such princes. 
 Vi. Alas, 'twere pity, sir; they would be 
 
 gull'd 
 
 Out of their very skins. 
 Ba. Why, how are you, my lord? 
 Vi. Who, I? I care not 
 If I be gull'd where I profess plain love ; 
 'Twill be their faults, you know. 
 Ba. Oh, 'twere their shames. 
 Vi. Well, take my jewel ; you shall not 
 
 be strange, 
 
 I love not many words. 
 Ba. My lord, I thank you ; I am of few 
 
 words too. 
 
 Vi. Tis friendly said, 
 You prove yourself a friend, and I would 
 
 have you 
 Advance your thoughts, and lay about for 
 
 state 
 
 Worthy your virtues ; be the minion 
 Of some great king or duke ; there's 
 Medice, 
 
 The minion of my father : Oh, the father ! 
 What difference is there? But I cannot 
 
 flatter : 
 A word to wise men. 
 
 Ba. I perceive your lordship. 
 Vi. Your lordship ? talk you now like a 
 
 friend ? 
 
 Is this plain kindness ? 
 Ba. Is it not, my lord ? 
 Vi. A palpable flattering figure for men 
 
 common : 
 A my word I should think, if 'twere 
 
 another, 
 
 He meant to gull me. 
 Ba. Why, 'tis but your due. 
 Vi. 'Tis but my due if you be still a 
 
 stranger, 
 
 But as I wish to choose you for my friend, 
 As I intend when God shall call my father, 
 To do I can tell what : but let that pass, 
 Thus 'tis not fit ; let my friend be familiar, 
 Use not me lordship, nor yet call me 
 
 lord, 
 
 Nor my whole name, Vincentio ; but Vince, 
 As they call Jack or Will ; 'tis now in use, 
 'Twixt men of no equality or kindness. 
 Ba. I shall be quickly bold enough, my 
 
 lord. 
 Vi. Nay, see how still you use that coy 
 
 term, lord. 
 What argues this, but that you shun my 
 
 friendship ? 
 
 Ba. Nay, pray say not so. 
 Vi. Who should not say so ? 
 Will you afford me now no name at all? 
 Ba. What should I call you? 
 Vi. Nay, then 'tis no matter, 
 But I told you, Vince. 
 Ba. Why then, my sweet Vince. 
 Vi. Why so, then ; and yet still there is 
 
 a fault 
 In using these kind words, without kind 
 
 deeds ; 
 
 Pray thee embrace me too. 
 Ba. Why then, sweet Vince. 
 Vi. Why, now I thank you ; 'sblood, 
 
 shall friends be strange ? 
 Where there is plainness, there is ever 
 
 truth : 
 
 And I will still be plain, since I am true. 
 Come, let us lie a little ; I am weary. 
 Ba. And so am I, I swear, since yester- 
 day. 
 Vi. You may, sir, by my faith ; and, 
 
 sirrah, hark thee, 
 What lordship wouldst thou wish to have, 
 
 i'faith, 
 
 When my old father dies? 
 Ba. Who, I ? alas I 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE GENTLEMAN USHER. 
 
 Vi. Oh, not you ! Well, sir, you shall 
 
 have none, 
 You are as coy a piece as your lord's 
 
 daughter. 
 
 Ba. Who, my mistress? 
 Vi. Indeed, is she your mistress ? 
 Ba. Ffaith, sweet Vince, since she was 
 
 three year old. 
 
 Vi. And are not we two friends ? 
 Ba. Who doubts of that ? 
 Vi. And are not two friends one ? 
 Ba. Even man and wife. 
 Vi. Then what to you she is, to me she 
 
 should be. 
 Ba. Why, Vince, thou wouldst not have 
 
 her? 
 Vi. Oh, not I. I do not fancy anything 
 
 like you. 
 
 Ba. Nay, but I pray thee tell me. 
 Vi. You do not mean to marry her your- 
 self? 
 
 Ba. Not I, by heaven ! 
 Vi. Take heed now ; do not gull me. 
 Ba. No, by that candle. 
 Vi. Then will I be plain. 
 Think you she dotes not too much on my 
 
 father ? 
 
 Ba. Oh yes, no doubt on't. 
 Vi. Nay, I pray you speak. 
 Ba. You silly man, you ; she cannot 
 
 abide him. 
 Vi. Why, sweet friend, pardon me ; 
 
 alas ! I knew not. 
 Ba. But I do note you are in some 
 
 things simple, 
 
 And wrong yourself too much. 
 Vi. Thank you, good friend, 
 For your plain dealing, I do mean, so 
 
 well. 
 Ba. But who saw ever summer mix'd 
 
 with winter? 
 There must be equal years where firm love 
 
 is. 
 
 Could we two love so well so suddenly, 
 Were we not something equaller in years 
 Than he and she are ? 
 
 Vi. I cry ye mercy, sir, 
 I know we could not, but yet be not too 
 
 bitter, 
 Considering love is fearful. And, sweet 
 
 friend, 
 I have a letter to entreat her kindness, 
 
 Which, if you would convey 
 
 Ba. Ay, if I would, sir? 
 
 Vi. Why, 'faith, dear friend, I would 
 
 not die requiteless. 
 Ba. Would you not so, sir? 
 By heaven ! a little thing would make me 
 box you, 
 
 " Which if you would convey ?" why not, I 
 
 pray 
 
 " Which (friend) thou shalt convey?" 
 Vi. Which friend, you shall then. 
 Ba. Well, friend, and I will then. 
 Vi. And use some kind persuasive words 
 
 for me ? 
 Ba. The best, I swear, that my poor 
 
 tongue can forge. 
 Vi. Ay, well said, poor tongue ; oh, 'tis 
 
 rich in meekness ; 
 You are not known to speak well? You 
 
 have won 
 
 Direction of the Earl and all his house, 
 The favour of his daughter, and all dames 
 That ever I saw come within your sight, 
 With a poor tongue? a plague a your 
 
 sweet lips. 
 Ba. Well, we will do our best ; and 
 
 'faith, my Vince, 
 
 She shall have an unwieldy and dull soul 
 If she be nothing moved with my poor 
 
 tongue, 
 Call it no better, be it what it will. 
 
 Vi. Well said, i'faith ; now if I do not 
 
 think 
 
 'Tis possible, besides her bare receipt 
 Of that my letter, with thy friendly tongue 
 To get an answer of it, never trust me. 
 Ba. An answer, man? 'Sblood, make 
 
 no doubt of that. 
 Vi. By heaven, I think so ; now a 
 
 plague of nature, 
 That she gives all to some, and none to 
 
 others. 
 Ba. How I endear him to me ! Come, 
 
 Vince, rise, 
 
 Next time I see her, I will give her this ; 
 Which when she sees she'll think it won- 
 drous strange 
 Love should go by descent, and make the 
 
 son 
 
 Follow the father in his amorous steps. 
 Vi. She needs must think it strange, 
 
 that ne'er yet saw 
 I durst speak to her, or had scarce her 
 
 sight. 
 Ba. Well, Vince, I swear thou shalt 
 
 both see and kiss her. 
 Vi. Swears my dear friend ? by what ? 
 Ba. Even by our friendship. 
 Vi. Oh, sacred oath ! which, how long 
 
 will you keep ? 
 Ba. While there be bees in Hybla, or 
 
 white sw^ans 
 
 In bright Meander ; while the banks of Po 
 Shall bear brave lilies ; or Italian dames 
 Be called the Bonarobbas of the world. 
 Vi. 'Tis elegantly said ; and when I fail 
 
THE GENTLEMAN USHER. 
 
 [ACT IIT. 
 
 Let there be found in Hybla hives no bees ; 
 I^et no swans swim in bright Meander 
 
 stream, 
 
 Nor lilies spring upon the banks of Po, 
 Nor let one fat Italian dame be found, 
 But lean and brawn-fall'n ; ay, and 
 
 scarcely sound. 
 Ba. It is enough, but let's embrace 
 
 withal. 
 
 Vi. With all my heart. 
 Ba. So, now farewell, sweet Vince. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Vi. Farewell, my worthy friend ; I think 
 I have him. 
 
 Enter Bassiolo. 
 
 Ba. I had forgot the parting phrase he 
 
 taught me : 
 I commend me t'ye, sir. [Exit instant. 
 
 Vi. At your wish'd service, sir. 
 Oh, fine friend, he had forgot the phrase : 
 How serious apish souls are in vain form ! 
 Well, he is mine, and he being trusted 
 
 most 
 With my dear love, may often work our 
 
 meeting, 
 And being thus engaged, dare not reveal. 
 
 Enter Pogio in haste, Stiozza. following. 
 
 Po. Horse, horse, horse, my lord, horse ! 
 your father is going a hunting. 
 
 Vi. My lord horse ? you ass, you ; d'ye 
 call my lord, horse ? 
 
 St. Nay, he speaks riddles still ; let's slit 
 his tongue. 
 
 Po. Nay, good uncle now, 'sblood, what 
 captious^ merchants you be ; so the duke 
 took me'up even now, my lord uncle here, 
 and my old Lord Lasso : by heaven y'are all 
 too witty for me. T am the veriest fool on 
 you all, I'll be sworn. 
 
 Vi. Therein thou art worth us all, for 
 thou know'st thyself. 
 
 St. But your wisdom was in a pretty 
 taking last night ; was it not, I pray ? 
 
 Pp. Oh, for taking my drink a little? 
 I'faith, my lord, for that you shall have 
 the best sport presently, with Madam 
 Corteza, that ever was ; 1 have made her 
 so drunk, that she does nothing but kiss 
 my Lord Medice. See, she comes riding 
 the duke ; she's passing well mounted, 
 believe it. 
 
 Enter Alphonso, Corteza, Cynanche, 
 Bassiolo first, two women attendants, 
 and huntsmen, Lasso. 
 
 Al. Good wench, forbear. 
 
 Co. My lord, you must put forth your- 
 
 self among ladies. I warrant you have 
 much in you, if you would show it ; see, a 
 cheek a twenty ;" the body of a George, a 
 good leg still ; still a good calf, and not 
 flabby, nor hanging, I warrant you ; a 
 brawn of a thumb here, and 'twere a pulled 
 partridge. Niece Meg, thou shalt have 
 the sweetest bedfellow on him that ever 
 called lady husband ; try him, you shame- 
 faced babie you, try him. 
 
 Ma. Good madam, be ruled. 
 
 Co. What a nice thing it is, my lord : 
 you must set forth this gear, and kiss her ; 
 i'faith you must ; get you together and be 
 naughts awhile, get you together. 
 
 A I. Now, what a merry harmless dame 
 it is ! 
 
 Co. My Lord Medice, you are a right 
 noble man, and will do a woman right m a 
 wrong matter and need be ; pray do you 
 give the duke ensample upon me ; you 
 come a wooing to me now ; I accept it. 
 
 La. What mean you, sister? 
 
 Co. Pray my lord, away ; consider me 
 as I am, a woman. 
 
 Po. Lord, how I have wittolled her ! 
 
 Co. You come a wooing to me now ; 
 pray thee, duke, mark my Lord Medice ; 
 and do you mark me, virgin. Stand you 
 aside, my lord, and all you, give place ; 
 now, my Lord Medice ; put case I be 
 strange a little, yet you like a man put me 
 to it. Come, kiss me, my lord ; be not 
 ashamed. 
 
 Ma. Not I, madam ; I come not a 
 wooing to you. 
 
 Co. 'Tis no matter, my lord, make as 
 though you did, and come kiss me ! I wont 
 be strange a whit. 
 
 La. Fie, sister, y'are to blame ; pray 
 will you go to your chamber? 
 
 Ca. Why, hark you brother. 
 
 La. What's the matter? 
 
 Co. D'ye think I am drunk? 
 
 La. I think so truly. 
 
 Co. But are you sure I am drunk ? 
 
 La. Else I would not think so. 
 
 Co. But, I would be glad to be sure on't. 
 
 La. I assure you then. 
 
 Co. Why, then, say nothing ; and I'll 
 
 begone 
 
 God b'w'y, lord duke ; I'll come again 
 anon. [Exit. 
 
 La. I hope your grace will pardon her, 
 
 my liege, 
 For 'tis most strange ; she's as discreet a 
 
 dame 
 
 As any in these countries, and as sober, 
 But for this only humour of the cup. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE GENTLEMAN USHER. 
 
 93 
 
 Al. Tis good, my lord, sometimes ; 
 Come, to our hunting; now 'tis time, I think. 
 Omn. The very best time of the day, my 
 
 lord. 
 AL Then, my lord, I will take my leave 
 
 till night, 
 
 Reserving thanks for all my entertainment 
 Till I return ; in meantime, lovely dame, 
 Remember the high state you last presented, 
 And think it was not a mere festival show, 
 But an essential type of that you are 
 In full consent of all my faculties, 
 And hark you, good my lord. 
 
 [Vincentio and Strozza have all this 
 while talked together a pretty way. 
 Vi. See now, they whisper 
 Some private order (I dare lay my life) 
 For a forced marriage 'twixt my love and 
 
 father, 
 I therefore must make sure ; and, noble 
 
 friends, 
 I'll leave you all, when I have brought you 
 
 forth 
 And seen you in the chase ; meanwhile 
 
 observe 
 
 In all the time this solemn hunting lasts, 
 My father, and his minion Medice, 
 And note, if you can gather any sign, 
 That they have miss'd me, and suspect my 
 
 being, 
 If which fall out, send home my page 
 
 before. 
 St. I will not fail, my lord. 
 
 [Medice whispers with ist Huntsman 
 
 all this ivhile. 
 Me. Now, take thy time. 
 Hu. I warrant you, my lord, he shall 
 
 not "scape me. 
 Al. Now, my dear mistress, till our 
 
 sports intended 
 End with my absence, I will take my 
 
 leave. 
 
 La. Bassiolo, attend you on my daughter. 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Ba. I will, my lord. 
 Vi. Now will the sport begin ; I think 
 
 my love 
 Will handle him as well as I have done. 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 Cy. Madam, I take my leave, and hum- 
 bly thank you. [Exit. 
 Ma' Welcome, good madam ; maids, 
 
 wait on my lady. 
 Ba. So, mistress, this is fit. 
 Ma. Fit, sir, why so? 
 Ba. Why so? I have most fortunate 
 
 news for you. 
 
 Ma. For me, sir? I beseech you, what 
 are they ? 
 
 Ba. Merit and fortune, for you both 
 
 agree ; 
 Merit what you have, and have what you 
 
 merit. 
 Mil. Lord ! with what rhetoric you 
 
 prepare your news. 
 Ba. I need not ; for the plain contents 
 
 they bear 
 
 Utter 'd in any words, deserve their wel- 
 come : 
 And yet I hope the words will serve the 
 
 turn. 
 
 Ma. What, in a letter ? 
 Ba. Why not? 
 Ma. Whence is it ? 
 Ba. From one that will not shame it 
 
 with his name, 
 And that is Lord Vincentio. 
 
 Ma. King of heaven ! 
 Is the man mad ? 
 Ba. Mad, madam, why? 
 Ma. Oh, heaven ! I muse a man of your 
 
 importance 
 
 Will offer to bring me a letter thus. 
 Ba. Why, why, good mistress ; are you 
 
 hurt in that? 
 
 Your answer may be, what you will yourself. 
 Ma. Ay, but you should not do it : 
 
 God's my life ! 
 You shall answer it. 
 Ba. Nay, you must answer it. 
 Ma. I answer it ! are you the man I 
 
 trusted, 
 
 And will betray me to a stranger thus ? 
 Ba. That's nothing, dame ; all friends 
 
 were strangers first. 
 
 Ma. Now, was there ever woman over- 
 seen so 
 
 In a wise man's discretion ? 
 Ba. Your brain is shallow ; come, receive 
 
 this letter. 
 Ma. How dare you say so, when you 
 
 know so well 
 
 How much I am engaged to the duke? 
 Ba. The duke ? a proper match ; a 
 
 grave old gentleman, 
 Has beard at will ; and would, in my con- ' 
 
 ceit, 
 
 Make a most excellent pattern for a potter 
 To have his picture stamp'd on a stone 
 
 To keep ale-knights in memory of sobriety. 
 Here, gentle madam, take it. 
 
 Ma. Take it, sir ? 
 
 Am I a common taker of love-letters ? 
 Ba. Common ? why, when received you 
 
 one before ? 
 
 Ma. Come, 'tis no matter ; I had 
 thought your care 
 
94 
 
 THE GENTLEMAN USHER. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Of my bestowing, would not tempt me thus 
 To one I know not ; but it is because 
 You know I dote so much on your direction. 
 Ba. On my direction? 
 Ma. No, sir, not on yours. 
 Ba. Well, mistress, if you will take my 
 
 advice 
 
 At any time, then take this letter now. 
 Ma. 'Tis strange ; I wonder the coy gen- 
 tleman, 
 
 That seeing me so oft would never speak, 
 Is on the sudden so far wrapt to write. 
 Ba. It show'd his judgment that he would 
 
 not speak, 
 
 Knowing with what a strict and jealous eye 
 He should be noted; hold, if you love 
 
 yourself. 
 Now will you take this letter? Pray be 
 
 ruled. 
 Ma. Come, you have such another plaguy 
 
 tongue, 
 And yet, i'faith, I will not. 
 
 Ba. Lord of heaven ! 
 What, did it burn your hands? Hold, 
 
 hold, I pray, 
 
 And let the words within it fire your heart. 
 Ma. I wonder how the devil he found 
 
 you out 
 To be his spokesman. Oh, the duke would 
 
 thank you 
 If he knew how you urged me for his son. 
 
 Ba. The duke? I have fretted her, 
 Even to the liver, and had much ado 
 To make her take it ; but I knew 'twas sure, 
 For he that cannot turn and wind a woman 
 Like silk about his finger, is no man. 
 I'll make her answer 't too. 
 
 Ma. Oh, here's good stuff. 
 
 Hold, pray take it for your pains to bring it. 
 
 Ba. Lady, you err in my reward a little, 
 
 Which must be a kind answer to this letter. 
 
 Ma. Nay then, i'faith, 'twere best you 
 
 brought a priest, 
 And then your client, and then keep the 
 
 door. 
 
 Gods me, I never knew so rude a man. 
 Ba. Well, you shall answer; I'll fetch 
 pen and paper. [Exit. 
 
 Ma. Poor usher ! how wert thou wrought 
 
 to this brake ? 
 
 Men work on one another for we women, 
 Nay, each man on himself; and all in one 
 Say, no man is content that lies alone. 
 Here comes our gulled squire. 
 Ba. Here, mistress, write. 
 Ma. What should I write ? 
 Ba. An answer to this letter. 
 Ma. Why, sir, I see no cause of answer 
 in it, 
 
 But if you needs will show how much you 
 
 rule me, 
 
 Sit down and answer it as you please your- 
 self ; 
 
 Here is your paper, lay it fair afore you. 
 Ba. Lady, content; I'll be your secretary, 
 Ma. I fit him in this task ; he thinks his 
 
 pen 
 
 The shaft of Cupid in an amorous letter. 
 Ba. Is here no great worth of your an- 
 swer, say you ? 
 
 Believe it, 'tis exceedingly well writ. 
 Ma. So much the more unfit for me to 
 
 answer, 
 
 And therefore let your style and it contend. 
 Ba. Well, you shall see I will not be far 
 
 short, 
 
 Although indeed I cannot write so well 
 When one is by as when I am alone. 
 Ma. Oh, a good scribe must write though 
 
 twenty talk, 
 
 And he talk to them too. 
 Ba. Well, you shall see. 
 Ma. A proper piece of scribeship, there's 
 
 no doubt ; 
 
 Some words pick'd out of proclamations, 
 Or great men's speeches, or well-selling 
 
 pamphlets. 
 
 See how he rubs his temples ; I believe 
 His Muse lies in the back part of his brain. 
 Which, thick and gross, is hard to be 
 
 brought forward. 
 What, is it loth to come? 
 
 Ba. No, not a whit : 
 Pray hold your peace a little. 
 Ma. He sweats with bringing on his 
 
 heavy style, 
 
 I'll ply him still till he sweat all his wit out: 
 What man, not yet ? 
 Ba. 'Swoons, you'll not extort it from a 
 
 man, 
 
 How do you like the word endear 9 
 Ma. O fie upon't ! 
 Ba. Nay, then, I see your judgment : 
 
 what say you to condole ? 
 Ma. Worse and worse. 
 Ba. Oh brave ! I should make a sweet 
 answer, if I should use* no words but of 
 your admittance. 
 
 Ma. Well, sir, write what you please. 
 
 Ba. Is model a good word with you ? 
 
 Ma. Put them together, I pray. 
 
 Ba. So I will, I warrant you. 
 
 Ma. See, see, see, now it comes pouring 
 
 down. 
 Ba. I hope you'll take no exceptions to 
 
 believe it. 
 
 Ma. Out upon't, that phrase is so ran 
 out of breath in trifles, that we shall have 
 
SCEN1S !.] 
 
 THE GENTLEMAN USHER. 
 
 no belief at all in earnest shortly. Believe 
 it 'tis a pretty feather ; believe it a dainty 
 rush ; believe it an excellent cockscomb. 
 
 Ba. So, so, so ; your exceptions sort 
 very collaterally. 
 
 Ma. Collaterally? there's a fine word 
 now ; wrest in that if you can by any means. 
 
 Ba. I thought she would like the very 
 worst of them all ; how think you ? do not 
 I write, and hear, and talk too now ? 
 
 Ma. By my soul, if you can tell what 
 you write now, you write very readily. 
 
 Ba. That you shall see straight. 
 
 Ma. But do you not write that you 
 speak now ? 
 
 Ba. Ohyes ; do you not see how I write it ? 
 I cannot write when anybody is by me, I 
 
 Ma. God's my life ! stay, man ; you'll 
 make it too long. 
 
 Ba. Nay, if I cannot tell what belongs 
 to the length of a lady's device, i'faith. 
 
 Ma. But I will not'have it so long. 
 
 Ba. If I cannot fit you ? 
 
 Ma. Oh me ! how it comes upon him ! 
 prithee be short. 
 
 Ba. Well, now I have done, and now I 
 will read it : 
 
 Your lordship's motive accommodating my 
 thoughts, with the very model of my heart's 
 mature consideration : it shall not be out 
 of my element to negotiate with you in this 
 amorous duello ; wherein I will condole 
 with you, that our project cannot be so 
 collaterally made as our endeared hearts 
 may very well seem to insinuate. 
 
 Ma. No more ; no more ; fie upon this ! 
 
 Ba. Fie upon this ; he's accursed that 
 has to do with these unsound women, of 
 judgment : if this be not good, i'faith ! 
 
 Ma. But 'tis so good, 'twill not be 
 thought to come from a woman's brain. 
 
 Ba. That's another matter. 
 
 Ma. Come, I will write myself. 
 
 Ba. A God's name lady ; and yet I will 
 not lose this I warrant you ; I know for 
 what lady this will serve as fit. Now we 
 shall have a sweet piece of inditement. 
 
 Ma. How spell you. foolish ? 
 
 Ba. F-oo-l-i-sh ; she will presume t'in- 
 dite that cannot spell. 
 
 Ma. How spell you usher ? 
 
 Ba. 'Sblood, you put not in those words 
 together, do you ? 
 
 Ma. No, not together. 
 
 Ba. What is betwixt, I pray ? 
 
 Ma. As the. 
 
 Ba. Ass the? Betwixt foolish and usher? 
 God's my life, "foolish ass the usher?" 
 
 Ma. Nay, then, you are so jealous of 
 your wit ; now read all I have written, I 
 pray. 
 
 Ba. I am not so foolish as the usher 
 would make me : Oh, ' ' so foolish as the 
 usher would make me?" Wherein would 
 I make you foolish ? 
 
 Ma. Why, sir, in willing me to believe 
 he loved me so well, being so mere a 
 tranger. 
 
 Ba. Oh, is't so? you may say so, indeed. 
 
 Ma. Cry mercy, sir, and I will write so 
 too, and yet my hand is so vile. Pray thee 
 sit thee down, and write as I bid thee. 
 
 Ba. With all my heart, lady ! What 
 shall I write, now ? 
 
 Ma. You shall write this, sir, / am not 
 so foolish to think you love me, being so 
 mere a stranger. 
 
 Ba. " So mere a stranger !" 
 
 Ma. And yet I know love works 
 strangely. 
 
 Ba. " Love works strangely." 
 
 Ma. And therefore take heed, by whom 
 you speak for love. 
 
 Ba. " Speak for love." 
 
 Ma. For he may speak for himself. 
 
 Ba. " May speak for himself." 
 
 Ma. Not that I desire it. 
 
 Ba. " Desire it." 
 
 Ma. But, if he do, you may speed, / 
 confess. 
 
 Ba. " Speed, I confess. " 
 
 Ma. But let that pass, I do not love to 
 discourage anybody 
 
 Ba. ' ' Discourage anybody " 
 
 Ma. Do you, or he, pick out what you 
 can ; and so, farewell. 
 
 Ba. "And so, farewell." Is this all? 
 
 Ma. Ay, and he may thank your syren's 
 tongue that it is so much. 
 
 Ba. A proper letter, if you mark it. 
 
 Ma. Well, sir, though it be not so- 
 proper as the writer, yet 'tis as proper as 
 the inditer. Every woman cannot be a 
 gentleman usher ; they that cannot go- 
 before must come behind. 
 
 Ba. Well, lady, this I will cany in- 
 
 stantly : 
 I commend me t'ye, lady. \Exit+ 
 
 Ma. Pitiful usher, what a pretty sleight 
 Goes to the working up of everything ! 
 What sweet variety serves a woman's wit, 
 We make men sue to us for that we wish. 
 Poor men ; hold out awhile ; and do not 
 
 sue, 
 And, spite of custom, we will sue to you. 
 
 {Exit. 
 END OF ACT III. 
 
9 6 
 
 THE GENTLEMAN USHER. 
 
 1 ACT IV. 
 
 ACT THE FOURTH. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Enter Pogio, running in, and knocking at 
 Cynanche's door. 
 
 Po. Oh, God ! how weary I am. Aunt, 
 Madam Cynanche, aunt ! 
 
 Cy. How now ? 
 
 Po. Oh, God, aunt ! oh, God, aunt ! 
 oh, God ! 
 
 Cy. What bad news brings this man? 
 Where is my lord? 
 
 Po. Oh, aunt, my uncle ! he's shot ! 
 
 Cy. Shot ? Ay me ! How is he shot ? 
 
 Po. Why, with a forked shaft, 
 As he was hunting, full in his left side. 
 
 Cy. Oh me, accursed! Where is he? 
 bring me where. 
 
 Po. Coming with Doctor Benevemus ; 
 I'll leave you, and go tell my Lord Vincentio. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Enter Benevemus, with others, bringing in 
 Strozza with an arrow in his side. 
 
 Cy. See the sad sight ; I dare not yield 
 
 to grief, 
 But force feign'd patience to recomfort 
 
 him. 
 My lord, what chance is this? How fares 
 
 your lordship? 
 
 St. Wounded, and faint with anguish : 
 let me rest. 
 Be. A chair. 
 
 Cy. Oh, doctor, is't a deadly hurt ? 
 Be. I hope not, madam, though not free 
 from danger. 
 
 Cy. Why pluck you not the arrow from 
 his side? 
 Be. We cannot, lady ; the fork'd head so 
 
 fast 
 Sticks in the bottom of his solid rib. 
 
 St. No mean then, doctor, rests there to 
 educe it ? 
 
 Be. This only, my good lord, to give 
 
 your wound 
 
 A greater orifice, and in sunder break 
 The pierced rib, which being so near the 
 
 midriff, 
 
 And opening to the region of the heart, 
 Will be exceeding dangerous to your life. 
 St. I will not see my bosom mangled 
 
 so, 
 
 Nor sternly be anatomized alive ; 
 I'll rather perish with it sticking still. 
 Cy. Oh no ; sweet doctor, think upon 
 
 some help. 
 
 Be. I told you all that can be thought in 
 art, 
 
 Which since your lordship will not yield to 
 
 use, 
 
 Our last hope rests in nature's secret aid, 
 Whose power at length may happily expel 
 
 it. 
 St. Must we attend at Death's abhorred 
 
 door 
 
 The torturing delays of slavish nature ? 
 My life is in mine own powers to dissolve : 
 And why not then the pains that plague my 
 
 Rise, furies, and this fury of my bane 
 Assail and conquer. What men madness 
 
 call 
 (That hath no eye to sense, but frees the 
 
 soul, 
 Exempt of hope and fear, with instant 
 
 fate) 
 
 Is manliest reason : manliest reason then 
 Resolve and rid me of this brutish life ; 
 Hasten the cowardly protracted cure 
 Of all diseases. King of physicians, Death, 
 I'll dig thee from this mine of misery. 
 Cy. Oh ! hold, my lord ; this is no 
 
 Christian part, 
 Nor yet scarce manly, when your unkind 
 
 foe, 
 Imperious Death, shall make your groans 
 
 his trumpets 
 
 To summon resignation of life's fort, 
 To fly without resistance ; you must force 
 A countermine of fortitude, more deep 
 Than this poor mine of pains, to blow him 
 
 up, 
 
 And spite of him live victor, though sub- 
 dued; 
 
 Patience in torment is a valour more 
 Than ever crown 'd th' Alcmenean con- 
 queror. 
 St. Rage is the vent of torment ; let me 
 
 rise. 
 Cy. Men do but cry that rage in 
 
 miseries, 
 And scarcely beaten children become 
 
 cries : 
 Pains are like women's clamours, which 
 
 the less 
 They find men's patience stirr'd, the more 
 
 they cease. 
 
 Of this 'tis said, afflictions bring to God, 
 Because they make us like him, drinking up 
 Joys that deform us with the lusts of sense, 
 And turn our general being into soul, 
 Whose actions simply formed and applied, 
 Draw all our body's frailties from respect. 
 St. Away with this unmed'cinable balm 
 Of worded breath ; forbear, friends, let rne 
 
 rest, 
 I swear I will be bands unto myself. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE GENTLEMAN USHER. 
 
 97 
 
 Be. That will become your lordship best 
 
 indeed. 
 
 St. I'll break away, and leap into the sea, 
 Or from some turret cast me headlong 
 
 down 
 
 To shiver this frail carcase into dust. 
 Cy. Oh, rny dear lord, what unlike word? 
 
 are these 
 
 To the late fruits of your religious noblesse ? 
 S/. Leave me, fond woman. 
 Cy. I'll be hewn from hence 
 Before I leave you ; help me, gentle doctor. 
 Be. Have patience, good my lord. 
 St. Then lead me in, 
 Cut off the timber of this cursed shaft, 
 And let the fork'd pile canker to my heart. 
 Cy. Dear lord, resolve on humble 
 
 sufferance. 
 St. I will not hear thee, woman ; be 
 
 content. 
 Cy. Oh, never shall my counsels cease 
 
 to knock 
 
 At thy impatient ears, till they fly in 
 And salve with Christian patience Pagan 
 sin. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Vincentio with a letter in his hand, 
 Bassiolo. 
 
 Ba. This is her letter, sir, you now 
 
 shall see 
 
 How silly a thing 'tis in respect of mine, 
 And what a simple woman she has proved 
 To refuse mine for hers ; I pray look here. 
 
 Vi. Soft, sir, I know not, I being her 
 
 sworn servant, 
 
 If I may put up these disgraceful words, 
 Given of my mistress, without touch of 
 honour. 
 
 Ba. Disgraceful words ! I protest I 
 
 speak not 
 To disgrace her, but to grace myself. 
 
 Vi. Nay then, sir, if it be to grace your- 
 self, 
 
 I am content ; but otherwise, you know, 
 I was to take exceptions to a King. 
 
 Ba. Nay, y'are i'th'right for that ; but 
 read, I pray, if there be not more choice 
 words in that letter than in any three of 
 Guevara's Golden Epistles, I am a very ass. 
 How think you, Vince ? 
 
 Vi. By heaven, no less, sir ; it is the best 
 thing ; [He rends it. 
 
 Gods, what a beast am I ! 
 
 Ba. It is no matter ; I can set it together 
 again. 
 
 Vi. Pardon me, sir, I protest I was 
 ravished ; but was it possible she should 
 prefer hers before this ? 
 
 Ba. Oh, sir, she cried " Fie upon this !" 
 
 VOL. .1. 
 
 Vi. Well, I must say nothing ; love is 
 blind, you know, and can find no fault in 
 his beloved. 
 
 Ba. Nay, that's most certain. 
 Vi. Gi'e 't me ; I'll have this letter. 
 Ba. No, good Vince ; 'tis not worth it. 
 Vi. I'll ha't i'faith, here's enough in it 
 to serve for my letters as long as I 
 live ; I'll keep it to breed on as 'twere : 
 But I much wonder you could make her 
 
 write. 
 Ba. Indeed there were some words 
 
 belong'd to that. 
 Vi. How strong an influence works in 
 
 well-placed words : 
 
 And yet there must be a prepared love, 
 To give those words so mighty a command, 
 Or 'twere impossible they should move so 
 
 much : 
 
 And will you tell me true ? 
 Ba. In anything. 
 Vi. Does not this lady love you? 
 Ba. Love me ? why, yes : I think she 
 
 does not hate me. 
 Vi. Nay, but. i'faith, does she not love 
 
 you dearly ? 
 Ba. No, I protest. 
 Vi. Nor have you never kissed her ? 
 Ba. Kissed her? that's nothing. 
 Vi. But you know my meaning ; 
 Have you not been, as one would say, 
 
 afore me ? 
 Ba. Not I, I swear. 
 Vi. Oh, y'are too true to tell. 
 Ba. Nay, by my troth, she has, I must 
 
 confess, 
 
 Used me with good respect, and nobly still; 
 But for such matters 
 
 Vi. Very little more 
 Would make him take her maidenhead 
 
 upon him ; 
 
 Well, friend, I rest yet in a little doubt, 
 This was not hers. 
 
 Ba. Twas, by that light that shines, 
 And I'll go fetch her to you to confirm it. 
 Vi. A passing friend. 
 Ba. But when she comes, in any case be 
 
 bold, 
 And come upon her with some pleasing 
 
 thing, 
 
 To show y'are pleased ; however she be- 
 haves her, 
 
 As for example : if she turn her back, 
 Use you that action you would do before, 
 And court her thus : 
 1 ' Lady, your back part is as fair to me 
 As is your fore-part." 
 
 Vi. 'Twill be most pleasing. 
 Ba. Ay, for if you love 
 
THE GENTLEMAN USHER. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 One part above another, 'tis a sign 
 You like not all alike, and the worst part 
 About your mistress you must think as 
 
 fair, 
 
 As sweet, and dainty, as the very best, 
 So much, for so much, and considering too, 
 Each several limb, and member in his kind. 
 Vi. As a man should. 
 Ba. True, will you think of this ? 
 Vi. I hope I shall. 
 Ba. But if she chance to laugh, 
 You must not lose your countenance, but 
 
 devise 
 Some speech to show you pleased, even 
 
 being laugh 'd at. 
 Vi. Ay, but what speech ? 
 Ba. God's precious man ! do something 
 
 of yourself : 
 
 But I'll devise a speech. [He studies. 
 
 Vi. Inspire him, Folly. 
 Ba. Or 'tis no matter, be but bold 
 
 enough, 
 And laugh when she laughs, and it is 
 
 enough ; 
 
 I'll fetch her to you. [Exit. 
 
 Vi. Now was there ever such a demi- 
 lance ; 
 
 To bear a man so clear through thick and 
 thin? 
 
 Enter Bassiolo. 
 
 Ba. Or hark you, sir, if she should steal 
 
 a laughter 
 Under her fan, thus you may say : "Sweet 
 
 lady, 
 If you will laugh and lie down, I am 
 
 pleased." 
 Vi. And so I were, by heaven ; how 
 
 know you that ? 
 Ba. 'Slid man, I'll hit your very thoughts 
 
 in these things. 
 Vi. Fetch her, sweet friend ; I'll hit your 
 
 words, I warrant. 
 Ba. Be bold then, Vince, and press her 
 
 to it hard, 
 
 A shame-faced man is of all women barr'd. 
 
 {Exit. 
 Vi. How easily worthless men take 
 
 worth upon them, 
 And being over-credulous of their own 
 
 worths, 
 
 Do underprize as much the worth of others. 
 The fool is rich, and absurd riches thinks 
 All merit is rung out, where his purse 
 chinks. 
 
 Enter Bassiolo and Margaret. 
 
 Ba. My lord, with much entreaty here's 
 my lady. 
 
 Nay, madam, look not back ; why, Vince, 
 
 I say ! 
 
 Ufa. Vince ! Oh, monstrous jest ! 
 Ba. To her, for shame. 
 Vi. Lady, your back part is as sweet to 
 
 me 
 As all your fore-part. 
 
 Ba. He missed a little : he said her back 
 part was sweet, when he should have said 
 fair; but see, she laughs most fitly to 
 bring in the t'other. Vince, to her again ; 
 she laughs. 
 
 Vi. Laugh you, fair dame ? 
 If you will laugh and lie down, I am pleased. 
 Ma. What vilianous stuff is here ? 
 Ba. Sweet mistress, of mere grace ini- 
 
 bolden now 
 
 The kind young prince here ; it is only love 
 Upon my protestation that thus daunts 
 His most heroic spirit : so awhile 
 I'll leave you close together ; Vince, I 
 
 say {Exit. 
 
 Ma. Oh, horrible hearing ! does he call 
 
 you Vince? 
 Vi. Oh, ay, what else? and I made him 
 
 embrace me, 
 
 Knitting a most familiar league of friend- 
 ship. 
 Ma. But wherefore did you court me so 
 
 absurdly ? 
 Vi. God's me, he taught me ; I spake 
 
 out of him. 
 Ma. Oh, fie upon't, could you for pity 
 
 make him 
 
 Such a poor creature ? 'twas abuse enough 
 To make him take on him such saucy 
 
 friendship ; 
 And yet his place is great ; for he's not 
 
 only 
 
 My father's Usher, but the world's beside, 
 Because he goes before it all in folly. 
 Vi. Well, in these homely wiles must 
 
 our loves mask, 
 
 Since power denies him his apparent right. 
 Ma. But is there no mean to dissolve 
 
 that power, 
 
 And to prevent all further wrong to us 
 Which it may work, by forcing marriage 
 
 rites 
 Betwixt me and the duke ? 
 
 Vi. No mean but one, 
 And that is closely to be married first, 
 Which I perceive not how we can per- 
 form ; 
 For at my father's coming back from 
 
 hunting, 
 
 I fear your father and himself resolve 
 To bar my interest with his present nup- 
 tials. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE GENTLEMAN USHER. 
 
 n 
 
 Ma. That shall they never do ; may not 
 
 we now 
 Our contract make, and marry before 
 
 heaven ? 
 
 Are not the laws of God and Nature more 
 Than formal laws of men? are outward 
 
 rites 
 
 More virtuous than the very substance is 
 Of holy nuptials solemnized within ? 
 Or shall laws made to curb the common 
 
 world, 
 
 That would not be contain'd in form with- 
 out them, 
 
 Hurt them that are a law unto themselves ? 
 My princely love, 'tis not a priest shall let 
 
 us ; 
 
 But since th* eternal acts of our pure souls 
 Knit us with God, the soul of all the 
 
 world, 
 He shall be priest to us ; and with such 
 
 rites 
 
 As we can here devise, we will express 
 And strongly ratify our hearts' true vows, 
 Which no external violence shall dissolve. 
 Vi. This is our only mean t'enjoy each 
 
 other : 
 
 And, my dear life, I will devise a form 
 To execute the substance of our minds 
 In honour'd nuptials. First, then, hide 
 
 your face 
 With this your spotless white and virgin 
 
 veil : 
 
 Now this my scarf I'll knit about your arm, 
 As you shall knit this other end on mine ; 
 And as I knit it, here I vow by Heaven, 
 By the most sweet imaginary joys 
 Of untried nuptials ; by love's ushering 
 
 fire, 
 Fore-melting beauty, and love's flame 
 
 itself, 
 
 As this is soft and pliant to your arm 
 In a circumferent flexure, so will I 
 Be tender of your welfare and your will, 
 As of mine own, as of my life and soul, 
 In all things, and for ever ; only you 
 Shall have this care in fulness, only you 
 Of all dames shall be mine, and only you 
 I'll court, commend and joy in, till I die. 
 Ma. With like conceit on your arm this 
 
 I tie, 
 
 And here in sight of heaven, by it I swear 
 By my love to you, which commands my 
 
 life, 
 
 By the dear price of such a constant hus- 
 band 
 
 As you have vow'd to be : and by the joy 
 I shall embrace by all means to requite 
 
 you : 
 I'll be as apt to govern as this silk, 
 
 As private as my face is to this veil, 
 
 And as far from offence, as this from 
 
 blackness. 
 
 I will be courted of no man but you ; 
 In and for you, shall be my joys and woes 
 If you be sick, I will be sick, though well 
 If you be well, I will be well, though sick 
 Yourself alone my complete world shall be, 
 Even from this hour, to all eternity. 
 
 Vi. It is enough, and binds as much as 
 
 marriage. 
 
 Enter Bassiolo. 
 
 Ba. I'll see in what plight my poor lover 
 
 stands, 
 
 God's me ! a beckons me to have me gone ; 
 It seems he's enter'd into some good vein ; 
 I'll hence, love cureth when he vents his 
 
 pain. \Exit. 
 
 Vi. Now, my sweet life, we both re- 
 member well 
 What we have vow'd shall all be kept 
 
 entire 
 Maugre our fathers' wraths, danger and 
 
 death ; 
 And to confirm this shall we spend our 
 
 breath ? 
 Be well advised, for yet your choice shall 
 
 be 
 
 In all things as before, as large and free. 
 Ma. What I have vow'd I'll keep, even 
 
 past my death. 
 
 Vi. And I : and now in token I dissolve 
 Your virgin state, I take this snowy veil 
 From your much fairer face, and claim the 
 
 dues 
 Of sacred nuptials ; and now, fairest 
 
 heaven, 
 
 As thou art infinitely raised from earth, 
 Different and opposite, so bless this match, 
 As far removed from custom's popular sects, 
 And as unstain'd with her abhorr'd respects. 
 
 Enter Bassiolo. 
 
 Ba. Mistress, away ! Pogio runs up and 
 
 down, 
 
 Calling for Lord Vincentio ; come away, 
 For hitherward he bends his clamorous 
 
 haste. 
 Ma. Remember, love. 
 
 {Exit Mar. and Bassiolo. 
 Vi. Or else, forget me heaven. 
 Why am I sought for by this Pogio? 
 The ass is great with child of some ill news ; 
 His mouth is never fill'd with other sound. 
 
 Enter Pogio. 
 
 Po. Where is my Lord Vincentio; where 
 is my lord ? 
 
 H2 
 
100 
 
 THE GENTLEMAN USHER. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Vi. Here he is, ass ; what an exclaiming 
 keep'st thou ! 
 
 Po. 'Slood, my lord ! I have followed 
 you up and down like a Tantalus pig, till 
 I have worn out my hose hereabouts, I'll 
 be sworn, and yet you call me ass still. 
 But I can tell you passing ill news, my 
 lord. 
 
 Vi. I know that well, sir, thou never 
 bring'st other ; what's your news now, I 
 pray? 
 
 Po. Oh, lord, my lord uncle is shot in 
 the side with an arrow. 
 
 Vi. Plagues take thy tongue ! is he in 
 any danger ? 
 
 Po. Oh, danger ; ay, he has lien speech- 
 less this two hours, and talks so idly. 
 
 Vi. Accursed news ! where is he ? bring 
 me to him. 
 
 Po. Yes, do you lead, and I'll guide you 
 to him. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Strozza, brought in a chair, 
 Cynanche, Benevemus, with others. 
 
 Cy. How fares it now with my dear lord 
 
 and husband ? 
 St. Come near me, wife ; I fare the 
 
 better far 
 
 For the sweet food of thy divine advice. 
 Let no man value at a little price 
 A virtuous woman's counsel, her wing'd 
 
 spirit 
 Is feather'd oftentimes with heavenly 
 
 words ; 
 
 And, like her beauty, ravishing, and pure ; 
 The weaker body, still the stronger soul : 
 When good endeavours do her powers 
 
 apply, 
 
 Her love draws nearest man's felicity. 
 Oh, what a treasure is a virtuous wife, 
 Discreet and loving ; not one gift on earth 
 Makes a man's life so highly bound to 
 
 heaven ; 
 
 She gives him double forces to endure, 
 And to enjoy ; by being one with him, 
 Feeling his joys and griefs with equal 
 
 sense ; 
 
 And like the twins Hippocrates reports, 
 If he fetch sighs, she draws her breath as 
 
 short, 
 
 If he lament, she melts herself in tears ; 
 If he be glad, she triumphs ; if he stir, 
 She moves his way ; in all things his sweet 
 
 ape : 
 
 And is in alterations passing strange, 
 Himself divinely varied without change. 
 Gold is right precious, but his price in- 
 fects 
 With pride and avarice ; authority lifts 
 
 Hats from men's heads, and bows the 
 
 strongest knees, 
 
 Yet cannot bend in rule the weakest hearts ; 
 Music delights but one sense, nor choice 
 
 meats ; 
 
 One quickly fades, the other stir to sin ; 
 But a true wife both sense and soul 
 
 delights, 
 
 And mixeth not her good with any ill ; 
 Her virtues (ruling hearts) all powers 
 
 command ; 
 All store without her leaves a man but 
 
 poor ; 
 
 And with her poverty is exceeding store ; 
 No time is tedious with her, her true worth 
 Makes a true husband think, his arms 
 
 enfold ; 
 
 With her alone, a complete world of gold. 
 Cy. I wish, dear love, I could deserve as 
 
 much 
 As your most kind conceit hath well ex- 
 
 press'd ; 
 But when my best is done, I see you 
 
 wounded, 
 
 And neither can recure nor ease your pains. 
 St. Cynanche, thy advice hath made me 
 
 well ; 
 
 My free submission to the hand of heaven 
 Makes it redeem me from the rage of pain. 
 For though I know the malice of my 
 
 wound 
 Shoots still the same distemper through my 
 
 veins, 
 
 Yet the judicial patience I embrace 
 (In which my mind spreads her impassive 
 
 powers 
 Through all my suffering parts) expels 
 
 their frailty ; 
 And rendering up their whole life to my 
 
 soul, 
 Leaves me nought else but soul ; and so 
 
 like her, 
 Free from the passions of my fuming 
 
 blood. 
 Cy. Would God you were so ; and that 
 
 too much pain 
 Were not the reason you felt sense of 
 
 none. 
 St. Think'st thou me mad, Cynanche? 
 
 for mad men, 
 
 By pains ungovern'd, have no sense of pain. 
 But I, I tell you, am quite contrary, 
 Eased with well governing my submitted 
 
 pain ; 
 Be cheer'd then, wife, and look not for 
 
 in me 
 
 The manners of a common wounded man. 
 Humility hath raised me to the stars ; 
 In which (as in a sort of crystal globes) 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE GENTLEMAN USHER. 
 
 I sit and see things hid from human 
 
 sight. 
 
 Ay, even the very accidents to come 
 Are present with my knowledge ; the 
 
 seventh day 
 
 The arrow-head will fall out of my side. 
 The seventh day, wife, the forked head 
 
 will out. 
 Cy. Would God it would, my lord, and 
 
 leave you well. 
 St. Yes, the seventh day, I am assured 
 
 it will ; 
 And I shall live, I know it ; I thank 
 
 heaven 
 
 I know it well ; and I'll teach my phy- 
 sician 
 
 To build his cares hereafter upon heaven 
 More than on earthly medicines ; for I 
 
 know 
 Many things shown me from the open'd 
 
 skies 
 
 That pass all arts. Now my physician 
 Is coming to me ; he makes friendly haste ; 
 And I will well requite his care of me. 
 Cy. How know you he is coming? 
 St. Passing well ; 
 
 And that my dear friend, Lord Vincentio, 
 Will presently come see me too ; I'll stay 
 My good physician, till my true friend 
 
 come. 
 
 Cy. Ay me, his talk is idle ; and I fear 
 Foretells his reasonable soul now leaves 
 
 him. 
 St. Bring my physician in ; he's at the 
 
 door. 
 
 Cy. Alas ! there's no physician. 
 St. But I know it ; 
 See, he is come. 
 
 Enter Benevemus. 
 
 Be. How fares my worthy lord? 
 
 St. Good doctor, I endure no pain at 
 
 all, 
 And the seventh day the arrow's head will 
 
 out. 
 Be. Why should it fall out the seventh 
 
 day, my lord ? 
 St. I know it ; the seventh day it will 
 
 not fail. 
 
 Be. I wish it may, my lord. 
 St. Yes, 'twill be so, 
 You come with purpose to take present 
 
 leave, 
 
 But you shall stay awhile ; my Lord Vin- 
 centio 
 Would see you fain, and now is coming 
 
 hither. 
 
 Be. How knows your lordship ? have 
 you sent for him ? 
 
 St. No, but 'tis very true ; he's now 
 
 hard by, 
 
 And will not hinder your affairs a whit. 
 Be. How want of rest distempers his 
 
 light brain ! 
 Brings my lord any train ? 
 
 St. None but himself. 
 My nephew Pogio now hath left his grace. 
 Good doctor go, and bring him by his 
 
 hand, 
 Which he will give you, to my longing 
 
 eyes. 
 
 Be. 'Tis strange, if this be true. [Exit. 
 Cy. The prince, I think, 
 Yet knows not of your hurt. 
 
 Enter Vincentio holding the Doctor's 
 hand. 
 
 St. Yes, wife, too well : 
 See, he is come ; welcome, my princely 
 
 friend ; 
 I have been shot, my lord ; but the 
 
 seventh day 
 
 The arrow's head will fall out of my side, 
 And I shall live. 
 
 Vi. I do not fear your life ; 
 But, doctor, is it your opinion 
 That the seventh day the arrow-head will 
 
 out? 
 St. No, 'tis not his opinion, 'tis my 
 
 knowledge ; 
 
 For I do know it well ; and I do wish, 
 Even for your only sake, my noble lord, 
 This were the seventh day ; and I now 
 
 were well, 
 That I might be some strength to your 
 
 hard state, 
 
 For you have many perils to endure : 
 Great is your danger, great, your unjust ill 
 Is passing foul and mortal ; would to God 
 My wound were something well, I might 
 
 be with you. 
 
 Nay, do not whisper ; I know what I say, 
 Too well for you, my lord ; I wonder 
 
 heaven 
 Will let such violence threat an innocent 
 
 life. 
 Vi. Whate'er it be, dear friend, so you 
 
 be well, 
 
 I will endure it all ; your wounded state 
 Is all the danger I fear towards me. 
 St. Nay, mine is nothing ; for the 
 
 seventh day 
 
 This arrow-head will out, and I shall live, 
 And so shall you, I think ; but very 
 
 hardly. 
 
 It will be hardly you will 'scape indeed. 
 Vi. Be as will be, pray heaven your 
 
 prophecy 
 
THE GENTLEMAN USHER. 
 
 [ACT IV. 
 
 Be happily accomplish'd in yourself, 
 And nothing then can come amiss to me. 
 St. What says my doctor? thinks he 
 
 I say true? 
 Be. If your good lordship could but rest 
 
 awhile, I would hope well. 
 
 St. Yes, I shall rest, I know, 
 
 If that will help your judgment. 
 
 Be. Yes, it will, 
 
 And good my lord, let's help you in to try. 
 
 St. You please me much ; I shall sleep 
 
 instantly. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Alphonso and Medice. 
 
 Al. Why should the humorous boy for- 
 sake the chase ; 
 
 As if he took advantage of my absence 
 To some act that my presence would 
 
 offend? 
 Me. I warrant you, my lord, 'tis to that 
 
 end ; 
 
 And I believe he wrongs you in your love. 
 Children presuming on their parents' kind- 
 
 Care not what unkind actions they commit 
 Against their quiet : And were I as you, 
 I would affright my son from these bold 
 
 parts, 
 
 And father him as I found his deserts. 
 Al. I swear I will : and can I prove he 
 
 aims 
 
 At any interruption in my love, 
 I'll interrupt his life. 
 
 Me. We soon shall see, 
 For I have made Madame Corteza search, 
 With pick-locks, all the ladies' cabinets 
 About Earl Lasso's house ; and if there be 
 Traffic of love, 'twixt any one of them 
 And your suspected son, 'twill soon appear, 
 In some sign of their amorous merchandize ; 
 See where she comes, loaded with gems 
 
 and papers. 
 
 Enter Cort. 
 
 Co. See here, my lord, I have robb'd all 
 
 their caskets. 
 Know you this ring? this carcanet? this 
 
 chain ? 
 
 Will any of these letters serve your turn ? 
 Al. I know not these things; but come, 
 
 let me read 
 Some of these letters. 
 
 La. Madam, in this deed 
 You deserve highly of my lord the duke. 
 Co. Nay, my Lord Medice, I think I 
 
 told you 
 
 I could do pretty well in these affairs : 
 Oh, these young girls engross up all the 
 love 
 
 From us poor beldams ; but I hold my 
 
 hand, 
 I'll ferret all the coney-holes of their kind 
 
 ness 
 Ere I have done with them. 
 
 Al. Passion of death ! 
 See, see, Lord Medice, my traitorous son 
 Hath long joy'd in the favours of my love ; 
 Woe to the womb that bore him, and my 
 
 care 
 
 To bring him up to this accursed hour, 
 In which all cares possess my wretched life. 
 Me. What father would believe he had 
 
 a son 
 
 So full of treachery to his innocent state ? 
 And yet, my lord, this letter shows no 
 
 meeting, 
 But a desire to meet. 
 
 Co. Yes, yes, my lord, 
 I do suspect they meet ; and I believe 
 I know well where too : I believe I do ; 
 And therefore tell me, does no creature 
 
 know 
 
 That you have left the chase thus suddenly, 
 And are come hither ? have you not been 
 
 seen 
 
 By any of these lovers ? 
 Al. Not by any. 
 Co. Come then, come follow me : I am 
 
 persuaded 
 I shall go near to show you their kind 
 
 hands, 
 Their confidence, that you are still a- 
 
 hunting, 
 Will make your amorous son that stole 
 
 from thence 
 Bold in his love-sports ; come, come, a 
 
 fresh chase ; 
 I hold this pick-lock ; you shall hunt at 
 
 view. 
 What, do they think to 'scape ? An old 
 
 wife's eye 
 
 Is a blue crystal full of sorcery. 
 Al. If this be true the traitorous boy 
 
 shall die. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Lasso, Margaret, Bassiolo going 
 before. 
 
 La. Tell me, I pray you, what strange 
 hopes they are 
 
 That feed your coy conceits against the 
 duke, 
 
 And are preferr'd before the assured great- 
 ness 
 
 His highness graciously would make your 
 
 fortunes? 
 
 Ma. I have small hopes, my lord ; but 
 a desire 
 
 To make my nuptial choice of one I love ; 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE GENTLEMAN USHER. 
 
 103 
 
 And as I would be loth t' impair my state, 
 So I affect not honours that exceed it. 
 La. Oh, you are very temperate in your 
 
 choice, 
 Pleading a judgment past your sex and 
 
 years. 
 
 But I believe some fancy will be found 
 The forge of these gay glosses : if it be, 
 I shall decipher what close traitor 'tis 
 That is your agent in your secret plots. 
 Ba. 'Swoons ! 
 La. And him for whom you plot ; and 
 
 on you all 
 
 I will revenge thy disobedience 
 With such severe correction as shall fright 
 All such deluders from the like attempts : 
 But chiefly he shall smart that is your fac- 
 tor. 
 
 Ba. Oh me, accursed ! 
 La. Meantime I'll cut 
 Your poor craft short, i'faith. 
 
 Ma. Poor craft, indeed, 
 That I or any others use for me. 
 La. Well, dame, if it be nothing but the 
 
 jar 
 
 Of your unfitted fancy that procures 
 Your wilful coyness to my lord the duke, 
 No doubt but Time and Judgment will 
 
 conform it 
 
 To such obedience as so great desert 
 Proposed to your acceptance doth require. 
 To which end do you counsel her, Bassiolo. 
 And let me see, maid, 'gainst the duke's re- 
 turn, 
 
 Another tincture set upon your looks 
 Than heretofore. For, be assured, at last 
 Thou shalt consent, or else incur my curse. 
 Advise her, you Bassiolo. [Exit. 
 
 Ba. Ay, my good lord : 
 God's pity, what an errant ass was I 
 To entertain the prince's crafty friendship ! 
 'Sblood, I half suspect the villain gull'd me. 
 Ma. Our squire, I think, is startled. 
 Ba. Nay, lady, it is true, 
 And you must frame your fancy to the 
 
 duke ; 
 
 For I protest I will not be corrupted, 
 For all the friends and fortunes in the 
 
 world, 
 To gull my lord that trusts me. 
 
 Ma. Oh, sir, now 
 Y'are true too late. 
 
 Ba. No, lady, not a whit ; 
 'Sblood, and you think to make an ass of 
 
 me, 
 May chance to rise betimes ; I know't, I 
 
 know. 
 
 Ma. Out, servile coward, shall a light 
 suspect 
 
 That hath no slenderest proof of what we 
 do, 
 
 Infringe the weighty faith that thou hast 
 sworn 
 
 To thy dear friend, the prince, that dotes 
 on thee, 
 
 And will in pieces cut thee for thy false- 
 hood ? 
 
 Ba. I care not. I'll not hazard my 
 estate 
 
 For any prince on earth : and I'll disclose 
 
 The complot to your father, if you yield 
 not 
 
 To his obedience. 
 
 Ma. Do, if thou darest, 
 
 Even for thy scraped-up living, and thy 
 life, 
 
 I'll tell my father then how thou didst woo 
 me 
 
 To love the young prince ; and didst force 
 me too 
 
 To take his letters : I was well inclined, 
 
 I will be sworn, before, to love the duke ; 
 
 But thy vile railing at him made me hate 
 
 him. 
 
 Ba. I rail at him ? 
 Ma. Ay, marry, did you sir, 
 
 And said he was " a pattern for a potter, 
 
 To have his picture stamp'd on a stone 
 jug, 
 
 To keep ale-knights in memory of so- 
 briety."* 
 
 Ba. Sh'as a plaguy memory. 
 Ma. I could have loved him else ; nay, 
 
 I did love him, 
 
 Though I dissembled it, to bring him on, 
 And I by this time might have been a 
 
 Duchess ; 
 
 And, now I think on't better, for re- 
 venge 
 I'll have the duke, and he shall have thy 
 
 head, 
 
 For thy false wit within it to his love : 
 Now go and tell my father ; pray begone. 
 Ba. Why, and I will go. 
 Ma. Go, for God's sake, go. Are you 
 
 here yet ? 
 
 Ba. Well, now T am resolved. 
 Ma. 'Tis bravely done ; farewell. But 
 
 do you hear, sir ? 
 Take this with you, besides : the young 
 
 prince keeps 
 
 A certain letter you had writ for me 
 ("Endearing," and "condoling," and 
 
 II mature"), 
 
 And if you should deny things, that I 
 hope 
 
 * Vide anteii, p. 93] 
 
T04 
 
 THE GENTLEMAN USHER. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Will stop your impudent mouth : but go 
 
 your ways ; 
 
 If you can answer all this, why, 'tis well. 
 Ba. Well, lady, if you will assure me 
 
 here 
 You will refrain to meet with the young 
 
 prince, 
 I will say nothing. 
 
 Ma. Good sir, say your worst, 
 For I will meet him, and that presently. 
 Ba. Then be content, I pray, and leave 
 
 me out, 
 
 And meet hereafter as you can yourselves. 
 Ma. No, no, sir, no ; 'tis you must fetch 
 
 him to me, 
 And you shall fetch him, or I'll do your 
 
 errand. 
 Ba. 'Swounds, what a spite is this ; I will 
 
 resolve 
 T'endure the worst ; 'tis but my foolish 
 
 fear 
 The plot will be discover'd : oh, the 
 
 gods! 
 'Tis the best sport to play with these young 
 
 dames ; 
 I have dissembled, mistress, all this 
 
 while ; 
 
 Have I not made you in a pretty taking? 
 Ma. Oh, 'tis most good ; thus you may 
 
 play on me ; 
 
 You cannot be content to make me love 
 A man I hated till you spake for him 
 With such enchanting speeches as no 
 
 friend 
 
 Could possibly resist ; but you must use 
 Your villanous wit, to drive me from my 
 
 wits : 
 A plague of that bewitching tongue of 
 
 yours ; 
 Would I had never heard your scurvy 
 
 words. 
 Ba. Pardon, dear dame, I'll make 
 
 amends, i'faith ; 
 Think you that I'll play false with my dear 
 
 Vince? 
 I swore that sooner Hybla should want 
 
 bees, 
 
 And Italy bonarobbas, than i'faith, 
 And so they shall. 
 Come, you shall meet, and double meet, in 
 
 spite 
 Of all your foes, and dukes that dare 
 
 maintain them. 
 A plague of all old doters ; I disdain 
 
 them. 
 Ma. Said like a friend ; oh, let me comb 
 
 the coxcomb. \Exeunt. 
 
 END OF ACT IV. 
 
 ACT THE FIFTH. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Enter Alphonso, Medice, Lasso, 
 Corteza above. 
 
 Co. Here is the place will do the deed, 
 
 i'faith ; 
 1 his duke will show thee how youth puts 
 
 down age, 
 Ay, and. perhaps how youth does put down 
 
 youth. 
 
 A I. If I shall see my love in any sort 
 Prevented or abused, th' abuser dies. 
 La. I hope there is no such intent, my 
 
 liege, 
 
 For sad as death should I be to behold it. 
 Me. You must not be too confident, my 
 
 lord, 
 Or in your daughter or in them that guard 
 
 her. 
 
 The prince is politic, and envies his father ; 
 And though not for himself, nor any good 
 Intended to your daughter, yet because 
 He knows 'twould kill his father, he would 
 
 seek her. 
 Co. Whist, whist, they come. 
 
 Enter Bassiolo, Vincentio, and Margaret. 
 
 Ba. Come, meet me boldly, come. 
 And let them come from hunting when 
 
 they dare. 
 
 Vi. Has the best spirit. 
 Ba. Spirit ? what a plague ; 
 Shall a man fear capriches ? you forsooth 
 Must have your love come t'ye, and when 
 
 he comes 
 Then you grow shamefaced, and he must 
 
 not touch you : 
 But " fie, my father comes," and "fo, my 
 
 aunt ;" 
 Oh, 'tis a witty hearing, is't not, think 
 
 you? 
 Vi. Nay, pray thee, do not mock her, 
 
 gentle friend. 
 
 Ba. Nay, you areeven as wise a wooertoo; 
 If she turn from you, you even let her turn, 
 And say you do not love to force a lady. 
 'Tis too much rudeness ; God save't, 
 
 what's a lady ? 
 Must she not be touch'd ? what, is she 
 
 fine copper, think you, 
 And will not bide the touchstone ? kiss 
 
 her, Vince, 
 And thou dost love me, kiss her. 
 
 Vi. Lady, now 
 
 I were too simple if I should not offer. 
 Ma. O God ! sir, pray away ; this man 
 talks idly. 
 
[ SCENE I.] 
 
 THE GENTLEMAN USHER. 
 
 Ba. How say ye that? Now by that 
 
 candle there, 
 
 Were I as Vince is, I would handle you 
 In rufty-tufty wise, in your right kind. 
 Ma. Oh, you have made him a sweet 
 
 beagle, ha' y'not ? 
 
 Vi. Tis the most true believer in him- 
 self ; 
 
 Of all that sect of folly faith's his fault. 
 Ba. So, to her, Vince, I give thee leave, 
 
 my lad. 
 
 "Sweet were the words my mistress spake, 
 When tears fell from her eyes." 
 
 \He lies down by them. 
 Thus, as the lion lies before his den, 
 Guarding his whelps, and streaks his 
 
 careless limbs, 
 And when the panther, fox, or wolf comes 
 
 near, 
 He never deigns to rise, to fright them 
 
 hence, 
 
 But only puts forth one of his stern paws, 
 And keeps his dear whelps safe, as in a 
 
 hutch, 
 
 So I present his person, and keep mine. 
 Foxes, go by, I put my terror forth. 
 
 Cant. 
 
 Let all the world say what they can, 
 Her bargain best she makes, 
 
 That hath the wit to choose a man 
 To pay for that he takes. 
 
 Belle Plu. &c. iterunt cant. 
 
 Dispatch, sweet whelps, the bug, the duke 
 
 comes straight : 
 
 Oh, 'tis a grave old lover, that same duke, 
 And chooses minions rarely, if you mark 
 
 him. 
 The noble Medice, that man, that Boba- 
 
 dilla, 
 That foolish knave, that hose and doublet 
 
 stinkard. 
 Me. 'Swounds, my lord ! rise, let's endure 
 
 no more. 
 
 A I. A. little, pray, my lord, for I believe 
 We shall discover very notable knavery. 
 La. Alas, how I am grieved and shamed 
 
 in this ! 
 Co. Never care you, lord brother ; there's 
 
 no harm done. 
 Ba. But that sweet creature, my good 
 
 lord's sister, 
 
 Madam Corteza, she, the noblest dame 
 That ever any vein of honour bled ; 
 There were a wife now, for my lord the 
 
 duke, 
 Had he the grace to choose her; but 
 
 indeed, 
 
 To speak her true praise, I must use some 
 
 study. 
 
 Co. Now truly, brother, I did ever think 
 This man the honestest man that e'er you 
 
 kept. 
 La. So, sister, so ; because he praises 
 
 you. 
 Co. Nay, sir, but you shall hear him 
 
 further yet. 
 Ba. Were not her head sometimes a 
 
 little light, 
 
 And so unapt for matter of much weight ; 
 She were the fittest and the worthiest dame 
 To leap a window and to break her neck 
 That ever was. 
 
 Co. God's pity, arrant knave ; 
 I ever thought him a dissembling varlet. 
 Ba. Well now, my hearts, be wary, for 
 
 by this, 
 
 I fear the duke is coming ; I'll go watch 
 And give you warning. I commend me 
 t'ye. [Exit. 
 
 Vi. Oh, fine phrase ! 
 Ma. And very timely used. 
 Vi. What now, sweet life, shall we 
 
 resolve upon ? 
 
 We never shall enjoy each other here. 
 Ma. Direct you, then, my lord, what we 
 
 shall do, 
 
 For I am at your will, and will endure 
 With you, the cruell'st absence from the state 
 We both were born to, that can be 
 
 supposed. 
 Vi. That would extremely grieve me. 
 
 Could myself 
 
 Only endure the ill, our hardest fates 
 May lay on both of us, I would not care ; 
 But to behold thy sufferance, I should die. 
 Ma. How can your lordship wrong my 
 
 love so much, 
 
 To think the more woe I sustain for you 
 Breeds not the more my comfort ? I, alas, 
 Have no mean else to make my merit even 
 In any measure, with your eminent worth. 
 
 Enter Bassiolo. 
 
 Ba. Now must I exercise my timorous 
 
 lovers, 
 Like fresh-arm'd soldiers, with some false 
 
 alarms, 
 
 To make them yare and wary of their foe, I 
 The boisterous, bearded duke : I'll rush 
 
 upon them 
 With a most hideous cry, " The duke ! the 
 
 duke ! the duke!" 
 
 Ha, ha, ha, wo ho, come again, I say, 
 The duke's not come, i'faith. 
 
 Vi. God's precious man, 
 What did you mean to put us in this fear 
 
io6 
 
 THE GENTLEMAN USHER. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Ba. Oh, sir, to make you look about the 
 
 more : 
 Nay, we must teach you more of this, I tell 
 
 you ; 
 What ! can you be too safe, sir ? What, I 
 
 say, 
 
 Must you be pamper'd in your vanities ? 
 Ah, I do domineer, and rule the roast. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Ma. . Was ever such an ingle ? Would 
 
 to God 
 (If 'twere not for ourselves) my father saw 
 
 him. 
 La. Minion, you have your prayer, and 
 
 my curse, 
 For your good huswifery. 
 
 Me. What says your highness ? 
 Can you endure these injuries any more ? 
 A I. No more, no more ; advise me 
 
 what is best 
 
 To be the penance of my graceless son. 
 Me. My lord, no mean but death or 
 
 banishment 
 
 Can be fit penance for him : if you mean 
 T' enjoy the pleasure of your love your- 
 self. 
 Co. Give him plain death, my lord, and 
 
 then y'are sure. 
 A I. Death, or his banishment, he shall 
 
 endure, 
 
 For wreak of that joy's exile I sustain. 
 Come, call our guard, and apprehend him 
 straight. [Exeunt. 
 
 Vi. I have some jewels then, my dearest 
 
 life, 
 
 Which, with whatever we can get beside, 
 Shall be our means, and we will make 
 escape. 
 
 Enter Bassiolo running. 
 
 Ba. 'Sblood ! the duke and all come now 
 
 in earnest. 
 The duke, by heaven, the duke I 
 
 Vi. Nay, then, i'faith 
 Your jest is too too stale. 
 
 Ba. God's precious, 
 By these ten bones, and by this hat and 
 
 heart, 
 
 The duke and all comes ! See, we are cast 
 away. {Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Alphonso, Medice, Lasso, Corteza, 
 and Julio. 
 
 A I. Lay hands upon them all; pursue, 
 pursue ! 
 
 La. Stay, thou ungracious girl. 
 
 A I. Lord Medice, 
 
 Lead you our guard, and see you appre- 
 hend 
 
 The treacherous boy, nor let him 'scape 
 
 with life, 
 
 Unless he yield to his eternal exile. 
 Me. 'Tis princely said, my lord. [Exit. 
 La. And take my usher. 
 Ma. Let me go into exile with my lord. 
 I will not live, if I be left behind. 
 La. Impudent damsel ! wouldst thou 
 
 follow him ? 
 Ma. He is my husband ; whom else 
 
 should I follow ? 
 La. Wretch ! thou speakest treason to 
 
 my lord the duke. 
 A I. Yet love me, ladv, and I pardon 
 
 all. 
 Ma. I have a husband, and must love 
 
 none else. 
 
 Al. Despiteful dame, I'll disinherit him, 
 And thy good father here shall cast off 
 
 thee, 
 And both shall feed on air, or starve, and 
 
 die. 
 Ma. If this be justice, let it be our 
 
 dooms : 
 
 If free and spotless love in equal years, 
 With honours unimpair'd deserve such 
 
 ends, 
 
 Let us approve what justice is in friends. 
 La. You shall, I swear. Sister, take you 
 
 her close 
 
 Into your chamber ; lock her fast alone, 
 And let her stir nor speak with any one. 
 Co. She shall not, brother. Come, 
 
 niece, come with me. 
 Ma. Heaven save my love, and I will 
 suffer gladly. [Exeunt Cor. Mar. 
 
 Al. Haste, Julio ! follow thou my son's 
 
 pursuit, 
 And will Lord Medice not to hurt nor 
 
 touch him, 
 
 But either banish him or bring him back : 
 Charge him to use no violence to his life. 
 Ju. I will, my lord. [Exit Julio. 
 
 A I. Oh, Nature ! how, alas 
 Art thou and Reason, thy true guide, op- 
 posed ! 
 More bane thou takest to guide sense led 
 
 amiss, 
 
 Than being guided, Reason gives the bliss. 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Cynanche, Benevemus, Ancilla, 
 Strozza having the arrow head. 
 
 St. Now, see, good doctor, 'twas no 
 
 frantic fancy 
 That made my tongue presage this head 
 
 should fall 
 
 Out of my wounded side the seventh day ; 
 But an inspired rapture of my mind, 
 
; SCENE i.] 
 
 THE GENTLEMAN USHER. 
 
 107 
 
 Submitted and conjoin'd in patience 
 To my Creator, in whom I foresaw 
 (Like to an angel) this divine event. 
 
 Be. So is it plain, and happily approved, 
 In a right Christian precedent, confirming 
 What a most sacred medicine patience is, 
 That, with the high thirst of our souls' 
 
 clear fire 
 
 Exhausts corporeal humour ; and all pain, 
 Casting our flesh off, while we it retain. 
 Cy. Make some religious vow then, my 
 
 'dear lord, 
 
 And keep it in the proper memory 
 Of so celestial and free a grace. 
 St. Sweet wife, thou restest my good 
 
 angel still, 
 Suggesting by all means these ghostly 
 
 counsels. 
 Thou weariest not thy husband's patient 
 
 ears, 
 
 With motions for new fashions in attire, 
 For change of jewels, pastimes, and nice 
 
 cates, 
 
 Nor studiest eminence and the higher place 
 Amongst thy consorts, like all other dames : 
 But knowing more worthy objects appertain 
 To every woman that desires t' enjoy 
 A blessed life in marriage : thou contemn'st 
 Those common pleasures, and pursuest the 
 
 rare, 
 
 Using thy husband in those virtuous gifts : 
 For which thou first didst choose him, and 
 
 thereby 
 Cloy'st not with him, but lovest him 
 
 endlessly. 
 
 In reverence of thy motion then, and zeal 
 To that most sovereign power that was my 
 
 cure, 
 
 I make a vow to go on foot to Rome, 
 And offer humbly in S. Peter's Temple 
 This fatal arrow-head : which work let 
 
 none judge 
 
 A superstitious rite, but a right use, 
 Proper to this peculiar instrument, 
 Which visibly resign'd to memory 
 Through every eye that sees, will stir the 
 
 soul 
 
 To gratitude and progress, in the use 
 Of my tried patience, which in my powers 
 
 ending 
 
 Would shut th' example out of future lives. 
 No act is superstitious that applies 
 All power to God, devoting hearts through 
 
 eyes. 
 Be. Spoke with the true tongue of a 
 
 nobleman. 
 
 But now are all these excitations toys, 
 And honour fats his brain with other joys. 
 I know your true friend, Prince Vincentio, 
 
 Will triumph in this excellent effect 
 Of your late prophecy. 
 
 St. Oh, my dear friend's name 
 Presents my thoughts with a most mortal 
 
 danger 
 
 To his right innocent life : a monstrous fact 
 Is now effected on him. 
 Cy. Where? or how? 
 St. I do not well those circumstances 
 
 know, 
 
 But am assured the substance is too true. 
 Come, reverend doctor, let us harken out 
 Where the young prince remains, and 
 
 bear with you 
 Medicines, t* allay his danger : if by 
 
 wounds, 
 Bear precious balsam, or some sovereign 
 
 juice ; 
 
 If by fell poison, some choice antidote ; 
 If by black witchcraft, our good spirits 
 
 and prayers 
 
 Shall exorcise the devilish wrath of hell 
 Out of his princely bosom. 
 
 Enter Pogio running. 
 
 Po. Where? where? where? where 's 
 my lord uncle, my lord my uncle ? 
 
 St. Here's the ill-tidings bringer ; what 
 
 news now, 
 With thy unhappy presence ? 
 
 Po. Oh, my lord, my Lord Vincentio, is 
 almost killed by my Lord Medice. 
 St. See, doctor, see, if my presage be 
 
 true; 
 And well I know if he have hurt the 
 
 prince, 
 
 'Tis treacherously done, or with much help. 
 
 Po. Nay, sure he had no help, but all 
 
 the duke's guard ; and they set upon him 
 
 indeed ; and after he had defended himself, 
 
 d'ye see ? he drew, and having as good as 
 
 wounded the Lord Medice almost, he 
 
 strake at him, and missed him, d'ye mark? 
 
 St. What tale is here? where is this 
 
 mischief done ? 
 Po. At Monks-well, my lord; I'll guide 
 
 you to him presently. 
 St. I doubt it not ; fools are best guides 
 
 to ill, 
 
 And mischief's ready way lies open still. 
 Lead, sir, I pray. \_Excunt. 
 
 Enter Corteza, and Margaret above. 
 
 Co. Quiet yourself, niece ; though your 
 
 love be slain, 
 You have another that's worth two of him. 
 
 Ma. It is not possible ; it cannot be 
 That heaven should suffer such impiety. 
 
 Co. 'Tis true, I swear, niece. 
 
io8 
 
 THE GENTLEMAN USHER. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Ma. Oh, most unjust truth ! 
 I'll cast myself down headlong from this 
 
 tower, 
 
 And force an instant passage for my soul 
 To seek the wandering spirit of my lord. 
 Co. Will you do so, niece ? That I hope 
 
 you will not ; 
 And yet there was a maid in Saint Mark's 
 
 street 
 
 For such a matter did so, and her clothes 
 Flew up about her so, as she had no harm ; 
 And, grace of God, your clothes may fly 
 
 up too, 
 And save you harmless, for your cause and 
 
 hers 
 Are e'en as like as can be. 
 
 Ma. I would not 'scape ; 
 And certainly I think the death is easy. 
 Co. Oh, 'tis the easiest death that ever 
 
 was ; 
 Look, niece, it is so far hence to the 
 
 ground 
 You should be quite dead long before you 
 
 felt it ; 
 Yet do not leap, niece. 
 
 Ma. I will kill myself 
 With running on some sword, or drink 
 
 strong poison ; 
 
 Which death is easiest I would fain en- 
 dure. 
 Co. Sure Cleopatra was of the same 
 
 mind, 
 
 And did so, she was honour 'd ever since ; 
 Yet do not you so, niece. 
 Ma. Wretch that I am, my heart is soft 
 
 and faint, 
 
 And trembles at the very thought of death, 
 Though thoughts tenfold more grievous 
 
 do torment it : 
 
 I'll feel death by degrees, and first deform 
 This my accursed face with ugly wounds ; 
 That was the first cause of my dear love's 
 
 death. 
 
 Co. That were a cruel deed ; yet Adelasia, 
 In Pettie's Palace of Petit Pleasure, 
 For all the world, with such a knife as this 
 Cut off her cheeks and nose, and was 
 
 commended 
 More than all dames that kept their faces 
 
 whole : 
 Oh, do not cut it. 
 
 Ma. Fie on my faint heart, 
 It will not give my hand the wished 
 
 strength ; 
 
 Behold the just plague of a sensual life, 
 That to preserve itself in reason's spite, 
 And shun death's horror, feels it ten times 
 
 more. 
 Unworthy women, why do men adore 
 
 Our fading beauties, when their worthiest 
 
 lives 
 
 Being lost for us, we dare not die for them? 
 Hence, hapless ornaments, that adorn'd 
 
 this head, 
 
 Disorder ever these enticing curls, 
 And leave my beauty like a wilderness 
 That never man's eye more may dare 
 
 t'invade. 
 Co. I'll tell you, niece, and yet I will 
 
 not tell you 
 
 A thing that I desire to have you do ; 
 But I will tell you only what you might do, 
 'Cause I would pleasure you in all I could. 
 I have an ointment here, which we dames 
 
 use 
 
 To take off hair when it does grow too low 
 Upon our foreheads ; and that for a need, 
 If you should rub it hard upon your face 
 Would blister it, and make it look most 
 
 vilely. 
 
 Ma. Oh, give me that, aunt. 
 Co. Give it you, virgin ? That were well 
 
 indeed ; 
 Shall I be thought to tempt you to such 
 
 matters ? 
 Ma. None (of my faith) shall know it ; ' 
 
 gentle aunt, 
 
 Bestow it on me, and I'll ever love you. 
 Co. God's pity ! but you shall not spoil 
 
 your face. 
 
 Ma. \ will not then, indeed. 
 Co. Why, then, niece, take it ; 
 But you shall swear you will not. 
 Ma. No, I swear. 
 Co. What ! do you force it from me ? 
 
 God's, my dear, 
 Will you misuse your face so ? What, all 
 
 over? 
 Nay, if you be so desperate, I'll be gone. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Ma. Fade, hapless beauty ; turn the 
 
 ugliest face 
 
 That ever ^Ethiop or affrightful fiend 
 Show'd in th' amazed eye of profaned 
 
 light ; 
 
 See, precious love, if thou be it in air. 
 And canst break darkness, and the 
 
 strongest towers 
 
 With thy dissolved intellectual powers, 
 See a worse torment suffer'd for thy death 
 Than if it had extended his black force 
 In sevenfold horror to my hated life. 
 Smart, precious ointment ! smart, and to 
 
 my brain 
 
 Sweat thy envenom'd fury ; make my eyes 
 Burn with thy sulphur like the lakes of 
 
 hell, 
 That fear of me may shiver him to dust 
 
I SCENE I.] 
 
 THE GENTLEMAN USHER. 
 
 109 
 
 That eat his own child with the jaws of 
 lust. {Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Alphonso, Lasso, and others. 
 
 Al. I wonder how far they pursued my 
 
 son, 
 
 That no return of him or them appears ; 
 I fear some hapless accident is chanced 
 That makes the news so loth to pierce 
 
 mine ears. 
 La. High heaven vouchsafe no such 
 
 effect succeed 
 Those wretched causes that from my house 
 
 flow, 
 But that in harmless love all acts may end. 
 
 Enter Corteza. 
 
 Co. What shall I do ! Alas, I cannot 
 
 rule 
 My desperate niece ; all her sweet face is 
 
 spoil'd, 
 
 And I dare keep her prisoner no more. 
 See, see, she comes frantic and all un- 
 dress'd. 
 
 Enter Margaret. 
 
 Ma. Tyrant ! behold how thou hast 
 
 used thy love ; 
 See, thief to nature, thou hast kill'd and 
 
 robb'd, 
 Kill'd what myself kill'd, robb'd what 
 
 makes thee poor. 
 
 Beauty (a lover's treasure) thou hast lost, 
 Where none can find it ; all a poor maid's 
 
 dower 
 Thou hast forced from me ; all my joy and 
 
 hope. 
 No man will love me more ; all dames 
 
 excel me, 
 
 This ugly thing is now no more a face, 
 Nor any vile form in all earth resembles 
 But thy foul tyranny ; for which all the 
 
 pains 
 Two faithful lovers feel, that thus are 
 
 parted, 
 All joys they might have felt turn all to 
 
 pains ; 
 
 All a young virgin thinks she does endure 
 To lose her love and beauty ; on thy 
 
 heart 
 Be heap'd and press 'd down, till thy soul 
 
 depart. 
 
 Enter Julio. 
 
 Ju. Haste, liege ! your son is dangerously 
 
 hurt. 
 
 Lord Medice, contemning your command, 
 By me deliver'd, as your highness will'd, 
 Set on him with your guard ; who struck 
 
 him down ; 
 
 And then the coward lord, with mortal 
 
 wounds 
 And slavish insolence, plcw'd up his soft 
 
 breast ; 
 Which barbarous fact, in part, is laid on 
 
 you, 
 
 For first enjoining it, and foul exclaims 
 In pity of your son, your subjects breathe 
 'Gainst your unnatural fury ; amongst 
 
 whom 
 
 The good Lord Strozza desperately raves, 
 And vengeance for his friend's injustice 
 
 craves. 
 See where he comes, burning in zeal of 
 
 friendship. 
 
 Enter Strozza, Vincentio brought in a 
 chair, Benevemus, Pogio, Cynanche, 
 with a guard, Strozza before and 
 Medice. 
 
 St. Where is the tyrant ? Let me strike 
 his eyes 
 
 Into his brain with horror of an object. 
 
 See, Pagan Nero ; see how thou hast ripp'd 
 
 Thy better bosom ; rooted up that flower 
 
 From whence thy now spent life should 
 spring anew, 
 
 And in him kill'd (that would have bred 
 thee fresh) 
 
 Thy mother and thy father. 
 Vi. Good friend, cease. 
 St. What hag with child of monster 
 would have nursed 
 
 Such a prodigous longing ? But a father 
 
 Would rather eat the brawn out of his 
 arms 
 
 Than glut the mad worm of his wild de- 
 sires 
 
 With his dear issue's entrails. 
 Vi. Honour'd friend, 
 
 He is my father, and he is my prince, 
 
 In both whose rights he may command 
 
 my life. 
 
 St. What is a father ? turn his entrails 
 gulfs 
 
 To swallow children, when they have 
 begot them ? 
 
 And what's a prince ? Had all been vir- 
 tuous men, 
 
 There never had been prince upon the 
 earth, 
 
 And so no subject ; all men had been 
 princes : 
 
 A virtuous man is subject to no prince, 
 
 But to his soul and honour ; which are 
 laws 
 
 That carry fire and sword within them- 
 selves 
 
 Never corrupted, never out of rule ; 
 
THE GENTLEMAN USHER. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 What is there in a prince ? That his least 
 
 lusts 
 
 Are valued at the lives of other men, 
 When common faults in him should pro- 
 digies be, 
 And his gross dotage rather loathed than 
 
 soothed. 
 Al. How thick and heavily my plagues 
 
 descend ! 
 Not giving my 'mazed powers a time to 
 
 speak : 
 
 Pour more rebuke upon me, worthy lord, 
 For I have guilt and patience for them all ; 
 Yet know, dear son, I did forbid thy 
 
 harm ; 
 
 This gentleman can witness whom I sent 
 With all command of haste to interdict 
 This' forward man in mischief not to 
 
 touch thee : 
 
 Did I not, Julio? utter nought but truth. 
 Ju, All your guard heard, my lord ; I 
 
 gave your charge, 
 With loud and violent iterations, 
 After all which, Loid Medice cowardly 
 
 hurt him. 
 
 The Guard. He did, my princely lord. 
 Al. Believe then, son, 
 And know me pierced as deeply with thy 
 
 wounds ; 
 
 And pardon, virtuous lady, that have lost 
 The dearest treasure proper to your sex, 
 Ay me, it seems by my unhappy means ! 
 Oh, would to God, I could with present 
 
 cure 
 Of these unnatural wounds, and moaning 
 
 right 
 
 Of this abused beauty, join you both 
 (As last I left you) in eternal nuptials. 
 VL My lord, I know the malice of this 
 
 man, 
 Not your unkind consent hath used us 
 
 thus. 
 
 And since I make no doubt I shall survive 
 These fatal dangers, and your grace is 
 
 pleased 
 To give free course to my unwounded 
 
 love ; 
 
 'Tis not this outward beauty's ruthful loss 
 Can any thought discourage my desires : 
 And therefore, dear life, do not wrong me 
 
 so, 
 To think my love the shadow of your 
 
 beauty. 
 
 I woo your virtues, which as I am sure 
 No accident can alter or impair ; 
 So, be you certain nought can change my 
 
 love. 
 Ma. I know your honourable mind, my 
 
 lord, 
 
 And will not do it that unworthy wrong, 
 To let it spend her forces in contending 
 [Spite of your sense) to love me thus de- 
 
 form'd : 
 Love must have outward objects to delight 
 
 him, 
 
 Else his content will be too grave and sour. 
 It is enough for me, my lord, you love, 
 And that my beauty's sacrifice redeem'd 
 My sad fear of your slaughter. You first 
 
 loved me 
 Closely for beauty ; which being wither'd 
 
 thus, 
 Your love must fade : when the most 
 
 needful rights 
 Of Fate, and Nature, have dissolved your 
 
 life, 
 
 And that your love must needs be all in soul, 
 Then will we meet again ; and then, dear 
 
 love, 
 
 Love me again ; for then \vill beauty be 
 Of no respect with love's eternity. 
 
 Vi. Nor is it now ; I woo'd your beauty 
 
 first 
 
 But as a lover ; now as a dear husband, 
 That title and your virtues bind me ever. 
 
 Ma. Alas ! that title is of little force 
 To stir up men's affections ; when wives 
 
 want 
 Outward excitements, husbands' loves 
 
 grow scant. 
 Be. Assist me, heaven ; and art, give 
 
 me your mask ; 
 Open, thou little store-house of great 
 
 nature, 
 Use an elixir drawn through seven years' 
 
 fire ; 
 
 That like Medea's caldron can repair 
 The ugliest loss of living temperature j 
 And for this princely pair of virtuous 
 
 turtles, 
 
 Be lavish of thy precious influence. 
 Lady, t' atone your honourable strife, 
 And take all let from your love's tender 
 
 eyes, 
 
 Let me for ever hide this stain of beauty 
 With this recureful mask ; here be it fix'd 
 With painless operation ; of itself, 
 (Your beauty having brook'd three days' 
 
 eclipse) 
 
 Like a dissolved cloud it shall fall off, 
 And your fair looks regain their freshest 
 
 rays ; 
 So shall your princely friend (if heaven 
 
 consent) 
 
 In twice your suffer'd date renew recure. 
 Let me then have the honour to conjoin 
 Your hands, conformed to your constant 
 
 hearts. 
 
SCKN'E I.] 
 
 THE GENTLEMAN USHER. 
 
 Al. Grave Benevemus, honourable 
 
 doctor, 
 
 On whose most sovereign /Esculapian hand, 
 Fame, with her richest miracles, attends ; 
 Be fortunate, as ever heretofore, 
 That we may quite thee both with gold 
 
 and honour, 
 And by thy happy means have power to 
 
 make 
 
 My son and his much injured love amends, 
 Whose well-proportion'd choice we now 
 
 applaud, 
 
 And bless all those that ever further'd it. 
 Where is your discreet usher, my good 
 
 lord, 
 
 The special furtherer of this equal match ? 
 Ju. Brought after by a couple of your 
 
 fuard. 
 Let him be fetch'd, that we may do 
 him grace. 
 
 Po. I'll fetch him, my lord ; away, you 
 must not go. Oh, here he comes. Oh, 
 master Usher, I am sorry for you: you must 
 presently be chopped in pieces. 
 
 Ba. Woe to that wicked prince that e'er 
 I saw him. 
 
 Po. Come, come ; I gull you, master 
 Usher, you are like to be the duke's minion, 
 man ; d'ye think I would have been seen 
 in your company, and you had been out 
 of favour ? Here's my friend master Usher, 
 my lord. 
 Al. Give me your hand, friend ; pardon 
 
 us, I pray. 
 We much have wrong'd your worth, as one 
 
 that knew 
 
 The fitness of this match above ourselves. 
 Ba. Sir, I did all things for the best, I 
 
 swear, 
 And you must think I would not have been 
 
 gull'd ; 
 I know what's fit, sir, as I hope you know 
 
 now. 
 Sweet Vince, how farest thou? Be of 
 
 honour'd cheer. 
 La. Vince, does he call him ? Oh, fool 
 
 dost thou call 
 The prince Vince, like his equal ? 
 
 Ba. Oh, my lord, alas ! 
 You know not what has pass'd betwixt us 
 
 two. 
 
 Here in thy bosom I will lie, sweet Vince, 
 And die if thou die, I protest by heaven. 
 La. I know not what this means. 
 Al. Nor I, my lord ; 
 But sure he saw the fitness of the match 
 With freer and more noble eyes than we. 
 
 Po. Why, I saw that as well as he, my 
 lord. I knew 'twas a foolish match be- 
 
 wixt you two ; did not you think so, my 
 Lord Vincentio? Lord uncle, did not I 
 ay at first of the duke: " Will his antiquity 
 never leave his iniquity ?" 
 
 St. Go to, too much of this ; but ask 
 this lord if he did like it. 
 Po. Who, my Lord Medice ? 
 St. Lord Stinkard, man, his name is. 
 Ask him. Lord Stinkard, did you like the 
 match? Say. 
 
 Po. My Lord Stinkard, did you like the 
 match betwixt the duke and my Lady 
 Margaret ? 
 
 Me. Presumptuous sycophant ! I will 
 have thy life. 
 Al. Unworthy lord, put up : thirst'st 
 
 thou more blood ? 
 
 Thy life is fittest to be call'd in question 
 For thy most murtherous cowardice on my 
 
 son ; 
 
 Thy forwardness to every cruelty 
 Calls thy pretended noblesse in suspect. 
 St. Noblesse, my lord? set by your 
 
 princely favour 
 
 That gave the lustre to his painted state, 
 Who ever view'd him but with deep con- 
 tempt, 
 
 As reading vileness in his very looks? 
 And if he prove not son of some base 
 
 drudge, 
 Trimm'd up by Fortune, being disposed to 
 
 jest 
 And dally with your state, then that good 
 
 angel 
 
 That by divine relation spake in me, 
 Foretelling these foul dangers to your son, 
 And without notice brought this reverend 
 
 man 
 To rescue him from death, now fails my 
 
 tongue, 
 
 And I'll confess I do him open wrong. 
 Me. And so thou dost ; and I return all 
 
 note 
 
 Of infamy or baseness on thy throat : 
 Damn me, my lord, if I be not a lord. 
 St. My liege, with all desert, even now 
 
 you said 
 
 His life was duly forfeit, for the death 
 Which in these barbarous wounds he 
 
 sought your son ; 
 Vouchsafe me then his life, in my friend s 
 
 right, 
 
 For many ways I know he merits death ; 
 Which (if you grant) will instantly appear, 
 And that I feel with some rare miracle. 
 Al. His life is thine, Lord Strozza ; give 
 
 him death. 
 Me. What, my lord, 
 Will your grace cast away an innocent life? 
 
112 
 
 THE GENTLEMAN USHER. 
 
 [ACT 
 
 St. Villain, thou liest; thou guilty art of 
 
 death 
 
 A hundred ways, which now I'll execute. 
 Me. Recall your word, my lord. 
 A I. Not for the world. 
 St. Oh, my dear liege, but that my 
 
 spirit prophetic 
 
 Hath inward feeling of such sins in him 
 As ask the forfeit of his life and soul, 
 I would, before I took his life, give leave 
 To his confession, and his penitence : 
 Oh, he would tell you most notorious 
 
 wonders 
 
 Of his most impious state ; but life and soul 
 Must suffer for it in him, and my hand 
 Forbidden is from heaven to let him live 
 Till by confession he may have forgive- 
 ness. 
 Die therefore, monster. 
 
 Vi. Oh, be not so uncharitable, sweet 
 
 friend, 
 Let him confess his sins, and ask heaven 
 
 pardon. 
 St. He must not, princely friend; it is 
 
 heaven's justice 
 To plague his life and soul, and here's 
 
 heaven's justice. 
 Me. Oh, save my life, my lord. 
 La. Hold, good Lord Strozza. 
 Let him confess the sins that heaven hath 
 
 told you, 
 And ask forgiveness. 
 
 Me. Let me, good my lord, 
 And I'll confess what you accuse me of ; 
 Wonders indeed, and full of damn'd deserts. 
 St. I know it, and I must not let thee live 
 To ask forgiveness. 
 
 A I. But you shall, my lord, 
 Or I will take his life out of your hand. 
 
 St. A little then I am content, my liege : 
 Is thy name Medice ? 
 
 Me. No, my noble lord, 
 My true name is Mendice. 
 
 St. Mendice? see, 
 
 At first a mighty scandal done to honour. 
 Of what country art thou ? 
 
 Me. Of no country I, 
 But born upon the seas, my mother passing 
 'Twixt Zant and Venice. 
 St. Where wert thou christen'd ? 
 Me. I was never christen'd, 
 But being brought up with beggars, call'd 
 
 Mendice. 
 
 A I. Strange and unspeakable ! 
 St. How earnest thou then 
 To bear the port thou didst, entering this 
 
 Court ? 
 
 Me. My lord, when I was young, being 
 able-limb'd, 
 
 A captain of the gipsies entertain'd me, 
 And many years I lived a loose life with 
 
 them. 
 
 At last I was so favour 'd, that they made me 
 The king of gipsies ; and being told my 
 
 fortune 
 
 By an old sorceress that I should be great 
 In some great Prince's love, I took the 
 
 treasure 
 
 Which all our company of gipsies had 
 In many years by several stealths collected ; 
 And leaving them in wars, I lived abroad 
 With no less show than now ; and my last 
 
 wrong 
 
 I did to noblesse, was in this high Court. 
 Al. Never was heard so strange a 
 
 counterfeit. 
 St. Didst thou not cause me to be shot 
 
 in hunting? 
 Me. I did, my lord ; for which, for 
 
 heaven's love, pardon. 
 St. Now let him live, my lord ; his 
 
 blood's least drop 
 Would stain your Court, more than the sea 
 
 could cleanse ; 
 
 His soul's too foul to expiate with death. 
 Al. Hence then; be ever banish'd from 
 
 my rule, 
 
 And live a monster, loathed of all the world. 
 Po. I'll get boys and bait him out a' th' 
 
 Court, my lord. 
 
 Al. Do so, I pray thee; rid me of his sight. 
 
 Po. Come on, my Lord Stinkard, I'll 
 
 play Fo, Fox, come out of thy hole with 
 
 you, i'faith. 
 
 Me. I'll run and hide me from the sight 
 
 of heaven. 
 
 Po. Fox, fox, go out of thy hole ; a two- 
 legged fox, a two-legged fox ! 
 
 [Exit with Pages beating Medice. 
 
 Be. Never was such an accident disclosed. 
 
 Al. Let us forget it, honourable friends, 
 
 And satisfy all wrongs with my son's right, 
 
 In solemn marriage of his love and him. 
 
 Vi. I humbly thank your highness : 
 
 honour'd doctor, 
 
 The balsam you infused into my wounds, 
 Hath eased me much, and given me sudden 
 
 strength 
 
 Enough t 'assure all danger is exempt 
 That any way may let the general joy 
 My princely father speaks of in our nuptials. 
 Al. Which, my dear son, shall, with thy 
 
 full recure, 
 
 Be celebrate in greater majesty 
 Than ever graced our greatest ancestry. 
 Then take thy love, which heaven with all 
 
 joys bless, 
 And make ye both mirrors of happiness. 
 
Monsieur D'Olive.* 
 
 ACTORS. 
 
 Monsieur D'Olive. 
 Philip, the Duke. 
 S. Anne, count. 
 Vaumont, count. 
 Vanclome. 
 Rhoderique. 
 Mugeron. 
 
 Gueaquin, the Duchess. 
 Hieronime, lady. 
 Marcellina, countess. 
 Eurione, her sister. 
 
 ACT THE FIRST. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Vandome, with servants and sailors laden. 
 Vaumont, another way walking. 
 
 Va. Convey your carriage to my brother- 
 in-law's, 
 Th* Earl of Saint Anne, to whom and to 
 
 my sister 
 Commend my humble service ; tell them 
 
 both 
 
 Of my arrival, and intent t'attend them : 
 When in my way I have perform'd fit 
 
 duties 
 To Count Vaumont, and his most honour'd 
 
 Countess. 
 Ser. We will, sir ; this way ; follow, honest 
 
 sailors. ^Exeunt Servants. 
 
 Va. Our first observance, after any 
 
 absence, 
 
 Must be presented ever to our mistress ; 
 As at our parting she should still be last. 
 Hin c Amor ut circulus, from hence 'tis 
 
 said 
 
 That love is like a circle, being th'efikient 
 And end of all our actions ; which excited 
 By no worse object than my matchless 
 
 mistress 
 Wefe worthy to employ us to that likeness ; 
 
 * "Monsievr D'Olive. A Comedie, as it was 
 sundrie times acted by her Maiesties children 
 at the Blacke-Friers. By George Chapman. 
 London Printed by T. C. for William Holmes, 
 and are to be sold at his Shop in Saint Dum- 
 stons Church-yard in Fleete-streete, 1606." 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 And be the only ring our powers should 
 
 beat. 
 
 Noble she is by birth, made good by virtue, 
 Exceeding fair, and her behaviour to it 
 Is like a singular musician 
 To a sweet instrument, or else as doctrine 
 Is to the soul that puts it into act, 
 And prints it full of admirable forms, 
 Without which 'twere an empty idle flame. 
 Her eminent judgment to dispose these 
 
 p'arts 
 
 Sits on her brow and holds a silver sceptre, 
 With which she keeps time to the several 
 
 musics 
 Placed in the sacred consort of her 
 
 beauties : 
 Love's complete armoury is managed in 
 
 her, 
 
 To stir affection, and the discipline 
 To check and to affright it from attempting 
 Any attaint might disproportion her, 
 Or make her graces less than circular. 
 Yet her even carriage is as far from coy- 
 ness 
 
 As from immodesty, in play, in dancing, 
 In suffering courtship, in requiting kind- 
 ness, 
 
 In use of places, hours, and companies 
 Free as the sun, and nothing more cor- 
 rupted ; 
 
 As circumspect as Cynthia in her vows, 
 And constant as the centre to observe them, 
 Ruthful, and bounteous, never fierce nor 
 
 dull, 
 
 In all her courses ever at the full. 
 These three years I have travell'd, and so 
 long 
 
MONSIEUR D'OLIVE. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 Have been in travail with her dearest sight, 
 
 Which now shall beautify the enamour'd 
 light! 
 
 This is her house. What ! the gates shut 
 and clear 
 
 Of all attendants ? Why, the house was 
 wont 
 
 To hold the usual concourse of a Court, 
 
 And see, methinks through the encurtain'd 
 windows 
 
 (In this high time of day) I see light tapers. 
 
 This is exceeding strange ! behold the Earl 
 
 Walking in as strange sort before the door. 
 
 I'll know this wonder, sure : my honour'd 
 
 lord ! 
 Van. Keep off, sir, and beware whom 
 
 you embrace. 
 
 Va, Why flies your lordship back ? 
 Van. You should be sure 
 
 To know a man your friend ere you em- 
 brace him. 
 
 Va. I hope my knowledge cannot be 
 more sure 
 
 Than of your lordship's friendship. 
 Vau. No man's knowledge 
 
 Can make him sure of anything without 
 him, 
 
 Or not within his power to keep or order. 
 Va. I comprehend not this ; and won- 
 der much 
 
 To see my most loved lord so much 
 
 estranged. 
 
 Vau. The truth is, I have done your 
 known deserts 
 
 More wrong, than with your right should 
 
 let you greet me, 
 
 i And in your absence, which makes worse 
 the wrong, 
 
 And in your honour, which still makes it 
 
 worse. 
 
 Va. If this be all, my lord, the dis- 
 content 
 : You seem to entertain is merely causeless ; 
 
 Your free confession, and the manner of it, 
 
 Doth liberally excuse what wrong soever 
 
 Your misconceit could make you lay on 
 me. 
 
 And therefore, good my lord, discover it, 
 
 That we may take the spleen and corsey 
 
 from it. 
 
 Vau. Then hear a strange report and 
 reason why 
 
 I did you this repented injury. 
 
 You know my wife is by the rights of 
 courtship, 
 
 Your chosen mistress, and she not disposed 
 
 (As other ladies are) to entertain 
 
 Peculiar terms, with common acts of kind- 
 ness ; 
 
 But (knowing in her, more than women's 
 
 judgment, 
 
 That she should nothing wrong her hus- 
 band's right, 
 
 To use a friend only for virtue, chosen 
 With all the rights of friendship) took such 
 
 care 
 
 After the solemn parting to your travel, 
 And spake of you with such exceeding 
 
 passion, 
 That I grew jealous, and with rage ex- 
 
 cepted 
 
 Against her kindness, utterly forgetting 
 I should have weigh'd so rare a woman's 
 
 words, 
 
 As duties of a free and friendly justice ; 
 Not as the headstrong and incontinent 
 
 vapours, 
 
 Of other ladies' bloods, enflamed with lust, 
 Wherein I injured both your innocencies, 
 Which I approve, not out of flexible 
 
 dotage 
 
 By any cunning flatteries of my wife, 
 But in impartial equity, made apparent 
 Both by mine own well-weigh 'd com- 
 parison 
 
 Of all her other manifest perfections 
 With this one only doubtful levity, 
 And like\\ ise by her violent apprehension 
 Of her deep wrong and yours, "for she hath 
 
 vow'd, 
 
 Never to let the common pandress light 
 (Or any doom as vulgar) censure her 
 In any action she leaves subject to them. 
 Never to fit the day with her attire, 
 Nor grace it with her presence, nourish in 
 
 it, 
 (Unless with sleep), nor stir out of her 
 
 chamber ; 
 And so hath muffled and mew'd up her 
 
 beauties 
 
 In never-ceasing darkness, never sleeping 
 But in the day transform 'd by her to 
 
 night, 
 With all sun banish'd from her smother 'd 
 
 graces ; 
 And thus my dear and most unmatched 
 
 wife, 
 
 That was a comfort and a grace to me, 
 In every judgment, every company, 
 I, by false jealousy, have no less than 
 
 lost, 
 Murther'd her living, and entomb 'd her 
 
 quick. 
 Va. Conceit it not so deeply, good my 
 
 lord, 
 
 Your wrong to me or her was no fit ground 
 To bear so weighty and resolved a vow 
 From her incensed and abused virtues. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 MONSIEUR D'OLIVE. 
 
 Van. There could not be a more im- 
 portant cause 
 
 To fill her with a ceaseless hate of light, 
 To see it grace gross lightness with full 
 
 beams, 
 And frown on continence with her oblique 
 
 glances : 
 
 As nothing equals right to virtue done, 
 So is her wrong past all comparison. 
 
 Va. Virtue is not malicious, wrong done 
 
 her 
 
 Is righted ever when men grant they err, 
 But doth my princely mistress so contemn 
 The glory of her beauties, and the applause 
 Given to. the worth of her society, 
 To let a voluntary vow obscure them ? 
 l\in. See all her windows and her 
 
 doors made fast, 
 And in her chamber lights for night en- 
 
 fiamed ; 
 
 Now others rise, she takes her to her bed. 
 Va. This news is strange, heaven grant 
 
 I be encounter'd 
 
 With better tidings of my other friends, 
 Let me be bold, my lord, t'inquire the 
 
 state 
 
 Of my dear sister, in whose self and me 
 Survives the whole hope of our family, 
 Together with her dear and princely hus- 
 band, 
 Th' Earl of Saint Anne. 
 
 Van. Unhappy that I am, 
 I would to heaven your most welcome 
 
 steps 
 Had brought you first upon some other 
 
 friend, 
 
 To be the sad relator of the changes 
 Chanced in your three years' most lamented 
 
 absence. 
 
 Your worthy sister, worthier far of heaven 
 Than this unworthy hell of passionate 
 
 earth, 
 Is taken up amongst her fellow stars. 
 
 Va. Unhappy man that ever I return'd, 
 And perish'd not ere these news pierced 
 
 mine ears. 
 Van. Nay, be not you that teach men 
 
 comfort, grieved ; 
 I know your judgment will set willing 
 
 shoulders 
 
 To the known burthens of necessity, 
 And teach your wilful brother patience, 
 Who strives with death, and from his 
 
 caves of rest 
 Retains his wife's dead corse amongst the 
 
 living ; 
 
 For with the rich sweets of restoring balms 
 He keeps her looks as fresh as if she lived, 
 And in his chamber (as in life attired) 
 
 She in a chair sits leaning on her arm, 
 As if she only slept ; and at her feet 
 He, like a mortified hermit clad, 
 Sits weeping out his life, as having lost 
 All his life's comfort ; and that she being 
 
 dead 
 (Who was his greatest part) he must 
 
 consume, 
 
 As in an apoplexy strook with death. 
 Nor can the duke nor duchess comfort 
 
 him, 
 
 Nor messengers with consolatory letters 
 From the kind King of France, who is 
 
 allied 
 To her and you. But to lift all his 
 
 thoughts 
 Up to another world where she expects 
 
 him, 
 
 He feeds his ears with soul-exciting music, 
 Solemn and tragical, and so resolves 
 In those sad accents to exhale his soul. 
 Va. Oh, what a second ruthless sea of 
 
 woes, 
 Wracks me within my haven, and on the 
 
 shore. 
 What shall I do? mourn, mourn, with 
 
 them that mourn, 
 
 And make my greater woes their less expel. 
 This day I'll consecrate to sighs and tears, 
 And this next even, which is my mistress* 
 
 morning, 
 I'll greet her, wondering at her wilful 
 
 humours, 
 And with rebukes, breaking out of my 
 
 love 
 
 And duty to her honour, make her see 
 How much her too much curious virtue 
 
 wrongs her. 
 Van. Said like the man the world hath 
 
 ever held you, 
 Welcome, as new lives to us : our good, 
 
 now, 
 
 Shall wholly be ascribed and trust to you. 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Rhoderique and Mugeron. 
 
 Mu. See, see, the virtuous countess hath 
 bidden our day good night ; her stars 
 are now visible. When was any lady seen 
 to be so constant in her vow, and able to 
 forbear the society of men so sincerely ? 
 
 Rh. Never in this world, at least 
 exceeding seldom. What shame it is for 
 men to see women so far surpass them ; 
 for when was any man known (out of 
 judgment) to perform so staid an ab- 
 stinence from the society of women? 
 
 Klu. Never in this world. 
 
 Rh. What an excellent creature an 
 
 I 2 
 
n6 
 
 MONSIEUR D'OLIVZ. 
 
 TACT T. 
 
 1 honest woman is ! I warrant you the 
 Countess and her virgin sister spend all 
 j their time in contemplation, watching 
 ; to see the sacred spectacles of the night, 
 j when other ladies lie drowned in sleep or 
 I sensuality ; is't not so, think'st ? 
 
 Mu. No question. 
 
 Rh. Come, come, let's forget we are 
 courtiers, and talk like honest men, tell 
 truth, and shame all travellers and trades- 
 men ; thou believest all's natural beauty 
 that shows fair, though the painter enforce 
 it, and suffer'st in soul I know for the 
 honourable lady. 
 
 Mu. Can any heart of adamant not 
 yield in compassion to see spotless inno- 
 cence surfer such bitter penance? 
 
 Rh. A very fit stock to graff on : tush, 
 man ! think what she is, think where she 
 lives, think on the villanous cunning of 
 these times. Indeed, did we live now in old 
 Saturn's time, when women had no other 
 art than what Nature taught 'em (and 
 yet there needs little art, I wiss, to teach 
 a woman to dissemble), when luxury was 
 unborn, at least untaught, the art to steal 
 from a forbidden tree ; when coaches, 
 when periwigs, and painting, when masks, 
 and masking ; in a word, when court and 
 courting was unknown, an easy mist might 
 then perhaps have wrought upon my sense 
 as it does now on the poor Countess and 
 thine. 
 
 Mu: O world ! 
 
 Rh. O flesh ! 
 
 Mu. O devil ! 
 
 Rh. I tell thee, Mugeron, the flesh is 
 grown so great with the devil, as there's 
 but a little honesty left i'th' world. That 
 that is, is in lawyers, they engross all : 
 'Sfoot, what gave the first fire to the Count's 
 jealousy? 
 
 Mu. What, but his misconstruction of 
 her honourable affection to Vandome ? 
 
 Rh. Honourable affection ! first she's an 
 ill housewife of her honour, that puts it 
 upon construction. But the presumption 
 was violent against her : no speech but of 
 Vandome, no thought but of his memory, 
 no mirth but in his company, besides the 
 free intercourse of letters, favours, and 
 other entertainments too, too manifest 
 signs that her heart went hand in hand with 
 her tongue. 
 
 Mu. Why, was she not his mistress ? 
 
 Rh. Ay, ay, a Court term, for I wot 
 what ; 'slight ! Vandome the Stallion of the 
 Court, her devoted servant, and forsooth 
 loves her honourably ! Tush, he's a fool that 
 
 I 
 
 believes it ; for my part I love to offend in 
 the better part still, and that is, to judge 
 charitably. But now forsooth to redeem 
 her honour, she must, by a laborious and 
 violent kind of purgation, rub off the skin 
 to wash out the spot, turn her chamber to 
 a cell, the sun into a taper, and (as if she 
 lived in another world among the Anti- 
 podes) make our night her day, and onr day 
 her night, that under this curtain she may 
 lay his jealousy asleep, while she turns 
 poor Argus to Acteon, and makes his sheets 
 common to her servant Vandome. 
 
 Mu. Vandome ? Why, he was met i'th' 
 street but even now, newly arrived after 
 three years' travel. 
 
 Rh. Newly arrived ? He has been arrived 
 this twelvemonth, and has ever since lien 
 close in his mistress' cunning darkness, at 
 her service. 
 
 Mu. Fie a the devil ! who will not envy 
 slander? Oh, the miserable condition of 
 her sex : born to live under all construction. 
 If she be courteous, she's thought to be 
 wanton : if she be kind, she's too willing ; 
 if coy, too wilful : if she be modest, she's a 
 clown ; if she be honest, she's a fool ; and 
 so is he. 
 
 Enter D'Olive. 
 
 Rh. What, Monsieur D'Olive ! the only 
 admirer of wit and good words. 
 
 D'Ol. Morrow, wits, morrow, good wits: 
 my little parcel of wit, I have rods in piss 
 for you ; how doest, Jack ; may I call thee 
 Sir Jack yet ? 
 
 MM, You may, sir; Sir's as commendable 
 an addition as Jack, for ought I know. 
 
 D'Ol. I know it, Jack, and as common 
 too. 
 
 Rh. Go to, you may cover ; we have 
 taken notice of your embroidered beaver. 
 
 D'Ol. Look you : by heaven th'art one 
 of the maddest bitter slaves in Europe ; I 
 do but wonder how I made shift to love 
 thee all this while. 
 
 Rh. Go to, what might such a parcel-gilt 
 cover be worth ? 
 
 Mu. Perhaps more than the whole piece 
 besides. 
 
 D'Ol. Good, i'faith, but bitter. Oh, you 
 mad slaves! I think you had Satyrs to your 
 sires, yet I must love you, I must take 
 pleasure in you ; and i'faith tell me, how is't? 
 Live I see you do, but how? but how, wits? 
 
 Rh. 'Faith, as you see, like poor younger 
 brothers. 
 
 D'Ol. By your wits? 
 
 Mu. Nay, not turned poets neither. 
 
SCKNK I.] 
 
 MONSIEUR D'OLIVE. 
 
 117 
 
 D'Ol. Good sooth : but indeed to say 
 truth, time was when the sons of the muses 
 had the privilege to live only by their wits ; 
 but times are altered, monopolies are now 
 called in, and wit's become a free trade for 
 all sorts to live by: lawyers live by wit and 
 they live worshipfully : soldiers live by wit, 
 and they live honourably : panders live by 
 wit, and they live honestly. In a word, 
 there are few trades but live by wit ; only 
 bawds and midwives live by women's 
 labours, as fools and fiddlers do by making 
 mirth, pages and parasites by making legs : 
 painters and players by making mouths and 
 faces : ha, doest well, wits? 
 
 Rh. Faith thou followest a figure in thy 
 jests, as country gentlemen follow fashions 
 when they be worn threadbare. 
 
 D'Ol. Well, well, let's leave these wit 
 skirmishes, and say when shall we meet? 
 
 Mu. How think you, are we not met now ? 
 
 D'Ol. Tush, man ! I mean at my chamber, 
 
 where we may take free use of ourselves, that 
 
 is, drink sack, and talk satire, and let our 
 
 wits run the wild-goose chase over Court 
 
 and country. I will have my chamber the 
 
 rendezvous of all good wits, the shop of 
 
 good words, the mint of good jests, an 
 
 i ordinary of fine discourse; critics, essayists, 
 
 i linguists, poets, and other professors of 
 
 i that faculty of wit, shall at certain hours 
 
 i'th' day resort thither : it shall be a second 
 
 ' Sorbonne, where all doubts or differences of 
 
 learning, honour, duellism, criticism, and 
 
 poetry shall be disputed : and how, wits, 
 
 do ye follow the Court still ? 
 
 Rh. Close at heels, sir ; and I can tell 
 you, you have much to answer for your 
 stars that you do not so too. 
 
 D'Ol. As why, wits? as why? 
 
 Rh. Why, sir, the Court's as 'twere the 
 stage : and they that have a good suit of 
 parts and qualities, ought to press thither 
 to grace them, and receive their due merit. 
 
 D'Ol. Tush ! let the Court follow me : 
 he that soars too near the sun, melts his 
 i wings many times : as I am, I possess 
 myself, I enjoy my liberty, my learning, 
 my wit ; as for wealth and honour let 'em 
 go, I'll not lose my learning to be a lord, 
 nor my wit to be an alderman. 
 
 Mu. Admirable D'Olive ! 
 
 D'Ol. And what ! you stand gazing at 
 this comet here, and admire it, I dare say ! 
 
 Rh. And do not you ? 
 
 D'Ol. Not I I admire nothing but wit. 
 
 Rh. But I wonder how she entertains 
 time in that solitary cell : does she not take 
 tobacco, think you? 
 
 D'Ol. She does, she does ; others make 
 it their physic, she makes it her food : her 
 sister and she take it by turn, first one, then 
 the other, and Vandome ministers to them 
 both. 
 
 Mu. How sayest thou by that Helen of 
 Greece, the Countess's sister ? there were a 
 paragon, Monsieur D'Olive, to admire and 
 marry too. 
 
 D'Ol. Not for me. 
 
 Rh. No ! what exceptions lies against 
 the choice ? 
 
 D'Ol. Tush ! tell me not of choice : if I 
 stood affected that way, I would choose 
 my wife as men do Valentines, blindfold, 
 or draw cuts for them, for so I shall be sure 
 not to be deceived in choosing : for take 
 this of me, there's ten times more deceit in 
 women than in horseflesh ; and I say 
 still, that a pretty well-paced chamber- 
 maid is the only fashion ; if she grow full 
 or fulsome, give her but sixpence to buy her 
 a handbasket, and send her the way of all 
 flesh, there's no more but so. 
 
 Mu. Indeed, that's the saving'st way. 
 
 D'Ol. Oh me ! what a hell 'tis for a 
 man to be tied to the continual charge of a 
 coach, with the appurtenances, horse, men, 
 and so forth ; and then to have a man's 
 house pestered with a whole country of 
 guests, grooms, panders, waiting-maids, 
 &c. I careful to please my wife, she 
 careless to displease me, shrewish if she be 
 honest, intolerable if she be wise, im- 
 perious as an empress, all she does must 
 be law, all she says gospel ! Oh, what a 
 penance 'tis to endure her ; I glad to forbear 
 still, all to keep her loyal, and yet perhaps 
 when all's done, my heir shall be like my 
 horsekeeper ; fie on't ; the very thought of 
 marriage were able to cool the hottest 
 liver in France. 
 
 Rh. Well, I durst venture twice the 
 price of your gilt coney's-wool we shall 
 have you change your copy ere a twelve 
 month's day. 
 
 Mu. We must have you dubbed ath' 
 order, there's no remedy ; you that have 
 unmarried done such honourable service 
 in the commonwealth, must needs receive 
 the honour due to't in marriage. 
 
 Rh. That he may do, and r.ever marry. 
 
 D'Ol. As how, wits, i'faith, as how? 
 
 Rh. For if he can prove his father was 
 free ath' order, and that he was his father's 
 son, then by the laudable custom of the 
 city, he may be a cuckold by his father's 
 copy, and never serve for't. 
 
 D'Ol. Ever good, i'faith. 
 
n8 
 
 MONSIEUR D'OLIVE. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Mu. Nay, how can he plead that, when 
 'tis as well known his father died a 
 bachelor ? 
 
 D'Ol. Bitter, in verity, bitter. But good 
 still in it kind. 
 
 Rh. Go to, we must have you follow 
 the lanthorn of your forefathers. 
 
 Mu. His forefathers ? 'Sbody, had he 
 more fathers than one ? 
 
 D'Ol. Why, this is right ; here's wit 
 canvassed out an's coat into's jacket ; the 
 string sounds ever well that rubs not too 
 much ath* frets ; I must love you, wits, I 
 must take pleasure in you. Farewell, 
 good wits : you know my lodging ; make 
 an errand thither now and then, and save 
 your ordinary ; do, wits, do. 
 
 Mu. We shall be troublesome t'ye. 
 
 D'Ol. O God, sir, you wrong me to 
 think I can be troubled with wit. I love 
 a good wit as I love myself ; if you need a 
 brace or two of crowns at any time, address 
 but your sonnet, it shall be as sufficient as 
 your bond at all times. I carry half a score 
 birds in a cage, shall ever remain at your call. 
 Farewell, wits ; farewell, good wits. [Exit. 
 
 Rh. Farewell, the true map of a gull ; 
 by heaven, he shall to th' Court ; 'tis the 
 perfect model of an impudent upstart ; 
 the compound of a poet, and a lawyer ; he 
 shall sure to th' Court. 
 
 Mu. Nay, for God's sake, let's have no 
 fools at Court. 
 
 Rh. He shall to't, that's certain ; the 
 Duke had a purpose to despatch some one 
 or other to the French king, to entreat him 
 to send for the body of his niece, which 
 the melancholy Earl of Saint Anne, her 
 husband, hath kept so long unburied, as 
 meaning one grave should entomb himself 
 and her together. 
 
 Mu. A very worthy subject for an 
 ambassage, as D' Olive is for an ambassador 
 agent, and 'tis as suitable to his brain as 
 his parcel-gift beaver to his fool's head. 
 
 Rh. Well, it shall go hard but he shall 
 be employed ! Oh, 'tis a most accomplished 
 ass, the mugrill of a gull and a villain, the 
 very essence of his soul is pure villany ; the 
 substance of his brain, foolery ; one that 
 believes nothing from the stars upward. 
 A Pagan in belief, an epicure beyond be- 
 lief ; prodigious in lust, prodigal in waste- 
 ful expense, in necessary most penurious ; 
 his wit is, to admire and imitate, his grace 
 is, to censure and detract. He shall to th' 
 Court, i'faith, he shall thither ; I will shape 
 such employment for him as that he him- 
 self shall have no less contentment in I 
 
 making mirth to the whole Court than the 
 Duke and the whole Court shall have 
 pleasure in enjoying his presence. A 
 knave, if he be rich, is fit to make an 
 officer ; as a fool, if he be a knave, is fit 
 to mixke an intelligencer. \Exeunt. 
 
 ACT THE SECOND. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 Enter Dicque, Lycette, -with tapers. 
 
 Di. What an order is this! Eleven 
 o'clock at night is our lady's morning, 
 and her hour to rise at, as in the morning 
 it is other ladies' hour. These tapers are 
 our suns, with which we call her from her 
 bed. But I pray thee, Lycette, what 
 makes the virgin lady, my lady's sister, 
 break wind so continually and sigh so 
 tempestuously? I believe she's in love. 
 
 Ly. With whom, can you tell ? 
 
 Di. Not very well, but certes that's her 
 disease a man may cast her water in her 
 face. The truth is, 'tis no matter what 
 she is, for there is little goodness in her ; 
 I could never yet finger one cardicue of 
 her bounty. And, indeed, all bounty now- 
 a-days is dead amongst ladies. This same 
 Bonitas is quite put down amongst 'em. 
 But see, now we shall discover the heavi- 
 ness of this virgin lady ! I'll eavesdrop, 
 and, if it be possible, hear who is her 
 lover ; for, when this same amorous spirit 
 possesses these young people, they have 
 no other subject to talk of. 
 
 Enter Marcellina and Eurione. 
 
 Eu. Oh, sister, would that matchless 
 earl ever have wronged his wife with ' 
 jealousy ? 
 
 Ma. Never ! 
 
 Eu. Good Lord ! what difference is in 
 men ! But such a man as this was ever 
 seen, to love his wife even after death, so 
 dearly, to live with her in death ! To leave 
 the world and all his pleasures, all his 
 friends and honours, as all were nothing, 
 now his wife is gone : is't not strange ? 
 
 Ma. Exceeding strange. 
 
 Eu. But, sister, should not the noble 
 man be chronicled if he had right ; I pray 
 you, sister, should he not ? 
 
 Ma. Yes, yes, he should. 
 
 Eu. But did you ever hear of such a 
 noble gentleman ; did you, sister ? 
 
 Ma. I tell you no. 
 
SCENE I. 
 
 MONSIEUR D'OLIVE. 
 
 119 
 
 Eu. And do not you delight to hear him 
 spoken of, and praised, and honoured ? 
 Do you not, madam ? 
 
 Ma. What should I say ? I do. 
 
 Eu. Why, very well ; and should not 
 every woman that loves the sovereign 
 honour of her sex, delight to hear him 
 praised as well as we ? Good madam, 
 answer heartily. 
 
 Ma. Yet again ; who ever heard one 
 talk so ? 
 
 Eu. Talk so ? Why should not every 
 lady talk so ? 
 
 You think, belike, I love the noble man, 
 Heaven is my judge if I indeed, his 
 
 love 
 
 And honour to his wife so after death 
 Would make a fairy love him, yet not love, 
 But think the better of him, and some- 
 times 
 Talk of his love or so ; but you know, 
 
 madam, 
 
 I call'd her sister, and if I love him, 
 \ It is but as my brother, I protest. 
 
 Va. Let me come in. 
 [Another, within] Sir, you must not enter. 
 
 Ma. What rude disorder 'd noise is that 
 within? 
 
 Ly. I know not, madam. 
 Di. 
 
 How now ? 
 
 Ser. Where's my lady? 
 
 Ma. What haste with you ? 
 
 Ser. Madam, there's one at door that 
 asks to speak with you, admits no answer, 
 but will enforce his passage to your honour. 
 
 Ma. What insolent guest is that? 
 
 Eu. Who should he be 
 That is so ignorant of your worth and 
 custom ? 
 
 Enter another Servant. 
 
 znd Ser. Madam, here's one hath drawn 
 his rapier on us, and will come in, he says. 
 
 Ma. This is strange rudeness. 
 What is his name ? Do you not know the 
 
 man? 
 
 Ser. No, madam, 'tis too dark. 
 Ma. Then take a light. 
 See if you know him ; if not, raise the 
 streets. 
 
 [Exit Lycette, walks with a candle. 
 Eu. And keep the door safe. What 
 night-walker's this, that hath not light 
 enough to see his rudeness ? 
 
 Enter Lycette, in haste. 
 
 Ly. Oh, madam, 'tis the noble gentle- 
 man, 
 Monsieur Vandome, your servant. 
 
 Eu. Is it he? Is he returned ? 
 
 J/</. Haste, commend me to him ; tell 
 him I may not nor will not see him, for I 
 have vowed the contrary to all. 
 
 Ly. Madam, we told him so a hundred 
 times, yet he will enter. 
 
 [Within.] Hold, hold! Keep him back, 
 there ! 
 
 Ma. What rudeness, what strange 
 insolence is this ? 
 
 Enter Vandome. 
 
 Va. What hour is this ? What fashion ? 
 
 What sad life ? 
 
 What superstition of unholy vow ? 
 What place is this? Oh, shall it e'er be 
 
 said 
 Such perfect judgment should be drown 'd in 
 
 humour ? 
 
 Such beauty consecrate to bats and owls ? 
 Here lies the weapon that enforced my 
 
 passage, 
 
 Sought in my love, sought in regard of you, 
 For whom I will endure a thousand deaths 
 Rather than suffer you to perish thus 
 And be the fable of the scornful world : 
 If I offend you, lady, kill me now. 
 Ma. What shall I say? Alas! my 
 
 worthy servant, 
 
 I would to God I had not lived to be 
 A fable to the world, a shame to thee. 
 Va. Dear mistress, hear me, and for- 
 bear these humours. 
 Ma. Forbear your vain dissuasions. 
 Va. Shall your judgment ? 
 Ma. I will not hear a word. 
 Va. Strange will in women ; [Exit Marc. 
 What says my honourable virgin sister? 
 How is it you can brook this bat-like life, 
 And sit as one without life ? 
 
 Eu. Would I were ; 
 
 If any man would kill me, I'd forgive him. 
 Va. Oh, true fit of a maiden melan- 
 choly ! 
 Whence comes it, lovely sister ? 
 
 Eu. In my mind, 
 
 Yourself hath small occasion to be merry ; 
 That are arrived on such a hapless shore, 
 As bears the dead weight of so dear a 
 
 sister ; 
 For whose decease, being my dear sister 
 
 vow'd, 
 
 I shall for ever lead this desolate life. 
 Va. Now heaven forbid ; women in 
 
 love with women ! 
 
 Love's fire shines with too mutual a re- 
 fraction, 
 
 And both ways weakens his cold beams 
 too much 
 
MONSIEUR D'OLIVE. 
 
 [ACT n. 
 
 To pierce so deeply ; 'tis not for her I 
 
 know 
 
 That you are thus impassion'd. 
 Eu. For her I would be sworn and for 
 
 her husband. 
 Va. Ay, marry, sir, a quick man may 
 
 do much 
 In these kind of impressions. 
 
 Eu. See how idly 
 
 You understand me ! these same travellers, 
 That can live anywhere, make jests of 
 
 anything, 
 And cast so far from home, for nothing 
 
 else 
 But to learn how they may cast off their 
 
 friends. 
 She had a husband does not cast her off 
 
 so ; 
 Oh, 'tis a rare, a noble gentleman. 
 
 Va. Well, well, there is some other 
 
 humour stirring, 
 In your young blood than a dead woman's 
 
 love. 
 
 Eu. No, I'll be sworn. 
 Va. Why, is it possible 
 That you, whose frolic breast was ever 
 
 fill'd 
 
 With all the spirits of a mirthful lady, 
 Should be with such a sorrow so trans- 
 form 'd? 
 
 Your most sweet hand in touch of instru- 
 ments 
 Turn'd to pick straws, and fumble upon 
 
 rushes ; 
 Your heavenly voice, turn'd into heavy 
 
 sighs, 
 
 And your rare wit too in a manner tainted. 
 This cannot be, I know some other cause 
 Fashions this strange effect, and that my- 
 self 
 
 Am born to find it out and be your cure 
 ; In any wound it forceth whatsoever ; 
 But if you will not tell me, at your peril. 
 Eu. Brother ! 
 Va. Did you call? 
 Eu. No, 'tis no matter. 
 Va. So then. 
 Eu. Do you hear ? 
 Assured you are my kind and honour'd 
 
 brother, 
 I'll tell you all. 
 
 Va. Oh, will you do so then? 
 
 Eu. You will be secret ? 
 
 Va. Secret ? is't a secret ? 
 
 Eu. No, 'tis a trifle that torments me 
 
 thus ; 
 
 Did ever man ask such a question 
 When he had brought a woman to this 
 pass? 
 
 L 
 
 Va. What 'tis no treason, is it? 
 
 Eu. Treason, quoth he? 
 
 Va. Well, if it be, I will engage my 
 
 quarters 
 
 With a fair lady's ever ; tell the secret. 
 Eu. Attending oftentimes the duke and 
 
 duchess, 
 To visit the most passionate earl your 
 
 brother, 
 That noble gentleman 
 
 Va. Well said, put in that. 
 
 Eu. Put it in? why? i'faith, y'are such a 
 
 man, 
 I'll tell no further ; you are changed 
 
 indeed. 
 A travel, quoth you ? 
 
 Va. Why, what means this ? 
 Come, lady, forth ; I would not lose the 
 
 thanks, 
 
 The ciedit, and the honour I shall have 
 For that most happy good I know in Fate 
 I am to furnish thy desires withal 
 For all this house in gold. 
 
 Eu. Thank you, good brother, 
 Attending (as I say) the duke and duchess 
 
 To the sad earl 
 
 Va. That noble gentleman ? 
 Eu. Why, ay, is he not? 
 Va. Beshrew my heart, else ; 
 "The earl," quoth you, "he cast not off ; 
 
 his wife." 
 
 Eu. Nay, look you now. 
 Va. Why, does he pray ? 
 Eu. Why, no. 
 
 Va. Forth then, I pray ; you lovers are 
 so captious. 
 
 Eu. When I observed his constancy in 
 
 love, 
 
 His honour of his dear wife's memory, 
 His woe for her, his life with her in 
 
 death, 
 
 I grew in love, even with his very mind. 
 Va. Oh, with his mind? 
 Eu. Ay, by my soul, no more. 
 Va. A good mind certainly is a good 
 thing ; 
 
 And a good thing you know 
 
 Eu. That is the chief ; 
 The body without that, alas ! is nothing ; 
 And this his mind cast such a fire into me, 
 That it hath half consumed me, since it loved 
 His wife so dearly, that was dear to me. 
 And ever I am saying to myself, 
 ' ' How more than happy should that 
 
 woman be, 
 That had her honour'd place in his true 
 
 love." 
 
 But as for me, I know I have no reason 
 To hope for such an honour at his hands. 
 
SCENE I.J 
 
 MONSIEUR D'OLIVE. 
 
 Va. What? at the Earl's hands? I think 
 
 so, indeed ! 
 Heaven, I beseech thee, was your love so 
 
 simple 
 T inflame itself with him? Why, he's a 
 
 husband 
 
 For any princess, any queen or empress ; 
 The ladies of this land would tear him 
 
 piecemeal 
 (As did the drunken Froes the Thracian 
 
 harper) 
 
 To marry but a limb, a look of him ; 
 Heavens my sweet comfort, set your 
 
 thoughts on him ? 
 
 Eu. Oh, cruel man! dissembling traveller! 
 Even now you took upon you to be sure 
 It was in you to satisfy my longings, 
 And whatsoever 'twere, you would procure 
 
 it. 
 Oh, you were born to do me good, you 
 
 know ; 
 You would not lose the credit and the 
 
 honour 
 
 You should have by my satisfaction 
 For all this house in gold : the very Fates 
 And you were all one in your power to 
 
 help me. 
 
 And now to come and wonder at my folly, 
 Mock me, and make my love impossible ! 
 Wretch that I was, I did not keep it in ! 
 Va. Alas, poor sister ! when a grief is 
 
 grown 
 Full home, and to the deepest, then it 
 
 breaks, 
 And joy, sun-like, out of a black cloud 
 
 shineth. 
 But couldst thou think, i'faith, I was in 
 
 earnest 
 
 To esteem any man without the reach 
 Of thy far-shooting beauties ? Any name 
 Too good to subscribe to Eurione ? 
 Here is my hand ; if ever I were thought 
 A gentleman, or would be still esteem'd so, 
 I will so virtuously solicit for thee, 
 And with such cunning wind into his heart, 
 That I sustain no doubt I shall dissolve 
 His settled melancholy, be it ne'er so 
 
 grounded 
 
 On rational love and grave philosophy ; 
 I know my sight will cheer him at the 
 
 heart, 
 
 In whom a quick form of my dear dead sister 
 Will fire his heavy spirits. And all this 
 May work that change in him that nothing 
 
 else 
 Hath hope to joy in ; and so farewell, 
 
 sister, 
 Some few days hence, I'll tell thee how I 
 
 speed. 
 
 Eu, Thanks, honour'd brother ; but you 
 
 shall not go 
 Before you dine with your ' best loved 
 
 mistress. 
 Come in, sweet brother. 
 
 Va. In to dinner now ? 
 Midnight would blush at that ; farewell, 
 
 farewell ! 
 Eu. Dear brother, do but drink or taste a 
 
 banquet ; 
 
 I'faith, I have most excellent conserves : 
 You shall come in, in earnest, stay a little. 
 Or will you drink some cordial still'd 
 
 waters, 
 
 After your travel, pray thee, worthy brother? 
 Upon my love you shall stay ! Sweet, now 
 
 enter. 
 Va. Not for the world. Commend my 
 
 humble service, 
 And use all means to bring abroad my 
 
 mistress. 
 
 Eu. I will, in sadness ; farewell, happy 
 brother. \_Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Philip, Gueaquin, Hieronime, and 
 Mugeron. Gueaquin and Hieronime 
 sit down to work. 
 
 Ph. Come, Mugeron, where is this 
 
 worthy statesman, 
 
 That you and Rhoderique would persuade 
 To be our worthy agent into France. 
 The colour we shall lay on it t'inter, 
 The body of the long deceased countess, 
 The French king's niece, whom her kind 
 
 husband keeps 
 With such great cost and care from 
 
 burial, 
 
 Will show as probable as can be thought. 
 
 Think you he can be gotten to perform it? 
 
 Mu. Fear not, my lord ; the wizard is 
 
 as forward 
 
 To usurp greatness as all greatness is 
 To abuse virtue, or as riches honour ; 
 You cannot load the ass with too much 
 
 honour, 
 He shall be yours, my lord ; Rhoderique 
 
 and I, 
 Will give him to your highness for your 
 
 foot-cloth. 
 Ph. How happens it he lived conceal'd 
 
 so long ? 
 Mu. It is his humour, sir; for he says 
 
 still, 
 His jocund mind loves pleasure above 
 
 honour, 
 
 His swindge of liberty, above his life. 
 " It is not safe" (says he) "to build his 
 
 nest 
 So near the eagle ; his mind is his kingdom, 
 
MONSIEUR D'OLIVE. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 His chamber is a. court, of all good wits," 
 And many such rare sparks of resolution 
 He blesseth his most loved self withal, 
 As presently your excellency shall hear. 
 But this is one thing I had half-forgotten, 
 With which your highness needs must be 
 
 prepared : 
 I have discoursed with him about the 
 
 office 
 
 Of an ambassador, and he stands on this, 
 That when he once hath kiss'd your high- 
 ness' hand, 
 
 And taken his dispatch, he then presents 
 Your highness' person, hath your place 
 
 and power, 
 
 Must put his hat on, use you as you him ; 
 That you may see before he goes how well 
 He can assume your presence and your 
 
 greatness. 
 Ph. And will he practise his new state 
 
 before us ? 
 Mu. Ay, and upon you too, and kiss 
 
 your duchess, 
 
 As you use at your parting. 
 Ph. Out upon him ! she will not let him 
 
 kiss her. 
 Mu. He will kiss her, to do your person 
 
 right. 
 
 Ph. It will be excellent ; 
 She shall not know this till he offer it. 
 Mu. See, see, he comes. 
 
 Enter Rhoderique, Monsieur D' Olive, and 
 Pacque. 
 
 Rh. Here is the gentleman 
 Your highness doth desire to do you 
 
 honour 
 
 In the presenting of your princely person, 
 And going Lord Ambassador to th' French 
 
 king. 
 Ph. Is this the gentleman whose worth 
 
 so highly 
 
 You recommend to our election ? 
 Am. This is the man, my lord. 
 Ph. We understand, sir, 
 We have been wrong 'd by being kept so 
 
 long 
 
 From notice of your honourable parts, 
 Wherein your country claims a deeper 
 
 interest 
 Than your mere private self ; what makes 
 
 wise Nature 
 
 Fashion in men these excellent perfections 
 Of haughty courage, great wit, wisdom 
 
 incredible ? 
 
 D'Ol. It pleaseth your good excellence 
 to say so. 
 
 Ph. But that she aims therein at public 
 good, 
 
 And you in duty thereto of yourself 
 Ought to have made us tender of your 
 
 parts, 
 
 And not entomb them, tyrant-like, alive. 
 Rh. We for our parts, my lord, are not 
 
 in fault, 
 
 For we have spurr'd him forward evermore, 
 Letting him know how fit an instrument 
 He was to play upon in stately music. 
 Mu. And if he had been ought else but 
 
 an ass, 
 Your grace ere this time long had made 
 
 him great : 
 Did not we tell you this ? 
 
 D'Ol. Oftentimes : 
 But sure, my honour'd lord, the times 
 
 before 
 Were not as now they be, thanks to our 
 
 fortune 
 
 That we enjoy so sweet and wise a prince 
 As is your gracious self; for then 'twas 
 
 policy 
 
 To keep all wits of hope still under hatches, 
 Far from the Court, lest their exceeding 
 
 parts 
 Should overshine those that were then in 
 
 place ; 
 And 'twas our happiness that we might live 
 
 so ; 
 
 For in that freely choosed obscurity 
 We found our safety, which men most of 
 
 note 
 
 Many times lost ; and I, alas ! for my part, 
 Shrunk my despised head in my poor shell ; 
 For your learn'd excellence, I know, knows 
 
 well, 
 
 Qui bene latuit, bene vixit, still. 
 Ph. 'Twas much you could contain 
 
 yourself, that had 
 So great means to have lived in greater 
 
 place. 
 D'Ol. 'Faith, sir, I had a poor roof or a 
 
 pent-house 
 To shade me from the sun, and three or 
 
 four tiles 
 To shroud me from the rain, and thought 
 
 myself 
 
 As private as I had King Giris' ring 
 And could have gone invisible, yet saw all 
 That pass'd our State's rough sea, both 
 
 near and far. 
 
 There saw I our great galliasses tost 
 Upon the wallowing waves, up with one 
 
 billow 
 And then down with another ; our great 
 
 men 
 Like to a mass of clouds that now seem 
 
 like 
 <Yn elephant, and straightways like an ox, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 MONSIEUR D'OLIVE. 
 
 123 
 
 And then a mouse, or like those changeable 
 
 creatures 
 
 That live in the burdello, now in satin, 
 To-morrow next in stammel. 
 When I sate all this while in my poor cell, 
 Secure of lightning or the sudden thunder, 
 Conversed with the poor muses, gave a 
 
 scholar 
 
 Forty or fifty crowns a year tQ teach me 
 And prate to me about the predicables, 
 When, indeed, my thoughts flew to a 
 
 higher pitch 
 
 Than genus and species, as by this taste 
 I hope your highness happily perceives, 
 And shall hereafter more at large approve 
 If any worthy opportunity 
 Make but her foretop subject to my hold ; 
 And so I leave your grace to the tuition 
 Of him that made you. 
 
 Rh. Soft, good sir, I pray : 
 What says your excellence to this gentle- 
 man? 
 Have I not made my word good to your 
 
 highness ? 
 
 Ph. Well, sir, however envious policy 
 Hath robb'd my predecessors of your 
 
 service, 
 You must not 'scape my hands, that have 
 
 design'd 
 
 Present employment for you, and 'tis this : 
 'Tis not unknown unto you with what grief 
 We take the sorrow of the Earl Saint Anne 
 For his deceased wife, with whose dead 
 
 sight 
 He feeds his passion, keeping her from 
 
 right 
 
 Of Christian burial, to make his eyes 
 Do penance by their everlasting tears 
 For losing the dear sight of her quick 
 
 beauties. 
 D'Ol. Well spoke, i 'faith ; your grace 
 
 must give me leave 
 To praise your wit, for 'faith 'tis rarely 
 
 spoken. 
 
 Ph. The better for your good commen- 
 dation. 
 
 But, sir, your embassy to the French king 
 Shall be to this effect : thus you shall say 
 D'OL Not so. Your excellence shall 
 
 pardon me. 
 
 I will not have my tale put in my mouth. 
 If you'll deliver me your mind in gross, 
 Why so I shall express it as I can : 
 I warrant you 'twill be sufficient. 
 Ph. 'Tis very good ; then, sir, my will 
 
 in gross, 
 
 Is that in pity of the sad Countess' case 
 The king would ask the body of his niece 
 To give it funeral fitting her high blood, 
 
 Which (as yourself requires and reason 
 
 wills) 
 
 I leave to be enforced and amplified, 
 With all the ornaments of art and nature, 
 Which flows, I see, in your sharp intellect. 
 D'Ol. Alas, you cannot see't in this 
 
 short time, 
 But there be some not far hence, that have 
 
 seen 
 And heard me too, ere now : I could have 
 
 wish'd 
 
 Your highness' presence in a private con- 
 venticle 
 At what time the high point of state was 
 
 handled. 
 
 Ph. What was the point ? 
 D'Ol. It was my hap to make a number 
 
 there 
 
 Myself (as every other gentleman) 
 Being interested in that grave affair, 
 Where I deliver'd my opinion : how well ? 
 Ph. What was the matter, pray ? 
 D'OL The matter, sir, 
 Was of an ancient subject, and yet newly 
 Call'd into question ; and 'twas this in brief: 
 We sate as I remember all in rout, 
 All sorts of men together : 
 A squire and a carpenter, a lawyer and a 
 
 sawyer, 
 A merchant and a broker, a justice and a 
 
 peasant, 
 
 And so forth, without all difference. 
 Ph. But what was the matter? 
 D'Ol. 'Faith, a stale argument, though 
 
 newly handled, 
 
 And I am fearful I shall shame myself, 
 The subject is so threadbare. 
 
 Ph. 'Tis no matter, 
 Be as it will ; go to the point, I pray. 
 D'Ol. Then thus it is : the question of 
 
 estate 
 
 (Or the state of the question) was in brief 
 Whether in an aristocraty 
 Or in a democratical estate 
 Tobacco might be brought to lawful use. 
 But had you heard the excellent speeches 
 
 there 
 Touching this part 
 
 ^J j Pray thee to the point. 
 
 DOL First to the point then, 
 Upstart a weaver, blown up by inspiration, 
 That had borne office in the congregation. 
 A little fellow, and yet great in spirit ; 
 I never shall forget him, for he was 
 A most hot-liver'd enemy to tobacco. 
 His face was like the ten of diamonds 
 Pointed each where with pushes, and his 
 nose 
 
124 
 
 MONSIEUR D'OLIVE. 
 
 TACT IT. 
 
 Was like the ace of clubs (which I must 
 
 tell you 
 
 Was it that set him and tobacco first 
 At such hot enmity ; for that nose of his 
 (According to the Puritanic cut,) 
 Having a narrow bridge, and this tobacco 
 Being in drink, durst not pass by, and 
 
 finding stopp'd 
 
 His narrow passage, fled back as it came 
 And went away in pet. 
 Mu. Just cause of quarrel. 
 Ph. But pray thee briefly say, what said 
 
 the weaver ? 
 D'Ol. The weaver, sir, much like a 
 
 virginal jack 
 
 Start nimbly up ; the colour of his beard 
 I scarce remember ; but purblind he was 
 With the Geneva print, and wore one 
 
 ear 
 
 Shorter than t'other for a difference. 
 Ph. A man of very open note, it seems. 
 D'Ol. He was so, sir, and hotly he in- 
 
 veigh'd 
 
 Against tobacco (with a most strong breath, 
 For he had eaten garlic the same morning, 
 As 'twas his use, partly against ill airs, 
 Partly to make his speeches savoury), 
 Said 'twas a pagan plant, a profane weed 
 And a most sinful smoke, that had no 
 
 warrant 
 
 Out of the Word;* invented, sure, bySathan, 
 In these our latter days, to cast a mist 
 Before men's eyes, that they might not 
 
 behold 
 
 The grossness of old superstition, 
 Which is as 'twere derived into the Church 
 From the foul sink of Romish popery, 
 And that it was a judgment on our land 
 That the substantial commodities 
 And mighty blessings of this realm of 
 
 France, 
 
 Bells, rattles, hobby-horses, and such like, 
 Which had brought so much wealth into 
 
 the land, 
 Should now be changed into the smoke of 
 
 vanity, 
 The smoke of superstition : for his own 
 
 part 
 
 He held a garlic clove, being sanctified, 
 Did edify more the body of a man 
 Than a whole ton of this profane tobacco, 
 Being ta'en without thanksgiving ; in a 
 
 word 
 He said it was a rag of popery, 
 
 ' For certainly there's no such word 
 In all the Scripture on record, 
 Therefore unlawful and a sin." 
 
 Hitdibras. 
 
 And none that were truly regenerate would 
 Profane his nostrils with the smoke thereof; 
 And speaking of your grace behind your 
 
 back, 
 He charged and conjured you to see the 
 
 use 
 
 Of vain tobacco banish'd from the land, 
 For fear, lest for the great abuse thereof ; 
 Our candle were put out ; and therewithal 
 Taking his handkerchief to wipe his mouth 
 As he had told a lie, he turned his nose 
 To the old strain, as if he were preparing 
 For a new exercise, but I myself 
 (Angry to hear this generous tobacco, 
 The gentleman's saint and the soldier's 
 
 idol, 
 
 So ignorantly polluted) stood me up 
 Took some tobacco for a compliment, 
 Brake phlegm some twice or thrice, then 
 
 shook mine ears 
 
 And lick'd my lips, as if I begg'd attention, 
 And so, directing me to your sweet grace, 
 Thus I replied : 
 f?h 1 
 flj j( ' J- Room for a speech there. Silence ! 
 
 D'Ol. I am amused; or, / am -in a 
 quandary, gentlemen (for in good faith I 
 remember not well whether of them, was 
 my words) 
 
 Ph. Tis no matter ; either of them will 
 serve the turn. 
 
 D'Ol. Whether I should (as the poet 
 says ) eloquar, an siliam ? whether by 
 answering a fool I should myself seem no 
 less ; or by giving way to his -wind (for 
 words are but wind) might betray the 
 cause to the maintenance whereof, all true 
 Trojans (from whose race we claim our 
 descent) owe all their patrimonies ; and if 
 need be their dearest blood and their 
 sweetest breath. I would not be tedious to 
 your highness. 
 
 Ph. You are not, sir ; proceed. 
 
 D'OL Tobacco, that excellent plant, the 
 use whereof (as of fifth element) the world 
 cannot want, is that little shop of nature, 
 wherein her whole workmanship is abridged, 
 where you may see earth kindled into fire, 
 the fire breathe out an exhalation which, 
 entering in at the mouth, walks through 
 the regions of a man's brain, drives out all 
 ill vapours but itself, draws down all bad 
 humours by the mouth, which in time 
 might breed a scab over the whole body, 
 if already they have not ; a plant of sin 
 gular use; for on the one side, Nature being 
 an enemy to vacuity and emptiness, and on 
 the other there being so many empty 
 brains in the world as there are, how shall 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 MONSIEUR D'OLIVE. 
 
 125 
 
 Nature's course be continued ? How shall 
 these empty brains be filled but with air, 
 Nature's immediate instrument to that pur- 
 pose ? If with air, what so proper as your 
 fume? what fume so healthful as your per- 
 fume? what perfume so sovereign as to- 
 bacco ? Besides the excellent edge it gives 
 a man's wit (as they can best judge that 
 have been present at a feast of tobacco, 
 where commonly all good wits are con- 
 sorted), what variety of discourse it begets ! 
 what sparks of wit it yields, it is a world 
 to hear! as likewise to the courage of a 
 man ; for if it be true that Johannes 
 Savonarola* writes, that he that drinks 
 verjuice pisseth vinegar, then it must needs 
 follow to be as true, that he that eats 
 smoke farts fire. For garlic I will not 
 say, because it is a plant of our own 
 country, but it may cure the diseases of 
 the country; but for the diseases of the 
 Court, they are out of the element of 
 garlic to medicine. To conclude, as there 
 is no enemy to tobacco but garlic, so 
 there is no friend to garlic but a sheep's 
 head ; and so I conclude. 
 
 Ph. Well, sir, if this be but your natural 
 
 vein, 
 
 I must confess I knew you not indeed, 
 When I made offer to instruct your 
 
 brain 
 For the ambassage, and will trust you 
 
 now 
 If 'twere to send you forth to the great 
 
 Turk 
 With an ambassage. 
 
 D'Ol. But, sir, in conclusion, 
 'Twas order'd for my speech, that since 
 
 tobacco 
 
 Had so long been in use, it should thence- 
 forth 
 Be brought to lawful use ; but limited 
 
 thus : 
 That none should dare to take it but a 
 
 gentleman, 
 
 Or he that had some gentlemanly humour, 
 The murr, the headache, the catarrh, the 
 
 bone-ache, 
 
 Or other branches of the sharp salt rheum 
 Fitting a gentleman. 
 
 Rh. Your grace has made choice 
 Of a most simple Lord Ambassador. 
 Ph. Well, sir, you need not look for a 
 
 commission : 
 My hand shall well dispatch you for this 
 
 business, 
 
 * Practica, Cauouica defebribns, de fnlsibns, 
 tie urtttis, c. 1498, 1563. 
 
 Take now the place and state of an am- 
 bassador, 
 Present our person and perform our 
 
 charge ; 
 
 And so farewell, good Lord Ambassador. 
 D'OL Farewell, good duke, and, 
 
 Gueaquin, to thee. 
 
 Gu. How now, you fool? out, you pre- 
 sumptuous gull. 
 D'Ol. How now, you baggage? 'sfoot, 
 
 are you so coy 
 
 To the duke's person, to his second self? 
 Are you too good, dame, to enlarge your- 
 self 
 Unto your proper object ? 'slight, 'twere a 
 
 good deed. 
 Gu. What means your grace to suffer 
 
 me abused thus ? 
 Ph. Sweet love, be pleased ; you do not 
 
 know this lord. 
 Give me thy hand, my lord. 
 D'Ol. And give me thine. 
 Ph. Farewell again. 
 D'Ol. Farewell again, to thee. 
 Ph. Now go thy ways for an ambassador. 
 [Exeunt Philip, Gueaquin, Hiero. 
 D'Ol. Now go thy ways for a duke. 
 
 ^' | Most excellent lord. 
 
 Rh. Why, this was well perform'd and 
 
 like a duke, 
 
 Whose person you most naturally present. 
 D'Ol. I told you I would do't'; now I'll 
 
 begin 
 To make the world take notice I am 
 
 noble : 
 
 The first thing I will do, I'll swear to pay 
 No debts, upon my honour. 
 Mu. A good cheap proof of your no- 
 bility. 
 D'Ol. Bat if I knew where I might pawn 
 
 mine honour 
 For some odd thousand crowns, it shall be ' 
 
 laid ; 
 
 I'll pay't again when I have done withal. 
 Then 'twill be expected I shall be of some 
 
 religion, 
 I must think of some for fashion, or for 
 
 faction sake, 
 
 As it becomes great personages to do ; 
 I'll think upon't betwixt this and Jhe day. 
 
 Rh. Well said, my lord ; this lordship 
 of yours will work a mighty alteration in 
 you ; do you not feel it begins to work 
 already ? 
 
 D'Ol. 'Faith, only in this : it makes me 
 think how they that were my companions 
 before, shall now be my favourites ; they 
 that were my friends before, sha\l now be 
 
126 
 
 MONSIEUR D'OLIVE. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 my followers ; they that were my servants 
 before, shall now be my knaves ; but they 
 that were my creditors before, shall remain 
 my creditors still. 
 
 M^l. Excellent lord ; come, will you 
 show your lordship in the presence now ? 
 
 D'OL "Faith, I do not care if I go and 
 make a face or two there, or a few grace- 
 ful legs ; speak a little Italian, and away ; 
 there's all a presence doth require. 
 
 END OF ACT II. 
 
 ACT THE THIRD. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 Enter Vandome, and St. Anne. 
 
 St. A. You have inclined me more to 
 
 leave this life 
 
 Than I supposed it possible for an angel ; 
 Nor is your judgment to suppress your 
 
 passion 
 
 For so dear loved a sister (being as well 
 Your blood and flesh, as mine) the least 
 
 enforcement 
 
 Of your dissuasive arguments. And be- 
 sides, 
 
 Your true resemblance of her much sup- 
 plies 
 
 Her want in my affections ; with all which, 
 I feel in these deep griefs, to which I 
 
 yield 
 A kind of false, sluggish, and rotting 
 
 sweetness 
 Mix'd with an humour where all things in 
 
 life 
 Lie drown'd in sour, wretched, and horrid 
 
 thoughts ; 
 
 The way to cowardly desperation open'd, 
 And whatsoever urgeth souls accursed 
 To their destruction, and sometimes their 
 
 plague, 
 
 So violently gripes me, that I lie 
 Whole days and nights bound at his 
 
 tyrannous feet ! 
 
 So that my days are not like life or light, 
 But bitterest death, and a continual night. 
 Va. The ground of all is unsufficed 
 
 love, . 
 Which would be best eased with some 
 
 other object ; 
 
 The general rule of Naso being authentic, 
 Quod successore novo vincitur omnis amor : 
 For the affections of the mind drawn forth 
 In many currents, are not so impulsive 
 In any one ; and so the Persian king 
 Made the great river Ganges run distinctly 
 
 In an innumerable sort of channels ; 
 
 By which means, of a fierce and dangerous 
 flood 
 
 He turn'd it into many pleasing rivers. 
 
 So likewise is an army disarray'd 
 
 Made penetrable for the assaulting foe ; 
 
 So huge fires being diffused, grow as- 
 suaged, 
 
 Lastly, as all force being unite, increaseth ; 
 
 So being dispersed, it grows less sharp, 
 
 and ceaseth. 
 
 St. A. Alas, I know I cannot love 
 another, 
 
 My heart accustom'd to love only her, 
 
 My eyes accustom'd to view only her, 
 
 Will tell me whatsoever is not her, 
 
 Is foul and hateful. 
 
 Va. Yet forbear to keep her 
 
 Still in your sight ; force not her breath- 
 less body 
 
 Thus against Nature to survive, being 
 dead : 
 
 Let it consume, that it may reassume 
 
 A form incorruptible ; and refrain 
 
 The places were you used to joy in her ; 
 
 Hen fuge dilectas terras, fuge littus ama- 
 tum : 
 
 For how can you be ever sound or safe 
 
 Where in so many red steps of your 
 wounds, 
 
 Gasp in your eyes ? With change of place 
 be sure, 
 
 Like sick men mending, you shall find 
 recure. 
 
 Enter the Duke, D'Olive, Gueaquin, Hiero- 
 nime, Mugeron, Rhoderique, to see the 
 dead Countess that is kept in her 
 attire unburied. 
 
 D'Ol. Faith, madam, my company may 
 well be spared at so mournful a visitation. 
 For, by my soul, to see Pygmalion dote 
 upon a marble picture, a senseless statue, 
 I should laugh and spoil the tragedy. 
 
 Gu. Oh, 'tis an object full of pity, my 
 lord! 
 
 D'Ol. 'Tis pity, indeed, that any man 
 should love a woman so constantly. 
 
 Duke. Bitterly turned, my lord. We 
 must still admire you. 
 
 D'Ol. Tush, my lord ! true manhood can 
 neither mourn nor 'admire. It's fit for 
 women they can weep at pleasure, even 
 to admiration. 
 
 Gu. But men use to admire rare things, 
 my lord. 
 
 D'OL But this is nothing rare ! 'Tis a 
 virtue common for men to love their wives 
 cifter death. The value of a good wife (as 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 MONSIEUR D'OLIVE. 
 
 127 
 
 all good tilings else) are better known by 
 their want than by their fruition. For no 
 man loves his wife so well while she lives, 
 but he loves her ten times better when she's 
 dead. 
 
 Kh. This is sound philosophy, my lord. 
 D'Ol. 'Faith, my lord, I speak my 
 thoughts. And, for mine own part, I 
 should so -ill endure the loss of a wife 
 (always provided I loved her), that if I lost 
 her this week, I'd have another by the 
 beginning a'th' next. And thus resolved, 
 I leave your highness to deal with Atropos, 
 for cutting my lady's thread. I am for 
 France : all my care is for followers to imp 
 out my train. I fear I must come to your 
 grace for a press ; for I will be followed as 
 becomes an honourable lord : and that is 
 like an honest squire : for with our great 
 lords, followers abroad and hospitality at 
 home are out of date. The world's now 
 grown thrifty. He that fills a whole page 
 in folio with his style, thinks it veriest 
 noble to be manned with one bare page 
 and a pandar ; and yet Pandar, in ancient 
 time, was the name of an honest courtier ; 
 what 'tis now, Vidcrit ittilitas. Come, 
 wits, let's to my chamber. 
 
 \_Exennt. JManent Vandome, St. Anne. 
 Va. Well now, my lord, remember all 
 
 the reasons 
 
 And arguments I used at first to you, 
 To draw you from your hurtful passions : 
 And therewithal admit one further cause, 
 Drawn from my love, and all the powers I 
 
 have ; 
 
 Eurione, vow'd sister to my sister, 
 Whose virtues, beauties, and perfections 
 Adorn our country, and do nearest match 
 With her rich graces that your love adores, 
 Hath wounded my affections ; and to her 
 I would intreat your lordship's graceful word. 
 St. A. But, is it true? Loves my dear 
 
 brother now ? 
 It much delights me, for your choice is 
 
 noble. 
 
 Yet need you not urge me to come abroad, 
 Your own worth will suffice for your wish'd 
 
 speed. 
 Va. I know, my lord, no man alive can 
 
 win 
 
 H^r resolved judgment from virginity 
 Unless you speak for him, whose word of 
 
 all dames 
 Is held most sweet, and worthy to persuade 
 
 them. 
 
 St. A. The world will think me too fan- 
 tastical, 
 To ope so suddenly my vow'd obscureness. 
 
 Va. My lord, my love is sudden, and 
 
 requires 
 
 A sudden remedy. If I be delay 'd, 
 Consider love's delay breeds desperation, 
 By weighing how strongly love works in 
 
 yourself. 
 
 St. A. Dear brother, nothing under- 
 neath the stars, 
 
 Makes me so willing to partake the air 
 And undergo the burden of the world, 
 As your most worthy self, and your wish'd 
 
 good. 
 
 And glad I am that by this means I may 
 See your descent continued, and therein 
 Behold some new-born image of my wife. 
 Dear life, take knowledge that thy brother's 
 
 love 
 Makes me despair with my true zeal to 
 
 thee. 
 
 And if for his sake I admit the earth 
 To hide this treasure of thy precious 
 
 beauties ; 
 
 And that thy part surviving be not pleased, 
 Let it appear to me, ye just assisters 
 Of all intentions bent to sovereign justice ; 
 And I will follow it into the grave, 
 Or dying with it ; or preserve it thus, 
 As long as any life is left betwixt us. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Monsieur D'Olive, Rhoderiqve. 
 
 D'Ol. But didst note what a presence I 
 
 came off withal ? 
 Rh. 'Sfoot ! you drew the eyes of the 
 
 whole presence upon you : 
 There was one lady, a man might see her 
 
 heart 
 Ready to start out of her eyes to follow 
 
 you. 
 D'Ol. But Monsieur Mustapha there kept 
 
 state, 
 When I accosted him ; 'slight the brazen 
 
 head look'd to be 
 Worshipp'd I think : No, I'll commit 1:0 
 
 idolatry 
 For the proudest image of 'em all, I. 
 
 Rh. Your lordship has the right garb of 
 an excellent courtier : Respect's a clown, 
 supple-jointed Courtesy's a very peagoose ; 
 'tis stiff-hammed Audacity that carries it ; 
 get once within their distance, and you are 
 in their bosoms instantly. 
 
 D'Ol. 'Sheart ! do they look I should 
 stand aloof, like a scholar, and make legs 
 at their greatness? no, I'll none of that; 
 come up close to him, give him a clap a'th' 
 shoulder shall make him cry oh ! again : 
 it's a tender place to deal withal, and say, 
 "Well encountered, noble Brutus." 
 
128 
 
 MONSIEUR D'OLIVE. 
 
 [ACT in, 
 
 Rh. That's the only way indeed to be 
 familiar. 
 
 D'Ol. 'Sfoot ! I'll make legs to none, 
 unless it be to a justice of peace when he 
 speaks in's chair, or to a constable when 
 he leans on's staff, that's flat : softness 
 and modesty savours of the cart ; 'tis 
 boldness, boldness, does the deed in the 
 Court : and as your cameleon varies all 
 colours a th' rainbow, both white and red, 
 so must your true courtier be able to vary 
 his countenance through all humours 
 state, strangeness, scorn, mirth, melancholy, 
 flattery, and so forth : some colours like- 
 wise his face may change upon occasion, 
 black or blue it may, tawny it may, but 
 red and white at no hand avoid that like a 
 sergeant ; keep your colour stiff, unguilty 
 of passion or disgrace, not changing white 
 at sight of your mercer, nor red at sight of 
 your surgeon ; above all sins, heaven 
 shield me from the sin of blushing ; it 
 does ill in a young waiting-woman : but 
 monstrous, monstrous, in an old courtier ! 
 
 Rh. Well, all this while your lordship 
 forgets your ambassage ; you have given 
 out you will be gone within this month, 
 and yet nothing is ready. 
 
 D'Ol. It's no matter, let the moon keep 
 her course ; and yet, to say truth, 'twere 
 more than time I were gone, for, by 
 heaven, I am so haunted with followers, 
 every day new offers of followers : but 
 heaven shield me from any more followers. 
 How now, what's the news ? 
 
 Enter Mugcron and two others. 
 
 Mu. My lord, here's two of my special 
 friends, whom I would gladly commend to 
 follow you in the honourable action. 
 
 DOl. 'Sfoot, my ears are double locked 
 against followers ; you know my number's 
 full, all places under me are bestowed. 
 I'll out of town this night, that's infallible : 
 I'll no more followers, a mine honour. 
 
 Mu. 'Slight, lord, you must entertain 
 them; they have paid me their income, and 
 I have undertaken your lordship shall 
 grace them. 
 
 D'Ol. Well, my masters, you might 
 have come at a time when your entertain- 
 ment would have proved better than now 
 it is like ; but such as it is, upon the com- 
 mendation of my steward here 
 
 Mu. A pox a your lordship, steward? 
 
 D'Ol. Y'are welcome, in a word ; discern 
 and spy out. 
 
 Ambo. We humbly thank your lordship. 
 
 DOl. Mugeron, let 'em be entered. 
 
 Mu. In what rank, my lord ; gentlemen 
 or yeomen ? 
 
 DOl. Gentlemen: their beawring bewrays 
 no less, it goes not always by apparel ; I 
 do allow you to suit yourselves anew in my 
 colours at your own charges. 
 
 Am. Thank your good lordship. 
 
 DOL Thy name first, I pray thee? 
 
 Co. Cornelius, my lord. 
 
 D'OL What profession ? 
 
 Co. A surgeon, an't please your lord- 
 ship. 
 
 D'OL I had rather th' hadst been a 
 barber, for I think there will be little 
 bloodshed amongst my followers, unless 
 it be of thy letting ; I'll see their nails 
 pared before they go. And yet now I 
 bethink myself, our ambassage is into 
 France, there may be employment for 
 thee ; hast thou a tub ? 
 
 Co. I would be loth, my lord, to be dis- 
 located or unfurnished of any of my pro- 
 perties. 
 
 DOL Thou speak'st like thyself, Cor- 
 nelius ; book him down, gentleman. 
 
 Mu. Very well, sir. 
 
 DOl. Now your profession, I pray? 
 
 Fr. Frippery, my lord, or as some term 
 it, Petty Brokery. 
 
 DOl. An honest man, I'll warrant thee ; 
 I never knew other of thy trade. 
 
 Fr. Truly a richer your lordship might 
 
 have, 
 An honester I hope not. 
 
 D'OL I believe thee, Petty Broker ; 
 canst burn gold lace? 
 
 Fr. I can do anything, my lord, be- 
 longing to my trade. 
 
 D'OL Book him down, gentleman, he'll 
 do good upon the voyage, I warrant him ; 
 provide thee a nag, 'Petty Broker, thou'lt 
 find employment for him, doubt not ; keep 
 thyself an honest man, and by our return I 
 do not doubt but to see thee a rich knave ; 
 farewell, Petty Broker, prepare yourselves 
 against the day ; this gentleman shall 
 acquaint you with my colours. P'arewell, 
 Fripper; farewell, Petty Broker: "Discern 
 and spy out," is my motto. \_Exciint. 
 
 Am. God continue your lords! lip. 
 
 Rli. A very seasonable prayer, 
 For unknown to him, it lies now upon his 
 death bed. 
 
 DOL And how like you my chamber, 
 good wits? 
 
 Rh. Excellent well, sir. 
 
 DOL Nay, believe it, it shall do well, 
 as you will say, when you see't set forth 
 suitable to my project ; here shall stand 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 MONSIEUR D'OLIVE. 
 
 129 
 
 i my court cupboard, with it furniture of 
 plate ; here shall run a wind instrument ; 
 here shall hang my base viol ; here my 
 theorbo ; and here will I hang myself. 
 
 Am. 'Twill do admirable well. 
 
 D'Ol. But how will I hang myself, good 
 ' wits ? Not in person, but in picture ; I 
 will be drawn. 
 
 Rh. What hanged and drawn too? 
 
 D'Ol. Good again ; I say I will be 
 drawn all in complete satin of some 
 courtly colour, like a knight of Cupid's 
 band ; on this side shall be ranked chairs 
 and stools, and other such complements of 
 a chamber ; this corner will be a con- 
 venient room for my close stool ; I ac- 
 quaint you with all my privities, you see. 
 
 Mu. Ay, sir, we smell your meaning. 
 
 . D'Ol. Here shall be a perch for my 
 
 parrot, while I remain unmarried, I shall 
 
 have the less miss of my wife ; here a hoop 
 
 for my monkey when I am married, my 
 
 ; wife will have the less miss of me ; here 
 
 will I have the statue of some excellent 
 
 poet, and I will have his nose go with a 
 
 ' vice, as I have seen the experience, and 
 
 that, as if 't had taken cold i'th'head, 
 
 Rh. For want of a gilt nightcap. 
 
 D'Ol. Bitter still ! shall like a spout run 
 pure wit all day long ; and it shall be fed 
 with a pipe brought at my charge, from 
 Helicon, over the Alps, and under the sea 
 by the brain of some great enginer, and 
 I 'think 'twill do excellent. 
 
 Mu. No question of that, my lord. 
 
 D'Ol. Well, now, wits, about your 
 several charges touching my ambassage : 
 Rhoderique, is my speech put out to 
 making? 
 
 Rh. It's almost done. 
 
 D'Ol. Tis well, tell him he shall have 
 forty crowns ; promise, promise ; want for 
 no promising. And well remembered, 
 have I e'er a gentleman usher yet? a 
 strange thing, amongst all my followers, 
 not one has wit enough to be a gentleman 
 usher, I must have one, there's no remedy ; 
 farewell ; have a care of my followers, all 
 but my petty broker, he'll shift for him- 
 self. 
 
 Rh. Well, let us alone for your fol- 
 lowers. 
 
 D'Ol. Well said, discern and spy out. 
 
 Am. We thank your lordship. 
 
 {Exeunt : Manet D'Olive. 
 
 D'Ol. Heaven, I beseech thee, what an 
 abominable sort of followers have I put 
 upon me ! These courtiers feed on 'em with 
 my countenance ; I cannot look into the 
 
 VOL I. 
 
 city, but one or other makes tender of his 
 good parts to me, either his language, his 
 travel, his intelligence, or something ; 
 gentlemen send me their younger sons, fur- 
 nished in complete, to learn fashions for- 
 sooth; as if the riding of five hundred miles, 
 and spending a thousand crowns would 
 make 'em wiser than God meant to make 
 'em. Others with child with the travelling 
 humour, as if an ass for going to Paris, 
 could come home a courser of Naples ; 
 others are possessed with the humour of 
 gallantry, fancy it to be the only happiness 
 in this world, to be enabled by such a 
 colour to carry a feather in his crest, wear 
 gold lace, gilt spurs, and so sets his for- 
 tunes out ; turns two or three tenements 
 into trunks, and creeps home again with 
 less than a snail, not a house to hide his 
 head in ; three hundred of these gold- 
 finches I have entertained for my fol- 
 lowers ; I can go in no corner, but I meet 
 with some of my whifflers in their accoutre- 
 ments ; you may hear 'em half a mile ere 
 they come at you, and smell 'em half an 
 hour after they are past you ; six or seven 
 make a perfect morrice-dance ; they need 
 no bells, their spurs serve their turn ; I am 
 ashamed to train 'em abroad, they say I 
 carry a whole forest of feathers with me, 
 and I should plod afore 'em in plain stuff, 
 like a writing schoolmaster before his boys 
 when they go a feasting ; I am afraid of 
 nothing but I shall be ballated, I and all 
 my whifflers; but it's no matter, I'll fashion 
 "em, I'll show 'em fashions ; by heaven I'll 
 give three parts of 'em the slip, let 'em 
 look for't ; and yet to say truth, I shall not 
 need, for if I can but linger my journey 
 another month, I am sure I shall moult 
 half my feathers ; I feel "em begin to wear 
 thin already ; there's not ten crowns in 
 twenty a their purses ; and by this light, I 
 was told at court, that my greasy host of 
 the Porcupine last holiday, was got up to 
 the ears in one of my follower's satin suits ; 
 and Vandome went so far that he swore he 
 saw two of them hanged ; myself indeed 
 passing yesterday by the Frippery, spied 
 two of them hang out at a stall with a 
 gambrel thrust from shoulder to shoulder, 
 like a sheep that were new flead ; 'tis not 
 for nothing that this petty broker follows 
 me ; the vulture smells a prey ; not the 
 carcases, but the cases of some of my 
 deceased followers ; 'slight, I think it were 
 3iiy wisest course to put ten pounds in 
 stock with him, and turn petty broker ; 
 certainly there's good to be done upon't ; 
 
130 
 
 MONSIEUR D'OLIVE. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 if we be but a day or two out of town he'll 
 be able to load every day a fresh horse 
 with satin suits, and send them back 
 hither ; indeed 'tis like to be hot travel, 
 and therefore 'twill be an ease to my 
 followers to have their clothes at home 
 afore 'em ; they'll on, get off how they 
 can ; little' know they what pikes their 
 feathers must pass ; before they go the 
 sergeants, when they come home the 
 surgeons ; but choose them, I'll wash my 
 hands on 'em. \_Exit. 
 
 END OF ACT III. 
 
 ACT THE FOURTH. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Vandome. \_soln s.~\ My sister's exequies 
 
 are now perform 'd 
 
 With such pomp as express'd the excellence 
 Of her Lord's love to her ; and fired the 
 
 envy 
 Of our great Duke, who would have no 
 
 man equal 
 
 The honour he does to his adored wife : 
 And now the Earl (as he hath promised 
 
 me) 
 
 Is in this sad cell of my honour'd mistress, 
 Urging my love to fair Eurione, 
 Which I framed only to bring him abroad, 
 And (if it might succeed) make his affects 
 With change of objects, change his helpless 
 
 sorrow 
 
 To helpful love. I stood where I observed 
 Tkeir words and looks, and all that pass'd 
 
 betwixt them, 
 And she hath with such cunning borne 
 
 herself, 
 
 In fitting his affection, with pretending 
 Her mortified desires, her only love 
 To virtue and her lovers ; and, in brief, 
 Hath figured with such life my dear dead 
 
 sister, 
 Enchasing all this, with her heighten'd 
 
 beauty, 
 
 That I believe she hath entangled him, 
 And won success to our industrious plot. 
 If he be touch 'd, I know it grieves his 
 
 soul, 
 
 That having underta'en to speak for me 
 (Imagining my love was as I feign'd) 
 His own love to her should enforce his 
 
 tongue 
 
 To court her for himself, and deceive me ; 
 By this time, we have tried his passionate 
 
 blood; 
 
 If he be caught (as heaven vouchsafe he be) 
 I'll play a little with his fantasy. 
 
 Enter St. Anne. 
 
 St. A. Am I alone? Is there no eye nor 
 
 ear 
 That doth observe me ? Heaven, how have 
 
 I grasp 'd 
 My spirits in my heart, that would have 
 
 burst 
 
 To give wish'd issue to my violent love ! 
 Dead wife, excuse me, since I love thee 
 
 still, 
 That livest in her whom I must love for 
 
 thee ; 
 For he that is not moved with strongest 
 
 passion 
 In viewing her, that man did ne'er know 
 
 thee ; 
 
 She's thy surviving image, but woe's me ! 
 Why am I thus transported past myself? 
 Va. Oh, are your dull uxorious spirits 
 
 raised ? 
 
 One madness doth beget another still. 
 St. A. But stay, advise me, soul ; why 
 
 didst thou light me 
 Over this threshold? was't to wrong my 
 
 brother ? 
 To wrong my wife, in wronging of my 
 
 brother ? 
 
 I'll die a miserable man, no villain : 
 Yet in this case of love, who is my 
 
 brother ? 
 
 Who is my father? Who is any kin? 
 I care not, I am nearest to myself ; 
 I will pursue my passion ; I will have her. 
 Va. Traitor, I here arrest thee in the 
 
 names 
 Of heaven, and earth, and deepest 
 
 Acheron ; 
 Love's traitor, brother's, traitor to thy 
 
 wife. 
 St. A. O brother, stood you so near 
 
 my dishonour ? 
 Had you forborne awhile all had been 
 
 You know the variable thoughts of love, 
 You know the use of honour, that will ever 
 Retire into itself ; and my just blood 
 Shall rather flow with honour than with 
 
 love ; 
 
 Be you a happy lover, I a friend, 
 For I will die for love of her and thee. 
 Va. My lord and brother, I'll not 
 
 challenge more ; 
 In love and kindness then my love 
 
 discerns 
 That you have found one whom your 
 
 heart can like ; 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 MONSIEUR D'OLIVE. 
 
 n 
 
 whom we all sought to Will rouse her from her vow's severity ; 
 
 No will, nor power, can withstand policy. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 And that one 
 
 prefer, 
 
 To make you happy in a life renew'd ; 
 It is a heaven to me, by how much more 
 My heart embraced you for my sister's 
 
 love ; 
 
 Tis true, I did dissemble love t'Eurione, 
 To make you happy in her dear affection, 
 Who more dotes on you than you can on 
 
 her; 
 
 Enjoy Eurione, she is your own, 
 The same that ever my dear sister was ; 
 And heaven bless both your loves as I 
 
 release 
 
 All my feign 'd love and interest to you. 
 St. A. How nobly hath your love de- 
 luded me, 
 
 How justly ha% r e you been unjust to me ! 
 Let me embrace the oracle of my good, 
 The author and the patron of my life. 
 Va. Tush, betwixt us, my lord, what 
 
 need these terms ? 
 As if we knew not one another yet ? 
 Make speed, my lord, and make your 
 
 nuptials short, 
 
 As they are sudden blest in your desires. 
 St. A. Oh, I wish nothing more than 
 
 lightning haste. 
 Va. Stay, one word first, my lord ; you 
 
 are a sweet brother 
 
 To put in trust, and woo love for another. 
 St. A . Pray thee no more of that. 
 Va. Well then, be gone, my lord ; her 
 
 brother comes. 
 
 [Exit St. A. 
 
 Enter Vaumont. 
 
 Vau. Most happy friend, 
 How hath our plot succeeded ? 
 
 Va. He's our own. 
 His blood was framed for every shade of 
 
 virtue 
 
 To ravish into true inamorate fire ; 
 The funeral of my sister must be held 
 With all solemnity, and then his nuptials, 
 With no less speed and pomp be celebrate. 
 Vau. What wonders hath your fortunate 
 
 spirit and virtues 
 Wrought to our comforts ! Could you 
 
 crown th'enchantments 
 Of your divine wit with another spell, 
 Of power to bring my wife out of her cell, 
 You "should be our quick Hermes, our 
 
 Alcides. 
 Va. That's my next labour ; come, my 
 
 lord, yourself 
 Shall stand unseen, and see by next morn's 
 
 is her bedtime) how my brain's 
 bold valour 
 
 light 
 (Which 
 
 Enter D'Olive, Pacque, Dique. 
 
 D'Ol. Welcome little wits, are you he 
 my page Pacque here makes choice of, to 
 be his fellow coach-horse ? 
 
 Di. I am, my lord. 
 
 D'Ol. What countryman? 
 
 Di. Born i'th' City. 
 
 Pa. But begot i'th' Court ;* I can tell 
 your lordship, he hath had as good court 
 breeding as any imp in a country. If your 
 lordship please to examine him in any part 
 of the Court Accidence, from a noun to an 
 interjection, I'll undertake you shall find 
 him sufficient. 
 
 D'Ol. Say'st thou so, little wit ? Why, 
 then, sir, how many pronouns be there ? 
 
 Di. 'Faith, my lord, there are more, but 
 I have learned but three sorts ; the goad , 
 thefulham, and the stop-cater-tray ; which 
 are all demonstratives, for here they be. 
 There are relatives too, but they arc 
 nothing without their antecedents. 
 
 D'Ol. Well said, little wit, i'faith : how 
 many antecedents are there ? 
 
 Di. -'Faith, my lord, their number is un- 
 certain : but they that are, are either 
 squires or gentlemen ushers. 
 
 D'Ol. Very well said : when all is done, 
 the Court is the only school of good educa- 
 tion, especially for pages and waiting- 
 women ; Paris, or Padua, or the famous 
 school of England, called Winchester, 
 famous I mean for the goose, where 
 scholars wear petticoats so long, till their 
 pen and ink-horns knock against their 
 knees ; all these, I say, are but belfries to 
 the body or school of the Court. He that 
 would have his son proceed doctor in three 
 days, let him send him thither : there's the 
 forge to fashion all the parts of them ; 
 there they shall learn the true use of their 
 good parts indeed. 
 
 Pa. Well, my lord, you have said well 
 for the Court, what says your lordship r.ow 
 to us courtiers ? Shall we go the voyage ? 
 
 D'Ol. My little hermaphrodites, I enter- 
 tain you here into my chamber, and if need 
 be, nearer ; your service you know. I will 
 not promise mountains, nor assure you 
 annuities of forty or fifty crowns ; in a 
 word, I will promise nothing, but I will be 
 your good lord, de you not doubt. 
 
 Di. We do not, my lord ; but are sure 
 
 * See the last Scene of The Widow's Tears. 
 K 2 
 
132 
 
 MONSIEUR D'OLIVE. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 you will show yourself noble : and as you knee, what do they deserve that purchase 
 promise us nothing, so you will honourably their knighthood with fighting above the 
 keep promise with us, and give us nothing, j knee ? 
 
 D'Ol. Pretty little wit, i'faith : can he Pa. Marry, my lord, I say the purchase 
 verse? j is good, if the conveyance will hold 
 
 Pa. Ay, and set, too, my lord ; he's water, 
 both a setter and a verser. D'Ol. Why, this is excellent ; by heaven, 
 
 D'Ol. Pretty, i'faith: but I mean, has j twenty pounds annuity shall not purchase 
 he a vein natural ? j you from my heels. But forth, how ; 
 
 Pa. Oh, my lord, it comes from him as '' what is the opinion of the world touching 
 easily j this new honour of mine? Do not fools 
 
 Di. As suits from a courtier without ! envy it ? 
 
 money : or money from a citizen without Di. No, my lord, but wise men wonder 
 security, my lord. at it ; you having so buried your wisdom 
 
 D'Ol. Well, I perceive nature has ' heretofore in taverns and vaulting-houses, 
 suited your wits, and I'll suit you in | that the world could never discover you to 
 guarded coats, answerable to your wits ; ' be capable of honour. 
 for wit's as suitable to guarded coats as | D'Ol. As though Achilles could hide 
 wisdom is to welted gowns. My other j himself under a woman's clothes ; was he 
 followers horse themselves, myself will not discovered at first? this Honour is like 
 horse you. And now tell me (for I will j a woman, or a crocodile (choose you 
 
 take you into my bosom) what's the opinion 
 of the many-headed beast, touching my 
 new addition of honour ? 
 
 Di. Some think, my lord, it hath given 
 you addition of pride and outrecuidance. 
 
 D'Ol. They are deceived that think so : i did ever dream, that this head was born to 
 I must confess, it would make a fool proud, | bear a breadth, this shoulder to support a 
 
 whether), it flies them that follow it and 
 follows them that fly it ; for myself, how- 
 ever my worth for the time kept his bed, 
 yet did I ever prophesy to myself that it 
 would rise, before the sunset of my days ; 
 
 but for me, I am semper idem. 
 
 Pa. We believe your lordship. 
 
 D'Ol. I find no alteration in myself in 
 the world, for I am sure I am no wiser 
 than I was, when I was no lord, nor no 
 more bountiful, nor no more honest ; only 
 in respect of my state, I assume a kind of 
 state ; to receive suitors now with the nod 
 of nobility, not (as before) with the cap of 
 courtesy, the knee of knighthood : and 
 why knee of knighthood, little wit ? 
 There's another question for your Court 
 Accidence. 
 
 Di. Because gentlemen, or yeomen, or 
 peasants, or so, receive knighthood on 
 their knees. 
 
 Pa. The signification of the knee of 
 knighthood in heraldry, an't please your 
 lordship, is, that knights are tied in honour 
 to fight up to the knees in blood for the 
 defence of fair ladies. 
 
 D'Ol. Very good ; but if it be so, what 
 honour do they deserve that purchase their 
 knighthood ? 
 
 Di. Purchase their knighthood, my lord? 
 Marry, I think they come truly by't, for 
 they pay well for't. 
 
 D'Ol. You cut me off by the knees, little 
 wit ; but I say (if you will hear me), that 
 
 state, this face to look big, this body to 
 bear a presence, these feet were born to be 
 revellers, and these calves were born to be 
 courtiers ; in a word, I was born noble, 
 and I will die noble ; neither shall my 
 nobility perish with death ; after ages shall 
 resound the memory thereof, while the sun 
 sets in the east, or the moon in the west. 
 
 Pa. Or the seven stars in the north. 
 
 D'Ol. The siege of Bullaine shall be no 
 more a landmark for times ; Agincourt 
 battle, St. James his field, the loss of 
 Calais and the winning of Cales, shall 
 grow out of use ; men shall reckon their 
 years, women their marriages, from the 
 day of our ambassage ; as " I was born, or 
 married two, three, or four years before the 
 great ambassage." Farmers shall count 
 their leases from this day, gentlemen their 
 mortgages from this day ; St. Denis shall 
 be razed out of the calendar, and the day 
 of our instalment entered in red letters ; 
 and as St. Valentine's day is fortunate to 
 choose lovers, St. Luke's to choose hus- 
 bands, so shall this day be to the choosing 
 of lords ; it shall be a critical day, a day of 
 note ; in that day it shall be good to 
 quarrel, but not to fight ; they that marry 
 on that day shall not repent ; marry the 
 
 if they deserve to be knighted that purchase morrow after perhaps they may; it shall 
 i their knighthood with fighting up to the be wholesor/.e to beat a sergeant on that 
 
SCRXE I.] 
 
 MONSIEUR D'OLIVE. 
 
 133 
 
 clay ; he that eats garlic on that morning j Rh. Here we may strike the Plaudite to 
 shall be a rank knave till night. j our play, my lord fool's gone ; all our 
 
 audience will forsake us. 
 
 Mu. Page, after, and call him again. 
 Rh. Let him go ; I'll take up some other 
 fool for the Duke to employ : every ordi- 
 nary affords fools enow : and didst not see 
 a pair of gallants sit not far hence like a 
 couple of bough-pots to make the room 
 
 Di. What a day will this be, if it hold ! 
 
 D'Ol. Hold ? 'Sfoot, it shall hold, and 
 shall be held sacred to immortality ; let 
 all the chroniclers, ballet-makers, and 
 almanac-mongers, do what they dare. 
 
 Enter Rhoderique. 
 
 Rh. 'Sfoot ! my lord, all's dashed ; your 
 voyage is overthrown. 
 
 'D'Ol. What ails the frantic, trow? 
 
 Rh. The lady is entombed that was the 
 subject of your ambassage ; and your am- 
 bassage is berayed. 
 
 Pa. " Dido is dead, and wrapt in lead." 
 
 Di. " Oh heavy hearse !" 
 
 Pci. Your lordship's honour must wait 
 upon her. 
 
 Di. Oh, scurvy verse ! Your lordship's 
 welcome home ; pray let's walk your horse, 
 my lord. 
 
 D'Ol. A pretty gullery ! Why, my little 
 wits, do you believe this to be true ? 
 
 Pa. For my part, my lord, I am of 
 opinion you are gxilled. 
 
 Di. And I am of opinion that I am 
 partly guilty of the same. 
 
 Enter Mugeron. 
 
 Mu. Where's this lord fool here? 'Slight, 
 you have made a pretty piece of service 
 an't ; raised up all the country in gold lace 
 and feathers ; and now with your long 
 
 smell ? 
 
 Mu. Yes, they are gone : but what of 
 them? 
 
 Rh. I'll press them to the Court : or if 
 need be, our muse is not so barren, but she 
 is able to devise one trick or other to retire 
 D'Olive to Court again. 
 
 Mu. Indeed thou told'st me how glo- 
 riously he apprehended the favour of a 
 great lady i'th' presence, whose heart (he 
 said) stood a tiptoe in her eye to look at 
 him. 
 
 Rh. Tis well remembered. 
 
 Mu. Oh, a love-letter from that lady 
 would retrieve him as sure as death. 
 
 Rh. It would, of mine honour : we'll 
 feign one from her instantly : page, fetch 
 
 pen and ink here. 
 
 [Exit Page. 
 
 Mu. Now do you and your muse en- 
 gender ; my barren sconce shall prompt 
 something. 
 
 Rh. Soft then. The Lady Hieronime, 
 who I said viewed him so in the presence, 
 is the Venus that must enamour him : 
 we'll go no further for that. But in what 
 
 likeness must he come to the Court to her 
 now ? As a lord he may not : in any other 
 
 stay, there's no employment for them. 
 D'Ol. Good still. 
 
 Mu. 'Slight ! I ever took thee to be a j shape, he will not. 
 hammer of the right feather : but I durst Mu. Then let him come in his own 
 have laid my life, no man could ever have j shape, like a gull. 
 
 crammed such a gudgeon as this down the j Rh. Well, disguised he shall be. That 
 throat of thee. To create thee a Christmas ! shall be his mistress's direction : this shall 
 Lord, and make thee laughter for the ] be my Helicon : and from this quiver 
 whole Court ! I am ashamed of myself ; will I draw the shaft that shall wound 
 that ever I choosed such a gross block to him. 
 
 Mu. Come on : how wilt thou begin ? 
 
 Rh. Faith thus: " Dearly beloved." 
 
 Mu. 'Ware ho, that's profane. 
 
 Rh. Go to then: "Divine D'Olive:' 
 
 am sure that's not profane. 
 
 Mu. Well, forward. 
 
 whet my wits on. 
 
 D'Ol. Good wit, i'faith. I know all this 
 is but a gullery now : but since you have 
 presumed to go thus far with me, come 
 what can come to the State, sink or swim, 
 I'll be no more a father to it, nor the 
 Duke ; nor for the world wade one half 
 step further in the action. 
 
 Pa. But now your lordship is gone, what 
 shall become of your followers ? 
 
 D'Ol. Followers? let them follow the 
 Court, as I have done : there let them raise 
 
 Rh. " I see in the power of thy beauties." 
 Mu. Break off your period, and say, 
 ' Tivas with a sigh." 
 
 Rh. Content : here's a full prick stands 
 for a tear too. 
 
 Mu. " So, now take my brain." 
 Rh. Pour it on. 
 
 to the petty broker's, there let them shift \ Mu. " I talk like a fool, but, alas I thou 
 
 and hang. {Exit cum suis. art wise and silent." 
 
 their fortunes ; if not, they know the way i 
 
 hift ! 
 
134 
 
 MONSIEUR D'OLIVE. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Rh. Excellent ! "And the more wise, 
 the more silent." 
 
 Mu. That's something common. 
 
 Rh. So should his mistress be. 
 
 Mu. That's true indeed : who breaks 
 way next ? 
 
 Rh. That will I, sir : " But alas! why 
 art thou not noble, that thou mightest match 
 me in blood ?' 
 
 Mu. I'll answer that for her. 
 
 Rh. Come on. 
 
 Mu. ' ' But thou art noble, though not by 
 birth, yet by creation." 
 
 Rh. That's not amiss ; forth now : " Thy 
 wit proves thee to be a lord, thy presence 
 shows it: O that word presence has cost 
 me dear." 
 
 Mu. Well said, because she saw him i'th' 
 presence. 
 
 Rh. " O do but say thou lovest me /" 
 
 Mu. Soft, there's too many O's. 
 
 Rh. Not a whit ; O's but the next door 
 to P, and his mistress may use her O with 
 modesty : or if thou wilt, I'll stop it with 
 another brackish tear. 
 
 Mu. No, no, let it run on. 
 
 Rh. " O do but say thou lovest me, and 
 yet do not neither, and yet do." 
 
 Mu. Well said, let that last stand, let 
 him do in any case : now say thus, "do 
 not appear at Court" 
 
 Rh. So. 
 
 Mu. "At least in my company." 
 
 Rh. Well. 
 
 Mu . " At least before folks. ' ' 
 
 Rh. Why so? 
 
 Mu. " For the flame will break forth" 
 
 Rh. Go on : thou doest well. 
 
 Mu. " Where there is fire i'th' 
 \ hearth " 
 
 Rh. What then? 
 
 Mu. " There will be smoke i'th' chimney." 
 
 Rh. Forth. 
 
 Mu. " Warm, but biirn me not : there's 
 reason in all things." 
 
 Rh. Well said, now do I vie it : " Come 
 I to my cjiamber bet^vixt two and three" 
 
 Mu. A very good number. 
 
 Rh. " But walk not under my window : 
 if thou doesl, come disguised : in any case 
 \ wear not thy tuft taffeta cloak: if thou 
 doest, thou killest me." 
 
 Mu. Well said, now to the L 'envoy. 
 
 Rh. " Thine, if I were worth aught; 
 and yet such, as it skills not whose I am if 
 I be thine; Hieronime: Now for a fit 
 pandar to transport it, and have at him. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 END OF ACT IV. 
 
 ACT THE FIFTH. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 Enter Vaumont and Vandome. 
 
 Va. Come, my good lord, now will I try 
 
 my brain, 
 
 If it can forge another golden chain, 
 To draw the poor recluse, my honour'd 
 
 mistress, 
 
 From her dark cell, and superstitious vow. 
 I oft have heard there is a kind of cure 
 To fright a lingering fever from a man 
 By an imaginous fear, which may be 
 
 true, 
 For one heat, all know, doth drive out 
 
 another, 
 
 One passion doth expel another still, 
 And therefore I will use a feign'd device 
 To kindle fury in her frozen breast, 
 That rage may fire out grief, and so restore 
 
 her 
 
 To her most sociable self again. 
 Vau. Juno Lucinafer opem, 
 And ease my labouring house of such a 
 
 care. 
 Va. Mark but my midwifery ; the day is 
 
 now 
 Some three hours old, and now her night 
 
 begins: 
 Stand close my lord, if she and her sad 
 
 meany 
 Be toward sleep, or sleeping, I will wake 
 
 them 
 
 With orderly alarms ; page ! boy ! sister ! 
 
 All tongue-tied? all asleep ? page ! sister ! 
 
 Vau. Alas, Vandome, do not disturb 
 
 their rest 
 For pity's sake, 'tis young night yet with 
 
 them. 
 Va. My lord, your only way to deal 
 
 with women 
 
 And parrots, is to keep them waking still. 
 Page? who's above? are you all dea< 
 
 Page? who's above? are you all dead 
 
 here? 
 
 Di. 'Slight ! is hell broke loose ? who's 
 there ? \He looks out with a light. 
 
 Va. A friend. 
 Di. Then know this castle is the house 
 
 of woe, 
 Here harbour none but two distressed 
 
 ladies 
 Condemn'd to darkness, and this is their 
 
 jail, 
 
 And I the giant set to guard the same : 
 My name is Dildo. \RetraMt se. 
 
 Va. Sirrah, leave your roguery, and 
 hearken to me : what page, I say ! 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 MONSIEUR D'OLIVE. 
 
 135 
 
 Di. Tempt not disasters ; take thy life ; | 
 be gone. [Redit cum lumine. 
 
 I Vaii. An excellent villany! 
 Va. Sirrah, I have business of weight 
 to impart to your lady. 
 
 Di. If your business be of weight, let it 
 ; wait till the afternoon, for by that time my 
 i lady will be delivered of her first sleep ; 
 ! be gone, for fear of watery meteors. 
 
 /'/. Go to, sir, leave your villany, and 
 despatch this news to your lady. 
 
 Di. Is your business from yourself, or 
 from somebody besides ? 
 
 Va. From nobody besides myself. 
 
 Di. Very good ; then I'll tell her here's 
 one besides himself has business to her 
 from nobody. \_Retrahit se. 
 
 Vau. A perfect young hempstring. 
 
 Va. Peace, lest he overhear you. 
 
 \Redit Di. 
 
 Di. You are not the constable, sir, are 
 you? 
 
 Va. Will you despatch, sir? you know 
 me well enough ; I am Vandome. 
 
 Eu. What's the matter? who's there? 
 Brother Vandome. 
 
 Va. Sister? 
 
 Eu. What tempest drives you hither at 
 such an hour ? 
 
 Va. Why, I hope you are not going to 
 bed ; I see you are not yet unready ; if 
 ever you will deserve my love, let it be 
 now, by calling forth my mistress ; I have 
 news for her, that touch her nearly. 
 
 Eu. What is't, good brother? 
 
 Va. The worst of ills ; would any 
 tongue but mine had been the messenger. 
 
 Ma. What's that, servant? 
 
 Va. O mistress, come down with all 
 speed possible, and leave that mournful 
 cell of yours ; I'll show you another place 
 worthy of your mourning. 
 
 Ma. Speak, man, my heart is armed 
 with a mourning-habit of such proof, that 
 there is none greater without it to pierce it. 
 
 Va. If you please to come down, I'll 
 impart what I know : if not, I'll leave you. 
 
 Eu. Why stand you so at gaze, sister? 
 
 go down to him : 
 Stay, brother, she comes to you. 
 
 Va. 'Twill take, I doubt not, though 
 
 herself be ice, 
 There's one with her all fire, and to her 
 
 spirit 
 
 I must apply my counterfeit device : 
 Stand close, my lord. 
 
 Vau. I warrant you ; proceed. 
 
 Va. Come silly mistress, where 's your 
 worthy lord ? 
 
 I know you know not, but too well I 
 know. 
 
 Ma. Now heaven grant all be well. 
 
 Va. How can it be ? 
 While you, poor turtle, sit and mourn at 
 
 home, 
 Mew'd in your cage, your mate he flies 
 
 abroad, 
 
 O heavens, who would have thought him 
 such a man ? 
 
 Eu. Why, what man, brother? I believe 
 my speeches will prove true of him. 
 
 Va. To wrong such a beauty, to pro- 
 fane such virtue, and to prove disloyal. 
 
 Eu. Disloyal? nay, ne'er gild him o'er 
 with fine terms, brother ; he is a filthy lord, 
 and ever was, I did ever say so ; I never 
 knew any good ath' hair. I do but wonder 
 how you made shift to love him, or what 
 you saw in him to entertain but so much 
 as a piece of a good thought on him. 
 
 Ma. Good sister, forbear. 
 
 Eu. Tush, sister, bid me not forbear ; a 
 woman may bear and bear, and be never 
 the better thought on, neither ; I would 
 you had never seen the eyes of him, for I 
 know he never loved you in's life. 
 
 Ma. You wrong him, sister ; I am sure 
 
 he loved me 
 
 As I loved him, and happy I had been 
 Had I then died, and shunn'd this hapless 
 life. 
 
 Eu. Nay, let him die, and all such as he 
 is ; he lay a caterwauling not long since : 
 oh, if it had been the will of heaven, what 
 a dear blessing had the world had in his 
 riddance. 
 
 Va. But had the lecher none to single 
 
 out 
 
 For object of his light lascivious blood, 
 But my poor cousin that attends the 
 Duchess, Lady Hieronime? 
 
 Eu. What, that blaberlipt blouse ? 
 
 Va. Nay, no blouse, sister, though I 
 
 must confess 
 She comes far short of your perfection. 
 
 Eu. Yes, by my troth, if she were your 
 cousin a thousand times, she's but a sallow, 
 freckled-face piece when she is at the 
 best. 
 
 Va. Yet spare my cousin, sister, for my 
 
 sake ; 
 
 She merits milder censure at your hands, 
 And ever held your worth in noblest terms. 
 
 Eu. 'Faith, the gentlewoman is a sweet 
 gentlewoman of herself; I must needs give 
 her her due. 
 
 Va. But for my lord your husband, 
 honour'd mistress, 
 
136 
 
 MONSIEUR D'OLIVE. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 He made your beauties and your virtues 
 
 too, 
 But foils to grace my cousin's ; had you 
 
 seen 
 
 His amorous letters, 
 
 But my cousin presently will tell you all, 
 for she rejects his suit, yet I advised her to 
 make a show she did not. But 'point to 
 meet him when you might surprise him, 
 and this is just the hour. 
 
 Eu. God's my life ! sister, lose not this | shall abroad on my life : his liquorice chaps 
 advantage ; it will be a good triumph to lay j are walking by this time. But for heaven's 
 in his way upon any quarrel. Come, you sweet hope, what means he by that shoe- 
 shall go. 'Sbody ! will you suffer him to ' 
 
 Va. Marry, forsooth, you are the shoe- 
 ing horn, he says, to draw on, to draw on, 
 sister. 
 
 Eu. The shoeinpr-horn with a ven- 
 geance ! What's his meaning in that ? 
 
 Va. Nay, I have done, my cousin shall 
 tell the rest. Come, shall we go? 
 
 Eu. Go? by heaven you bid me to a 
 banquet : sister, resolve yourself, for you 
 shall go. Lose no more time, for you 
 
 ing-horn ? As I live, it shall not move me. 
 Va. Tell me but this, did you ever break 
 betwixt my mistress and your sister here, 
 and a certain lord i'th' Court? 
 Eu. How? Break? 
 Va. Go to, you understand me. Have 
 not you a Petrarch in Italian ? 
 Eu. Petrarch ? yes, what of that ? 
 Va. Well, he says you can your good ; 
 you may be waiting woman to any dame 
 in Europe. That Petrarch does good 
 offices, 
 too ; would I knew that, i'faith. Eu. Marry, hang him ! good offices ? 
 
 Va. Make your account, your share's as 'Sfoot ! how understands he that ? 
 deep as hers ; when you see my cousin Va. As when any lady is in private 
 she'll tell you all ; we'll to her presently. j courtship with this or that gallant, your 
 Eu. Has she told you she would tell us ? " 
 Va. Assured me, on her oath. 
 Eu. 'Slight, I would but know what he 
 can say ; I pray you, brother, tell me. 
 Va. To what end ? 'twill but stir your 
 
 disgrace you in this sort ? dispraise your 
 beauty? And I do not think, too, but he 
 has been as bold with your honour, which 
 above all earthly things should be dearest 
 to a woman. 
 
 Va. Next to her beauty. 
 
 Eu. True, next to her beauty ; and I do 
 not think, sister, but he deviseth slanders 
 against you, even in that high kind. 
 
 Va. Infinite, infinite. 
 
 Eu. And I believe I take part with her 
 
 patience. 
 
 Eu. No, I protest ; 
 
 when I know my 
 
 carriage to be such as no stain can ob- 
 scure, his slanders shall never move me, 
 yet would I fain know what he feigns. 
 
 Va. It fits not me to play the gossip's 
 part ; we'll to my cousin, she'll relate all. 
 
 Eu. 'Slight! what can he say ? pray let's 
 have a taste an't onward. 
 
 Va. What can he not say, who being 
 
 Petrarch helps to entertain time. You 
 understand his meaning ? 
 Eu. Sister, if you resolve to go, so it is. 
 
 For by heaven your stay shall be no bar 
 to me'; I'll go, that's infallible; it had been 
 as good he had slandered the devil. 
 Shoeing-horn ! Oh, that I were a man, 
 for's sake ! 
 
 Va . But to abuse your person and your 
 beauty too, a grace wherein this part of 
 the world is happy ; but I shall offend too 
 much. 
 
 Eu. Not me ! it shall never move me. 
 
 Va. But to say ye had a dull eye, a 
 sharp nose (the visible marks of a shrew), 
 
 drunk with lust, and surfeiting with desire , a dry hand, which is a sign of a bad liver, 
 of change, regards not what he says ? and j as he said you were, being toward a hus- 
 briefly I will tell you thus much now. band, too : this was intolerable. 
 "Let my melancholy lady," says he, Vau. This strikes it up to the head, 
 "hold on this course till she waste her-! Va. Indeed, he said you dressed your 
 self, and consume my revenue in tapers, j head in a pretty strange fashion : but you 
 yet this is certain, that as long as she has j would dress your husband's head in a far 
 that sister of hers at her elbow j stranger ; meaning the Count of St. Anne, 
 
 Eu. Me? why me ? I bid defiance to his 1 1 think, 
 foul throat ! Eu. God's precious ! did he touch mine 
 
 Van. Hold there, Vandome, now it honour, with him ? 
 begins to take. Va. 'Faith, nothing but that he wears 
 
 Eu. What can his yellow jealousy sur- : black, and says 'tis his mistress' colours, 
 mise against me ? if you love me, let me ! And yet he protests that in his eye your 
 hear it. I protest it shall not move me. \ face shows well enough by candlelight, for 
 
SCENE I. j 
 
 MONSIEUR D'OLIVE. 
 
 137 
 
 the Count never saw it otherwise, unless 
 'twere under a mask, which indeed he says 
 becomes you above all things. 
 
 Eu. Come, page, go along with me ; 
 I'll stay for nobody. 'Tis at your cousin's 
 chamber, is it not ? 
 
 Va. Marry, is it ; there you shall find 
 him at it. 
 
 Eu. That's enough : let my sister go 
 waste his revenue in tapers ; 'twill be her 
 own another day. 
 
 Ma. Good sister, servant, if ever there 
 were any love or respect to me in you 
 both 
 
 Eu. Sister, there is no love, nor respect, 
 nor any conjuration, shall stay me : and 
 yet, by my part in heaven, I'll not be 
 moved a whit with him. You may retire 
 yourself to your old cell, and there waste 
 your eyes in tears, your heart in sighs ; I'll 
 away, certain. 
 
 Va. But soft; let's agree first what course 
 \ve shall take when we take him. 
 
 Eu. Marry, even raise the streets on 
 him, and bring him forth with a flock of 
 boys about him, to hoot at him. 
 
 Va. No, that were too great a dis- 
 honour. I'll put him out on's pain, 
 presently. [String it ensem. 
 
 Page. Nay, good sir, spare his life ; cut off 
 the offending part, and save the Count. 
 Ma. Is there no remedy ? must I break 
 
 my vow ? 
 Stay, I'll abroad, though with another 
 
 aim, 
 
 Not to procure, but to prevent his shame. 
 Va. Go, page, march on ; you know 
 
 my cousin's chamber, 
 
 My company may wrong you ; I will cross 
 The nearer way, and set the house afore 
 
 you ; 
 But, sister, see you be not moved, for God's 
 
 sake. 
 Eu. Not I, by heaven ! Come sister, be 
 
 not moved, 
 
 But if you spare him, may heaven ne'er 
 spare you. 
 
 [Exeunt: man. Van. and ^ Vau. 
 Va. So now the solemn votary is re- 
 vived. 
 Vau. Pray heaven, you have not gone a 
 
 step too far, 
 And raised more sprites than you can 
 
 conjure down. 
 Va. No, my lord, no; the Herculean 
 
 labour's past, 
 The vow is broke, which was the end we 
 
 sweat for, 
 The reconcilement will meet of itself : 
 
 Come let's to Court, and watch the lady's 
 
 chamber, 
 Where they are gone with hopeful spleen 
 
 to see you. 
 
 Enter Rhoderique, Mugeron, D'Olive in 
 disguise towards the lady's chamber. 
 
 Rh. See, Mugeron, our counterfeit letter 
 hath taken ; who's yonder, think'st ? 
 Mu. "Tis not D'Olive ? 
 Rh. If't be not he, I'm sure he's not far 
 
 off; 
 Those be his tressels that support the 
 
 motion. 
 Mu. 'Tis he, by heaven, wrapt in his 
 
 careless cloak ! 
 
 See the Duke enters ; let him enjoy the 
 benefit of the enchanted ring, and stand 
 awhile invisible ; at our best opportunity 
 we'll discover him to the Duke. 
 
 Enter Duke, Duchess, Saint Anne, Vau- 
 mont, Vandome ; to them Digue, 
 "whispering Vandome in the ear, and 
 speaks as on the other side. 
 
 Dig. Monsieur Vandome, yonder's no 
 lord to be found ; my lady stands at hand 
 and craves your speech. 
 
 Va. Tell her she mistook the place, and 
 conduct her hither ; how will she look 
 when she finds her expectation mocked 
 now ? [Exit Dig. 
 
 Vau. What's that, Vandome? 
 
 Va. Your wife and sister are coming 
 hither, hoping to take you and my cousin 
 together. 
 
 Vau. Alas, how shall we appease them, 
 when they see themselves so deluded ? 
 
 Va. Let me alone, and stand you off, 
 my lord. 
 
 Enter Marcellina and Eurione. 
 
 Madam, y'are welcome to the Court ; do 
 you see your lord yonder? I have made 
 him happy by training you forth ; in a 
 word, all I said was but a train to draw 
 you from your vow ; nay, there's no going 
 back, come forward and keep your temper. 
 Sister, cloud not your forehead ; yonder's 
 a sun will clear your beauties, I am sure. 
 Now you see the shoeing-horn is ex- 
 pounded ; all was but a shoeing-horn to 
 draw you hither. Now show yourselves 
 women, and say nothing. 
 
 Ph. Let him alone awhile, Vandome. 
 Who's there? what whisper you? 
 
 Va. Y'ave done? come forward ; 
 See here, my lord, my honourable mistress 
 
138 
 
 MONSIEUR D'OLIVE. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 And her fair sister, whom your highness 
 
 knows 
 Could never be importuned from their 
 
 vows 
 By prayer, or th' earnest suits of any 
 
 friends, 
 Now hearing false report that your fair 
 
 Duchess 
 
 Was dangerously sick, to visit her 
 Did that which no friend else could win 
 
 her to, 
 And brake her long-kept vow with her 
 
 repair. 
 Ph. Madam, you do me an exceeding 
 
 honour 
 In showing this true kindness to my 
 
 Duchess, 
 Which she with all her kindness will 
 
 requite. 
 
 Va. Now, my good lord, the motion 
 you have made, [To St. Anne. 
 
 With such kind importunity by yourself, 
 And seconded with all persuasions 
 On my poor part, for marriage of this 
 
 lady, 
 
 Herself now comes to tell you she em- 
 braces, 
 And (with that promise made me) I present 
 
 her. 
 
 Eu. Sister, we must forgive him. 
 St. A. Matchless lady, 
 Your beauties and your virtues have 
 
 achieved 
 
 An action that I thought impossible, 
 For all the sweet attractions of your sex, 
 In your conditions, so to life resembling 
 The grace and fashion of my other wife : 
 You have revived her to my loving thoughts, 
 And all the honours I have done to her 
 Shall be continued, with increase, to 
 
 you. 
 Mu. Now let's discover our ambassador, 
 
 my lord. 
 
 Ph. Do so. [Exiturtis D'Olive. 
 
 Mu. My lord ? my lord ambassador ? 
 D'Ol. My lord fool, am I not? 
 Mu. Go to, you are he : you cannot 
 cloak your lordship from our knowledge. 
 
 Rli. Come, come. " Could Achilles hide 
 himself under a woman's clothes ? Great- 
 ness will shine through clouds of any dis- 
 guise." 
 
 Ph. Who's that, Rhoderique? 
 Rh. Monsieur D'Olive, my lord; stolen 
 hither disguised, with what mind we know 
 net. 
 
 Mu. Never strive to be gone, sir ; my 
 lord, his habit expounds his heart ; 'twere 
 good he were searched. 
 
 D'Ol. Well, rooks, well, I'll be no longer 
 
 1 a block to whet your dull wits on. My lord, 
 
 my lord, you wrong not yourself only, but 
 
 your whole state, to suffer such ulcers as 
 
 these to gather head in your Court ; never 
 
 ; look to have any action sort to your honour 
 
 when you suffer such earwigs to creep into 
 
 your ears thus. 
 
 Ph. What's the matter, Rhoderique ? 
 
 Rh. Alas, my lord, only the lightness of 
 i his brain, because his hopes are lost. 
 
 Mu. For our parts, we have been trusty 
 and secret to him in the whole manage of 
 his ambassage. 
 
 D'OL Trusty? A plague on you both ! 
 There's as much trust in a common whore 
 as in one of you : and as for secrecy, there's 
 no more in you than in a professed scrive- 
 ner. 
 
 Va. Why a scrivener, Monsieur D'Olive ? 
 
 D'Ol. Marry, sir, a man cannot trust 
 him with borrowing so much as poor forty 
 shillings, but he will have it known to all 
 men by these presents. 
 
 Va. That's true indeed, but you em- 
 ployed those gentlemen very safely. 
 
 D'OL Employed? Ay, marry, sir, they 
 were the men that first kindled this humour 
 of employment in me : a pox of employ- 
 ment, I say : it has cost me but what it 
 has cost me, it skills not : they have thrust 
 upon me a crew of threadbare, unbuttoned 
 fellows, to be my followers : tailors, frip- 
 pers, brokers, cashiered clerks, pettifoggers, 
 and I know not who, I : 'Slight, I think, 
 they have swept all the bowling-alleys i'th'. 
 city for them ; and a crew of these, raked 
 like old rags out of dunghills by candle- 
 light, have they presented to me in very 
 good fashion, to be gentlemen of my train, 
 and sold them hope of raising their fortunes 
 by me. A plague on that phrase, raising of 
 fortunes, it has undone more men than ten 
 dicing-houses ; raise their fortunes with a 
 vengeance ! And a man will play the fool 
 and be a lord, or be a fool and play the 
 lord, he shall be sure to want no followers, 
 so there be hope to raise their fortunes. 
 A burning fever light on you, and all such 
 followers ! 'Sfoot ! they say followers are 
 but shadows, that follow their lords no 
 longer than the sun shines on them ; but I 
 find it not so : the sun is set upon my em- 
 ployment, and yet I cannot shake off my 
 shadows, my followers grow to my heels 
 like kibes I cannot stir out of doors for 
 'em. And your grace have any employ- 
 ment for followers, pray enteitain my 
 company : they'll spend their blood in your 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 MONSIEUR D'OLIVE. 
 
 139 
 
 service, for they have little else to spend ; 
 
 you may soon raise their fortunes. 
 Ph. Well, Monsieur D'Olive, your for- 
 wardness 
 
 In this intended service shall well know 
 
 What acceptation it hath won itself 
 
 In our kind thoughts : nor let this sudden 
 change 
 
 Discourage the designments you have 
 laid 
 
 For our State's good: reserve yourself, I 
 pray, 
 
 Till fitter times. Meantime will I secure you 
 
 From all your followers: follow us to 
 Court. 
 
 And good my lords, and you my honour'd 
 ladies, 
 
 Be all made happy in the worthy know- 
 ledge 
 
 Of this our worthy friend, Monsieur 
 
 D'Olive. 
 Omn. Good Monsieur D'Olive ! [Exeunt. 
 
 END OF FIFTH AND LAST ACT. 
 
Bussy D'Ambois.* 
 
 PROLOGUE.f 
 
 Not out of confidence that none but we 
 
 Are able to present this tragedy, 
 
 Nor out of envy at the grace of late 
 
 It did receive, nor yet to derogate 
 
 From their deserts, who give out boldly, 
 
 that 
 They move with equal feet on the same 
 
 flat; 
 
 Neither for all, nor any of such ends, 
 We offer it, gracious and noble friends, 
 To your review; we, far from emulation 
 4 And charitably judge from imitation), 
 With this work entertain you, a piece 
 
 known 
 
 And still believed in Court to be our own, 
 To quit our claim, doubting our right or 
 
 meat, 
 
 Would argue in us poverty of spirit 
 Which we must not subscribe to : FIELD 
 
 is gone, 
 Whose action first did give it name, and 
 
 one 
 
 Who came the nearest to him, is denied 
 By his gray beard to show the height and 
 
 pride 
 Of D'Ambois' youth and braveiy ; yet to 
 
 hold 
 
 Our title still a-foot, and not grow cold 
 By giving it o'er, a third man with his best 
 Of care and pains defends our interest ; 
 As Richard he was liked, nor do we fear 
 In personating D'Ambois he'll appear 
 To faint, or go less, so your free consent 
 As heretofore give him encouragement. 
 
 ACT THE FIRST. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 Enter Bussy D'Ambois, poor. 
 
 Bu. Fortune, not Reason, rules the state 
 
 of things, 
 Reward goes backwards, Honour on his 
 
 head; 
 
 Who is not poor, is monstrous ; only need 
 Gives form and worth to every human seed. 
 As cedars beaten with continual storms, 
 So great men flourish ; and do imitate 
 Unskilful statuaries, who suppose, 
 In forging a Colossus, if they make him 
 Straddle enough, strut, and look big, and 
 
 gape, 
 
 * ''Bussy D'Ambois. A Tragedie : As it 
 hath been often presented at Paules. London, 
 Printed for William Aspley, 1607." 
 
 "Bussy D'Ambois: A Tragedie: As it hath 
 been often Acted with great Applause. Being 
 much corrected and amended by the Author be- 
 fore his death. London : Printed by A. N. for 
 Robert Lunne, 1641." 
 
 t Prefixed to the Posthumous Edition of 1641. 
 
 Their work is goodly : so men merely 
 
 great 
 
 In their affected gravity of voice, 
 Sourness of countenance, manners' cruelty, 
 Authority, wealth, and all the spawn of 
 
 fortune, 
 Think they bear all the kingdom's worth 
 
 before them, 
 
 Yet differ not from those colossic statues, 
 Which, with heroic forms without o'er- 
 
 spread, 
 Within are nought but mortar, flint, and 
 
 lead. 
 
 Man is a torch borne in the wind ; a dream 
 But of a shadow, summ'd with all his 
 
 substance : 
 
 And as great seamen, using all their wealth 
 And skills in Neptune's deep invisible 
 
 paths, 
 In tall ships richly built and ribb'd with 
 
 brass, 
 
 To put a girdle round about the world ; 
 When they have done it (coming near their 
 
 haven) 
 
 Are glad to give a warning-piece, and call 
 A poor, staid fisherman, that never past 
 
ACT I., SCENE I.] 
 
 BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 141 
 
 His country's sight, to waft and guide them 
 
 in : 
 So when we wander furthest through the 
 
 waves 
 
 Of glassy Glory, and the gulfs of State, 
 Topt with all titles, spreading all our 
 
 reaches, 
 As if each private arm would sphere the 
 
 earth, 
 
 We must to Virtue for her guide resort, 
 Or we shall shipwrack in our safest port. 
 \Procumbit. 
 
 Monsieur with two Pages. 
 
 There is no second place in numerous State 
 That holds more than a cipher ; in a king 
 All places are contain'd. His word and 
 
 looks 
 
 Are like the flashes and the bolts of Jove ; 
 His deeds inimitable, like the sea 
 That shuts still as it opes, and leaves no 
 
 tracts 
 Nor prints of precedent for poor men's 
 
 facts : 
 There's but a thread betwixt me and a 
 
 crown, 
 
 I would not wish it cut, unless by na- 
 ture ; 
 
 Yet to prepare me for that possible fortune, 
 'Tis good to get resolved spirits about me. 
 I follow 'd D'Ambois to this green retreat, 
 A man of spirit beyond the reach of fear, 
 Who (discontent with his neglected worth) 
 Neglects the light, and loves obscure 
 
 abodes ; 
 
 But he is young and haughty, apt to take 
 Fire at advancement, to bear state and 
 
 flourish ; 
 In his rise therefore shall my bounties 
 
 shine : 
 None loathes the world so much, nor loves 
 
 to scoff it, 
 But gold and grace will make him surfeit of 
 
 it. 
 
 What, D'Ambois? 
 Bu. He, sir. 
 
 AIo. Turn'd to earth, alive? 
 Up, man ; the sun shines on thee. 
 
 Bu. Let it shine : 
 I am no mote to play in't, as great men 
 
 are. 
 Mo. Think'st thou men great in state, 
 
 motes in the sun ? 
 They say so that would have thee freeze in 
 
 shades, 
 
 That (like the gross Sicilian Gourmandist) 
 Kmpty their noses in the cates they love, 
 That none may eat but they. Do thou but 
 
 l.rimr 
 
 Light to the banquet Fortune sets before 
 
 thee, 
 And thou wilt loathe lean darkness like thy 
 
 death. 
 Who would believe thy mettle could let 
 
 sloth 
 
 Rust and consume it ? If Themistocles 
 Had lived obscured thus in th'Athenian 
 
 State, 
 Xerxes had made both him and it his 
 
 slaves. 
 
 If brave Camillus had lurk'd so in Rome, 
 He had not five times been Dictator there, 
 Nor four times triumph'd. If Epami- 
 
 nondas 
 (Who lived twice twenty years obscured in 
 
 Thebes) 
 
 Had lived so still, he had been still un- 
 named, 
 And paid his country nor himself their 
 
 right : 
 But putting forth his strength, he rescued 
 
 both 
 From imminent ruin ; and like burnish'd 
 
 steel, 
 
 After long use he shined ; for as the light 
 Not only serves to show, but render us 
 Mutually profitable ; so our lives 
 In acts exemplary, not only win 
 Ourselves good names, but doth to others 
 
 give 
 
 Matter for virtuous deeds, by which we live. 
 Bu. What would you wish me? 
 Mo. Leave the troubled streams, 
 And live, as thriversdo, at the wdl-head. 
 Bu. At the well-head? Alas, what 
 
 should I do 
 With that enchanted glass? See devils 
 
 there ? 
 
 Or, like a strumpet, learn to set my looks 
 In an eternal brake, or practise juggling, 
 To keep my face still fast, my heart still 
 
 loose ; 
 Or bear (like dame schoolmistresses their 
 
 riddles) 
 
 Two tongues, and be good only for a shift ; 
 Flatter great lords, to put them still in 
 
 mind 
 Why they were made lords ; or please 
 
 humorous ladies 
 
 With a good carriage, tell them idle tales 
 To make their physic work ; spend a man's 
 
 life 
 
 In sights and visitations, that will make 
 His eyes as hollow as his mistress' heart : 
 To do none good, but those that have no 
 
 need ; 
 To gain being forward, though you break 
 
 for haste 
 
142 
 
 BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 [ACT I. 
 
 All the commandments ere you break your 
 
 fast? 
 
 But believe backwards, make your period 
 And creed's last article, " I believe in God :" 
 And (hearing villanies preach'd) t'unfold 
 
 . their art 
 Learn to commit them, 'tis a great man's 
 
 part. 
 Shall I learn this there? 
 
 Mo. No, thou need'st not learn, 
 Thou hast the theory ; now go there and 
 
 practise. 
 Bu. Ay, in a threadbare suit ; when men 
 
 come there, 
 They must have high naps, and go from 
 
 thence bare : 
 A man may drown the parts of ten rich 
 
 men 
 In one poor suit ; brave barks and outward 
 
 gloss 
 Attract Court loves, be in parts ne'er so 
 
 gross. 
 Mo. Thou shalt have gloss enough, and 
 
 all things fit 
 T' enchase in all show thy long-smother 'd 
 
 spirit : 
 
 Be ruled by me then. The rude Scythians 
 Painted blind Fortune's powerful hands 
 
 with wings 
 
 To show her gifts come swift and suddenly, 
 Which, if her favourite be not swift to take, 
 He loses them for ever. Then be wise : 
 
 [Exit Monsieur. 
 
 .Stay but awhile here, and I'll send to thee. 
 
 [Manet Bussy. 
 
 Bu, What will he send ? Some crowns? 
 
 It is to sow them 
 Upon my spirit, and make them spring a 
 
 crown 
 Worth millions of the seed-crowns he will 
 
 send : 
 
 Like to disparking noble husbandmen, 
 He'll put his plough into me, plough me 
 
 up. 
 
 But his unsweating thrift is policy, 
 And learning-hating policy is ignorant 
 To fit his seed-land soil ; a smooth plain 
 
 ground 
 
 Will never nourish any politic seed ; 
 I am for honest actions, not for great : 
 If I may bring up a new fashion, 
 And rise in Court for virtue, speed his 
 
 plough : 
 The King hath known me long as well as 
 
 he, 
 
 Yet could my fortune never fit the length 
 Of both their understandings till this hour. 
 There is a deep nick in time's restless 
 
 wheel 
 
 For each man's good, when which nick 
 
 comes, it strikes, 
 
 As rhetoric, yet works not persuasion, 
 But only is a mean to make it work : 
 So no man riseth by his real merit, 
 But when it cries clink in his raiser's spirit. 
 Many will say, that cannot rise at all, 
 Man's first ho 
 
 fall. 
 
 lour's rise is first step to his 
 
 I'll venture that ; men that fall low must 
 
 die, 
 As well as men cast headlong from the sky. 
 
 Enter Maffe. 
 
 Ma. Humour of princes ! Is this wretch 
 
 endued 
 
 With any merit worth a thousand crowns ? 
 Will my lord have me be so ill a steward 
 Of his revenue, to dispose a sum 
 So great with so small cause as shows in 
 
 him? 
 I must examine this. Is your name 
 
 D'Ambois ? 
 Bu. Sir? 
 
 Ma. Is your name D'Ambois? 
 Bu. Who have we here ? 
 Serve you the Monsieur ? 
 Ma. How? 
 
 Bu. Serve you the Monsieur ? 
 Ma. Sir, y'are very hot. I do serve the 
 
 Monsieur, 
 
 But in such place as gives me the com- 
 mand 
 
 Of all his other servants. And because 
 His grace's pleasure is to give your good, 
 His pass through my command, methinks 
 
 you might 
 Use me with more good fashion. 
 
 Bu. Cry you mercy ; 
 Now you have open'd my dull eyes, I see 
 
 you, 
 And would be glad to see the good you 
 
 speak of ; 
 
 What might 1 call your name ? 
 Ma. Monsieur Maffe. 
 Bu. Monsieur Maffe? Then, good Mon- 
 sieur Maffe, 
 Pray let me know you better. 
 
 Ma. Pray do so, 
 
 That you may use me better ; for yourself, 
 By your no better outside, I would judge 
 
 you 
 To be some poet ; have you given my 
 
 lord 
 
 Some pamphlet? 
 Bu. Pamphlet? 
 Ma. Pamphlet, sir, I say. 
 Bu. Did your great master's goodness 
 leave the good 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 That is to pass your charge to my poor 
 
 use, 
 To your discretion ? 
 
 Ma. Though he did not, sir, 
 I hope 'tis no bad office to ask reason 
 How that his grace gives me in charge, 
 
 goes from me ? 
 Bu. That's very perfect, sir. 
 Ma. Why, very good, sir ; 
 I pray then give me leave ; if for no pam- 
 phlet, 
 
 May I not know what other merit in you, 
 Makes his compunction willing to relieve 
 
 you? 
 
 Bu. No merit in the world, sir. 
 Ma. That is strange. 
 Y'are a poor soldier, are you ? 
 Bu. That I am, sir. 
 Ma. And have commanded ? 
 Bu. Ay, and gone without, sir. 
 Ma. I see the man ; a hundred crowns 
 
 will make him 
 Swagger and drink healths to his grace's 
 
 bounty, 
 
 And swear he could not be more bountiful; 
 So there's nine hundred crowns saved. 
 
 Here, tall soldier, 
 His grace hath sent you a whole hundred 
 
 crowns. 
 
 Bu. A hundred, sir ? Nay, do his high- 
 ness right ; 
 
 I know his hand is larger, and perhaps 
 I may deserve more than my outside 
 
 shows ; 
 
 I am a scholar, as I am a soldier, 
 And I can poetise ; and (being well en- 
 couraged) 
 May sing his fame for giving ; yours for 
 
 delivering 
 (Like a most faithful steward) what he 
 
 gives. 
 
 Ma. What shall your subject be? 
 Bu. I care not much 
 If to his bounteous grace I sing the praise 
 Of fair great noses, and to your deserts 
 The reverend virtues of a faithful steward. 
 What qualities have you, sir, beside your 
 
 chain 
 And velvet jacket? Can your worship 
 
 dance? 
 Ma. A merry fellow, 'faith ; it seems my 
 
 lord 
 
 Will have him for his jester ; and by'rlady, 
 Such men are now no fools, 'tis a knight's 
 
 place : 
 If I (to save my lord some crowns) should 
 
 urge him 
 
 T'abate his bounty, I should not be heard ; 
 I would to heaven 1 were an errant ass, 
 
 For then I should be sure to have the ears 
 Of these great men, where now their 
 
 jesters have them. 
 'Tis good to please him, yet I'll take no 
 
 notice 
 
 Of his preferment, but in policy 
 Will still be grave and serious, lest he 
 
 think 
 I fear his wooden dagger. Here, sir 
 
 Ambo ! 
 
 Bu. How, Ambo, sir? 
 Ma. Ay, is not your name Ambo? 
 Bu. You call'd me lately D'Ambois ; has 
 
 your worship 
 So short a head ? 
 
 Ma. I cry thee mercy, D'Ambois. 
 A thousand crowns I bring you from my 
 
 lord : 
 If you be thrifty, and play the good 
 
 husband, you may make 
 This a good standing living : 'tis a bounty 
 His highness might perhaps have bestow'd 
 
 better. 
 Bu. Go, y'are a rascal ; hence, away, 
 
 you rogue ! 
 
 Ma. What mean you, sir ? 
 Bu. Hence ! prate no more ! 
 Or, by thy villain's blood, thou pratest thy 
 
 last! 
 A barbarous groom grudge at his master's 
 
 bounty ! 
 
 But since I know he would as much abhor 
 His hind should argue what he gives his 
 
 friend, 
 
 Take that, sir, for your aptness to dispute. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Ma. These crowns are sown in blood ; 
 blood be their fruit. \_Exit. 
 
 Henry, Guise, Montsurry, Elenor, Tamyra, 
 Beaupre, Pero, Charlotte, Pyra, An- 
 nable. Table, chessboard, and tapers 
 Ichind the arras. 
 
 He. Duchess of Guise, your grace is 
 
 much enrich'd 
 
 In the attendance of that English virgin, 
 That will initiate her prime of youth 
 (Disposed to Court conditions) under hand 
 Of your preferr'd instructions and com- 
 mand, 
 
 Rather than any in the English Court, 
 Whose ladies are not match'd in Christen- 
 dom 
 
 For graceful and confirm'd behaviours ; 
 More than the Court, where they are bred, 
 
 is equall'd. 
 Gu. I like not their Court form ; it is too I 
 
 crestfall'n 
 j In all observance, making demigods 
 
144 
 
 BUSSY D'AMBOTS. 
 
 [ACT r. 
 
 Of their great nobles ; and of their old 
 
 queen, 
 
 An ever-young and most immortal goddess. 
 Mo. No question she's the rarest queen 
 
 in Europe. 
 
 Gu. But what's that to her immortality ? 
 He. Assure you, cousin Guise, so great 
 
 a courtier, 
 
 So full of majesty and royal parts, 
 No queen in Christendom may vaunt her- 
 self. 
 Her Court approves it, that's a Court 
 
 indeed, 
 Not mixt with clowneries used in common 
 
 houses, 
 But, as Courts should be, th' abstracts of 
 
 their kingdoms, 
 In all the beauty, state, and worth they 
 
 hold, 
 
 So is hers, amply, and by her inform'd. 
 The world is not contracted in a man 
 With more proportion and expression, 
 Than in her Court, her kingdom. Our 
 
 French Court 
 
 Ts a mere mirror of confusion to it : 
 The king and subject, lord and every slave, 
 Dance a continual hay ; our rooms of state 
 Kept like our stables ; no place more 
 
 observed 
 Than a rude market-place: and though 
 
 our custom 
 
 Keep this assured deformity from our eyes 
 'Tis ne'er the less essentially unsightly, 
 Which they would soon see, would they 
 
 change their form 
 To this of ours, and then compare them 
 
 both; 
 Which we must not affect, because in 
 
 kingdoms 
 Where the king's change doth breed the 
 
 subject's terror, 
 
 Pure innovation is more gross than error. 
 Mo. No question we shall see them 
 
 imitate 
 (Though afar off) the fashions of our 
 
 Courts, 
 
 As they have ever aped us in attire. 
 Never were men so weary of their skins, 
 And apt to leap out of themselves as they, 
 Who, when they travel to bring forth rare 
 
 men, 
 
 Come home, deliver'dof a fine French suit. 
 Their brains lie with their tailors, and get 
 
 babies 
 For their most complete issue ; he's sole 
 
 heir 
 
 To all the moral virtues that first greets 
 The light with a new fashion, which be- 
 comes them 
 
 Like apes, disfigured with the attires of 
 
 men. 
 He. No question they much wrong 
 
 their real worth 
 
 In affectation of otitlandish scum ; 
 But they have faults, and we more ; they 
 
 foolish proud 
 
 | To jet in others plumes so haughtily ; 
 We proud, that they are proud of foolery, 
 Holding our worths more complete for 
 
 their vaunts. 
 
 Enter Monsieur, D'Ambois. 
 
 Mo. Come, mine own sweetheart, I will 
 
 enter thee : 
 
 Sir, I have brought a gentleman to Court, 
 And pray you would vouchsafe to do him 
 
 grace. 
 
 He. D'Ambois, I think ? 
 Bu. That's still my name, my lord, 
 1'hough I be something alter'd in attire. 
 He. I like your alteration, and must tell 
 
 you 
 
 I have expected th'offer of your service ; 
 For we (in fear to make mild virtue proud) 
 Use not to seek her out in any man. 
 Bu. Nor doth she use to seek out any 
 
 man : 
 He that will win must woo her ; she's not 
 
 shameless. 
 Mo. I urged her modesty in him, my 
 
 lord, 
 And gave her those rites that he says 
 
 she merits. 
 He. If you have woo'd and won, then, 
 
 brother, wear him. 
 Mo. Th'art mine, sweetheart. See, 
 
 here's the Guise's Duchess, 
 The Countess of Montsurreau, Beaupres. 
 Come, I'll enseam thee ; ladies, y'are too 
 
 many 
 
 To be in council ; I have here a friend 
 That I would gladly enter in your graces. 
 Bu. Save you, ladies. 
 D^l. If you enter him in our graces, my 
 lord, methinks by his blunt behaviour he 
 should come out of himself. 
 
 Ta. Has he never been courtier, my 
 lord? 
 
 Mo. Never, my lady. 
 Be. And why did the toy take him 
 in th' head now? 
 
 Bu. 'Tis leap-year, lady, and therefore 
 very good to enter a courtier. 
 He. Mark, Duchess of Guise, there is 
 
 one is not bashful. 
 Du. No, my lord, he is much guilty 
 
 of the bold extremity. 
 Ta. The man's a courtier at first sight. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 Bu. I can sing pricksong, lady, at 
 first sight ; and why not be a courtier as 
 suddenly ? 
 
 Be. Here's a courtier rotten before he be 
 ripe. 
 
 Bu. Think me not impudent, lady ; 
 I am yet no courtier : I desire to be one, 
 and would gladly take entrance, madam, 
 under your princely colours. 
 
 Enter Barrisor, L'Anou, Pyrrhot. 
 
 Du. Soft sir, you must rise by degrees, 
 first being the servant of some common 
 lady, or knight's wife, then a little higher 
 to a lord's wife ; next a little higher to a 
 countess ; yet a little higher to a duchess, 
 and then turn the ladder. 
 
 Bu. Do you allow a man, then, four 
 mistresses, when the greatest mistress is 
 allowed but three servants? 
 
 Du. Where find you that statute, sir? 
 
 Bu. Why be judged by the groom- 
 porters. 
 
 Du. The groom-porters ? 
 
 Bu. Ay, madam ; must not they judge 
 of all gamings i' th' Court ? 
 
 Du. You talk like a gamester. 
 
 Gu. Sir, know you me ? 
 
 Bu. My lord? 
 
 Gu. I know not you. Whom do you 
 serve? 
 
 Bu. Serve, my lord ? 
 
 Gu. Go to, companion, your courtship's 
 too saucy. 
 
 Bu. Saucy ! Companion ! Tis the 
 Guise, but yet those terms might have 
 been spared of the Guiserd. Companion ! 
 He's jealous, by this light. Are you blind 
 of that side, duke ? I'll to her again for 
 that. Forth, princely mistress, for the 
 honour of courtship. Another riddle ! 
 
 Gu. Cease your courtship, or by heaven 
 I'll cut your throat. 
 
 Bu. Cut my throat? cut a whetstone. 
 Good Ace ins Ntevius, do as much with 
 your tongue, as he did with a razor : cut 
 my throat ! 
 
 Ba. What new-come gallant have we 
 here, that dares mate the Guise thus ? 
 
 LA. 'Sfoot, 'tis D'Ambois. The duke 
 mistakes him, on my life, for some knight 
 of the new edition. 
 
 Bu. Cut my throat ! I would the king 
 feared thy cutting of his throat no more 
 than I fear thy cutting of mine. 
 
 Gu. I'll do't, by this hand. 
 
 Bu. That hand dares not do't y'ave 
 cut too many throats already, Guise ; and 
 robbed the realm of many thousand souls, 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 more precious than thine own. Come, 
 madam, talk on. 'Sfoot, can you not talk? 
 Talk on, I say ; more courtship, as you 
 love it. 
 
 Py. Here's some strange distemper. 
 
 Ba. Here's a sudden transmigration 
 with D'Ambois out of the knight's ward 
 into the duchess' bed. 
 
 L'A. See what a metamorphosis a brave 
 suit can work. 
 
 Py. 'Slight, step to the Guise and dis- 
 cover him. 
 
 Ba. By no means; let the new suit work, 
 we'll see the issue. 
 
 Gu. Leave your courting. 
 
 Bu. I will not. I say, mistress, and I 
 will stand unto it, that if a woman may 
 have three servants, a man may have three- 
 score mistresses. 
 
 Gu. Sirrah, I'll have you whipped out of 
 the Court for this insolence. 
 
 Bu. Whipped? Such another syllable 
 out a th' presence, if thou darest for thy 
 dukedom. 
 
 Gu. Remember, poltroon. 
 
 Mo. Pray thee, forbear. 
 
 Bu. Passion of death ! Were not the 
 king here, he should strow the chamber 
 like a rush. 
 
 Mo. But leave courting his wife, then. 
 
 Bu. I will not. I'll court her in despite 
 of him. Not court her ! Come, madam, 
 talk on, fear me nothing ; well may'st thou 
 drive thy master from the Court, but never 
 D'Ambois. 
 
 Mo. His great heart will not down, 'tis 
 
 like the sea 
 
 That partly by his own internal heat, 
 Partly the stars' daily and nightly motion, 
 Their heat and light, and partly of the 
 
 place, 
 The divers frames ; but chiefly by the 
 
 moon. 
 
 Bristled with surges, never will be won, 
 (No, not when th'hearts of all those powers 
 
 are burst) 
 
 To make retreat into his settled home, 
 Till he be crown'd with his own quiet 
 foam. 
 
 He. You have the mate. Another. 
 
 Gu. No more. [Flourish short. 
 
 {Exit Guise, after him the King, 
 Monsieur whispering. 
 
 Ba. Why, here's the lion, scared with the 
 throat of a dunghill cock ; a fellow that 
 has newly shaked off his shackles ; now 
 does he crow for that victory. 
 
 L'A. Tis one of the best jigs that ever 
 was acted. 
 
BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 [ACT n. 
 
 Py. Whom does the Guise suppose him 
 to be, trow ? 
 
 j L'A. Out of doubt, some new denizen'd 
 lord, and thinks that suit newly drawn out 
 | a th' mercer's books. 
 
 Ba. I have heard of a fellow, that by a 
 , fixed imagination looking upon a bull- 
 \ baiting, had a visible pair of horns grew out 
 j of his forehead ; and I believe this gallant, 
 overjoyed with the conceit of Monsieur's 
 j cast suit, imagines himself to be the 
 I Monsieur. 
 
 L'A. And why not? as well as the ass, 
 stalking in the lion's case, bear himself like 
 a lion, braying all the huger beasts out of 
 the forest ? 
 
 Py. Peace, he looks this way. 
 Ba. Marry, let him look, sir ; what will 
 you say now if the Guise be gone to fetch a 
 blanket for him ? 
 
 LA. Faith,! believe it for his honour sake. 
 Py. But, if D' Ambois carry it clean ? 
 Ba. True, when he curvets in the blanket. 
 Py. Ay, marry, sir. 
 L'A. 'Sfoot, see how he stares on's. 
 Ba. Lord bless us, let's away. 
 Bu. Now, sir, take your full view ; how 
 does the object please ye? 
 Ba. If you ask my opinion, sir, I think 
 
 rr suit fits as well as if't had been made 
 you. 
 
 Bu. So, sir, and was that the subject of 
 your ridiculous jollity ? 
 
 LA. What's that to you, sir? 
 Bu. Sir, I have observed all your 
 fleerings ; and resolve yourselves ye shall 
 give a strict account for't. 
 
 Enter Brisac, Melynell. 
 
 Ba. Oh, miraculous jealousy ! do you 
 think yourself such a singular subject for 
 laughter that none can fall into the matter 
 of our merriment but you? 
 
 LA . This jealousy of yours, sir, confesses 
 some close defect in yourself, that we never 
 dreamed of. 
 
 Py. We held discourse of a perfumed ass, 
 that being disguised with a lion's case, 
 imagined himself a lion : I hope that 
 touched not you. 
 
 Bu. So, sir ; your descants do marvel- 
 lous well fit this ground; we shall meet 
 where your buffoonly laughters will cost ye 
 the best blood in your bodies. 
 
 Ba. For life's sake let's be gone ; he'll 
 kill's outright. 
 
 Bu. Go, at your pleasures, I'll be your 
 ghost to haunt you ; and ye sleep an't, 
 hang me 
 
 L'A. Go, go, sir ; court your mistress. 
 
 Py. And be advised ; we shall have odds J 
 against you. 
 
 Bu. Tush ! valour stands not in number; \ 
 I'll maintain it, that one man may beat 
 three boys. 
 
 Br. Nay, you shall have no odds of him 
 in number, sir ; he's a gentleman as good as 
 the proudest of you, and ye shall not 
 wrong him. 
 
 Ba. Not, sir? 
 
 Me. Not, sir : though he be not so rich, 
 he's a better man than the best of you ; 
 and I will not endure it. 
 
 L'A. Not you, sir? 
 
 Br. No, sir, nor I. 
 
 Bu. I should thank you for this kind- 
 ness, if I thought these perfumed musk-cats 
 (being out of this privilege) durst but once 
 mew at us. 
 
 Ba. Does your confident spirit doubt 
 that, sir ? Follow us and try. 
 
 L'A. Come, sir, we'll lead you a dance. 
 {Exeunt. 
 END OF ACT I. 
 
 ACT THE SECOND. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Enter Henry, Guise, Montsarry, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 He. This desperate quarrel sprung out of 
 
 their envies 
 To D'Ambois' sudden bravery, and great 
 
 spirit. 
 
 Gu. Neither is worth their envy. 
 He. Less than either 
 Will make the gall of envy overflow ; 
 She feeds on outcast entrails like a kite ; 
 In which foul heap, if any ill lies hid, 
 She sticks her beak into it, shakes it up, 
 And hurls it all abroad, that all may view it. 
 Corruption is her nutriment ; but touch her 
 With any precious ointment, and you kill 
 
 her : 
 
 When she finds any filth in men, she feasts, 
 And with her black throat bruits it through 
 
 the world 
 (Being sound and healthful). But if she 
 
 but taste 
 The slenderest pittance of commended 
 
 virtue, 
 
 She surfeits on it, and is like a fly 
 That passes all the body's soundest parts, 
 And dwells upon the sores ; or if her squint 
 
 eye 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 147 
 
 Have power to find none there, she forges 
 
 some : 
 She makes that crooked ever which is 
 
 straight ; 
 
 Calls valour giddiness, justice tyranny ; 
 A wise man may shun her, she not herself : 
 Whithersoever she flies from her harms, 
 She bears her foe still clasp'd in her own 
 
 arms ; 
 And therefore, cousin Guise, let us avoid 
 
 her. 
 
 Enter Nuntius. 
 
 Nu. What Atlas or Olympus lifts his 
 
 head 
 
 So far past covert, that with air enough 
 My words may be inform 'd, and from his 
 
 height 
 I may be seen, and heard through all the 
 
 world ? 
 A tale so worthy, and so fraught with 
 
 wonder 
 
 Sticks in my jaws, and labours with event. 
 He. Comest thou from D'Ambois? 
 Nu. From him, and the rest, 
 His friends and enemies ; whose stern fight 
 
 I saw, 
 And heard their words before and in the 
 
 fray. 
 He. Relate at large what thou hast seen ("That 
 
 and heard. 
 Nu. I saw fierce D'Ambois and his two 
 
 brave friends 
 
 Enter the field, and at their heels their foes ; 
 Which were the famous soldiers, Barrisor, 
 L'Anou, and Pyrrhot, great in deeds of 
 
 arms : 
 All which arrived at the evenest piece of 
 
 earth 
 
 The field afforded, the three challengers 
 Turn'd head, drew all their rapiers, and 
 
 stood rank'd : 
 When face to face the three defendants met 
 
 them, 
 
 Alike prepared, and resolute alike. 
 Like bonfires of contributory wood 
 Every man's look shew'd, fed with cither's 
 
 spirit ; 
 
 As one had been a mirror to another, 
 Like forms of life and death, each took 
 
 from other ; 
 And so were life and death mix'd at their 
 
 heights, 
 That you could see no fear of death, for 
 
 life, 
 Nor love of life, for death ; but in their 
 
 brows 
 
 Pyrrho's opinion in great letters shone ; 
 That life and death in all respects are one. 
 
 He. Pass'd there no sort of words at their 
 
 encounter ? 
 Nu. As Hector, 'twixl the hosts of 
 
 Greece and Troy, 
 (When Paris and the Spartan king should 
 
 end 
 The nine years' war) held up his brazen 
 
 lance 
 For signal that both hosts should cease 
 
 from arms, 
 
 And hear him speak : so Barrisor (advised) 
 Advanced his naked rapier 'twixt both 
 
 sides, 
 Ripp'd up the quarrel, and compared six 
 
 lives 
 
 Then laid in balance with six idle words ; 
 Offer 'd remission and contrition too ; 
 Or else that he and D'Ambois might con- 
 clude 
 The others' dangers. D'Ambois liked the 
 
 last ; 
 
 But Barrisor's friends (being equally en- 
 gaged 
 
 In the main quarrel) never would expose 
 His life alone to that they all deserved. 
 And (for the other offer of remission) 
 D'Ambois (that like a laurel put in fire 
 Sparkled and spit) did much much more 
 
 than scorn, 
 his wrong should incense him so like 
 
 chaff, 
 To go so soon out ; and like lighted 
 
 paper 
 Approve his spirit at once both fire and 
 
 ashes; 
 So drew they lots and in them fates 
 
 appointed 
 That Barrisor should fight with fiery 
 
 D'Ambois ; 
 
 Pyrrhot with Melynell ; with Brisac L'Anou: 
 And then like flame and powder they com- 
 
 mixt, 
 So spritely, that I wish'd they had been 
 
 spirits, 
 That the ne'er-shutting wounds, they needs 
 
 must open, 
 
 Might as they open'd, shut and never kill : 
 But D'Ambois' sword (that lighten'd as it 
 
 flew) 
 
 Shot like a pointed comet at the face 
 Of manly Barrisor ; and there it stuck : 
 Thrice pluck'd he at it, and thrice drew on 
 
 thrusts, 
 
 From him that of himself was free as fire ; 
 Who thrust still as he pluck'd, yet (past 
 
 belief) 
 
 He with his subtle eye, hand, body, scaped 
 At last the deadly bitten point tugg'd oft, 
 On fell his yet undaunted foe so fiercely 
 
148 
 
 BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 [ACT n. 
 
 That (only made more horrid with his 
 
 wound) 
 Great D'Ambois shrunk, and gave a little 
 
 ground ; 
 
 But soon return'd, redoubled in his danger, 
 And at the heart of Barrisor seal'd his 
 
 anger : 
 
 Then, as in Arden I have seen an oak 
 Long shook with tempests, and his lofty 
 
 top 
 Bent to his root, which being at length 
 
 made loose 
 (Even groaning with his weight) he 'gan to 
 
 nod 
 This way and that : as loth his curled 
 
 brows 
 (Which he had oft wrapt in the sky with 
 
 storms) 
 Should stoop : and yet, his radical fibres 
 
 burst, 
 Storm-like he fell, and hid the fear-cold 
 
 earth ; 
 So fell stout Barrisor, that had stood the 
 
 shocks 
 
 Of ten set battles in your highness" war, 
 'Gainst the sole soldier of the world, 
 
 Navarre. 
 
 Git. Oh, piteous and horrid murther ! 
 Be. Such a life 
 
 Methinks had metal in it to survive , 
 
 An age of men. 
 
 He. Such often soonest end : 
 Thy felt report calls on, we long to know 
 On what events the other have arrived. 
 Nu. Sorrow and fury, like two opposite 
 
 fumes, 
 
 Met in the upper region of a cloud, 
 At the report made by this worthy's fall, 
 Brake from the earth, and with them rose 
 
 Revenge, 
 Entering with fresh powers his two noble 
 
 friends ; 
 
 And under that odds fell surcharged Brisac, 
 The friend of D'Ambois, before fierce 
 
 L'Anou ; 
 Which D'Ambois seeing, as I once did 
 
 see 
 
 In my young travels through Armenia, 
 An angry unicorn in his full career 
 Charge with too swift a foot a jeweller 
 That watch'd him for the treasure of his 
 
 brow, 
 
 And ere he could get shelter of a tree, 
 Nail him with his rich antler to the earth : 
 So D'Ambois ran upon revenged L'Anou, 
 Who eyeing th' eager point borne in his 
 
 face, 
 
 And giving back, fell back, and in his fall 
 His foe's uncurbed sword stopt in his heart ; 
 
 By which time all the life-strings of the 
 
 tw'other 
 
 Were cut, and both fell as their spirits flew 
 Upwards ; and still hunt honour at the 
 
 view : 
 And now, of all the six, sole D'Ambois 
 
 stood 
 Untouch'd, save only with the others' 
 
 blood. 
 
 He. All slain outright but he ? 
 Nu. All slain outright but he, 
 Who kneeling in the warm life of his 
 
 friends, 
 (All freckled with the blood his rapier 
 
 rain'd) 
 He kiss'd their pale cheeks, and bade botli 
 
 farewell ; 
 And see the bravest man the French earth 
 
 bears. 
 
 Enter Monsieur, D'Ambois bare. 
 
 Bu. Now is the time, y'are princely 
 
 vow d, my friend, 
 
 Perform it princely, and obtain my pardon. 
 Mo. Else heaven forgive not me ; come 
 
 on, brave friend. 
 
 If ever nature held herself her own, 
 When the great trial of a king and sub- 
 ject 
 Met in one blood, both from one belly 
 
 springing ; 
 Now prove her virtue and her greatness 
 
 one, 
 Or make the one the greater with the 
 
 other, 
 (As true kings should) and for your 
 
 brother's love, 
 
 (Which is a special species of true virtue) 
 Do that you could not do, not being a 
 
 king. 
 He. Brother, I know your suit ; these 
 
 wilful murthers 
 Are ever past our pardon. 
 
 Mo. Manly slaughter 
 Should never bear th'account of wilful 
 
 murther ; 
 
 It being a spice of justice, where with life 
 Offending past law, equal life is laid 
 In equal balance, to scourge that offence 
 By law of reputation, which to men 
 Exceeds all positive law, and what that 
 
 leaves 
 
 To true men's valours (not prefixing rights 
 Of satisfaction, suited to their wrongs) 
 A free man's eminence may supply and 
 
 take. 
 He. This would make every man that 
 
 thinks him wrong'd, 
 Or is offended, or in wrong or right, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 149 
 
 Lay on this violence, and all vaunt them- 
 selves 
 
 Law-menders and suppliers, though mere 
 butchers ; 
 
 Should this fact (though of justice) be for- 
 given ? 
 
 Mo. Oh, no, my lord ; it would make 
 cowards fear 
 
 To touch the reputations of true men 
 
 When only they are left to imp the law. 
 
 Justice will soon distinguish murtherous 
 minds 
 
 From just revengers : had my friend been 
 slain, 
 
 (His enemy surviving) he should die, 
 
 Since he had added ^to a murther'd fame 
 
 (Which was in his intent) a murther'd 
 man ; 
 
 And this had worthily been wilful murther ; 
 
 But my friend only saved his fame's dear 
 life, 
 
 Which is above life, taking th'under value, 
 
 W r hich in the wrong it did, was forfeit to 
 him ; 
 
 And in this fact only preserves a man 
 
 In his uprightness ; worthy to survive 
 
 Millions of such as murther men alive. 
 He. Well, brother, rise, and raise your 
 friend withal 
 
 From death to life ; and D'Ambois, let 
 your life 
 
 (Refined by passing through this merited 
 death) 
 
 Be purged from more such foul pollution ; 
 
 Nor on your 'scape, nor valour more pre- 
 suming 
 
 To be again so daring. 
 Bu. My lord, 
 
 I loathe as much a deed of unjust death 
 
 As law itself doth ; and to tyrannize, 
 
 Because I have a little spirit to dare 
 
 And power to do, as to be tyrannized ; 
 
 This is a grace that (on my knees re- 
 doubled), 
 
 I crave to double this, my short life's gift ; 
 
 And shall your royal bounty centuple, 
 
 That I may so make good what God and 
 nature 
 
 Have given me for my good ; since I am 
 free, 
 
 (Offending no just law), let no law make 
 
 By any wrong it does, my life her slave : 
 
 When I am wrong'd, and that law fails to 
 right me, 
 
 I,et me be king myself (as man was 
 made), 
 
 And do a justice that exceeds the law ; 
 
 If my wrong pass the power of single 
 valour 
 
 To right and expiate ; then be you my 
 
 king, 
 
 And do aright, exceeding law and nature : 
 Who to himself is law, no law doth need, 
 Offends no law, and is a king indeed. 
 He. Enjoy what thou entreat'st ; we 
 
 give but ours. 
 
 Bu. What you have given, my lord, is 
 ever yours. [Exit Rex cum Beau. 
 
 Gu. Mort dieu ! who would have par- 
 don'd such a murther ? [Exit. 
 
 Mo. Now vanish horrors into Court at- 
 tractions, 
 For which let this balm make thee fresh 
 
 and fair. 
 
 Bu. How shall I quite your love ? 
 Mo. Be true to the end ; 
 I have obtain'd a kingdom with my 
 
 friend. 
 And now forth with thy service to the 
 
 duchess, 
 
 As my long love will to Montsurry's coun- 
 tess. [Exit. 
 Bu. To whom my love hath long been 
 
 vow'd in heart, 
 Although in hand for shew I held the 
 
 duchess . 
 And now through blood and vengeance, 
 
 deeds of height 
 
 And hard to be achieved, 'tis fit I make 
 Attempt of her perfection ; I need fear 
 No check in his rivality, since her virtues 
 Are so renown'd, and he of all dames 
 hated. [Exit. 
 
 Montsurry, Tamyra, Beaupre, Pcro, 
 Charlotte, Pyrha. 
 
 Mont. He will have pardon, sure. 
 Ta. 'Twere pity, else : 
 For though his great spirit something over- 
 flow, 
 All faults are still borne, that from greatness 
 
 grow; 
 
 But such a sudden courtier saw I never. 
 Be. He was too sudden, which indeed 
 
 was rudeness. 
 
 Ta. True, for it argued his no due con- 
 ceit 
 Both of the place and greatness of the 
 
 persons, 
 Nor of our sex : all which (we all being 
 
 strangers 
 To his encounter) should have made more 
 
 manners 
 Deserve more welcome. 
 
 Mont. All this fault is found 
 Because he loved the duchess and left you. 
 Ta. Alas, love give her joy ; I am so 
 far 
 
BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 From envy of her honour, that I swear, 
 Had he encounter' d me with such proud 
 
 slight, 
 
 I would have put that project face of his 
 To a more test than did her duchesship. 
 Be. Why (by your leave, my lord) I'll 
 
 speak it here, 
 Although she be my aunt, she scarce was 
 
 modest, 
 When she perceived the duke her husband 
 
 take 
 Those late exceptions to her servant's 
 
 courtship, 
 To entertain him. 
 
 Ta. Ay, and stand him still, 
 Letting her husband give her servant place ; 
 Though he did manly, she should be a 
 
 woman. 
 
 Enter Guise. 
 
 Gu. D'Ambois is pardon'd ; where 's a 
 
 king ? where law ? 
 
 See how it runs, much like a turbulent sea ; 
 Here high, and glorious as it did contend 
 To wash the heavens and make the stars 
 
 more pure ; 
 
 And here so low, it leaves the mud of hell 
 To every common view ; come, Count 
 
 Montsurry, 
 
 We must consult of this. 
 Ta. Stay not, sweet lord. 
 Mont. Be pleased, I'll straight return. 
 
 {Exit cum Guise. 
 
 Ta. Would that would please me ! 
 Be. I'll leave you, madam, to your pas- 
 sions ; 
 
 I see there's change of weather in your 
 
 looks. [Exit cum suis. 
 
 Ta. I cannot cloak it ; but, as when a 
 
 fume, 
 Hot, dry, and gross, within the womb of 
 
 earth 
 
 Or in her superficies begot, 
 When extreme cold hath struck it to her 
 
 heart, 
 The more it is compress'd, the more it 
 
 rageth ; 
 Exceeds his prison's strength that should 
 
 contain it, 
 
 And then it tosseth temples in the air, 
 All bars made engines to his insolent fury 
 So, of a sudden, my licentious fancy 
 Riots within me ; not my name and house 
 Nor my religion, to this hour observed, 
 Can stand above it ; I must utter that 
 That will in parting break more strings in 
 
 me 
 Than death when life parts ; and that holy 
 
 That, from my cradle, counsell'd for my 
 
 soul, 
 now must make an agent for my blood. 
 
 Enter Monsieur. 
 
 Mo. Yet, is my mistress gracious ? 
 
 Ta. Yet unanswer'd ? 
 
 Mo. Pray thee regard thine own good, 
 
 if not mine, 
 And cheer my love for that ; you do not 
 
 know 
 What you may be by me, nor what 
 
 without me ; 
 I may have power t'advance and pull 
 
 down any. 
 Ta. That's not my study ; one way I 
 
 am sure 
 
 You shall not pull down me ; my hus- 
 band's height 
 Is crown to all my hopes ; and his retiring 
 To any mean state, shall be. my aspiring ; 
 Mine honour's in mine own hands, spite 
 
 of kings. 
 Mo. Honour, what's that : your second 
 
 maidenhead : 
 And what is that ? a word : the word is 
 
 gone, 
 The thing remains : the rose is pluck'd, 
 
 the stalk 
 Abides ; an easy loss where no lack's 
 
 found : 
 
 Believe it, there's as small lack in the loss 
 As there is pain i'th" losing ; archers ever 
 Have two strings to a bow ; and shall 
 
 great Cupid 
 (Archer of archers both in men and women,) 
 Be worse provided than a common archer? 
 A husband and a friend all wise wives 
 
 have. 
 Ta. Wise wives they are that on such 
 
 strings depend, 
 With a firm husband joining a loose 
 
 friend. 
 Mo. Still you stand on your husband, so 
 
 do all 
 The common sex of you, when y'are 
 
 encounter'd 
 
 With one ye cannot fancy : all men know 
 You live in Court, here, by your own 
 
 election, 
 Frequenting all our solemn sports and 
 
 triumphs, 
 
 All the most youthful company of men : 
 And wherefore do you this? To please 
 
 your husband ? 
 'Tis gross and fulsome : if your husband's 
 
 pleasure 
 
 Be all your object, and you aim at honour 
 In living close to him, get you from Court ; 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 You may have him at home ; these common 
 
 put-offs 
 For common women serve: my honour? 
 
 husband ? 
 
 Dames maritorious ne'er were meritorious : 
 Speak plain, and say " I do not like you, 
 
 sir, 
 
 Y'are an ill-favour'd fellow in my eye ;" 
 And I am answer 'd. 
 
 Ta. Then, I pray, be answer'd : 
 For in good faith, my lord, I do not like 
 
 you 
 In that sort you like. 
 
 Mo. Then have at you, here : 
 Take (with a politic hand) this rope of 
 
 pearl, 
 And though you be not amorous, yet be 
 
 wise : 
 Take me for wisdom ; he that you can 
 
 love 
 Is ne'er the further from you. 
 
 Ta. Now it comes 
 
 So ill prepared, that I may take a poison, 
 Under a medicine as good cheap as it ; 
 I will not have it were it worth the world. 
 Mo. Horror of death ; could I but please 
 
 your eye, 
 You would give me the like, ere you would 
 
 lose me : 
 Honour and husband ! 
 
 Ta. By this light, my lord, 
 Y'are a vile fellow, and I'll tell the king 
 Your occupation of dishonouring ladies 
 And of his Court : a lady cannot live 
 As she was born, and with that sort of) 
 
 pleasure 
 That fits her state, but she must be de- j 
 
 famed 
 
 With an infamous lord's detraction. 
 Who would endure the Court if these 
 
 attempts 
 
 Of open and profess'd lust must be borne ? 
 Who's there ? Come on, dame, you are at 
 
 your book 
 When men are at your mistress ; have I 
 
 taught you 
 
 Any such waiting-woman's quality? 
 Mo. Farewell, good husband. 
 
 [Exit Monsieur. 
 Mont. Farewell, wicked lord. 
 
 Enter Montsurry. 
 
 Mont. Was not the Monsieur here ? 
 
 Ta. Yes, to good purpose ; 
 And your cause is as good to seek him too, 
 And haunt his company. 
 
 Mont. Why, what's 'the matter? 
 
 Ta. Matter of death, were I some 
 husbands' wife : 
 
 I cannot live at quiet in my chamber 
 For opportunities almost to rapes 
 Offer'd me by him. 
 
 Mont. Pray thee bear with him ; 
 Thou know'st he is a bachelor and a 
 
 courtier, 
 
 Ay, and a prince ; and their prerogatives 
 Are, to their laws, as to their pardons are 
 Their reservations, after Parliaments 
 One quits another : form gives all their 
 
 essence : 
 That prince doth high in virtue's reckoning 
 
 stand 
 
 That will entreat a vice, and not command. 
 So far bear with him ; should another man 
 Trust to his privilege, he should trust to 
 
 death : 
 Take comfort, then, my comfort, nay, 
 
 triumph 
 And crown thyself, thou part'st with 
 
 victory ; 
 
 My presence is so only dear to thee 
 That other men's appear worse than they 
 
 be. 
 For this night yet, bear with my forced 
 
 absence ; 
 Thou know'st my business ; and with how 
 
 much weight 
 My vow hath charged it. 
 
 Ta. True, my lord, and never 
 My fruitless love shall let your serious 
 
 -honour ; 
 Yet, sweet lord, do not stay ; you know my 
 
 soul 
 
 Is so long time without me, and I dead 
 As you are absent. 
 
 Mont. By this kiss, receive 
 My soul for hostage, till I see my love. 
 Ta. The morn shall let me see you. 
 Mont. With the sun 
 I'll visit thy more comfortable beauties. 
 Ta. This is my comfort, that the sun 
 
 hath left 
 The whole world's beauty ere my sun 
 
 leaves me. 
 
 Mont. 'Tis late night now indeed ; fare- 
 well, my light. [Exit. 
 Ta. Farewell, my light and life ; but 
 
 not in him, 
 In mine own dark love and light bent to 
 
 another. . 
 
 Alas ! that in the wane of our affections 
 We should supply it with a full dissem- 
 bling, 
 In which each youngest maid is grown a 
 
 mother, 
 
 Frailty is fruitful, one sin gets another : 
 Our loves like sparkles are that brightest 
 
 shine 
 
152 
 
 BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 [ACT n. 
 
 When they go out ; most vice shows most 
 
 divine. 
 Go, maid, to bed ; lend me your book, I 
 
 pray : 
 Not like yourself for form ; I'll this night 
 
 trouble 
 None of your services : make sure the 
 
 doors, 
 
 And call your other fellows to their rest. 
 Pe. I will, yet I will watch to know why 
 
 you watch. [Exit. 
 
 Ta. Now all ye peaceful regents of the 
 
 night, 
 
 Silently-gliding exhalations, 
 Languishing winds, and murmuring falls of 
 
 waters, 
 
 Sadness of heart and ominous secureness, 
 Enchantments, dead sleeps, all the friends 
 
 of rest, 
 
 That ever wrought upon the life of man, 
 Extend your utmost strengths ; and this 
 
 charm'd hour 
 Fix like the Centre ; make the violent 
 
 wheels 
 Of Time and Fortune stand ; and great 
 
 Existence 
 
 (The Maker's treasure) now not seem to be, 
 To all but my approaching friends and me. 
 They come, alas ! they come ; fear, fear and 
 
 hope 
 
 Of one thing, at one instant fight in me : 
 I love what most I loathe, and cannot live 
 Unless I compass that which holds my 
 
 death : 
 
 For love is hateful without love again, 
 And he I love, will loathe me, when he sees 
 I fly my sex, my virtue, my renown, 
 To run so madly on a man unknown. 
 
 [ The vault opens. 
 
 See, see a vault is opening that was never 
 Known to my lord and husband, nor to any 
 But him that brings the man I love, and 
 
 me ; 
 
 How shall I look on him ? how shall I live, 
 And not consume in blushes ? I will in, 
 And cast myself off, as I ne'er had been. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Ascendit Friar and D'Ambois. 
 
 Fr. Come, worthiest son, I am past 
 
 measure glad, 
 That you (whose worth I have approved so 
 
 long) 
 
 Should be the object of her fearful love ; 
 Since both your wit and spirit can adapt 
 Their full force to supply her utmost weak 
 
 ness : 
 ! You know her worths and virtues, for 
 
 report 
 
 Of all that know, is to a man a knowledge : 
 You know besides, that our affections' 
 
 storm, 
 
 Raised in our blood, no reason can reform. 
 Though she seek then their satisfaction 
 (Which she must needs, or rest unsatisfied) 
 Your judgment will esteem her peace thus 
 
 wrought, 
 Nothing less dear than if yourself had 
 
 sought : 
 
 And (with another colour, which my art 
 Shall teach you to lay on) yourself must 
 
 seem 
 
 The only agent, and the first orb move 
 In this our set and cunning world of love. 
 Bu. Give me the colour, my most 
 
 honour'd father, 
 
 And trust my cunning then to lay it on . 
 Fr. 'Tis this, good son ; Lord Barrisor 
 
 (whom you slew) 
 
 Did love her dearly, and with all fit means 
 Hath urged his acceptation, of all which 
 She keeps one letter written in his blood : 
 You must say thus then, that you heard 
 
 from me 
 
 How much herself was touch'd in con- 
 science 
 
 With a report (which is in truth dispersed) 
 That your main quarrel grew about her 
 
 love, 
 
 Lord Barrisor imagining your courtship 
 Of the great Guise's Duchess in the 
 
 presence, 
 
 Was by you made to his elected mistress : 
 And so made me your mean now to resolve 
 
 her, 
 Choosing (by my direction) this night's 
 
 depth 
 
 For the more clear avoiding of all note, 
 Of your presumed presence, and with this 
 (To clear her hands of such a lover's blood) 
 She will so kindly thank and entertain you, 
 (Methinks I see how), ay, and ten to one, 
 Show you the confirmation in his blood, 
 Lest you should think report and she did 
 
 feign, 
 That you shall so have circumstantial 
 
 means 
 
 To come to the direct, which must be used ; 
 For the direct is crooked ; love comes 
 
 flying ; 
 The height of love is still won with 
 
 denying. 
 
 Bu. Thanks, honour'd father. 
 Fr. She must never know 
 That you know anything of any love 
 Sustain 'd on her part : For learn this of 
 
 me ; 
 In anything a women does alone, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 BUSSY D' AM BO IS. 
 
 153 
 
 If she dissemble, she thinks 'tis not done ; 
 If not dissemble, nor a little chide, 
 Give her her wish, she is not satisfied ; 
 To have a man think that she never seeks, 
 Does her more good than to have all she 
 
 likes : 
 
 This frailty sticks in them beyond their sex, 
 Which to reform, reason is too perplex : 
 Urge reason to them, it will do no good ; 
 Humour (that is the chariot of our food 
 In everybody) must in them be fed, 
 To carry their affections by it bred. 
 Stand close. 
 
 Enter Tamyra -with a book. 
 
 Ta. Alas, I fear my strangeness will 
 
 retire him. 
 
 If he go back, I die ; I must prevent it, 
 And cheer his onset with my sight at least, 
 And that's the most ; though every step he 
 
 takes 
 
 Goes to my heart, I'll rather die than seem 
 Not to be strange to that I most esteem. 
 Fr. Madam. 
 Ta. Ah ! 
 
 Fr. You will pardon me, I hope, 
 That so beyond your expectation, 
 And at a time for visitants so unfit, 
 I (with my noble friend here) visit you : 
 You know that my access at any time 
 Hath ever been admitted ; and that friend 
 That my care will presume to bring with 
 
 me 
 
 Shall have all circumstance of worth in him 
 To merit as free welaome as myself. 
 
 Ta. Oh, father ! but at this suspicious 
 
 hour 
 You know how apt best men are to suspect 
 
 us, 
 
 In any cause, that makes suspicion's shadow 
 No greater than the shadow of a hair : 
 And y'are to blame ; what though my 
 
 lord and husband 
 Lie forth to-night? and since I cannot 
 
 sleep 
 
 When he is absent, I sit up to-night, 
 Though all the doors are sure, and all 
 
 our servants 
 As sure bound with their sleeps ; yet there 
 
 is One 
 That wakes above, whose eye no sleep 
 
 can bind ; 
 He sees through doors, and darkness, and 
 
 our thoughts ; 
 And therefore as we should avoid with 
 
 fear, 
 
 To think amiss ourselves before his search ; 
 So should we be as curious to shun 
 All cause that other think not ill of us. 
 
 Bu. Madam, 'tis far from that ; I only 
 
 heard 
 By this my honour'd father, that jour 
 
 conscience 
 
 Made some deep scruple with a false re- 
 port 
 That Barrisor's blood should something. 
 
 touch your honour ; 
 Since he imagined I was courting you, 
 When I was bold to change words witli. 
 
 the duchess, 
 And therefore made his quarrel ; his long 
 
 love 
 
 And service, as I hear, being deeply vow'd. 
 To your perfections, which my ready pre- 
 sence, 
 
 Presumed on with my father at this season 
 For the more care of your so curious 
 
 honour, 
 Can well resolve your conscience, is most 
 
 false. 
 Ta. And is it therefore that you come, 
 
 good sir? 
 Then crave I now your pardon and my 
 
 father's, 
 And swear your presence does me so 
 
 much good, 
 
 That all I have it binds to your requital ; 
 Indeed, sir, 'tis most true that a report 
 Is spread, alleging that his love to me 
 Was reason of your quarrel, and because 
 You shall not think I feign it for my glory 
 That he importuned me for his court service, 
 I'll show you his own hand, set down in 
 
 blood 
 To that vain purpose : good sir, then come 
 
 in. 
 
 Father, I thank you now a thousand-fold. 
 \Exit Tamyra and D'Ambois. 
 Fr. May it be worth it to you, honour'd 
 
 daughter. \_Desceudit Friar. 
 
 END OF ACT II. 
 
 ACT THE THIRD. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Enter D'Ambois, Tamyra, with a Chain 
 of Pearl. 
 
 Bu. Sweet mistress, cease, your con- 
 science is too nice, 
 
 And bites too hotly of the Puritan spice. 
 Ta. Oh my dear servant, in thy close 
 
 embraces, 
 
 I have set open all the doors of danger 
 To my encompass'd honour, and my life : 
 
154 
 
 BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 [ACT HI. 
 
 Before I was secure "gainst death and hell ; 
 But now am subject to the heartless fear 
 Of every shadow, and of every breath, 
 And would change firmness with an aspen 
 
 leaf: 
 
 So confident a spotless conscience is, 
 So weak a guilty : oh, the dangerous siege 
 Sin lays about us ! and the tyranny 
 He exercises when he hath expugn'd : 
 Like to the horror of a winter's thunder, 
 Mix'd with a gushing storm, that suffer 
 
 nothing 
 To stir abroad on earth but their own 
 
 rages, 
 
 Is sin, when it hath gather'd head above us : 
 No roof, no shelter can secure us so, 
 But he will drown our cheeks in fear or woe. 
 Bu. Sin is a coward, madam, and in- 
 sults 
 
 But on our weakness, in his truest valour : 
 And so our ignorance tames us, that we let 
 His shadows fright us: and like empty 
 
 clouds, 
 
 In which our faulty apprehensions forge 
 The forms of dragons, lions, elephants, 
 When they hold no proportion, the sly 
 
 charms 
 
 Of the witch policy makes him, like a mon- 
 ster 
 
 Kept only to show men for servile money 
 That false hag often paints him in her 
 
 cloth 
 Ten times more monstrous than he is in 
 
 troth : 
 
 In three of us, the secret of our meeting 
 Is only guarded, and three friends as one 
 Have ever been esteem'd: as our three 
 
 powers 
 
 That in our one soul are as one united : 
 Why should we fear then ? For myself I 
 
 swear 
 
 Sooner shall torture be the sire to pleasure 
 And health be grievous to one long time 
 
 sick, 
 
 Than the dear jewel of your fame in me 
 Be made an outcast to your infamy ; 
 Nor shall my valour (sacred to your virtues 
 Only give free course to it, from myself : 
 But make it fly out of the mouths of kings 
 In golden vapours and with awful wings. 
 Ta. It rests as all kings' seals were se 
 
 in thee. 
 
 Now let us call my father, whom I swear 
 I could extremely chide, but that I fear 
 To make him so suspicious of my love 
 Of which, sweet servant, do not let bin 
 
 know 
 
 For all the world. 
 Bu. Alas ! he will not think it. 
 
 Ta. Come, then ho ! Father, ope, and 
 
 take your friend. \Ascendit Friar. 
 
 Fr. Now, honour 'd daughter, is your 
 
 doubt resolved ? 
 Ta. Ay, father, but you went away too 
 
 soon. 
 
 Fr. Too soon ? 
 Ta. Indeed you did, you should have 
 
 stay'd ; 
 Had not your worthy friend been of your 
 
 bringing, 
 
 And that contains all laws to temper me, 
 ^ot all the fearful danger that besieged us, 
 Had awed my throat from exclamation. 
 
 Fr. I know your serious disposition well. 
 Come, son, the morn comes on. 
 Bu. Now, honour'd mistress, 
 Till farther service call, all bliss supply you. 
 Ta. And you this chain of pearl, and 
 my love only. 
 
 [Descendit Friar and D'Ambois. 
 Ta. It is not I, but urgent destiny, 
 That (as great statesmen for their general 
 
 end 
 
 In politic justice, make poor men offend) 
 Enforceth my offence to make it just. 
 What shall weak dames do, when the whole 
 
 work of nature 
 
 Hath a strong finger in each one of us ? 
 Needs must that sweep away the silly cob- 
 web 
 
 Of our still-undone labours ; that lays still 
 Our powers to it : as to the line, the stone, 
 Not to the stone, the line should be op- 
 posed ; 
 We cannot keep our constant course in 
 
 virtue : 
 
 What is alike at all parts ? Every day 
 Differs from other : every hour and minute ; 
 Ay, every thought in our false clock of life, 
 Ofttimes inverts the whole circumference : 
 We must be sometimes one, sometimes an- 
 other : 
 Our bodies are but thick clouds to our 
 
 souls, 
 Through which they cannot shine when 
 
 they desire : 
 
 When all the stars, and even the sun him- 
 self, 
 
 Must stay the vapours' fumes that he ex- 
 hales 
 
 Before he can make good his beams to us ; 
 O, how can we, that are but motes to 
 
 him, 
 
 Wandering at random in his order 'd rays, 
 Disperse our passions' fumes, with our 
 
 weak labours, 
 
 That are more thick and black than all 
 earth's vapours ? 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 155 
 
 Enter Montsurry. 
 
 Mont. Good day. my love ; what, up and 
 
 ready too ! 
 Ta. Both, my dear lord ; not all this 
 
 night made I 
 
 Myself unready, or could sleep a wink. 
 Mont. Alas ! what troubled my true love? 
 
 my peace, 
 
 From being at peace within her better self? 
 Or how could sleep forbear to seize thine 
 
 eyes 
 When he might challenge them as his just 
 
 prize ? 
 Ta. I am in no power earthly, but in 
 
 yours ; 
 
 To what end should I go to bed, my lord, 
 That wholly miss'd the comfort of my 
 
 bed? 
 
 Or how should sleep possess my faculties, 
 Wanting the proper closer of mine eyes ? 
 Mont. Then will I never more sleep night 
 
 from thee ; 
 All mine own business, all the king's 
 
 affairs, 
 Shall take the day to serve them ; every 
 
 night 
 I'll ever dedicate to thy delight. 
 
 Ta. Nay, good my lord, esteem not my 
 
 'desires 
 Such deters on their humours that my 
 
 judgment 
 Cannot subdue them to your worthier 
 
 pleasure ; 
 A wife's pleased husband must her object 
 
 be 
 
 In all her acts, not her soothed fantasy. 
 Mont. Then come, my love, now pay 
 
 those rites to sleep 
 Thy fair eyes owe him ; shall we now to 
 
 bed? 
 Ta. Oh, no, my lord ; your holy friar 
 
 says 
 All couplings in the day that touch the 
 
 bed 
 
 Adulterous are, even in the married ; 
 Whose grave and worthy doctrine, well I 
 
 know, 
 
 Your faith in him will liberally allow. 
 Mont. He's a most learned and religious 
 
 man ; 
 Come to the presence then, and see great 
 
 D'Ambois 
 (Fortune's proud mushroom sh'ot up in a 
 
 night) 
 
 Stand like an Atlas under our King's arm ; 
 Which greatness with him Monsieur now 
 
 envies 
 As bitterly and deadly as the Guise. 
 
 Ta. What, he that was but yesterday 
 
 his maker, 
 
 His raiser and preserver ? 
 Mont. Even the same : 
 Each natural agent works but to this end, 
 To render that it works on like itself ; 
 Which since the Monsieur in his act on 
 
 D'Ambois 
 
 'annot to his ambitious end effect, 
 But that, quite opposite, the King hath 
 
 power, 
 
 In his love borne to D'Ambois, to convert 
 The point of Monsieur's aim on his own 
 
 breast, 
 
 He turns his outward love to inward hate. 
 A prince's love is like the lightning's fume, 
 Which no man can embrace but must 
 
 consume. ^Exeunt. 
 
 Henry, D'Ambois, Monsieur, Guise, 
 Duchess, Annabelle, Charlotte, Atten- 
 dants. 
 
 He. Speak home, my Bussy ; thy im- 
 partial words 
 Are like brave falcons that dare truss a 
 
 fowl 
 Much greater than themselves ; flatterers 
 
 are kites 
 That check at sparrows ; thou shalt be my 
 
 eagle, 
 And bear my thunder underneath thy 
 
 wings ; 
 Truth's words, like jewels, hang in the 
 
 ears of kings. 
 Bu. Would I might live to see no Jews 
 
 hang there 
 
 Instead of jewels ; sycophants, I mean, 
 Who use truth like the devil, his true foe, 
 Cast by the angel to the pit of fears, 
 And bound in chains ; truth seldom decks 
 
 kings' ears. 
 
 Slave flattery (like a rippier's legs roll'd up 
 In boots of hay-ropes) with kings' s.cthed 
 
 guts 
 Swaddled and strappled, now lives only 
 
 free. 
 O, 'tis a subtle knave ; how like the 
 
 plague 
 
 Unfelt he strikes into the brain of truth, 
 And rageth in his entrails, when he can, 
 Worse than the poison of a red-hair 'd man. 
 He. Fly at him and his brood ; I cast 
 
 thee off, 
 And once more give thee surname ol mine 
 
 eagle. 
 Bu. I'll make you sport enough, then ; 
 
 let me have 
 
 My lucerns too, or dogs inured to hunt 
 Beasts of most rapine, but to put them up, 
 
BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 And if I truss not, let me not be trusted. 
 Show me a great man (by the people's voice, 
 Which is the voice of God) that by his 
 
 greatness 
 Bombasts his private roofs with public 
 
 riches ; 
 
 That affects royalty, rising from a clapdish ; 
 That rules so much more by his suffering 
 
 king, 
 That he makes kings of his subordinate 
 
 slaves : 
 
 Himself and them graduate like wood- 
 mongers, 
 
 Piling a stack of billets, from the earth, 
 Raising each other into steeples' heights ; 
 Let him convey this on the turning props 
 Of Protean law, and, his own counsel 
 
 keeping, 
 
 Keep all upright ; let me but hawk at him, 
 I'll play the vulture, and so thump his liver, 
 That, like a huge unlading Argosy, 
 He shall confess all, and you then may 
 
 hang him. 
 
 Show me a clergyman, that is in voice 
 A lark of heaven, in heart a mole of earth ; 
 That hath good living, and a wicked life ; 
 A temperate look, and a luxurious gut ; 
 Turning the rents of his superfluous cures 
 Into your pheasants and your partridges ; 
 Venting their quintessence as men read 
 
 Hebrew ; 
 
 Let me but hawk at him, and, like the other, 
 He shall confess all, and you then may 
 
 hang him. 
 
 Show me a lawyer that turns sacred law 
 (The equal Tenderer of each man his own, 
 The scourge of rapine and extortion, 
 The sanctuary and impregnable defence 
 Of retired learning and besieged virtue) 
 Into a harpy, that eats all but's own, 
 Into the damned sins it punisheth ; 
 Into the synagogue of thieves and atheists, 
 Blood into gold, and justice into lust ; 
 Let me but hawk at him, as at the rest, 
 He shall confess all, and you then may 
 
 hang him. 
 
 Enter Montsurry, Tamyra, and Pero. 
 
 Gu. Where will you find such game as 
 
 you would hawk at ? 
 Bu. I'll hawk about your house for one 
 
 of them. 
 Gu. Come, y'are a glorious ruffian, and 
 
 run proud 
 Of the King's headlong graces ; hold your 
 
 breath, 
 
 Or, by that poison'd vapour, not the King 
 Shall back your murtherous valour against 
 me. 
 
 Bu. I would the King would make his 
 
 presence free 
 But for one bout betwixt us : by the 
 
 reverence 
 Due to the sacred space 'twixt kings and 
 
 subjects, 
 Here would I make thee cast that popular 
 
 purple, 
 In which thy proud soul sits and braves 
 
 thy sovereign. 
 
 Mo. Peace, peace, I pray thee peace. 
 Bu. Let him peace first that made the 
 
 first war. 
 
 Mo. He's the better man. 
 Bu. And therefore may do worst ? 
 Mo. He has more titles. 
 Bu. So Hydra had more heads. 
 Mo. He's greater known. 
 Bu. His greatness is the people's ; mine's 
 
 mine own. 
 
 Mo. He's nobly born. 
 Bu. He is not, I am noble. 
 And noblesse in his blood hath no gradation, 
 But in his merit. 
 
 Gu. Th'art not nobly born, 
 But bastard to the Cardinal of Ambois. 
 Bu. Thou liest, proud Guiserd ; let me 
 
 fly, my lord. 
 He. Not in my face, my eagle ; violence 
 
 flies 
 
 The sanctuaries of a prince's eyes. 
 Bu. Still shall we chide and foam upon 
 
 this bit ? 
 
 Is the Guise only great in faction ? 
 Stands he not by himself? Proves he th' 
 
 opinion 
 That men's souls are without them ? Be a 
 
 duke, 
 
 And lead me to the field. 
 Gu. Come, follow me. 
 He. Stay them, stay, D'Ambois ; cousin 
 
 Guise, I wonder 
 
 Your equal disposition brooks so ill 
 A man so good, that only would uphold 
 Man in his native noblesse, from whose fall 
 All our dimensions rise ; that in himself 
 (Without the outward patches of our frailty, 
 Riches and honour) knows he comprehends 
 Worth with the greatest ; kings had never 
 
 borne 
 
 Such boundless empire over other men, 
 Had all maintain'd the spirit and state of 
 
 D'Ambois ; 
 
 Nor had the full impartial hand of nature 
 That all things gave in her original, 
 Without these definite terms of mine and 
 
 thine, 
 
 Been turn'd unjustly to the hand of For- 
 tune, 
 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 BUSSY D' AM BO IS. 
 
 '57 
 
 Had all preserved her in her prime, like 
 
 D'Ambois ; 
 
 No envy, no disjunction had dissolved, 
 Or pluck'd one stick out of the golden 
 
 faggot 
 In which the world of Saturn bound our 
 
 lives, 
 
 Had all been held together with the nerves, 
 The genius, and th' ingenuous soul of 
 
 D'Ambois. 
 
 Let my hand therefore be the Hermean rod 
 To part and reconcile, and so conserve 
 
 you, 
 
 As my combined embracers and supporters. 
 Bit, 'Tis our king's motion, and \ve shall 
 
 not seem 
 
 To worst eyes womanish, 
 change thus soon 
 
 though we 
 
 Never so great grudgi for his greater 
 
 pleasure. 
 Git. I seal to that, and so the manly 
 
 freedom 
 That you so much profess, hereafter prove 
 
 not 
 
 A bold and glorious licence to deprave, 
 To me his hand shall hold the Hermean 
 
 virtue 
 
 His grace affects, in which submissive sign 
 On this his sacred right hand, I lay mine. 
 Bu. 'Tis well, my lord, and 'so your 
 
 worthy greatness 
 
 Decline not to the greater insolence, 
 Nor make you think it a prerogative, 
 To rack men's freedoms with the ruder 
 
 wrongs ; 
 
 My hand (stuck full of laurel, in true sign 
 'Tis wholly dedicate to righteous peace) 
 In all submission kisseth th' other side. 
 He, Thanks to ye both ; and kindly I in- 
 vite ye 
 
 Both to a banquet, where we'll sacrifice 
 Full cups to confirmation of your loves ; 
 At which, fair ladies, I entreat your pre- 
 sence ; 
 
 And hope you, madam, will take one ca- 
 rouse 
 
 For reconcilement of your lord and ser- 
 vant. 
 Du. If I should fail, my lord, some other 
 
 lady 
 Would be found there to do that for my 
 
 servant. 
 
 Mo. Any of these here ? 
 Du. Nay, I know not that. 
 Bu. Think your thoughts like my 
 
 mistress', honour'd lady ? 
 Ta. I think not on you, sir ; y'are one 
 
 J know not. 
 Bu. Cry you mercy, madam. 
 
 Mont. Oh, sir, has she met you ? 
 
 [Exeunt Henry, D'Ambois, Ladies. 
 Mo. What had my bounty drunk when 
 
 it raised him ? 
 Git. Y'ave stuck us up a very worthy 
 
 flag, 
 That takes more wind than we with all our 
 
 sails. 
 
 Mo. Oh, so he spreads and flourishes. 
 GH. He must down, 
 Upstarts should never perch too near a 
 
 crow n . 
 Mo. 'Tis true, my lord ; and as this 
 
 doting hand, 
 Even out of earth, like Juno, struck this 
 
 giant, 
 So Jove's great ordinance shall be here 
 
 implied 
 
 To strike him under th' Etna of his pride ; 
 To which work lend your hands, and let us 
 
 cast 
 Where we may set snares for his ranging 
 
 greatness ; 
 I think it best, amongst our greatest 
 
 women : 
 For there is no such trap to catch an 
 
 upstart 
 As a loose downfall ; for you know their 
 
 falls 
 Are th'ends of all men's rising : if great 
 
 men 
 
 And wise make scapes to please ad- 
 vantage 
 
 'Tis with a woman : women that worst may 
 Still hold men's candles : they direct and 
 
 know 
 All things amiss in all men ; and their 
 
 women 
 All things amiss in them ; through whose 
 
 charm'd mouths, 
 We may see all the close scapes of the 
 
 Court. 
 When the most royal beast of chase, the 
 
 hart, 
 (Being old and cunning in his lairs and 
 
 haunts) 
 
 Can never be discover'd to the bow, 
 The piece, or hound ; yet where, behind 
 
 some quitch, 
 He breaks his gall, and rutteth with his 
 
 hind, 
 
 The place is mark'd, and by his venery 
 He still is taken. Shall we then attempt 
 The chiefest mean to that discovery here, 
 And court our greatest ladies' chiefest 
 
 women 
 
 With shows of love and liberal promises ? 
 Tis but our breath. If something given 
 
 in hand 
 
158 
 
 BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Sharpen their hopes of more, 'twill be well 
 
 ventured. 
 Gu. No doubt of that; and 'tis the 
 
 cunning'st point 
 Of your devised investigation. 
 
 Mo, I have broken 
 The ice to it already with the woman 
 Of our chaste lady, and conceive good 
 
 hope 
 
 I shall wade thorough to some wished shore 
 At our next meeting. 
 
 Mont. Nay, there's small hope there. 
 Gu. Take say of her, my lord, she comes 
 
 most fitly, 
 
 And we will to the other. 
 Mo. Starting back? 
 
 Enter Charlotte, Annabelle, Pero. 
 
 Gu. Y'are engaged, indeed. 
 
 An. Nay, pray, my lord, forbear. 
 
 Mont. What, skittish, servant? 
 
 An. No, my lord, I am not so fit for 
 your service. 
 
 Ch. Pray pardon me now, my lord ; my 
 lady expects me. 
 
 Gu. I'll satisfy her expectation, as far as 
 an uncle may. 
 
 Mo. Well said ; a spirit of courtship of 
 all hands. Now mine own Pero, hast 
 thou remembered me for the discovery I 
 entreated thee to make of thy mistress? 
 speak boldly, and be sure of all things 
 I have sworn to thee. 
 
 Pe. Building on that assurance, my 
 lord, I may speak ; and much the rather, 
 because my lady hath not trusted me with 
 that 1 can tell you ; for now -I cannot be 
 said to betray her. 
 
 Mo. That's all one, so we reach our 
 objects ; forth, I beseech thee. 
 
 Pe. To tell you truth, my lord, I have 
 made a strange discovery. 
 
 Mo. Excellent, Pero, thou revivest me ; 
 may I sink quick to perdition if my tongue 
 discover it. 
 
 Pe. Tis thus, then : this last night, my 
 lord lay forth, and I watching my lady's 
 sitting up, stole up at midnight from my 
 pallet ; and (having before made a hole 
 both through the wall and arras to her 
 inmost chamber) I saw D'Ambois and her- 
 self reading a letter. 
 
 Mo. D'Ambois? 
 
 Pe. Even he, my lord. 
 
 Mo. Dost thou not dream, wench ? 
 
 Pe. I swear he is the man. 
 
 Mo. The devil he is, and thy lady his 
 dam ; why, this was the happiest shot that 
 ever flew ! The just plague of hypocrisy 
 
 evelled it. Oh, the infinite regions be- 
 :wixt a woman's tongue and her heart ! is 
 this .our goddess of chastity? I thought I 
 could not be so sleigh ted, if she had not 
 her fraught besides, and, therefore, 
 plotted this with her woman, never 
 dreaming of D'Ambois. Dear, Pero, I will 
 advance thee for ever ; but tell me now ; 
 od's precious, it transforms me with ad- 
 miration ; sweet Pero, whom should she 
 trust with his conveyance ? Or, all the 
 doors being made sure, how should his 
 conveyance be made ? 
 
 Pe. Nay, my lord, that amazes me ; I 
 cannot by any study so much as guess 
 at it. 
 
 Mo. Well, let's favour our apprehensions 
 with forbearing that a little ; for if my 
 heart were not hooped with adamant, the 
 conceit of this would have burst it. But 
 hark thee. [ Whispers. 
 
 Ch. I swear to your grace, all that I can 
 conjecture touching my lady your niece, 
 is a strong affection she bears to the 
 English Mylor. 
 
 Gu. All, quod you? 'Tis enough, I 
 assure you, but tell me. 
 
 Mont. I pray thee, resolve me : the duke 
 will never imagine that I am busy about 's 
 wife : hath D'Ambois any privy access to 
 her? 
 
 An. No, my lord ; D'Ambois neglects 
 her, as she takes it, and is therefore 
 suspicious that either your lady, or the 
 Lady Beaupre hath closely entertained 
 him. 
 
 Mont. By'r lady, a likely suspicion, and 
 very near the life, if she marks it, especially 
 of my wife. 
 
 Mo. Come, we'll disguise all with 
 seeming only to have courted ; away, dry 
 palm : sh'as a liver as hard as a biscuit ; a 
 man may go a whole voyage with her, and 
 get nothing but tempests from her wind- 
 pipe. 
 
 Gu. Here's one, I think, has swallowed 
 a porcupine, she casts pricks from her 
 tongue so. 
 
 Mont. And here's a peacock seems to 
 have devoured one of the Alps, she has so 
 swelling a spirit, and is so cold of her 
 kindness. 
 
 Ch. We are no windfalls, my lord ; ye 
 must gather us with the ladder of matri- 
 mony, or we'll hang till we be rotten. 
 
 Mo. Indeed, that's the way to make 
 ye right open-arses. But, alas i ye have 
 no portions fit for such husbands as we 
 wish you. 
 
SCENE I.J 
 
 BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 159 
 
 PC. Portions, my lord? yes, and such 
 portions as your principality cannot pur- 
 chase. 
 
 Mo. What, woman ? what are those 
 portions ? 
 
 PC. Riddle my riddle, my lord. - 
 
 Mo. Ay, marry wench, I think thy 
 portion is a right riddle, a man shall never 
 find it out. But let's hear it. 
 
 Pe. You shall, my lord. 
 
 What's that, that being most rare's 
 
 most cheap ? 
 
 That when you sow, you never reap ? 
 That when it grows most, most you in tt ? 
 And still you lose it when you win it ; 
 Tkat when 'tis commonest, 'tis dearest, 
 And when ' tis farthest off , 'tis nearest? 
 
 Mo. Is this your great portion ? 
 
 Pe. Even this, my lord. 
 
 Mo. Believe me, I cannot riddle it. 
 
 Pe. No, my lord: 'tis my chastity, which 
 you shall neither riddle nor fiddle. 
 
 Mo. Your chastity? Let me begin 
 with the end of it ; how is a woman's 
 chastity nearest a man when 'tis furthest off? 
 
 Pe. Why, my lord, when you cannot get 
 it, it goes to th' heart on you ; and that, I 
 think, comes most near you : and I am 
 sure it shall be far enough off ; and so we 
 leave you to our mercies. 
 
 \Exeiint Women. 
 
 Mo. Farewell, riddle. 
 
 Gu. Farewell, medlar. 
 
 Mont. Farewell, winter plum. 
 
 Mo. Now, my lords, what fruit of our 
 inquisition? Feel you nothing budding 
 yet? Speak, good my Lord Montsurry. 
 
 Mont. Nothing but this : D'Ambois is 
 negligent in observing the duchess, and 
 therefore she is suspicious that your niece 
 or my wife closely entertains him. 
 
 Mo. Your wife, my lord? Think you 
 that possible ? 
 
 Mont. Alas, I know she flies him like 
 her last hour. 
 
 Mo. Her last hour? Why, that comes 
 upon her the more she flies it. Does 
 D'Ambois so, think you? 
 
 Mont. That's not worth the answering 
 Tis miraculous to think with what monsters 
 women's imaginations engross them wher 
 they yre once enamoured, and wha 
 wonders they will work for their satisfac 
 tion. They will make a sheep valiant, a 
 lion fearful. 
 
 Mo. And an ass confident. Well, mj 
 lord, more will come forth shortly ; get you 
 to the banquet. 
 
 Gu. Come, my lord; I have the blind 
 ide of one of them. 
 
 [Exit Guise, cum Montsurry. 
 Mo. O the unsounded sea of women s 
 
 bloods, 
 
 That when 'tis calmest, is most dangerous ; 
 Vot any wrinkle creaming in their faces 
 When in their hearts are Scylla and 
 
 Charybdis, 
 Which still are hid in dark and standing 
 
 fogs, 
 Where never day shines, nothing ever 
 
 grows, 
 3ut weeds and poisons, that no statesman 
 
 knows, 
 
 ^pr Cerberus ever saw the damned nooks 
 Hid with the veils of women's virtuous 
 
 looks ; 
 
 But what a cloud of sulphur have I drawn 
 Up to my bosom in this dangerous secret ! 
 Which if my haste with any spark should 
 
 light, 
 Ere D'Ambois were engaged in some sure 
 
 plot, 
 I were blown up ; he would be sure my 
 
 death. 
 
 I will conceal all yet, and give more time 
 To D'Ambois' trial, now upon my hook, 
 He awes my throat ; else like Sybilla's cave 
 It should breathe oracles. 
 Would I had never known it, for before 
 I shall persuade th'importance to Mont- 
 surry, 
 
 And make him with some studied stra- 
 tagem 
 Train D'Ambois to his wreak, his maid 
 
 may tell it, 
 Or I (out of my fiery thirst to play 
 With the fell tiger, up in darkness tied, 
 And give it some light) make it quite break 
 
 loose. 
 
 I fear it afore heaven, and will not see 
 D'Ambois again, till I have told Montsurry, 
 And set a snare with him to free my fears 
 Who's there ? 
 
 Enter Maffe. 
 
 Ma. My lord? 
 
 Mo. Go call the Count Montsurry, 
 And make the doors fast; I will speak with 
 
 none 
 Till he come to me. 
 
 Ma. Well, my lord. [Exiturus. 
 
 Mo. Or else 
 
 Send you some other, and see all the doors 
 Made safe yourself, I pray; haste, fly about 
 
 it. 
 
 Ma. You'll spe3k with none but \mh tfo 
 Count. Montsurry i 
 
i6o 
 
 BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Mo. With none but he, except it be the 
 
 Guise. 
 
 Ma. See even by this, there's one ex- 
 ception more ; 
 Your grace must be more firm in the 
 
 command, 
 
 Or else shall I as weakly execute. 
 The Guise shall speak with you ? 
 Mo. He shall, I say. 
 Ma. And Count Montsurry ? 
 Mo. And Count Montsurry. 
 Ma. Your grace must pardon me, that I 
 
 am bold 
 To urge the clear and full sense of your 
 
 pleasure ; 
 
 Which whensoever I have known, I hope 
 Your grace will say, I hit it to a hair. 
 Mo. You have. 
 
 Ma. I hope so, or I would be glad 
 Mo. I pray thee get thee gone, thou 
 
 art so tedious 
 
 In the strict form of all thy services 
 That I had better have one negligent. 
 You hit my pleasure well, when D'Ambois 
 
 hit you ; 
 Did you not, think you ? 
 
 Ma. D'Ambois ? why my lord ? 
 
 Mo. I pray thee talk no more, but shut 
 
 the doors : 
 Do what I charge thee. 
 
 Ma. I will, my lord, and yet 
 I would be glad the wrong I had of 
 
 D'Ambois 
 Mo. Precious ! then it is a fate that 
 
 plagues me 
 
 In this man's foolery, I may be murther'd 
 While he stands on protection of his folly. 
 Avaunt about thy charge. 
 
 Ma. I go, my lord. 
 I had my head broke in his faithful 
 
 service ; 
 
 I had no suit the more, nor any thanks, 
 And yet my teeth must still be hit with 
 
 D'Ambois : 
 
 D'Ambois, my lord, shall know. 
 Mo. The devil and D'Ambois ! 
 
 [Exit Maffe. 
 
 How am I tortured with this trusty fool ! 
 Never was any curious in his place 
 To do things justly, but he was an ass ; 
 We cannot find one trusty that is witty, 
 An r l therefore bear their disproportion. 
 Grant thou, great star and angel of my 
 
 life, 
 
 A sure lease of it but for some few days, 
 That I may clear my bosom of the snake 
 J cherish 'd there, and I will then defy 
 All check to it but Nature's, and her 
 altars 
 
 Shall crack with vessels crown'd with every 
 
 liquor 
 Drawn from her highest and most bloody 
 
 humours. 
 
 I fear him strangely, his advanced valour 
 Is like a spirit raised without a circle, 
 Endangering him that ignorautly raised 
 
 him, 
 And for whose fury he hath learnt no 
 
 limit. 
 
 Enter Maffe hastily. 
 
 Ma. I cannot help it : what should I do 
 
 more? 
 
 As I was gathering a fit guard to make 
 My passage to the doors, and the doors 
 
 sure, 
 The man of blood is enter'd. 
 
 Mo. Rage of death ! 
 If I had told the secret, and he knew it, 
 Thus had I been endanger'd : My sweet 
 
 heart ! 
 How now, what leap'st thou at? 
 
 Enter D'Ambois. 
 Bu. O royal object ! 
 Mo. Thou dream 'st, awake ; object in 
 
 th' empty air? 
 Bu. Worthy the brows of Titan, worth 
 
 his chair. 
 
 Mo. Pray thee, what mean'st thou ? 
 Bu. See you not a crown 
 Impale the forehead of the great King 
 
 Monsieur ? 
 
 Mo. Oh, fie upon thee ! 
 Bu. Sir, that is the subject 
 Of all these your retired and sole dis- 
 courses. 
 Mo. Wilt thou not leave that wrongful 
 
 supposition ? 
 Bu. Why wrongful, to suppose the 
 
 doubtless right 
 
 To the succession worth the thinking on ? 
 Mo. Well, leave these jests ; how I am 
 
 overjoy'd 
 With thy wish'd presence, and how fit thou 
 
 comest, 
 For of mine honour I was sending for 
 
 thee. 
 
 Bu. To what end ? 
 Mo. Only for thy company, 
 Which I have still in thought, but that's 
 
 no payment 
 
 On thy part made with personal appearance. 
 Thy absence so long suffer'd, oftentimes 
 Put me in some little doubt thou dost not 
 
 love me. 
 
 Wilt thou do one thing therefore now 
 sincerely ? 
 
"JCKNE I.] 
 
 BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 Bu. Ay, anything, but killing of the 
 
 King. 
 Mo. Still in that discord, and ill-taken 
 
 note, 
 How most unseasonably thou play'st the 
 
 cuckoo, 
 In this thy fall of friendship ! 
 
 Bu. Then do not doubt, 
 That there is any act within my nerves 
 But killing of the King, that is not yours. 
 Mo. I will not, then ; to prove which by 
 
 my love 
 Shown to thy virtues, and by all fruits 
 
 else 
 Already sprung from that still-flourishing 
 
 tree, 
 
 With whatsoever may hereafter spring, 
 I charge thee utter (even with all the 
 
 freedom 
 
 Both of thy noble nature and thy friend- 
 ship) 
 The full and plain state of me in thy 
 
 thoughts. 
 Bu. What, utter plainly what I think 
 
 of you ? 
 
 Mo. Plain as truth. 
 Bu. Why, this swims quite against the 
 
 stream of greatness ; 
 
 Great men would rather hear their flatteries, 
 And if they be not made fools, are not 
 
 wise. 
 
 Mo. I am no such great fool, and there- 
 fore charge thee 
 Even from the root of thy free heart, 
 
 display me. 
 Bu. Since you affect it in such serious 
 
 terms, 
 
 If yourself first will tell me what you think 
 As freely and as heartily of me, 
 I'll be as open in my thoughts of you. 
 Mo. A bargain, of mine honour ; and 
 
 make this, 
 
 That prove we in our full dissection 
 Never so foul, live still the sounder friends. 
 Bu. What else, sir? Come, pay me 
 
 home ; I'll bide it bravely. 
 Mo. I will, I swear. I think thee then 
 
 a man 
 That dares as much as a wild horse or 
 
 tiger ; 
 
 As headstrong and as bloody ; and to feed 
 The ravenous wolf of thy most cannibal 
 
 valour, 
 (Rather than not employ it) thou wouldst 
 
 turn 
 
 Hackster to any whore, slave to a Jew 
 Or English usurer, to force possessions, 
 And cut men's throats of mortgaged 
 
 estates ; 
 VOL. I. 
 
 Or thou wouldst 'tire thee like a tinkers 
 
 strumpet, 
 And murther market-folks, quarrel with 
 
 sheep, 
 
 And run as mad as Ajax ; serve a butcher. 
 Do anything but killing of the King : 
 That in thy valour th'art like other 
 
 naturals 
 That have strange gifts in nature, but no 
 
 soul 
 Diffused quite through, to make them of a 
 
 piece, 
 
 But stop at humours that are more absurd, 
 Childish and villanous than that hackster, 
 
 whore, 
 Slave, cut-throat, tinker's bitch, compared 
 
 before ; 
 And in those humours wouldst envy, 
 
 betray, 
 Slander, blaspheme, change each hour a 
 
 religion ; 
 
 Do anything but killing of the King : 
 That in thy valour (which is still the dung- 
 hill, 
 To which hath reference all filth in thy ' 
 
 house) 
 
 Thou art more ridiculous and vain-glorious 
 Than any mountebank ; and impudent 
 Than any painted bawd ; which, not to 
 
 soothe 
 
 And glorify thee like a Jupiter Hammon, 
 Thou eat'st thy heart in vinegar ; and thy 
 
 gall 
 Turns all thy blood to poison, which is 
 
 cause 
 Of that toad-pool that stands in thy 
 
 complexion, 
 And makes thee (with a cold and earthy 
 
 moisture, 
 
 Which is the dam of putrefaction, 
 As plague to thy damn'd pride) rot as thou 
 
 livest ; 
 
 To study calumnies and treacheries ; 
 To thy friends' slaughters like a screech- 
 owl sing, 
 
 And do all mischiefs but to kill the King. 
 Bu. So ! have you said ? 
 Mo. How think'st thou? Do I flatter? 
 Speak I not like a trusty friend to thee ? 
 Bu. That ever any man was blest 
 
 withal ; 
 So here's for me. I think you are (at 
 
 worst) 
 
 No devil, since y'are like to be no king ; 
 Of which, with any friend of yours, I'll lay 
 This poor stilladohere, 'gainst all the stars. 
 Ay, and 'gainst all your treacheries, which 
 
 are more ; 
 That you did never good, but to do ill ^ 
 
162 
 
 BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 [ACT i\. 
 
 But ill of all sorts, free and for itself : 
 That (like a murtbering piece, making 
 
 lanes in armies, 
 The first man of a rank, the whole rank 
 
 falling) 
 
 If you have wrong'd one man, you are so far 
 From making him amends, that all his race, 
 Friends, and associates, fall into your chase : 
 That y'are for perjuries the very prince 
 Of .all intelligencers ; and your voice 
 Is like an eastern wind, that where it flies 
 Knits nets of caterpillars, with which you 
 
 catch 
 The prime of all the fruits the kingdom 
 
 yields. 
 
 That your political head is the cursed fount 
 Of all the violence, rapine, cruelty, 
 Tyranny, and atheism flowing through the 
 
 realm. 
 
 That y'ave a tongue so scandalous, 'twill cut 
 A perfect crystal ; and a breath that will 
 Kill to that wall a spider ; you will jest 
 With God, and your soul to the devil 
 
 tender 
 For lust ; kiss horror, and with death 
 
 engender. 
 
 That your foul body is a Lernean fen 
 Of all the maladies breeding in all men ; 
 That you are utterly without a soul ; 
 And, for your life, the thread of that was 
 
 spun 
 When Clotho slept, and let her breathing 
 
 rock 
 
 Fall in the dirt ; and Lachesis still draws it, 
 Dipping her twisting fingers in a bowl 
 Defiled, and crown'd with virtue's forced 
 
 soul. 
 
 And lastly (which I must for gratitude 
 Ever remember) that of all my height 
 And dearest life, you are the only spring, 
 Only in royal hope to kill the king. 
 Mo. Why, now I see thou lovest me ; 
 
 come to the banquet. [Exeunt. 
 
 END OF ACT' in. 
 
 : ACT THE FOURTH. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 fentir Henry, Monsieur, "with a letter ; 
 Guise, Montsurry, . Bussy, Elynor, 
 Tamyra, Beaupre, Pero, Charlotte, 
 Annabelle, Pyrha, with four Pages. 
 
 ' He. Ladies, ye have not done our 
 
 banquet right, 
 Nor look'd upon it with those cheerful rays 
 
 That lately turn'd your breaths to floods 
 
 of gold ; 
 Your looks, methinks, are not drawn out 
 
 with thoughts 
 
 So clear and free as heretofore, but foul, 
 As if the thick complexions of men 
 Govern'd within them. 
 
 Bu. 'Tis not like, my lord, 
 That men in women rule, but contraiy ; 
 For as the moon (of all things God created) 
 Not only is the most appropriate image 
 Or glass to show them how they wax and 
 
 wane, 
 But in her height and motion likewise 
 
 bears 
 
 Imperial influences that command 
 In all their powers, and make them wax 
 
 and wane ; 
 So women, that (of all things made of 
 
 nothing) 
 
 Are the most perfect idols of the moon 
 (Or stili-unwean'd sweet moon-calves with 
 
 white faces) 
 
 Not only are patterns of change to men, 
 But as the tender moonshine of their 
 
 beauties 
 
 Clears, or is cloudy, make men glad or sad, 
 So then they rule in men, not men in 
 
 them. 
 Mo. But here the moons are changed, 
 
 (as the King notes) 
 And either men rule in them, or some 
 
 power 
 
 Beyond their voluntary faculty : 
 For nothing can recover their lost faces. 
 Mont. None can be always one: our 
 
 griefs and joys 
 Hold several sceptres in us, and have 
 
 times. 
 For their predominance : which grief now, 
 
 in them 
 
 Doth prove as proper to his diadem. 
 Bu. And grief's a natural sickness of 
 
 the blood, 
 
 That time to part asks, as his coming had, 
 Only slight fools grieved suddenly are 
 
 glad; 
 
 A man may say to a dead man, " Be re- 
 vived," 
 As well as to. one sorrowful, "Be not 
 
 grieved." 
 And therefore, princely mistress, in all 
 
 wars 
 Against these base foes that insult on 
 
 weakness, , 
 And still fight housed behind the shield of 
 
 Nature, 
 Of privilege, law, treachery, or beastly 
 
 need, 
 
.TENE I.] 
 
 BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 163 
 
 n 
 
 Your servant cannot help ; authority here 
 Goes with corruption : something like some 
 
 States, 
 That back worst men : valour to them must 
 
 creep 
 That, to themselves left, would fear him 
 
 asleep. 
 Du. Ye all take that for granted that 
 
 doth rest 
 
 Yet to be proved ; we all are as we were, 
 As merry and as free in thought as ever. 
 . Gu. And why then can ye not disclose 
 
 your thoughts ? 
 Ta. Methinks the man hath answer 'd 
 
 for us well. 
 Mo. The man? why, madam, d'ye not 
 
 know his name ? 
 Ta. Man is a name of honour for a 
 
 king : 
 'Additions take away from each chief 
 
 thing : 
 The school of modesty, not to learn, 
 
 learns dames : 
 They sit in high forms there, that know 
 
 men's names. 
 ' Mo. Hark ! sweetheart, here's a bar set 
 
 to your valour : 
 
 It cannot enter here : no, not to notice 
 Of what your name is ; your great eagle's 
 
 beak 
 
 ; (Should you fly at her) had as good en- 
 counter 
 
 An Albion cliff, as her more craggy liver. 
 Bu. I'll not attempt her, sir ; her sight 
 
 and name 
 : (By which I only know her) doth deter 
 
 me. 
 
 He. So they do all men else. 
 Mo. You would say so 
 If you knew all. 
 ' Ta. Knew all, my lord? What mean 
 
 you? 
 
 Mo* All that I know, madam. 
 Ta. That you know ? speak it. 
 Mo. No, 'tis enough, I feel it. 
 He. But, methinks 
 
 Her courtship is more pure than hereto- 
 fore ; 
 True courtiers should be modest, but not 
 
 nice, 
 Bold, but not impudent, pleasure love, 
 
 not vice. 
 Mo. Sweetheart 1 come hither, what if 
 
 one should make 
 Horns at Montsurry ? Would it not 
 
 strike him jealous' 
 Through all the proofs of his chaste lady's 
 
 virtues? 
 Bu. If he be wise, not. 
 
 Mo. What ? Not if I should name the 
 
 gardener 
 That I would have him think hath grafted 
 
 him? 
 Bu. So the large licence that your 
 
 greatness uses 
 
 To jest at all men, may be taught indeed 
 To make a difference of the grounds you 
 
 play on, 
 Both in the men you scandal, and the 
 
 matter. 
 
 Mo. As how? as how? 
 Bu. Perhaps led with a train, where 
 
 you may have 
 Your nose made less and slit, your eyes 
 
 thrust out. 
 
 Mo. Peace, peace, I pray thee peace. 
 Who dares do that ? the brother of his king ? 
 Bu. Were your king brother in you ; 
 
 all your powers 
 (Stretch'd in the arms of great men and 
 
 their bawds), 
 Set close down by you ; all your stormy 
 
 laws 
 
 Spouted with lawyers' mouths ; and gush- 
 ing blood, 
 
 Like -to so many torrents ; all your glories 
 (Making you terrible, like enchanted flames 
 Fed with bare cockscombs ; and with 
 
 crooked hams), 
 All your prerogatives, your shames and 
 
 tortures ; 
 All daring heaven, and opening hell about 
 
 you ; 
 
 Were I the man ye wrong'd so and pro- 
 voked, 
 Though ne'er so much beneath you, like a 
 
 box-tree 
 
 I would (out of the roughness of my root) 
 Ram hardness, in my lowness, and like 
 
 death 
 Mounted on earthquakes, I would trot 
 
 through all 
 Honours and horrors : thorough foul and 
 
 fair 
 And from your whole strength toss you 
 
 into the air. 
 Mo. Go, th'art a devil ; such another 
 
 spirit 
 Could not be 'still'd from all th 'Armenian 
 
 dragons. 
 
 O my love's glory ; heir to all I have ; 
 That's all I can say, and that all I swear. 
 If thou outlive me, as I know thou must, 
 Or else hath nature no proportion'd end 
 To her great labours ; she hath breathed a 
 
 mind 
 
 Into thy entrails, of desert to swell 
 Into another great Augustus Csesar ; 
 
164 
 
 BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 [ACT .:.. 
 
 Organs and faculties fitted to her great- 
 ness ; 
 And should that perish like a common 
 
 spirit, 
 
 Nature's a courtier and regards no merit. 
 He. Here's nought but whispering with 
 
 us ; like a calm 
 
 Before a tempest, when the silent air 
 Lays her soft ear close to the earth to 
 
 hearken 
 For that she fears steals on to ravish 
 
 her; 
 Some fate doth join our ears to hear it 
 
 coming. 
 
 Come, my brave eagle, let's to covert fly ; 
 I see almighty ^Ether in the smoke 
 Of all his clouds descending ; and the sky 
 Hid in the dim ostents of tragedy. 
 {Exit Henry with D'Ambois and Ladies. 
 Gu. Now stir the humour, and begin the 
 
 brawl. 
 Mont. The King and D'Ambois now are 
 
 grown all one. 
 
 Mo, Nay, they are two, my lord. 
 Mont. How's that ? 
 Mo. No more. 
 
 Mont. I must have more, my lord. 
 Mo. What, more than two? 
 Mont. How monstrous is this ! 
 Mo. Why? 
 
 Mont. You make me horns. 
 Mo. Not I ; it is a work without my 
 
 power, 
 Married men's ensigns are not made with 
 
 fingers ; 
 
 Of divine fabric they are, not men's hands ; 
 Your wife, you know, is a mere Cynthia, 
 And she must fashion horns out of her 
 
 nature. 
 Mont. But doth she, dare you charge her ? 
 
 speak, false prince. 
 Mo. I must not speak, my lord ; but 
 
 if you'll use 
 
 The learning of a nobleman, and read, 
 Here's something to those points ; soft, 
 
 you must pawn 
 
 Your honour having read it to return it. 
 Mont. Not I, I pawn mine honour for a 
 
 Mo. You must not buy it under. 
 
 [Exeunt Guise and Monsieur. 
 
 Mont. Keep it then, 
 And keep fire in your bosom. 
 
 Ta. What says he ? 
 
 Mont. You must make good fhe rest. 
 
 Ta. How fares my lord ? 
 Takes my love anything to heart ne says ? 
 
 Mont. Come y'are a 
 
 Ta. What, my lord ? 
 
 Mont. The plague of Herod 
 Feast in his rotten entrails. 
 
 Ta. Will you wreak 
 Your anger's just cause given by him, on 
 
 me. 
 
 Mont. By him? 
 
 Ta. By him, my lord, I have admired 
 You could all this time be at concord with 
 
 him, 
 That still hath placed such discords on 
 
 your honour. 
 Mont. Perhaps 'tis with some proud 
 
 string of my wife's. 
 Ta. How's that, my lord ? 
 Mont. Your tongue will still admire, 
 Till my head be the miracle of the world. 
 Ta, O, woe is me ! 
 
 [She seems to swound. 
 Pe. What does your lordship mean ? 
 Madam, be comforted ; my lord but tries 
 
 you. 
 Madam ! help, good my lord, are you not 
 
 moved ? 
 Do your set looks print in your words your 
 
 thoughts ? 
 Sweet lord, clear up those eyes, for shame 
 
 of noblesse, 
 Unbend that masking forehead ; whence 
 
 is it 
 
 You rush upon her with these Irish wars, 
 More full of sound than hurt ? But 'tis 
 
 enough, 
 You have shot home, your words are in her 
 
 heart ; 
 
 She has not lived to bear a trial now. 
 Mont. Look up, my love, and by this kiss 
 
 receive 
 
 My soul amongst thy spirits for supply 
 To thine, chased with my fury. 
 
 Ta. Oh, my lord, 
 
 I have too long lived to hear this from you. 
 Mont. Twasfrom my troubled blood, and 
 
 not from me ; 
 
 I know not how I fare ; a sudden night 
 Flows through my entrails, and a headlong 
 
 chaos 
 
 Murmurs within me, which I must digest ; 
 And not drown her in my confusions, 
 That was my life's joy, being best in- 
 
 form'd ; * 
 Sweet, you must needs forgive me, that my 
 
 love 
 
 (Like to a fire disdaining his suppression) 
 Raged being discouraged ; my whole heart 
 
 is wounded 
 When any least thought in you is but 
 
 touch d, 
 
 And shall be till I know your former 
 merits ; 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 BUSSY D 1 AM BO IS. 
 
 165 
 
 Your name and memory altogether crave 
 
 In just oblivion their eternal grave ; 
 
 And then you must hear from me, there's 
 
 no mean 
 
 In any passion I shall feel for you ; 
 Love is a razor cleansing being well used, 
 But fetcheth blood still being the least 
 
 abused ; 
 To tell you briefly all : the man that left 
 
 me 
 When you appear'd, did turn me worse 
 
 than woman, 
 And stabb'd me to the heart thus, with his 
 
 fingers. 
 Ta. Oh, happy woman ! Comes my 
 
 stain from him, 
 
 It is my beauty, and that innocence proves ; 
 That slew Chymoera, rescued Peleus 
 From all the savage beasts in Pelion ; 
 And raised the chaste Athenian prince from 
 
 hell; 
 All suffering with me, they for women's 
 
 lusts, 
 
 I for a man's, that the Augean stable 
 Of his foul sin would empty in my lap ; 
 How his guilt shunn'd me ! sacred inno- 
 cence 
 That where thou fear'st, art dreadful ; and 
 
 his face 
 Turn'd in flight from thee, that had thee in 
 
 chase ; 
 Come, bring me to him ; I will tell the 
 
 serpent 
 Even to his venom'd teeth (from whose 
 
 cursed seed 
 A pitch'd field starts up 'twixt my lord and 
 
 me) 
 That his throat lies, and he shall curse his 
 
 fingers, 
 
 For being so govern'd by his filthy soul. 
 Mont. I know not if himself will vaunt 
 
 t'have been, 
 
 The princely author of the slavish sin, 
 Or any other ; he would have resolved 
 
 me 
 Had you not come ; not by his word, but 
 
 writing, 
 
 Would t have sworn to give it him again, 
 And pawn'd mine honour to him for a 
 
 paper. 
 
 Ta. See how he flies me still ; 'tis a foul 
 
 heart 
 That fears his own hand ; good, my lord, 
 
 make haste 
 
 To see the dangerous paper ; papers hold 
 Oft-times the forms and copies of our 
 
 souls, 
 And, though the world despise them, are 
 
 the prizes 
 
 Of all our honours ; make your honour 
 
 then 
 
 A hostage for it, and with it confer 
 My nearest woman here, in all she knows ; 
 Who (if the sun or Cerberus could have 
 
 seen 
 
 Any stain in me) might as much as they ; 
 And, Pero, here I charge thee by my love, 
 And all proofs of it (which I might call 
 
 bounties), 
 By all that thou hast seen seem good in 
 
 me, 
 And all the ill which thou shouldst spit 
 
 from thee, 
 By pity of the wound this touch hath 
 
 given me, 
 Not as thy mistress now, but a poor 
 
 woman, 
 
 To death given over ; rid me of my pains, 
 Pour on thy powder ; clear thy breast of 
 
 me ; 
 My lord is only here ; here speak thy 
 
 worst, 
 Thy best will do me mischief; if thou 
 
 sparest me, 
 
 Never shine good thought on thy memory. 
 
 Resolve, my lord, and leave me desperate. 
 
 Pe. My lord? my lord hath play'd a 
 
 prodigal's part, 
 
 To break his stock for nothing ; and an in- 
 solent, 
 To cut a gordian when he could not loose 
 
 it ; 
 
 What violence is this, to put true fire 
 To a false train ? To blow up long-crown 'd 
 
 peace 
 
 With sudden outrage, and believe a man 
 Sworn to the shame of women, 'gainst a 
 
 woman, 
 
 Born to their honours? But I will to him. 
 Ta. No, I will write (for I shall never 
 
 more 
 Meet wijh the fugitive) where I will defy 
 
 him, 
 
 Were he ten times the brother of my king. 
 To him, my lord, and I'll to cursing him. 
 \_Exeunt. 
 
 Enter D'Ambois and Friar. 
 
 Bu. I am suspicious, my most honour'd 
 
 father, 
 
 By some of Monsieur's cunning passages, 
 That his still ranging and contentious nos- 
 trils, 
 To scent the haunts of mischief have so 
 
 used 
 
 The vicious virtue of his busy sense, 
 That he trails hotly of him, and will rouse 
 him, 
 
i66 
 
 BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Driving him all enraged and foaming, on 
 
 us. 
 And therefore have entreated your deep 
 
 skill 
 
 In the command of good aerial spirits, 
 To assume these magic rites, and call up 
 
 one 
 
 To know if any have reveal'd unto him 
 Anything touching my dear love and me. 
 Fr, Good son, you have amazed me 
 
 but to make 
 
 The least doubt of it, it concerns so nearly 
 The faith and reverence of my name and 
 
 order. 
 
 Yet will I justify, upon my soul, 
 All I have done, if any spirit i' th' earth or 
 
 air 
 Can give you the resolve, do not despair. 
 
 Music. Tamyra enters with Pero and her 
 
 maid, bearing a letter. 
 Ta. Away t deliver it : O may my lines 
 
 [Exit Pero. 
 
 (Fill'd with the poison of a woman's hate 
 When he shall open them), shrink up his 
 
 eyes 
 With torturous darkness,, such as stands in 
 
 hell, 
 Stuck full of inward horrors> never 
 
 lighted ; 
 With which are all things to be fear'd, 
 
 affrighted : 
 Father ! 
 
 Ascendit Bussy with Comolet. 
 Bu. How is it with my honour 'd mis- 
 tress ? 
 Ta. O servant, help, and save me from 
 
 the gripes 
 
 Of shame and infamy. Our love is known : 
 Your Monsieur hath a paper where is writ 
 Some secret tokens that decipher it. 
 
 Bu. What insensate stock, 
 Or rude inanimate vapour without fashion, 
 What cold dull northern brain, what fool 
 
 but he 
 
 Durst take into his Epimethean breast 
 A box of such plagues as the danger 
 
 yields 
 
 Incurr'd in this discovery ? He had better 
 Ventured his breast in the consuming 
 
 reach 
 
 Of the hot surfeits cast out of the clouds, 
 Or stood the bullets that (to wreak the sky) 
 The Cyclops ram in Jove's artillery.* 
 Fr. We soon will take the darkness 
 from his face 
 
 * See Ceesar and Pompey, act ii. 
 
 That did that deed of darkness ; we will 
 
 know 
 What now the Monsieur and your husband 
 
 do ; 
 
 What is contam'd within the secret paper 
 Ofifer'd by Monsieur, and your love's 
 
 events : 
 To which ends, honour'd daughter, at 
 
 your motion, 
 
 I have put on these exorcising rites, 
 And, by my power of learned holiness 
 Vouchsafed me from above, I will com- 
 mand 
 Our resolution of a raised spirit. 
 
 Ta. Good father, raise him in some 
 
 beauteous form, 
 That with least terror I may brook his 
 
 sight. 
 Co. Stand sure together, then, whate'er 
 
 ye see, 
 And stir not, as ye tender all our lives. 
 
 \He pttts on his robes. - 
 Occidentalium legionum spiritualium 
 imperator (magnus ille Behemoth) veni, 
 vent, comitatus cum Astaroth locotenente 
 invicto. Adjuro te per Stygis inscrutabilia 
 arcana, per ipsos irremeabiles anfractus 
 Avemi: adesto 6 Behemoth, tu cui penna 
 sunt Magnatum scrinia ; veni, per Noctis 
 <r tenebrarum abdita profundissima ; per 
 labentia sidera ; per tpsos motus horarum 
 furtivos, Hecatesq ; altum silentirim : Ap- 
 pare in forma spiritali, lucente, splendidct 
 <5r* amabili. [ Thunder. Ascendit. 
 
 Be. What would the holy Friar ? 
 Fr. I would see 
 What now the Monsieur and Mountsurry 
 
 do; 
 
 And see the secret paper that the Monsieur 
 Offer'd to Count Montsurry, longing much 
 To know on what events the secret loves 
 Of these two honour'd persons shall arrive. 
 Be. Why call'dst thou me to this ac- 
 cursed light 
 
 To these light purposes ? I am emperor 
 Of that inscrutable darkness where are hid 
 All deepest truths, and secrets never seen, 
 All which I know, and command legions 
 Of knowing spirits that can do more than 
 
 these. 
 
 Any of this my guard that circle me 
 In these blue fires, and out of whose dim 
 
 fumes 
 Vast murmurs use to break, and from their . 
 
 sounds 
 
 Articulate voices, can do ten parts more -* 
 
 Than open such slight truths as you require. . 
 
 Fr. From the last night's black depth I ' 
 
 call'd up one 
 
SCENG I.] 
 
 BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 167 
 
 | Of the inferior ablest ministers, 
 
 ! And he could not resolve me ; send one then 
 
 ; Out of thine own command, to fetch the 
 
 paper 
 , That Monsieur hath to show to Count 
 
 Montsurry. 
 
 Be. I will. Cartophylax, thou that pro- 
 perly 
 
 Hast in thy power all papers so insciibed, 
 Glide through all bars to it and fetch that 
 
 paper. 
 
 Ca. I will. \_A torch removes. 
 
 Fr. Till he returns, great prince of dark- 
 ness, 
 
 Tell me if Monsieur and the Count Mont- 
 surry 
 Are yet encounter'd ? 
 
 Be. Both them and the Guise 
 Are now together. 
 
 Co. Show us all their persons, 
 And represent the place, with all their ac- 
 tions. 
 Be. The spirit will straight return ; and 
 
 then I'll show thee. 
 See, he is come ; why brought'st thou not 
 
 the paper? 
 Ca. He hath prevented me, and got a 
 
 spirit 
 
 Raised by another great in our command, 
 To take the guard of it before I came. 
 Be. This is your slackness, not t' invoke 
 
 our powers 
 
 When first your acts set forth to their effects; 
 Yet shall you see it and themselves : behold 
 They come here, and the Earl now holds 
 the paper. 
 
 Enter Monsieur, Guise, Montsurry, with 
 a paper. 
 
 Bu. May we not hear them ? 
 Mo. No, be still and see. 
 Bu. I will go fetch the paper. 
 Fr. Do not stir ; 
 There's too much distance and too many 
 
 locks 
 Twixt you and them, how near soe'er they 
 
 seem, 
 
 For any man to interrupt their secrets. 
 Ta. O honour 'd spirit^ fly into the 
 
 fancy 
 
 Of my offended lord, and do not let him 
 Believe what there the wicked man hath 
 
 written. 
 
 Be. Persuasion hath already enter'd him 
 Beyond reflection ; peace till their depar- 
 ture. 
 Mo. There is a glass of ink where you 
 
 may see 
 How to make ready black-faced tragedy : 
 
 You now discern, I hope, through all her 
 paintings, 
 
 Her gasping wrinkles, and fame's sepul- 
 chres. 
 
 Gu. Think you he feigns, my lord? 
 What hold you now ? 
 
 Do we malign your wife, or honour you ? 
 Mo. What, stricken dumb ! Nay fie, 
 lord, be not daunted ; 
 
 Your case is common ; were it ne'er so rare, 
 
 Bear it as rarely ; now to laugh were 
 manly ; 
 
 A worthy man should imitate the weather 
 
 That sings in tempests, and being clear is 
 
 silent. 
 
 Gu. Go home, my lord, and force your 
 wife to write 
 
 Such loving lines to D'Ambois as she used 
 
 When she desired his presence. 
 Mo. Do, my lord, 
 
 And make her name her conceal'd mes- 
 senger, 
 
 That close and most inennerable pander, 
 
 That passeth all our studies to exquire ; 
 
 By whom convey the letter to her love : 
 
 And so you shall be sure to have him come 
 
 Within the thirsty reach of your revenge ; 
 
 Before which, lodge an ambush in her 
 chamber 
 
 Behind the arras, of your stoutest men 
 
 All close and soundly arm'd ; and let them 
 share 
 
 A spirit amongst them that would serve a 
 thousand. 
 
 Enter Pero with a letter. 
 
 Gu. Yet stay a little ; see, she sends for 
 
 you. 
 Mo. Poor, loving lady ; she'll make all 
 
 good yet, 
 Think you not so, my lord ? 
 
 [Exit Montsurry and stabs Pero. 
 Gu. Alas, poor soul ! 
 Mo. That was cruelly done, i'faith. 
 Pe. 'Twas nobly done. 
 And I forgive his lordship from my soul. 
 Mo. Then much good do't thee, Pero ! 
 
 hast a letter ? 
 
 Pe. I hope it rather be a bitter volume 
 Of worthy curses for your perjury. 
 Gu. To you, my lord. 
 Mo. To me ? now, out upon her. 
 Gu. Let me see, my lord, 
 Mo. You shall presently : how fares my 
 Pero? 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Who's there? Take in this maid, sh'as 
 caught a clap, 
 
i68 
 
 BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 And fetch my surgeon to her ; come, my 
 
 lord, 
 We'll now peruse our letter. 
 
 [Exeunt Montsurry, Guise. 
 
 Pe. Furies rise [Lead her out. 
 
 Out of the black lines, and torment his 
 
 soul. 
 
 Ta. Hath my lord slain my woman ? 
 Be. No, she lives. 
 Fr. What shall become of us ? 
 Be. All I can say, 
 Being call'd thus late, is brief, and darkly 
 
 this: 
 If D'Ambois' mistress dye not her white 
 
 hand 
 In his forced blood, he shall remain un- 
 
 touch'd : 
 
 So, father, shall yourself, but by yourself : 
 To make this augury plainer : when the 
 
 voice 
 
 Of D'Ambois shall invoke me, I will rise, 
 Shining in greater light : and show him all 
 That will betide ye all ; meantime be wise, 
 And curb his valour with your policies. 
 
 [Descendit cum suis. 
 Bu. Will he appear to me when I 
 
 invoke him ? 
 Fr. He will, be sure. 
 Bu. It must be shortly then : 
 For his dark words have tied my thoughts 
 
 on knots, 
 Till he dissolve, and free them. 
 
 Ta. In meantime, 
 Dear servant, till your powerful voice revoke 
 
 him, 
 
 Be sure to use the policy he advised : 
 Lest fury in your too quick knowledge taken 
 Of our abuse, and your defence of me 
 Accuse me more than any enemy ; 
 And, father, you must on my lord impose 
 Your holiest charges, and the Church's 
 
 power 
 
 To temper his hot spirit and disperse 
 The cruelty and the blood I know his 
 
 hand 
 Will shower upon our heads, if you put 
 
 not 
 
 Your finger to the storm, and hold it up, 
 As my dear servant here must do with 
 
 Monsieur. 
 Bu. I'll soothe his plots ; and strow my 
 
 hate with smiles 
 
 Till all at once the close mines of my heart 
 Rise at full date, and rush into his blood : 
 I'll bind his arm in silk, and rub his flesh, 
 To make the vein swell, that his soul may 
 
 gush 
 
 Into some kennel, where it longs to lie, 
 And policy shall be flank'd with policy. 
 
 Yet shall the feeling centre where we meet 
 Groan with the weight of my approaching 
 
 feet ; 
 
 I'll make th'inspired thresholds of his court 
 Sweat with the weather of my horrid steps, 
 Before I enter ; yet will I appear 
 Like calm security, before a ruin ; 
 A politician must like lightning melt 
 The very marrow, and not taint the skin : 
 His ways must not be seen ; the superficies 
 Of the green centre must not taste his 
 
 feet; 
 When hell is plow'd up with his wounding 
 
 tracts ; 
 
 And all his harvest reap'd by hellish facts. 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 END OF ACT IV. 
 
 ACT THE FIFTH. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Montsurry bare, unbraced, pulling Tamyra 
 in by the hair, Friar. One bearing 
 light, a standish and paper, which sets 
 a table. 
 
 Ta. O help me, father. 
 Fr. Impious earl, forbear. 
 Take violent hand from her, or by mine 
 
 order 
 
 The King shall force thee. 
 Mont. 'Tis not violent ; come you not 
 
 willingly ? 
 
 Ta. Yes, good my lord. 
 Fr. My lord, remember that your soul 
 
 must seek 
 Her peace, as well as your revengeful 
 
 blood ; 
 
 You ever to this hour have proved your- 
 self 
 
 A noble, zealous, and obedient son, 
 T'our holy mother ; be not an apostate ; 
 Your wife's offence serves not, were it the 
 
 worst 
 
 You can imagine, without greater proofs, 
 To sever your eternal bonds and hearts ; 
 Much less to touch her with a bloody 
 
 hand ; 
 
 Nor is it manly, much less husbandly, 
 To expiate any frailty in your wife 
 With churlish strokes or beastly odds of 
 
 strength : 
 The stony birth of clouds will touch no 
 
 laurel ; 
 
 Nor any sleeper ; your wife is your laurel, 
 And sweetest sleeper ; do not touch her 
 
 then ; 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 169 
 
 Be not more rude than the wild seed of 
 
 vapour, 
 
 To her that is more gentle than that rude ; 
 In whom kind nature suffer 'd one offence 
 But to set off her other excellence. 
 Mo. Good father, leave us ; interrupt no 
 
 more 
 
 The course I must run formine honoursake. 
 Rely on my love to her, which her fault 
 Cannot extinguish ; will she but disclose 
 Who was the secret minister of her love, 
 And through what maze he served it, we 
 
 are friends. 
 Fr. It is a damn'd work to pursue those 
 
 secrets, 
 That would ope more sin, and prove 
 
 springs of slaughter ; 
 Nor is't a path for Christian feet to tread, 
 But out of all way to the health of souls, 
 A sin impossible to be forgiven ; 
 Which he that dares commit 
 
 Mont. Good father, cease ; your terrors 
 Tempt not a man distracted ; I am apt 
 To outrages that I shall ever rue ; 
 I will not pass the verge that bounds a 
 
 Christian, 
 
 Nor break the limits of a man nor hus- 
 band. 
 Fr. Then God inspire you both with 
 
 thoughts and deeds 
 Worthy his high respect, and your own 
 
 souls. 
 
 Ta. Father! 
 Fr. I warrant thee, my dearest 
 
 daughter, 
 He will not touch thee ; think'st thou him 
 
 a pagan ? 
 
 His honour and his soul lies for thy safety. 
 
 \Exit. 
 Mont. Who shall remove the mountain 
 
 from my breast, 
 Ope the seven-times-heat furnace of my 
 
 thoughts, 
 And set fit outcries for a soul in hell ? 
 
 [Montsurry turns a key. 
 For now it nothing fits my woes to speak 
 But thunder, or to take into my throat 
 The trump of heaven, with whose deter- 
 minate blasts 
 The winds shall burst, and the devouring 
 
 seas 
 Be drunk up in his sounds ; that my hot 
 
 woes 
 (Vented enough) I might convert to 
 
 vapour, 
 
 Ascending from my infamy unseen ; 
 Shorten the world, preventing the last 
 
 breath 
 That kills the living, and regenerates death. 
 
 Ta. My lord, my fault (as you may 
 
 censure it 
 With too strong arguments) is past your 
 
 pardon : 
 
 But how the circumstances may excuse me 
 Heaven knows, and your more temperate 
 
 mind hereafter 
 May let my penitent miseries make you 
 
 know. 
 
 Mont. Hereafter? Tis a supposed in- 
 finite, 
 
 That from this point will rise eternally : 
 Fame grows in going ; in the 'scapes of 
 
 virtue 
 
 Excuses damn her : they be fires in cities 
 Enraged with those winds that less lights 
 
 extinguish. 
 Come, syren, sing, and dash against my 
 
 rocks 
 Thy ruffian galley, rigg'd with quench for 
 
 lust; 
 
 Sing, and put all the nets into thy voice 
 With which thou drew'st into thy strumpet's 
 
 lap 
 The spawn of Venus ; and in which ye 
 
 danced ; 
 That, in thy lap's stead, I may dig his 
 
 tomb, 
 And quit his manhood with a woman's 
 
 sleight, 
 
 Who never is deceived in her deceit. 
 Sing (that is, write), and then take from 
 
 mine eyes 
 The mists that hide the most inscrutable 
 
 pander 
 
 That ever lapp'd up an adulterous vomit ; 
 That I may see the devil, and survive 
 To be a devil, and then learn to wive : 
 That I may hang him, and then cut him 
 
 down, 
 Then cut him up, and with my soul's 
 
 beams search 
 The cranks and caverns of his brain, and 
 
 study 
 
 The errant wilderness of a woman's face ; 
 Where men cannot get out, for all the 
 
 comets 
 That have been lighted at it ; though they 
 
 know 
 
 That adders lie a-sunning in their smiles, 
 That basilisks drink their poison from 
 
 their eyes, 
 And no way there to coast out to their 
 
 hearts ; 
 Yet still they wander there, and are not 
 
 stay'd 
 
 Till they be fetter'd, nor secure before 
 All cares devour them ; nor in human 
 
 consort 
 
170 
 
 BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 [ACT 
 
 Till they embrace within their wife's two 
 
 breasts 
 
 All Pelion and Cythseron with their beasts. 
 Why write you not ? 
 
 Ta. O, good my lord, forbear 
 In wreak of great faults, to engender 
 
 greater, 
 And make my love's corruption generate 
 
 murther. 
 Mont. It follows needfully as child and 
 
 parent ; 
 
 The chain-shot of thy lust is yet aloft, 
 And it must murther ; 'tis thine own dear 
 
 twin : 
 
 No man can add height to a woman's sin. 
 Vice never doth her just hate so provoke, 
 As when she rageth under virtue's cloak. 
 Write : for it must be ; by this ruthless 
 
 steel, 
 
 By this impartial torture, and the death 
 Thy tyrannies have invented in my entrails, 
 To quicken life in dying, and hold up 
 The spirits in fainting, teaching to preserve 
 Torments in ashes, that will ever last. 
 Speak ! Will you write ? 
 
 Ta. Sweet lord, enjoin my sin 
 Some other penance than what makes it 
 
 worse ; 
 Hide in some gloomy dungeon my loathed 
 
 face, 
 And let condemned murtherers let me 
 
 down 
 
 (Stopping their noses) my abhorred food. 
 Hang me in chains, and let me eat these 
 
 arms 
 
 That have offended ; bind me face to face 
 To some dead woman, taken from the cart 
 Of execution, till death and time 
 In grains of dust dissolve me ; I'll endure ; 
 Or any torture that your wrath's invention 
 Can fright all pity from the world withal ; 
 But to betray a friend with show of friend- 
 ship, 
 
 That is too common, for the rare revenge 
 Your rage affecteth ; here then are my 
 
 breasts, 
 Last night your pillows ; here my wretched 
 
 arms, 
 
 As late the wished confines of your life ; 
 Now break them as you please, and all the 
 
 bounds 
 
 Of manhood, noblesse, and religion. 
 Mont. Where all these have been broken, 
 
 they are kept, 
 
 In doing their justice there with any show 
 Of the like cruelty ; thine arms have lost 
 Their privilege in lust, and in their torture 
 Thus they must pay it. [Stabs her. 
 
 Ta. O Lord I 
 
 Mont. Till thou writest, 
 I'll write in wounds (my wrong's fit cha- 
 racters) 
 Thy right of sufferance. Write. 
 
 Ta. Oh, kill me, kill me ; 
 Dear husband, be not crueller than death ; 
 You have beheld some Gorgon ; feel, oh, 
 
 feel 
 How you are turn'd to stone ; with my 
 
 heart-blood 
 
 Dissolve yourself again, or you will grow 
 Into the image of all tyranny. 
 
 Mont. As thou art of adultery, I will still 
 Prove thee my parallel, being most a 
 
 monster ; 
 Thus I express thee yet. 
 
 [Stabs her again. 
 Ta. And yet I live. 
 Mont. Ay, for thy monstrous idol is not 
 
 done yet ; 
 
 This tool hath wrought enough ; now, 
 torture, use. 
 
 Enter Servants. 
 
 This other engine on th' habituate powers 
 Of her thrice-damn'd and whorish fortitude. 
 Use the most madding pains in her that 
 
 ever 
 Thy venoms soak'd through, making most 
 
 of death ; 
 That she may weigh her wrongs with 
 
 them, and then 
 Stand vengeance on thy steepest rock, a 
 
 victor. 
 Ta. Oh, who is turn'd into my lord and 
 
 husband ? 
 Husband ! My lord ! None but my lord 
 
 and husband ! 
 
 Heaven, I ask thee remission of my sins, 
 Not of my pains ; husband, oh, help me, 
 
 husband ! 
 
 Ascendit Friar with a sword drawn. 
 
 Fr. What rape of honour and religion 
 Oh, wrack of nature ! [Falls and dies. 
 
 Ta. Poor man ; oh, my father, 
 Father, look up ; oh, let me down, my 
 
 lord, 
 And I will write. 
 
 Mont. Author of prodigies ! 
 What new flame breaks out of the firma- 
 ment, 
 
 That turns up counsels never known 
 
 . before? , 
 
 Now is it true, earth moves, and heaven 
 
 stands still ; 
 
 Even heaven itself must see and suffer ill ; 
 The too huge bias of the world hath 
 sway'd 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 171 
 
 Her back part upwards, and with that she 
 
 braves 
 This hemisphere, that long her mouth hath 
 
 mock'd ; 
 
 The gravity of her religious face, 
 (Now grown too weighty with her sacrilege 
 And here discern'd sophisticate enough) 
 Turns to th' antipodes ; and all the forms 
 That her illusions have imprest in her, 
 Have eaten through her back ; and now 
 
 all see, 
 
 How she is riveted with hypocrisy : 
 Was this the way? was he the mean 
 
 betwixt you ? 
 Ta. He was, he was, kind worthy man, 
 
 he was. 
 
 Mont. Write, write a word or two. 
 Ta. I will, I will. 
 I'll write, but with my blood, that he may 
 
 see 
 These lines come from my wounds, and 
 
 not from me. [ Writes. 
 
 Mont. Well might he die for thought ; 
 
 methinks the frame 
 And shaken joints of the whole world 
 
 should crack 
 
 To see her parts so disproportionate ; 
 And that his general beauty cannot stand 
 Without these stains in the particular man. 
 Why wander I so far ? here, here was she 
 That was a whole world without spot to 
 
 me, 
 Though now a world of spots ; oh, what a 
 
 lightning 
 
 Is man's delight in women ! what a bubble, 
 He builds his state, fame, life on, when he 
 
 marries ! 
 Since all earth's pleasures are so short and 
 
 small, 
 
 The way t'enjoy it, is t'abjure it all ; 
 Enough : I must be messenger myself, 
 Disguised like this strange creature : in, 
 
 I'll after, 
 
 To see what guilty light gives this cave eyes, 
 And to the world sing new impieties. 
 
 [Exeunt. He puts the Friar in the 
 vault and follows. She wraps 
 herself in the Arras. 
 
 Enter Monsieur and Guise. 
 
 Mo. Now shall we see, that nature hath 
 
 no end 
 1 In her great works, responsive to their 
 
 worths, 
 That she that makes so many eyes, and 
 
 souls, 
 
 To see and foresee, is stark blind herself ; 
 And as illiterate men say Latin prayers 
 i By rote, of heart and daily iteration ; 
 
 In whose hot zeal, a man would think they 
 
 knew 
 What they ran so away with, and were 
 
 sure 
 To have rewards proportion d to their 
 
 labours ; 
 
 Yet may implore their own confusions 
 For anything they know, which oftentimes 
 It falls out they incur : so Nature lays 
 A deal of stuff together, and by use, 
 Or by the mere necessity of matter, 
 Ends such a work, fills it, or leaves it 
 
 empty 
 
 Of strength, or virtue, error or clear truth ; 
 Not knowing what she does ; but usually 
 Gives that which she calls merit to a man, 
 And belief must arrive him on huge riches, 
 Honour, and happiness, that effects his 
 
 ruin ; 
 Even as in ships of war, whose lasts of 
 
 powder 
 Are laid, men think, to make them last, 
 
 and guards, 
 When a disorder'd spark that powder 
 
 taking, 
 
 Blows up with sudden violence and horror 
 Ships that kept empty, had sail'd long with 
 
 terror. 
 Gu. He that observes, but like a worldly 
 
 man, 
 That which doth oft succeed, and by th' 
 
 events 
 Values the worth of things ; will think it 
 
 true, 
 That nature works at random, just with 
 
 you; 
 
 But with as much proportion she may make 
 A thing that from the feet up to the throat 
 Hath all the wondrous fabric man should 
 
 have, 
 
 And leave it headless for a perfect man, 
 As give a full man valour, virtue, learning, 
 Without an end more excellent than those, 
 On whom she no such worthy part be- 
 stows. 
 Mo. Yet shall you see it here, here will 
 
 be one 
 Young, learned, valiant, virtuous, and full 
 
 mann'd ; 
 One on whom Nature spent so rich a 
 
 hand, 
 That, with an ominous eye, she wept to 
 
 see 
 
 So much consumed her virtuous treasury. 
 Yet, as the winds sing through a hollow 
 
 tree, 
 And (since it lets them pass through) lets it j 
 
 stand 
 But a tree solid (since it gives no way I 
 
172 
 
 BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 To their wild rage) they rend up by the 
 
 root ; 
 So this whole man, so this full creature 
 
 now, 
 
 {That will not wind with every crooked way, 
 Trod by the servile world) shall reel and fall 
 Before the frantic puffs of blind-born 
 
 chance, 
 That pipes through empty men, and makes 
 
 them dance ; 
 
 Not so the sea raves on the Lybian sands, 
 Tumbling her billows in each others' neck ; 
 Not so the surges of the Euxine sea 
 (Near to the frosty pole, where free Bootes 
 From those dark deep waves turns his 
 
 radiant team) 
 
 Swell being enraged, even from their in- 
 most drop, 
 
 As Fortune swings about the restless state 
 Of virtue, now thrown into all men's hate. 
 
 Enter Montsurry disguised with the 
 Murtherers. 
 
 Away, my lord, you are perfectly disguised, 
 Leave us to lodge your ambush. 
 Mont. Speed me, vengeance. {Exit. 
 Mo. Resolve, my masters, you shall 
 
 meet with one 
 Will try what proofs your privy coats are 
 
 made on ; 
 When he is enter 'd, and you hear us 
 
 stamp, 
 Approach, and make all sure. 
 
 Mu. We will, my lord. {Exeunt. 
 
 D'Ambois with two Pages with tapers. 
 
 Bu. Sit up to-night, and watch ; I'll 
 
 speak with none 
 
 But the old Friar, who bring to me. 
 Pa. We will, sir. {Exeunt. 
 
 Bu. What violent heat is this? Me- 
 
 thinks the fire 
 
 Of twenty lives doth on a sudden flash 
 Through all my faculties ; the air goes 
 
 high 
 In this close chamber, and the frighted 
 
 earth {Thunder. 
 
 Trembles, and shrinks beneath me ; the 
 
 whole house 
 Nods with his shaken burthen ; bless me, 
 
 heaven ! 
 
 Enter Umbra Friar. 
 
 Urn. Note what I want, my son, and 
 be forewarn'd ; 
 
 there are bloody deeds past and to come : 
 
 1 cannot stay ; a fate doth ravish me ; 
 I'll meet thee in the chamber of thy love. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Bu. What dismal change is here ; the 
 
 good old Friar 
 Is murther'd ; being made known to serve 
 
 my love ; 
 And now his restless spirit would forewarn 
 
 me 
 
 Of some plot dangerous and imminent. 
 Note what he wants ? He wants his upper 
 
 weed, 
 
 He wants his life and body ; which of these 
 Should be the want he means, and may 
 
 supply me 
 With any fit forewarning? This strange 
 
 vision 
 
 (Together with the dark prediction 
 Used by the Prince of Darkness that- was 
 
 raised 
 
 By this embodied shadow) stir my thoughts 
 With reminiscion of the spirit's promise, 
 Who told me, that by any invocation 
 I should have power to raise him, though 
 
 it wanted 
 The powerful words and decent rites of 
 
 art; 
 
 Never had my set brain such need of spirit 
 T instruct and cheer it ; now, then, I will 
 
 claim 
 
 Performance of his free and gentle vow 
 T' appear in greater light, and make more 
 
 plain 
 
 His rugged oracle. I long to know 
 How my dear mistress fares, and be in- 
 
 form'd 
 What hand she now holds on the troubled 
 
 blood 
 Of her incensed lord. Methought the 
 
 spirit 
 
 (When he had utter'd his perplex'd presage) 
 Threw his changed countenance headlong 
 
 into clouds, 
 His forehead bent, as it would hide his 
 
 face, 
 He knock'd his chin against his darken'd 
 
 breast, 
 And struck a churlish silence through his 
 
 powers. 
 Terror of darkness ! O, thou king of 
 
 flames ! 
 That with thy music-footed horse dost 
 
 strike 
 The clear light out of crystal on dark 
 
 earth, 
 
 And hurl'st instructive fire about the world, 
 Wake, wake the drowsy and enchanted 
 
 night, 
 That sleeps with dead eyes in this heavy 
 
 riddle ; 
 Or thou great prince of shades where never 
 
 suri 
 
SCENE I.J 
 
 BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 173 
 
 Sticks his far-darted beams, whose eyes are 
 
 made 
 
 To shine in darkness, and see ever best 
 Where sense is blindest : open now the 
 
 heart 
 
 Of thy abashed oracle, that for fear, 
 Of some ill it includes, would fain lie 
 
 hid, 
 
 And rise thou with it in thy greater light. 
 [Thunders. Surgit Spiritus cum suis. 
 Sp. Thus to observe my vow of appari- 
 tion, 
 
 In greater light, and explicate thy fate, 
 I come ; and tell thee that if thcu obey 
 The summons that thy mistress next will 
 
 send thee, 
 
 Her hand shall be thy death. 
 Bu. When will she send ? 
 Sp. Soon as I set again, where late I 
 
 rose. 
 
 Bu. Is the old Friar slain ? 
 Sp. No, and yet lives not. 
 Bu. Died he a natural death? 
 Sp. He did. 
 Bu. Who then 
 Will my dear mistress send ? 
 Sp. I must not tell thee. 
 Bu. Who lets thee ? 
 Sp. Fate. 
 
 Bu. Who are fate's ministers? 
 Sp. The Guise and Monsieur. 
 Bu. A fit pair of shears 
 To cut the threads of kings, and kingly 
 
 spirits, 
 
 And consorts fit to sound forth harmony, 
 Set to the falls of kingdoms : shall the 
 
 hand 
 Of my kind mistress kill me? [Thunders. 
 
 Sp. If thou yield 
 
 To her next summons, y'are fair-warn'd : 
 
 farewell ! [Exit. 
 
 Bu. I must farewell, however : though I 
 
 die, 
 
 My death consenting with his augury ; 
 Should not my powers obey when she 
 
 commands, 
 
 My motion must be rebel to my will : 
 My will to life : if, when I have obey'd, 
 Her hand should so reward me, they 
 
 must arm it, 
 
 Bind me or force it : or, I lay my life, 
 She rather would convert it many times 
 On her own bosom, even to many deaths ; 
 But were there danger of such violence, 
 I know 'tis far from her intent to send : 
 And who she should send is as far from 
 
 thought, 
 
 Since he is dead, whose only mean she 
 used. [Knocks. 
 
 Who's there? Look to the door, and let 
 
 him in, 
 Though politic Monsieur or the violent 
 
 Guise. 
 
 Enter Montsurry, like the Friar, with a 
 letter written in blood. 
 
 Mont. Hail to my worthy son. 
 Bu. Oh, lying spirit ! 
 To say the Friar was dead j I'll now 
 
 believe 
 
 Nothing of all his forged predictions. 
 My kind and honour'd father, well revived, 
 I have been frighted with your death, and 
 
 mine, 
 And told my mistress' hand should be my 
 
 death 
 If I obey'd this summons. 
 
 Mont. I believed 
 Your love had been much clearer than to 
 
 give 
 
 Any such doubt a thought, for she is clear, 
 And having freed her husband's jealousy 
 (Of which her much abused hand here is 
 
 witness) 
 She prays, for urgent cause, your instant 
 
 presence. 
 Bu. Why, then your prince of spirits 
 
 may be call'd 
 The prince of liars. 
 
 Mont. Holy Writ so calls him. 
 
 Bu. What, writ in blood ? 
 
 Mont. Ay, 'tis the ink of lovers. 
 
 Bu. O, 'tis a sacred witness of her 
 
 love. 
 
 So much elixir of her blood as this 
 Dropt in the lightest dame, would make 
 
 her firm 
 
 As heat to fire : and like to all the signs, 
 Commands the life confined in all my veins; 
 O, how it multiplies my blood with spirit, 
 And makes me apt t'encounter, death and 
 
 hell. 
 But come, kind father, you fetch me to 
 
 heaven, 
 
 And to that end your holy weed was given. 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Thunder. Intrat Umbra Friar, and 
 discovers Tamyra. 
 
 Um. Up with these stupid thoughts, still 
 
 loved daughter, 
 And strike away this heartless trance of 
 
 anguish. 
 
 Be like the sun, and labour in eclipses ; 
 Look to the end of woes : oh, can you sit 
 Mustering the horrors of your servant's 
 
 slaughter 
 (So urged by your hand, and so imminent) 
 
BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Before your contemplation, and not study 
 How to prevent it ? watch when he shall 
 
 rise, 
 
 And with a sudden outcry of his murther, 
 Blow his retreat before he be revenged. 
 Ta. O father ! have my dumb woes 
 
 waked your death ? 
 When will our human griefs be at their 
 
 height ? 
 
 Man is a tree that hath no top in cares, 
 No root in comforts ; all his power to live 
 Is given to no end, but t'have power to 
 
 grieve. 
 Um. 'Tis the just curse of our abused 
 
 creation, 
 Which we must suffer here, and 'scape 
 
 hereafter : 
 
 He hath the great mind that submits to all 
 He sees inevitable ; he the small 
 That carps at earth, and her foundation 
 
 shaker, 
 And rather than himself, will mend his 
 
 maker. 
 
 Your true friend, 
 Led by your husband, shadow 'd in my 
 
 weed, 
 Now enters the dark vault. 
 
 Ta. But, my dearest father, 
 Why will not you appear to him yourself, 
 And see that none of these deceits annoy 
 
 him? 
 
 Um. My power is limited; alas! I cannot. 
 All that I can do See, the cave opens. 
 
 [Exit. D'Ambois at the Gulf. 
 Ta. Away (my love), away ; thou wilt be 
 
 murther'd ! 
 
 Enter Monsieur and Guise above. 
 
 Bu. Murther'd? I know not what that 
 
 Hebrew means : 
 That word had ne'er been named had all 
 
 been D'Ambois. 
 
 Murther'd ? By heaven he is my murtherer 
 That shows me not a murtherer ; what such 
 
 bug 
 
 Abhorreth not the very sleep of D'Ambois ? 
 Murther'd ? who dares give all the room I 
 
 see 
 To D'Ambois' reach? or look with any 
 
 odds 
 His fight i'th' face, upon whose hand sits 
 
 death ; 
 Whose sword hath wings, and every feather 
 
 pierceth ? 
 
 | If I 'scape Monsieur's 'pothecary shops, 
 j Foutre for Guise's shambles ! 'twas ill 
 
 plotted 
 
 \ They should have maul'd me here, 
 | When I was rising. I am up and ready. 
 
 Let in my politic visitants, let them in, 
 Though entering like so many moving 
 
 armours, 
 Fate is more strong than arms, and sly than 
 
 treason, 
 And I at all parts buckled in my fate. 
 
 Gu ' \ Why enter not the coward villains ? 
 Bu. Dare they not come ? 
 
 Enter Murtherers with Friar at the other 
 door. 
 
 Ta. They come. 
 
 1st Mu. Come all at once. 
 
 Um. Back, coward murtherers, back. 
 
 Omn. Defend us, heaven. 
 
 [Exeunt all but the first. 
 1st. Come ye not on ? 
 Bu. No, slave, nor goest thou off. 
 Stand you so firm ? Will it not enter here ? 
 You have a face yet ; so in thy life's flame 
 I burn the first rites to my mistress' fame. 
 Um. Breathe thee, brave son, against the 
 
 other charge. 
 Bu. Oh, is it true then that my sense 
 
 first told 'me? 
 Is my kind father dead ? 
 
 Ta. He is, my love. 
 Twas the Earl, my husband, in his weed 
 
 that brought thee. 
 Bu. That was a speeding sleight, and 
 
 well resembled. 
 Where is that angry Earl, my lord ? Come 
 
 forth 
 
 And show your own face in your own affair ; 
 Take not into your noble veins the blood 
 Of these base villains, nor the light reports 
 Of blister'd tongues, for clear and weighty 
 
 truth : 
 
 But me against the world, in pure defence 
 Of your rare lady, to whose spotless name 
 I stand here as a bulwark, and project 
 A life to her renown, that ever yet 
 Hath been untainted, even in envy's eye, 
 And where it would protect a sanctuary. 
 Brave Earl, come forth, and keep your 
 
 scandal in : 
 
 'Tis not our fault if you enforce the spot 
 Nor the wreak yours if you perform it not. 
 
 Enter Montsurry, -with all the Murtherers. 
 
 Mont. Cowards, a fiend or spirit beat ye 
 off? 
 
 They are your own faint spirits that have 
 forged 
 
 The fearful shadows that your eyes de- 
 luded : 
 
 The fiend was in you ; cast him out then, 
 thus. [D'Ambois hath Mont. down. 
 
LCLME I.] 
 
 BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 175 
 
 Ta. Favour my lord, my love, O, favour 
 
 him ! [Pistols shot within. 
 
 Bu. I will not touch him : take your 
 
 life, my lord, 
 And be appeased : O, then the coward 
 
 Fates 
 Have maim'd themselves, and -ever lost 
 
 their honour. 
 
 Urn. What have ye done, slaves ? 
 : irreligious lord ! 
 
 Bu. Forbear them, father ; 'tis enough 
 
 for me 
 That Guise and Monsieur, death and 
 
 destiny, 
 
 Come behind D'Ambois. Is my body, then, 
 
 'But penetrable flesh ? And must my mind 
 
 Follow my blood? Can my divine part 
 
 add 
 
 No aid to th'earthly in extremity ? 
 Then these divines are but for form, not 
 
 fact : 
 
 Man is of two sweet courtly friends com- 
 pact, 
 
 A mistress and a servant ; let my death 
 Define life nothing but a courtier's breath. 
 Nothing is mtt.le of nought, of all things 
 
 made, 
 Their abstract being a dream but of a 
 
 shade. 
 I'll not complain to earth yet, but to 
 
 heaven, 
 And, like a man, look upwards even in 
 
 death. 
 
 And if Vespasian thought in majesty 
 An emperor might die standing, why not I ? 
 Nay, without help, in which I will exceed 
 
 him ; 
 For he died splinted with his chamber 
 
 grooms. [She offers to help him. 
 
 Prop me, true sword, as thou hast ever 
 
 done : 
 The equal thought I bear of life and 
 
 death 
 
 Shall make me faint on no side ; I am up ; 
 Here like a Roman statue I will stand 
 Till death hath made me marble : oh, my 
 
 fame, 
 
 Live in despite of murther ; take thy wings 
 And haste thee where the grey-eyed morn 
 
 perfumes 
 
 Her rosy chariot with Sabsean spices, 
 Fly, where the evening from th'Iberian 
 
 vales, 
 
 Takes on her swarthy shoulders Hecate, 
 Crown 'd with a grove of oaks : fly where 
 
 men feel 
 The cunning axletree : and those that 
 
 suffer 
 Beneath the chariot of the snowy Bear : 
 
 And tell them all that D'Ambois now is 
 
 hasting 
 
 To the eternal dwellers ; that a thunder 
 Of all their sighs together (for their frailties 
 Beheld in me) may quit my worthless fall 
 With a fit volley for my funeral. 
 Um. Forgive thy murtherers. 
 Bu, I forgive them all ; 
 And you, my lord, their fautor ; for true 
 
 sign 
 Of which unfeign'd remission, take my 
 
 sword ; 
 
 Take it, and only give it motion, 
 And it shall find the way to victory 
 By his own brightness, and th'inherent 
 
 valour 
 My fight hath still'd into't, with charms of 
 
 spirit. 
 Now let me pray you that my weighty 
 
 blood 
 
 Laid in one scale of your impartial spleen, 
 May sway the forfeit of my worthy love 
 Weigh'd in the other ; and be reconciled 
 With all forgiveness to your matchless 
 
 wife. 
 Ta. Forgive thou me, dear servant, and 
 
 this hand 
 
 That led thy life to this unworthy end ; 
 Forgive it, for the blood with which 'tis 
 
 stain'd, 
 
 In which I writ the summons of thy death ; 
 The forced summons, by this bleeding 
 
 wound, 
 
 By this here in my bosom ; and by this 
 That makes me hold up both my hands 
 
 imbrued 
 For thy dear pardon. 
 
 Bu. O, my heart is broken ; 
 Fate, nor these murtherers, Monsieur, nor 
 
 the Guise, 
 
 Have any glory in my death, but this, 
 This killing spectacle, this prodigy ; 
 My sun is turn'd to blood, in whose red 
 
 beams 
 
 Pindus and Ossa hid in drifts of snow, 
 Laid on my heart and liver ; from their 
 
 veins 
 Melt like two hungry torrents ; eating 
 
 rocks 
 
 Into the ocean of all human life, 
 And make it bitter, only with my blood. 
 O frail condition of strength, valour, 
 
 virtue, 
 
 In me, like warning fire upon the top 
 Of some steep beacon, on a steeper hill, 
 Made to express it : like a falling star 
 Silently glanced, that like a thunderbolt 
 Look'd to have stuck and shook the firma- I 
 
 ment. {Moritur. \ 
 
T76 
 
 BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 [ACT V. 
 
 Um. My terrors are struck inward, and 
 
 no more 
 
 My penance will allow they shall enforce 
 Earthly afflictions but upon myself. 
 Farewell, brave relics of a complete man ; 
 Look up and see thy spirit made a star, 
 Join flames with Hercules ; and when thou 
 
 sett'st 
 
 Thy radiant forehead in the firmament, 
 Make the vast crystal crack with thy re- 
 ceipt ; 
 Spread to a world of fire ; and th'aged 
 
 sky 
 Cheer with new sparks of old humanity. 
 
 Son of the earth, whom my unrested soul, 
 
 Rues t'have begotten in the faith of 
 
 heaven ; 
 i (Since thy revengeful spirit hath rejected 
 
 The charity it commands, and the re- 
 mission 
 
 To serve and worship the blind rage of 
 blood) 
 
 Assay to gratulate and pacify 
 \ The soul fled from this worthy by per- 
 forming 
 
 The Christian reconcilement he besought 
 
 Betwixt thee and thy lady, let her wounds 
 1 Manlessly digg'd in her, be eased and 
 cured 
 
 With blame of thine own tears ; or be 
 
 assured 
 : Never to rest free from my haunt and 
 
 horror. 
 
 Mont. See how she merits this ; still 
 sitting by, 
 
 And mourning his fall more than her own 
 
 fault. 
 
 Um. Remove, dear daughter, and con- 
 tent thy husband ; 
 
 So piety wills thee, and thy servant's peace. 
 Ta. O wretched piety, that art so dis- 
 tract 
 
 In thine own constancy ; and in thy right 
 
 Must be unrighteous ; if I right my friend 
 
 I wrong my husband ; if his wrong I 
 shun, 
 
 The duty of my friend I leave undone ; 
 
 111 plays on both sides ; here and there, it 
 riseth ; 
 
 No place, no good, so good, but ill com- 
 priseth ; 
 
 My soul more scruple breeds, than my 
 blood, sin. 
 
 Virtue imposeth more than any stepdame ; 
 
 O had I never married but for form, 
 
 Never vow'd faith but purposed to de- 
 ceive, 
 
 Never made conscience of any sin, 
 
 But cloak'd it privately and made it com- 
 mon ; 
 
 Nor never honour'd been, in blood, or 
 mind, 
 
 Happy had I been then, as others are 
 
 Of the like licence ; I had then been 
 honour'd ; 
 
 Lived without envy ; custom had be- 
 numb'd 
 
 All sense of scruple, and all note of frailty : 
 
 My fame had been untouch'd, my heart 
 unbroken : 
 
 But (shunning all) I strike on all offence, 
 
 husband ! dear friend ! O my con- 
 
 science ! 
 Mo. Come, let's away ; my senses are 
 
 not proof 
 Against those plaints. 
 
 \Exeunt Guise, Monsieur : D'Ambois 
 
 is borne off. 
 Mont. I must not yield to pity, nor to 
 
 love 
 So servile and so traitorous : cease, my 
 
 blood 
 To wrastle with my honour, fame, and 
 
 judgment : 
 
 Away, forsake my house, forbear com- 
 plaints 
 Where thou hast bred them : here all 
 
 things are full 
 Of their own shame and sorrow; leave my 
 
 house. 
 Ta. Sweet lord, forgive me, and I will 
 
 be gone, 
 And till these wounds, that never balm 
 
 shall close 
 Till death hath enter'd at them, so I love 
 
 them, 
 Being open'd by your hands, by death 
 
 be cured, 
 
 1 never more will grieve you with my 
 
 sight, 
 
 Never endure that any roof shall part 
 Mine eyes and heaven ; but to the open 
 
 deserts 
 
 (Like to hunted tigers) I will fly : 
 Eating my heart, shunning the steps of 
 
 men, 
 
 And look on no side till I be arrived. 
 Mont. I do forgive thee, and upon my 
 
 knees, 
 With hands held up to heaven, wish that 
 
 mine honour 
 
 Would suffer reconcilement to my love ; 
 But since it will not, honour, never serve 
 My love with flourishing object till it 
 
 sterve : 
 And as this taper, though it upwards 
 
 look, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 177 
 
 Downwards must needs consume, so let 
 
 our love ; 
 
 As having lost his honey, the sweet taste 
 Runs into savour, and will needs retain 
 A spice of his first parents, till, like 
 
 life, 
 It sees and dies ; so let our love ; and 
 
 lastly, 
 
 As when the flame is suffer'd to look up, 
 It keeps his lustre : but, being thus turn'd 
 
 down, 
 
 (His natural course of useful light in- 
 verted), 
 
 His own stuff puts it out ; so let our love : 
 
 Now turn from me, as here I turn from 
 thee, 
 
 And may both points of heaven's straight 
 axle-tree 
 
 Conjoin in one, before thyself and me. 
 
 [Exeunt severally. 
 
 END OF FIFTH AND LAST ACT. 
 
 EPILOGUE* 
 
 WITH many hands you have seen D'Ambois 
 
 slain, 
 
 Yet by your grace he may revive again, 
 And every day grow stronger in his skill 
 To please, as we presume he is in will. 
 The best deserving actors of the time 
 Had their ascents ; and by degrees did 
 
 climb 
 
 To their full height, a place to study 
 
 due 
 To make him tread in their path lies in 
 
 you; 
 He'll not forget his makers ; but still 
 
 prove 
 His thankfulness as you increase your 
 
 love. 
 
 First printed in the posthumous edition of 1641. 
 
 VOK t 
 
The Revenge of Bussy D'Ambois.* 
 
 TO 
 THE RIGHT VIRTUOUS AND TRULY NOBLE KNIGHT, 
 
 SIR THOMAS HOWARD, &c. 
 
 SIR, Since works of this kind have been lately esteemed worthy the patronage of 
 some of our worthiest nobles, I have made no doubt to prefer this of mine to your 
 undoubted virtue, and exceeding true noblesse ; as containing matter no less deserving 
 your reading, and excitation to heroical life, than any such late dedication. Nor have 
 the greatest Princes of Italy and other countries, conceived it any least diminution to 
 their greatness to have their names winged with these tragic plumes, and dispersed by 
 way of patronage through the most noble notices of Europe. 
 
 Howsoever therefore in the scenical presentation it might meet with some 
 maligners, yet considering, even therein, it passed with approbation of more worthy judg- 
 ments ; the balance of their side (especially being held by your impartial hand) I hope 
 will to no grain abide the out-weighing. And for the authentical truth of either person 
 or action, who (worth the respecting) will expect it in a poem, whose subject is not truth, 
 but things like truth? Poor envious souls they are that cavil at truth's want in these 
 natural fictions ; material instruction, elegant and sententious excitation to virtue, and 
 deflection from her contrary, being the soul, limbs, and limits of an authentical 
 tragedy. But whatsoever merit of your full countenance and favour suffers defect in 
 this, I shall soon supply with some other of more general account : wherein your right- 
 virtuous name made famous and preserved to posterity, your future comfort and honour 
 in your present acceptation, and love of all virtuous and divine expression ; may be so 
 much past others of your rank increased, as they are short of your judicial ingenuity 
 in their due estimation. 
 
 For, howsoever those ignoble and sour-browed worldlings are careless of whatso- 
 ever future or present opinion spreads of them ; yet (with the most divine philosopher, 
 if Scripture did not confirm it) I make it matter of my faith, that we truly retain an 
 intellectual feeling of good or bad after this life, proportionably answerable to the 
 love or neglect we bear here to all virtue, and truly humane instruction. In whose 
 favour and honour I wish you most eminent ; and rest ever, 
 
 Your true Virtue's 
 
 Most true observer, 
 
 GEO. CHAPMAN. 
 
 * " The Revenge of Bussy D'Ambois. A Tragedie. As it hath beene often presented at 
 the private Play-house in the White- Fryers. Written by George Chapman, Gentleman. 
 London : Printed by T. S. and are to be solde by lohn Helme, at his Shop in S. Dunstoner, 
 Church-yard, in Fleetstreet. 1613." 
 
ACT i., SCENE i.] THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 179 
 
 THE ACTORS' NAMES. 
 
 Henry, the king. 
 
 Monsieur, his brother. 
 
 Guise, Duke. 
 
 Renel, a marquess. 
 
 Montsurry, an earl. 
 
 Baligny, Lord-lieutenant. 
 
 Clermont, D'Ambois. 
 
 Maillard, ) 
 
 Chalon, \ captains* 
 
 Aumale, j 
 
 Espernon. 
 
 Soisson. 
 
 Perricot. 
 
 The Guard. 
 
 Soldiers. 
 
 Servants. 
 
 / Bussy. 
 Monsieur. 
 
 The ghost of \ Guise. 
 
 Cardinal Guise. 
 (Chatillon. 
 
 Countess ^Cambray. 
 Tamyra, wife to Montsurry. 
 Charlotte, -wife to Baligny. 
 Riova, a servant. . 
 
 ACT THE FIRST. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 Enter Baligny, Renel. 
 
 Ba. To what will this declining kingdom 
 
 turn, 
 
 Swindging in every licence, as in this 
 Stupid permission of brave D'Ambois' 
 
 murther? 
 Murther made parallel with law ! Murther 
 
 used 
 
 To serve the kingdom, given by suit to men 
 For their advancement ! suffer'd scarecrow- 
 like 
 
 To fright adultery ! What will policy 
 At length bring under his capacity ? 
 
 Re. All things : for as when the high 
 
 births of kings, 
 
 Deliverances, and coronations, 
 We celebrate with all the cities' bells 
 (Jangling together in untuned confusion) ; 
 All order'd clocks are tied up : so when 
 
 glory, 
 Flattery, and smooth applauses of things 
 
 ill, 
 Uphold th'inordinateswindge of downright 
 
 power, 
 Justice, and truth, that tell the bounded 
 
 use, 
 Virtuous, and well-distinguish'd forms of 
 
 Time 
 Are gagg'd and tongue-tied, but we have 
 
 observed 
 Rule in more regular motion : things most 
 
 lawful 
 
 Were once most royal, kings sought com- 
 mon good, 
 
 Men's manly liberties, though ne'er so 
 
 mean, 
 And had their own swindge so : more free, 
 
 and more. 
 But when pride enter 'd them, and rule by 
 
 power, 
 All brows that smiled beneath them, 
 
 frown'd : hearts grieved 
 By imitation ; virtue quite was vanish'd, 
 And all men studied self-love, fraud, and 
 
 vice ; 
 Then no man could be good but he was 
 
 punish'd : 
 Tyrants being still more fearful of the 
 
 good 
 
 Than of the bad ; their subjects' virtues ever 
 Managed with curbs and dangers, and 
 
 esteem 'd 
 
 As shadows and detractions to their own. 
 Ba. Now all is peace, no danger : now 
 
 what follows ? 
 
 Idleness rusts us ; since no virtuous labour 
 Ends ought rewarded : ease, security, 
 Now all the palm wears, we made war be- 
 fore 
 
 So to prevent war, men with giving gifts 
 More than receiving, made our country 
 
 strong ; 
 Our matchless race of soldiers then would 
 
 spend 
 In public wars, not private brawls, their 
 
 spirits, 
 In daring enemies, arm'd with meanest 
 
 arms ; 
 Not courting strumpets, and consuming 
 
 birthrights 
 
 In apishness and envy of attire. 
 No labour then was harsh, no way so 
 
 deep, 
 
 N2 
 
i8o 
 
 THE REVENGE CF BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 [ACT T. 
 
 No rock so steep, but if a bird could scale 
 
 it, 
 Up would our youth fly too. A foe in 
 
 arms 
 
 Stirr'd up a much more lust of his en- 
 counter, 
 
 Than of a mistress never so be-painted ; 
 Ambition then, was only scaling walls ; 
 And over-topping turrets ; fame was 
 
 wealth ; 
 
 Best parts, best deeds, were best nobility ; 
 Honour with worth ; and wealth well got 
 
 or none : 
 Countries we won with as few men as 
 
 countries : 
 "Virtue subdued all. 
 
 Re. Just : and then our nobles 
 Loved virtue so, they praised and used it 
 
 too: 
 Had rather do, than say ; their own deeds 
 
 hearing 
 
 By others glorified, than be so barren, 
 That their parts only stood in praising 
 
 Others. 
 Ba. Who could not do, yet praised, and 
 
 envied not ; 
 
 Civil behaviour flourish'd ; bounty flow'd, 
 Avarice to upland boors, slaves, hangmen, 
 
 banish' d. 
 He. 'Tis now quite otherwise ; but to 
 
 note the cause 
 
 Of all these foul digressions and revolts 
 From our first natures, this 'tis in a 
 
 word : 
 Since good arts fail, crafts and deceits are 
 
 used ; 
 
 Men ignorant are idle ; idle men 
 Most practise what they most may do with 
 
 ease, 
 Fashion, and favour ; all their studies 
 
 aiming 
 At getting money, which no wise man 
 
 ever 
 Fed his desires with. 
 
 Ba. Yet now none are wise 
 That think not heaven's true foolish, 
 
 v,-cigh'd with that. 
 Well, tTiou most worthy to be greatest 
 
 Guise, 
 Make with thy greatness a new world 
 
 arise. 
 
 Such depress'd nobles, followers of his, 
 As you, myself, my lord, will find a time 
 When to revenge your wrongs. 
 
 Re. 1 make no doubt ; 
 Pn mean time, I could wish the wrong 
 
 were righted 
 Of your slain brother-in-law, brave Bussy 
 
 D'Ambois. 
 
 Ba. That one accident was made my 
 
 charge. 
 
 My brother Bussy's sister, now my wife, 
 By no suit would consent to satisfy 
 My love of her with marriage, till I vow'd, 
 To use my utmost to revenge my brother ; 
 But Clermoiit D'Ambois, Bussy's second 
 
 brother, 
 
 Had since his apparition, and excitement 
 To suffer none but his hand in his wreak, 
 Which he hath vow'd, and so will needs 
 
 acquit 
 
 Me of my vow, made to my wife, his sister, 
 And undertake himself Bussy's revenge ; 
 Yet loathing any way to give it act, 
 But in the noblest and most manly course ; 
 If th'earl dares take it, he resolves to send 
 A challenge to him, and myself must bear 
 
 it, 
 
 To which delivery 1 Can use no means ; 
 He is so barricado'd in his house, 
 And arm'd with guard still. 
 
 Re. That means lay on me, 
 Which I can strangely make. My last 
 
 lands' sale, 
 By his great suit, stands now on price with 
 
 him, 
 
 And he, as you know, passing covetous, 
 With that blind greediness that follows 
 
 gain, 
 Will cast no danger, where her sweet 
 
 feet tread. 
 
 Besides, you know, his lady by his suit, 
 (Wooing as freshly, as when first love shot 
 His faultless arrows from her rosy eyes) 
 Now lives with him again, and she, I know, 
 Will join with all helps in her friend's 
 
 revenge. 
 Ba. No doubt, my lord, and therefore 
 
 let me pray you 
 
 To use all speed ; for so on needles' points 
 My wife's heart stands with haste of the 
 
 revenge ; 
 Being, as you know, full of her brother's 
 
 fire, 
 
 That she imagines I neglect my vow ; 
 Keeps off her kind embraces, and still 
 
 asks ; 
 "When, when, will this revenge come? 
 
 when perform 'd 
 Will this dull vow be?" and I vow to 
 
 Heaven 
 
 So sternly, and so past her sex she urges 
 My vow's performance ; that I almost fear 
 To see her, when I have awhile been ab- 
 sent, 
 
 Not showing her before I speak, the blood 
 She so much thirsts for, freckling hands 
 
 and face. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 iSt 
 
 Re. Get you the challenge writ, and look 
 from me, 
 
 To hear your passage clear'd no long time 
 after. [ Exit Re. 
 
 Ba. All restitution to your worthiest 
 lordship, 
 
 Whose errand I must carry to the king, 
 
 As having sworn my service in the search 
 
 Of all such malcontents and their designs, 
 
 By seeming one affected with their faction, 
 
 And discontented humours 'gainst the 
 state : 
 
 Nor doth my brother Clermont 'scape my 
 counsel 
 
 Given to the King, about his Guisean 
 greatness, 
 
 Which as I spice it, hath possess'd the 
 King 
 
 (Knowing his daring spirit) of much dan- 
 ger 
 
 Charged in it to his person ; though my 
 conscience 
 
 Dare s\\ are him clear of any power to be 
 
 Infected with the least dishonesty : 
 
 Yet that sincerity, we politicians 
 
 Must say, grows out of envy, since it can- 
 not 
 
 Aspire to policy's greatness : and the more 
 
 We work on all respects of kind and vir- 
 tue, 
 
 The more our service to the King seems 
 great, 
 
 In sparing no good that seems bad to 
 him : 
 
 And the more bad we make the most of 
 good, 
 
 The more our policy searcheth ; and our 
 service 
 
 Is wonder'd at for wisdom and sincere- 
 ness. 
 
 Tis easy to make good suspected still, 
 
 Where good and God are made but cloaks 
 for ill. 
 
 See Monsieur taking now his leave for 
 Brabant ; 
 
 Enter Henry, Monsieur, Guise, Clermont, 
 Espernon, Soisson. Monsieur taking 
 leave of the King. 
 
 The Guise, and his dear minion, Clermont 
 D'Ambois, 
 
 Whispering together, not of state affairs 
 
 I durst lay wagers (though the Guise be 
 now 
 
 In chief heat of his faction) but of some- 
 thing 
 
 Savouring of that which all men else de- 
 spise, 
 
 How to be truly noble, truly wise. 
 
 Mo. See how he hangs upon the ear of 
 
 Guise, 
 Like to his jewel. 
 
 Es. He's now whispering in 
 Some doctrine of stability, and freedom, 
 Contempt of outward greatness, and the 
 
 guises 
 That vulgar great ones make their pride 
 
 and zeal, 
 Being only servile trains, and sumptuous 
 
 houses, 
 High places, offices. 
 
 Mo. Contempt of these 
 Does he read to the Guise ? 'Tis passing 
 
 needful. 
 And he, I think, makes show t'affect his 
 
 doctrine. 
 
 Es. Commends, admires it. 
 Mo. And pursues another. 
 Tis fine hypocrisy, and cheap, and vulgar, 
 Known for a covert practice, yet believed, 
 By those abused souls, that they teach 
 
 and govern, 
 No more than wives' adulteries, by their 
 
 husbands, 
 
 They bearing it with so unmoved aspects, 
 Hot coming from it, as 'twere not at all, 
 Or made by custom nothing. This same 
 
 D'Ambois 
 
 Hath gotten such opinion of his virtues, 
 Holding all learning but an art to live 
 
 well, 
 And showing he hath learn'd it, in his 
 
 life, 
 Being thereby strong in his persuading 
 
 others ; 
 
 That this ambitious Guise, embracing him, 
 Is thought t'embrace his virtues. 
 
 Es. Yet in some 
 His virtues are held false for th'others 
 
 vices : 
 For 'tis more cunning held, and much 
 
 more common, 
 To suspect truth than falsehood : and of 
 
 both 
 Truth still fares worse ; as hardly being 
 
 believed, 
 
 As 'tis unusual, and rarely known. 
 Mo. I'll part engendering virtue. Men 
 
 affirm 
 Though this same Clermont hath a 
 
 D'Ambois' spirit, 
 And breathes his brother's valour ; yet his 
 
 temper 
 Is so much past his, that you cannot move 
 
 him : 
 I'll try that temper in him. Come, you 
 
 two 
 Devour each other with your virtue's zeal, 
 
182 
 
 THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 And leave, for other friends, no fragment 
 
 of ye : 
 
 I wonder, Guise, you will thus ravish him 
 Out of my bosom that first gave the life 
 His manhood breathes, spirit, and means, 
 
 and lustre. 
 What do men think of me, I pray thee, 
 
 Clermont? 
 
 Once give me leave (for trial of that love 
 That from thy brother Bussy thou in- 
 
 herit'st) 
 
 T'unclasp thy bosom. 
 Cl. As how, sir ? 
 Mo. Be a true glass to me, in which I 
 
 may 
 Behold what thoughts the many-headed 
 
 beast, 
 And thou thyself breathes out concerning 
 
 me, 
 My ends, and new-upstarted state in 
 
 Brabant, 
 For which I now am bound, my higher 
 
 aims, 
 Imagined here in France : speak, man, and 
 
 let 
 Thy words be born as naked as thy 
 
 thoughts : 
 
 Oh, were brave Bussy living ! 
 Cl. Living, my lord ? 
 Mo. 'Tis true thou art his brother, but 
 
 durst thou 
 
 Hive braved the Guise, maugre his pre- 
 sence, courted 
 
 His wedded lady, emptied even the dregs 
 Of his worst thoughts of me, even to my 
 
 teeth ; 
 
 Discern'd not me, his rising sovereign, 
 From any common groom, but let me 
 
 hear 
 My grossest faults, as gross-full as they 
 
 were. 
 Durst thou do this? 
 
 Cl. I cannot tell : a man 
 Does never know the goodness of his 
 
 stomach 
 Till he sees meat before him. Were I 
 
 dared, 
 
 Perhaps, as he was, I durst do like him. 
 Mo. Dare then to pour out here thy 
 
 freest soul 
 Of what I am. 
 
 Cl. 'Tis stale ; he told you it. 
 
 Mo. He only jested, spake of spleen and 
 
 envy ; 
 
 Thy soul, more learn'd, is more ingenuous, 
 Searching, judicial ; let me then from thee 
 Hear what I am. 
 
 CL What but the sole support, 
 And most expectant hope of all our France, 
 
 The toward victor of the whole Low 
 
 Countries ? 
 Mo. Tush, thou wilt sing encomions of 
 
 my praise. 
 Is this like D'Ambois? I must vex the 
 
 Guise, 
 
 Or never look to hear free truth ; tell me, 
 For Bussy lives not ; he durst anger me, 
 Yet for my love, would not have fear'd to 
 
 anger 
 The King himself. Thou understand'st 
 
 me, dost not ? 
 
 Cl. I shall, my lord, with study. 
 Mo. Dost understand thyself? I pray 
 
 thee tell me, 
 Dost never search thy thoughts, what my 
 
 design 
 
 Might be to entertain thee and thy brother? 
 What turn I meant to serve with you ? 
 Cl. Even what you please to think. 
 Mo. But what think'st thou ? 
 Had I no end in't, think'st? 
 Cl. I think you had. 
 Mo. When I took in such two as you 
 
 two were, 
 
 A ragged couple of decay 'd commanders, 
 When a French crown would plentifully 
 
 serve 
 
 To buy you both to anything i'th' earth. 
 Cl. So it would you. 
 Mo. Nay, bought you both outright ; 
 You, and your trunks : I fear me, I offend 
 
 thee. 
 
 Cl. No, not a jot. 
 Mo. The most renowned soldier, 
 Epaminondas, as good authors say, 
 Had no more suits than backs, but you 
 
 two shared 
 But one suit 'twixt you both, when both 
 
 your studies 
 Were not what meat to dine with ; if your 
 
 partridge, 
 Your snipe, your wood-cock, lark, or your 
 
 red-herring, 
 
 But where to beg it ; whether at my house 
 Or at the Guise's (for you know you were 
 Ambitious beggars), or at some cook's- 
 
 shop, 
 
 T'eternize the cook's trust, and score it up. 
 Dost not offend thee ? 
 
 CL No, sir ; pray proceed. 
 Mo. As for thy gentry, I dare boldly take 
 Thy honourable oath ; and yet some say 
 Thou and thy most renowned noble brother, 
 Came to the Court first in a keel of sea-coal ; 
 Dost not offend thee? 
 CL Never doubt it, sir. 
 Mo. Why do I love thee, then? why have 
 I raked thee 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 183 
 
 Out of the dung-hill? cast my cast ward- 
 robe on thee ? 
 
 Brought thee to Court too, as I did thy 
 brother ? 
 
 Made ye my saucy boon companions ? 
 
 Taught ye to call our greatest noblemen 
 
 By the corruption of their names ; Jack, 
 Tom? 
 
 Have I blown both for .nothing to this 
 bubble ? 
 
 Though thou art learn 'd, th'ast no en- 
 chanting wit, 
 
 Or were thy wit good, am I therefore bound 
 
 To keep thee for my table? Well, sir, 
 'twere 
 
 A good knight's place. Many a proud 
 dubb'd gallant 
 
 Seeks out a poor knight's living from such 
 emrods. 
 
 Or what use else should I design thee to ? 
 
 Perhaps you'll answer me, to be my 
 
 finder. 
 Perhaps I shall. 
 
 Mo. Or did the sly Guise put thee 
 Into my bosom, t'undermine my projects ? 
 I fear thee not ; for though I be not sure 
 I have thy heart, I know thy brain-pan yet 
 To be as empty a dull piece of wainscot 
 As ever arm'd the scalp of any courtier ; 
 A fellow only that consists of sinews : 
 Mere Swisser, apt for any execution, 
 
 Cl. But killing of the King. 
 
 Mo. Right ; now I see 
 Thou understand'st thyself. 
 
 Cl. Ay, and you better : 
 You are a king's son born. 
 
 Mo. Right. 
 
 Cl. And a king's brother. 
 
 Mo. True. 
 
 Cl. And might not any fool have been 
 
 so too, 
 As well as you ? 
 
 Mo. A pox upon you ! 
 
 Cl. You did no princely deeds 
 Ere you were born, I take it, to deserve it ; 
 Nor did you any since that I have heard ; 
 Nor will do ever any, as all think. 
 
 Mo. The devil take him ! I'll no more 
 of him. 
 
 Gu. Nay : stay, my lord, and hear him 
 answer you. 
 
 Mo. No more, I swear. Farewell. 
 \Exeunt Monsieur, Espernon, Soisson. 
 
 Gu. No more ! Ill fortune. 
 I would have given a million to have heard 
 His scoffs retorted, and the insolence 
 Of his high birth and greatness (which 
 
 were never 
 Effects of his deserts, but cf his fortune) 
 
 Made show to his dull eyes, beneath the 
 
 worth 
 That men aspire to by their knowing 
 
 virtues, 
 Without which greatness is a shade, a 
 
 bubble. 
 Cl. But what one great man dreams of 
 
 that, but you ? 
 All take their birth and birth-rights left to 
 
 them 
 (Acquired by others) for their own worth's 
 
 purchase, 
 
 When many a fool in both, is great as they : 
 And who would think they could win with 
 
 their worths 
 Wealthy possessions, when won to their 
 
 hands, 
 
 They neither can judge justly of their value 
 Nor know their use ; and therefore they are 
 
 puft'd 
 With such proud tumours as this Monsieur 
 
 is: 
 
 Enabled only by the goods they have, 
 To scorn all goodness : none great, fill their 
 
 fortunes, 
 But as those men that make their houses 
 
 greater, 
 Their households being less*, so fortune 
 
 raises 
 Huge heaps of outside in these mighty 
 
 men, 
 And gives them nothing in them. 
 
 Gu. True as truth : 
 And therefore they had rather drown their 
 
 substance 
 
 In superfluities of bricks and stones 
 (Like Sysiphus, advancing of them ever, 
 And ever pulling down); than lay the cost 
 Of any sluttish corner, on a man, 
 Built with God's finger, and enstyled his 
 
 Temple. 
 
 Ba. Tis nobly said, my lord. 
 Gu. I would have these things 
 Brought upon stages, to let mighty misers 
 See all their grave and serious miseries 
 
 play'd, 
 As once they were in Athens and old 
 
 Rome. 
 Cl. Nay, we must now have nothing 
 
 brought on stages, 
 
 But puppetry, and pied ridiculous antics ; 
 Men thither come to laugh, and feed fool- 
 fat, 
 Check at all goodness there, as being 
 
 profaned : 
 When wheresoever goodness comes she 
 
 makes 
 The place still sacred, though with other 
 
 feet 
 
i8 4 
 
 THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 Never so much 'tis scandal'd and polluted. 
 Let me learn anything that fits a man, 
 In any stables shown, as well as stages. 
 Ba. Why ? is not all the world esteem'd 
 
 a stage ? 
 Cl. Yes, and right worthily ; and stages 
 
 too 
 
 Have a respect due to them, if but only, 
 For what the good Greek moralist says of 
 
 them : 
 
 " Is a man proud of greatness, or of riches ? 
 Give me an expert actor, I'll show all 
 That can within his greatest glory fall. 
 Is a man fray'd with poverty and lowness ? 
 Give me an actor, I'll show every eye 
 What he laments so, and so much doth fly, 
 The best and worst of both." If but for this 
 
 then, 
 To make the proudest outside that most 
 
 swells 
 With things without him, and above his 
 
 worth, 
 See how small cause he has to be so blown 
 
 up ; 
 And the most poor man to be grieved with 
 
 poorness, 
 
 Both being so easily borne by expert actors. 
 The stage and actors are not so contemptful 
 As every innovating puritan, 
 And ignorant sweater out of zealous envy 
 Would have the world imagine. And 
 
 besides, 
 That all things have been liken'd to the 
 
 mirth 
 
 Used upon stages, and for stages fitted. 
 The splenative philosopher that ever 
 Laugh'd at them all, were worthy the 
 
 enstaging ; 
 
 All objects, were they ne'er so full of tears, 
 He so conceited, that he could distil thence 
 Matter that still fed his ridiculous humour. 
 Heard he a lawyer, ne'er so vehement 
 
 pleading 
 
 He stood and laugh'd. Heard he a trades- 
 man swearing 
 
 Never so thriftily, selling of his wares, 
 He stood and laugh'd. Heard he an holy 
 
 brother, 
 
 For hollow ostentation at his prayers 
 Ne'er so impetuously, he stood and 
 
 laugh'd. 
 
 Saw he a great man never so insulting, 
 Severely inflicting, gravely giving laws, 
 Not for their good, but his, he stood and 
 
 laugh'd. 
 
 Saw he a youthful widow 
 Never so weeping, wringing of her hands, 
 For her lost lord, still the philosopher 
 
 laugh'd. 
 
 Now whether he supposed all these 
 
 presentments 
 
 Were only maskeries, and wore false faces, 
 Or else were simply vain, I take no care ; 
 But still he laugh'd, how grave soe'er they 
 
 were. 
 Gu. And might right well, my Clermont ; 
 
 and for this 
 Virtuous digression, we will thank the 
 
 scoffs 
 Of vicious Monsieur. But now for the 
 
 main point 
 
 Of your late resolution for revenge 
 Of your slain brother. 
 
 Cl. I have here my challenge, 
 Which I will pray my brother Baligny 
 To bear the murtherous earl. 
 
 Ba. I have prepared 
 Means for access to him, through all his 
 
 guard. 
 
 Gu. About it then, my worthy Baligny, 
 And bring us the success. 
 Ba. I will, my lord. [Exeunt. 
 
 Tamyra sola. 
 
 Ta. Revenge, that ever red sitt'st in the 
 
 eyes 
 
 Of injured ladies, till we crown thy brows 
 With bloody laurel, and receive from thee 
 Justice for all our honour's injury ; 
 Whose wings none fly, that wrath or 
 
 tyranny 
 Hath ruthless made, and bloody ; enter 
 
 here, 
 Enter, O enter ; and, though length of 
 
 time 
 
 Never lets any 'scape thy constant justice, 
 Yet now prevent that length. Fly, fly, 
 
 and here 
 Fix thy steel footsteps : Here, O here, 
 
 where still 
 
 Earth, moved with pity, yielded and em- 
 braced 
 My love's fair figure, drawn in his dear 
 
 blood, 
 And mark'd the place, to show thee where 
 
 was done 
 
 The cruell'st murder that e'er fled the sun. 
 O earth ! why keep'st thou not as well his 
 
 spirit, 
 To give his form life ? No, that was not 
 
 earthly ; 
 
 That (rarefying the thin and yielding air) 
 Flew sparkling up into the sphere of fire. 
 Whence endless flames it sheds in my de- 
 sire ; 
 
 Here be my daily pallet ; here all nights 
 That can be wrested from thy rival's arms, 
 O my dear Bussy, I will lie and kiss 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 '35 
 
 Spirit into thy blood, or breathe out mine 
 In sighs and kisses, and sad tunes to 
 thine. [SAe sings. 
 
 Enter Montsurry. 
 
 Mont. Still on this haunt? Still shall 
 
 adulterous blood 
 Affect thy spirits ? Think, for shame, but 
 
 this, 
 This blood that cockatrice-like thus thou 
 
 brood'st 
 
 Too dry is to breed any quench to thine. 
 And therefore now (if only for thy lust 
 A little cover'd with a veil of shame) 
 Look out for fresh life, rather than witch- 
 like, 
 
 Learn to kiss horror, and with death en- 
 gender. 
 Strange cross in nature, purest virgin 
 
 shame 
 
 Lies in the blood, as lust lies ; and to- 
 gether 
 Many times mix too ; and in none more 
 
 shameful 
 Than in the shamefaced. Who can then 
 
 distinguish 
 'Twixt their affections ; or tell when he 
 
 meets 
 With one not common ? Yet, as worthiest 
 
 poets 
 Shun common and plebeian forms of 
 
 speech ; 
 
 Every illiberal and affected phrase 
 To clothe their matter ; and together tie 
 Matter and form, with art and decency ; 
 So worthiest women should .shun vulgar 
 
 guises, 
 And though they cannot but fly out for 
 
 change, 
 
 Yet modesty, the matter of their lives, 
 Be it adulterate, should be painted true 
 With modest out-parts ; what they should 
 
 do stili, 
 Graced with good show, though deeds be 
 
 ne'er so ill. 
 
 Ta. That is so far from all ye seek of us, 
 That, though yourselves be common as 
 
 the air, 
 
 We must not take the air, we must not fit 
 Our actions to our own affections : 
 But as geometricians, you still say, 
 Teach that no lines nor superficies 
 Do move themselves, but still accompany 
 The motions of their bodies ; so poor 
 
 wives 
 
 Must not pursue, nor have their own affec- 
 tions ; 
 
 ' But to their husbands' earnests, and their 
 jests, 
 
 To their austerities of looks, and laughters,. 
 
 Though ne'er so foolish and injurious, 
 
 Like parasites and slaves, fit their dis- ' 
 
 posures. 
 Mont. I used thee as my soul, to move 
 
 and rule me. 
 
 Ta. So said you, when you woo'd. So 
 soldiers tortured 
 
 With tedious sieges of some well-wall'd 
 town 
 
 Propound conditions of most large con- 
 tents, 
 
 Freedom of laws, all former government ; 
 
 But having once set foot within the walls, 
 
 And got the reins of power into their 
 hands ; 
 
 Then do they tyrannize at their own rude 
 swindges, 
 
 Seize all their goods, their liberties, and 
 lives, 
 
 And make advantage and their lusts their 
 
 laws. 
 
 Mont. But love me, and perform a wife's 
 part yet, 
 
 (With all my love before) I swear forgive- 
 ness. 
 
 Ta. Forgiveness ! that grace you should 
 seek of me ; 
 
 These tortured fingers and these stabb'd- 
 through arms 
 
 Keep that law in their wounds, yet, unob- 
 served, 
 
 And ever shall. 
 
 Mont. Remember their deserts. 
 Ta. Those with fair warnings might 
 have been reform 'd, 
 
 Not these unmanly rages. You have 
 heard 
 
 The fiction of the north-wind and the sun, 
 
 Both working on a traveller, and con- 
 tending 
 
 Which had most power to take his cloak 
 from him ; 
 
 Which when the wind attempted, he 
 roar'd out 
 
 Outrageous blasts at him to force it off, 
 
 That wrapt it closer on. When the calm 
 sun 
 
 (The wind once leaving) charged him with 
 still beams 
 
 Quiet and fervent, and therein was con- 
 stant, 
 
 Which made him cast off both his cloak 
 and coat ; 
 
 Like whom should men do. If ye wish 
 your wives 
 
 Should leave disliked things, seek it not 
 with rage, 
 
 For that enrages ; what ye give, ye have ; 
 
i86 
 
 THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 [ACT n. 
 
 But use calm warnings, and kind manly 
 
 means, 
 
 And that in wives most prostitute will win 
 Not only sure amends, but make us wives 
 Better than those that ne'er led faulty 
 
 lives. 
 
 Enter a Soldier. 
 
 Sol. My lord. 
 
 Mont. How now ? would any speak with 
 
 me? 
 
 Sol. Ay, sir. 
 
 Mont. Perverse and traitorous mis- 
 creant, 
 
 Where are your other fellows of my guard ? 
 Have 1^ not told you, I will speak with 
 
 none 
 
 But Lord Renel? 
 Sol. And 'tis he that stays you. 
 Mont. O, is it he? Tis well ; attend him 
 
 in: 
 
 I must be vigilant ; the furies haunt me. 
 Do you hear, dame ? 
 
 Enter Renel -with the Soldier. 
 
 Re. Be true now, for your lady's injured 
 
 sake, 
 Whose bounty you have so much cause to 
 
 honour ; 
 
 For her respect is chief in this design, 
 And therefore serve it ; call out of the way 
 All your confederate fellows of his guard, 
 Till Monsieur Baligny be enter'd here. 
 Sol. Upon your honour, my lord shall be 
 
 free 
 
 From any hurt, you say ? 
 Re. Free as myself. Watch then, and 
 
 cleat his entry. 
 Sol. I will not fail, my lord. 
 
 [Exit Soldier. 
 
 Re. God save your lordship. 
 Mont. My noblest Lord Renel ! past all 
 
 men welcome : 
 
 Wife, welcome his lordship. \Osculatur. 
 Re. I much joy in your return here. 
 Ta. You do more than I. 
 Mont. She's passionate still, to think we 
 
 ever parted, 
 
 By my too stern injurious jealousy. 
 Re. Tis well your lordship will confess 
 
 your error 
 In so good time yet. 
 
 Enter Baligny with a challenge. 
 
 Mont. Death ! Who have we here ? 
 Ho ! guard ! villains ! 
 Ba. Why exclaim you so ? 
 Mont. Negligent traitors ! Murther, 
 murther, murther ! 
 
 Ba. Y'are mad. Had mine intent been 
 
 so like yours, 
 It had been done ere this. 
 
 Re. Sir, your intent, 
 And action too, was rude to enter thus. 
 Ba. Y'are a decay d lord to tell me of 
 
 rudeness, 
 
 As much decay'd in manners as in means. 
 Re. You talk of manners, that thus 
 
 rudely thrust 
 
 Upon a man that's busy with his wife. 
 Ba. And kept your lordship then the 
 
 door? 
 
 Re. The door? 
 Mont. Sweet lord, forbear. Show, show 
 
 your purpose, sir, 
 
 To move such bold feet into others' roofs. 
 Ba. This is my purpose, sir ; from Cler- 
 
 mont D'Ambois 
 I bring this challenge. 
 Mont. Challenge ! I'll touch none. 
 Ba. I'll leave it here then. 
 Re. Thou shalt leave thy life first. 
 Mont. Murther, murther! 
 Re. Retire, my lord ; get off. 
 Hold, or thy death shall hold thee. Hence, 
 
 my lord. 
 Ba. There lie the challenge. 
 
 [They all fight, and Bal. drives in 
 
 Mont. Exit Mont. 
 Re. Was not this well handled ? 
 Ba. Nobly, my lord. All thanks. 
 
 [Exit Bal. 
 
 Ta. I'll make him read it. [Exit Ta. 
 Re. This was a sleight well mask'd. O, 
 
 what is man, 
 Unless he be a politician ? [Exit. 
 
 END OF ACT I. 
 
 ACT THE SECOND. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 Henry, Baligny. 
 
 He. Come, Baligny, we now are private : 
 
 say, 
 What service bring'st thou ? make it short ; 
 
 the Guise, 
 Whose friend thou seem'st, is now in* 
 
 Court, and near, 
 And may observe us. 
 
 Ba. This, sir, then, in short : 
 The faction of the Guise (with which my 
 
 policy, 
 For service to your highness seems to 
 
 join) 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 187 
 
 Grows ripe, and must be gather'd into 
 
 hold ; 
 Of which my brother Clermont being a 
 
 part 
 
 Exceeding capital, deserves to have 
 A capital eye on him. And as you may 
 With best advantage, and your speediest 
 
 charge, 
 
 Command his apprehension ; which (be- 
 cause 
 The Court, you know, is strong in his 
 
 defence) 
 We must ask country swindge and open 
 
 fields. 
 And, therefore, I have wrought him to go 
 
 down 
 
 To Cambray with me (of which govern- 
 ment 
 Your highness' bounty made me your 
 
 Lieutenant) 
 Where, when I have him, I will leave my 
 
 house, 
 And feign some service out about the 
 
 confines, 
 When in the meantime, if you please to 
 
 give 
 Command to my Lieutenant, by your 
 
 letters, 
 To train him to some muster, where he 
 
 may, 
 Much to his honour, see for him, your 
 
 forces 
 
 Put into battail ; when he comes, he may 
 With some close stratagem be appre- 
 hended. 
 For otherwise your whole powers there will 
 
 fail 
 
 To work his apprension : and with that 
 My hand needs never be discern'd therein. 
 He. Thanks, honest Baligny. 
 Ba. Your highness knows 
 I will be honest ; and betray for you 
 Brother and father : for, I know, my lord, 
 Treachery for kings is truest loyalty ; 
 Nor is to bear the name of treachery, 
 But grave, deep policy. All acts thatseem 
 111 in particular respects, are good 
 As they respect your universal rule. 
 As in the main sway of the universe 
 The supreme Rector's general decrees, 
 To guard the mighty globes of earth and 
 
 heaven, 
 
 Since they make good that guard to preser- 
 vation 
 
 .Of both those in their order and first end, 
 No man's particular (as he thinks) wrong 
 Must hold him wrong'd ; no, not though 
 
 all men's reasons, 
 All law, all conscience, concludes it wrong. 
 
 Nor is comparison a flatterer 
 To liken you here to the King of kings ; 
 Nor any man's particular offence 
 Against the world's sway, to offence at 
 
 yours 
 
 In any subject ; who as little may 
 Grudge their particular wrong, if so it 
 
 seem 
 
 For th'universal right of your estate. 
 As (being a subject of the world's whole 
 
 sway 
 As well as yours ; and being a righteous 
 
 man 
 To whom Heaven promises defence, and 
 
 blessing, 
 Brought to decay, disgrace, and quite 
 
 defenceless) 
 He may complain of Heaven for wrong to 
 
 him. 
 He. 'Tis true : the simile at all parts 
 
 holds, 
 As all good subjects hold, that love our 
 
 favour. 
 Ba. Which is our heaven here ; and a 
 
 misery 
 
 Incomparable, and most truly hellish, 
 To live deprived of our king's grace and 
 
 countenance, 
 Without which best conditions are most 
 
 cursed : 
 
 Life of that nature, howsoever short, 
 Is a most lingering and tedious life ; 
 Or rather no life, but a languishing, 
 And an abuse of life. 
 He. 'Tis well conceited. 
 Ba. I thought it not amiss to yield your 
 
 highness 
 
 A reason of my speeches ; lest perhaps 
 You might conceive I flatter'd ; which, I 
 
 know, 
 
 Of all ills under heaven you most abhor. 
 He. Still thoti art right, my virtuous 
 
 Baligny, 
 For which I thank and love thee. Thy 
 
 advice 
 
 I'll not forget ; haste to thy government, 
 And carry D'Ambois with thee. So fare- 
 well. [Exit. 
 Ba. Your majesty fare ever like itself. 
 
 Enter Guise. 
 
 Gu. My sure friend, Baligny ! 
 
 Ba. Noblest of princes ! 
 
 Gu. How stands the State of Cambray ? 
 
 Ba. Strong, my lord, 
 And fit for service : for whose readiness 
 Your creature Clermont D'Ambois, and 
 
 myself 
 Ride shortly down. 
 
i88 
 
 THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 [ACT IT. 
 
 Gu. That Clermont is my love ; 
 France never bred a nobler gentleman 
 For all parts ; he exceeds his brother Bussy. 
 Ba. Ay, my lord ? 
 
 Gu. Far ; because, besides his valour, 
 He hath the crown of man, and all his 
 
 parts, 
 Which learning is : and that so true and 
 
 virtuous, 
 
 That it gives power to do as well as say 
 Whatever fits a most accomplish'd man ; 
 Which Bussy, for his valour's season, 
 
 lack'd ; 
 
 And so was rapt with outrage oftentimes 
 Beyond decorum ; where this absolute 
 
 Clermont, 
 
 Though, only for his natural zeal to right, 
 He will be fiery, when he sees it cross'd, 
 And in defence of it ; yet when he lists 
 He can contain that fire, as hid in embers. 
 Ba. No question, he's a true, learn'd 
 
 gentleman. 
 
 Gu. He is as true as tides, or any star 
 Is in his motion ; and for his rare learning, 
 He is not, as all else are that seek know- 
 ledge, 
 Of taste so much depraved, that they had 
 
 rather 
 
 Delight, and satisfy themselves to drink 
 Of the stream troubled, wandering ne'er 
 
 so far 
 From the clear fount, than of the fount 
 
 itself. 
 
 In all, Rome's Brutus is revived in him, 
 Whom he of industry doth imitate : 
 Or rather, as great Troy's Euphorbus was 
 After Pythagoras ; so is Brutus, Clermont. 
 And, were not Brutus a conspirator 
 Ba. Conspirator, my lord ? Doth that 
 
 impair him ? 
 Caesar began to tyrannize ; and when 
 
 virtue 
 
 Nor the religion of the gods could serve 
 To curb the insolence of his proud laws, 
 Brutus would be the gods' just instrument. 
 What said the princess, sweet Antigone, 
 In the grave Greek tragedian, when the 
 
 question 
 
 'Twixt her and Creon is, for laws of kings ? 
 Which, when he urges, she replies on him ; 
 Though his laws were a king's, they were 
 
 not God's ; 
 
 Nor would she value Creon's written laws 
 With God's unwrit edicts ; since they last 
 
 not 
 This day, and next, but every day and 
 
 ever ; 
 Where kings' laws alter every day and 
 
 hour, 
 
 And in that change imply a bounded 
 
 power. 
 Gu. Well, let us leave these vain dis- 
 
 putings what 
 
 Is to be done, and fall to doing something. 
 When are you for your government in 
 
 Cambray? 
 
 Ba. When you command, my lord. 
 Gu. Nay, that's not fit. 
 Continue your designments with the King, 
 With all your sen-ice ; only if I send 
 Respect me as your friend, and love my 
 
 Clermont. 
 
 Ba. Your highness knows my vows. 
 Gu. Ay, 'tis enough. 
 
 {Exit Guise. Manet Baligny. 
 Ba. Thus, must we play on both sides, 
 
 and thus hearten 
 
 In any ill those men whose good we hate. 
 Kings may do what they list ; and for 
 
 kings, subjects, 
 
 Either exempt from censure or exception ; 
 For, as no man's worth can be justly judged 
 But when he shines in some authority ; 
 So no authority should suffer censure 
 But by a man of more authority.* 
 Great vessels into less are emptied never, 
 There's a redundance past their continent 
 
 ever. 
 
 These virtuosi are the poorest creatures ; 
 For look how spinners weave out of them- 
 selves 
 Webs, whose strange matter none before 
 
 can see ; 
 
 So these, out of an unseen good in virtue, 
 Make arguments of right, and comfort in 
 
 her, 
 That clothe them like the poor web of a 
 
 spinner. 
 
 Enter Clermont. 
 
 Cl. Now, to my challenge. What's the 
 
 place, the weapon ? 
 Ba. Soft, sir ; let first your challenge be 
 
 received ; v 
 He would not touch, nor see it. 
 
 Cl. Possible! 
 How did you then ? 
 
 Ba. Left it in his despite, 
 But when he saw me enter so expectless, 
 To hear his base exclaims of murther, L 
 
 murther, 
 
 Made me think noblesse lost, in him quick ' 
 buried. 
 
 fie iravTos, &c. Impossible est 
 viri cognoscere mentem ac voluntatem, prius- 
 quam in Magistratibus apparet. 
 
 Sopho. Antig. ! 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 189 
 
 Cl. They are the breathing sepulchres 
 
 of noblesse ; 
 
 No trulier noble men, than lion's pictures 
 Hung up for signs, are lions. Who knows 
 
 not, 
 That lions the more soft kept, are more 
 
 servile ?* 
 
 And look how lions close kept, fed by hand, 
 Lose quite th'innative fire of spirit and 
 
 greatness 
 
 That lions free breathe, foraging for prey, 
 And grow so gross, that mastiffs, curs, and 
 
 mongrels 
 Have spirit to cow them. So our soft 
 
 French nobles 
 
 Chain'd up in ease and numb'd security, 
 Their spirits shrunk up like their covetous 
 
 fists, 
 
 And never open'd but Domitian-like, 
 And all his base obsequious minions 
 When they were catching, though it were 
 
 but flies. 
 
 Besotted with their peasants' love of gain, 
 Rusting at home and on each other preying, 
 Are for their greatness but the greater 
 
 slaves, 
 And none is noble but who scrapes and 
 
 saves. 
 Ba. 'Tis base, 'tis base ! and yet they 
 
 think them high. 
 
 Cl. So children mounted on their hobby- 
 horse 
 Think they are riding, when with wanton 
 
 toil 
 They bear what should bear them. A man 
 
 may well 
 Compare them to those foolish great- 
 
 spleen'd camels, 
 That to their high heads, begg'd of Jove 
 
 horns higher ; 
 
 Whose most uncomely and ridiculous pride 
 When he had satisfied, they could not use, 
 But where they went upright before, they 
 
 stoop'd, 
 And bore their heads much lower for their 
 
 horns. 
 
 As these high men do, low in all true grace, 
 Their height being privilege to all things 
 
 base. 
 
 And as the foolish poet that still writ 
 All his most self-loved verse in paper royal, 
 Of parchment ruled with lead, smoothed 
 
 with the pumice, 
 Bound richly up, and strung with crimson 
 
 strings ; 
 Never so blest as when he writ and read 
 
 * Quo mollius degunt, eo servilius. Epict. 
 
 The ape-loved issue of his brain, and never 
 But joying in himself, admiring ever : 
 Yet in his works behold him, and he show'd 
 Like to a ditcher. So these painted men, 
 All set on out-side, look upon within, 
 And not a peasant's entrails you shall find 
 More foul and measled, nor more sterved 
 
 of mind. 
 Ba. That makes their bodies fat. I fain 
 
 would know 
 
 How many millions of our other nobles 
 Would make one Guise. There is a true 
 
 tenth worthy, 
 
 Who (did not one act only blemish him) 
 CL One act? what one? 
 Ba. One, that, though years past done, 
 Sticks by him still and will distain him 
 
 ever. 
 Cl. Good heaven ! wherein ? what one 
 
 act can you name 
 Supposed his stain, that I'll not prove his 
 
 lustre? 
 
 Ba. To satisfy you, 'twas the massacre. 
 Cl. The massacre? I thought 'twas some 
 
 such blemish. 
 Ba. Oh, it was heinous ! 
 Cl. To a brutish sense, 
 But not a manly reason. We so tender 
 The vile part in us, that the part divine 
 We see in hell, and shrink not. Who was 
 
 first 
 
 Head of that massacre ? 
 Ba. The Guise. 
 Cl. Tis nothing so. 
 Who was in fault for all the slaughters 
 
 made 
 
 In Ilipn, and about it ? were the Greeks ? 
 Was it not Paris ravishing the Queen 
 Of Lacaedemon? Breach of shame and 
 
 faith ? 
 
 And all the laws of hospitality ? 
 This is the beastly slaughter made of 
 
 men, 
 
 When truth is overthrown, his laws cor- 
 rupted ; 
 When souls are smother'd in the flatter'd 
 
 flesh, 
 
 Slain bodies are no more than oxen slain. 
 Ba. Differ not men from oxen ? 
 Cl. Who says so? 
 But see wherein ; in the understanding 
 
 rules 
 
 Of their opinions, lives, and actions ; 
 In their communities of faith and reason. 
 Was not the wolf that nourish'd Romulus 
 More humane than the men that did expose 
 
 him? 
 
 Ba. That makes against you. 
 Cl. Not, sir, if you note 
 
THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 [ACT m. 
 
 That by that deed, the actions difference 
 
 make* 
 'Twixt men and beasts, and not their names 
 
 nor forms. 
 
 Had faith, nor shame, all hospitable rights 
 Been broke by Troy, Greece had not made 
 
 that slaughter. 
 
 Had that been saved (says a philosopher) 
 The Iliads and Odysseys had been lost ; 
 Had Faith and true Religion been preferr'd, 
 Religious Guise had never massacred. 
 Ba. Well, sir, I cannot when I meet 
 
 with you 
 
 But thus digress a little, for my learning, 
 From any other business I intend. 
 But now the voyage we resolved for Cam- 
 bray 
 I told the Guise begins, and we must 
 
 haste. 
 And till the Lord Renel hath found some 
 
 mean 
 
 Conspiring with the countess, to make sure 
 Your sworn wreak on her husband, though 
 
 this fail'd, 
 In my so brave command, we'll spend the 
 
 time, 
 
 Sometimes in training out in skirmishes 
 And battles, all our troops and companies ; 
 And sometimes breathe your brave Scotch 
 
 - running horse, 
 That great Guise gave you, that all th" 
 
 horse in France 
 
 Far overruns at every race and hunting 
 Both of the hare and deer. You shall be 
 
 honour'd 
 Like the great Guise himself, above the 
 
 King. 
 And (can you but appease your great- 
 
 spleen'd sister 
 For our delay'd wreak of your brother's 
 
 slaughter) 
 At all parts you'll be welcomed to your 
 
 wonder. 
 Cl. I'll see my lord the Guise again 
 
 before 
 We take our journey. 
 
 Ba. O, sir, by all means ; 
 You cannot be too careful of his love, 
 That ever takes occasion to be raising 
 Your virtues past the reaches of this age, 
 And ranks you with the best of th'ancient 
 
 Romans. 
 
 Cl. That praise at no part moves me, 
 but the worth 
 Of all he can give others sphered in him. 
 
 * This line appears to be corrupt ; though a 
 very slight alteration would suffice to make the 
 sense clear. Eo. 
 
 Ba. He yet is thought to entertain strange 
 
 aims. 
 Cl. He may be well, yet not as you think 
 
 strange. 
 His strange aims are to cross the common. 
 
 custom 
 
 Of servile nobles, in which he's so ravish'd, 
 That quite the earth he leaves, and up he 
 
 leaps 
 On Atlas' shoulders, and from thence looks 
 
 down, 
 
 Viewing how far off other high ones creep : 
 Rich, poor of reason, wander; all pale 
 
 looking, 
 And trembling but to think of their sure 
 
 deaths, 
 Their lives so base are, and so rank their 
 
 breaths. 
 Which. I teach Guise to heighten, and make 
 
 sweet 
 With life's dear odours, a good mind and 
 
 name; 
 
 For which he only loves me, and deserves 
 My love and life, which through all deaths 
 
 I vow : 
 
 Resolving this, whatever change can be, 
 Thou hast created, thou hast ruin'd me. 
 
 [Exit. 
 END OF ACT II. 
 
 ACT THE THIRD, 
 SCENE I. 
 
 A march of Captains over the stage. Mail- 
 lard, Chalon, Aumale following with 
 Soldiers. 
 
 Ma. These troops and companies come 
 
 in with wings : 
 
 So many men, so arm'd, so gallant horse, 
 I think no other government in France 
 So soon could bring together. With such 
 
 men 
 Methinks a man might pass th'insulting 
 
 pillars 
 
 Of Bacchus and Alcides. 
 Chal. I much wonder 
 Our lord-lieutenant brought his brother 
 
 down 
 To feast and honour him, and yet now 
 
 leaves him 
 At such an instance. 
 
 Ma. 'Twas the King's command : 
 For whom he must leave brother, wife, 
 
 friend, all things. 
 An. The confines of his government, 
 
 whose view 
 
SCENE 
 
 THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 191 
 
 Is the pretext of his command, hath need 
 Of no such sudden expedition. 
 Ma. We must not argue that. The 
 
 King's command 
 Is need and right enough : and that he 
 
 serves, 
 
 (As all true subjects should) without dis- 
 puting. 
 
 Chal. But knows not he of your com- 
 mand to take 
 His brother Clermont ? 
 
 Ma. No : the King's will is 
 Expressly to conceal his apprehension 
 From my lord governor. Observed ye not ? 
 Again peruse the letters. Both you are 
 Made my assistants, and have right and 
 
 trust 
 
 In all the weighty secrets like myself. 
 Au. Tis strange a man that had, through 
 
 his life past, 
 
 So sure a foot in virtue and true know- 
 ledge, 
 As Clermont D'Ambois, should be now 
 
 found tripping, 
 
 And taken up thus, so to make his fall 
 More steep and headlong. 
 
 Ma. It is Virtue's fortune, 
 To keep her low, and in her proper place ; 
 Height hath no room for her. But as a 
 
 man 
 
 That hath a fruitful wife, and every year 
 A child by her, hath every year a month 
 To breathe himself : where he that gets no 
 
 child 
 
 Hath not a night's rest, if he will do well : 
 So, let one marry this same barren Virtue, 
 She never lets him rest : where fruitful Vice 
 Spares her rich drudge, gives him in labour 
 
 breath ; 
 Feeds him with bane, and makes him fat 
 
 with death. 
 Chal. I see that good lives never can 
 
 secure 
 Men from bad livers. Worst men will have 
 
 best 
 As ill as they, or heaven to hell they'll 
 
 wrest. 
 Au. There was a merit for this, in the 
 
 fault 
 That Bussy made, for which he, doing 
 
 penance, 
 Proves that these foul adulterous guilts will 
 
 run 
 Through the whole blood, which not the 
 
 clear can shun. 
 Ma. I'll therefore take heed of the bas- 
 
 tarding 
 
 Whole innocent races ; 'tis a fearful thing. 
 And as I am true bachelor, I swear, 
 
 To touch no woman, to the coupling ends, 
 Unless it be mine own wife, or my friend's. 
 I may make bold with him. 
 
 Au. 'Tis safe and common. 
 The more your friend dares trust, the more 
 
 deceive him. 
 And as, through dewy vapours, the sun's 
 
 form 
 
 Makes the gay rainbow girdle to a storm, 
 So in hearts hollow, friendship (even the 
 
 sun 
 
 To all good growing in society) 
 Makes his so glorious and divine name 
 
 hold 
 
 Colours for all the ill that can be told. 
 Ma. Hark, our last troops are come. 
 
 [ Trumpets within. 
 
 Chal. Hark, our last foot. {Drums beat. 
 Ma. Come, let us put all quickly into 
 
 battail, 
 And send for Clermont, in whose honour 
 
 all 
 
 This martial preparation we pretend. 
 Chal. We must bethink us, ere we 
 
 apprehend him, 
 (Besides our main strength), of some 
 
 stratagem 
 To make good our severe command on 
 
 him, 
 
 As well to save blood, as to make him sure: 
 For if he come on his Scotch horse, all 
 
 France 
 Put at the heels of him, will fail to take 
 
 him. 
 Ma. What think you, if we should 
 
 disguise a brace 
 
 Of our best soldiers in fair lackeys' coats, 
 And send them for him, running by his 
 
 side, 
 Till they have brought him in some ambus- 
 
 cado 
 
 We close may lodge for him, and suddenly 
 Lay sure hand on him, plucking him from 
 
 horse. 
 Au. It. must be sure and strong hand ; 
 
 for if once 
 
 He feels the touch of such a stratagem, 
 Tis not the choicest brace of all our bands 
 Can manacle or quench his fiery hands. 
 Ma. When they have seized him, the 
 
 ambush shall make in. 
 Au. Do as you please ; his blameless 
 
 spirit deserves, 
 
 I dare engage my life, of all this, nothing. 
 Ch. Why should all this stir be, then? 
 Au. Who knows not 
 The bombast polity thrust into his giant, 
 To make his wisdom seem of size as huge, 
 And all for slight encounter of a shade, 
 
192 
 
 THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS, 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 So he be touch 'd, he would have heinous 
 
 made ? 
 Ma. It may be once so, but so ever, 
 
 never : 
 
 Ambition is abroad, on foot, on horse ; 
 Faction chokes every corner, street, the 
 
 Court; 
 Whose faction 'tis you know, and who is 
 
 held 
 The fautor's right hand ; how high his 
 
 aims reach 
 Nought but a crown can measure. This 
 
 must fall 
 
 Past shadows' weights, and is most capital. 
 Ch, No question ; for since he is come 
 
 to Cambray, 
 
 The malcontent, decay'd Marquis Renel 
 Is come, and new arrived, and made par- 
 taker 
 
 Of all the entertaining shows and feasts 
 That welcomed Clennont to the brave 
 
 virago, 
 
 His manly sister. Such we are esteem'd 
 As are our consorts. Marquess Malcontent 
 Comes where he knows his vein hath 
 
 safest vent. 
 Ma. Let him come at his will, and go 
 
 as free ; 
 Let us ply Clermont, our whole charge is 
 
 he. \Exit. 
 
 Enter a Gentleman Usher, before Cler- 
 mont, Renel, Charlotte, with two 
 women attendants, -with others : shows 
 having passed within. 
 
 Ch. This for your lordship's welcome 
 
 into Cambray. 
 Re. Noblest of ladies, 'tis beyond all 
 
 power, 
 
 Were my estate at first full, in my means 
 To quit or merit. 
 
 Cl. You come something later 
 From Court, my lord, than I ; and since 
 
 news there 
 
 Is every day increasing with th "affairs, 
 Must I not ask now, what the news is 
 
 there? 
 Where the Court lies? what stir? change? 
 
 what avise 
 
 From England? Italy? 
 Re. You must do so, 
 
 If you'll be call'd a gentleman well quali- 
 fied, 
 
 \ And wear your time and wits in those dis- 
 courses. 
 Cl. The Locrian Princes therefore were 
 
 brave rulers ; 
 
 For whosoever there came new from 
 country 
 
 And in the city ask'd, what news? was 
 punish 'd ; 
 
 Since commonly such brains are most 
 delighted 
 
 With innovations, gossips' tales, and mis- 
 chiefs ; 
 
 But as of lions it is said and eagles, 
 
 That when they go, they draw their seres 
 and talons 
 
 Close up, to shun rebating of their sharp- 
 ness ; 
 
 So our wit's sharpness, which we should 
 employ 
 
 In noblest knowledge, we should never 
 waste 
 
 In vile and vulgar admirations. 
 Re. 'Tis right ; but who, save only you, 
 performs it, 
 
 And your great brother? Madam, where 
 
 is he? 
 
 Ch. Gone a day since, into the coun- 
 try's confines, 
 
 To see their strength, and readiness for 
 service. 
 
 - Re. Tis well ; his favour with the King 
 hath made him 
 
 Most worthily great, and live right royally. 
 Cl. Ay, would he would not do so ! 
 Honour never 
 
 Should be esteem'd with wise men, as the 
 price 
 
 And value of their virtuous services, 
 
 But as their sign or badge ; for that be- 
 wrays 
 
 More glory in the outward grace of good- 
 ness, 
 
 Than in the good itself ; and then 'tis 
 said : 
 
 Who more joy takes, that men his good 
 advance, 
 
 Than in the good itself, does it by chance. 
 Chr. My brother speaks all principle ; 
 what man 
 
 Is moved with your soul, or hath such a 
 thought 
 
 In any rate of goodness ? 
 Cl. Tis their fault : 
 
 We have examples of it, clear and many. 
 
 Demetrius Phalerius, an orator, 
 
 And (which not oft meet) a philosopher, 
 
 So great in Athens grew, that he erected 
 
 Three hundred statues of him ; of all 
 which, 
 
 No rust nor length of time corrupted 
 one ; 
 
 But in his life time, all were overthrown. 
 
 And Demades (that pass'd Demosthenes 
 
 For all extemporal orations) 
 
 Erected many statues, which, he living. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 193 
 
 Were broke, and melted into chamber- 
 pots. 
 
 Many such ends have fall'n on such proud 
 honours, 
 
 No more because the men on whom they 
 fell 
 
 Grew insolent and left their virtues' state ; 
 
 Than for their hugeness, that procured 
 their hate ; 
 
 And therefore little pomp in men most 
 great, 
 
 Makes mightily and strongly to the guard 
 
 Of what they win by chance, or just re- 
 ward. 
 
 Great and immodest braveries again, 
 
 Like statues, much too high made for their 
 bases, 
 
 Are overturn'd as soon as given their 
 places. 
 
 Enter a Messenger with a Letter. 
 
 Me, Here is a letter, sir, deliver'd me, 
 Now at the fore-gate by a gentleman. 
 
 Cl. What gentleman ? 
 
 Me. He would not tell his name ; 
 He said, he had not time enough to 
 
 tell it, 
 And say the little rest he had to say. 
 
 Cl. That was a merry saying ; he took 
 
 measure 
 
 Of his dear time like a most thrifty hus- 
 band. 
 
 Ch. What news? 
 
 CL Strange ones, and fit for a nova- 
 tion ; 
 Weighty, unheard of, mischievous enough. 
 
 Re. Heaven shield ! what are they ? 
 
 CL Read them, good my lord. 
 
 Re. "You are betrayed into this country." 
 Monstrous ! 
 
 Ch. How's that ? 
 
 Cl. Read on. 
 
 Re. " Maillard, your brother's lieu- 
 tenant, that yesterday invited you to see 
 his musters, hath letters and strict charge 
 from the King to apprehend you." 
 
 Ch. To apprehend him ? 
 
 Re. "Your brother absents himself of 
 purpose." 
 
 CL That's a sound one. 
 
 Ch. That's a lie. 
 
 Re. "Get on your Scotch horse, and 
 retire to your strength ; you know where it 
 is, and there it expects you ; believe this as 
 your best friend had sworn it. Fare well, if 
 you will. ANONYMOS." What's that? 
 
 CL Without a name. 
 
 Ch. And all his notice too without all 
 truth. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 Cl. So I conceive it, sister ; I'll not 
 
 wrong 
 
 My well-known brother for Anonymos. 
 Ch. Some fool hath put this trick on you, 
 
 yet more 
 
 T'uncover your defect of spirit and valour, 
 First shown in lingering my dear brother's 
 
 wreak. 
 
 See what it is to give the envious world 
 Advantage to diminish eminent virtue. 
 Send him a challenge? Take a noble 
 
 course 
 
 To wreak a murther, done so like a villain ? 
 Cl. Shall we revenge a villany with 
 villany ? 
 
 Ch. Is it not equal ? 
 CL Shall we equal be with villains? 
 Is that your reason ? 
 
 Ch. Cowardice evermore 
 Flies to the shield of reason. 
 
 CL Nought that is 
 
 Approved by reason can be cowardice. 
 Ch. Dispute when you should fight. 
 
 Wrong, wreakless sleeping, 
 Makes men die honourless; one borne, 
 
 another 
 Leaps on our shoulders. 
 
 CL We must wreak our wrongs 
 So as we take not more. 
 
 Ch. One wreak'd in time 
 Prevents all other. Then shines virtue most 
 When time is found for facts ; and found, 
 
 not lost. 
 CL No time occurs to kings, much less 
 
 to virtue ; 
 
 Nor can we call it virtue that proceeds 
 From vicious fury. I repent that ever 
 (By any instigation in th 'appearance 
 My brother's spirit made, as I imagined) 
 That e'er I yielded to revenge his murther. 
 All worthy men should ever bring their 
 
 blood 
 To bear all ill, not to be wreak'd with 
 
 good : 
 
 Do ill for no ill ; never private cause 
 Should take on it the part of public laws. 
 Ch. A D'Ambois bear in wrong so tame 
 
 a spirit ! 
 Re. Madam, be sure there will be time 
 
 enough 
 For all the vengeance your great spirit can 
 
 wish. 
 
 The course yet taken is allow'd by all, 
 Which being noble, and refused by th* 
 
 earl, 
 Now makes him worthy of your worst 
 
 advantage ; 
 
 And I have cast a project with the 
 countess 
 
 O 
 
194 
 
 THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 'ACT in. 
 
 To watch a time when all his wariest 
 
 guards 
 Shall not exempt him. Therefore give 
 
 him breath ; 
 
 Sure death delay 'd is a redoubled death. 
 Cl. Good sister, trouble not yourself with 
 
 this ; 
 
 Take other ladies' care ; practise your face. 
 There's the chaste matron, Madam Perigot, 
 Dwells not far hence ; I'll ride and send 
 
 her to you. 
 
 She did live by retailing maiden-heads 
 In her minority ; but now she deals 
 In wholesale altogether for the Court. 
 I tell you, she's the only fashion-monger, 
 For your complexion, powdering of your 
 
 hair, 
 Shadows, rebatoes, wires, tires, and such 
 
 tricks, 
 That Cambray, or I think, the Court 
 
 affords ; 
 She shall attend you, sister, and with 
 
 these 
 
 Womanly practices employ your spirit ; 
 This other suits you not, nor fits the 
 
 fashion. 
 Though she be dear, lay't on, spare for 
 
 no cost, 
 Ladies in these have all their bounties 
 
 lost. 
 Re. Madam, you see his spirit will not 
 
 check 
 
 At any single danger ; when it stands 
 Thus merrily firm against a host of men, 
 Threaten'd to be in arms for his surprise. 
 Ch. That's a mere bugbear, an impos- 
 sible mock. 
 
 If he, and him I bound by nuptial faith 
 Had not been dull and drossy in per- 
 forming 
 Wreak of the dear blood of my matchless 
 
 brother, 
 What prince, what king, which of the 
 
 desperatest ruffians, 
 
 Outlaws in Arden, durst have tempted thus 
 One of our blood and name, be't true or 
 
 false? 
 Cl. This is not caused by that ; 'twill be 
 
 as sure 
 
 As yet it is not, though this should be true. 
 Ch. True ? 'tis past thought false. 
 Cl. I suppose the worst, 
 Which far I am from thinking ; and de- 
 spise 
 
 The army now in battail that should act it. 
 Ch. I would not let my blood up to that 
 
 thought, 
 But it should cost the dearest blood in 
 
 France. 
 
 Cl. Sweet sister, [oscitlatur] far be both 
 
 off as the fact 
 Of my feign'd apprehension. 
 
 Ch. I would once 
 
 Strip off my shame with my attire, and try 
 If a poor woman, votist of revenge, 
 Would not perform it with a precedent 
 To all you bungling, foggy-spirited men ; 
 But for our birthright's honour, do not 
 
 mention 
 
 One syllable of any word may go 
 To the begetting of an act so tender 
 And full of sulphur as this letter's truth ; 
 It comprehends so black a circumstance 
 Not to be named, that but to form one 
 
 thought, 
 
 It is or can be so, would make me mad ; 
 Come, my lord, you and I will fight this 
 
 dream 
 
 Out at the chess. 
 Re. Most gladly, worthiest lady. 
 
 [Exit Charlotte and Renel. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Me. Sir, my Lord Governor's Lieutenant 
 
 prays 
 Access to you. 
 
 Cl. Himself alone ? 
 
 Me. Alone, sir. 
 
 Cl. Attend him in. [Exit Mess.] Now 
 
 comes this plot to trial. 
 I shall discern, if it be true as rare, 
 Some sparks will fly from his dissembling 
 
 eyes. 
 I'll sound his depth. 
 
 Enter Maillard with the Messenger. 
 
 Ma. Honour, and all things noble ! 
 Cl. As much to you, good Captain. 
 
 What's th' affair? 
 Ma. Sir, the poor honour we can add to 
 
 all 
 Your studied welcome to this martial 
 
 place, 
 
 In presentation of what strength consists 
 My lord, your brother's government is ready. 
 I have made all his troops and companies 
 Advance, and put themselves ranged in 
 
 battalia, 
 That you may see, both how well-arm 'd i 
 
 they are ; 
 
 How strong is every troop and company ; 
 How ready, and how well prepared for 
 
 service. 
 
 Cl. And must they take me ? 
 Ma. Take you, sir ? O, heaven ! 
 Me. Believe it, sir ; his countenance 
 
 changed in turning. 
 Ma. What do you mean, sir? 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D' AM BO IS. 
 
 '95 
 
 Cl. If you have charged them, 
 You being charged yourself, to apprehend 
 
 me, 
 Turn not your face ; throw not your looks 
 
 about so. 
 Ma. Pardon me, sir. You amaze me 
 
 to conceive 
 From whence our wills to honour you 
 
 should turn 
 
 To such dishonour of my lord your brother. 
 Dare I, without him, undertake your 
 
 taking ? 
 Cl. Why not? by your direct charge 
 
 from the King ? 
 Ma. By my charge from the King? 
 
 would he so much 
 
 Disgrace my lord, his own lieutenant here, 
 To give me his command without his for- 
 feit ? 
 Cl. Acts that are done by kings are not 
 
 ask'd why: 
 I'll not dispute the case, but I will search 
 
 you. 
 
 Ma. Search me ? for what ? 
 CL For letters. 
 Ma. I beseech you 
 
 Do not admit one thought of such a shame 
 To a commander. 
 
 Cl. Go to ; I must do't. 
 Stand and be search'd ; you know me. 
 
 Ma. You forget 
 
 What 'tis to be a captain, and yourself. 
 Cl. Stand! or I vow to heaven, I'll 
 
 make you lie, 
 Never to rise more. 
 
 Ma. If a man be mad 
 Reason must bear him. 
 Cl. So coy to be search'd ? 
 Ma. 'Sdeath, sir! use a captain like a 
 
 carrier ? 
 Cl. Come, be not furious ; when I have 
 
 done 
 
 You shall make such a carrier of me, 
 If t be your pleasure ; you're my friend, I 
 
 know, 
 
 And so am bold with you. 
 Ma. You'll nothing find 
 Where nothing is. 
 
 Cl. Swear you have nothing. 
 Ma. Nothing you seek, I swear, I be- 
 seech you ; 
 
 Know I desired this out of great affection, 
 To th'end my lord may know out of your 
 
 witness 
 
 His forces are not in so bad estate 
 As he esteem'd them lately in your hearing : 
 For which he would not trust me with the 
 
 confines ; 
 But went himself to witness their estate. 
 
 Cl. I heard him make that reason, and 
 
 am sorry 
 
 I had no thought of it before I made 
 Thus bold with you; since 'tis such rhubarb 
 
 to you, 
 I'll therefore search no more. If you are 
 
 charged 
 
 By letters from the King, or otherwise, 
 To apprehend me ; never spice it more 
 With forced terms of your love, but stay ; I 
 
 yield ; 
 Hold ; take my sword ; here ; I forgive 
 
 thee freely ; 
 Take ; do thine office. 
 
 Ma. 'Sfoot, you make me a hangman ; 
 By all my faith to you, there's no such 
 
 thing. 
 
 Cl. Your faith to me ? 
 Ma. My faith to God ; all's one, 
 Who hath no faith to men, to God hath 
 
 none. 
 Cl. In that sense I accept your oath, 
 
 and thank you : 
 I gave my word to go, and I will go. 
 
 [Exit Cltr. 
 
 Ma. I'll watch you whither. [Exit Mail. 
 Me. If he goes, he proves 
 How vain are men's foreknowledges of 
 
 things, 
 When heaven strikes blind their powers of 
 
 note and use ; 
 And makes their way to ruin seem more 
 
 right 
 
 Than that which safety opens to their sight. 
 Cassandra's prophecy had no more profit 
 With Troy's blind citizens, when she fore- 
 told 
 Troy's ruin ; which, succeeding, made her 
 
 use 
 
 This sacred inclamation : "God" (said she) 
 " Would have me utter things uncredited : 
 "For which now they approve what 1 
 
 presaged ; 
 "They count me wise, that said before I 
 
 raged." 
 
 Enter Chalon with two Soldiers, 
 
 Ckal. Come soldiers, you are downwards 
 
 fit for lackeys ; 
 Give me your pieces, and take you these 
 
 coats, 
 To make you complete footmen, in whose 
 
 forms, 
 
 Youmust be complete soldiers; youtwoonly 
 Stand for our army. 
 isf. That were much. 
 Ckal. 'Tis true, 
 
 You two must do, or enter, what our army 
 Is now in field for. 
 
 O 2 
 
THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 [ACT nr. 
 
 -2nd. I see then our guerdon 
 Must be the deed itself, 'twill be such 
 
 honour. 
 
 Chal. What fi^ht soldiers most for ? 
 ist. Honour only. 
 Chal. Yet here are crowns beside. 
 Am. We thank you, captain. 
 znd. Now, sir, how show we? 
 Chal. As you should at all parts. 
 Go now to Clermont D'Ambois, and inform 
 
 him 
 
 Two battails are set ready in his honour, 
 And stay his presence only for their signal, 
 When they shall join : and that t'attend 
 
 him hither, 
 Like one we so much honour, we have sent 
 
 him 
 
 ist. Us two in person. 
 Chal. Well, sir, say it so. 
 And having brought him to the field, 
 
 when I 
 
 Fall in with him, saluting, get you both 
 Of one side of his horse, and* pluck him 
 
 down, 
 And I with th'ambush laid, will second 
 
 you. 
 ist. Nay, we shall lay on hands of too 
 
 much strength 
 To need your secondings. 
 
 2nd. I hope we shall. 
 Two are enough to encounter Hercules. 
 Chal. 'Tis well said, worthy soldiers : 
 haste, and haste him. 
 
 Enter Clermont, Maillard close following 
 him. 
 
 Cl. My Scotch horse to their army. 
 
 Ma. Please you, sir ? 
 
 Cl. 'Sdeath, you're passing diligent. 
 
 Ma. Of my soul 
 
 'Tis only in my love to honour you 
 With what would grace the King : but since 
 
 I see 
 
 You still sustain a jealous eye on me, 
 I'll go before. 
 
 Cl. 'Tis well ; I'll come ; my hand. 
 
 Ma. Your hand, sir ? Come, your word, 
 your choice be used. \Exit. 
 
 Clermont solus. 
 
 CL I had an aversation to this voyage, 
 When first my brother moved it ; and have 
 
 found 
 
 That native power in me was never vain ; 
 Yet now neglected it : I wonder much 
 At my inconstancy in these decrees, 
 I every hour set down to guide my life. 
 When Homer made Achilles passionate, 
 Wrathful, revengeful, and insatiate 
 
 In his affections ; what man will deny, 
 He did compose it all of industry, 
 To let men see, that men of most renown, 
 Strong'st, noblest, fairest, if they set not 
 
 down 
 
 Decrees within them, for disposing these, 
 Of judgment, resolution, uprightness, 
 And certain knowledge of their use and 
 
 ends 
 
 Mishap and misery no less extends 
 To their destruction, with all that they 
 
 prized, 
 Than to the poorest, and the most despised, 
 
 Enter Renel. 
 
 Re. Why, how now, friend? retired? 
 
 Take heed you prove not 
 Dismay 'd with this strange fortune ; all 
 
 observe you : 
 Your government's as much mark'd as the 
 
 King's. 
 
 What said a friend to Pompey ? 
 Cl. What? 
 Re. The people 
 
 Will never know, unless in death thou try, 
 That thou know'st how to bear adversity. 
 
 Cl. I shall approve how vile I value fear 
 Of death at all times ; but to be too rash, 
 Without both will and care to shun the 
 
 worst 
 (It being in power to do, well and with 
 
 cheer), 
 
 Is stupid negligence, and worse than fear. 
 Re. Suppose this true now. 
 Cl. No, I cannot do't. 
 My sister truly said, there hung a tail 
 Of circumstance so black on that suppo- 
 
 sure, 
 That to sustain it thus, abhorr'd our 
 
 metal. 
 
 And I can shun it, too, in spite of all : 
 Not going to field, and there, too, being so 
 
 mounted 
 
 As I will, since I go. 
 Re. You will then go? 
 Cl. I am engaged, both in my word and 
 
 hand ; 
 
 But this is it that makes me thus retired, 
 To call myself t'account how this affair 
 Is to be managed if the worst should 
 
 chance ; 
 
 With which I note, how dangerous it is 
 For any man to prease beyond the place 
 To which his birth, or means, or know- 
 ledge ties him ; 
 For my part, though of noble birth, my 
 
 birthright 
 
 Had little left it, and I know 'tis better 
 To live with little, and to keep within 
 
|Tc, 
 
 THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 197 
 
 A man's own strength still, and in man's 
 
 true end, 
 Than run a mix'd course. Good and bad 
 
 hold never 
 
 Anything common ; you can never find 
 Things outward care, but you neglect your 
 
 mind. 
 God hath the whole world perfect made, 
 
 and free, 
 His parts to th'use of th'all ; men then that 
 
 are 
 
 Parts of that all, must, as the general sway 
 Of that importeth, willingly obey 
 In everything without their power to 
 
 change. 
 He that, unpleased to hold his place, will 
 
 range, 
 
 Can in no other be contain'd that's fit, 
 And so resisting th 'All, is crush 'd with it. 
 But he, that knowing how divine a frame 
 The whole world is ; and of it all, can 
 
 name, 
 
 Without self-flattery, no part so divine 
 As he himself, and therefore will confine 
 Freely, his whole powers, in his proper part, 
 Goes on most God-like. He that strives 
 
 t'invert 
 
 The Universal's course with his poor way, 
 Not only dust-like shivers with the sway, 
 But, crossing God in his great work, all 
 
 earth 
 
 Bears not so cursed and so damn'd a birth. 
 Re. Go on ; I'll take no care what comes 
 
 of you ; 
 Heaven will not see it ill, howe'er it 
 
 show: 
 
 But the pretext to see these battails ranged 
 Is much your honour. 
 
 Cl. As the world esteems it. 
 But to decide that, you make me remember 
 An accident of high and noble note, 
 And fits the subject of my late discourse 
 Of holding on our free and proper way. 
 I overtook, coming from Italy, 
 In Germany, a great and famous earl 
 Of England, the most goodly-fash ion 'd 
 
 man 
 
 I ever saw ; from head to foot in form 
 Rare and most absolute ; he had a face 
 Like one of the most ancient honour'd 
 
 Romans, 
 From whence his noblest family was 
 
 derived ; 
 
 He was beside of spirit passing great, 
 Valiant, and learn'd, and liberal as the 
 
 sun, 
 Spoke and writ sweetly, or of learned 
 
 subjects, 
 Or of the discipline of public weals ; 
 
 And 'twas the Earl of Oxford ; and being 
 
 offer'd 
 At that time, by Duke Cassimere, the 
 
 view 
 
 Of his right royal army then in field ; 
 Refused it, and no foot was moved, to 
 
 stir 
 
 Out of his own free fore-determined course: 
 I, wondering at it, ask'd for it his reason, 
 It being an offer so much for his honour. 
 He, all acknowledging, said, 'twas not fit 
 To take those honours that one cannot 
 
 quit. 
 Re. Twas answer'd like the man you 
 
 have described. 
 
 CL And yet he cast it only in the way, 
 To stay and serve the world. Nor did it fit 
 His own true estimate how much it 
 
 weighed, 
 
 For he despised it ; and esteem'd it freer 
 To keep his own way straight ; and swore 
 
 that he 
 
 Had rather make away his whole estate 
 In things that cross'd the vulgar, than he 
 
 would 
 
 Be frozen up, stiff, like a Sir John Smith, 
 His countryman, in common nobles' 
 
 fashions ; 
 
 Affecting, as the end of noblesse were 
 Those servile observations. 
 Re. It was strange. 
 Cl. O, 'tis a vexing sight to see a man 
 Out of his way, stalk proud as he were in ; 
 Out of his way to be officious, 
 Observant, wary, serious, and grave, 
 Fearful, and passionate, insulting, raging, 
 Labour with iron flails, to thresh down 
 
 feathers 
 Flitting in air. 
 
 Re. What one considers this, 
 Of all that are thus out? or once en- 
 deavours, 
 
 Erring to enter, on man's right-hand path ? 
 Cl. These are too grave for brave wits ; 
 
 give them toys ; 
 Labour bestow'd on these is harsh and 
 
 thriftless. 
 If you would consul be, says one, of 
 
 Rome, 
 You must be watching, starting out of 
 
 sleeps ; 
 
 Every way whisking ; glorifying plebeians 
 Kissing patricians' hands, rot at their doors; 
 Speak and do basely ; every day bestow 
 Gifts and observance upon one or other ; 
 And what's th' event of all ? Twelve rods 
 
 before thee ; 
 Three or four times sit for the whole 
 
 tribunal ; 
 
I 9 3 
 
 THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 [ACT IV. 
 
 Exhibit Circean games ; make public 
 feasts ; 
 
 And for these idle outward things (says he) 
 
 Would'st thou lay on such cost, toil, spend 
 thy spirits, 
 
 And to be void of perturbation 
 
 For constancy, sleep when thou would'st 
 have sleep, 
 
 Wake when thou would'st wake, fear 
 nought, vex for nought, 
 
 No pains wilt thou bestow ? no cost ? no 
 
 thought ? 
 
 Re. What should I say? As good con- 
 sort with you 
 
 As with an angel ; I could hear you ever. 
 Cl. Well ; in, my lord, and spend time 
 with my sister, 
 
 And keep her from the field with all en- 
 deavour ; 
 
 The soldiers love her so, and she so 
 madly 
 
 Would take my apprehension, if it chance, 
 
 That blood would flow in rivers. 
 Re. Heaven forbid ; 
 
 And all with honour your arrival speed. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Enter Messenger with two Soldiers 
 like lackeys. 
 
 Me. Here are two lackeys, sir, have 
 
 message to you. 
 Cl. What is your message ; and from 
 
 whom, my friend ? 
 ist. From the lieutenant-colonel, and 
 
 the captains ; 
 Who sent us to inform you that the 
 
 battails 
 Stand ready ranged ; expecting but your 
 
 presence, 
 To be their honour'd signal when to 
 
 join, 
 And we are charged to run by, and attend 
 
 you. 
 Cl. I come. I pray you see my running 
 
 horse 
 
 Brought to the back-gate to me. 
 Me. Instantly. [Exit Mess. 
 
 Cl. Chance what can chance me, well 
 
 or ill is equal 
 
 In my acceptance, since I joy in neither ; 
 But go with sway of all the world together. 
 In all successes, fortune and the day 
 To me alike are ; I am fix'd, be she 
 Never so fickle ; and will there repose, 
 Far past the reach of any die she throws. 
 [Ex. cum Pediss. 
 
 END OF ACT III. 
 
 ACT THE FOURTH. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Alarum within ; Excursions over the 
 Stage. 
 
 The Lackeys running, Maillard 
 following them. 
 
 Ma. Villains ! not hold him when ye 
 
 had him down ? 
 i st. Who can hold lightning ? 'Sdeath, a 
 
 man as well 
 
 Might catch a cannon-bullet in his mouth, 
 And spit it in your hands, as take and 
 
 hold him. 
 Ma. Pursue, enclose him ; stand, or fall 
 
 on him, 
 
 And ye may take him. 'Sdeath ! they 
 make him guards. [Exit. 
 
 Alarum still, and enter Chalon. 
 
 Chal. Stand, cowards, stand ; strike, 
 
 send your bullets at him. 
 ist. We came to entertain him, sir, for 
 
 honour. 
 
 2nd. Did ye not say so? 
 Chal. Slaves, he is a traitor ! 
 Command the horse-troops to over-run 
 
 the traitor. [Exit. 
 
 Shouts within. Alarum still, and cham- 
 bers shot off. Then enter Aumale. 
 
 Au. What spirit breathes thus, in this 
 
 more than man, 
 
 Turns flesh to air possess'd, and in a storm, 
 Tears men about the field like autumn 
 
 leaves ? 
 He turn'd wild lightning in the lackeys' 
 
 hands, 
 Who, though their sudden violent twitch 
 
 unhorsed him, 
 Yet when he bore himself, their saucy 
 
 fingers 
 
 Flew as too hot off, as he had been fire. 
 The ambush then made in, through all 
 
 whose force, 
 He drave as if a fierce and fire-given 
 
 cannon 
 
 Had spit his iron vomit out amongst them. 
 The battails then in two half-moons en- 
 closed him, 
 In which he show'd as if he were the 
 
 light, 
 And they but earth, who wondering what 
 
 he was, 
 Shrunk their steel horns, and gave him 
 
 glorious pass ; 
 And as a great shot from a town besieged, 
 
SCKXE I.] 
 
 THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 199 
 
 At foes before it, flies forth black and 
 
 roaring, 
 But they too far, and that with weight 
 
 oppress'd, 
 
 (As if disdaining earth) doth only graze, 
 Strike earth, and up again into the air ; 
 Again sinks to it, and again doth rise, 
 And keeps such strength that when it 
 
 softliest mores, 
 
 It piecemeal shivers any let it proves ; 
 So flew brave Clermont forth, till breath 
 
 forsook him, 
 His spirit's convulsions made him bound 
 
 again, 
 Past all their reaches ; till all motion 
 
 spent, 
 
 j His fix'd eyes cast a blaze of such dis- 
 dain, 
 i All stood and stared, and untouch'd let 
 
 him lie, 
 
 As something sacred fall'n out of the sky. 
 [A cry within. 
 
 now some rude hand hath laid hold on 
 
 him ! 
 
 Enter Maillard, Chalon leading Cler- 
 mont, Captains and Soldiers following. 
 
 See, prisoner led, with his bands honour'd 
 
 more 
 Than all the freedom he enjoy 'd before. 
 
 Ma. At length we have you, sir. 
 
 Cl. You have much joy too ; 
 
 1 made you sport yet, but I pray you tell 
 
 me, 
 
 Are not you perjured ? 
 Ma. No ; I swore for the King. 
 Cl. Yet perjury I hope is perjury. 
 Ma. But thus forswearing is not per- 
 jury ; 
 
 You are no politician ; not a fault, 
 How foul soever, done for private ends, 
 Is fault in us sworn to the public good ; 
 We never can be of the damned crew, 
 We may impolitic ourselves (as 'twere) 
 Into the kingdom's body politic, 
 Whereof indeed we're members ; you miss 
 
 terms. 
 
 Cl. The things are yet the same. 
 Ma. Tis nothing so ; the property is 
 
 alter'd ; 
 You are no lawyer. Or say that oath and 
 
 oath 
 Are still the same in number, yet their 
 
 species 
 
 Differ extremely, as for flat example, 
 When politic widows try men for their 
 
 turn, 
 Before they wed them, they are harlots 
 
 then, 
 
 But when they wed them, they are honest 
 
 women ; 
 
 So private men, when they forswear, be- 
 tray, 
 Are perjured treachers, but being public 
 
 once, 
 That is, sworn, married to the public 
 
 good 
 
 Cl. Are married women public ? 
 Ma. Public good ; 
 For marriage makes them, being the 
 
 public good, 
 
 And could not be without them. So I say 
 Men public, that is, being sworn or mar- 
 ried 
 
 To the good public, being one body made 
 With the realm's body politic, are no more 
 Private, nor can be perjured, though for- 
 sworn, 
 
 More than a widow married, for the act 
 Of generation is for that an harlot, 
 Because for that she was so, being un- 
 married ; 
 
 An argument a paritus. 
 Chal. 'Tis a shrewd one. 
 "6V. Who hath no faith to men, to God 
 
 hath none ;" 
 
 Retain you that, sir ? Who said so ? 
 Mail. 'Twas I. 
 
 Cl. Thy own tongue damn thine infi- 
 delity. 
 
 But captains all, you know me nobly born, 
 Use ye t'assault such men as I with 
 
 lackeys ? 
 Chal. They are no lackeys, sir, but 
 
 soldiers 
 Disguised in lackeys' coats. 
 
 ist. Sir, we have seen the enemy. 
 
 Cl. Avaunt, ye rascals, hence ! 
 
 Ma. Now leave your coats. 
 
 Cl. Let me not see them more. 
 
 Au. I grieve that virtue lives so undis- 
 
 tinguish'd 
 From vice in any ill, and though the 
 
 crown 
 Of sovereign law, she should be yet her 
 
 footstool, 
 
 Subject to censure, all the shame and pain 
 Of all her rigour. 
 
 Cl. Yet false policy 
 
 Would cover all, being like offenders hid, 
 That (after notice taken where they hide) 
 The more they crouch and stir, the more 
 
 are spied. 
 
 Au. I wonder how this chanced you. 
 Cl. Some informer, 
 Bloodhound to mischief, usher to the 
 
 hangman, 
 Thirsty of honour for some huge state act, 
 
THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Perceiving me great with the worthy 
 Guise ; 
 
 And he (I know not why) held dangerous, 
 
 Made me the desperate organ of his 
 danger, 
 
 Only with that poor colour ; 'tis the 
 common 
 
 And more than whore-like trick of treachery, 
 
 And vermin bred to rapine and to ruin ; 
 
 For which this fault is still to be accused, 
 
 Since good acts fail, crafts and deceits are 
 used. 
 
 If it be other, never pity me. 
 Au. Sir, we are glad, believe it, and 
 have hope, 
 
 The King will so conceit it. 
 Cl. At his pleasure. 
 
 In meantime, what's your will, lord- 
 lieutenant ? 
 Ma. To leave your own horse, and to 
 
 mount the trumpets. 
 CL It shall be done ; this heavily pre- 
 vents 
 
 My purposed recreation in these parts ; 
 
 Which now I think on, let me beg you, 
 sir, 
 
 To lend me some one captain of your 
 troops 
 
 To bear the message of my hapless ser- 
 vice 
 
 And misery, to my most noble mistress, 
 
 Countess of Cambray; to whose house this 
 night 
 
 I promised my repair, and know most 
 truly, 
 
 With all the ceremonies of her favour, 
 
 She sure expects me. 
 Ma. Think you now on that? 
 CL On that, sir? ay, and that so 
 worthily, 
 
 That if the King, in spite of your great 
 service, 
 
 Would send me instant promise of enlarge- 
 ment, . 
 
 Condition I would set this message by, 
 
 I would not take it, but had rather die. 
 Au. Your message shall be done, sir ; I 
 myself 
 
 Will be for you a messenger of ill. 
 
 CL I thank you, sir, and doubt not yet 
 to live 
 
 To quite your kindness. 
 Au. Mean space, use your spirit 
 
 And knowledge for the cheerful patience 
 
 Of this so strange and sudden consequence. 
 CL Good sir, believe that no particular 
 torture 
 
 Can force me from my glad obedience 
 
 To any thing the high and general Cause, 
 
 To match with his whole fabric, hath or- 
 
 dain'd : 
 And know ye all (though far from all your 
 
 aims, 
 Yet worth them all, and all men's endless 
 
 studies) 
 
 That in this one thing, all the discipline 
 Of manners and of manhood is contain'd ; 
 A man to join himself with th' Universe 
 In his main sway, and make (in all things 
 
 fit) 
 
 One with that All, and go on, round as it : 
 Not plucking from the whole his wretched 
 
 part, 
 
 And into straits, or into nought revert, 
 Wishing the complete Universe might be 
 Subject to such a rag of it as he ; 
 But to consider great Necessity, 
 All things as well refract as voluntary 
 Reduceth to the prime celestial cause, 
 Which he that yields to with a man's ap- 
 plause, 
 And cheek by cheek goes, crossing it no 
 
 breath, 
 But, like God's image, follows to the 
 
 death, 
 
 That man is truly wise, aftd everything, 
 (Each cause, and every part distinguishing,) 
 In nature, with enough art understands, 
 And that full glory merits at all hands, 
 That doth the whole world at all parts 
 
 adorn, 
 And appertains to one celestial born. 
 
 [Exeunt omnes. 
 
 Enter Baligny, Renel. 
 
 Ba. So foul a scandal never man sus- 
 
 tain'd, 
 Which caused by th' King, is rude and 
 
 tyrannous : 
 
 Give me a place, and my lieutenant make 
 The filler of it ! 
 
 Re. I should never look 
 For better of him ; never trust a man 
 For any justice, that is rapt with pleasure ; 
 To order arms well, that makes smocks 
 
 his ensigns, 
 And his whole government's sails : you 
 
 heard of late, 
 
 He had the four and twenty ways of venery 
 Done all before him. 
 Ba. 'Twas abhorr'd and beastly. 
 Re. Tis more than nature's mighty 
 
 hand can do 
 
 To make one humane and a lecher too. 
 Ix)ok how a wolf doth like a dog appear, 
 So like a friend is an adulterer : 
 Voluptuaries, and these belly-gods, 
 No more tnie men are than so many toads. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 A good man happy, is a common good ; 
 Vile men advanced live of the common 
 
 blood. 
 
 Ba. Give and then take like children. 
 Re. Bounties are 
 
 As soon repented as they happen rare. 
 Ba. What should kings do, and men of 
 
 eminent places, 
 But as they gather, sow gifts to the graces? 
 And where they have given, rather give again, 
 (Being given for virtue) than like babes and 
 
 fools, 
 Take and repent gifts ; why are wealth and 
 
 power ? 
 Re. Power and wealth move to tyranny, 
 
 not bounty ; 
 The merchant for his wealth is swoln in 
 
 mind, 
 
 When yet the chief lord of it is the wind. 
 Ba. That may so chance to our state- 
 merchants too ; 
 
 Something perform'd, that hath not far to go. 
 Re. That's the main point, my lord ; 
 
 insist on that. 
 Ba. But doth this fire rage further? hath 
 
 it taken 
 
 The tender tinder of my wife's sere blood ? 
 Is she so passionate ? 
 
 Re. So wild, so mad, 
 
 She cannot live, and this unwreak'd sustain. 
 
 The woes are bloody that in women reign. 
 
 The Sicile gulf keeps fear in less degree ; 
 
 There is no tiger not more tame than she. 
 
 Ba. There is no looking home then ? 
 
 Re. Home! Medea 
 
 With all her herbs, charms, thunders, 
 
 lightnings, 
 Made not her presence and black haunts 
 
 more dreadful. 
 Ba. Come to the King ; if he reform not 
 
 all, 
 
 Mark the event, none stand where that 
 must fall. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Countess, Riova, and an Usher. 
 
 Us. Madam, a captain come from Cler- 
 
 mont D'Ambois 
 Desires access to you. 
 Co. And not himself? 
 Us. No, madam. 
 Co. That's not well. Attend him in. 
 
 [Exit Usher. 
 
 The last hour of his promise now run out 
 And he break? some brack's in the frame 
 
 of nature 
 That forceth his breach. 
 
 Enter Usher and Aumale. 
 Au. Save your ladyship. 
 
 Co. All welcome ! Come you from my 
 
 worthy servant ? 
 Au. Ay, madam ; and confer such news 
 
 from him. 
 
 Co. Such news ? What news ? 
 Au. News that I wish some other had 
 
 the charge of. 
 
 Co. Oh ! what charge ? what news ? 
 Au. Your ladyship must use some 
 
 patience 
 
 Or else I cannot do him that desire 
 He urged with such affection to your graces. 
 Co. Do it ; for heaven's love do it, if you 
 
 serve 
 
 His kind desires, I will have patience. 
 Is he in health ? 
 Au. He is. 
 
 Co. Why, that's the ground 
 Of all the good estate we hold in earth ; 
 All our ill built upon that, is no more 
 Than we may bear, and should ; express 
 
 it all. 
 
 Au. Madam, 'tis only this ; his liberty. 
 Co. His liberty! Without that health 
 
 is nothing. 
 
 Why live I, but to ask in doubt of that, 
 Is that bereft him ? 
 Au. You'll again prevent me. 
 Co. No more, I swear ; I must hear, and 
 
 together 
 Come all my misery. I'll hold though I 
 
 burst. 
 Au. Then madam, thus it fares. He 
 
 was invited, 
 
 By way of honour to him, to take view 
 Of all the powers his brother Baligny 
 Hath in his government ; which ranged in 
 
 bat tails, 
 
 Maillard, lieutenant to the governor, 
 Having received strict letters from the 
 
 King 
 To train him to the musters, and betray 
 
 him, 
 To their surprise, which, with Chalon in 
 
 chief, 
 
 And other captains (all the field put hard 
 By his incredible valour for his 'scape) 
 They haplessly and guiltlessly perform'd, 
 And to Bastile he's now led prisoner. 
 Co. What change is here ! how are my 
 
 hopes prevented ! 
 
 O my most faithful servant ; thou be- 
 tray 'd ! 
 Will kings make treason lawful? Is 
 
 society 
 (To keep which only kings were first or- 
 
 dain'd) 
 
 Less broke in breaking faith 'twixt friend 
 and friend, 
 
THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Than 'twixt the king and subject? Let 
 
 them fear, 
 
 Kings' precedents in licence lack no danger. 
 Kings are compared to gods, and should 
 be like them, 
 
 Full in all right, in nought superfluous 
 
 Nor nothing straining past right, for their 
 right ; 
 
 Reign justly, and reign safely. Policy 
 
 Is but a guard corrupted, and a way 
 Ventured in deserts, without guide or 
 path. 
 
 Kings punish subjects' errors with their 
 own. 
 
 Kings are like archers, and their sub- 
 jects, shafts ; 
 
 For as when archers let their arrows fly, 
 
 They call to them, and bid them fly or fall, 
 
 As if 'twere in the free power of the shaft 
 
 To fly or fall, when only 'tis the strength, 
 
 Straight shooting, compass given it by the 
 archer, 
 
 That makes it hit or miss ; and doing 
 either, 
 
 He's to be praised or blamed, and not the 
 shaft : 
 
 So kings to subjects crying, "Do, do not 
 this;" 
 
 Must to them by their own examples' 
 strength, 
 
 The straightness of their acts, and equal 
 compass, 
 
 Give subjects power t 1 obey them in the 
 like; 
 
 Not shoot them forth with faulty aim and 
 strength, 
 
 And lay the fault in them for flying amiss. 
 Au. But for your servant, I dare swear 
 
 him guiltless. 
 
 Co. He would not for his kingdom 
 traitor be ; 
 
 His laws are not so true to him as he. 
 
 O knew I how to free him, by way forced 
 
 Through all their army, I would fly, and 
 doit; 
 
 And had I, of my courage and resolve, 
 
 But ten such more, they should not all re- 
 tain him ; 
 
 But I will never die before I give 
 
 Maillard an hundred slashes with a sword, 
 
 Chalon an hundred breaches with a pistol. 
 
 They could not all have taken Clermont 
 D'Ambois 
 
 Without their treachery ; he had bought 
 his bands out 
 
 With their slave bloods ; but he was credu- 
 lous ; 
 
 He would believe, since he would be be- 
 lieved ; 
 
 Your noblest natures are most credulous. 
 Who gives no trast, all trust is apt to 
 
 break ; 
 Hate like hell-mouth who think not what 
 
 they speak. 
 Au. Well, madam, I must tender my 
 
 attendance 
 
 On him again. Will't please you to re- 
 turn 
 No service to him by me ? 
 
 Co. Fetch me straight 
 My little cabinet. {Exit Ancil.] Tis little, 
 
 tell him, 
 
 And much too little for his matchless love 
 But as in him the worths of many men 
 Are close contracted {Intr. Ancil], so in 
 
 this are jewels 
 Worth many cabinets. Here, with this, 
 
 good sir, 
 
 Commend my kindest service to my servant, 
 Thank him, with all my comforts ; and, in 
 
 them 
 
 With all my life for them : all sent from him 
 In his remembrance of me, and true love ; 
 And look you tell him, tell him how I lie 
 
 {She kneels down at his feet. 
 Prostrate at feet of his accursed misfortune, 
 Pouring my tears out, which shall ever 
 
 fall ' 
 
 Till I have pour'd for him out eyes and all. 
 Au. O, madam, this will kill him : 
 
 comfort you 
 
 With full assurance of his quick acquittal : 
 Be not so passionate : rise, cease your 
 
 tears. 
 Co. Then must my life cease. Tears are 
 
 all the vent 
 My life hath to 'scape deaf .. Tears please 
 
 me better 
 Than all life's comforts, being the natural 
 
 seed 
 
 Of hearty sorrow. As a tree fruit bears, 
 So doth an undissembled sorrow, tears. 
 {He raises her, and leads her out. Exeunt. 
 Us. This might have been before, and 
 
 saved much charge. {Exit. 
 
 Enter Henry, Guise, Baligny, Espernon, 
 Soisson, Pericot with pen, ink, and 
 paper. 
 
 Gu. Now, sir, I hope your much abused 
 eyes see 
 
 In my word for my Clermont, what a 
 villain 
 
 He was that whisper'd in your jealous ear 
 
 His own black treason in suggesting Cler- 
 mont 's ; 
 
 Colour'd with nothing but being great with 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THI: REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 203 
 
 Sign then this writ for his delivery ; 
 
 Your hand was never urged with worthier 
 
 boldness : 
 Come pray, sir, sign it : why should kings 
 
 be pray'd 
 
 To acts of justice? 'Tis a reverence 
 Makes them despised, and shows they stick 
 
 and tire 
 In what their free powers should be hot as 
 
 fire. 
 He. Well, take your will, sir, I'll have 
 
 mine ere long. ' [Avers its. 
 
 But wherein is this Clermont such a rare 
 
 one ? 
 On. In his most gentle and unwearied 
 
 mind, 
 
 Rightly to virtue framed ; in very nature ; 
 In his most firm inexorable spirit, 
 To be removed from anything he chooseth 
 For worthiness ; or bear the best persua- 
 sion 
 
 To what is base, or fitteth not his object ; 
 In his contempt of riches and of greatness ; 
 In estimation of th'idolatrous vulgar ; 
 His scorn of all things servile and ignoble, 
 Though they could gain him never such 
 
 advancement ; 
 
 His liberal kind of speaking what is truth 
 In spite of temporizing ; the great rising 
 And learning of his soul, so much the 
 
 more 
 
 Against ill fortune, as she set herself 
 Sharp against him, or would present most 
 
 hard, 
 
 To shun the malice of her deadliest charge ; 
 His detestation of his special friends 
 When he perceived their tyrannous will 
 
 to do, 
 
 Or their abjection basely to sustain 
 Any injustice that they could revenge ; 
 The flexibility of his most anger, 
 Even in the main career and fury of it, 
 When any object of desertful pity 
 Offers itself to him ; his sweet disposure 
 As much abhorring to behold, as do 
 Any unnatural and bloody action ; 
 His just contempt of jesters, parasites, 
 Servile observers, and polluted tongues : 
 In short, this Senecal man is found in him, 
 He may with heaven's immortal powers 
 
 compare, 
 
 To whom the day and fortune equal are ; 
 Come fair or foul, whatever chance can 
 
 fall, 
 
 Fix'tl in himself, he still is one to all. 
 He. Shows he to others thus ? 
 Om. To all that know him. 
 He. And apprehend I this man for a 
 
 traitor ? 
 
 Gu. These are your Machiavellian vil- 
 lains, 
 Your bastard Teucers that, their mischiefs 
 
 done, 
 
 Run to your shield for shelter : Caucuses 
 That cut their too large murtherous thieveries 
 To their dens' length still : woe be to that 
 
 state 
 Where treachery guards, and ruin makes 
 
 men great. 
 
 He. Go, take my letters for him, and re- 
 lease him. 
 
 Om. Thanks to your highness ; ever live 
 
 your highness ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Ba. Better a man were buried quick, 
 
 than live 
 A property for state and spoil to thrive. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Enter Clermont, Maillard, Chalon, with 
 Soldiers. 
 
 Ma. We joy you take a chance so ill, so 
 
 well. 
 
 Cl. Who ever saw me differ in acceptance 
 Of either fortune ? 
 
 Ch. What, love bad like good? 
 How should one learn that ? 
 
 Cl. To love nothing outward, 
 Or not within our own powers to com- 
 mand ; 
 
 And so being sure of everything we love, 
 Who cares to lose the rest ? If any man 
 Would neither live nor die in his free 
 
 choice, 
 
 But as he sees necessity will have it 
 (Which if he would resist, he strives in vain),. 
 What can come near him, that he doth not 
 
 well, 
 
 And if in worst events his will be done, 
 How can the best be better ? All is one. 
 Ma. Methinks 'tis pretty. 
 Cl. Put no difference 
 
 If you have this, or not this ; but as chil- 
 dren 
 
 Playing at quoits, ever regard their game, 
 And care not for their quoits ; so let a maa 
 The things themselves that touch him not 
 
 esteem, 
 
 But his free power in well disposing them. 
 Chal. Pretty from toys ! 
 Cl. Methinks this double distich 
 Seems prettily too to stay superfluous long- 
 ings: 
 
 " Not to have want, what riches doth ex- 
 ceed? 
 
 Not to be subject, what superior thing ? 
 He that to nought aspires, doth nothing 
 
 need ; 
 Who breaks no law is subject to no king." 
 
204 
 
 THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Ma. This goes to mine ear well, I pro- 
 mise you. 
 Ch. O, but 'tis passing hard to stay one 
 
 thus. 
 Cl. 'Tis so ; rank custom wraps men so 
 
 beyond it ; 
 
 And as 'tis hard so well men's doors to bar 
 To keep the cat out, and th' adulterer ; 
 So 'tis as hard to curb affections so, 
 We let in nought to make them overflow. 
 And as of Homer's verses many critics 
 On those stand, of which Time's old moth 
 
 hath eaten 
 
 The first or last feet, and the perfect parts 
 Of his unmatched poem sink beneath, 
 With upright gasping and sloth dull as 
 
 death : 
 
 So the unprofitable things of life, 
 And those we cannot compass, we affect, 
 All that doth profit and we have, neglect ; 
 Like covetous and basely-getting men, 
 That gathering much, use never what they 
 
 keep, 
 
 But for the least they lose, extremely weep. 
 Ma. This pretty talking and our horses 
 
 walking 
 Down this steep hill, spends time with 
 
 equal profit. 
 Cl. 'Tis well bestow'd on ye, meat and 
 
 men sick 
 Agree like this, and you ; and yet even 
 
 this 
 Is th' end of all skill, power, wealth, all 
 
 that is. 
 
 Chal. I long to hear, sir, how your mis- 
 tress takes this. 
 
 Enter Aumale -with a cabinet. 
 
 Ma. We soon shall know it ; see Aumale 
 
 return'd. 
 
 A u. Ease to your bands, sir. 
 Cl. Welcome, worthy friend. 
 Chal. How took his noblest mistress your 
 
 sad message ? 
 Au. As great rich men take sudden 
 
 poverty : 
 
 I never witness'd a more noble love, 
 Nor a more ruthful sorrow : I well wish'd 
 Some other had been master of my message. 
 Ma. You're happy, sir, in all things, but 
 
 this one 
 Of your unhappy apprehension. 
 
 Cl. This is to me, compared with her 
 
 much moan, 
 As one tear is to her whole passion. 
 
 Au. Sir, she commends her kindest 
 
 service to you, 
 And this rich cabinet. 
 Chal. O happy man ! 
 
 This may enough hold to redeem your 
 
 band's. 
 
 Cl. These clouds, I doubt not, will be 
 soon blown over. 
 
 Enter Baligny -with his discharge, Renel, 
 and others. 
 
 Au. Your hope is just and happy ; see, 
 
 sir, both 
 In both the looks of these. 
 
 Ba. Here's a discharge 
 For this your prisoner, my good lord 
 
 lieutenant. 
 
 Ma. Alas ! sir, I usurp'd that style en- 
 forced, 
 
 And hope you know it was not my aspiring. 
 Ba. Well, sir, my wrong aspired past all 
 
 men's hopes. 
 Ma. I sorrow for it, sir. 
 Re. You see, sir, there 
 Your prisoner's discharge authentical. 
 Ma. It is, sir, and I yield it him with 
 
 gladness. 
 Ba. Brother, I brought you down to 
 
 much good purpose. 
 Cl. Repeat not that, sir ; the amends 
 
 makes all. 
 Re. I joy in it, my best and worthiest 
 
 friend ; 
 
 y'have a princely fautor of the Guise. 
 Ba. I think I did my part too. 
 
 Re. Well, sir, all ' 
 Is in the issue well : and, worthiest friend, 
 Here's from your friend the Guise ; here 
 
 from the Countess, 
 Yourbrother's mistress, the contents whereof 
 
 1 know, and must prepare you now to please 
 Th' unrested spirit of your slaughter'd 
 
 brother, 
 
 If it be true, as you imagined once, 
 His apparition show'd it ; the complot 
 Is now laid sure betwixt us ; therefore haste 
 Both to your great friend (who hath some 
 
 use weighty 
 
 For your repair to him) and to the Countess, 
 Whose satisfaction is no less important. 
 
 Cl. I see all, and will haste as it importeth ; 
 And, good friend, since I must delay a little 
 My wish'd attendance on my noblest mis- 
 tress, 
 
 Excuse me to her, with return of this, 
 And endless protestation of my service ; 
 And now become as glad a messenger 
 As you were late a woful. 
 
 Au. Happy change ! 
 I ever will salute thee with my service. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Ba. Yet more news, brother ; the late 
 jesting Monsieur 
 
ACT V.] 
 
 THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 205 
 
 Makes now your brother's dying prophecy 
 
 equal 
 
 At all parts, being dead as he presaged. 
 Kc. Heaven shield the Guise from 
 
 seconding that truth, 
 
 With what he likewise prophesied on him. 
 Cl. It hath enough, 'twas graced with 
 
 truth in one, 
 
 To th' other falsehood and confusion. 
 Lead to the Court, sir. 
 
 Ba. You I'll lead no more, 
 It was too ominous and foul before. 
 
 \Exennt. 
 
 END OF ACT IV. 
 
 ACT THE FIFTH. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 Ascendit Umbra Bussy. 
 
 Urn. Up from the chaos of eternal night, 
 (To which the whole digestion of the 
 
 world 
 
 Is now returning) once more I ascend, 
 And bide the cold damp of this piercing 
 
 air, 
 
 To urge the justice whose almighty word 
 Measures the bloody acts of impious men 
 With equal penance, who in th' act itself 
 Includes th' infliction, which like chained 
 
 shot 
 Batter together still ; though (as the 
 
 thunder 
 Seems by men's duller hearing than their 
 
 sight, 
 
 To break a great time after lightning forth, 
 Yet both at one time tear the labouring 
 
 cloud), 
 
 So men think penance of their ills is slow, 
 Though th' ill and penance still together go. 
 Reform, ye ignorant men, your manless 
 
 lives, 
 Whose laws ye think are nothing but your 
 
 lusts, 
 
 When leaving but for supposition' sake 
 The body of felicity, religion, 
 Set in the 'midst of Christendom, and her 
 
 head 
 Cleft to her bosom ; one half one way 
 
 swaying, 
 
 Another th' other ; all the Christian world 
 And all her laws, whose observation 
 Stands upon faith, above the power of 
 
 reason ; 
 
 Leaving, I say, all these, this might suffice 
 To fray ye from your vicious swindge in ill, 
 
 And set you more on fire to do more [ 
 good ; 
 
 That since the world (as which of you 
 denies ?) 
 
 Stands by proportion, all may thence con- 
 clude, 
 
 That all the joints and nerves sustaining 
 nature, 
 
 As well may break, and yet the world 
 abide, 
 
 As any one good unrewarded die, 
 
 Or any one ill 'scape his penalty. 
 
 [ The Ghost stands close. 
 
 Enter Guise, Clermont. 
 
 Gu. Thus, friend, thou seest how all 
 
 good men would thrive, 
 Did not the good thou prompt'st me with 
 
 prevent 
 
 The jealous ill pursuing them in others. 
 But now thy dangers are dispatch'd, note 
 
 mine ; 
 
 Hast thou not heard of that admired voice 
 That at the barricadoes spake to me, 
 No person seen, "let's lead, my lord, to 
 
 Rheims ?" 
 
 Cl. Nor could you learn the person ? 
 Gu. By no means. 
 CL 'Twas but your fancy then, a waking 
 
 dream ; 
 
 For as in sleep, which binds both th' out- 
 ward senses, 
 And the sense common too ; th' imagining 
 
 power 
 (Stirr'd up by forms hid in the memory's 
 
 store, 
 
 Or by the vapours of o'erflowing humours 
 In bodies full and foul, and mix'd with 
 
 spirits) 
 
 Feigns many strange, miraculous images, 
 In which act it so painfully applies 
 Itself to those forms, that the common 
 
 sense 
 
 It actuates with his motion ; and thereby 
 Those fictions true seem, and have real 
 
 act; 
 
 So, in the strength of our conceits awake 
 The cause alike, doth of like fictions make. 
 Gu. Be what it will, 'twas a presage of 
 
 something 
 
 Weighty and secret, which th' advertise- 
 ments 
 
 I have received from all parts, both without 
 And in this kingdom, as from Rome and 
 
 Spain, 
 Soccaine and Savoy, gives me cause to 
 
 think ; 
 
 All writing that our plot's catastrophe, 
 For propagation of the Catholic cause, 
 
206 
 
 THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Will bloody prove, dissolving all our 
 
 counsels. 
 
 Cl. Retire, then, from them all. 
 Git. I must not do so. 
 The Archbishop of Lyons tells me plain 
 I shall be said then to abandon France 
 In so important an occasion ; 
 And that mine enemies (their profit making 
 Of my faint absence) soon would let that 
 
 fall, 
 
 That all my pains did to this height exhale. 
 Cl. Let all fall that would rise unlaw- 
 fully : 
 Make not your forward spirit in virtue's 
 
 right, 
 
 A property for vice, by thrusting on 
 Further than all your powers can fetch you 
 
 off. 
 
 It is enough, your will is infinite 
 To all things virtuous and religious, 
 Which, within limits kept, may, without 
 
 danger, 
 Let virtue some good from your graces 
 
 gather : 
 
 Avarice of all is ever nothing's father. 
 Um. Danger, the spur of all great 
 
 minds, is ever 
 The curb to your tame spirits ; you respect 
 
 not, 
 
 With all your holiness of life and learning, 
 More than the present, like illiterate 
 
 vulgars. 
 Your mind, you say, kept in your flesh's 
 
 bounds, 
 Shows that man's will must ruled be by his 
 
 power, 
 When, by true doctrine, you are taught to 
 
 live 
 
 Rather without the body, than within, 
 And rather to your God still than yourself; 
 To live to Him, is to do all things fitting 
 His image, in which, like Himself, we live; 
 To be His image, is to do those things 
 That make us deathless, which by death 
 
 is only ; 
 
 Doing those deeds that fit eternity ; 
 And those deeds are the perfecting that 
 
 justice 
 
 That makes the world last, which propor- 
 tion is 
 
 Of punishment and wreak for every wrong, 
 As well as for right a reward as strong. 
 Away, then; use the means thou hast to 
 
 right 
 The wrong I suffer'd. What corrupted 
 
 law 
 Leaves unperform'd in kings, do thou 
 
 supply, 
 | And be above them all in dignity. \Exit. 
 
 Gu. Why stand'st thou still thus, and 
 
 apply'st thine ears 
 And eyes to nothing? 
 
 Cl. Saw you nothing here ? 
 
 Git. Thou dream 'st awake now ; what 
 
 was here to see ? 
 Cl. My brother's spirit, urging his 
 
 revenge. 
 Gu. Thy brother's spirit ! Pray thee, 
 
 mock me not. 
 
 Cl. No, by my love and service. 
 Gu. Would he rise, 
 And not be thundering threats against the 
 
 Guise? 
 Cl. You make amends for enmity to 
 
 him 
 With ten parts more love, and desert of 
 
 me ; 
 
 And as you make your hate to him no let 
 Of any love to me, no more bears he 
 (Since you to me supply it) hate to you ; 
 Which reason and which justice is per- 
 form 'd 
 
 In spirits ten parts more than fleshy men ; 
 To whose fore-sights our acts and thoughts 
 
 lie open ; 
 
 And therefore, since he saw the treachery 
 Late practised by my brother Baligny, 
 He would not honour his hand with the 
 
 justice 
 
 (As he esteems it) of his blood's revenge, 
 To which my sister needs would have him 
 
 sworn, 
 
 Before she would consent to marry him. 
 Gu, O, Baligny, who would believe 
 
 there were 
 A man, that (only since his looks are 
 
 raised 
 Upwards, and have but sacred heaven in 
 
 sight) 
 
 Could bear a mind so more than devilish ? 
 As for the painted glory of the countenance, 
 Flitting in kings, doth good for nought 
 
 esteem, 
 
 And the more ill he does, the better seem. 
 Cl. We easily may believe it, since we 
 
 see 
 
 In this world's practice few men better be. 
 Justice to live doth nought but justice 
 
 need, 
 
 But policy must still on mischief feed. 
 Untruth for all his ends, truth's name doth 
 
 sue in ; 
 
 None safely live but those that study ruin. 
 A good man happy is a common good ; 
 111 men advanced live of the common 
 
 blood. 
 Gu. But this thy brother's spirit startles 
 
r 
 
 SCKXE I.] 
 
 THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 207 
 
 These spirits seld' or never haunting men, 
 But some mishap ensues. 
 
 Cl. Ensue what can ; 
 Tyrants may kill, but never hurt a man ; 
 All to his good makes, spite of death and 
 hell. 
 
 Enter Aumale. 
 
 Au. All the desert of good, renown your 
 
 highness ! 
 
 Gu. Welcome, Aumale. 
 Cl. My good friend, friendly welcome. 
 How took my noblest mistress the changed 
 
 news? 
 
 An. It came too late, sir, for those love- 
 liest eyes 
 (Through which a soul look'd so divinely 
 
 loving, 
 
 Tears nothing uttering her distress enough) 
 She wept quite out, and like two falling 
 
 stars 
 Their dearest sights quite vanish'd with her 
 
 tears. 
 
 Cl. All good forbid it ! 
 Gu. What events are these ? 
 Cl. All must be borne, my lord : and yet 
 
 this chance 
 
 Would willingly enforce a man to cast off 
 All power to bear with comfort, since he 
 
 sees 
 
 In this, our comforts made our miseries. 
 Gu. How strangely thou art loved of 
 
 both the sexes ; 
 Yet thou lovest neither, but the good of 
 
 both. 
 
 CL In love of women, my affection first 
 Takes fire out of the frail parts of my 
 
 blood : 
 
 Which till I have enjoy'd, is passionate, 
 Like other lovers' ; but, fruition past, 
 I then love out of judgment ; the desert 
 Of her I love still sticking in my heart, 
 Though the desire and the delight be 
 
 gone, 
 
 Which must chance still, since the com- 
 parison 
 
 Made upon trial 'twixt what reason loves, 
 And what affection, makes in me the best 
 Ever preferr'd ; what most love, valuing lest. 
 Gu. Thy love being judgment then, and 
 
 of the mind, 
 Marry thy worthiest mistress now being 
 
 blind. 
 CL If there were love in marriage, so I 
 
 would : 
 
 But I deny that any man doth love, 
 Affecting wives, maid, widows, any women 
 For neither flies love milk, although they 
 drown 
 
 In greedy search thereof; nor doth the 
 
 bee 
 
 Love honey, though the labour of her life 
 Is spent in gathering it ; nor those that fat 
 On beasts, or fowls, do anything therein 
 For any love : for as when only nature 
 Moves men to meat, as far as her power 
 
 rules, 
 
 She doth it with a temperate appetite, 
 The too much men devour, abhorring 
 
 nature ; 
 
 And in our most health, is our most disease ; 
 So, when humanity rules men and women, 
 Tis for society confined in reason. 
 But what excites the bed's desire in blood, 
 By no means justly can be construed love ; 
 For when love kindles any knowing spirit, 
 It ends in virtue and effects divine, 
 And is in friendship chaste and masculine. 
 Gu. Thou shah my mistress be ; me- 
 
 thinks my blood 
 
 Is taken up to all love with thy virtues. 
 And howsoever other men despise 
 These paradoxes strange, and too precise ; 
 Since they hold on the right way of our 
 
 reason, 
 
 I could attend them ever. Come, away ; 
 Perform thy brother's thus importuned 
 
 wreak ; 
 
 And I will see what great affairs the King 
 Hath to employ my counsel, which he 
 
 seems 
 
 Much to desire, and more and more es- 
 teems. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Henry, Baligny, with six of the 
 Guard. 
 
 He. Saw you his saucy forcing of my 
 
 hand 
 To D'Ambois' freedom ? 
 
 Ba. Saw, and through mine eyes 
 Let fire into my heart, that burn'd to bear 
 An insolence so giantly austere. 
 He. The more kings bear at subjects' 
 
 hands, the more 
 
 Their lingering justice gathers ; that re- 
 sembles 
 
 The weighty and the goodly-bodied eagle, 
 Who, being on earth, before her shady 
 
 wings 
 
 Can raise her into air, a mighty way 
 Close by the ground she runs ; but being 
 
 aloft, 
 All she commands, she flies at ; and the : 
 
 more 
 Death in her seres bears, the more time ; 
 
 she stays 
 Her thundery stoop from that on which ' 
 
 she preys. 
 
208 
 
 THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 [ACT V. 
 
 'Ba. You must be then more secret in 
 
 the weight 
 
 Of these your shady counsels; who will else 
 Bear where such sparks fly as the Guise 
 
 and D'Ambois 
 Powder about them. Counsels, as your 
 
 entrails, 
 Should be unpierced and sound kept ; for 
 
 not those, 
 
 Whom you discover, you neglect : but ope 
 A ruinous passage to your own best hope. 
 He. We have spies set on us, as we on 
 
 others ; ^ 
 
 And therefore they that serve us must 
 
 excuse us, 
 If what we most hold in our hearts, take 
 
 wind ; 
 
 Deceit hath eyes that see into the mind. 
 But this plot shall be quicker than their 
 
 twinkling, 
 On whose lids Fate, with her dead weight 
 
 shall lie, 
 
 And Confidence that lightens ere she die. 
 Friends of my guard, as ye gave oath to be 
 True to your sovereign, keep it manfully; 
 Your eyes have witness'd oft th' ambition 
 That never made access to me in Guise 
 But treason ever sparkled in his eyes ; 
 Which if you free us of, our safety shall 
 You not our subjects, but our patrons call. 
 Om. Our duties bind us, he is now but 
 
 dead. 
 He. We trust in it, and thank ye. 
 
 Baligny, 
 | Go lodge their ambush, and thou God 
 
 that art 
 
 Fautor of princes, thunder from the skies, 
 Beneath his hill of pride this giant Guise. 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Tamyra with a letter, Charlotte 
 in man's attire. 
 
 Ta. I see y'are servant, sir, to my dear 
 
 sister, 
 The lady of her loved Baligny. 
 
 Ch. Madam, I am bound to her virtuous 
 
 bounties, 
 
 For that life which I offer in her service, 
 To the revenge of her renowned brother. 
 Ta. She writes to me as much, and 
 
 much desires, 
 That you may be the man, whose spirit 
 
 she knows 
 Will cut short off these long and dull 
 
 delays, 
 
 Hitherto bribing the eternal Justice ; 
 Which I believe, since her unmatched 
 
 spirit 
 
 Can judge of spirits, that have her sulphur 
 
 in them ; 
 
 But I must tell you, that I make no doubt, 
 Her living brother will revenge her dead, 
 On whom the dead imposed the task, and 
 
 he, 
 
 I know, will come t'effect it instantly. 
 Ch. They are but words in him ; believe 
 
 them not. 
 Ta. See ; this is the vault, where he 
 
 must enter ; 
 Where now I think he is. 
 
 Enter Renel at the vault, with the Countess 
 being blind. 
 
 Re. God save you, lady. 
 What gentleman is this, with whom you 
 
 trust 
 
 The deadly weighty secret of this hour? 
 Ta. One that yourself will say, I well 
 
 may trust. 
 Re. Then come up, madam. 
 
 [He helps the Countess up. 
 See here, honour'd lady, 
 A Countess, that in love's mishap doth 
 
 equal 
 At all parts your wrong'd self ; and is the 
 
 mistress 
 Of your slain servant's brother ; in whose 
 
 love 
 
 For his late treacherous apprehension, 
 She wept her fair eyes from her ivory 
 
 brows, 
 And would have wept her soul out, had 
 
 not I 
 Promised to bring her to this mortal 
 
 quarry, 
 That by her lost eyes for her servant's 
 
 love, 
 She might conjure him from this stern 
 
 attempt, 
 In which (by a most ominous dream she 
 
 had) 
 She knows his death fix'd, and that never 
 
 more 
 
 Out of this place the sun shall see him live. 
 Ch. I am provided then to take his 
 
 place 
 
 And undertaking on me. 
 Re. You, sir ! why? 
 Ch. Since I am charged so by my mis- 
 tress, 
 His mournful sister. 
 
 Ta. See her letter, sir. [He reads. 
 
 Good madam, I rue your fate, more than 
 
 mine, 
 
 And know not how to order these f.ff*;:n., 
 They stand on such occurrents. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 209 
 
 Re. This, indeed, 
 
 I know to be your lady mistress' hand, 
 And know besides, his brother will and 
 
 must 
 Endure no hand in this revenge but his. 
 
 Enter Umbra Bussy. 
 
 Um. Away, dispute no more ; get up 
 
 and see, 
 
 Clermont must author this just tragedy. 
 Co. Who's that? 
 Re. The spirit of Bussy. 
 Ta. O, my servant ! let us embrace. 
 Um. Forbear ! The air in which 
 My figure's likeness is impress'd, will blast ; 
 Let my revenge for all loves satisfy, 
 In which, dame, fear not, Clermont shall 
 
 not die : 
 
 No word dispute more, up, and see 
 
 th'event. [Exeunt Ladies. 
 
 Make the guard sure, Renel, and then the 
 
 doors 
 
 Command to make fast when the Earl is 
 
 in. [Exit Renel. 
 
 The black soft-footed hour is now on wing, 
 
 Which, for my just wreak, ghosts shall 
 
 celebrate 
 With dances dire and of infernal state. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Enter Guise. 
 
 Gu. Who says that death is natural, 
 
 when nature 
 
 Is with the only thought of it dismay 'd ? 
 I have had lotteries set up for my death, 
 And I have drawn beneath my trencher 
 
 one, 
 
 Knit in my handkerchief another lot, 
 The word being, ' ' Y'are a dead man if you 
 
 enter ;" 
 And these words, this imperfect blood and 
 
 flesh, 
 
 Shrink at in spite of me, their solidest part 
 Melting like snow within me, with cold 
 
 fire: 
 
 1 hate myself, that seeking to rule kings, 
 I cannot curb my slave. Would any spirit, 
 Free, manly, princely, wish to live to be 
 Commanded by this mass of slavery, 
 Since reason, judgment, resolution, 
 And scorn of what we fear, will yield to 
 
 fear? 
 
 While this same sink of sensuality swells, 
 Who would live sinking in it, and not 
 
 spring 
 Up to the stars, and leave this carrion 
 
 here 
 For wolves, and vultures, and for dogs to 
 
 tear? 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 O, Clermont D'Ambois, wert thou here to 
 
 chide 
 
 This softness from my flesh, far as my reason, 
 Far as my resolution, not to stir 
 One foot out of the way, for death and hell. 
 Let my false man by falsehood perish here, 
 There's no way else to set my true man clear. 
 
 Enter Messenger. 
 
 Me. The King desires your grace to 
 
 come to council. 
 Gu. I come. It cannot be : he will not 
 
 dare 
 
 To touch me with a treachery so profane. 
 Would Clermont now were here, to try how 
 
 he 
 
 Would lay about him, if this plot should be : 
 Here would be tossing souls into the sky. 
 Who ever knew blood saved by treachery ? 
 Well, I must on, and will ; what should I I 
 
 fear? 
 
 Not against two Alcides : against two, 
 And Hercules to friend, the Guise will go. 
 
 He takes up the arras, and the Guard 
 enters upon him : he draws. 
 
 Gu. Hold, murtherers ! So then, this is 
 confidence [ They strike him down. 
 In greatness, not in goodness : where is the 
 King? 
 
 The King comes in sight with Epernon, 
 Soissons, and others. 
 
 Let him appear to justify his deed. 
 
 In spite of my betray'd wounds ; ere my 
 
 soul 
 Take her flight through them, and my 
 
 tongue hath strength 
 To urge his tyranny. 
 
 He. See, sir, I am come 
 To justify it before men, and God, 
 Who knows with what wounds in my heart 
 
 for woe 
 Of your so wounded faith, I made these 
 
 wounds, 
 
 Forced to it by an insolence of force 
 To stir a stone, nor as a rock opposed 
 To all the billows of the churlish sea, 
 More beat, and eaten with them, than was I 
 With your ambitious mad idolatry ; 
 And this blood I shed, is to save the blood 
 Of many thousands. 
 
 Gu. That's your white pretext, 
 But you will find one drop of blood shed 
 
 lawless 
 
 Will be the fountain to a purple sea : 
 The present lust and shift made for kings' 
 
 lives 
 Against the pure form and just power of law, 
 
THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Will thrive like shifters' purchases ; there 
 
 hangs 
 
 A black star in the skies, to which the sun 
 Gives yet no light, will rain a poison'd 
 
 shower 
 
 Into your entrails, that will make you feel 
 How little safety lies in treacherous steel. 
 He. Well, sir, I'll bear it; ye have a 
 
 brother too, 
 
 Bursts with like threats, the scarlet Cardinal : 
 Seek, and lay hands on him ; and take this 
 
 hence, 
 
 Their bloods, for all you, on my conscience. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Gu. So, sir, your full swindge take ; 
 
 mine, death hath curb'd. 
 Clermont, farewell : O didst thou see but 
 
 this! 
 
 But it is better, see by this the ice 
 Broke to thine own blood, which thou wilt 
 
 despise, 
 When thou hear'st mine shed. Is there no 
 
 friend here 
 
 Will bear my love to him? 
 Au. I will, my lord. 
 Gu. Thanks with my last breath : re- 
 commend me then 
 To the most worthy of the race of men. 
 
 [Dies. Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Montstirry and Tamyra. 
 Mont. Who have you let into my house ? 
 Ta. I, none. 
 Mont. 'Tis false; I savour the rank blood 
 
 of foes 
 In every corner. 
 
 Ta. That you may do well, 
 It is the blood you lately shed, you smell. 
 Mont. 'Sdeath, the vault opes. 
 
 {The gulf opens. 
 Ta. What vault ? Hold your sword. 
 
 . [Clermont ascends. 
 Cl. No, let him use it. 
 Mont. Treason, murther, murther ! 
 Cl. Exclaim not ; 'tis in vain, and base 
 
 in you, 
 
 Being one to only one. 
 Mont. O bloody strumpet ! 
 Cl. With what blood charge you her? 
 
 It may be mine 
 
 As well as yours ; there shall not any else 
 Enter or touch you ; I confer no guards, 
 Nor imitate the murtherous course you 
 
 took ; 
 But, single here, will have my former 
 
 challenge 
 
 Now answer'd single ; not a minute more 
 My brother's blood shall stay for his revenge. 
 If I can act it ; if not, mine shall add 
 
 A double conquest to you, that alone 
 Put it to fortune now, and use no odds, 
 Storm not, nor beat yourself thus 'gainst 
 
 the doors 
 
 Like to a savage vermin in a trap ; 
 All doors are sure made, and you cannot 
 
 'scape 
 
 But by your valour. 
 Mont. No, no ; come and kill me. 
 Cl. If you will die so like a beast, you 
 
 shall ; 
 
 But when the spirit of a man may save you, 
 Do not so shame man, and a noble man. 
 Mont. I do not show this baseness that 
 
 I fear thee, 
 
 But to prevent and shame thy victory, 
 Which of one base is base, and so I'll die. 
 Cl. Here, then. 
 
 Mont. Stay, hold ; one thought hath 
 harden'd me ; [He starts up. 
 
 And since I must afford thee victory, 
 It shall be great and brave, if one request 
 Thou wilt admit me. 
 Cl. What's that ? 
 Mont. Give me leave 
 To fetch and use the sword thy brother 
 
 gave me 
 
 When he was bravely giving up his life. 
 Cl. No, I '11 not fight against my brother's 
 
 sword ; 
 
 Not that I fear it, but since 'tis a trick 
 For you to show your back. 
 
 Mont. By all truth, no : 
 Take but my honourable oath, I will not. 
 Cl. Your honourable oath ? Plain truth 
 
 no place has 
 Where oaths are honourable. 
 
 Ta. Trust not his oath. 
 He will lie like a lapwing, when she flies 
 Far from her sought nest, still " here 'tis," 
 
 she cries. 
 Mont. Out on thee, dam of devils ; I will 
 
 quite 
 
 Disgrace thy brave's conquest, die, not 
 
 fight. ' [Lies down. 
 
 Ta. Out on my fortune, to wed such an 
 
 abject. 
 
 Now is the people's voice the voice of God ; 
 
 He that to wound a woman vaunts so much 
 
 (As he did me), a man dares never touch. 
 
 Cl. Revenge your wounds now, madam ; 
 
 I resign him 
 
 Up to your full will, since he will not fight. 
 First you shall torture him (as he did you, 
 And Justice wills), and then pay I my vow. 
 Here, take this poniard. 
 
 Mont. Sink earth, open heaven, 
 And let fall vengeance. 
 
 Ta. Come, sir, good sir, hold him. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 Afj/it. O, shame of women, whither art 
 
 thou fled ? 
 Cl. Why, good my lord, is it a greater 
 
 shame 
 
 For her than you ? Come, I will be the bands 
 
 You used to her, profaning her fair hands. 
 
 Mont. No, sir ; I'll fight now, and the 
 
 terror be 
 
 Of all you champions to such as she. 
 I did but thus far dally : now observe, 
 O all you aching foreheads, that have robb'd 
 Your hands of weapons, and your hearts of 
 
 valour, 
 
 Join in me all your rages and rebutters, 
 "And into dust ram this same race of furies, 
 In this one relic of the Ambois gall, 
 In his one purple soul shed, drown it all. 
 
 [Fight. 
 
 Mont. Now give me breath a while. 
 Cl. Receive it freely. 
 Mont. What think y'a this now ? 
 Cl. It is very noble ; 
 
 Had it been free, at least, and of yourself, 
 And thus we see (where valour most doth 
 
 vaunt) 
 What 'tis to make a coward valiant. 
 
 Mont. Now I shall grace your conquest. 
 
 Cl. That you shall. 
 
 Mont. If you obtain it. 
 
 Cl. True, sir, 'tis in fortune. 
 
 Mont. If you were not a D'Ambois, I 
 
 would scarce 
 Change lives with you, I feel so great a 
 
 change 
 In my tall spirits ; breathed, I think, with 
 
 the breath 
 
 A D'Ambois breathes here, and necessity 
 (With whose point now prick'd on, and so, 
 
 whose help 
 My hands may challenge, that doth all 
 
 men conquer, 
 
 If she except not you, of all men only) 
 May change the case here. 
 
 Cl. True, as you are changed, 
 Her power in me urged, makes y' another 
 
 man 
 
 Than yet you ever were. 
 Mont. Well, I must on. 
 Cl. Your lordship must, by all means. 
 Mont. Then at all. 
 
 {Fights, and D'Ambois hurts him. 
 
 Charlotte above. 
 
 Ch. Death of my father ! what a shame 
 
 is this, 
 
 Stick in his hands thus ? 
 Re. Gentle sir, forbear. 
 Co. Is he not slain yet ? [She gets down. 
 
 Re. No, madam, but hurt in divers parts 
 
 of him. 
 
 Mont. Y'have given it me, 
 And yet I feel life for another veney. 
 
 Enter Charlotte. 
 
 Cl. What would you, sir? 
 Ch. I would perform this combat. 
 Cl. Against which of us? 
 Ch. I care not much if 'twere 
 Against thyself : thy sister would have 
 
 shamed 
 To have thy brother's wreak with any 
 
 man, 
 
 In single combat, stick so in her fingers. 
 Cl. My sister? know you her? 
 Ta. Ay, sir, she sent him 
 With this kind letter, to perform the wreak 
 Oi my dear servant. 
 
 Cl. Now, alas ! good, sir, 
 Think you you could do more ? 
 
 Ch. Alas ! I do, 
 And were't not, I, fresh, sound, should 
 
 charge a man 
 Weary and wounded, I would long ere 
 
 this 
 Have proved what I presume on. 
 
 Cl. Y'have a mind 
 
 Like to my sister, but have patience now, 
 If next charge speed not, I'll resign to 
 
 you. 
 
 Mont. Pray thee let him decide it. 
 Cl. No, my lord, 
 
 I am the man in fate, and since so bravely 
 Your lordship stands me, 'scape but one 
 
 more charge, 
 
 And on my life, I'll set your life at large. 
 Mont. Said like a D'Ambois, and if now 
 
 I die. 
 Sit joy and all good on thy victory. 
 
 [Fights, and falls down. 
 Farewell, I heartily forgive thee, wife, 
 And thee, let penitence spend thy rest of 
 life. \ He gives his hand to Clermont 
 
 and his wife. 
 
 Cl. Noble and Christian ! 
 Ta. O, it breaks my heart ! 
 Cl. And should ; for all faults found in 
 
 him before, 
 These words, this end, makes full amends 
 
 and more. 
 Rest, worthy soul, and with it the dear 
 
 spirit 
 Of my loved brother, rest in endless 
 
 peace ; 
 Soft lie thy bones, Heaven be your soul's 
 
 abode, 
 And to your ashes be the earth no load. 
 
 P 2 
 
THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Music, and the Ghost of Bussy enters, 
 
 leading the Ghost of the Guise ; Mon- 
 sieur, Cardinal Guise, and Chatillon; 
 
 they dance about the dead body, and 
 
 Exeunt. 
 Cl. How strange is this ! the Guise 
 
 amongst these spirits, 
 And his great brother Cardinal, both yet 
 
 living, 
 And that the rest with them, with joy thus 
 
 celebrate 
 
 This our revenge ! This certainly presages 
 Some instant death both to the Guise and 
 
 Cardinal. 
 That the Chatillon 's ghost too should thus 
 
 join 
 
 In celebration of this just revenge, 
 With Guise, that bore a chief stroke in his 
 
 death, 
 
 It seems that now he doth approve the act, 
 And these true shadows of the Guise and 
 
 Cardinal, 
 
 Fore-running thus their bodies, may approve 
 That all things to be done, as here we live, 
 Are done before all times in th' other life. 
 That spirits should rise in these times yet 
 
 are fables ; 
 Though learned'st men hold that our sen- 
 
 sive spirits 
 
 A little time abide about the graves 
 Of their deceased bodies ; and can take 
 In cold condensed air the same forms they 
 
 had, 
 When they were shut up in this body's shade. 
 
 Enter Aumale. 
 Au. O sir, the Guise is slain! 
 Cl. Avert it, heaven ! 
 Au. Sent for to council, by the King, 
 
 an ambush 
 {Lodged for the purpose) rush'd on him, 
 
 and took 
 
 His princely life ; who sent, in dying then, 
 His love to you, as to the best of men. 
 Cl. The worst, and most accursed of 
 
 things creeping 
 
 On earth's sad bosom. Let me pray ye all 
 A little to forbear, and let me use 
 Freely mine own mind in lamenting him. 
 I'll call ye straight again. 
 Au. We will forbear, and leave you free, 
 sir. \Exeunt. 
 
 Cl. Shall I live, and he 
 Dead, that alone gave means of life to me ? 
 There's no disputing with the acts of kings, 
 Revenge is impious on their sacred persons : 
 And could I play the worldling (no man 
 loving 
 
 Longer than gain is reapt, or grace from 
 
 him) 
 
 I should survive, and shall be wonder'd at 
 Though in mine own hands being, I end 
 
 with him : 
 But friendship is the cement of two 
 
 minds, 
 
 As of one man the soul and body is, 
 Of which one cannot sever, but the other 
 Surfers a needful separation. 
 
 {Descend Ren. and Coun. 
 Re. I fear your servant, madam ; let's 
 
 descend. 
 Cl. Since I could skill of man, I never 
 
 lived 
 
 To please men worldly, and shall I in death, 
 Respect their pleasures, making such a jar 
 Betwixt my death and life, when death 
 
 should make 
 The consort sweetest ; th' end being proof 
 
 and crown 
 
 To all the skill and worth we truly own ? 
 Guise, O my lord, how shall I cast from me 
 The bands and coverts hindering me from 
 
 thee? 
 
 The garment or the cover of the mind, 
 The humane soul is ; of the soul, the spirit 
 The proper robe is ; of the spirit, the blood ; 
 And of the blood, the body is the shroud. 
 With that must I begin then to unclothe, 
 And come at th' other. Now then as a ship, 
 Touching at strange and far-removed 
 
 shores ; 
 
 Her men ashore go, for their several ends, 
 Fresh water, victuals, precious stones, and 
 
 pearl, 
 
 All yet intentive (when the master calls, 
 The ship to put off ready) to leave all 
 Their greediest labours, lest they there be 
 
 left 
 To thieves, or beasts, or be the country's 
 
 slaves : 
 So, now my master calls, my ship, my 
 
 venture, 
 
 All in one bottom put, all quite put off, 
 Gone under sail, and I left negligent, 
 To all the horrors of the vicious time, 
 The far-removed shores to all virtuous 
 
 aims, 
 None favouring goodness; none but he 
 
 respecting 
 
 Piety or manhood ; shall I here survive, 
 Not cast me after him into the sea, 
 Rather than here live, ready every hour 
 To feed thieves, beasts, and be the slave 
 
 of power ? 
 come, my lord, Clermont thy creature 
 
 comes. [He kills himself. 
 
SCENK I.] 
 
 THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS. 
 
 213 
 
 Enter Aumale, Tamyra, Charlotte. 
 Au. What! lie and languish, Clermont? 
 
 Cursed man, 
 To leave him here thus : he hath slain 
 
 himself. 
 Ta. Misery on misery ! O me, wretched 
 
 dame 
 
 Of all that breathe, all heaven turn all his eyes, 
 In hearty envy thus on one poor dame. 
 Ch. Well done, my brother ; I did love 
 
 thee ever, 
 
 But now adore thee : loss of such a friend 
 None should survive, of such a brother ; 
 With my false husband live, and both 
 
 these slain ? 
 Ere I return to him, I'll turn to earth. 
 
 Enter Renel, leading the Countess. 
 
 Re. Horror of human eyes ! O Cler- 
 mont D'Ambois ! 
 Madam, we stay'd too long; your servant's 
 
 slain. 
 Co. It must be so ; he lived but in the 
 
 Guise, 
 As I in him. O follow, life, mine eyes. 
 
 Ta. Hide, hide thy snaky head ; to 
 
 cloisters fly, 
 
 In penance pine, too easy 'tis to die. 
 Ch. It is. In cloisters then let's all 
 
 survive : 
 Madam, since wrath nor grief can help 
 
 these fortunes, 
 Let us forsake the world in which they 
 
 reign, 
 
 And for their wish'd amends to God com- 
 plain. 
 Co. Tis fit and only needful : lead me 
 
 on, 
 In heaven's course comfort seek, in eartk 
 
 is none. \Exeunt, 
 
 Enter Henry, Epernon, Soissons, and 
 others. 
 
 He. We came indeed too late, which 
 
 much I rue, 
 And would have kept this Clermont as my 
 
 crown : 
 Take in the dead, and make this fatal 
 
 room, 
 The house shut up, the famous D'Ambois 
 
 tomb. [Exeunt. 
 
Byron's Conspiracy. 
 
 TO 
 
 MY HONOURABLE AND CONSTANT FRIEND, 
 
 SIR THOMAS WALSINGHAM, KNIGHT; 
 
 AND TO 
 
 MY MUCH LOVED FROM HIS BIRTH, THE RIGHT TOWARD AND 
 WORTHY GENTLEMAN HIS SON, 
 
 THOMAS WALSINGHAM, ESQUIRE. 
 
 SIR, Though I know you ever stood little affected to these unprofitable rites of 
 Dedication (which disposition in you hath made me hitherto dispense with your right 
 in my other impressions),! yet, lest the world may repute it a neglect in me of so ancient 
 and worthy a friend, having heard your approbation of these in their presentment, I 
 could not but prescribe them with your name ; and that my affection may extend to 
 your posterity, I have entitled to it, herein, your hope and comfort in your generous 
 son ; whom I doubt not that most reverenced mother of manly sciences, to whose 
 instruction your virtuous care commits him, will so profitably initiate in her learned 
 labours, that they will make him flourish in his riper life, over the idle lives of our 
 ignorant gentlemen, and enable him to supply the honourable places of your name ; 
 extending your years and his right noble mother's, in the true comforts of his virtues, to 
 the sight of much and most happy progeny ; which most affectionately wishing, and 
 dividing these poor dismembered poems betwixt you, I desire to live still in your 
 graceful loves, and ever 
 
 The most assured at your commandments, 
 
 GEORGE CHAPMAN. 
 
 * " The Conspiracie and Tragedie of Charles Duke of Byron, Marshall of France. Acted 
 lately in two playes, at the Black- Friers. Written by George Chapman. Printed by G. Eld for 
 Thomas Thorppe, and are to be sold at the Tygers head in Paules Church-yard. 1608." 
 
 " The Conspiracie, and Tragedy of Charles Duke of Byron, Marshall of France, Acted lately 
 in two Plays, at the Blacke-Friers, and other publique Stages. Written by George Chapman. 
 London : Printed by N.O. for Thomas Thorpe, 1625." 
 
 t See, however, the cancelled Dedication to All Fooles published three years earlier (1605). 
 
ACT I., SCENE I.] 
 
 BYRON'S CONSPIRACY. 
 
 215 
 
 PROLOGUS. 
 
 WHEN the uncivil civil wars of France, 
 Had pour'd upon the country's beaten 
 
 breast 
 
 Her batter 'd cities ; press 'd her under hills 
 Of slaughter'd carcasses ; set her in the 
 
 mouths 
 Of murtherous breaches, and made pale 
 
 Despair, 
 Leave her to Ruin ; through them all, 
 
 Byron 
 
 Stept to her rescue, took her by the hand ; 
 Pluck'd her from under her unnatural press, 
 And set her shining in the height of peace. 
 And now new cleansed from dust, from 
 
 sweat, and blood, 
 
 And dignified with title of a Duke ; 
 As when in wealthy Autumn, his bright star, 
 
 Wash'd in the lofty ocean, thence ariseth, 
 Illustrates heaven, and all his other fires 
 Out-shines and darkens : so admired Byron 
 All France exempted from comparison. 
 He touch 'd heaven with his lance ; nor yet 
 
 was touch'd 
 
 With hellish treachery ; his country's love 
 He yet thirsts, not the fair shades of him- 
 self; 
 O-" which empoison'd spring, when policy 
 
 drinks, 
 He bursts in growing great ; and rising, 
 
 sinks : 
 
 Which now behold in our Conspirator, 
 And see in his revolt how honour's flood 
 Ebbs in.to air, when men are great, not 
 good. 
 
 ACT THE FIRST. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 Enter Savoy, Roncas, Rochette, Breton. 
 
 Sa. I would not for half Savoy, but 
 
 have bound 
 France to some favour, by my personal 
 
 presence 
 
 More than your self, my lord ambassador, 
 Could have obtain'd ; for all ambassadors, 
 You know, have chiefly these instructions : 
 To note the state and chief sway of the 
 
 Court 
 
 To which they are employ'd ; to penetrate 
 The heart and marrow of the king's de- 
 signs, 
 
 And to observe the countenances and spirits 
 Of such as are impatient of rest, 
 And wring beneath some private discon- 
 tent. 
 
 But, past all these, there are a number more 
 Of these state criticisms that our personal 
 
 view 
 
 May profitably make, which cannot fall 
 Within the powers of our instruction 
 To make you comprehend ; I will do more 
 With my mere shadow than you with your 
 
 persons . 
 
 All you can say against my coming here 
 Is that which I confess may for the time 
 Breed strange affections in my brother 
 Spain ; 
 
 But when I shall have time to make my 
 
 cannons 
 The loud-tongued heralds of my hidden 
 
 drifts, 
 Our reconcilement will be made with 
 
 triumphs. 
 Ron. If not, your highness hath small 
 
 cause to care, 
 
 Having such worthy reason to complain 
 Of Spain's cold friendship, and his linger- 
 ing succours, 
 
 Who only entertains your griefs with hope, 
 To make your medicine desperate. 
 
 Roc. My lord knows 
 The Spanish gloss too well ; his form, stuff, 
 
 lasting, 
 
 And the most dangerous conditions 
 He lays on them with whom he is in league. 
 Th' injustice in the most unequal dower 
 Given with th' Infanta, whom my lord 
 
 espoused, 
 
 Compared with that her elder sister had, 
 May tell him how much Spain's love weighs 
 
 to him ; 
 
 When of so many globes and sceptres held 
 By the great king, he only would bestow 
 A portion but of six-score thousand crowns 
 In yearly pension, with his highness' wife, 
 When the Infanta, wedded by the Arch- 
 duke, 
 
 Had the Franch County, and Low Pro- 
 vinces. 
 
 Br. We should not set these passages 
 of spleen 
 
2l6 
 
 BYRON'S CONSPIRACY. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 Twixt Spain and Savoy, to the weaker 
 
 part ; 
 More good by sufferance grows than deeds 
 
 of heart ; 
 
 The nearer princes are, the further off 
 In rites of friendship ; my advice had 
 
 never 
 
 Consented to this voyage of my lord, 
 In which he doth endanger Spain's whole 
 
 loss, 
 For hope of some poor fragment here in 
 
 France. 
 Sa. My hope in France you know not, 
 
 though my counsel, 
 And for my loss of Spain, it is agreed 
 That I should slight it ; oft times princes' 
 
 rules 
 
 Are like the chymical philosophers' ; 
 Leave me then to mine own projection, 
 In this our thrifty alchemy of state ; 
 Yet help me thus far, you that have been 
 
 here 
 Our lord ambassador ; and, in short, 
 
 inform me, 
 What spirits here are fit for our designs. 
 
 Ron. The new-created Duke Byron is fit, 
 Were there no other reason for your 
 
 presence, 
 
 To make it worthy ; for he is a man 
 Of matchless valour, and was ever happy 
 In all encounters, which were still made 
 
 good 
 
 With an unwearied sense of any toil, 
 Having continued fourteen days together 
 Upon his horse ; his blood is not volup- 
 tuous, 
 
 Nor much inclined to women ; his desires 
 Are higher than his state, and his deserts 
 Not much short of the most he can desire, 
 If they be weigh 'd with what France feels 
 
 by them. 
 He is past measure glorious ; and that 
 
 humour 
 
 Is fit to feed his spirits, whom it possesseth 
 With faith in any error, chiefly where 
 Men blow it up with praise of his per- 
 fections, 
 The taste whereof in him so soothes his 
 
 palate, 
 
 And takes up all his appetite, that ofttimes 
 He will refuse his meat and company 
 To feast alone with their most strong 
 
 conceit ; 
 
 Ambition also cheek by cheek doth march 
 With that excess of glory, both sustain'd 
 With an unlimited fancy, that the King 
 Nor France itself, without him can subsist. 
 Sa. He is the man, my lord, I come to 
 
 win ; 
 
 And that supreme intention of my presence 
 Saw never light till now, which yet I fear 
 The politic King, suspecting, is the cause, 
 That he hath sent him so far from my 
 
 reach, 
 
 And made him chief in the commission 
 Of his ambassage to my brother Arch- 
 duke, 
 
 With whom he is now ; and, as 1 am told, 
 So entertain'd and fitted in his humour, 
 That ere I part, I hope he will return 
 Prepared, and made the more fit for the 
 
 physic 
 That I intend to minister. 
 
 Ron. My lord, 
 
 There is another discontented spirit 
 Now here in Court, that for his brain and 
 
 aptness 
 
 To any course that may recover him 
 In his declined and litigious state 
 Will serve Byron, as he were made for him 
 In giving vent to his ambitious vein, 
 And that is, de La Fin. 
 Sa. You tell me true, 
 
 And him I think you have prepared for me. 
 Ron. I have, my lord, and doubt not he 
 
 will prove, 
 
 Of the yet taintless fortress of Byron 
 A quick expugner, and a strong abider. 
 Sa. Perhaps the battery will be brough 
 
 before him 
 
 In this ambassage, for I am assured 
 They set high price of him, and are in- 
 fo rm'd 
 
 Of all the passages, and means for mines 
 That maybe thought on, to his taking in. 
 
 Enter Henry and La Fin. 
 
 The King comes; and La Fin ; the King's 
 
 aspect 
 Folded in clouds. 
 
 He. I will not have my train, 
 Made a retreat for bankrouts, nor my 
 
 Court 
 A hive for drones ; proud beggars, and true 
 
 thieves, 
 
 That with a forced truth they swear to me, 
 Rob my poor subjects, shall give up their 
 
 arts, 
 And henceforth learn to live by their 
 
 desarts ; 
 Though I am grown, by right of birth and 
 
 arms 
 
 Into a greater kingdom, I will spread 
 With no more shade than may admit that 
 
 kingdom 
 
 Her proper, natural, and wonted fruits ; 
 Navarre shall be Navarre, and France still 
 
 France : 
 
SCEME I.] 
 
 BYRON'S CONSPIRACY. 
 
 217 
 
 If one may be the better for the other 
 By mutual rites, so neither shall be worse. 
 Thou art in law, in quarrels, and in debt, 
 Which thouwouldst quit with countenance ; 
 
 borrowing 
 With thee is purchase, and thou seek'st by 
 
 me, 
 In my supportance, now our old wars 
 
 cease 
 To wage worse battles, with the arms of 
 
 peace. 
 La. Peace must not make men cowards, 
 
 nor keep calm 
 Her pursy regiment with men's smother'd 
 
 breaths ; 
 
 I must confess my fortunes are declined, 
 But neither my deserving, nor my mind : 
 I seek but to sustain the right I found, 
 When I was rich, in keeping what is left, 
 And making good my honour as at best, 
 Though it be hard ; man's right to every- 
 thing 
 Wanes with his wealth, wealth is his surest 
 
 king; 
 
 Yet Justice should be still indifferent. 
 The overplus of kings, in all their might, 
 Is but to piece out the defects of right : 
 And this I sue for, nor shall frowns and 
 
 taunts, 
 The common scarecrows of all poor men's 
 
 suits, 
 
 Nor misconstruction that doth colour still 
 Licentiary justice, punishing good for ill, 
 Keep my free throat from knocking at the 
 
 sky, 
 If thunder chid me for my equity. 
 
 He. Thy equity is to be ever banish'd 
 From Court, and all society of noblesse, 
 Amongst whom thou throw 'st balls of all 
 
 dissension ; 
 Thou art at peace with nothing but with 
 
 war, 
 Hast no heart but to hurt, and eat'st thy 
 
 heart, 
 
 If it but think of doing any good : 
 Thou witchest with thy smiles, suck'st blood 
 
 with praises, 
 
 Mock'st all humanity ; society poison'st, 
 Cozen'st with virtue ; with religion 
 Betray'st, and massacrest ; so vile thyself, 
 That thou suspect'st perfection in others : 
 A man must think of all the villanies 
 He knows in all men, to decipher thee, 
 That art the centre to impiety : 
 Away, and tempt me not. 
 La. But you tempt me, 
 To what, thou Sun to judge, and make him 
 
 see. {Exit. 
 
 Sa. Now by my dearest Marquisate of 
 
 Salusses, 
 
 Your Majesty hath with the greatest life 
 Described a wicked man ; or rather thrust 
 Your arm down through him to his very 
 
 feet, 
 
 And pluck'd his inside out, that ever yet 
 My ears did witness ; or turn'd ears to eyes ; 
 And those strange characters, writ in his 
 
 face, 
 Which at first sight were hard for me to 
 
 read, 
 
 The doctrine of your speech hath made so- 
 plain, 
 That I run through them like my natural 
 
 language : 
 
 Nor do I like that man's aspect, methinks, 
 Of all looks where the beams of stars have 
 
 carved 
 
 Their powerful influences ; and (O rare) 
 What an heroic, more than royal spirit 
 Bewray'd you in your first speech, that defies 
 Protection of vile drones, that eat the honey 
 Sweat from laborious virtue, and denies 
 To give those of Navarre, though bred 
 
 with you, 
 
 The benefits and dignities of France. 
 When little rivers by their greedy currents, 
 Far far extended from their mother springs, 
 Drink up the foreign brooks still as they run, 
 And force their greatness, when they come 
 
 to sea, 
 And justle with the ocean for a room, 
 
 how he roars, and takes them in his 
 
 mouth, 
 
 Digesting them so to his proper streams 
 That they are no more seen, he nothing 
 
 raised 
 
 Above his usual bounds, yet they devour'd, 
 That of themselves were pleasant, goodly 
 
 floods. 
 He. I would do best for both, yet shall 
 
 not be secure, 
 Till in some absolute heirs my crown be 
 
 settled, 
 
 There is so little now betwixt aspirers 
 And their great object in my only self, 
 That all the strength they gather under me 
 Tempts combat with mine own : I there- 
 fore make 
 
 Means for some issue by my marriage, 
 Which with the great duke's niece is now 
 
 concluded, 
 And she is coming ; I have trust in heaven 
 
 1 am not yet so old, but I may spring, 
 And then I hope all traitors' hopes will fade. 
 
 Sa. Else may their whole estates fly, 
 rooted up, 
 
218 
 
 BYRON'S CONSPIRACY. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 To ignominy and oblivion : 
 
 And (being your neighbour, servant, and 
 
 poor kinsman) 
 
 I wish your mighty race might multiply, 
 Even to the period of all empery. 
 He. Thanks to my princely cousin : this 
 
 your love 
 And honour shown me in your personal 
 
 presence, 
 
 I wish to welcome to your full content : 
 The peace I now make with your brother 
 
 Archduke, 
 
 By Duke Byron, our lord ambassador, 
 I wish may happily extend to you, 
 And that at his return we may conclude it. 
 Sa. It shall be to my heart the happiest 
 
 day 
 
 Of all my life, and that life all employ'd, 
 To celebrate the honour of that day. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 Enter Roiseau. 
 JRo. The wondrous honour done our 
 
 Duke Byron 
 In his ambassage here, in th' Archduke's 
 
 court, 
 
 I fear will taint his loyalty to our King. 
 I will observe how they observe his humour, 
 And glorify his valour : and how he 
 Accepts and stands attractive to' their ends, 
 That so I may not seem an idle spot 
 In train of this ambassage, but return 
 Able to give our King some note of all, 
 Worth my attendance ; and see, here's the 
 
 man, 
 Who (though a Frenchman, and in Orleans 
 
 born 
 
 -Serving the Archduke) I do most suspect, 
 Is set to be the tempter of our Duke ; 
 I'll go where I may see, although not hear. 
 
 Enter Picote, with two others, spreading 
 a carpet. 
 
 Pi. Spread here this history of Catiline, 
 That earth may seem to bring forth Roman 
 
 spirits, 
 
 Even to his genial feet ; and her dark breast 
 Be made the clear glass of his shining 
 
 graces. 
 We'll make his feet so tender, they shall 
 
 gall 
 
 In all paths but to empire ; and therein 
 I'll make the sweet steps of his state begin. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Load music, and enter Byron. 
 By. What place is this ? what air ? 
 
 what region ? 
 
 In which a man may hear the harmony 
 Of all things moving ? Hymen marries here 
 
 Their ends and uses, and makes me his 
 
 temple. 
 Hath any man been blessed, and yet 
 
 lived? 
 The blood turns in my veins, I stand on 
 
 change, 
 
 And shall dissolve in changing ; 'tis so full 
 Of pleasure not to be contain'd in flesh. 
 To fear a violent good, abuseth goodness, 
 Tis immortality to die aspiring, 
 As if a man were taken quick to heaven ; 
 What will not hold perfection, let it burst ; 
 What. force hath any cannon, not being 
 
 charged, 
 Or being not discharged ? To have stuff 
 
 and form, 
 
 And to lie idle, fearful, and unused, 
 Nor form nor stuff shows ; happy Semele, 
 That died compress'd with glory ! Hap- 
 piness 
 
 Denies comparison of less or more, 
 And not at most, is nothing ; like the shaft 
 Shot at the sun by angry Hercules, 
 And into shivers by the thunder broken, 
 Will I be if I burst ; and in my heart 
 This shall be written: "Yet 'twas high 
 
 and right." [Music again. 
 
 Here too! they follow all my steps with 
 
 music, 
 As if my feet were numerous, and trod 
 
 sounds 
 
 Out of the centre, with Apollo's virtue, 
 That out of every thing his ech-part 
 
 touch'd, 
 
 Struck musical accents ; wheresoe'er I go, 
 They hide the earth from me with coverings 
 
 rich, 
 To make me think that I am here in 
 
 heaven. 
 
 Enter Picote* in haste. 
 
 Pi. This way, your highness. 
 
 By. Come they? 
 
 Pi. Ay, my lord. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter the other Commissioners of France, 
 Belieure, Brulart, Aumale, Orenge. 
 
 Be. My Lord D'Aumale, I am exceeding 
 
 sorry 
 
 That your own obstinancy to hold. out, 
 Your mortal enmity against the King, 
 When Duke Du Maine, and all the faction 
 
 yielded, 
 Should force his wrath to use the rites of 
 
 treason 
 
 Upon the members of your senseless statue, 
 Your name and house, when he had lost 
 
 your person, 
 Your love and duty. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 BYRON'S CONSPIRACY. 
 
 219 
 
 Br. That which men enforce 
 By their own wilfulness, they must endure 
 With willing patience and without com- 
 plaint. 
 DA. I use not much impatience nor 
 
 complaint, 
 Though it offend me much to have my 
 
 name 
 
 So blotted with addition of a traitor, 
 And my whole memory with such de- 
 spite 
 
 Mark'd and begun to be so rooted out. 
 Br. It was despite that held you out so 
 
 long, 
 Whose penance in the King was needful 
 
 justice. 
 Be. Come, let us seek our Duke, and 
 
 take our leaves 
 Qf th' Archduke's grace. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Byron and Picote'. 
 
 By. Here may we safely breathe. 
 
 Pi. No doubt, my lord, no stranger 
 
 knows this way ; 
 Only the Archduke, and your friend Count 
 
 Mansfield, 
 Perhaps may make their general scapes to 
 
 you, 
 
 To utter some part of their private loves, 
 Ere your departure. 
 
 By. Then I well perceive 
 To what th' intention of his highness 
 
 tends ; 
 For whose, and others here, most worthy 
 
 lords, 
 I will become, with all my worth, their 
 
 servant, 
 
 In any office but disloyalty ; 
 But that hath ever show'd so foul a monster 
 To all my ancestors, and my former life, 
 That now to entertain it I must wholly 
 Give up my habit, in his contrary, 
 And strive to grow out of privation. 
 
 Pi. My lord, to wear your loyal habit 
 
 still, 
 
 When it is out of fashion, and hath done 
 Service enough, were rustic misery ; 
 The habit of a servile loyalty 
 Is reckon'd now amongst privations, 
 With blindness, dumbness, deafness, 
 
 silence, death, 
 
 All which are neither natures by them- 
 selves 
 
 Nor substances, but mere decays of form, 
 And absolute decessions of nature, 
 And so 'tis nothing, what shall you then 
 
 lose? 
 Your highness hath a habit in perfection, 
 
 And in desert of highest dignities, 
 Which carve yourself, and be your own 
 
 rewarder. 
 
 No true power doth admit privation 
 Adverse to him ; or suffers any fellow 
 Join'd in his subject ; you, superiors ; 
 It is the nature of things absolute 
 One to destroy another ; be your highness 
 Like those steep hills that will admit no 
 
 clouds, 
 No dews, nor least fumes bound about 
 
 their brows ; 
 
 Because their tops pierce into purest air, 
 Expert of humour ; or like air itself 
 That quickly changeth, and receives the 
 
 sun 
 
 Soon as he riseth, everywhere dispersing 
 His royal splendour, girds it in his beams, 
 And makes itself the body of the light ; 
 Hot, shining, swift, light, and aspiring 
 
 things, 
 
 Are of immortal and celestial nature ; 
 Cold, dark, dull, heavy, of infernal fortunes, 
 And never aim at any happiness ; 
 Your excellency knows that simple loyalty, 
 Faith, love, sincerity, are but words, no 
 
 things ; 
 Merely devised for form ; and as the 
 
 legate, 
 
 Sent from his Holiness, to frame a peace 
 Twixt Spain and Savoy, labour 'd fer- 
 vently, 
 For common ends, not for the Duke's 
 
 particular, 
 
 To have him sign it ; he again endeavours, 
 Not for the legate's pains, but his own 
 
 pleasure, 
 
 To gratify him ; and being at last en- 
 counter 'd, 
 
 Where the flood Ticin enters into Po, 
 They made a kind contention, which of 
 
 them 
 Should enter th' other's boat ; one thrust 
 
 the other ; 
 
 One leg was over, and another in ; 
 And with a fiery courtesy, at last 
 Savoy leaps out, into the legate's arms, 
 And here ends all his love, and th' other's 
 
 labour. 
 
 So shall these terms and impositions 
 Express'd before, hold nothing in themselves 
 Really good, but flourishes of form ; 
 And further than they make to private 
 
 ends 
 
 None wise, or free, their proper use in- 
 tends. 
 
 By. O, 'tis a dangerous and a dreadful 
 thing 
 
220 
 
 BYRON'S CONSPIRACY. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 To steal prey from a lion ; or to hide 
 A head distrustful, in his open'd jaws ; 
 To trust our blood in others' veins ; and 
 
 hang 
 Twixt heaven and earth, in vapours of 
 
 their breaths ; 
 
 To leave a sure pace on continuate earth, 
 And force a gate in jumps, from tower to 
 
 tower, 
 As they do that aspire from height to 
 
 height. 
 
 The bounds of loyalty are made of glass, 
 Soon broke, but can in no date be re- 
 
 pair'd ; 
 And as the Duke D'Aumale, now here in 
 
 Court, 
 
 Flying his country, had his statue torn 
 Piece-meal with horses, all his goods con- 
 fiscate, 
 His arms of honour kick'd about the 
 
 streets, 
 His goodly house at Annet razed to th" 
 
 earth, 
 And, for a strange reproach of his foul 
 
 treason, 
 
 His trees about it, cut off by their waists ; 
 So, when men fly the natural clime of 
 
 truth, 
 And turn themselves loose, out of all the 
 
 bounds 
 Of justice, and the straight way to their 
 
 ends ; 
 
 Forsaking all the sure force in themselves 
 To seek without them that which is not 
 
 theirs, 
 
 The forms of all their comforts are dis- 
 tracted, 
 
 The riches of their freedoms forfeited, 
 Their human noblesse shamed ; the man- 
 sions 
 Of their cold spirits eaten down with 
 
 cares ; 
 
 And all their ornaments of wit and valour, 
 Learning, and judgment, cut from all 
 
 their fruits. 
 A I. O, here were now the richest prize 
 
 in Europe, 
 
 Were he but taken in affection. 
 Would we might grow together, and be 
 
 twins 
 
 Of either 's fortune ; or that still embraced 
 I were but ring to such a precious stone. 
 By. Your highness' honours, and high 
 
 bounty shown me, 
 
 Have won from me my voluntary power ; 
 And I must now move by your eminent 
 
 will 
 
 To what particular objects, if I know 
 By this man's intercession, he shall bring 
 
 My utmost answer, and perform betwixt us 
 Reciprocal and full intelligence. 
 Al. Even for your own deserved royal 
 
 good, 
 
 Tis joyfully accepted : use the loves 
 And worthy admirations of your friends, 
 That beget vows of all things you can 
 
 wish, 
 And be what I wish : danger says, no 
 
 more. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Mansfield, at another door. 
 Exit Picote. 
 
 Ma. Your highness makes the light of 
 
 this Court stoop 
 
 With your so near departure; I was forced 
 To tender to your excellence, in brief, 
 This private wish, in taking of my leave, 
 That in some army royal, old Count Mans- 
 field 
 Might be commanded by your matchless 
 
 valour 
 
 To the supremest point of victory ; 
 Who vows for that renown all prayer and 
 
 service : 
 No more, lest I may wrong you. 
 
 [Exit Mansfield. 
 By. Thank your lordship. 
 
 Enter D'Aumale and Orenge. 
 
 D'A. All majesty be added to your 
 
 highness, 
 Of which I would not wish your breast to 
 
 bear 
 
 More modest apprehension than may tread 
 The high gait of your spirit ; and be 
 
 known 
 To be a fit bound for your boundless 
 
 valour. 
 Or. So Orenge wisheth, and to the 
 
 deserts 
 Of your great actions their most royal 
 
 crown. 
 
 Enter Picote". 
 
 Pi. Away, my lord, the lords inquire for 
 
 you. [Exit Byron. 
 
 [Manet Orenge, D'Aumale, Roiseau. 
 
 Or. Would we might win his valour to 
 
 our part. 
 D'A. 'Tis well prepared in his entreaty 
 
 here, 
 
 With all state's highest observations ; 
 And to theirform and words are added gifts. 
 He was presented with two goodly horses, 
 One of which two was the brave beast 
 
 Pastrana, 
 
 With plate of gold, and a much prized* 
 jewel, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 BYRON'S CONSPIRACY. 
 
 Girdle and hangers, set with wealthy stones, 
 All which were valued at ten thousand 
 
 crowns. 
 
 The other lords had suits of tapestry, 
 And chains of gold ; and every gentleman 
 A pair of Spanish gloves, and rapier blades: 
 And here ends their entreaty, which I hope 
 Is the beginning of more good to us 
 Than twenty thousand times their gifts to 
 
 them. 
 
 Enter Albert, Byron, Belieure, Mansfield, 
 Roiseau, with others. 
 
 A I. My lord, I grieve that all the setting 
 
 forth 
 Of our best welcome made you more 
 
 retired ; 
 Your chamber hath been more loved than 
 
 our honours, 
 And therefore we are glad your time of 
 
 parting 
 
 Is come, to set you in the air you love. 
 Commend my service to his Majesty, 
 And tell him that this day of peace with him 
 Is held as holy. All your pains, my lords, 
 I shall be always glad to gratify 
 With any love and honour your own 
 
 hearts 
 
 Shall do me .grace to wish express'd to you. 
 Ho. Here hath been strange demeanour, 
 
 which shall fly 
 To the great author of this ambassy. 
 
 END OF ACT I. 
 
 ACT THE SECOND. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Enter Savoy, La Fin, Roncas, Rochette, 
 Breton. 
 
 Sa. Admit no entry, I will speak with 
 
 none. 
 Good signior de La Fin, your worth shall 
 
 find 
 
 That I will make a jewel for my cabinet 
 Of that the King, in surfeit of his store, 
 Hath cast out, as the sweepings of his hall. 
 I told him, having threaten'd you away, 
 That I did wonder this small time of peace 
 Could make him cast his armour so securely 
 In such as you, and, as 'twere, set the 
 
 head 
 
 Of one so great in counsels, on his foot, 
 And pitch him from him with such guard- 
 like strength. 
 
 -La. He may, perhaps, find he hath 
 
 pitch'd away 
 
 The axletree that kept him on his wheels. 
 Sa. I told him so, I swear, in other 
 
 terms, 
 And not with too much note of our close 
 
 loves, 
 Lest so he might have smoked our 
 
 practices. 
 La. To choose his time, and spit his 
 
 poison on me, 
 Through th' ears and eyes of strangers. 
 
 Sa. So I told him, 
 And more than that, which now I will not 
 
 tell you : 
 
 It rests now then, noble and worthy friend, 
 That to our friendship we draw Duke 
 
 Byron, 
 
 To whose attraction there is no such chain 
 As you can forge, and shake out of your 
 
 brain. 
 La. I have devised the fashion and the 
 
 weight ; 
 
 To valours hard to draw, we use retreats ; 
 And, to pull shafts home, with a good bow- 
 arm, 
 We thrust hard from us ; since he came 
 
 from Flanders 
 He heard how I was threaten'd with the 
 
 King, 
 
 And hath been much inquisitive to know 
 The truth of all, and seeks to speak with 
 
 me ; 
 
 The means he used, I answer'd doubtfully, 
 And with an intimation that I shunn'd 
 
 him, 
 Which will, I know, put more spur to his 
 
 charge ; 
 
 And if his haughty stomach be prepared 
 With will to any act, for the aspiring 
 Of his ambitious aims, I make no doubt 
 But I shall work him to your highness' 
 
 wish. 
 
 Sa. But undertake it, and I rest assured: 
 You are reported to have skill in magic, 
 And the events of things, at which they 
 
 reach 
 
 That are in nature apt to overreach, 
 Whom the whole circle of the present time, 
 In present pleasures, fortunes, knowledges, 
 Cannot contain ; those men, as broken 
 
 loose 
 
 From human limits, in all violent ends 
 Would fain aspire the faculties of fiends, 
 And in such air breathe his unbounded 
 
 spirits, 
 
 Which therefore well will fit such conjura- 
 tions. 
 Attempt him then by flying; close with him. 
 
BYRON'S CONSPIRACY. 
 
 [ACT ir. 
 
 And bring him home to us, and take my 
 
 dukedom. 
 La. My best in that, and all things, vows 
 
 your service. 
 Sa. Thanks to my dear friend, and the 
 
 French Ulysses. \Exit Savoy. 
 
 Enter Byron. 
 
 By. Here is the man : my honour'd 
 
 friend, La Fin, 
 Alone, and heavy countenanced ! On what 
 
 terms 
 Stood th' insultation of the King upon 
 
 you? 
 
 La. Why do you ask ? 
 By. Since I would know the truth. 
 La. And when you know it, what ? 
 By. I'll judge betwixt you. 
 And, as I may, make even th'excess of 
 
 either. 
 
 La. Alas ! my lord, not all your loyalty, 
 Which is in you more than hereditary, 
 Nor all your valour (which is more than 
 
 human) 
 
 Can do the service you may hope on me 
 In sounding my displeased integrity. 
 Stand for the King, as much in policy 
 As you have stirr'd for him in deeds of 
 
 'arms, 
 And make yourself his glory, and your 
 
 country's, 
 Till you be suck'd as dry and wrought as 
 
 lean, 
 As my flea'd carcass ; you shall never 
 
 close 
 With me, as you imagine. 
 
 By. You much wrong me 
 To think me an intelligencing instrument. 
 La. I know not how your so affected 
 
 zeal, 
 
 To be reputed a true-hearted subject, 
 May stretch or turn you ; I am desperate ; 
 If I offend you, I am in your power ; 
 I care not how I tempt your conquering 
 
 fury, 
 
 I am predestined to too base an end 
 To have the honour of your wrath destroy 
 
 me, 
 
 And be a worthy object for your sword. 
 I lay my hand and head too at your feet, 
 As I have ever, here I hold it still ; 
 End me directly, do not go about. 
 By. How strange is this ! the shame of 
 
 his disgrace 
 Hath made him lunatic. 
 
 La. Since the King hath wrong'd me 
 He thinks I'll hurt myself; no, no, my 
 
 lord; 
 I know that all the kings in Christendom, 
 
 If they should join in my revenge, would 
 
 Srove 
 foes to him, still having you to 
 friend ; 
 If you were gone (I care not if you tell 
 
 him) 
 I might be tempted then to right myself. 
 
 [Exit. 
 By. He has a will to me, and dares not 
 
 shew it ; 
 
 His state decay'd, and he disgraced, dis- 
 tracts him. 
 
 Redit La Fin. 
 
 La. Change not my words, my lord ; I 
 
 only said, 
 
 " I might be tempted then to right myself ;" 
 Temptation to treason, is no treason ; 
 And that word tempted was conditional 
 
 too ; 
 "If you were gone ;" I pray inform the 
 
 truth. [Exitums. 
 
 By. Stay, injured man, and know I am 
 
 your friend, 
 
 Far from these base and mercenary reaches; 
 I am, I swear to you. 
 
 La. You may be so ; 
 
 And yet you'll give me leave to be La Fin, 
 A poor and expuate humour of the Court ; 
 But what good blood came out with me, 
 
 what veins 
 
 And sinews of the triumphs, now it makes, 
 I list not vaunt ; yet will I now confess, 
 And dare assume it ; I have power to 
 
 add 
 To all his greatness ; and make yet more 
 
 fix'd 
 
 His bold security ; tell him this, my lord, 
 And this, if all the spirits of earth and air 
 Be able to enforce, I can make good ; 
 If knowledge of the sure events of things, 
 Even from the rise of subjects into kings ; 
 And falls of kings to subjects, hold a 
 
 power 
 Of strength to work it, I can make it 
 
 . good ; 
 
 And tell him this too : if in midst of winter 
 To make black groves grow green, to still 
 
 the thunder, 
 
 And cast out able flashes from mine eyes, 
 To beat the lightning back into the skies, 
 Prove power to do it, I can make it good ; 
 And tell him this too : if to lift the sea 
 Up to the stars, when all the winds are 
 
 still, 
 And keep it calm, when they are most 
 
 enraged ; 
 
 To make earth's driest palms sweat hu- 
 morous springs, 
 
SCENE I.J 
 
 BYRON'S CONSPIRACY. 
 
 223 
 
 To make fix'd rocks walk, and loose 
 
 shadows stand, 
 To make the dead speak, midnight see 
 
 the sun, 
 Mid-day turn mid-night, to dissolve all 
 
 laws 
 
 Of nature and of order, argue power 
 Able to work all, I can make all good : 
 And all tins tell the King. 
 
 By. "I is more than strange, 
 To see you stand thus at the rapier's point 
 With one so kind and sure a friend as I. 
 La. Who cannot friend himself is foe 
 
 to any, 
 
 And to be fear'd of all, and that is it 
 Makes me so scorn'd ; but make me what 
 
 you can, 
 
 Never so wicked, and so full of fiends, 
 I never yet was traitor to my friends : 
 The laws of friendship I have ever held, 
 i As my religion ; and for other laws 
 ! He is a fool that keeps them with more 
 
 care 
 Than they keep him safe, rich, and 
 
 popular. 
 
 For riches, and for popular respects 
 Take them amongst ye, minions ; but for 
 
 safety, 
 ! You shall not find the least flaw in my 
 
 arms 
 To pierce or taint me ; what will great 
 
 men be 
 1 To please the King, and bear authority ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 By. How fit a sort were this to hansel 
 
 fortune ! 
 
 And I will win it though I lose my self; 
 Though he prove harder than Egyptian 
 
 marble, 
 
 I'll make him malleable as th' Ophirgold; 
 I am put off from this dull shore of East, 
 Into industrious and high-going seas ; 
 Where, like Pelides in Scamander's flood, 
 Up to the ears in surges I will fight, 
 And pluck French Ilion underneath the 
 
 waves. 
 
 If to be highest still, be to be best, 
 All works to that end are the worthiest : 
 Truth is a golden ball, cast in our way, 
 To make us stript by falsehood : and as 
 
 Spain 
 
 When the hot scuffles of barbarian arms 
 Smother 'd the life of Don Sebastian, 
 To gild the leaden rumour of his death 
 Gave for a slaughter'd body, held for his, 
 A hundred thousand crowns ; caused cJl 
 
 the state 
 
 Of superstitious Portugal to mourn 
 And celebrate his solemn funerals ; 
 
 The Moors to conquest thankful feasts 
 
 prefer, 
 
 And all made with the carcass of a Switzer : 
 So in the giantlike and politic wars 
 Of barbarous greatness, raging still in 
 
 peace, 
 
 Shows to aspire just objects are laid on 
 With cost, with labour, and with form 
 
 enough, 
 Which only makes our best acts brook the 
 
 light, 
 And their ends had, we think we have 
 
 their right, 
 So worst works are made good, with good 
 
 success, 
 
 And so for kings, pay subjects carcasses. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Enter Henry, Roiseau. 
 
 He. Was he so courted ? 
 Ro. As a city dame, 
 Brought by her jealous husband to the 
 
 Court, 
 
 Some elder courtiers entertaining him, 
 While others snatch a favour from his 
 
 wife : 
 One starts from this door ; from that nook 
 
 another, 
 With gifts and junkets, and with printed 
 
 fhrase, 
 her employment, shifting place by 
 place 
 Still as her husband comes : so Duke 
 
 Byron 
 
 Was woo'd and worshipp'd in the Arch- 
 duke's Court ; 
 
 And as th' assistants that your Majesty, 
 Join'd in commission with him, or myself, 
 Or any other doubted eye appear 'd, 
 He ever vanish 'd ; and as such a dame, 
 As we compared with him before, being 
 
 won 
 To break faith to her husband, lose her 
 
 fame, 
 Stain both their progenies, and coming 
 
 fresh 
 
 From underneath the bur then of her shame, 
 Visits her husband with as chaste a brow 
 As temperate and confirm 'd behaviour, 
 As she came quitted from confession : 
 So from his scapes would he present a 
 
 presence ; 
 
 The practice of his state adultery, 
 And guilt that should a graceful bosom 
 
 strike 
 Drown'd in the set lake of a hopeless 
 
 cheek. 
 
 He. It may be he dissembled, or sup- 
 pose 
 
BYRON'S CONSPIRACY. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 He be a little tainted : men whom 
 
 virtue 
 Forms with the stuff of fortune, great and 
 
 gracious, 
 Must needs partake with fortune in her 
 
 humour 
 
 Of instability ; and are like to shafts 
 Grown crook'd with standing, which to 
 
 rectify 
 Must twice as much be bow'd another 
 
 way. 
 He that hath borne wounds for his worthy 
 
 parts, 
 Must for his worst be borne with : we 
 
 must fit 
 
 Our government to men, as men to it : 
 In old time they that hunted savage 
 
 beasts 
 Are said to clothe themselves in savage 
 
 skins ; 
 They that were fowlers when they went 
 
 on fowling, 
 
 Wore garments made with wings resem- 
 bling fowls ; 
 To bulls we must not show ourselves in 
 
 red, 
 
 Nor to the warlike elephant in white. 
 In all things govern'd their infirmities 
 Must not be stirr'd, nor wrought on ; 
 
 Duke Byron 
 
 Flows with adust and melancholy choler, 
 And melancholy spirits are venomous, 
 Not to be touch'd, but as they may be 
 
 cured. 
 I therefore mean to make him change the 
 
 air, 
 And send him further from those Spanish 
 
 vapours, 
 That still bear fighting sulphur in their 
 
 breasts, 
 To breathe a while in temperate English 
 
 air, 
 Where lips are spiced with free and loyal 
 
 counsels, 
 
 Where policies are not ruinous, but saving ; 
 Wisdom is simple, valour righteous, 
 Humane, and hating facts of brutish forces; 
 And whose grave natures, scorn the scoffs 
 
 of France, 
 
 The empty compliments of Italy, 
 The any- way encroaching pride of Spain, 
 And love men modest, hearty, just, and 
 
 plain. 
 
 Savoy, whispering with La Fin. 
 
 Sa. I'll sound him for Byron ; and what 
 
 Ifind 
 
 In the King's depth, I'll draw up, and 
 inform 
 
 | In excitations to the Duke's revolt, 
 | When next I meet with him. 
 
 La. It must be done 
 With praising of the Duke ; from whom 
 
 the King 
 Will take to give himself ; which told the 
 
 Duke, 
 
 Will take his heart up into all ambition. 
 Sa. I know it, politic friend, and 'tis 
 my purpose. [Exit La Fin. 
 
 Your Majesty hath miss'd a royal sight : 
 The Duke Byron, on his brave beast Pas- 
 trana, 
 
 Who sits him like a full-sail'd argosy, 
 Danced with a lofty billow, and as snug 
 Plies to his bearer, both their motions 
 
 mix'd ; 
 
 And being consider'd in their site together, 
 They do the best present the state of man 
 In his first royalty ruling, and of beasts 
 In their first loyalty serving ; one com- 
 manding, 
 And no way being moved ; the other 
 
 serving, 
 And no way being compell'd ; of all the 
 
 sights 
 That ever my eyes witness'd ; and they 
 
 make 
 
 A doctrinal and witty hieroglyphic 
 I Of a blest kingdom : to express and teach, 
 | Kings to command as they could serve, 
 
 and subjects 
 
 To serve as if they had power to com- 
 mand. 
 He. You are a good old horseman, I 
 
 perceive, 
 
 And still out all the use of that good part ; 
 Your wit is of the true Pierean spring, 
 That can make anything of anything. 
 Sa. So brave a subject as the Duke, no 
 
 king 
 Seated on earth can vaunt of but your 
 
 highness, 
 
 So valiant, loyal, and so great in service. 
 He. No question he sets valour in his 
 
 height. 
 
 And hath done service to an equal pitch, 
 Fortune attending him with fit events, 
 To all his venturous and well-laid attempts. 
 Sa. Fortune to him was Juno to Alcides ; 
 For when or where did she but open way, 
 To any act of his ? what stone took he 
 With her help, or without his own lost 
 
 blood ? 
 What fort won he by her? or was not 
 
 forced ? 
 What victory but 'gainst odds? on what 
 
 commander 
 Sleepy or negligent, did he ever charge? 
 
! SCENE I.] 
 
 BYRON'S CONSPIRACY. 
 
 225 
 
 What summer ever made she fair to 
 
 him? 
 
 What winter, not of one continued storm ? 
 Fortune is so far from his creditress 
 That she owes him much ; for in him, her 
 
 looks 
 
 Are lovely, modest, and magnanimous, 
 Constant, victorious ; and in his achieve- 
 ments 
 Her cheeks are drawn out with a virtuous 
 
 redness, 
 
 Out of his eager spirit to victory, 
 And chaste contention to convince with 
 
 honour ; 
 And, I have heard, his spirits have flow'd 
 
 so high 
 
 In all his conflicts against any odds, 
 That, in his charge, his lips have bled with 
 
 fervour. 
 How served he at your famous siege of 
 
 Dreux? 
 
 Where the enemy, assured of victory, 
 Drew out a body of four thousand horse, 
 And twice six thousand foot, and like a 
 
 crescent, 
 Stood for the signal, you, that show'd 
 
 yourself 
 
 A sound old soldier, thinking it not fit 
 To give your enemy the odds, and honour 
 Of the first stroke, commanded de la 
 
 Guiche, 
 
 To let fly all his cannons, that did pierce 
 The adverse thickest squadrons, and had 
 
 shot 
 Nine volleys ere the foe had once given 
 
 fire; 
 Your troop was charged, and when your 
 
 duke's old father 
 Met with th' assailants, and their grove of 
 
 ritters 
 Repulsed so fiercely, made them turn their 
 
 beards 
 And rally up themselves behind their 
 
 troops ; 
 Fresh forces, seeing your troops a little 
 
 sever'd, 
 
 From that part first assaulted, gave it charge, 
 Which then, this duke made good, seconds 
 
 his father, 
 Beats through and through the enemy's 
 
 greatest strength, 
 And breaks the rest like billows 'gainst a 
 
 rock, 
 And there the heart of that huge battle 
 
 broke. 
 He. The heart but now came on, in that 
 
 strong body 
 
 Of twice two thousand horse, led by du 
 Maine 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 Which, if I would be glorious, I could say 
 I first encounter'd. 
 
 Sa. How did he take in, 
 Beaune in view of that invincible army 
 Led by the Lord Great Constable of 
 
 Castile, 
 
 Autun and Nuis, in Burgundy, chased away 
 Viscount Tavannes' troops before Dijon, 
 And puts himself In, and there that was 
 
 won. 
 He. If you would only give me leave, my 
 
 lord, 
 I would do right to him, yet must not 
 
 give. 
 Sa. A league from Fountaine Franyois, 
 
 when you sent him 
 
 To make discovery of the Castile army, 
 When he discern'd 'twas it, with wondrous 
 
 wisdom 
 Join'd to his spirit, he seem'd to make 
 
 retreat, 
 But when they press'd him, and the Baron 
 
 of Lux, 
 Set on their charge so hotly, that his 
 
 horse 
 
 Was slain, and he most dangerously en- 
 gaged, 
 Then turn'd your brave duke head, and, 
 
 with such ease 
 
 As doth an echo beat back violent sounds, 
 With their own forces, he, as if a wall 
 Start suddenly before them, pash'd them 
 
 all 
 Flat as the earth, and there was that field 
 
 won. 
 
 He. Y'are all the field wide. 
 Sa. O, I ask you pardon, 
 The strength of that field yet lay in his 
 
 back, 
 
 Upon the foe's part ; and what is to come 
 Of this your Marshal, now your worthy 
 
 duke, 
 
 Is much beyond the rest ; for now he sees 
 A sort of horse troops issue from the 
 
 woods, 
 
 In number near twelve hundred ; and re- 
 tiring 
 
 To tell you that the entire army follow'd, 
 Before he could relate it, he was forced 
 To turn head, and receive the main assault 
 Of five horse troops ; only with twenty 
 
 horse ; 
 
 The first he met, he tumbled to the earth. 
 And brake through all, not daunted with 
 
 two wounds, 
 
 One on his head, another on his breast, 
 The blood of which drown'd all the field 
 
 in doubt ; 
 Your Majesty himself was then engaged, 
 
BYRON'S CONSPIRACY. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Your power not yet arrived, and up you 
 
 brought 
 The little strength you had ; a cloud of 
 
 foes, 
 
 Ready to burst in storms about your ears ; 
 Three squadrons rush'd against you, and 
 
 the first 
 You took so fiercely, that you beat their 
 
 thoughts 
 
 Out of their bosoms, from the urged fight ; 
 The second all amazed you overthrew, 
 The third dispersed, with five and twenty 
 
 horse 
 Left of the fourscore that pursued the 
 
 chase ; 
 
 And this brave conquest, now your mar- 
 shal seconds 
 
 Against two squadrons, but with fifty horse 
 One after other he defeats them both, 
 And made them run, like men whose heels 
 
 were tripp'd, 
 And pitch their heads in their great 
 
 general's lap ; 
 
 And him he sets on, as he had been shot 
 Out of a cannon ; beats him into rout, 
 And as a little brook being overrun 
 With a black torrent, that bears all things 
 
 down, 
 
 His fury overtakes, his foamy back, 
 Loaded with cattle and with stacks of corn, 
 And makes the miserable plowman mourn ; 
 Sowasdu Maine surcharged, and so Byron 
 Flow'd over all his forces ; every drop 
 Of his lost blood, bought with a worthy 
 
 man ; 
 
 And only with a hundred gentlemen 
 He won the place from fifteen hundred 
 
 horse. 
 
 He. He won the place? 
 Sa. On my word, so 'tis said. 
 He. Fie, you have been extremely mis- 
 
 inform'd. 
 Sa. I only tell your highness what I 
 
 heard ; 
 I was not there ; and though I have been 
 
 rude 
 
 With wonder of his valour, and presumed 
 To keep his merit in his full career, 
 Not hearing you, when yours made such 
 
 a thunder ; 
 Pardon my fault, since 'twas t'extol your 
 
 servant. 
 But is it not most true, that twixt ye 
 
 both, 
 
 So few achieved the conquest of so many? 
 He. It is a truth must make me ever 
 
 thankful, 
 But not perform'd by him ; was not I 
 
 there ? 
 
 Commanded him, and in the main assault 
 Made him but second ? 
 
 Sa. He's the capital soldier, 
 That lives this day in holy Christendom, 
 Except your highness, always except Plato. 
 He. We must not give to one to take 
 
 from many : 
 For (not to praise our countrymen) here 
 
 served 
 The general, Mylor Norris, sent from 
 
 England ; 
 
 As great a captain as the world affords, 
 One fit to lead, and fight for Christendom ; 
 Of more experience, and of stronger 
 
 brain ; 
 
 As valiant for abiding in command. 
 On any sudden ; upon any ground, 
 And in the form of all occasions 
 As ready, and as profitably dauntless ; 
 And here was then another, Colonel 
 
 Williams, 
 
 A worthy captain ; and more like the duke, 
 Because he was less temperate than the 
 
 general ; 
 And being familiar with the man you 
 
 praise, 
 
 (Because he knew him haughty and in- 
 capable 
 Of all comparison) would compare with 
 
 him, 
 
 And hold his swelling valour to the mark 
 Justice had set in him, and not his will ; 
 And as in open vessels fill'd with water, 
 And on men's shoulders borne, they put 
 
 treene cups 
 To keep the wild and slippery element 
 From washing over ; follow all his sways 
 And tickle aptness to exceed his bounds, 
 And at the brim contain him ; so this 
 
 knight 
 Swum in Byron, and held him, but to 
 
 right. 
 But leave these hot comparisons ; he's mine 
 
 own, 
 And than what I possess, I'll more be 
 
 known. 
 Sa. All this shall to the duke ; I fish'd 
 
 for this. [Exeunt. 
 
 END OF ACT II. 
 
 ACT THE THIRD. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 Enter La Fin, Byron following, unseen. 
 
 La. A feigned passion in his hearing now 
 (Which he thinks I perceive not), making 
 conscience, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 BYRON'S CONSPIRACY, 
 
 227 
 
 Of the revolt that he hath urged to me, 
 (Which now he means to prosecute) would 
 
 sound, 
 How deep he stands affected with that 
 
 scruple. 
 As when the moon hath comforted the 
 
 night, 
 
 And set the world in silver of her light, 
 The planets, asterisms, and whole state of 
 
 heaven, 
 
 In beams of gold descending ; all the winds, 
 Bound up in caves, charged not to drive 
 
 abroad 
 
 Their cloudy heads ; an universal peace, 
 Proclaim'd in silence, of the quiet earth : 
 Soon as her hot and dry fumes are let loose, 
 Storms and clouds mixing suddenly put 
 
 out 
 
 The eyes of all those glories ; the creation 
 Turn'd into chaos, and we then desire, 
 For all our joy of life, the death of sleep : 
 So when the glories of our lives, men's 
 
 loves, 
 
 Clear consciences, our fames, and loyalties, 
 That did us worthy comfort, are eclipsed, 
 Grief and disgrace invade us ; and for all 
 Our night of life besides, our misery craves 
 Dark earth would ope and hide us in our 
 
 graves. 
 
 By. How strange is this ! 
 La. What ! did your highness hear? 
 By. Both heard and wonder 'd that your 
 
 wit and spirit, 
 
 And profit in experience of the slaveries 
 Imposed on us in those mere politic 
 
 terms 
 
 Of love, fame, loyalty, can be carried up, 
 To such a height of ignorant conscience, 
 Of cowardice, and dissolution, 
 In all the free-born powers of royal man. 
 You that have made way through all the 
 
 guards 
 Of jealous state ; and seen on both your 
 
 sides 
 The pikes' points charging heaven to let 
 
 you pass, 
 
 Will you, in flying with a scrupulous wing, 
 Above those pikes to heavenward, fall on 
 
 them? 
 
 This is like men, that, spirited with wine, 
 Pass dangerous places safe ; and die for 
 
 fear 
 With only thought of them, being simply 
 
 sober ; 
 
 We must, in passing to our wished ends, 
 Through things call'd good and bad, be 
 
 like the air 
 
 That evenly interposed betwixt the seas 
 And the opposed element of fire, 
 
 At either toucheth, but partakes with 
 
 neither ; 
 
 Is neither hot nor cold, but with a slight 
 And harmless temper mix'd of both th' ex- 
 tremes. 
 
 La. 'Tis shrewd. 
 
 By. There is no truth of any good 
 To be discern'd on earth : and by conver- 
 sion, 
 Nought therefore simply bad : but as the 
 
 stuff 
 
 Prepared for Arras pictures, is no picture 
 Till it be form'd, and man hath cast the 
 
 beams 
 
 Of his imaginous fancy thorough it, 
 In forming ancient kings and conquerors, 
 As he conceives they look'd and were at- 
 tired, 
 Though they were nothing so : so all 
 
 things here 
 Have all their price set down, from men's 
 
 conceits, 
 Which make all terms and actions good or 
 
 bad, 
 And are but pliant and well-colour'd 
 
 threads 
 
 Put into feigned images of truth : 
 To which, to yield and kneel as truth pure 
 
 kings, 
 That pull'd us down with clear truth of 
 
 their Gospel, 
 
 Were superstition to be hiss'd to hell. 
 La. Believe*it, this is reason. 
 By. Tis the faith 
 Of reason and of wisdom. 
 
 La. You persuade, 
 As if you could create : what man can 
 
 shun 
 The searches and compressions of your 
 
 graces ? 
 By. We must have these lures when we 
 
 hawk for friends, 
 
 And wind about them like a subtle river, 
 That, seeming only to run on his course, 
 Doth search yet as he runs, and still finds 
 
 out 
 
 The easiest parts of entry on the shore ; 
 Gliding so slyly by, as scarce it touch'd, 
 Yet still eats something in it : so must those 
 That have large fields and currents to 
 
 dispose. 
 Come, let us join our streams, we must run 
 
 far, 
 And have but little time : the Duke of 
 
 Savoy 
 
 Is shortly to be gone, and I must needs 
 Make you well known to him. 
 La. But hath your highness 
 Some enterprise of value join'd with him ? 
 
228 
 
 BYRON'S CONSPIRACY. 
 
 [ACT IIT. 
 
 By. With him and greater persons. 
 La. I will creep 
 
 Upon my bosom in your princely service, 
 Vouchsafe to make me known. I hear 
 
 there lives not, 
 
 | So kind, so bountiful, and wise a prince 
 \ But in your own excepted excellence. 
 
 By. He shall both know and love you : 
 
 are you mine ? 
 
 La. I take the honour of it, on my knee, 
 And hope to quite it with your Majesty. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 n/er Savoy, Roncas, Rochette, Breton. 
 
 Sa. La Fin is in the right, and will 
 
 obtain ; 
 He draweth with his weight, and like a 
 
 plummet 
 That sways a door, with falling off, pulls 
 
 after. 
 Ron. Thus will La Fin be brought a 
 
 stranger to you 
 By him he leads ; he conquers that is 
 
 conquer'd, 
 That's fought, as hard to win, that sues to 
 
 be won. 
 Sa. But is my painter warn'd to take his 
 
 picture, 
 
 When he shall see me, and present La Fin? 
 Roc. He is, my lord, and, as your 
 
 highness will'd, 
 
 All we will press about him^and admire 
 The royal promise of his rare aspect, 
 As if he heard not. 
 
 Sa. 'Twill inflame him : 
 Such tricks the Archduke used t'extol his 
 
 greatness, 
 Which compliments though plain men 
 
 hold absurd, 
 
 And a mere remedy for desire of greatness, 
 Yet great men use them as their state 
 
 potatoes, 
 
 High coolisses, and potions to excite 
 The lust of their ambition : and this duke 
 You know is noted in his natural garb 
 Extremely glorious ; who will therefore 
 
 bring 
 
 An appetite expecting such a bait : 
 He comes ; go instantly, and fetch the 
 
 painter. 
 
 Enter Byron, La Fin. 
 
 By. All honour to your highness. 
 
 Sa. Tis most true. 
 
 All honours flow to me, in you their ocean ; 
 
 As welcome, worthiest duke, as if my 
 
 marquisate 
 
 Were circled with you in these amorous 
 arms. 
 
 By. I sorrow, sir, I could not bring it 
 
 with me, 
 
 That I might so supply the fruitless com- 
 pliment 
 
 Of only visiting your excellence, 
 With which the King now sends me 
 
 t'entertain you ; 
 Which, notwithstanding, doth confer this 
 
 good 
 That it hath given me some small time to 
 
 show 
 
 My gratitude for the many secret bounties 
 I have, by this your lord ambassador, 
 Felt from your highness ; and in short, 
 
 t'assure you, 
 That all my most deserts are, at your 
 
 service. 
 Sa. Had the King sent me by you half 
 
 his kingdom, 
 It were not half so welcome. 
 
 By. For defect 
 
 Of whatsoever in myself, my lord, 
 I here commend to your most princely 
 
 service 
 
 This honour'd friend of mine. 
 Sa. Your name, I pray you, sir ? 
 La. La Fin, my lord. 
 Sa. La Fin ? Is this the man, 
 That you so recommended to my love ? 
 Ron. The same, my lord. 
 Sa. Y'are, next my lord the duke, 
 The most desired of all men. O my lord, 
 The King and I have had a mighty con- 
 flict 
 About your conflicts, and your matchless 
 
 worth 
 
 In military virtues ; which I put 
 In balance with the continent of France, 
 In all the peace and safety it enjoys, 
 And made even weight with all he could 
 
 put in 
 
 Of all men's else, and of his own deserts. 
 By. Of all men's else ? would he weigh 
 
 other men's 
 With my deservings ? 
 
 Sa. Ay, upon my life, 
 The English General, the Mylor Norris, 
 That served amongst you here, he paral- 
 
 lel'd 
 With you, at all parts, and in some pre- 
 
 ferr'd him, 
 
 And Colonel Williams, a Welsh Colonel, 
 He made a man, that at your most con- 
 
 tain'd you : 
 Which the Welsh herald of their praise, 
 
 the cuckoo, 
 
 Would scarce have put, in his monology, 
 In jest, and said with reverence to his 
 merits. 
 
SCENE I. 
 
 BYRON'S CONSPIRACY. 
 
 229 
 
 By. With reverence? Reverence scorns 
 
 him : by the spoil 
 
 Of all her merits in me, he shall rue it. 
 Did ever Curtian Gulf play such a part ? 
 Had Curtius been so used, if he had brook'd 
 That ravenous whirlpool, pour'd his solid 
 
 spirits, 
 Through earth-dissolved sinews, stopp'd 
 
 her veins, 
 
 And rose with saved Rome, upon his back. 
 As I swum pools of fire, and gulfs of brass, 
 To save my country, thrust this venturous 
 
 arm 
 
 Beneath her ruins ; took her on my neck, 
 And set her safe on her appeased shore : 
 And opes the King a fouler bog than this, 
 In his so rotten bosom, to devour 
 Him that devour 'd what else had swallow'd 
 
 him 
 
 In a detraction, so with spite embrued 
 And drown such good in such ingratitude ? 
 My spirit as yet, but stooping to his rest, 
 Shines hotly in him, as the sun in clouds 
 Purpled and made proud with a peaceful 
 
 even : 
 But when I throughly set to him, his 
 
 cheeks, 
 Will, like those clouds, forego their colour 
 
 quite, 
 And his whole blaze smoke into endless 
 
 night. 
 Sa. Nay, nay, we must have no such gall, 
 
 my lord, 
 
 O'erflow our friendly livers ; my relation 
 Only delivers my inflamed zeal 
 To your religious merits ; which methinks 
 Should make your highness canonized a 
 
 saint. 
 By. What had his armies been, without 
 
 my arm, 
 That with his motion made the whole field 
 
 move ? 
 
 And this held up, we still had victory. 
 When overcharged with number, his few 
 
 friends, 
 
 Retired amazed, I set them on assured, 
 And what rude ruin seized on I confirm 'd ; 
 When I left leading, all his army reel'd, 
 One fell on other foul, and as the Cyclop 
 That having lost his eye, struck every 
 
 way, 
 
 His blows directed to no certain scope : 
 Or as the soul departed from the body, 
 The body wants coherence in his parts, 
 Cannot consist, but sever, and dissolve : 
 So I removed once, all his armies shook, 
 Panted, and fainted, and were ever flying, 
 Like wandering pulses spersed through 
 
 bodies dying. 
 
 Sa. It cannot be denied, 'tis all so true 
 That what seems arrogance, is desert in 
 
 you. 
 By. What monstrous humours feed a 
 
 prince's blood, 
 Being bad to good men, and to bad men 
 
 good ? 
 Sa. Well, let these contradictions pass, 
 
 my lord, 
 
 Till they be reconciled, or put in form, 
 By power given to your will, and you pre- 
 sent 
 
 The fashion of a perfect government : 
 In mean space but a word ; we have small 
 
 time, 
 
 To spend in private, which I wish may be 
 With all advantage taken : Lord La Fin 
 Ron. Is't not a face of excellent pre- 
 sentment ? 
 Though not so amorous with pure white 
 
 and red, 
 
 Yet is the whole proportion singular. 
 Roc. That ever I beheld. 
 Br. It hath good lines, 
 And tracts drawn through it ; the purfle, 
 
 rare. 
 Ron. I heard the famous and right 
 
 learned earl, 
 
 And archbishop of Lyons, Pierce Pinac, 
 Who was reported to have wondrous 
 
 judgment 
 In men's events and natures, by their 
 
 looks, 
 
 Upon his death bed, visited by this duke, 
 He told his sister, when his grace was 
 
 gone, 
 
 That he had never yet observed a face 
 Of worse presage than this ; and I will 
 
 swear 
 
 That, something seen in physiognomy, 
 I do not find in all the rules it gives 
 One slenderest blemish tending to mishap, 
 But, on the opposite part, as we may see, 
 On trees late-blossom'd, when all frosts are 
 
 past, 
 How they are taken, and what will be 
 
 fruit : 
 
 So on this tree of sceptres, I discern 
 How it is loaden with apparances, 
 Rules answering rules ; and glances 
 
 crown'd with glances. 
 
 [He snatches away the picture. 
 By. What ! does he take m> picture? 
 Sa. Ay, my lord. 
 By. Youf highness will excuse me ; I 
 
 will give you 
 
 My likeness put in statue, not in picture ; 
 And by a statuary of mine own, 
 That can in brass express the wit of man, 
 
23 
 
 BYRON'S CONSPIRACY. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 And in his form make all men see his 
 
 virtues ; 
 
 Others that with much strictness imitate 
 The something-stooping carriage of my j 
 
 neck, 
 The voluble and mild radiance of mine ; 
 
 eyes, 
 
 Never observe my masculine aspect 
 And lion-like instinct, it shadoweth ; 
 Which envy cannot say, is flattery ; 
 And I will have my image promised you, j 
 Cut in such matter as shall ever last ; 
 Where it shall stand, fix'd with eternal 
 
 roots, 
 
 And with a most unmoved gravity ; 
 For I will have the famous mountain Oros, 
 That looks out of the duchy where I 
 
 govern 
 Into your highness' dukedom, first made 
 
 yours, 
 
 And then with such inimitable art 
 Express'd and handled ; chiefly from the , 
 
 place 
 : Where most conspicuously he shows his 
 
 face, 
 i That though it keep the true form of that I 
 
 hill 
 
 In all his longitudes and latitudes, 
 His height, his distances, and full propor- 
 tion, 
 
 Yet shall it clearly bear my counterfeit, 
 Both in my face and all my lineaments ; 
 And every man shall say, This is Byron. 
 Within my left hand, I will hold a city, 
 Which is the city Amiens ; at whose siege 
 I served so memorably ; from my right, 
 I'll pour an endless flood into a sea 
 Raging beneath me ; which shall intimate 
 My ceaseless service, drunk up by the 
 
 King 
 
 As th' ocean drinks up rivers, and makes all 
 Bear his proud title ; ivory, brass, and 
 
 gold, 
 That thieves may purchase, and be bought 
 
 and sold, 
 
 Shall not be used about me ; lasting worth 
 Shall only set the Duke of Byron forth. 
 Sa. O that your statuary could express 
 
 you 
 
 With any nearness to your own instruc- 
 tions ; 
 
 That statue would I prize past all the jewels 
 Within my cabinet of Beatrice, 
 The memory of my grandame Portugal. 
 Most royal duke, we cannot long endure 
 To be thus private ; let us then conclude, 
 With this great resolution, that your wis- 
 dom 
 Will not forget to cast a pleasing veil 
 
 Over your anger, that may hide each 
 
 glance 
 
 Of any notice taken of your wrong, 
 And show yourself the more obsequious. 
 'Tis but the virtue of a little patience, 
 There are so oft attempts made 'gainst his 
 
 person, 
 That sometimes they may speed, for they 
 
 are plants 
 That spring the more for cutting, and at 
 
 last 
 Will cast their wished shadow : mark ere 
 
 long. 
 
 Enter Nemours, Soissons. 
 
 See who comes here, my lord, as now no , 
 
 more, 
 
 Now must we turn our stream another way : j 
 My lord, I humbly thank his Majesty 
 That he would grace my idle time spent 
 
 here 
 
 With entertainment of your princely person ; 
 Which, worthily, he keeps for his own 
 
 bosom. 
 My lord the Duke Nemours, and Count 
 
 Soissons, 
 Your honours have been bountifully done 
 
 me 
 
 In often visitation : let me pray you 
 To see some jewels now, and help my 
 
 choice 
 
 In making up a present for the King. 
 Ne. Your highness shall much grace us. 
 Sa. I am doubtful 
 
 That I have much incensed the Duke Byron 
 With praising the King's worthiness in 
 
 arms 
 
 So much past all men. 
 So. He deserves it highly. 
 
 {Exit: manet Byron, La Fin. 
 By. What wrongs are these, laid on me 
 
 by the King, 
 To equal others' worths in war with 
 
 mine; 
 
 Endure this, and be turn'd into his moil 
 To bear his sumptures ; honour'd friend, be 
 
 true, 
 And we will turn these torrents hence. 
 
 [Enter the King. Exit La Fin, 
 
 Enter Henry, Epernon, Vitry, Janin. 
 
 He. Why suffer you that ill-aborting 1 
 
 vermin 
 
 To breed so near your bosom ? be assured 
 His haunts are ominous ; not the throats of 
 
 ravens, 
 
 Spent on infected houses, howls of dogs, 
 When no sound stirs, at midnight ; appa- 
 ritions. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 BYRON'S CONSPIRACY. 
 
 231 
 
 And strokes of spirits, clad in black men's 
 
 shapes, 
 
 Or ugly women's ; the adverse decrees 
 Of constellations, nor security 
 In vicious peace, are surer fatal ushers 
 Of femall mischiefs and mortalities 
 Than this prodigious fiend is, where he 
 
 fawns : 
 
 Lafiend.and not La Fin, he should be call'd. 
 By. Be what he will, men in themselves 
 
 entire, 
 
 March safe with naked feet on coals of fire : 
 I build not outward, nor depend on props, 
 Nor choose my consort by the common 
 
 ear, 
 Nor by the moonshine, in the grace of 
 
 kings ; 
 
 So rare are true deservers loved or known, 
 That men loved vulgarly are ever none : 
 Nor men graced servilely, for being spots 
 In princes' trains, though borne even with 
 
 their crowns ; 
 The stallion power hath such a besom 
 
 tail 
 That it sweeps all from justice, and such 
 
 filth 
 
 He bears out in it that men mere exempt 
 Are merely clearest ; men will shortly buy 
 Friends from the prison or the pillory 
 Rather than honour's markets. I fear 
 
 none 
 
 But foul ingratitude and detraction 
 In all the brood of villany. 
 
 He. No? not treason ? 
 Be circumspect, for to a credulous eye, 
 He comes invisible, veil'd with flattery, 
 And flatterers look like friends, as wolves 
 
 like dogs. 
 
 And as a glorious poem fronted well 
 With many a goodly herald of his praise, 
 So far from hate of praises to his face, 
 That he prays men to praise him, and they 
 
 ride 
 Before, with trumpets in their mouths, 
 
 proclaiming 
 
 Life to the holy fury of his lines ; 
 All drawn, as if with one eye he had 
 
 leer'd 
 
 On his loved hand, and led it by a rule ; 
 That his plumes only imp the muses' 
 
 wings, 
 He sleeps with them, his head is napt with 
 
 bays, 
 His lips break out with nectar, his tuned 
 
 feet 
 
 Are of the great last, the perpetual motion, 
 And he puff' d with their empty breath be- 
 lieves 
 Full merit eased those passions of wind, 
 
 Which yet serve but to praise, and cannot 
 
 merit, 
 
 And so his fury in their air expires : 
 So de La Fin, and such corrupted heralds, 
 Hired to encourage and to glorify, 
 May force what breath they will into their 
 
 cheeks 
 
 Fitter to blow up bladders than full men ; 
 Yet may puff men too, with persuasions 
 That they are gods in worth, and may rise 
 
 kings 
 With treading on their noises ; yet the 
 
 worthiest, 
 From only his own worth receives his 
 
 spirit, 
 
 And right is worthy bound to any merit ; 
 Which right shall you have ever ; leave 
 
 him then, 
 He follows none but mark'd and wretched 
 
 men. 
 And now for England you shall go, my 
 
 lord, 
 Our Lord Ambassador to that matchless 
 
 Queen. 
 
 You never had a voyage of such pleasure, 
 Honour, and worthy objects ; there's a 
 
 Queen 
 Where nature keeps her state, and state 
 
 her Court, 
 
 Wisdom her study, continence her fort, 
 Where magnanimity, humanity, 
 Firmness in counsel and integrity ; 
 Grace to her poorest subjects ; majesty 
 To awe the greatest, have respects divine, 
 And in her each part, all the virtues shine. 
 [Exit Hen. and Sav. : manet Byron. 
 By. Enjoy your will awhile, I may have 
 
 mine. 
 
 Wherefore, before I part to this ambassage, 
 I'll be resolved by a magician 
 That dwells hereby, to whom I'll go dis- 
 guised, 
 
 And show him my birth's figure, set before 
 By one of his profession, of the which 
 I'll crave his judgment, feigning I am sent 
 From some great personage, whose 
 
 nativity 
 He wisheth should be censured by his 
 
 skill : 
 But on go my plots, be it good or ill. 
 
 [Exit, 
 
 Enter La Brosse. 
 
 La. This hour by all rules of astrology 
 Is dangerous to my person, if not deadly. 
 How hapless is our knowledge to foretell, 
 And not be able to prevent a mischief. 
 O the strange difference 'twixt us and the 
 stars ; . 
 
232 
 
 BYRON'S CONSPIRACY. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 They work with inclinations strong and 
 
 fatal 
 And nothing know ; and we know all their 
 
 working 
 
 And nought can do, or nothing can pre- 
 vent. 
 Rude ignorance is beastly, knowledge 
 
 wretched, 
 The heavenly powers envy what they 
 
 enjoin ; 
 
 We are commanded t'imitate their natures, 
 In making all our ends eternity, 
 And in that imitation we are plagued, 
 And worse than they esteem 'd that have 
 
 no souls 
 
 But in their nostrils, and like beasts expire; 
 As they do that are ignorant of arts, 
 By drowning their eternal parts in sense 
 And sensual affections : while we live 
 Our good parts take away, the more they 
 
 give. 
 
 Byron solus, disguised like a Carrier of 
 letters. 
 
 By. The forts that favourites hold in 
 
 princes' hearts, 
 In common subjects' loves, and their own 
 
 strengths 
 
 Are not so sure and unexpugnable 
 But that the more they are presumed upon, 
 The more they fail ; daily and hourly proof 
 Tells us prosperity is at highest degree 
 The fount and handle of calamity : 
 Like dust before a whirlwind those men 
 
 fly 
 That prostrate on the grounds of fortune 
 
 lie; 
 And being great, like trees that broadest 
 
 sprout, 
 Their own top-heavy state grubs up their 
 
 root. 
 
 These apprehensions startle all my powers, 
 And arm them with suspicion 'gainst them- 
 selves 
 
 In my late projects, I have cast myself 
 Into the arms of others, and will see 
 If they will let me fall, or toss me up 
 Into th' affected compass of a throne. 
 God save you, sir. 
 La. Y'are welcome, friend : what would 
 
 you? 
 By. I would entreat you, for some crowns 
 
 I bring, 
 
 To give your judgment of this figure cast, 
 To know, by his nativity there seen, 
 What sort of end the person shall endure, 
 Who sent me to you, and whose birth it is. 
 La. I'll herein do my best in your 
 
 desire ; 
 
 The man is raised out of a good descent, 
 And nothing older than yourself, I think ; 
 Is it not you ? 
 
 By. I will not tell you that : 
 But tell me on what end he shall arrive. 
 La. My son, I see that he whose end is 
 
 cast 
 
 In this set figure, is of noble parts, 
 And by his military valour raised 
 To princely honours, and may be a king ; 
 But that I see a caput algol here, 
 That hinders it, I fear. 
 By. A caput algol ? 
 What's that, I pray ? 
 
 La. Forbear to ask me, son ; 
 You bid me speak what fear bids me , 
 
 conceal. 
 By. You have no cause to fear, and < 
 
 therefore speak. 
 La. You'll rather wish you had been 
 
 ignorant, 
 Than be instructed in a thing so ill. 
 
 By. Ignorance is an idle salve for ill ; 
 And therefore do not urge me to enforce 
 What I would freely know ; for by the 
 
 skill 
 
 Shown in thy aged hairs, I'll lay thy brain 
 Here scatter 'd at my feet, and seek in that 
 What safely thou may'st utter with thy 
 
 tongue, 
 If thou deny it. 
 
 La. Will you not allow me 
 To hold my peace? What less can I 
 
 desire ? 
 If not, be pleased with my constrained 
 
 speech. 
 By. Was ever man yet punish'd for 
 
 expressing 
 What he was charged ? Be free, and speak 
 
 the worst. 
 La. Then briefly this : the man hath 
 
 lately done 
 An action that will make him lose his 
 
 head. 
 By. Cursed be thy throat and soul, raven, 
 
 screech-owl, hag ! 
 
 La. O, hold ! for heaven's sake, hold ! 
 By. Hold on, I will. 
 
 Vault, and contractor of all horrid sounds, 
 Trumpet of all the miseries in hell, 
 Of my confusions ; of the shameful end 
 Of all my services ; witch, fiend, accursed 
 For ever be the poison of thy tongue, 
 And let the black fume of thy venom'd 
 
 breath, 
 Infect the air, shrink heaven, put out the 
 
 stars, 
 
 And rain so fell and blue a plague on earth, 
 That all the world may falter with my fall. 
 
SCKNE I. 
 
 BYRON'S CONSPIRACY. 
 
 La. Pity my age, my lord. 
 By. Out, prodigy, 
 Remedy of pity, mine of flint, 
 Whence with my nails and feet I'll dig 
 
 enough 
 
 Horror and savage cruelty to build 
 Temples to massacre : dam of devils take 
 
 thee! 
 Hadst thou no better end to crown my 
 
 parts. 
 
 The bulls of Colchos, nor his triple neck, 
 That howls out earthquakes: the most 
 
 mortal vapours 
 
 That ever stifled and struck dead the fowls, 
 That flew at never such a sightly pitch, 
 Could not have burnt my blood so. 
 
 La. I told truth, 
 And could have flatter'd you. 
 
 By. O that thou hadst ! 
 Would I had given thee twenty thousand 
 
 crowns 
 That thou hadst flatter'd me ; there's no joy 
 
 on earth, 
 
 Never so rational, so pure, and holy, 
 But is a jester, parasite, a whore, 
 In the most worthy parts, with which they 
 
 please, 
 
 A drunkenness of soul and a disease. 
 La. I knew you not. 
 By. Peace, dog of Pluto, peace, 
 Thou knew'st my end to come, not me here 
 
 present : 
 Pox of your halting humane knowledges ; 
 
 death ! how far off hast thou kill'd ! how 
 
 soon 
 A man may know too much, though never 
 
 nothing. 
 Spite of the stars, and all astrology, 
 
 1 will not lose my head ; or if I do 
 
 A hundred thousand heads shall off before. 
 I am a nobler substance than the stars, 
 And shall the baser overrule the better ? 
 Or are they better, since they are the 
 
 bigger? 
 
 I have a will, and faculties of choice, 
 To do, or not to do : and reason why, 
 I do, or not do this ; the stars have none. 
 They know not why they shine more than 
 
 this taper, 
 Nor how they work, nor what ; I'll change 
 
 my course. 
 I'll piece-meal pull the frame of all my 
 
 thoughts, 
 
 And cast my will into another mould : 
 And where are all your Caput Algols then ? 
 Your planets all, being underneath the 
 
 earth, 
 
 At my nativity : what can they do ? 
 Malignant in aspects ? in bloody houses ? 
 
 Wild fire consume them ! one poor cup of 
 
 wine, 
 More than I use, that my weak brain will 
 
 bear, 
 Shall make them drunk and reel out of their 
 
 spheres 
 
 For any certain act they can enforce. 
 O that mine arms were wings, that I 
 
 might fly, 
 
 And pluck out of their hearts my destiny ! 
 I'll wear those golden spurs upon my heels, 
 And kick at fate ; be free, all worthy spirits, 
 And stretch yourselves, for greatness and 
 
 for height : 
 Untruss your slaveries ; you have height 
 
 enough 
 Beneath this steep heaven to use all your 
 
 reaches ; 
 
 Tis too far off to let you or respect you. 
 Give me a spirit that on this life's rough 
 
 sea 
 Loves t'have his sails fill'd with a lusty 
 
 wind, 
 Even till his sail-yards tremble, his masts 
 
 crack, 
 
 And his rapt ship run on her side so low 
 That she drinks water, and her keel plows 
 
 air. 
 
 There is no danger to a man that knows 
 What life and death is ; there's not any law 
 Exceeds his knowledge ; neither is it lawful 
 That he should stoop to any other law. 
 He goes before them, and commands them 
 
 all, 
 That to himself is a law rational. [Exit. 
 
 ACT THE FOURTH. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 Enter D'Aumont, with Crequie. 
 
 D'Au. The Duke of Byron is return 'd 
 from England, 
 
 And, as they say, was princely entertain'd, 
 
 School'd by the matchless queen there, 
 who, I hear, 
 
 Spake most divinely ; and would gladly i 
 hear 
 
 Her speech reported. 
 
 Cr. I can serve your turn, 
 
 As one that speaks from others, not from 
 her, 
 
 And thus it is reported at his parting. 
 
 "Thus, Monsieur Du Byron, you have be- 
 held 
 
234 
 
 BYRON'S CONSPIRACY. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Our Court proportion'd to our little king- 
 dom 
 
 In every entertainment ; yet our mind, 
 To do you all the rites of your repair, 
 Is as unbounded as the ample air. 
 What idle pains have you bestow'd to see 
 A poor old woman ; who in nothing lives 
 More than in true affections, borne your 
 
 king, 
 And in the perfect knowledge she hath 
 
 learn 'd 
 Of his good knights, and servants of your 
 
 sort. 
 
 We thank him that he keeps the memory 
 Of us and all our kindness ; but must say 
 That it is only kept, and not laid out 
 To such affectionate profit as we wish ; 
 Being so much set on fire with his deserts 
 That they consume us ; not to be restored 
 By your presentment of him, but his 
 
 person : 
 And we had thought that he whose 
 
 virtues fly 
 So beyond wonder and the reach of 
 
 thought, 
 Should check at eight hours' sail, and his 
 
 high spirit 
 That stoops to fear, less than the poles of 
 
 heaven, 
 
 Should doubt an under-billow of the sea, 
 And, being a sea, be sparing of his 
 
 streams : 
 And I must blame all you that may advise 
 
 him ; 
 That, having help'd him through all 
 
 martial dangers, 
 
 You let him stick at the kind rites of peace, 
 Considering all the forces I have sent, 
 To set his martial seas up in firm walls, 
 On both his sides for him to pass at 
 
 pleasure ; 
 
 Did plainly open him a guarded way 
 And led in Nature to this friendly shore. 
 But here is nothing worth his personal 
 
 sight, 
 
 Here are no walled cities ; for that crystal 
 Sheds with his light, his hardness, and his 
 
 height, 
 
 About our thankful person and our realm ; 
 Whose only aid we ever yet desired ; 
 And now I see the help we sent to him, 
 Which should have swum to him in our 
 
 own blood, 
 
 Had it been needful (our affections 
 Being more given to his blood than he 
 
 himself), 
 
 Ends in the actual right it did his state, 
 And ours is slighted; all our worth is 
 
 made 
 
 The common stock and bank ; from 
 
 whence are served 
 
 All men's occasions ; yet, thanks to heaven, 
 Their gratitudes are drawn dry, not our 
 
 bounties. 
 And you shall tell your King that he 
 
 neglects 
 Old friends for new, and sets his soothed 
 
 ease 
 
 Above his honour ; marshals' policy 
 In rank before his justice ; and his profit 
 Before his royalty ; his humanity gone, 
 To make me no repayment of mine own." 
 D'A. What answered the duke ? 
 Cr. In this sort. 
 1 ' Your highness' sweet speech hath no 
 
 sharper end 
 Than he would wish his life, if he 
 
 neglected 
 The least grace you have named ; but to 
 
 his wish 
 Much power is wanting : the green roots of 
 
 war 
 
 Not yet so close cut up, but he may dash 
 Against their relics to his utter ruin, 
 Without more near eyes, fix'd upon his 
 
 feet, 
 Than those that look out of his country's 
 
 soil. 
 
 And this may well excuse his personal pre- 
 sence, 
 Which yet he oft hath long'd to set by 
 
 yours ; 
 
 That he might imitate the majesty 
 Which so long peace hath practised, and 
 
 made full, 
 
 In your admired appearance ; to illustrate 
 And rectify his habit in rude war. 
 And his will to be here must needs be great, 
 Since heaven hath throned so true a royalty 
 
 here, 
 
 1'hat he thinks no king absolutely crown 'd 
 Whose temples have not stood beneath 
 
 this sky, 
 And whose height is not harden'd with 
 
 these stars, 
 
 Whose influences for this altitude, 
 Distill'd, and wrought in with this tem- 
 perate air 
 
 And this division of the element, 
 Have with your reign brought forth more 
 
 worthy spirits 
 
 For counsel, valour, height of wit, and art, 
 Than any other region of the earth, 
 Or were brought forth to all your ancestors. 
 And as a cunning orator reserves 
 His fairest similes, best-adorning figures, 
 Chief matter, and most moving arguments 
 For his conclusion ; and doth then supply 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 BYRON'S CONSPIRACY. 
 
 235 
 
 His ground-streams laid before, glides over 
 
 them, 
 Makes his full depth seen through ; and so 
 
 takes up 
 
 His audience in applauses past the clouds. 
 So in your government, conclusive nature 
 (Willing to end her excellence in earth 
 When your foot shall be set upon the stars) 
 Shows all her sovereign beauties, orna- 
 ments, 
 
 Virtues, and raptures ; overtakes her works 
 In former empires, makes them but your 
 
 foils, 
 
 Swells to her full sea, and again doth drown 
 The world in admiration of your crown." 
 D'A. He did her, at all parts, confessed 
 
 right. 
 Cr. She took it yet but as a part of 
 
 courtship, 
 
 And said " he was the subtle orator 
 To whom he did too gloriously resemble 
 Nature in her, and in her government." 
 He said " he was no orator, but a soldier, 
 More than this air in which you breathe 
 
 hath made me, 
 
 My studious love of your rare government 
 And simple truth, which is most eloquent. 
 Your empire is so amply absolute 
 That even your theatres show more comely 
 
 rule, 
 
 True noblesse, royalty, and happiness 
 Than others' courts : you make all state 
 
 before 
 
 Utterly obsolete ; all to come, twice sod. 
 And therefore doth my royal sovereign wish 
 Your years may prove as vital as your 
 
 virtues, 
 That (standing on his turrets this way 
 
 turn'd, 
 
 Ordering and fixing his affairs by yours) 
 He may at last, on firm grounds, pass your 
 
 seas, 
 
 And see that maiden-sea of majesty. 
 In whose chaste arms so many kingdoms 
 
 lie." 
 D'A. When came she to her touch of his 
 
 ambition? 
 Cr. In this speech following, which I 
 
 thus remember : 
 
 41 If I hold any merit worth his presence, 
 Or any part of that your courtship gives 
 
 me, 
 My subjects have bestow'd it ; some in 
 
 counsel, 
 
 In action some, and in obedience all ; 
 For none knows with such proof as you, 
 
 my lord, 
 How much a subject may renown his 
 
 prince, 
 
 And how much princes of their subjects 
 
 hold. 
 
 In all the services that ever subject 
 Did for his sovereign, he that best de- 
 served 
 
 Must, in comparison, except Byron ; 
 And to win this prize clear, without the 
 
 maims 
 
 Commonly given men by ambition, 
 When all their parts lie open to his view, 
 Shows continence, past their other excel- 
 lence ; 
 
 But for a subject to affect a kingdom, 
 Is like the camel that of Jove begg'd horns. 
 And such mad-hungry men as well may 
 
 eat 
 
 Hot coals of fire to feed their natural heat, 
 For, to aspire to competence with your 
 
 King, 
 
 What subject is so gross and giantly ? 
 He having now a dauphin born to him, 
 Whose birth, ten days before, was dread- 
 fully 
 Usher'd with earthquakes in most parts of 
 
 Europe ; 
 And that gives all men cause enough to 
 
 fear 
 
 All thought of competition with him. 
 Commend us, good my lord, and tell our 
 
 brother 
 
 How much we joy in that his royal issue, 
 And in what prayers we raise our hearts to 
 
 heaven, 
 That in more terror to his foes, and 
 
 wonder 
 He may drink earthquakes, and devour the 
 
 thunder. 
 
 So we admire your valour and your virtues, 
 And ever will contend to win their honour." 
 Then spake she to Crequie, and Prince 
 
 D'Auvergne, 
 And gave all gracious farewells ; when 
 
 Byron 
 
 Was thus encounter'd by a councillor 
 Of great and eminent name and matchless 
 
 merit : 
 " I think, my lord, your princely Dauphin 
 
 bears 
 
 Arion on his cradle through your kingdom, 
 In the sweet music joy strikes from his 
 
 birth." 
 He answer'd : " And good right ; the cause 
 
 commands it." 
 "But," said the other, "had we a fifth 
 
 Henry 
 To claim his old right, and one man to 
 
 friend, 
 Whom you well know, my lord, that for 
 
 his friendship 
 
236 
 
 BYRON'S CONSPIRACY. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Were promised the vice-royalty of France, 
 We would not doubt of conquest, in 
 
 despite 
 Of all those windy earthquakes." He 
 
 replied : 
 1 ' Treason was never guide to English 
 
 conquests, 
 And therefore that doubt shall not fright 
 
 our Dauphin ; 
 
 Nor would I be the friend to such a foe 
 For all the royalties in Christendom." 
 "Fix there your foot," said he, "I only 
 
 give 
 False fire, and would be loth to shoot you 
 
 off: 
 
 He that wins empire with the loss of faith 
 Out-buys it, and will bank-rout ; you have 
 
 laid 
 
 A brave foundation, by the hand of virtue, 
 Put not the roof to fortune : foolish 
 
 statuaries, 
 That under little saints suppose great 
 
 bases 
 Make less to sense the saints ; and so, 
 
 where Fortune 
 Advanceth vile minds to states great and 
 
 noble, 
 She much the more exposeth them to 
 
 shame, 
 
 Not able to make good and fill their bases 
 With a conformed structure : I have found 
 (Thanks to the Blesser of my search), that 
 
 counsels 
 
 Held to the line of justice still produce 
 The surest states and greatest, being sure ; 
 Without which fit assurance, in thegreatest, 
 As you may see a mighty promontory 
 More digg'd and under-eaten than may 
 
 warrant 
 
 A safe supportance to his hanging brows ; 
 All passengers avoid him, shun all ground 
 That lies within his shadow, and bear still 
 A flying eye upon him : so great men, 
 Corrupted in their grounds, and building 
 
 out 
 
 Too swelling fronts for their foundations ; 
 When most they should be propt are 
 
 most forsaken ; 
 
 And men will rather thrust into the storms 
 Of better-grounded states than take a 
 
 shelter 
 
 Beneath their ruinous and fearful weight ; 
 Yet they so oversee their faulty bases, 
 That they remain securer in conceit : 
 And that security doth worse presage 
 Their near destructions than their eaten 
 
 grounds ; 
 
 And therefore heaven itself is made to us 
 A perfect hieroglyphic to express 
 
 The idleness of such security, 
 And the grave labour of a wise distrust, 
 In both sorts of the all-inclining stars, 
 Where all men note this difference in their 
 
 shining, 
 
 As plain as they distinguish either hand ; 
 The fix'd stars waver, and the erring stand." 
 D'A. How took he this so worthy ad- 
 monition ? 
 Cr. " Gravely applied," said he, "and 
 
 like the man, 
 Whom all the world says overrules the 
 
 stars ; 
 Which are divine books to us ; and are 
 
 read 
 
 By understanders only, the true objects 
 And chief companions of the truest men ; 
 And, though I need it not, I thank your 
 
 counsel, 
 
 That never yet was idle, but, spherelike, 
 Still moves about, and is the continent 
 To this blest isle." 
 
 ACT THE FIFTH. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 Enter Byron, D'Auvergne, La Fin. 
 
 By. The circle of this ambassy is 
 
 closed, 
 For which I long have long'd, for mine own 
 
 ends ; 
 To see my faithful, and leave courtly 
 
 friends, 
 To whom I came, methought, with such a 
 
 spirit, 
 
 As you have seen a lusty courser show, 
 That hath been long time at his manger 
 
 tied ; 
 High fed, alone, and when, his headstall 
 
 broken, 
 
 He runs his prison like a trumpet neighs, 
 Cuts air in high curvets, and shakes his 
 
 head. 
 With wanton stoppings 'twixt his forelegs, 
 
 mocking 
 
 The heavy centre ; spreads his flying crest, 
 Like to an ensign hedge and ditches 
 
 leaping, 
 
 Till in the fresh meat, at his natural food, 
 He sees free fellows, and hath met them 
 
 free. 
 
 And now, good friend, I would be fain in- 
 form 'd, 
 What our right princely lord, the Duke of 
 
 Savoy 
 
I SCENE I.] 
 
 Hath thought on, to employ my coming 
 
 home. 
 La. To try the king's trust in you, and 
 
 withal 
 
 How hot he trails on our conspiracy, 
 He first would have you beg the govern- 
 ment, 
 
 Of the important citadel of Bourg ; 
 Or to place in it any you shall name ; 
 Which will be wondrous fit to march 
 
 before 
 
 His other purposes ; and is a fort 
 He rates in love above his patrimony ; 
 To make which fortress worthy of your 
 
 suit ; 
 
 He vows, if you obtain it, to bestow 
 His third fair daughter on your excellence, 
 And hopes the king will not deny it 
 
 you. 
 
 By. Deny it me ? deny me such a suit ? 
 Who will he grant, it he deny it me ? 
 La. He'll find some politic shift to do't, 
 
 I fear. 
 By. What shift, or what evasion can he 
 
 find? 
 What one patch is there in all policy's 
 
 shop, 
 That botcher-up of kingdoms, that can 
 
 mend 
 
 The brack betwixt us, any way denying? 
 D'A. That's at your peril. 
 By. Come, he dares not do't. 
 D'A. Dares not? presume not so; you 
 
 know, good duke, 
 That all things he thinks fit to do, he 
 
 dares. 
 By. By heaven, I wonder at you ; I will 
 
 ask it, 
 
 As sternly, and secure of all repulse, 
 As th' ancient Persians did when they im- 
 plored 
 
 Their idol fire to grant them any boon ; 
 With which they would descend into a 
 
 flood, 
 And threaten there to quench it, if they 
 
 fail'd 
 Of that they ask'd it. 
 
 La. Said like your king's king ; 
 Cold hath no act in depth, nor are suits 
 
 wrought, 
 
 Of any high price, that are coldly sought ; 
 I'll haste, and with your courage comfort 
 
 Savoy. [Exit La Fin. 
 
 D'A. I am your friend, my lord, and 
 
 will deserve 
 That name, with following any course you 
 
 take; 
 Yet, for your own sake, I could wish your 
 
 spirit 
 
 BYRON'S CONSPIRACY. 
 
 237 
 
 Would let you spare all broad terms of the 
 
 King; 
 
 Or, on my life, you will at last repent it. 
 By. What can he do? 
 D'A. All that you cannot fear. 
 By. You fear too much ; be by, when 
 
 next I see him, 
 
 And see how I will urge him in this suit ; 
 He comes : mark you, that think he will 
 not grant it. 
 
 Enter Henry, Epernon, Soissons, Janin. 
 
 I am become a suitor to your highness. 
 He. For what, my lord, 'tis like you 
 
 shall obtain. 
 By. I do not much doubt that ; my 
 
 services, 
 I hope, have more strength in your good 
 
 conceit 
 
 Than to receive repulse in such requests. 
 He. What is it? 
 By. That you would bestow on one 
 
 whom I shall name 
 The keeping of the Citadel of Bourg. 
 He. Excuse me, sir, I must not grant 
 
 you that. 
 
 By. Not grant me that? 
 He. It is not fit I should : 
 You are my governor in Burgundy, 
 And province governors, that command in 
 
 chief, 
 
 Ought not to have the charge of fortresses ; 
 Besides, it is the chief key of my kingdom, 
 That opens towards Italy, and must there- 
 fore 
 
 Be given to one that hath immediately 
 Dependence on us. 
 
 By. These are wondrous reasons : 
 Is not a man depending on his merits 
 As fit to have the charge of such a key 
 As one that merely hangs upon your 
 
 humours ? 
 
 He. Do not enforce your merits so your- 
 self ; 
 
 It takes away their lustre and reward. 
 By. But you will grant my suit ? 
 He. I swear I cannot, 
 Keeping the credit of my brain and place. 
 By. Will you deny me, then? 
 He. I am enforced : 
 I have no power, more than yourself, in 
 
 things 
 That are beyond my reason. 
 
 By. Than myself? 
 
 That's a strange slight in your compari- 
 son ; 
 
 Am I become th' example of such men 
 As have least power? Such a diminutive? 
 I was comparative in the better sort ; 
 
BYRON'S CONSPIRACY. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 And such a King as you would say, I 
 
 cannot 
 
 Do such or such a thing, were T as great 
 In power as he ; even that indefinite "he" 
 Express'd me full : this moon is strangely 
 
 changed. 
 He. How can I help it? Would you 
 
 have a king 
 That hath a white beard have so green a 
 
 brain ? 
 By. A plague of brain ! what doth this 
 
 touch your brain ? 
 
 You must give me more reason, or I swear 
 He. Swear ? what do you swear ? 
 By. I swear you wrong me, 
 And deal not like a king, to jest and 
 
 slight 
 
 A man that you should curiously reward ; 
 Tell me of your grey beard ? It is not 
 
 grey 
 With care to recompense me, who eased 
 
 your care. 
 He. You have been recompensed, from 
 
 head to foot. 
 By. With a distrusted dukedom ? Take 
 
 your dukedom 
 
 Bestow'd on me again ; it was not given 
 For any love ; but fear and force of 
 
 shame. 
 He. Yet 'twas your honour; which, if 
 
 you respect not, 
 Why seek you this addition ? 
 
 By. Since this honour 
 Would show you loved me too, in trusting 
 
 me, 
 Without which love and trust honour is 
 
 shame ; 
 
 A very pageant and a property : 
 Honour, with all his adjuncts, I deserve, 
 And you quit my deserts with your grey 
 
 beard. 
 
 He. Since you expostulate the matter so, 
 I tell you plain, another reason is 
 Why I am moved to make you this denial, 
 That I suspect you to have had intelligence 
 With my vow'd enemies. 
 
 By. Misery of virtue, 
 111 is made good with worse ! This reason 
 
 pours 
 
 Poison for balm into the wound you made ; 
 You make me mad, and rob me of my soul, 
 To take away my tried love and my truth. 
 Which of my labours, which of all my 
 
 wounds, 
 
 Which overthrow, which battle won for you, 
 Breeds this suspicion ? Can the blood of 
 
 faith, 
 Lost in all these to find it proof and 
 
 strength, 
 
 Beget disloyalty ? All my rain is fall'n 
 Into the horse-fair, springing pools and 
 
 mire, 
 And not in thankful grounds or fields of 
 
 fruit ; 
 
 Fall then before us, O thou flaming crystal, 
 That art the uncorrupted register 
 Of all men's merits, and remonstrate here 
 The fights, the dangers, the affrights and 
 
 horrors, 
 Whence I have rescued this unthankful 
 
 King: 
 And show, commix'd with them, the joys, 
 
 the glories 
 Of his state then ; then his kind thoughts 
 
 of me, 
 
 Then my deservings, now my infamy ; 
 But I will be mine own king ; I will see 
 That all your chronicles be fill'd with me, 
 That none but I, and my renowned sire, 
 Be said to win the memorable fields 
 Of Arques and Dieppe ; and none but we 
 
 of all 
 
 Kept you from dying there in an hospital ; 
 None but myself, that won the day at 
 
 Dreux ; 
 
 A day of holy name, and needs no night ; 
 Nor none but I at Fontaine Franf-oise burst 
 The heart-strings of the leaguers ; I alone 
 Took Amiens in these arms, and held her 
 
 fast 
 
 In spite of all the pitchy fires she cast, 
 And clouds of bullets pour'd upon my 
 
 breast, 
 Till she show'd yours, and took her natural 
 
 form ; 
 
 Only myself (married to victory) 
 Did people Artois, Douay, Picardy, 
 Bethune and Saint Paul, Bapaume and 
 
 Courcelles, 
 
 With her triumphant issue. 
 He. Ha, ha, ha ! [Exit. 
 
 [Byron drawing', and is held by 
 
 D'Aumale. 
 D'A. O hold, my lord ; for my sake, 
 
 mighty spirit ! [Exit. 
 
 Enter Byron, "D'AMvergne following, 
 unseen. 
 
 By. Respect, revenge, slaughter, repay 
 
 for laughter. 
 What's grave in earth, what awful, what 
 
 abhorr'd, 
 
 If my rage be ridiculous ? I will make it 
 The law and rule of all things serious. 
 So long as idle and ridiculous Kings 
 Are suffer'd, soothed, and wrest all right 
 
 to safety, 
 So long is mischief gathering massacres 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 BYRON'S CONSPIRACY. 
 
 239 
 
 For their cursed kingdoms, which I will 
 
 prevent. 
 
 Laughter? I'll fright it from him, far as he 
 Hath cast irrevocable shame ; which ever 
 Being found is lost, and lost returneth 
 
 never ; 
 Should kings cast off their bounties with 
 
 their dangers ? 
 He that can warm at fires where virtue 
 
 burns, 
 
 Hunt pleasure through her torments, no- 
 thing feel 
 
 Of all his subjects suffer ; but, long hid 
 In wants and miseries, and having past 
 Through all the gravest shapes of worth 
 
 and honour, 
 
 For all heroic fashions to be learn'd 
 By those hard lessons, show an antique 
 
 ! vizard, 
 
 Who would not wish him rather hew'd to 
 
 nothing 
 
 I Thanleftso monstrous? Slight my services? 
 j Drown the dead noises of my sword in 
 
 laughter ; 
 
 My blows as but the passages of shadows, 
 Over the highest and most barren hills, 
 And use r e like no man ; but as he took 
 
 me 
 
 Into a desert, gash'd with all my wounds, 
 Sustain'd for him, and buried me in 
 
 flies; 
 Forth, vengeance, then, and open wounds 
 
 in him 
 Shall let in Spain and Savoy. 
 
 \O_ffers to draw and D'Au. again 
 
 holds him. 
 D'A. O my lord, 
 
 This is too large a licence given your fury ; 
 
 Give time to it, what reason suddenly 
 
 Cannot extend respite doth oft supply. 
 
 By. While respite holds revenge the 
 
 wrong redoubles, 
 And so the shame of sufferance ; it torments 
 
 me 
 To think what I endure at his shrank 
 
 hands, 
 
 That scorns the gift of one poor fort to me, 
 
 That have subdued for him (O injury !) 
 
 Forts, cities, countries, ay, and yet my fury. 
 
 He. Byron? 
 
 D'A. My lord, the King calls. 
 He. Turn, I pray, 
 How now? from whence flow these dis- 
 tracted faces ? 
 From what attempt return they, as dis- 
 claiming 
 
 Their late heroic bearer? what, a pistol? 
 Why, good my lord, can mirth make you 
 so wrathful ? 
 
 By. Mirth ? 'twas a mockery, a contempt, 
 
 a scandal 
 
 To my renown for ever ; a repulse 
 \s miserably cold as Stygian water, 
 That from sincere earth issues, and doth 
 
 break 
 
 The strongest vessels, not to be contain'd 
 But in the tough hoof of a patient ass. 
 He. My lord, your judgment is not com- 
 petent ; 
 
 In this dissension I may say of you 
 As fame says of the ancient Eleans, 
 That in th' Olympian contentions, 
 That ever were the justest arbitrators, 
 If none of them contended, ncr were 
 
 parties. 
 
 Those that will moderate disputations well, 
 Must not themselves affect the coronet ; 
 For as the air contain'd within our ears, 
 If it be not in quiet, nor refrains, 
 Troubling our hearing with offensive 
 
 sounds : 
 
 But our affected instrument of hearing, 
 Replete with noise, and singings in itself, 
 It faithfully receives no other voices ; 
 So, of all judgments, if within themselves 
 They suffer spleen, and are tumultuous ; 
 They cannot equal differences without 
 
 them ; 
 And this wind, that doth sing so in your 
 
 ears, 
 
 I know is no disease bred in yourself, 
 But whisper'd in by others ; who in swelling 
 Your veins with empty hope of much, yet 
 
 able 
 To perform nothing ; are like shallow 
 
 streams 
 That make themselves so many heavens to 
 
 sight ; 
 Since you may. see in them, the moon and 
 
 stars, 
 
 The blue space of the air ; as far from us, 
 To our weak senses, in those shallow 
 
 streams, 
 
 As if they were as deep as heaven is high ; 
 Yet with your middle finger only sound 
 
 them, 
 And you shall pieree them to the very 
 
 earth ; 
 And therefore leave them, and be true 
 
 to me, 
 
 Or you'll be left by all ; or be like one 
 That in cold nights will needs have all the 
 
 fire, 
 
 And there is held by others, and embraced 
 Only to burn him ; your fire will be inward, 
 Which not another deluge can put out. 
 
 [ Byron kneels while the King goes on. 
 O innocence, the sacred amulet 
 
240 
 
 BYRON'S CONSPIRACY. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 'Gainst all the poisons of infirmity ; 
 Of all misfortune, injury, and death, 
 That makes a man in tune still in himself ; 
 Free from the hell to be his own accuser, 
 Ever in quiet, endless joy enjoying ; 
 No strife nor no sedition in his powers ; 
 No motion in his will against his reason, 
 No thought 'gainst thought, nor (as 'twere 
 
 in the confines 
 
 Of wishing and repenting) doth possess 
 Only a wayward and tumultuous peace, 
 But (all parts in him, friendly and secure, 
 Fruitful of all best things in all worst 
 
 seasons) 
 
 He can with every wish be in their plenty; 
 When the infectious guilt of one foul 
 
 crime 
 
 Destroys the free content of all our time. 
 By. Tis all acknowledged, and, though 
 
 all too late, 
 
 Here the short madness of my anger ends : 
 If ever I did good I lock'd it safe 
 In you, th' impregnable defence of good- 
 ness ; 
 
 If ill, I press it with my penitent knees 
 To that unsounded depth whence nought 
 
 returneth. 
 He. 'Tis music to mine ears ; rise then 
 
 for ever 
 
 Quit of what guilt soever till this hour, 
 And nothing touch'd in honour or in 
 
 spirit, 
 Rise without flattery, rise by absolute 
 
 merit. 
 
 Enter Epernon, to the King, 
 Byron, &c. 
 
 Enter Savoy with three Ladies. 
 
 Ep. Sir, if it please you to be taught any 
 courtship take you to your stand ; Savoy 
 is at it with three mistresses at once, he 
 loves each of them best, yet all differently. 
 
 He. For the time he hath been here, 
 he hath talked a volume greater than the 
 Turk's Alcarori ; stand up close ; his lips 
 go still. 
 
 Sa. Excuse me, excuse me ; the King 
 has ye all. 
 
 ist. True sir, in honourable subjection. 
 
 2nd. To the which we are bound by 
 our loyalty. 
 
 Sa. Nay your excuse, your excuse, in- 
 tend me for affection ; you are all bearers 
 of his favours, and deny him not your 
 opposition by night. 
 
 yd. You say rightly in that ; for therein 
 we oppose us to his command. 
 
 isf. In the which he never yet pressed 
 us. 
 
 znd. Such is the benediction of our 
 peace. 
 
 Sa. You take me still in flat miscon- 
 struction, and conceive not by me. 
 
 ist. Therein we are strong in our own 
 purposes ; for it were something scandalous 
 for us to conceive by you. 
 
 2nd. Though there might be question 
 made of your fruitfulness, yet dry weather 
 in harvest does no harm. 
 
 He. They will talk him into Savoy ; he 
 begins to hunt down. 
 
 Sa. As the King is, and hath been, a 
 most admired, and most unmatchable 
 soldier, so hath he been, and is, a sole 
 excellent, and unparalleled courtier. 
 
 He. Paiivre amy mercy. 
 
 ist. Your highness does the King but 
 right, sir. 
 
 2nd. And heaven shall bless you for 
 that justice, with plentiful store of want in 
 ladies' affections. 
 
 Sa. You are cruel, and will not vouch- 
 safe me audience to any conclusion. 
 
 ist. Beseech your grace conclude, that 
 we may present our curtsies to you, and 
 give you the adieu. 
 
 Sa. It is said the King will bring an 
 army into Savoy. 
 
 2nd. Truly we are not of his council of 
 war. 
 
 Sa. Nay, but vouchsafe me. 
 
 yd. Vouchsafe him, vouchsafe him, 
 else there is no play in't. 
 
 ist. Well, I vouchsafe your grace. 
 
 Sa. Let the King bring an army into 
 Savoy, and I'll find him sport for forty 
 years. 
 
 He. Would I were sure of that, I should 
 then have a long age, and a merry. 
 
 ist. I think your grace would play with 
 his army at balloon. 
 
 2nd. My faith, and that's a martial re- 
 creation. 
 
 yd. It is next to impious courting. 
 
 Sa. I am not he that can set my 
 squadrons overnight, by midnight leap my 
 horse, curry seven miles, and by three leap 
 my mistress, return to mine army again, 
 and direct as I were infatigable ; I am no 
 such tough soldier. 
 
 ist. Your disparity is believed, sir. 
 
 2nd. And 'tis a piece of virtue to tell 
 true. 
 
 yd. God's me, the King ! 
 
 Sa. Well, I have said nothing that may 
 offend. 
 
 ist. Tis hoped so. 
 
 2nd. If there be any mercy in laughter. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 BYRON'S CONSPIRACY. 
 
 241 
 
 Sa. I'll take my leave. 
 After the tedious stay my love hath made, 
 Most worthy to command our earthly 
 
 zeal, 
 
 I come for pardon, and to take my leave ; 
 Affirming, though I reap no other good 
 By this my voyage, but t'have seen a 
 
 prince 
 
 Of greatness in all grace so past report, 
 I nothing should repent me ; and to 
 
 show 
 Some token of my gratitude, I have 
 
 sent 
 
 Into your treasury the greatest jewels 
 In all my cabinet of Beatrice, 
 And of my late deceased wife, th' Infanta, 
 Which are two basins and their ewers of 
 
 crystal, 
 
 Never yet valued for their workmanship, 
 Nor the exceeding riches of their 
 
 matter. 
 And to your stable, worthy Duke of 
 
 Byron, 
 
 I have sent in two of my fairest horses. 
 By. Sent me your horses ! upon what 
 
 desert? 
 
 I entertain no presents but for merits 
 Which I am far from at your highness" 
 
 hands, 
 As being of all men to you the most 
 
 stranger ; 
 
 There is as ample bounty in refusing 
 As in bestowing, and with this I quit 
 
 you. 
 Sa. Then have I lost nought but my poor 
 
 goodwill. 
 
 He. Well, cousin, I with all thanks wel- 
 come that, 
 And the rich arguments with which you 
 
 prove it, 
 Wishing I could to your wish welcome 
 
 you. 
 
 Draw, for your Marquisate, the articles 
 Agreed on in our composition, 
 And it is yours ; but where you have pro- 
 posed 
 
 (In your advices) my design for Milan, 
 I will have no war with the King of 
 
 Spain 
 Unless his hopes prove weary of our 
 
 peace; 
 
 And, princely cousin, it is far from me 
 To think your wisdom needful of my coun- 
 sel, 
 Yet love oft-times must offer things unneed- 
 
 And therefore I would counsel you to 
 
 hold 
 
 All good terms with his Majesty of Spain : 
 VOL. I. 
 
 If any troubles should be stirr'd betwixt 
 
 you, 
 I would not stir therein, but to appease 
 
 them ; 
 
 I have too much care of my royal word 
 To break a peace so just and consequent, 
 Without force of precedent injury ; 
 Endless desires are worthless of just princes, 
 And only proper to the swinge of tyrants. 
 
 Sa. At all parts spoke like the Most 
 
 Christian King. 
 I take my humblest leave, and pray your 
 
 highness 
 
 To hold me as your servant and poor kins- 
 man, 
 
 Who wisheth no supremer happiness 
 Than to be yours. To you, right worthy 
 
 princes, 
 
 I wish for all your favours pour'd on me 
 The love of all these ladies mutually, 
 And, so they please their lords, that they 
 
 may please 
 Themselves by all means. And be you 
 
 assured, 
 
 Most lovely princesses, as of your lives, 
 You cannot be true women if true wives. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 He. Is this he, Epernon, that you would 
 needs persuade us courted so absurdly ? 
 
 Ep. This is even he, sir, howsoever he 
 hath studied his parting courtship. 
 
 He. In what one point seemed he so 
 ridiculous as you would present him ? 
 
 Ep. Behold me, sir, I beseech you behold 
 me ; I appear to you as the great Duke of 
 Savoy with these three ladies. 
 
 He. Well, sir, we grant your resem- 
 blance. 
 
 Ep. He stole a carriage, sir, from Count 
 d'Auvergne here. 
 
 D'A. From me, sir? 
 
 Ep. Excuse me, sir, from you, I assure 
 you : here, sir, he lies at the Lady An- 
 toinette, just thus, for the world, in the 
 true posture of Count d'Auvergne. 
 
 D'A. Y'are exceeding delightsome. 
 
 He. Why is not that well ? it came in 
 with the organ hose. 
 
 Ep. Organ hose ? a pox on't ! let it pipe 
 itself into contempt ; he hath stolen it 
 most feloniously, and it graces him like a 
 disease. 
 
 He. I think he stole it from D'Auvergne 
 indeed. 
 
 Ep. Well, would he had robbed him of 
 all his other diseases, he were then the 
 soundest lord in France. 
 
 D'A. As I am, sir, I shall stand all 
 weathers with you. 
 
2 4 2 
 
 BYRON'S CONSPIRACY. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Ep. But, sir, he hath praised you above 
 th'invention of rhymers. 
 He. Wherein ? or how ? 
 Ep. He took upon him to describe your 
 victories in war, and where he should have 
 said, you were the most absolute soldier in 
 Christendom (no ass could have missed it), 
 I he delivered you for as pretty a fellow of 
 I your hands as any was in France. 
 He. Marry, God dild him ! 
 Ep. A pox on him ! 
 
 He. Well, to be serious, you know him 
 well 
 
 To be a gallant courtier : his great wit 
 
 Can turn him into any form he lists, 
 
 More fit to be avoided than deluded. 
 
 For my Lord Duke of Byron here well 
 knows 
 
 That it infecteth, where it doth affect ; 
 
 And where it seems to counsel, it con- 
 spires. 
 
 With him go all our faults, and from us 
 
 fly. 
 
 With all his counsel, all conspiracy. 
 
 END OF FIFTH AND LAST ACT. 
 
The Tragedy of Charles Duke of Byron. 
 
 ACT THE FIRST. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Enter Henry, Vidame, D'Escures, 
 Epernon, Janin. 
 
 He. Byron fall'n in so traitorous a re- 
 lapse, 
 
 Alleged for our ingratitude ; what offices, 
 Titles of honour, and what admiration 
 Could France afford him that it pour'd not 
 
 on? 
 
 When he was scarce arrived at forty years, 
 He ran through all chief dignities of 
 
 France. 
 At fourteen years of age he was made 
 
 Colonel 
 
 To all the Suisses serving then in Flanders ; 
 Soon after he was Marshal of the camp, 
 And shortly after, Marshal General : 
 He was received High Admiral of France 
 In that our Parliament we held at Tours ; 
 Marshal of France in that we held at 
 
 Paris. 
 
 And at the siege of Amiens he acknow- 
 ledged 
 
 None his superior but ourself, the King : 
 Though I had there the Princes of the 
 
 blood, 
 
 I made him my Lieutenant-General, 
 Declared him jointly the prime Peer of 
 
 France, 
 And raised his barony into a duchy. 
 
 Ja. And yet, my lord, all this could not 
 
 allay 
 
 The fatal thirst of his ambition ; 
 For some have heard him say he would not 
 
 die 
 
 Till on the wings of valour he had reach'd 
 One degree higher ; and had seen his head 
 Set on the royal quarter of a crown : 
 Yea, at so unbelieved a pitch he aim'd 
 That he hath said his heart would still com- 
 plain 
 Till he aspired the style of Sovereign. 
 
 And from what ground, my lord, rise all the 
 
 levies 
 Now made in Italy? from whence should 
 
 spring 
 
 The warlike humour of the Count Fuentes ? 
 The restless stirrings of the Duke of Savoy ? 
 The discontent the Spaniard entertain' d, 
 With such a threatening fury, when he 
 
 heard 
 
 The prejudicial conditions 
 Proposed him, in the treaty held at 
 
 Vervins ? 
 
 And many other braveries this way aiming, 
 But from some hope of inward aid from 
 
 hence ? 
 
 And that, all this directly aims at you, 
 Your highness hath by one intelligence 
 Good cause to think ; which is your late 
 
 advice, 
 
 That the sea army, now prepared at Naples, 
 Hath an intended enterprise on Provence ; 
 Although the cunning Spaniard gives it 
 
 out 
 
 That all is for Algiers. 
 He. I must believe, 
 That without treason bred in our own 
 
 breasts 
 
 Spain's affairs are not in so good estate, 
 To aim at any action against France ; 
 And if Byron should be their instrument, 
 His alter 'd disposition could not grow 
 So far wide in an instant ; nor resign 
 His valour to these lawless resolutions 
 Upon the sudden ; nor without some 
 
 charms 
 Of foreign hopes and flatteries sung to 
 
 him : 
 But far it flies my thoughts that such a 
 
 spirit, 
 
 So active, valiant, and vigilant, 
 Can see itself transform d with such wild 
 
 furies. 
 
 And like a dream it shews to my conceits, 
 That he who by himself hath won such 
 
 honour, 
 And he to whom his father left so much, 
 
244 
 
 BYRON'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 He that still daily reaps so much from me, 
 And knows he may increase it to more 
 
 proof 
 
 From me than any other foreign king ; 
 , Should quite against the stream of all 
 
 religion, 
 
 Honour, and reason, take a course so foul, 
 And neither keep his oath, nor save his 
 
 soul. 
 
 I Can the poor keeping of a citadel 
 Which I denied to be at his disposure, 
 Make him forego the whole strength of 
 
 his honours ? 
 
 it is impossible ; though the violence 
 - Of his hot spirit made him make attempt 
 BJpon our person for denying him, 
 Yet well I found his loyal judgment served 
 To keep it from effect : besides being 
 
 offer'd, 
 Two hundred thousand crowns in yearly 
 
 pension, 
 
 And to be general of all the forces 
 The Spaniards had in France ; they found 
 
 him still 
 
 As an unmatch'd Achilles in the wars, 
 So a most wise Ulysses to their words, 
 Stopping his ears at their enchanted 
 
 sounds ; 
 And plain he told them that although his 
 
 blood 
 
 Being moved by Nature, were a very fire 
 And boil'd in apprehension of a wrong ; 
 Yet should his mind hold such a sceptre 
 
 there 
 As would contain it from all act and 
 
 thought 
 
 Of treachery or ingratitude to his prince. 
 Yet do I long, me thinks, to see I .a. Fin, 
 Who hath his heart in keeping ; since his 
 
 state 
 
 Grown to decay and he to discontent, 
 Comes near the ambitious plight of Duke 
 
 Byron. 
 
 My Lord Vidame, when does your lord- 
 ship think 
 
 Your uncle of La Fin will be arrived ? 
 Vi. I think, my lord, he now is near 
 
 arriving ; 
 
 For his particular journey and devotion 
 Vow'd to the holy Lady of Loretto, 
 Was long since past and he upon return. 
 He. In him, as in a crystal that is 
 
 charm'd, 
 
 5 shall discern by whom and what de- 
 signs, 
 My rule is threaten'd ; and that sacred 
 
 power 
 
 That hath enabled this defensive arm, 
 When I enjoy 'd but an unequal nook 
 
 Of that I now possess, to front a king 
 Far my superior ; and from twelve set 
 
 battles 
 March home a victor, ten of them cb- 
 
 tain'd, 
 
 Without my personal service ; will not see 
 A traitorous subject foil me, and so end 
 What his hand hath with such success 
 
 begun. 
 
 Enter a Lady, and a Nurse bringing 
 the Dauphin. 
 
 Ep. See the young dauphin brought to 
 
 cheer your highness. 
 He. My royal blessing, and the King of 
 
 heaven, 
 
 Make thee an aged and a happy king. 
 Help, nurse, to put my sword into his hand. 
 Hold, boy, by this ; and with it may thy 
 
 arm 
 Cut from thy tree of rule all traitorous 
 
 branches 
 That strive to shadow and eclipse thy 
 
 glories. 
 
 Have thy old father's angel for thy guide, 
 Redoubled be his spirit in thy breast ; 
 Who when this state ran like a turbulent 
 
 sea 
 
 In civil hates and bloody enmity, 
 Their wraths and envies like so many 
 
 winds, 
 Settled and burst ; and like the halcyon's 
 
 birth, 
 
 Be thine to bring a calm upon the shore, 
 In which the eyes of war may ever sleep, 
 As overwatch'd with former massacres, 
 When guilty mad noblesse, feed on 
 
 noblesse ; ^ 
 
 All the sweet plenty of the realm ex- 
 hausted ; 
 When the naked merchant was pursued for 
 
 spoil, 
 When the poor peasants frighted neediest 
 
 thieves 
 With their pale leanness, nothing left on 
 
 them 
 
 But meagre carcases sustain'd with air, 
 Wandering like ghosts affrighted from their 
 
 graves ; 
 
 When with the often and incessant sounds 
 The very beasts knew the alarum bell, 
 And, hearing it, ran bellowing to their 
 
 home: 
 
 From which unchristian broils and homi- 
 cides 
 
 Let the religious sword of justice free 
 Thee and thy kingdoms go vern'd after me. 
 O heaven ! or if th' unsettled blood of 
 
 France, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 BYRON'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 245 
 
 With ease and wealth, renew her civil furies, 
 Let all my powers be emptied in my son 
 To curb and end them all, as I have done. 
 Let him by virtue quite cut off from fortune 
 Her feather' d shoulders and her winged 
 
 shoes, 
 
 And thrust from her light feet her turning- 
 stone, 
 
 That she may ever tarry by his throne. 
 And of his worth, let after ages say, 
 (He fighting for the land, and bringing 
 
 home 
 Just conquests, laden with his enemies' 
 
 spoils), 
 
 His father pass'd all France in martial deeds, 
 But he his father twenty times exceeds. 
 
 Enter the Duke of Byron, D'Auvergne, 
 and La Fin. 
 
 By. My dear friends, D'Auvergne and 
 
 La Fin, 
 
 We need no conjurations to conceal 
 Our close intendments, to advance our 
 
 states 
 Even with our merits, which are now 
 
 neglected ; 
 Since Bretagne is reduced, and breathless 
 
 war 
 Hath sheathed his sword and wrapt his 
 
 ensigns up ; 
 The King hath now no more use of my 
 
 valour, 
 
 And therefore I shall now no more enjoy 
 The credit that my service held with him ; 
 My service that hath driven through all ex- 
 tremes, 
 Through tempests, droughts, and through 
 
 the deepest floods, 
 
 Winters of shot, and over rocks so high 
 That birds could scarce aspire their ridgy 
 
 tops. 
 
 The world is quite inverted : virtue thrown 
 At vice's feet, and sensual peace confounds 
 Valour and cowardice, fame and infamy ; 
 The rude and terrible age is turn'd again, 
 When the thick air hid heaven, and all the 
 
 stars 
 Were drown 'd in humour, tough and hard 
 
 to pierce ; 
 
 When the red sun held not his fixed place, 
 Kept not his certain course, his rise and set, 
 Nor yet distinguish'd with his definite 
 
 bounds, 
 
 Nor in his firm conversions were discern'd 
 The fruitful distances of time and place, 
 In the well- varied seasons of the year; 
 When th' incomposed incursions of floods 
 Wasted and eat the earth, and all things 
 
 show'd 
 
 I 
 
 Wild and disorder'd, nought was worse 
 
 than now. 
 
 We must reform and have a new creation 
 Of state and government, and on our chaos 
 Will I sit brooding up another world. 
 I who, through all the dangers that can 
 
 siege 
 The life of man, have forced my glorious 
 
 way 
 
 To the repairing of my country's mins, 
 Will ruin it again, to re-advance it. 
 Roman Camillus saved the state of Rome 
 With far less merit than Byron hath 
 
 France, 
 
 And how short of this is my reccmpence. 
 The King shall know I will have better 
 
 price 
 
 Set on my services, in spite of whom 
 I will proclaim and ring my discontents 
 Into the farthest ear of all the world. 
 La. How great a spirit he breathes"? 
 
 how learn'd ! how wise ! 
 But, worthy prince, you must give tempe- 
 rate air 
 To your unmatch'd and more than human 
 
 wind, 
 
 Else will our plots be frost-bit in the flower. 
 D'A. Betwixt ourselves we may give 
 
 liberal vent 
 
 To all our fiery and displeased impressions- 
 Which nature could not entertain with life 
 Without some exhalation ; a wrong' 
 
 thought 
 Will break a rib of steel. 
 
 By. My princely friend, 
 Enough of these eruptions ; our grare 
 
 counsellor 
 Well knows that great affairs will not be 
 
 forged 
 
 But upon anvils that are lined with wool ; 
 We must ascend to our intentions' top 
 Like clouds, that be not seen till they be up, 
 La. O, you do too much ravish, and my 
 
 soul 
 
 Offer to music in your numerous breath, 
 Sententious, and so high, it wakens death: 
 It is for these parts that the Spanish King 
 Hath sworn to win them to his side 
 At any price or peril, that great Savoy 
 Offers his princely daughter, and a dowry 
 Amounting to five hundred thousand 
 
 crowns, 
 With full transport of all the sovereign 
 
 rights 
 
 Belonging to the State of Burgundy ; 
 Which marriage will be made the only 
 
 cement 
 T'effect and strengthen all our secret 
 
 treaties. 
 
246 
 
 BYRON'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 Instruct me therefore, my assured prince, 
 Now I am going to resolve the King 
 Of his suspicions, how I shall behave me. 
 By. Go, my most trusted friend, with 
 
 happy feet ; 
 Make me a sound man with him ; go to 
 
 Court 
 
 But with a little train, and be prepared 
 To hear, at first, terms of contempt and 
 
 choler, 
 Which you may easily calm, and turn to 
 
 grace, 
 
 If you beseech his highness to believe 
 That your whole drift and course for Italy 
 (Where he hath heard you were) was only 
 
 made 
 
 Out of your long well-known devotion 
 To our right holy Lady of Loretto, 
 As you have told some of your friends in 
 
 Court ; 
 
 And that in passing Milan and Turin, 
 They charged you to propound my marriage 
 With the third daughter of the Duke of 
 
 Savoy ; 
 
 Which you have done, and I rejected it, 
 Resolved to build upon his royal care 
 For my bestowing, which he lately vow'd. 
 La. O, you direct, as if the god of light 
 Sat in each nook of you, and pointed out 
 The path of empire, charming all the 
 
 dangers 
 On both sides, arm'd with his harmonious 
 
 finger. 
 By. Besides, let me entreat you to 
 
 dismiss 
 All that have made the voyage with your 
 
 lordship, 
 
 But specially the curate ; and to lock 
 Your papers in some place of doubtless 
 
 safety. 
 
 Or sacrifice them to the god of fire ; 
 Considering worthily that in your hands 
 I put my fortunes, honour, and my life. 
 La. Therein the bounty that your grace 
 
 hath shown me, 
 I prize past life, and all things that are 
 
 mine, 
 
 And will undoubtedly preserve and tender 
 The merit of it, as my hope of heaven. 
 By. I make no question ; farewell, 
 
 worthy friend. [Exit. 
 
 Henry, Chancellor, La Fin, D'Escures, 
 Janin, Henry having many papers in 
 his hand. 
 
 He. Are these proofs of that purely 
 
 Catholic zeal 
 
 That made him wish no other glorious 
 title, 
 
 Than to be call'd the scourge of Hugue- 
 nots? 
 Ch. No question, sir, he was of no 
 
 religion ; 
 But, upon false grounds, by some courtiers 
 
 laid, 
 Hath oft been heard to mock and jest at 
 
 all. 
 
 He. Are not his treasons heinous ? 
 All. Most abhorr'd. 
 Ch. All is confirm'd that you have 
 
 heard before, 
 
 And amplified with many horrors more. 
 He. Good de La Fin, you were our 
 
 golden plummet, 
 
 To sound this gulf of all ingratitude ; 
 In which you have with excellent desert 
 Of loyalty and policy express'd 
 Your name in action ; and with such ap- 
 pearance 
 Have proved the parts of his ingrateful 
 
 treasons, 
 That I must credit more than I desired. 
 
 La. I must confess, my lord, my voyages 
 Made to the Duke of Savoy and to Milan 
 Were with endeavour that the wars re- 
 
 turn'd, 
 
 Might breed some trouble to your Majesty, 
 And profit those by whom they were 
 
 procured ; 
 But since, in their designs, your sacred 
 
 person 
 Was not excepted, which I since have 
 
 seen, 
 
 It so abhorr'd me, that I was resolved 
 To give you full intelligence thereof ; 
 And rather choosed to fail in promises 
 Made to the servant, than infringe my 
 
 fealty 
 Sworn to my royal sovereign and master. 
 
 He. I am extremely discontent to see 
 This most unnatural conspiracy ; 
 And would not have the marshal of 
 
 Byron 
 
 The first example of my forced justice ; 
 Nor that his death should be the worthy 
 
 cause 
 That my calm reign (which hitherto hath 
 
 held 
 
 A clear and cheerful sky above the heads 
 Of my dear subjects) should so suddenly 
 Be overcast with clouds of fire and 
 
 thunder ; 
 
 Yet on submission, I vow still his pardon. 
 Ja. And still our humble counsels, for 
 
 his service, 
 
 Would so resolve you, if he will employ 
 i His honour 'd valour as effectually 
 j To fortify the state against your foes 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 BYRON'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 247 
 
 As he hath practised bad intendments with 
 
 them. 
 He. That vow shall stand, and we will 
 
 now address 
 Some messengers to call him home to 
 
 Court ; 
 
 Without the slenderest intimation 
 Of any ill we know ; we will restrain 
 (With all forgiveness, if he will confess) 
 His headlong course to ruin ; and his 
 
 taste 
 From the sweet poison of his friendlike 
 
 foes ; 
 Treason hath blister d heels, dishonest 
 
 things 
 
 Have bitter rivers, though delicious springs. 
 D'Escures, haste you unto him and inform, 
 That having heard by sure intelligence 
 Of the great levies made in Italy 
 Of arms arid soldiers, 1 am resolute, 
 Upon my frontiers to maintain an army, 
 The charge whereof I will impose on him ; 
 And to that end expressly have com- 
 manded 
 
 De Vic, our Lord Ambassador in Suisse, 
 To demand levy of six thousand men ; 
 Appointing them to march where Duke 
 
 Byron 
 Shall have directions ; wherein I have 
 
 follow'd 
 
 The counsel of my Constable his gossip ; 
 Whose liked advice, I made him know by 
 
 letters, 
 Wishing to hear his own from his own 
 
 mouth, 
 And by all means conjure his speediest 
 
 presence ; 
 
 Do this with utmost haste. 
 De. I will, my lord. \Exit D'Escures. 
 He. My good Lord Chancellor, of many 
 
 pieces, 
 
 More than is here, of his conspiracies . 
 Presented to us by our friend La Fin, 
 You only shall reserve these seven-and- 
 
 twenty, 
 Which are not those that most conclude 
 
 against him, 
 
 But mention only him, since I am loth 
 To have the rest of the conspirators known. 
 Ch. My lord, my purpose is to guard all 
 
 these 
 
 So safely from the sight of any other 
 That in my doublet I will have them 
 
 sew'd ; 
 Without discovering them to mine own 
 
 eyes, 
 
 Till need or opportunity requires. 
 He. You shall do well, my lord ; they 
 
 are of weight ; 
 
 But I am doubtful that his conscience 
 Will make him so suspicious of the worst 
 That he will hardly be induced to come. 
 Ja. I much should doubt that too, but 
 
 that I hope 
 
 The strength of his conspiracy as yet 
 Is not so ready, that he dare presume, 
 By his refusal to make known so much 
 Of his disloyalty. 
 
 He. I yet conceive 
 
 His practices are turn'd to no bad end ; 
 And, good La Fin, I pray you write to him, 
 To hasten his repair ; and make him sure 
 That you have satisfied me to the full 
 For all his actions, and have utter'd nought 
 But what might serve to banish bad im- 
 pressions. 
 
 La. I will not fail, my lord. 
 He. Convey your letters 
 By some choice friend of his, or by his 
 
 brother ; 
 
 And for a third excitement to his presence, 
 Janin, yourself shall go, and with the 
 
 power 
 That both the rest employ to make him 
 
 come, 
 
 Use you the strength of your persuasions. 
 Ja. I will, my lord, and hope I shall 
 present him. [Exit Janin. 
 
 Enter Epernon, Soissons, Vitry, Pralin, &c. 
 
 Ep. W'ill't please your Majesty to take 
 
 your place ? 
 The Mask is coming. 
 
 He. Room, my lords ; stand close. 
 
 Music and a song above, and Cupid enters 
 with a table -written hung about his 
 neck; after him two torch bearers; 
 after them Marie, D'Entragues, and 
 four ladies more with their torch- 
 bearers, &c. Cupid speaks. 
 
 Cu. My lord, these nymphs, part of the 
 
 scatter'd train 
 
 Of friendless Virtue (living in the woods 
 Of shady Arden, and of late not hearing 
 The dreadful sounds of war, but that 
 
 sweet peace, 
 
 Was by your valour lifted from her grave, 
 Set on your royal right-hand ; and all 
 
 virtues 
 Summon'd with honour, and with rich 
 
 rewards, 
 To be her handmaids) : these I say, the 
 
 Virtues, 
 Have put their heads out of their caves and 
 
 coverts, 
 
 To be your true attendants in your Court ; 
 In which desire I must relate a tale 
 
2 4 8 
 
 BYRON'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 Of kind and worthy emulation 
 
 Twixt these two Virtues, leaders of the train, 
 
 This on the right hand is Sophrosyne, 
 
 Or Chastity ; this other Dapsyle, 
 
 Or Liberality ; their emulation 
 
 Begat a jar, which thus was reconciled. 
 
 I (having left my goddess mother's lap, 
 
 To hawk and shoot at birds in Arden 
 
 groves,) 
 Beheld this princely nymph v/ith much 
 
 affection, 
 
 Lift killing birds, and turn'd into a bird 
 Like which I flew betwixt her ivory 
 
 breasts, 
 
 As if I had been driven by some hawk, 
 To sue to her for safety of my life ; 
 She smiled at first, and quickly shadow'd 
 
 me 
 
 With soft protection of her silver hand ; 
 Sometimes she tied my legs in her rich 
 
 hair, 
 
 And made me (past my nature, liberty) 
 Proud of my fetters. As I pertly sat, 
 On the white pillows of her naked breasts, 
 I sung for joy ; she answer'd note for note, 
 Relish for relish, with such ease and art 
 In her divine division, that my tunes 
 Show'd like the god of shepherds' to the 
 
 sun's, 
 Compared with hers ; ashamed of which 
 
 disgrace, 
 I took my true shape, bow, and all my 
 
 shafts, 
 
 And lighted all my torches at her eyes, 
 Which (set about her in a golden ring) 
 I follow'd birds again, from tree to tree, 
 Kill'd and presented, and she kindly took. 
 But when she handled my triumphant bow, 
 And saw the beauty of my golden shafts, 
 She beers:' d them of me. I, poor boy, re- 
 
 I had no other riches ; yet was pleased 
 To hazard all and stake them gainst a kiss, 
 At an old game I used, call'd penny-prick. 
 She privy to her own skill in the play, 
 Answer'd my challenge, so I lost my arms : 
 And now my shafts are headed with her 
 
 looks, 
 
 One of which shafts she put into my bow, 
 And shot at this fair nymph, with whom 
 
 before, 
 
 Loved and submitted ; which submission 
 This took so well, that now they both are 
 
 one ; 
 
 ! And as for your dear love their discords 
 grew, 
 
 L 
 
 So for your love they did their loves renew. 
 And now to prove them capable of your 
 
 Court, 
 
 In skill of such conceits and qualities 
 As here are practised, they will first submit 
 Their grace in dancing to your highness' 
 
 doom, 
 And play the prease to give their measures 
 
 room. 
 
 Music, dance, &c., which done Cupid 
 
 speaks. 
 
 If this suffice, for one Court compliment, 
 To make them gracious and entertain'd, 
 Behold another parcel of their courtship, 
 Which is a rare dexterity in riddles, 
 Shown in one instance, which is here in- 
 scribed. 
 
 Here is a riddle, which if any knight 
 At first sight can resolve, he shall enjoy 
 This jewel here annex'd ; which though it 
 
 show 
 
 To vulgar eyes no richer than a pebble, 
 And that no lapidary nor great man 
 Will give a sou for it, 'tis worth a kingdom ; 
 For 'tis an artificial stone composed 
 By their great mistress, Virtue, and will 
 
 make 
 
 Him that shall wear it live with any little 
 Sufficed, and more content than any king. 
 If he that undertakes cannot resolve it, 
 And that these nymphs can have no 
 
 harbour here 
 
 (It being considep'd that so many virtues 
 Can never live in Court), he shall resolve 
 To leave the Court, and live with them in 
 
 Arden. 
 
 Ep. Pronounce the riddle ; I will under- 
 take it. 
 
 Cu. Tis this, sir. 
 
 What's that a fair lady most of all likes, 
 Yet ever makes show she least of all seeks ? 
 That's ever embraced and affected by her. 
 Yet never is seen to please or come nigh her: 
 Most served in her night-weeds ; does her 
 
 good in a corner, 
 But a poor man's thing, yet doth richly 
 
 adorn her ; 
 Most cheap and most dear, above allivorldly 
 
 Pelf, 
 That is hard to get in, but comes out of 
 
 itself? 
 
 Ep. Let me peruse it, Cupid. 
 Cu. Here it is. 
 
 Ep. Your riddle is good fame. 
 Cu. Good fame? how make you that 
 good? 
 
 Ep. Good fame is that a good lady most 
 likes, I am sure. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 BYRON'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 249 
 
 Cu. That's granted. 
 
 Ep. ' ' Yet ever makes show she least of 
 all seeks :" for she likes it only for virtue, 
 which is not glorious. 
 
 He. That holds well. 
 
 Ep. Tis ' ' ever embraced and affected 
 by her," for she must persevere in virtue 
 or fame vanishes ; "yet never seen to please 
 or come nigh her," for fame is invisible. 
 
 Cu. Exceeding right. 
 
 Ep. " Most served in her night-weeds," 
 
 j for ladies that most wear their night-weeds 
 
 I come least abroad, and they that come 
 
 least abroad serve fame most, according to 
 
 this : Non forma sed fama in publicum 
 
 exire debet. 
 
 He. Tis very substantial. 
 
 Ep. " Does her good in a corner" that 
 is, in her most retreat from the world, com- 
 forts her ; "but a poor man's thing :" for 
 every poor man may purchase it, ' ' yet doth 
 richly adorn" a lady. 
 
 Cu. That all must grant. 
 
 Ep. " Most cheap," for it costs nothing, 
 " and most dear," for gold cannot buy it ; 
 " above all worldly pelf," for that's transi- 
 tory, and fame eternal. " It is hard to get 
 in ;" that is hard to get ; " but comes out 
 of itself," for when it is virtuously de- 
 served with the most inward retreat from 
 the world, it comes out in spite of it. And 
 so, Cupid, your jewel is mine. 
 
 Cu. It is : and be the virtue of it yours. 
 We'll now turn to our dance, and then attend 
 Your highness' will, as touching our resort, 
 If virtue may be entertain'd in Court. 
 
 He. This show hath pleased me well, 
 
 for that it figures 
 The reconcilement of my Queen and 
 
 mistress : 
 Come, let us in and thank them, and 
 
 prepare 
 To entertain our trusty friend Byron. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 END OF ACT II.* 
 
 ACT THE THIRD. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 Enter the Duke of Byron, D'Auvergne. 
 
 By. Dear friend, we must not be more 
 true to kings, 
 
 * The suppressed passage probably opened this 
 Second Act : no clue is now left in the original 
 as to where the first Act closed. With the 
 omitted Scene the division between Acts I. and 
 
 II. slipped out also. ED. 
 
 Than kings are to their subjects ; there 
 
 are schools 
 
 Now broken ope in all parts of the world, 
 First founded in ingenious Italy, 
 Where some conclusions of estate are held 
 That for a day preserve a prince, and ever 
 Destroy him after ; from thence men are 
 
 taught 
 
 To glide into degrees of height by craft, 
 And then lock in themselves by villany. 
 But God, who knows kings are not made 
 
 by art, 
 
 But right of nature, nor by treachery propt, 
 But simple virtue, once let fall from heaven 
 A branch of that green tree, whose root is 
 
 yet 
 Fast fix'd above the stars, which sacred 
 
 branch 
 
 We well may liken to that laurel spray 
 That from the heavenly eagle's golden 
 
 seres 
 
 Fell in the lap of great Augustus" wife ; 
 Which spray once set grew up into a tree 
 Whereof were garlands made, and emperors 
 Had their estates and foreheads crown'd 
 
 with them ; 
 
 And as the arms of that tree did decay 
 The race of great Augustus wore away ; 
 Nero being last of that imperial line, 
 The tree and emperor together died. 
 Religion is a branch, first set and blest 
 By heaven's high finger in the hearts of 
 
 kings, 
 
 Which whilom grew into a goodly tree ; 
 Bright angels sat and sung upon the twigs, 
 And royal branches, for the heads of kings, 
 Were twisted of them ; but since squint- 
 eyed envy 
 And pale suspicion dash'd the heads of 
 
 kingdoms 
 
 One 'gainst another, two abhorred twins, 
 With two foul tails, stern War and Liberty, 
 Enter'd the world. The tree that grew 
 
 from heaven 
 
 Is overrun with moss ; the cheerful music 
 That heretofore hath sounded out of it 
 Begins to cease, and as she casts her leaves, 
 By small degrees the kingdoms of the 
 
 earth 
 
 Decline and wither ; and look, whensoever 
 That the pure sap in her is dried-up quite, 
 The lamp of all authority goes out, 
 And all the blaze of princes is extinct. 
 Thus, as the poet sends a messenger 
 Out to the stage, to show the sum of all 
 That follows after ; so are kings' revolts, 
 And playing both ways with religion, 
 Fore-runners of afflictions imminent, 
 Which (like a chorus) subjects must lament. 
 
250 
 
 BYRON'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 D'A. My lord, I stand not on these 
 
 deep discourses 
 
 To settle my course to your fortunes ; mine 
 Are freely and inseparably link'd, 
 And to your love, my life. 
 
 By. Thanks, princely friend ; 
 And whatsoever good shall come of me, 
 Pursued by all the Catholic Princes' aids 
 With whom I join, and whose whole states 
 
 proposed 
 
 To win my valour, promise me a throne, 
 All shall be, equal with myself, thine own. 
 
 La Br. My lord, here is D'Escures, sent 
 
 from the King, 
 Desires access to you. 
 
 Enter D'Escures. 
 
 By. Attend him in. 
 DR. Health to my lord the duke. 
 By. Welcome, D'Escures : 
 In what health rests our royal sovereign ? 
 D'E. In good health of his body, but his 
 
 mind 
 Is something troubled with the gathering 
 
 storms 
 
 Of foreign powers, that, as he is inform'd, 
 Address themselves into his frontier towns ; 
 And therefore his intent is to maintain 
 The body of an army on those parts, 
 And yield their worthy conduct to your 
 
 valour. 
 By. From whence hears he that any 
 
 storms are rising ? 
 
 D'E. From Italy ; and his intelligence 
 No doubt is certain, that in all those parts 
 levies are hotly made ; for which respect, 
 He sent to his ambassador, De Vic, 
 To make demand in Switzerland for the 
 
 raising 
 
 With utmost diligence of six thousand men, 
 All which shall be commanded to attend 
 On your direction, as the Constable, 
 Your honour'd gossip, gave him in advice, 
 And he sent you by writing ; of which 
 
 letters 
 He would have answer and advice from 
 
 you 
 By your most speedy presence. 
 
 By. This is strange, 
 That when the enemy is t'attempt his 
 
 frontiers 
 
 He calls me from the frontiers; does he think 
 It is an action worthy of my valour 
 To turn my back to an approaching foe ? 
 D'E. The foe is not so near but you may 
 
 come 
 And take more strict directions from his 
 
 highness, 
 Than he thinks fit his letters should contain, 
 
 Without the least attainture of your valour. 
 And therefore, good my lord, forbear 
 
 excuse, 
 
 And bear yourself on his direction, 
 Who, well you know, hath never made 
 
 design 
 For your most worthy service, where he 
 
 saw 
 
 That anything but honour could succeed. 
 By. I will not come, I swear. 
 D'E. I know your grace 
 Will send no such unsavoury reply. 
 
 By. Tell him, that I beseech his Majesty 
 To pardon my repair till th' end be known 
 Of all these levies now in Italy. 
 D'E. My lord, I know that tale will never 
 
 please him, 
 And wish you, as you love his love and 
 
 pleasure, 
 
 To satisfy his summons speedily, 
 And speedily I know he will return you. 
 By. By heaven, it is not fit, if all my 
 
 service 
 Makes me know anything : beseech him, 
 
 therefore, 
 To trust my judgment in these doubtful 
 
 charges, 
 Since in assured assaults it hath not fail'd 
 
 him. 
 D'E. I would your lordship now would 
 
 trust his judgment. 
 By. God's precious, y'are importunate 
 
 past measure, 
 And, I know, further, than your charge 
 
 extends. 
 
 I'll satisfy his highness, let that serve ; 
 For by this flesh and blood, you shall not 
 
 bear 
 
 Any reply to him but this from me. 
 D'E. 'Tis nought to me, my lord, I wish 
 
 your good, 
 
 And for that cause have been importunate. 
 
 [Exit D'Escures. 
 
 Br. By no means go, my lord ; but with 
 
 distrust 
 Of all that hath been said or can be 
 
 sent, 
 Collect your friends, and stand upon your 
 
 guard ; 
 
 The King's fair letters, and his messages 
 Are only golden pills, and comprehend 
 Horrible purgatives. 
 By. I will not go, 
 For now I see the instructions lately sent 
 
 me, 
 That something is discover'd, are too 
 
 true, 
 And my head rules none of those neighbour 
 
 nobles 
 
SCENE I. 
 
 BYRON'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 251 
 
 That every pursuivant brings beneath the 
 
 axe : 
 If they bring me out, they shall see I'll 
 
 hatch 
 Like to the blackthorn, that puts forth his 
 
 leaf, 
 
 Not with the golden fawnings of the sun, 
 But sharpest showers of hail, and blackest 
 
 frosts. 
 Blows, batteries, breaches, showers of steel 
 
 and blood, 
 
 Must be his downright messengers for me, 
 And not the mizzling breath of policy. 
 He, he himself, made passage to his crown 
 Through no more armies, battles, massacres, 
 Than I will ask him to arrive at me ; 
 He takes on him my executions, 
 And on the demolitions that this arm 
 Hath shaken out of forts and citadels, 
 Hath he advanced the trophies of his valour; 
 Where I, in those assumptions may scorn 
 And speak contemptuously of all the world, 
 For any equal yet I ever found ; 
 And in my rising, not the Syrian star 
 That in the lion's mouth undaunted shines, 
 And makes his brave ascension with the sun, 
 Was of th' Egyptians with more zeal beheld, 
 And made a rule to know the circuit 
 And compass of the year, than I was held 
 When I appear'd from battle ; the whole 
 
 sphere, 
 
 And full sustainer of the state we bear ; 
 I have Alcides-like gone under th' earth, 
 And on these shoulders borne the weight of 
 
 France : 
 
 And for the fortunes of the thankless King, 
 My father, all know, set him in his throne, 
 And if he urge me, I may pluck him out. 
 
 Enter Messenger. 
 
 Me. Here is the president, Janin, my 
 
 lord ; 
 Sent from the King, and urgeth quick 
 
 access. 
 By. Another pursuivant? and one so 
 
 quick ? 
 He takes next course with me, to make him 
 
 stay : 
 
 But let him in, let's hear what he impor- 
 tunes. 
 
 Enter Janin. 
 
 Ja. Honour, and loyal hopes to Duke 
 
 Byron ! 
 By. No other touch me : say how fares 
 
 the King? 
 Ja. Fairly, my lord ; the cloud is yet far 
 
 off 
 That aims at his obscuring, and his will 
 
 Would gladly give the motion to your 
 
 powers 
 That should disperse it ; but the means 
 
 himself 
 
 Would personally relate in your direction. 
 By. Still on that haunt ? 
 Ja. Upon my life, my lord, 
 He much desires to see you, and your sight 
 Is now grown necessary to suppress 
 (As with the glorious splendour of the sun) 
 The rude winds that report breathes in his 
 
 ears, 
 
 Endeavouring to blast your loyalty. 
 By. Sir, if my loyalty stick in him no 
 
 faster 
 But that the light breath of report may 
 
 loose it, 
 
 So I rest still unmoved, let him be shaken. 
 Ja. But these aloof abodes, my lord, be- 
 wray, 
 
 That there is rather firmness in your breath 
 Than in your heart. Truth is not made of 
 
 glass, 
 That with a small touch, it should fear to 
 
 break, 
 And therefore should not shun 'it ; believe 
 
 me 
 His arm is long, and strong ; and it can 
 
 fetch 
 
 Any within his will, that will not come : 
 Not he that surfeits in his mines of gold. 
 And for the pride thereof compares with 
 
 God, 
 
 Calling (with almost nothing different) 
 His powers invincible, for omnipotent, 
 Can back your boldest fort 'gainst his 
 
 assaults. 
 
 It is his pride, and vain ambition, 
 That hath but two stairs in his high de- 
 signs ; 
 
 The lowest envy, and the highest blood, 
 That doth abuse you ; and gives minds 
 
 too high, 
 
 Rather a will by giddiness to fall 
 Than to descend by judgment. 
 
 By. I rely 
 
 On no man's back nor belly ; but the King 
 Must think that merit, by ingratitude 
 
 crack'd, 
 
 Requires a firmer cementing than words. 
 And he shall find it a much harder work, 
 To sodder broken hearts than shiver'd 
 
 glass. 
 
 Ja. My lord, 'tis better hold a Sove- 
 reign's love 
 
 By bearing injuries, than by laying out 
 Stir his displeasure ; princes' discontents, 
 Being once incensed, are like the flames of 
 Etna, 
 
252 
 
 BYRON'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 [ACT in. I 
 
 Not to be quench'd, nor lessen'd ; and be 
 sure, 
 
 A subject's confidence in any merit, 
 
 Against his Sovereign, that makes him pre- 
 sume 
 
 To fly too high, approves him like a cloud 
 
 That makes a shew as it did hawk at king- 
 doms, 
 
 And could command all raised beneath 
 his vapour : 
 
 When suddenly, the fowl that hawk'd so 
 fair, 
 
 Stoops in a puddle, or consumes in air. 
 By. I fly with no such aim, nor am op- 
 posed 
 
 Against my Sovereign ; but the worthy 
 height 
 
 I have wrought by my service I will hold, 
 
 Which if I come away, I cannot do ; 
 
 For if the enemy should invade the fron- 
 tier, 
 
 Whose charge to guard, is mine, with any 
 spoil, 
 
 Although the King in placing of another 
 
 Might well excuse me, yet all foreign kings, 
 
 That can take note of no such secret 
 quittance, 
 
 Will lay the weakness here, upon my 
 wants ; 
 
 And therefore my abode is resolute. 
 Ja. I sorrow for your resolution, 
 
 And fear your dissolution will succeed. 
 By. I must endure it. 
 Ja. Fare you well, my lord. [Exifjaxi. 
 
 Enter Brun. 
 
 By. Farewell to you ; 
 Captain what other news f 
 Br. La Fin salutes you. 
 By. Welcome, good friend ; I hope your 
 
 wish'd arrival 
 
 Will give some certain end to our designs. 
 Br. I know not that, my lord ; reports 
 
 are raised 
 
 So doubtful and so different, that the truth 
 Of any one can hardly be assured. 
 By. Good news, D'Auvergne ; our trusty 
 
 friend La Fin 
 
 Hath clear 'd all scruple with his Majesty, 
 And utter'd nothing but what served to 
 
 clear 
 All bad suggestions. 
 
 Br. So he says, my lord ; 
 But others say, La Fin's assurances 
 ! Are mere deceits ; and wish you to be- 
 lieve 
 
 j That when the Vidame, nephew to La Fin, 
 i Met you at Autun, to assure your doubts, 
 ; His uncle had said nothing to the King 
 
 i. 
 
 That might offend you ; all the journey's 
 
 charge, 
 The King defray'd ; besides, your truest 
 
 friends 
 Will'd me to make you certain that your 
 
 place 
 
 Of government is otherwise disposed ; 
 And all advise you, for your latest hope, 
 To make retreat into the Franche Comte. 
 By. I thank them all, but they touch not 
 
 the depth 
 
 Of the affairs betwixt La Fin and me ; 
 Who is return'd contented to his house, 
 Quite freed of all displeasure or distrust ; 
 And therefore, worthy friends, we'll now to 
 
 Court. 
 D'A. My lord, I like your other friend's 
 
 advices 
 
 Much better than La Fin's ; and on my li r e 
 
 You cannot come to Court with any safety. 
 
 By. Who shall infringe it ? I know all 
 
 the Court 
 
 Have better apprehension of my valour ; 
 Than that they dare lay violent hands on 
 
 me ; 
 
 If I have only means to draw this sword, 
 I shall have power enough to set me free 
 From seizure by my proudest enemy. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Enter Epernon, Vitry, Pralin. 
 
 Ep. He will not come, I dare engage 
 
 my hand. 
 Vi. He will be fetch'd then, I'll engage 
 
 my head. 
 Pr. Come, or be fetch'd, he quite hath 
 
 lost his honour, 
 
 In giving these suspicions of revolt 
 From his allegiance ; that which he hath 
 
 won 
 
 With sundry wounds, and peril of his life, 
 With wonder of his wisdom, and his 
 
 valour, 
 
 He loseth with a most enchanted glory ; 
 And admiration of his pride and folly. 
 Vi. Why, did you never see a fortunate 
 
 man 
 Suddenly raised to heaps of wealth and 
 
 honour? 
 
 Nor any rarely great in gifts of nature, 
 As valour, wit, and smooth use of the tongue, 
 Set strangely to the pitch of popular 
 
 likings ? 
 But with as sudden falls the rich and 
 
 honour'd 
 
 Were overwhelm'd by poverty and shame, 
 Or had no use of both above the wretched. 
 Ep. Men ne'er are satisfied with that j 
 
 they have ; 
 
SCKNK I.] 
 
 BYRON'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 253 
 
 Rut as a man, match'd with a lovely wife, 
 When his most heavenly theory of her 
 
 beauties 
 Is dull'd and quite exhausted with his 
 
 practice ; 
 He brings her forth to feasts, where he 
 
 alas ! 
 Falls to his viands with no thought like 
 
 others 
 That think him blest in her, and they, 
 
 poor men, 
 Court, and make faces, offer service, 
 
 sweat 
 With their desires' contention, break their 
 
 brains 
 For jests and tales ; sit mute, and lose 
 
 their looks 
 
 (Far out of wit, and out of countenance), 
 So a 1 ! men else do what they have trans- 
 plant, 
 And place their wealth in thirst of what 
 
 they want. 
 
 Enter Henry, Chancellor, Vidame, 
 D'Escures, Janin. 
 
 He. He will hot come : I must both 
 
 grieve and wonder, 
 
 That all my care to win my subjects' love 
 And in one cup of friendship to commix 
 Our lives and fortunes, should leave out 
 
 so many 
 
 As give a man contemptuous of my love, 
 And of his own good, in the kingdom's 
 
 peace, 
 
 Hope, in a continuance so ungrateful, 
 To bear oat his designs in spite of me. 
 How should I better please all, than I do ? 
 When they supposed I would have given 
 
 some 
 
 Insolent garrisons, others citadels, 
 And to all sorts, increase of miseries ; 
 Province by province, I did visit all 
 Whom those injurious rumours had dis- 
 
 sway'd, 
 And shew'd them how I never sought to 
 
 build 
 More forts for me than were within their 
 
 hearts ; 
 Nor use more stern constraints than their 
 
 good wills 
 
 To succour the necessities of my crown ; 
 That I desired to add to their contents 
 By all occasions, rather than subtract ; 
 Nor wish'd I that my treasury should 
 
 flow 
 With gold that swum-in in my subjects' 
 
 tears ; 
 And then I found no man that did not 
 
 bless 
 
 My few years' reign, and their triumphant 
 
 peace ; 
 And do they now so soon complain of 
 
 ease? 
 He will not come. 
 
 Enter Byron, D'Auvergne, brother, with 
 others, 
 
 Ep. O madness, he is come ! 
 Ch. The Duke is come, my lord. 
 He. Oh sir, y'are welcome, 
 And fitly, to conduct me to my house. 
 By. I must beseech your Majesty's ex- 
 cuse, 
 
 That, jealous of mine honour, I have used 
 Some of mine own commandment in my 
 
 stay, 
 And came not with your highness' soonest 
 
 summons. 
 He. The faithful servant right in Holy 
 
 Writ, 
 That said he would not come and yet he 
 
 came ;* 
 
 But come you hither, I must tell you now 
 Not the contempt you stood to in your 
 
 stay, 
 But the bad ground that bore up your 
 
 contempt, 
 
 Makes you arrive at no port but re- 
 pentance, 
 Despair, and ruin. 
 
 By. Be what port it will, 
 At which your will will make me be 
 
 arrived, 
 
 I am not come to justify myself, 
 To ask you pardon, nor accuse my friends. 
 He. If you conceal my enemies you are 
 
 one, 
 And then my pardon shall be worth your 
 
 asking, 
 
 Or else your head be worth my cutting off. 
 By. Being friend and worthy fautor of 
 
 myself, 
 
 I am no foe of yours, nor no impairer, 
 Since he can no way worthily maintain 
 His prince's honour that neglects his own ; 
 And if your will have been to my true 
 
 reason, 
 
 (Maintaining still the truth of loyalty) 
 A check to my free nature and mine 
 
 honour, 
 
 And that on your free justice I presumed 
 To cross your will a little, I conceive 
 You will not think this forfeit worth my 
 
 head. 
 He. Have you maintain'd your truth of 
 
 loyalty ? 
 
 * Matt. xxi. 29. 
 
254 
 
 BYRON'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 When since I pardon'd foul intentions, 
 
 Resolving to forget eternally, 
 
 What they appear'd in, and had welcomed 
 
 you 
 
 As the kind father doth his riotous son,* 
 I can approve facts fouler than th' intents 
 Of deep disloyalty and highest treason. 
 By. May this right hand be thunder to 
 
 my breast, 
 
 If I stand guilty of the slenderest fact, 
 Wherein the least of those two can be 
 
 proved, 
 For could my tender conscience but have 
 
 touch 'd 
 
 At any such unnatural relapse ; 
 I would not with this confidence have run 
 Thus headlong in the furnace of a wrath, 
 Blown, and thrice kindled ; having way 
 
 enough, 
 
 In my election both to shun and slight it. 
 He. Y'are grossly and vaingloriously 
 
 abused : 
 
 There is no way in Savoy nor in Spain, 
 To give a fool that hope of your escape, 
 And had you not, even when you did, 
 
 arrived, 
 With horror to the proudest hope you 
 
 had, 
 I would have fetch'd you. 
 
 By. You must then have used 
 A power beyond my knowledge, and a will 
 Beyond your justice. For a little stay 
 More than I used would hardly have been 
 
 worthy 
 
 Of such an open expedition ; 
 In which to all the censures of the world 
 My faith and innocence had been foully 
 
 soil'd ; 
 
 Which I protest by heaven's bright wit- 
 nesses 
 That shine far, far, from mixture with our 
 
 fears, 
 Retain as perfect roundness as their 
 
 spheres. 
 He. 'Tis well, my lord ; I thought I 
 
 could have frighted 
 
 Your firmest confidence : some other time, 
 We will, as now in private, sift your 
 
 actions, 
 And pour more than you think into the 
 
 sieve ; 
 
 Always reserving clemency and pardon 
 Upon confession, be you ne'er so foul. 
 Come let's clear up our brows : shall we 
 
 to tennis ? 
 
 By. Ay, my lord, if I may make the 
 match. 
 
 * Luke xv. ii 32. 
 
 The Duke Epernon and myself will play 
 With you and Count Soissons. 
 
 Ep. I know, my lord, 
 You play well, but you make your matches 
 
 He. Come, 'tis a match. \Exit. 
 
 By. How like you my arrival ? 
 Ep. I'll tell you as a friend in your ear. 
 You have given more preferment to your 
 
 courage 
 Than to the provident counsels of your 
 
 friends. 
 D'A. I told him so, my lord, and much 
 
 was grieved 
 
 To see his bold approach, so full of will. 
 By. Well, I must bear it now, though 
 
 but with th' head, 
 The shoulders bearing nothing. 
 
 Rp. By Saint John, 
 'Tis a good headless resolution. \_Exeunt. 
 
 ACT THE FOURTH. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 Enter the Duke of Byron, D'Auvergne. 
 
 By. O the most base fruits of a settled 
 
 peace ! 
 In men I mean; worse than their dirty 
 
 fields, 
 Which they manure much better than 
 
 themselves : 
 For them they plant and sow, and ere they 
 
 grow 
 Weedy and choked with thorns, they grub 
 
 and proin, 
 
 And make them better than when cruel war 
 Frighted from thence the sweaty labourer ; 
 But men themselves, instead of bearing 
 
 fruits, 
 Grow rude and foggy, overgrown with 
 
 weeds. 
 Their spirits and freedoms smother'd in 
 
 their ease ; 
 
 And as their tyrants and their ministers 
 Grow wild in prosecution of their lusts, 
 So they grow prostitute, and lie, like whores, 
 Down, and take up, to their abhorr'd dis- 
 honours ; 
 
 The friendless maybe injured and oppress 'd, 
 The guiltless led to slaughter, the deserver 
 Given to the beggar ; right be wholly 
 
 wrong'd, 
 And wrong be only honour'd, till the 
 
 strings 
 Of every man's heart crack, and who will 
 
 stir 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 BYRON'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 255 
 
 To tell authority that it doth err? 
 
 All men cling to it, though they see their 
 
 bloods 
 
 In their most dear associates and allies, 
 Pour'd into kennels by it, and who dares 
 But look well in the breast whom that im- 
 pairs ? 
 
 How all the Court now looks askew on me ! 
 Go by without saluting, shun my sight, 
 Which, like a March sun, agues breeds in 
 
 them, 
 From whence of late 'twas health to have 
 
 a beam. 
 DA. Now none will speak to us, we 
 
 thrust ourselves 
 
 Into men's companies, and offer speech 
 As if not made for their diverted ears, 
 Their backs turn'd to us, and their words 
 
 to others. 
 
 And we must, like obsequious parasites, 
 Follow their faces, wind about their persons 
 For looks and answers, or be cast behind, 
 No more view'd than the wallet of their 
 
 faults. 
 
 Enter Soissons. 
 
 By. Yet here's one views me, and I think 
 
 will speak. 
 So. My lord, if yOu respect your name 
 
 and race, 
 
 The preservation of your former honours, 
 Merits, and virtues, humbly cast them all 
 At the King's mercy ; for beyond all doubt 
 Your acts have thither driven them ; he 
 
 hath proofs 
 
 So pregnant and so horrid, that to hear them 
 Would make your valour in your very looks 
 Give up your forces, miserably guilty ; 
 But he is most loth (for his ancient love 
 To your rare virtues) ; and in their impair, 
 The full discouragement of all that live 
 To trust or favour any gifts in nature, 
 T'expose them to the light, when darkness 
 
 may 
 
 Cover her own brood, and keep still in day 
 Nothing of you but that may brook her 
 
 brightness. 
 You know what horrors these high strokes 
 
 do bring 
 
 Raised in the arm of an incensed king. 
 By. My lord, be sure the King cannot 
 
 complain 
 
 Of anything in me but my true service, 
 Which in so many dangers of my death 
 May so approve my spotless loyalty, 
 That those quite opposite horrors you 
 
 assure 
 
 Must look put of his own ingratitude, 
 the malignant envies of my foes, 
 
 Who pour me out in such a Stygian flood, 
 To drown me in myself, since their deserts 
 Are far from such a deluge, and in me 
 Hid like so many rivers in the sea. 
 So. You think I come to sound you : 
 fare you well. {Exit. 
 
 Enter Chancellor, Epernon, Janin, Vi- 
 dame, Vitry, Pralin, whispering by 
 couples, &c. 
 
 D'A. See, see, not one of them will cast 
 a glance 
 
 At our eclipsed faces. 
 By. They keep all 
 
 To cast in admiration on the King ; 
 
 For from his face are all their faces 
 
 moulded. 
 
 D'A. But when a change comes we shall 
 see them all 
 
 Changed into water, that will instantly 
 
 Give look for look, as if it watch'd to greet 
 us; 
 
 Or else for one they'll give us twenty faces, 
 
 Like to the little specks on sides of glasses. 
 By. Is't not an easy loss to lose their 
 looks 
 
 Whose hearts so soon are melted ? 
 DA. But methinks, 
 
 Being courtiers, they should cast best looks 
 on men 
 
 When they thought worst of them. 
 By. O no, my lord, 
 
 They ne'er dissemble but for some advan- 
 tage ; 
 
 They sell their looks and shadows, which 
 they rate 
 
 After their markets, kept beneath the State ; 
 
 Lord, what foul weather their aspects do 
 threaten ! 
 
 See in how grave a brake he sets his vizard : 
 
 Passion of nothing, see, an excellent ges- 
 ture ! 
 
 Now courtship goes a ditching in their 
 foreheads, 
 
 And we are fall'n into those dismal ditches. 
 
 Why even thus dreadfully would they be 
 rapt, 
 
 If the King's butter'd eggs were only spilt* 
 
 Enter Henry. 
 
 He. Lord Chancellor. 
 
 Ch. Ay, my lord. 
 
 He. And Lord Vidame. \Exit. 
 
 By. And not Byron ? here's a prodigious 
 
 change ! 
 
 D'A. He cast no beam on you. 
 By. Why, now you see 
 From whence their countenances were 
 copied. 
 
256 
 
 BYRON'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Enter the Captain of Byron's Guard, with 
 a letter. 
 
 D'A. See, here comes some news, I be- 
 lieve, my lord. 
 By. What says the honest captain of my 
 
 guard ? 
 
 Ca. I bring a letter from a friend of 
 yours. 
 
 By. 'Tis welcome, then. 
 D' A. Have we yet any friends ? 
 Ca. More than ye would, I think : I 
 
 never saw 
 
 Men in their right minds so unrighteous 
 In their own causes. 
 
 By. See what thou hast brought. 
 He will us to retire ourselves my lord, 
 And makes as if it were almost too late. 
 What says my captain ? shall we go or no ? 
 Ca. I would your dagger's point had 
 
 kiss'd my heart, 
 When you resolved to come. 
 By. I pray thee, why ? 
 Ca. Yet doth that senseless apoplexy 
 
 dull you ? 
 
 The devil or your wicked angel blinds you, 
 Bereaving all your reason of a man, 
 And leaves you but the spirit of a horse 
 In your brute nostrils, only power to dare. 
 By. Why, dost thou think my coming 
 
 here hath brought me 
 To such an unrecoverable danger? 
 
 Ca. Judge by the strange ostents that 
 
 have succeeded 
 Since your arrival ; the kind fowl, the wild 
 
 duck 
 
 That came into your cabinet, so beyond 
 The sight of all your servants, or yourself ; 
 That flew about, and on your shoulder sat, 
 And which you had so fed and so attended 
 For that dumb love she show'd you ; just 
 
 as soon 
 
 As you were parted, on the sudden died. 
 And to make this no less than an ostent, 
 Another that hath fortuned since confirms 
 
 it: 
 Your goodly horse, Pastrana, which the 
 
 Archduke 
 
 Gave you at Brussels, in the very hour 
 You left your strength, fell mad, and kill'd 
 
 himself ; 
 The like chanced to the horse the great 
 
 Duke sent you ; 
 And, with both these, the horse the Duke 
 
 of Lorraine 
 
 Sent you at Vimie, made a third presage 
 Of some inevitable fate that touch d you, 
 Who, like the other, pined away and 
 died. 
 
 By. All these together are indeed ostentful, 
 Which, by another like, I can confirm : 
 The matchless Earl of Essex, whom some 
 
 make 
 
 (In their most sure divinings of my death) 
 A parallel with me in life and fortune, 
 Had one horse likewise that the very hour 
 He suffer'd death (being well the night 
 
 before), 
 
 Died in his pasture. Noble, happy beasts, 
 That die, not having to their wills to 
 
 live ; 
 
 They use no deprecations nor complaints, 
 Nor suit for mercy ; amongst them, the 
 
 lion 
 Serves not the lion, nor the horse the 
 
 horse, 
 As man serves man : when men show most 
 
 their spirits 
 
 In valour, and their utmost dares to do 
 They are compared to lions, wolves, and 
 
 boars ; 
 
 But by conversion, none will say a lion 
 Fights as he had the spirit of a man. 
 Let me then in my danger now give cause 
 For all men to begin that simile. 
 For all my huge engagement I provide me 
 This short sword only, which, if I have 
 
 time 
 
 To show my apprehender, he shall use 
 Power of ten lions if I get not loose. 
 
 Enter Henry, Chancellor, Vidame, Janin, 
 Vitry, Pralin. 
 
 He. What shall we do with this un- 
 thankful man ? 
 Would he of one thing but reveal the 
 
 truth 
 Which I have proof of underneath his 
 
 hand, 
 He should not taste my justice. I would 
 
 give 
 Two hundred thousand crowns that he 
 
 would yield 
 But such means for my pardon as he 
 
 should ; 
 I never loved man like him ; would have 
 
 trusted 
 
 My son in his protection, and my realm ; 
 He hath deserved my love with worthy 
 
 service, 
 
 Yet can he not deny but I have thrice 
 Saved him from death ; I drew him off the 
 
 foe 
 At Fontaine Franpoise, where he was 
 
 engaged, 
 So wounded, and so much amazed with 
 
 blows, 
 That, as I play'd the soldier in his rescue, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 .BYRON'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 257 
 
 I was enforced to play the Mnreclial, 
 To order the retreat, because lie said 
 He was not fit to do it, nor to serve me. 
 Ch. Your Majesty hath used your utmost 
 
 means 
 Both by your own persuasions, and his 
 
 friends, 
 
 To bring him to submission, and confess 
 (With some sign of repentance) Ins foul 
 
 fault : 
 
 Yet still he stands prefract and insolent. 
 You have in love and care of his recovery 
 Been half in labour to produce a course 
 And resolution, what were fit for him. 
 And since so amply it concerns your crown, 
 You must by law cut off, what by your 
 
 grace 
 
 You cannot bring into the state of safety. 
 Ja. Begin at th' end, my lord, and 
 
 execute, 
 
 Like Alexander with Parmenio. 
 Princes, you know, are masters of their 
 
 laws, 
 And may resolve them to what forms they 
 
 please, 
 
 So all conclude in justice ; in whose stroke 
 There is one sort of manage for the great ; 
 Another for inferior : the great mother 
 Of all productions, grave Necessity, 
 Commands the variation ; and the profit, 
 So certainly foreseen, commends the ex- 
 ample. 
 
 He. I like not executions so informal, 
 For which my predecessors have been 
 
 blamed : 
 My subjects and the world shall know my 
 
 power, 
 
 And my authority by law's usual course 
 Dares punish ; not the devilish heads of 
 
 treason, 
 But their confederates, be they ne'er so 
 
 dreadful. 
 
 The decent ceremonies of my laws 
 And their solemnities shall be observed 
 With all their sternness and severity. 
 Vi. Where will your highness have him 
 
 apprehended ? 
 He. Not in the Castle, as some have 
 
 advised, 
 But in his chamber. 
 
 Pr. Rather in your own, 
 Or coming out of it ; for 'tis assured 
 That any other place of apprehension, 
 Will make the hard performance end in 
 
 blood. 
 Vi. To shun this likelihood, my lord, 'tis 
 
 best 
 To make the apprehension near your 
 
 chamber ; 
 VOL. I. 
 
 For all respect and reverence given the 
 
 place, 
 
 More than is needful, to chastise the per- 
 son, 
 
 And save the opening of too many veins, 
 Is vain and dangerous. 
 
 He. Gather you your guard, 
 And I will find fit time to give the v/ord 
 When you shall seize on him and on 
 
 D'Auvergne. 
 Vi. We will be ready to the death, my 
 
 lord. [Exeunt. 
 
 He. O Thou that govern 'st the keen 
 
 swords of kings, 
 
 Direct my arm in this important s'roke, 
 Or hold it being advanced ; the weight of 
 
 blood,- 
 
 Even in the basest subject, doth exact 
 Deep consultation, in the highest king ; 
 For in one subject, death's unjust affrights, 
 Passions, and pains, though he be ne'er so 
 
 poor, 
 Ask more remorse than the voluptuous 
 
 spleens 
 
 Of all kings in the world deserve respect ; 
 He should he born grey-headed that will 
 
 bear 
 The sword of empire ; judgment of the 
 
 life, 
 
 Free state, and reputation of a man, 
 If it be just and worthy, dwells so dark 
 That it denies access to sun and moon ; 
 The soul's eye sharpen'd with that sacred 
 
 light 
 
 Of whom the sun itself is but a beam, 
 Must only give that judgment ; O how 
 
 much 
 Err those kings then, that play with life and 
 
 death, 
 
 And nothing put into their serious states 
 But humour and their lusts ; fo* which 
 
 alone 
 Men long for kingdoms ; whose huge 
 
 counterpoise 
 
 In cares and dangers, could a fool com- 
 prise, 
 He would not be a king, but would be wise. 
 
 Enter Byron talking with the Queen, 
 Epernon, D'Entragues, D'Auvergne ; 
 with another lady, others attending. 
 
 He. Here comes the man, with whose 
 
 ambitious head 
 
 (Cast in the way of treason) we must stay 
 His full chase of our ruin and our realm ; 
 This hour shall take upon her shady wing 
 His latest liberty and life to hell. 
 D'A. We are undone. 
 Qu. What's that ? 
 
 S 
 
258 
 
 BYRON'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 By. I heard him not. 
 
 He. Madam, y'are honour 'd much that 
 
 Duke Byron 
 
 Is so observant : some, to cards with him ; 
 You four, as now you come, sit to Primero ; 
 And I will fight a battle at the chess. 
 By. A good safe fight, believe me ; 
 
 other war 
 Thirsts blood and wounds, and his thirst 
 
 quench'd, is thankless. 
 Ep. Lift, and then cut. 
 By. 'Tis right the end of lifting ; 
 When men are lifted to their highest pitch, 
 They cut off those that lifted them so 
 
 high. 
 Qu. Apply you all these sports so 
 
 seriously ? 
 By. They first were from our serious 
 
 acts devised, 
 The best of which are to the best but 
 
 sports 
 (I mean by best the greatest) for their 
 
 ends 
 In men that serve them best, are their own 
 
 pleasures. 
 Qu. So in those best men's services, their 
 
 ends 
 
 Are their own pleasures ; pass. 
 By. I vie't. 
 He. Isee't, 
 And wonder at his frontless impudence. 
 
 [Exit Henry. 
 
 Ch. How speeds your Majesty? 
 Qu. Well ; the Duke instructs me 
 With such grave lessons of morality 
 Forced out of our light sport, that if I 
 
 lose, 
 I cannot but speed well. 
 
 By. Some idle talk, 
 For courtship sake, you know, does not 
 
 amiss, 
 
 Ch. Would we might hear some of it. 
 By. That you shall ; 
 
 I cast away a card now, makes me think 
 Of the deceased worthy King of Spain. 
 
 Ch. What card was that ? 
 By. The king of hearts, my lord ; 
 Whose name yields well the memory of 
 
 that king, 
 
 Who was indeed the worthy king of hearts, 
 And had, both of his subjects' hearts and 
 
 strangers', 
 
 Much more than all the kings of Chris- 
 tendom. 
 
 Ch. He won them with his gold. 
 By. He won them chiefly 
 With his so general piety and justice ; 
 And as the little, yet great Macedon, 
 Was said, with his humane philosophy 
 
 To teach the rapeful Hyrcans marriage, 
 And bring the barbarous Sogdians to 
 
 nourish, 
 
 Not kill, their aged parents as before ; 
 Th' incestuous Persians to reverence 
 Their mothers, not to use them as their 
 
 wives ; 
 
 The Indians to adore the Grecian gods ; 
 The Scythians to inter, not eat their 
 
 parents ; 
 
 So he, with his divine philosophy 
 (Which I may call it, since he chiefly used 
 
 it), 
 In Turkey, India, and through all the 
 
 world, 
 
 Expell'd profane idolatry, and from earth 
 Raised temples to the highest : whom with 
 
 the word 
 
 He could not win, he justly put to sword. 
 Ch. He sought for gold and empire. 
 By. 'Twas religion, 
 
 And her full propagation that he sought ; 
 If gold had been his end, it had been 
 
 hoarded, 
 
 When he had fetch'd it in so many fleets, 
 Which he spent not on Median luxury, 
 Banquets, and women, Calidonian wine, 
 Nor dear Hyrcanian fishes, but employ'd it 
 To propagate his empire ; and his empire 
 Desired t' extend so, that he might withal 
 Extend religion through it, and all nations 
 Reduce to one firm constitution 
 Of piety, justice, and one public weal ; 
 To which end he made all his matchless- 
 
 subjects 
 
 Make tents their castles and their garrisons ; 
 True Catholics countrymen ; and their 
 
 allies, 
 
 Heretics, strangers, and their enemies. 
 There was in him the magnanimity. 
 Mo. To temper your extreme applause, 
 
 my lord, 
 
 Shorten and answer all things in a word, 
 The greatest commendation .we can give 
 To the remembrance of that king deceased 
 Is that he spared not his own eldest son, 
 But put him justly to a violent death, 
 Because he sought to trouble his estates-. 
 By. Is'tso? 
 
 Ch. That bit, my lord, upon my life, 
 Twas bitterly replied, and doth amaze 
 
 him. 
 
 The King suddenly enters, having deter- 
 mined what to do. 
 
 He. It is resolved ; a work shall now be 
 
 done, 
 
 Which, while learn'd Atlas shall with stars 
 be cro\vn'd, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 BYRON'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 259 
 
 While th f ocean walks in storms his wavy 
 
 round, 
 While moons at full repair their broken 
 
 rings ; 
 
 While Lucifer foreshows Aurora's springs, 
 And Arctos sticks above the earth unmoved, 
 Shall make my realm be blest, and me be- 
 loved. 
 Call in the Count D'Auvergne. 
 
 Enter D'Auvergne. 
 
 A word, my lord. 
 
 Will you become as wilful as your friend, 
 And draw a mortal justice on your heads, 
 That hangs so black and is so loth to 
 
 strike ? 
 
 If you would utter what I know you know 
 Of his inhumane treason, one strong bar 
 Betwixt his will and duty were dissolved, 
 For then I know he would submit himself. 
 Think you it not as strong a point of faith 
 To rectify your loyalties to me, 
 As to be trusty in each other's wrong ? 
 Trust that deceives ourselves is treachery, 
 And truth that truth conceals an open lie. 
 D'A. My lord, if I could utter any 
 
 thought 
 
 Instructed with disloyalty to you, 
 And might light any safety to my friend, 
 Though mine own heart came after, it 
 
 should out. 
 He. I know you may, and that your 
 
 faiths affected 
 
 To one another are so vain and false 
 That your own strengths will ruin you : ye 
 
 contend 
 
 To cast up rampires to you in the sea, 
 And strive to stop the waves that run before 
 
 yon. 
 
 D'A. All this, my lord, to me is mystery. 
 He. It is ? I'll make it plain enough, 
 
 believe me : 
 Come, my Lord Chancellor, let us end our 
 
 mate. 
 
 Enter Varennes, whispering to Byron. 
 
 Va. You are undone, my lord. 
 
 By. Is it possible? 
 
 Qu. Play, good my lord : whom look you 
 
 for? 
 
 Ep. Your mind 
 Is not upon your game. 
 By. Play, pray you play. 
 He. Enough, 'tis late, and time to leave 
 
 our play, 
 On all hands ; all forbear the room. My 
 
 lord, 
 
 Stay you with me ; yet is your will resolved 
 To duty and the main bond of your life ? 
 
 I swear, of all th' intrusions I have made 
 
 Upon your own good and continued for- 
 tunes, 
 
 This is the last ; inform me yet the truth, 
 
 And here I vow to you (by all my love, 
 
 By all means shown you, even to this ex- 
 treme, 
 
 When all men else forsake you), you are 
 safe. 
 
 What passages have slipt 'twixt Count 
 Fuentes, 
 
 You, and the Duke of Savoy ? 
 By. Good my lord, 
 
 This nail is driven already past the head, 
 
 You much have overcharged an honest 
 man ; 
 
 And I beseech you yield my innocence 
 justice, 
 
 (But with my single valour) 'gainst them 
 all 
 
 That thus have poison'd your opinion of 
 me, 
 
 And let me take my vengeance by my 
 sword : 
 
 For I protest I never thought an action 
 
 More than my tongue hath utter'd. 
 He. Would 'twere true ; 
 
 And that your thoughts and deeds had 
 fell no fouler. 
 
 But you disdain submission, not remem- 
 bering, 
 
 That (in intents urged for the common 
 good) 
 
 He that shall hold his peace being charged 
 to speak 
 
 Doth all the peace and nerves of empire 
 break, 
 
 Which on your conscience lie ; adieu, 
 good night. {Exit. 
 
 By. Kings hate to hear what they com- 
 mand men speak, 
 
 Ask life, and to desert of death ye yield. 
 
 Where medicines loathe, it irks men to be 
 heal'd. 
 
 EnterViiry, with two or three of /fo Guard, 
 Epernon, Vidame, following. Vitry 
 lays hand on Byron's sword. 
 
 Vi. Resign your sword, my lord ; the 
 
 King commands it. 
 By. Me to resign my sword ? what King 
 
 is he 
 
 Hath used it better for the realm than I ? 
 My sword ! that all the wars within the 
 
 length, 
 Breadth, and the whole dimensions of great 
 
 France, 
 Hath sheathed betwixt his hilt and horrid 
 
 point, 
 
260 
 
 BYRON'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 And fix'd ye all in such a flourishing peace ? 
 My sword, that never enemy could enforce, 
 Bereft me by my friends ! Now, good my 
 
 lord, 
 
 Beseech the King, I may resign my sword 
 To his hand only. 
 
 Enter Janin. 
 
 Ja. You must do your office, 
 The King commands you. 
 
 Vi. 'Tis in vain to strive, 
 For I must force it. 
 
 By. Have I ne'er a friend, 
 That bears another for me? All the guard? 
 What, will you kill me ? will you smother 
 
 here 
 His life that can command and save in 
 
 field, 
 A hundred thousand lives? For manhood 
 
 sake ; 
 
 Lend something to this poor forsaken hand ; 
 For all my service, let me have the honour 
 To die defending of my innocent self, 
 And have some little space to pray to God. 
 
 Enter Henry. 
 
 He. Come, you are an atheist, Byron, 
 
 and a traitor 
 Both foul and damnable. Thy innocent 
 
 self? 
 
 I No leper is so buried quick in ulcers 
 j As thy corrupted soul. 'I hou end the war, 
 And settle peace in France ? What war hath 
 
 raged 
 
 Into whose fury I have not exposed 
 My person, with as free a spirit as 
 
 thine ? 
 
 Thy worthy father and thyself combined 
 And arm'd in all the merits of your valours, 
 Your bodies thrust amidst the thickest 
 
 fights, 
 
 Never were bristled with so many battles, 
 Nor on the foe have broke such woods of 
 
 lances 
 As grew upon my thigh, and I have mar- 
 
 shall'd. 
 
 I am ashamed to brag thus ; where envy 
 And arrogance their opposite bulwark 
 
 raise, 
 
 Men are allow'd to use their proper praise : 
 Away with him. [Exit Henry. 
 
 By. Away with him ! live I, 
 And hear my life thus slighted ? Cursed 
 
 man, 
 
 That ever the intelligencing lights 
 Betray'd me to men's whorish fellow- 
 ships, 
 To princes' Moorish slaveries ; to be. made 
 
 The anvil on which only blows and 
 
 wounds 
 Were made the seed and wombs of other 
 
 honours ; 
 A property for a tyrant to set up, 
 And puff down with the vapour cf his 
 
 breath. 
 Will you not kill me ? 
 
 Vi. No, we will not hurt you ; 
 We are commanded only to conduct you 
 Into your lodging. 
 By. To my lodging ? where ? 
 Vi. W T ithin the Cabinet of Arms, my 
 
 lord. 
 By. What ! to a prison ? Death ! I will 
 
 not go. 
 
 Vi. We'll force you then. 
 By. And take away my sword ; 
 A proper point to force ; ye had as good, 
 Have robb'd me of my soul ; slaves of my 
 
 stars, 
 
 Partial and bloody ; O that in mine eyes 
 Were all the sorcerous poison of my woes, 
 That I might witch ye headlong from your 
 
 height, 
 So trample out your execrable light. 
 
 Vi. Come, will you go, my lord ? This 
 
 rage is vain. 
 
 By. And so is all your grave authority ; 
 And that all France shall feel before I die. 
 Ye see all how they use good Catholics. 
 Ep. Farewell for ever ! so have I dis- 
 
 cern'd 
 
 An exhalation that would be a star 
 Fall when the sun forsook it, in a sink. 
 Shoes ever overthrow that are too large, 
 And hugest cannons burst with overcharge. 
 
 Enter D'Auvergne, Pralin, following with 
 a Guard. . 
 
 Pr. My lord, I have commandment 
 
 from the King 
 To charge you go with me, and ask your 
 
 sword. 
 D'Au. My sword ! who fears it? it was 
 
 ne'er the death 
 
 Of any but wild boars ; I prithee take it ; 
 Hadst thou advertised this when last we 
 
 met, 
 
 I had been in my bed, and fast asleep 
 Two hours ago. Lead ; I'll go where thou 
 wilt. [Exit. 
 
 Vi. See how he bears his cross, with his 
 
 small strength 
 
 On easier shoulders than the other Atlas. 
 Ep. Strength to aspire is still accom- 
 panied 
 
 With weakness to endure ; all popular gifts 
 Are colours, it will bear no vinegar ; 
 
ACT V., SCENE I.] 
 
 BYRON'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 26! 
 
 And rather to adverse affairs betray 
 Thine arm against them ; his state still is 
 
 best 
 That hath most inward worth ; and that's 
 
 best tried 
 That neither glories, nor is glorified. 
 
 \_Exeutit. 
 
 END OF ACT IV. 
 
 ACT THE FIFTH. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Henry, Soissons, Janin, D'Escures, cum 
 a His. 
 
 He. What shall we think, my lords, of 
 
 these new forces 
 That, from the King of Spain, hath past 
 
 the Alps ? 
 
 For which, I think, his Lord Ambassador 
 Is come to Court, to get their pass for 
 
 Flanders ? 
 Ja. I think, my lord, they have no end 
 
 for Flanders ; 
 Count Maurice being already enter'd 
 
 Brabant 
 
 To pass to Flanders, to relieve Ostend, 
 And th' Archduke full prepared to hinder 
 
 him ; 
 
 For sure it is that they must measure forces, 
 Which (ere this new force could have 
 
 past the Alps) 
 Of force must be encounter'd. 
 
 So. 'Tis unlikely 
 That their march hath so large an aim as 
 
 Flanders. 
 D'E. As these times sort, they may have 
 
 have shorter reaches, 
 That would pierce further. 
 
 He. I have been advertised 
 How Count Fuentes (by whose means this 
 
 army 
 Was lately levied ; and whose hand was 
 
 strong 
 
 In thrusting on Byron's conspiracy) 
 Hath caused these cunning forces to ad- 
 vance, 
 
 With colour only to set down in Flanders ; 
 But hath intentional respect to favour 
 And countenance his false partisans in 
 
 Bresse, 
 And friends in Burgundy ; to give them 
 
 heart 
 
 For the full taking of their hearts from me. 
 Be as it will ; we shall prevent their 
 
 worst : 
 And therefore call in Spain's Ambassador. 
 
 Enter Ambassador with other:. 
 
 What would the Lord Ambassador of 
 
 Spain? 
 Am. First, in my master's name, I would 
 
 beseech 
 Your highness' hearty thought ; that his 
 
 true hand, 
 Held in your vowed amities, hath not 
 
 touch'd 
 
 At any least point in Byron's offences, 
 Nor once had notice of a crime so foul ; 
 Whereof, since he doubts not you stand 
 
 resolved, 
 He prays your league's continuance in 
 
 this favour. 
 That the army he hath raised to march for 
 
 Flanders 
 May have safe passage by your frontier 
 
 towns, 
 And find the river free that runs by 
 
 Rhone. 
 He. My lord, my frontiers shall not be 
 
 disarm 'd, 
 
 Till, by arraignment of the Duke of Byron, 
 My scruples are resolved, and I may know 
 In what account to hold your master's 
 
 faith, 
 
 For his observance of the league betwixt us. 
 You wish me to believe that he is clear 
 From all the projects caused by Count 
 
 Fuentes, 
 His special agent ; but where deeds pull 
 
 down, 
 Words may repair no faith. I scarce can 
 
 think 
 
 That his gold was so bounteously employ'd 
 Without his special counsel and command : 
 These faint proceedings in our royal 
 
 faiths, 
 
 Make subjects prove so faithless ; if be- 
 cause, 
 
 We sit above the danger of the laws, 
 We likewise lift our arms above their 
 
 justice, 
 And that our heavenly Sovereign bounds 
 
 not us 
 
 In those religious confines out of which 
 Our justice and our true laws are inform 'd ; 
 In vain have we expectance that our sub- 
 jects 
 Should not as well presume to offend their 
 
 earthly, 
 As we our heavenly Sovereign ; and this 
 
 breach 
 
 Made in the forts of all society, 
 Of all celestial, and humane respects, 
 Makes no strengths of our bounties, coun- 
 I sels, arms, 
 
252 
 
 BYRON'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Hold out against their treasons ; and the 
 
 rapes 
 
 Made of humanity and religion, 
 In all men's more than Pagan liberties, 
 Atheisms, and slaveries, will derive their 
 
 springs 
 From their base precedents, copied out of 
 
 kings. 
 But all this shall not make me break the 
 
 commerce 
 
 Authorised by our treaties. Let your army 
 Take the directest pass ; it shall go safe. 
 Am. So rest your highness ever, and 
 
 assured 
 That my true Soveregn loathes all opposite 
 
 thoughts. 
 He. Are our despatches made to all the 
 
 kings, 
 
 Princes, and potentates of Christendom, 
 Ambassadors and province governors, 
 T'inform the truth of this conspiracy? 
 Ja. They all are made, my lord, and 
 
 some give out 
 
 That 'tis a blow given to religion, 
 To weaken it, in ruining of him 
 That said he never wish'd more glorious 
 
 title 
 
 Than to be call'd the scourge of Huguenots. 
 So. Others that are like favourers of the 
 
 fault, 
 
 Said 'tis a politic advice from England 
 To break the sacred javelins both to- 
 gether. 
 He. Such shut their eyes to truth ; we 
 
 can but set 
 His lights before them, and his trumpet 
 
 sound 
 
 Close to their ears ; their partial wilfulness, 
 In resting blind and deaf, or in perverting, 
 What their most certain senses apprehend, 
 Shall nought discomfort our impartial jus- 
 tice, 
 
 Nor clear the desperate fault that doth en- 
 force it. \_Enter Vitry. 
 Vi. The peers of France, my lord, 
 
 refuse t'appear 
 
 At the arraignment of the Duke of Byron. 
 He. The Court may yet proceed ; and 
 
 so command it. 
 'Tis not their slackness to appear shall 
 
 serve 
 
 To let my will t'appear in any fact 
 Wherein the boldest of them tempts my 
 
 justice. 
 
 I am resolved, and will no more endure 
 To have my subjects make what I com- 
 mand 
 
 The subject of their oppositions, 
 Who evermore make slack their allegiance, 
 
 As kings forbear their penance. Ho\v sus- 
 tain 
 Your prisoners their strange durance ? 
 
 Vi. One of them, 
 Which is the Count d'Auvergne, hath 
 
 merry spirits, 
 Eats well and sleeps : and never can 
 
 imagine 
 
 That any place where he is, is a prison ; 
 Where on the other part, the Duke Byron, 
 Enter'd his prison as into his grave, 
 Rejects all food, sleeps not, nor once lies 
 
 down ; 
 Fury hath arm'd his thoughts so thick with 
 
 thorns 
 
 That rest can have no entry : he disdains 
 To grace the prison with the slenderest 
 
 show 
 
 Of any patience, lest men should conceive 
 He thought his sufferance in the best sort 
 
 fit ; 
 And holds his bands so worthless of his 
 
 worth, 
 
 That he impairs it, to vouchsafe to them 
 The best part of the peace that freedom 
 
 owes it : 
 
 That patience therein is a willing slavery, 
 And like the camel stoops to take the 
 
 load, 
 
 So still he walks ; or rather as a bird, 
 Enter'd a closet, which unawares is made 
 His desperate prison, being pursued, 
 
 amazed 
 And wrathful beats his breast from wall to 
 
 wall, 
 Assaults the light, strikes down himself, 
 
 not out, 
 And being taken, struggles, gasps, and 
 
 bites, 
 
 Takes all his taker's strokings to be strokes, 
 Abhorreth food, and with a savage will 
 Frets, pines, and dies for former liberty : 
 So fares the wrathful Duke ; and when the 
 
 strength 
 
 Of these dumb rages break out into sounds 
 He breathes defiance to the world, and 
 
 bids us 
 Make ourselves drunk with the remaining 
 
 blood 
 
 Of five and thirty wounds received in fight 
 For us and ours, for we shall never brag 
 That we have made his spirits check at 
 
 death. 
 This rage in walks and words ; but in his 
 
 looks 
 He comments all, and prints a world of 
 
 books. 
 He. Let others learn by him to curb 
 
 their spleens, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 BYRON'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 263 
 
 i Before they be curb'd ; and to cease their 
 
 (grudges. 
 Now I am settled in my sun of height, 
 . The circular splendour and full sphere of 
 
 state, 
 
 I Take all place up from envy : as the sun, 
 At height, and passive o'er the crowns of 
 
 men, 
 His beams diffused, and down-right pour'd 
 
 on them, 
 
 Cast but a little or no shade at all : 
 So he that is advanced above the heads 
 Of all his emulators, with high light, 
 Prevents their envies, and deprives them 
 quite. \Exeioit. 
 
 Enter the Chancellor, Harley, Potier, 
 
 Fleury, in scarlet gowns, La Fin, D'Es- 
 
 cures, "with other officers of state. 
 
 Ch. I wonder at the prisoner's so long 
 
 stay. 
 
 Ha. I think it maybe made a question 
 If his impatience will let him come. 
 Po. Yes, he is now well staid : time and 
 
 his judgment, 
 
 Have cast his passion and his fever off. 
 Fl. His fever may be past, but for his 
 
 passions, 
 
 I fear me we shall find it spiced too hotly, 
 With his old powder. 
 
 D'E. He is sure come forth ; 
 The carosse of the Marquis of Rosny 
 Conducted him along to th" arsenal, 
 Close to the river-side : and there I saw him 
 Enter a barge cover 'd with tapestry, 
 In which the King's guards waited and re- 
 ceived him. 
 Stand by there, clear the place. 
 
 Ch. The prisoner comes : 
 My Lord La Fin, forbear your sight awhile ; 
 It may incense the prisoner : who will 
 
 know, 
 
 By your attendance near us, that your hand 
 Was chief in his discovery ; which as yet, 
 I think he doth not doubt. 
 
 La. I will forbear 
 Till your good pleasures call me. 
 
 {Exit La Fin. 
 Ha. When he knows 
 And sees La Fin accuse him to his face, 
 The Court I think will shake with his dis- 
 temper. 
 
 Enter Vitry, Byron, with others and a 
 guard. 
 
 Vi. You see, my lord, 'tis in the golden 
 
 chamber. 
 By. The golden chamber? where the 
 
 greatest kings 
 
 Have thought them honour'd to receive a 
 
 place, 
 
 And I have had it ; am I come to stand 
 In rank and habit here of men arraign 'd, 
 Where I have sat assistant, and been 
 
 honour'd 
 
 With glorious title of the chiefest virtuous. 
 Where the King's chief solicitor hath said 
 There was in France no man that ever 
 
 lived 
 
 Whose parts were worth my imitation ; 
 That but mine own worth I could imitate 
 
 none : 
 
 And that I made myself inimitable 
 To all that could come after ; whom this 
 
 Court 
 
 Hath seen to sit upon the flower-de-luce 
 In recompence of my renowned service. 
 Must I be sat on now by petty judges ? 
 These scarlet robes, that come to sit and 
 
 fight 
 
 Against my life dismay my valour more, 
 Than all the bloody cassocks Spain hath 
 
 brought 
 To field against it. 
 
 Vi. To the bar, my lord. 
 
 \_He salutes and stands to the bar. 
 Ha. Read the indictment. 
 Ch. Stay, I will invert, 
 For shortness' sake, the form of our pro- 
 ceedings 
 And out of all the points the process 
 
 holds, 
 Collect five principal, with which we charge 
 
 you. 
 
 1. First you conferr'd with one, called 
 Picote", 
 
 At Orleans born, and into Flanders fled, 
 To hold intelligence by him with the Arch- 
 duke, 
 
 And for two voyages to that effect, 
 Bestow'd on him five hundred fifty crowns. 
 
 2. Next you held treaty with the Duke 
 of Savoy, 
 
 Without the King's permission ; offering 
 
 him 
 
 All service and assistance 'gainst all men, 
 In hope to have in marriage his third 
 
 daughter. 
 
 3. Thirdly, you held intelligence with 
 the Duke, 
 
 At taking in of Bourg, and other forts ; 
 Advising him, with all your prejudice, 
 'Gainst the King's army and his royal 
 person. 
 
 4. The fourth is, that you would have 
 brought the King, 
 
 Before Saint Katherine's fort, to be there 
 slain ; 
 
26 4 
 
 BYRON'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 And to that end writ to the governor, 
 
 In which you gave him notes to know his 
 
 highness. 
 5. Fifthly, You sent La Fin to treat with 
 
 Savoy, 
 And with the Count Fuentes, of more 
 
 plots, 
 
 Touching the ruin of the King and realm. 
 By. All this, my lord, ~I answer, and 
 
 deny. 
 
 And first for Picote : he was my prisoner, 
 And therefore I might well confer with 
 
 him; 
 But that our conference tended to the 
 
 Archduke 
 
 Is nothing so : I only did employ him 
 To Captain La Fortune, for the reduction 
 Of Severre to the service of the King, 
 Who used such speedy diligence therein, 
 That shortly 'twas assured his Majesty. 
 
 2. Next, For my treaty with the Duke 
 of Savoy, 
 
 Roncas, his secretary, having made 
 
 A motion to me for the " Duke's third 
 
 daughter, 
 
 I told it to the King, who having since 
 Given me the understanding by La Force 
 Of his dislike, I never dream'd of it. 
 
 3. Thirdly, For my intelligence with the 
 Duke, 
 
 Advising him against his highness' army : 
 Had this been true I had not undertaken 
 Th' assault of Bourg, against the King's 
 
 opinion, 
 
 Having assistance but by them about me ; 
 And, having won it for him, had not been 
 Put out of such a government so easily. 
 
 4. Fourthly, For my advice to kill the 
 King ; 
 
 I would beseech his highness' memory 
 Not to let slip that I alone dissuaded 
 His viewing of that fort, informing him 
 It had good mark-men, and he could not 
 
 go 
 
 But in exceeding danger, which advice 
 Diverted him, the rather since I said 
 That if he had desire to see the place 
 He should receive from me a plot of it ; 
 Offering to take it with five hundred men, 
 And I myself \vcu'd go to the assault. 
 
 5. And lastly, For intelligences held 
 With Savoy and Fuentes, I confess 
 That being denied to keep the citadel, 
 Which with incredible peril I had got, 
 And seeing another honour'd with my 
 
 spoils, 
 
 I grew so desperate that I found my spirit 
 Enraged to any act, and wish'd myself 
 Cover'd with blood. 
 
 Ch. With whose blood? 
 By. With mine own ; 
 Wishing to live no longer, being denied, 
 With such suspicion of me, and set will 
 To rack my furious humour into blood. 
 And for two months' space I did speak and 
 
 write 
 More than I ought, but have done ever 
 
 well, 
 And therefore your informers have been 
 
 false. 
 
 And, with intent to tyrannize, suborn'd. 
 Fl. What if our witnesses come face to 
 
 face, 
 
 And justify much more than we allege? 
 By. They must be hirelings, then, and I 
 
 men corrupted. 
 
 Po. What think you of La Fin ? 
 By. I hold La Fin 
 An honour'd gentleman, my friend and 
 
 kinsman. 
 Ha. If he then aggravate what we ! 
 
 affirm 
 
 With greater accusations to your face, 
 What will you say ? 
 By. I know it cannot be. 
 Ch. Call in my Lord La Fin. 
 By. Is he so near, 
 And kept so close from me ? Can all the 
 
 world 
 Make him a treacher .? 
 
 Enter La Fin. 
 
 Ch. I suppose, my lord, 
 
 You have not stood within, without the ear 
 
 Of what hath here been urged against the 
 Duke; 
 
 If you have heard it, and upon your know- 
 ledge 
 
 Can witness all is true, upon your soul, 
 
 Utter your knowledge. 
 La. I have heard, my lord, 
 
 All that hath pass'd here, and upon my 
 soul, 
 
 (Being charged so urgently in such a Court) 
 
 Upon my knowledge I affirm all true ; 
 
 And so much more as, had the prisoner 
 lives 
 
 As many as his years, would make all for- 
 feit. 
 
 By. O all ye virtuous powers, in earth 
 and heaven, 
 
 That have not put on hellish flesh and 
 blood, 
 
 From whence these monstrous issues are 
 produced, 
 
 That cannot bear in execrable concord, 
 
 And one prodigious subject, contraries ; 
 
 Nor (as the isle that of the world admired, 
 
SCKNE I.] 
 
 BYRON'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 265 
 
 Is sever 'd from the world) can cut your- 
 selves 
 
 From the consent and sacred harmony 
 Of life, yet live ; of honour, yet be hon- 
 
 our'd ; 
 
 As this extravagant and errant rogue, 
 From all your fair decorums and just laws 
 Finds power to do, and like a loathsome 
 
 we'n 
 
 Sticks to the face of nature and this Court ; 
 Thicken this air, and turn your plaguy 
 
 rage 
 
 Into a shape as dismal as his sin ; 
 And with some equal horror tear him off 
 From sight and memory. Let not such a 
 
 Court, 
 
 To whose fame all the kings of Christen- 
 dom 
 Now laid their ears, so crack her royal 
 
 trump, 
 As to sound through it, that her vaunted 
 
 justice 
 
 Was got in such an incest. Is it justice 
 To tempt and witch a man to break the 
 
 law, 
 And by that witch condemn him ? Let me 
 
 draw 
 
 Poison into me with this cursed air 
 If he bewitch 'd me and transform'd me 
 
 not; 
 
 He bit me by the ear, and made me drink 
 Enchanted waters ; let me see an image 
 That utter'd these distinct words : Thou 
 
 shall die, 
 
 O wicked king ; and if the devil gave him 
 Such power upon an image, upon me 
 How might he tyrannize ? that by his vows 
 And oaths so Stygian had my nerves and 
 
 will 
 In more awe than his own. What man is 
 
 he 
 
 That is so high but he would higher be ? 
 So roundly sighted, but he may be found 
 To have a blind side, which by craft pur- 
 sued, 
 
 Confederacy, and simply trusted treason, 
 May wrest him past his angel and his rea- 
 son? 
 Ch. Witchcraft can never taint an honest 
 
 mind. 
 Ha. True gold will any trial stand un- 
 
 touch'd. 
 Po. For colours that will stain when they 
 
 are tried, 
 
 The -cloth itself is ever cast aside. 
 By. Sometimes the very gloss in any- 
 thing 
 
 Will seem a stain ; the fault not in the 
 light, 
 
 Nor in the guilty object, but our sight. 
 
 My gloss, raised from the richness of my 
 stuff, 
 
 Had too much splendour for the owly eye 
 
 Of politic and thankless royalty ; 
 
 I did deserve too much ; a pleurisy 
 
 Of that blood in me is the cause I die. 
 
 Virtue in great men must be small and 
 slight, 
 
 For poor stars rule where she is exquisite. 
 
 'Tis tyrannous and impious policy 
 
 To put to death by fraud and treachery ; 
 
 Sleight is then royal when it makes men 
 live 
 
 And if it urge faults, urgeth to forgive. 
 
 He must be guiltless that condemns the 
 guilty. 
 
 Like things do nourish like and not de- 
 stroy them ; 
 
 Minds must be found that judge affairs of 
 weight, 
 
 And seeing hands, cut corrosives from 
 your sight. 
 
 A lord intelligencer? hangman-like, 
 
 Thrust him from human fellowship to the 
 desert, 
 
 Blow him with curses ; shall your justice 
 call 
 
 Treachery her father? would you wish her 
 weigh 
 
 My valour with the hiss of such a viper ? 
 
 What have I done to shun the mortal 
 shame 
 
 Of so unjust an opposition ? 
 
 My envious stars cannot deny me this, 
 
 That I may make my judges witnesses ; 
 
 And that my wretched fortunes have re- 
 served 
 
 For my last comfort ; ye all know, my 
 lords, 
 
 This body, gash'd with five and thirty 
 wounds, 
 
 Whose life and death you have in your 
 award, 
 
 Holds not a vein that hath not open'd 
 been, 
 
 And which I would not open yet again 
 
 For you and yours ; this hand lhat writ 
 the lines 
 
 Alleged against me hath enacted still 
 
 More good than there it only talk'd of ill. 
 
 I must confess my choler hath transferr'd 
 
 My tender spleen to all intemperate speech, 
 
 But reason ever did my deeds attend. 
 
 In worth of praise, and imitation, 
 
 Had I borne any will to let them loose, 
 
 I could have flesh'd them with bad ser- 
 vices 
 
 In England lately, and in Switzerland ; 
 
 I 
 
266 
 
 BYRON'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 FACT v. 
 
 There are a hundred gentleman by name 
 Can witness my demeanour in the first, 
 And in the last ambassage I adjure 
 No other testimonies than the Seigneurs 
 De Vic and Sillery, who amply know 
 In what sort and with what fidelity 
 I bore myself, to reconcile and knit 
 In one desire so many wills disjoin'd, 
 And from the King's allegiance quite with- 
 drawn. 
 My acts ask'd many men, though done by 
 
 one ; 
 And [though] I were but one I stood for 
 
 thousands, 
 And still I hold my worth, though not my 
 
 place : 
 
 Nor slight me, judges, though I be but one. 
 One man, in one sole expedition, 
 Reduced into th' imperial power of Rome 
 Armenia, Pontus, and Arabia, 
 Syria, Albania, and Iberia, 
 Conquer'd th' Hyrcanians, and to Cau- 
 casus 
 
 His arm extended ; the Numidians 
 And Afric to the shores meridional 
 His power subjected ; and that part of 
 
 Spain 
 Which stood from those parts that Ser- 
 
 torius ruled, 
 
 Even to the Atlantic sea he conquered. 
 Th' Albanian kings he from the kingdoms 
 
 chased, 
 And at the Caspian sea their dwellings 
 
 placed ; 
 Of all the earth's globe, by power and his 
 
 advice, 
 The round-eyed ocean saw him victor 
 
 thrice. 
 And what shall let me, but your cruel 
 
 doom, 
 
 To add as much to France as he to Rome, 
 And to leave justice neither sword nor word 
 To use against my life ; this senate knows 
 That what with one victorious hand I took 
 I gave to all your uses with another ; 
 With this I took and propt the falling king- 
 dom, 
 
 And gave it to the King ; I have kept 
 Your laws of state from fire, and you your- 
 selves 
 Fix'd in this high tribunal, from whose 
 
 height 
 
 The vengeful Saturnals of the League 
 Had hurl'd ye headlong ; do ye then re- 
 turn 
 
 This retribution ? can the cruel King 
 The kingdom, laws, and you, all saved by 
 
 me, 
 Destroy their saver? what, ay me ! I did 
 
 Adverse to this, this damn'd enchanter 
 
 did, 
 
 That took into his will my motion ; 
 And being bank-rout both of wealth and 
 
 worth, 
 Pursued with quarrels and with suits in 
 
 law, 
 Fear'd by the kingdom, threaten'd by the 
 
 King, 
 Would raise the loathed dunghill of his 
 
 ruins 
 
 Upon the monumental heap of mine ; 
 Torn with possessed whirlwinds may he 
 
 die, 
 
 And dogs bark at his murtherous memory. 
 Ch. My lord, our liberal sufferance of 
 
 your speech 
 
 Hath made it late, and for this session 
 We will dismiss you ; take him back, my 
 
 lord. . [Exit Vit. and Byron. 
 
 Ha. You likewise may depart. 
 
 [Exit La Fin. 
 Ch. What resteth now 
 To be decreed 'gainst this great prisoner ? 
 A mighty merit and a monstrous crime 
 Are here concurrent ; what by witnesses 
 His letters and instructions we have proved 
 Himself confesseth, and excuseth all 
 With witchcraft and the only act of 
 
 thought. 
 
 For witchcraft, I esteem it a mere strength 
 Of rage in him, conceived 'gainst his ac- 
 cuser, 
 
 Who being examined hath denied it all. 
 Suppose it true, it made him false ; but 
 
 wills 
 And worthy minds witchcraft can never 
 
 force. 
 And for his thoughts that brake not into 
 
 deeds, 
 Time was the cause, not will ; the mind's 
 
 free act 
 In treason still is judged as th' outward 
 
 fact. 
 
 If his deserts have had a wealthy share 
 In saving of our land from civil furies, 
 Manlius had so that saved the Capitol, 
 Yet for his after traitorous factions 
 They threw him headlong from the place 
 
 he saved. 
 
 My definite sentence, then, doth this im- 
 port : 
 That we must quench the wild-fire with his 
 
 blood 
 
 In which it was so traitorously inflamed ; 
 Unless with it we seek to incense the 
 
 land. 
 
 The King can have no refuge for his life, 
 If his be quitted ; this was it that made 
 
SCENT: i.] 
 
 BYRON'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 267 
 
 Louis th' Eleventh renounce his country- 
 men, 
 
 And call the valiant Scots out of their 
 kingdom 
 
 To use their greater virtues and their faiths 
 
 Than his own subjects, in his royal guard. 
 
 What then conclude your censures ? 
 Omnss. He must die. 
 C/i. Draw then his sentence formally, 
 and send him ; 
 
 And so all treasons in his death attend 
 him. \_Exennt. 
 
 Enter Byron, Epernon, Soissons, Janin, 
 Vidame, D'Escures. 
 
 Vid. I jov you had so good a day, my 
 
 lord. 
 
 By. I won it from them all ; the Chan- 
 cellor 
 
 I answer'd to his uttermost improvements ; 
 
 I moved my other judges to lament 
 
 My insolent misfortunes, and to loathe 
 
 The pocky soul and state-bawd, my ac- 
 cuser. 
 
 I made reply to all that could be said 
 
 So eloquently, and with such a charm 
 
 Of grave enforcements, that methought I 
 sat, 
 
 Like Orpheus, casting reins on savage 
 beasts ; 
 
 At the arm's end, as 'twere, I took my 
 bar 
 
 And set it far above the high tribunal, 
 
 Where, like a cedar on Mount Lebanon, 
 
 I grew, and made my judges show like 
 box-trees ; 
 
 And box-trees right their wishes would have 
 made them, 
 
 Whence boxes should have grown, till they 
 had strook 
 
 My head into the budget ; but, alas ! 
 
 I held their bloody arms with such strong 
 
 reasons, 
 
 I And, by your leave, with such a jerk of 
 \vit, 
 
 That I fetch'd blood upon the Chancellor's 
 cheeks. 
 
 Methinks I see his countenance as he sat, 
 i And the most lawyerly delivery 
 
 Of his set speeches ; shall I play his 
 
 part ? 
 
 Ep. For heaven's sake, good my lord. 
 By. I will, i'faith. 
 
 " Behold a wicked man, a man debauch'd; 
 ' A man contesting with his King ; a man 
 
 On whom, my lord, we are not to con- 
 nive, 
 
 Though we may condole ; a man 
 j That Lcesx Alajestate sought a lease 
 
 Of plus quam satis. A man that z<i ct 
 
 armis 
 Assail'd the King, and would per fas el 
 
 ncfas 
 Aspire the kingdom ;" here was lawyer's 
 
 learning. 
 Ep. He said not this, my lord, thai I 
 
 have heard. 
 By. This, or the like, I swear. I pen no 
 
 speeches. 
 So. Then there is good hope of your 
 
 wish'd acquittal. 
 By. Acquittal ? they have reason ; were I 
 
 dead 
 
 I know they cannot all supply my place. 
 Is't possible the King should be so vain 
 To think he can shake me with fear of 
 
 death ? 
 
 Or make me apprehend that he intends it? 
 Thinks he to make his firmest men his 
 
 clouds ? 
 
 The clouds, observing their aerial natures, 
 Are borne aloft, and then to moisture 
 
 changed, 
 Fall to the earth ; where being made thick, 
 
 and cold, 
 
 They lose both all their heat and levity ; 
 Yet then again recovering heat and light- 
 ness, 
 Again they are advanced : and by the 
 
 sun 
 Made fresh and glorious : and since clouds 
 
 are rapt 
 With these uncertainties, now up, now 
 
 down, 
 
 Am I to flit so with his smile or frown ? 
 Ep. I wish your comforts and encou- 
 ragements 
 
 May spring out of your safety ; but I hear 
 The King hath reason'd so against your 
 
 life, 
 And made your most friends yield so to his 
 
 reasons 
 
 That your estate is fearfr'., 
 By. Yield t' his reasons ? 
 O how friends' reasons and their freedoms 
 
 stretch 
 When power sets his wide tenters to their 
 
 sides ! 
 
 How like a cure, by mere opinion, 
 It works upon our blood ! like th' ancient , 
 
 gods 
 Are modern kings, that lived past bounds | 
 
 themselves, 
 
 Yet set a measure down to wretched men ; 
 By many sophisms they made good 
 
 deceit ; 
 And, since they pass'd in power, surpass'd 
 
 in right : 
 
263 
 
 BYRON'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 When kings' wills pass, the stars wink, 
 
 and the sun 
 
 .Suffers eclipse : rude thunder yields to them 
 His horrid wings : sits smooth as glass 
 
 en gazed ; 
 And lightning sticks 'twixt heaven and 
 
 earth amazed : 
 Men's faiths are shaken, and the pit of 
 
 truth 
 O'erflows with darkness, in which Justice 
 
 sits, 
 And keeps her vengeance tied to make it 
 
 fierce ; 
 And when it comes, th' increased horrors 
 
 show, 
 Heaven's plague is sure, though full of 
 
 state, and slow. [ Within. 
 
 Sist. O my dear lord and brother, O the 
 
 Duke. 
 By. What sounds are these, my lord? 
 
 hark, hark, methinks 
 I hear the cries of people. 
 
 Ep. 'Tis for one, 
 Wounded in fight here at Saint Anthony's 
 
 gate: 
 By. 'Sfoot, one cried the Duke : I pray 
 
 harken 
 
 Again, or burst yourselves with silence, no : 
 What countryman's the common headsman 
 
 here ? 
 
 So. He's a Burgonian. 
 By. The great devil he is ! 
 The bitter wizard told me, a Burgonian 
 Should be my headsman ; strange concur- 
 rences : 
 'Sdeath ! who's here ? 
 
 Enter four Ushers, bare Chanc., Harley, 
 Potier, Fleury, Vitry, Pralin, with 
 others. 
 
 then I am but dead, 
 
 Now, now ye come all to pronounce my 
 sentence. 
 
 1 am condemn'd unjustly : tell my kinsfolks 
 I die an innocent : if any friend 
 
 Pity the ruin of the State's sustainer, 
 
 Proclaim my innocence ; ah, Lord Chan- 
 cellor, 
 
 Is there no pardon? will there come no 
 mercy ? 
 
 .Ay, put your hat on, and let me stand bare. 
 
 'Show yourself a right lawyer. 
 Ch. I am bare : 
 
 What would you have me do ? 
 By. You have not done 
 
 ILike a good Justice, and one that knew 
 
 He sat upon the precious blood of virtue ; 
 
 Y'ave pleased the cruel King, and have 
 not borne 
 
 As great regard to save as to condemn ; 
 
 You have condemn'd me, my Lord Chan- 
 cellor, 
 
 But God acquits me. He will open lay 
 
 All your close treasons against him, to 
 colour 
 
 Treasons laid to his truest images ; 
 
 And you, my lord, shall answer this 
 injustice, 
 
 Before his judgment -seat : to which I 
 summon 
 
 In one year and a day your hot appear- 
 ance. 
 
 I go before, by men's corrupted dooms, 
 
 But they that caused my death shall after 
 come 
 
 By the immaculate justice of the Highest. 
 Ch. Well, good my lord, commend 
 your soul to him 
 
 And to his mercy ; think of that, I pray. 
 By. Sir, I have thought of it, and every 
 hour 
 
 Since my affliction, ask'd on naked knees 
 
 Patience to bear your unbelieved injustice : 
 
 But you, nor none of you, have thought of 
 him 
 
 In my eviction : y'are come to your benches 
 
 With plotted judgments ; your link'd ears 
 so loud 
 
 Sing with prejudicate winds, that nought 
 is heard 
 
 Of all poor prisoners urge 'gainst your 
 
 award. 
 
 Ha. Passion, my lord, transports your 
 bitterness 
 
 Beyond all colour ; and your proper judg- 
 ment : 
 
 No man hath known your merits more 
 than T, 
 
 And would to God your great misdeeds 
 had been 
 
 As much undone as they have been con- 
 ceal 1 d ; 
 
 The cries of them for justice, in desert, 
 
 Have been so loud and piercing that they 
 deafen 'd 
 
 The ears of mercy; and .have labour'd 
 more 
 
 Your judges to compress than to enforce 
 
 them. 
 Po. We bring you here your sentence ; 
 
 will you read it ? 
 
 By. For heaven's sake, shame to use me 
 with such rigour ; 
 
 I know what it imports, and will not have 
 
 Mine ear blown into flames with hearing 
 it. 
 
 Have you been one of them that have con 
 demn'd rne ? 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 BYRON'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 269 
 
 Fl. My lord, T am your orator : God 
 
 comfort you ! 
 By. Good sir, my father loved you so 
 
 entirely 
 That if you have been one, my soul forgives 
 
 you. 
 
 It is the King (most childish that he is, 
 That takes what he hath given) that injures 
 
 me : 
 He gave grace in the first draught of my 
 
 fault, 
 
 And now restrains it : grace again I ask ; 
 Let him again vouchsafe it. Send to him, 
 A post will soon return : the Queen of 
 
 England 
 
 Told me that if the wilful Earl of Essex 
 Had used submission, and but ask'd her 
 
 mercy, 
 
 She would have given it, past resumption. 
 She, like a gracious princess, did desire 
 To pardon him : even as she pray'd to 
 
 God, 
 
 He would let down a pardon unto her ; 
 He yet was guilty, I am innocent : 
 He still refused grace, I importune it. 
 Ch. This ask d in time, my lord, while 
 
 he besought it, 
 
 And ere he had made his severity known, 
 Had, with much joy to him, I know been 
 
 granted. 
 
 By. No, no, his bounty then was misery, 
 To offer when he knew 'twould be refused ; 
 He treads the vulgar path of all advantage, 
 And loves men for their vices, not their 
 
 virtues. 
 
 My service would have quicken 'd gratitude 
 In his own death, had he been truly royal ; 
 It would have stirr'd the image of a king 
 Into perpetual motion ; to have stood 
 Near the conspiracy restrain'd at Mantes ; 
 And in a danger, that had then the wolf 
 To fly upon his bosom, had I only held 
 Intelligence with the conspirators, 
 Who stuck at no check but my loyalty, 
 Nor kept life in their hopes' but in my 
 
 death. 
 The siege of Amiens would have soften'd 
 
 rocks, 
 Where cover'd all in showers of shot and 
 
 fire, 
 
 I seem'd to all men's eyes a fighting flame 
 With bullets cut, in fashion of a man ; 
 A sacrifice to valour, impious king ! 
 Which he will needs extinguish with my 
 
 blood. 
 Let him beware : justice will fall from 
 
 heaven 
 
 In the same form I served in that siege, 
 And by the light of that, he shall discern 
 
 What good my ill hath brought him ; it 
 
 will nothing 
 Assure his state : the same quench he hath 
 
 cast 
 
 Upon my life, shall quite put out his fame. 
 This day he loseth what he shall not find 
 By all days he survives ; so good a servant, 
 Nor Spain so great a foe ; with whom, 
 
 alas ! 
 
 Because I treated am I put to death ? 
 Tis but a politic glose ; my courage raised 
 
 me, 
 
 For the dear price of five and thirty scars, 
 And that hath ruin'd me, I thank my stars : 
 Come, I'll go where ye will, ye shall not 
 
 lead me. 
 Ch. I fear his frenzy ; never saw I 
 
 man 
 
 Of such a spirit so amazed at death. 
 Ha. He alters every minute : what a 
 
 vapour 
 
 The strongest mind is to a storm of crosses. 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Manet Epernon, Soissons, Janin, Vidame, 
 D'Escures. 
 
 Ep. Oh of what contraries consists a 
 
 man ! 
 Of what impossible mixtures ! vice and 
 
 virtue, 
 
 Corruption, and eternnesse, at one time, 
 And in one subject, let together, loose ! 
 We have not any strength but weakens us, 
 No greatness but doth crush us into air. 
 Our knowledges do light us but to err, 
 Our ornaments are burthens : our delights 
 Are our tormenters ; fiends that, raised in 
 
 fears, 
 
 At parting shake our roofs about our ears. 
 So. O Virtue, thou art now far worse 
 
 than Fortune : 
 Her gifts stuck by the Duke when thine are 
 
 vanish 'd, 
 
 Thou bravest thy friend in need : neces- 
 sity, 
 That used to keep thy wealth, contempt, 
 
 thy love, 
 
 Have both abandon'd thee in his extremes, 
 Thy powers are shadows, and thy comfort, 
 
 dreams. 
 Vid. O real goodness, if thou be a 
 
 power, 
 
 And not a word alone, in humane uses, 
 Appear out of this angry conflagration, 
 Where this great captain, thy late temple, 
 
 burns, 
 
 And turn his vicious fury to thy flame : 
 From all earth's hopes mere gilded with 
 
 thy fame : 
 
270 
 
 BYRON'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 "ACT v. 
 
 Let piety enter with her willing cross, 
 And take him on it ; ope his breast and 
 
 arms, 
 
 To all the storms, necessity can breathe, 
 And burst them all with his embraced 
 
 death. 
 Ja. Yet are the civil tumults of his 
 
 spirits 
 
 Hot and outrageous : not resolved, alas ! 
 (Being but one man) render the kingdom's 
 
 doom ; 
 
 He doubts, storms, threatens, rues, com- 
 plains, implores ; 
 Grief hath brought all his forces to his 
 
 looks, 
 And nought is left to strengthen him 
 
 within, 
 
 Nor lasts one habit of those grieved as- 
 pects ; 
 Blood expels paleness, paleness blood doth 
 
 chase, 
 And sorrow errs through all forms in his 
 
 face. 
 
 D'E. So furious is he, that the politic law 
 Is much to seek, how to enact her sentence : 
 Authority back d with arms, though he 
 
 unarm'd, 
 
 Abhors his fury, and with doubtful eyes 
 Views on what ground it should sustain his 
 
 ruins, 
 
 And as a savage boar that (hunted long, 
 Assail'd and setup) with his only eyes 
 Swimming in fire, keeps off the baying 
 
 hounds, 
 Though sunk himself, yet holds his anger 
 
 up, 
 And snows it forth in foam ; holds firm his 
 
 stand, 
 
 Of battalous bristles ; feeds his hate to die, 
 And whets his tusks with wrathful majesty: 
 So fares the furious Duke, an'd with his 
 
 looks 
 Doth teach death horrors ; makes the 
 
 hangman learn 
 
 New habits for his bloody impudence, 
 Which now habitual horror from him drives, 
 Who for his life shuns death, by which he 
 
 lives. 
 
 Enter Chancellor, Harley, Potier, 
 Fleury, Vitry. 
 
 Vi. Will not your lordship have the 
 
 Duke distinguish 'd 
 
 From other prisoners ? where the order is 
 To give up men condemn 'd into the hands 
 Of th' executioner; he would be the death, 
 Of him that he should die by, ere he suf- 
 
 fer'd 
 Such an abjection. 
 
 Ch. But to bind his hands, 
 I hold it passing needful. 
 
 Ha. Tis my lord, 
 
 And very dangerous to bring him loose. 
 Pr. You will in all despair and fury 
 
 plunge him, 
 If you but offer it. 
 
 Po. My lord, by this 
 
 The prisoner's spirit is something pacified, 
 And 'tis a fear that th' offer of those bands 
 Would breed fresh furies in him, and dis- 
 turb 
 The entry of his soul into her peace. 
 
 Ch. I would not that for any possible 
 
 danger, 
 That can be wrought by his unarmed 
 
 hands, 
 
 And therefore in his own form bring him 
 in. 
 
 Enter Byron, a bishop or huo, with all the 
 guards, soldiers with muskets. 
 
 By. Where shall this weight fall? on 
 
 what region, 
 Must this declining prominent pour his 
 
 load? 
 I'll break my blood's high billows 'gainst 
 
 my stars. 
 
 Before this hill be shook into a flat, 
 All France shall feel an earthquake ; with 
 
 what murmur, 
 This world shrinks into chaos ! 
 
 Arch. Good, my lord, 
 Forego it willingly ; and now resign 
 Your sensual powers entirely to your soul. 
 By. Horror of death, let me alone in 
 
 peace, 
 
 And leave my soul to me, whom it con- 
 cerns ; 
 
 You have no charge of it ; I feel her free : 
 How she doth rouse, and like a falcon 
 
 stretch 
 Her silver wings ; as threatening death 
 
 with death ; 
 
 At whom I joyfully will cast her off. 
 I know this body but a sink of folly, 
 The ground-work and raised frame of woe 
 
 and frailty ; 
 
 The bond and bundle of corruption ; 
 A quick corse, only sensible of grief, 
 A walking sepulchre, or household thief : 
 A glass of air, broken with less than breath, 
 A slave bound face to face to death, till 
 
 death. 
 
 And what said all you more ? I know, be- 
 sides, 
 
 That life is but a dark and stormy night, 
 Of senseless dreams, terrors, and broken 
 ' sleeps ; 
 
SCT..VF: L] 
 
 BYRON'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 271 
 
 A tyranny, devising pains to plague 
 
 And make man long in dying, racks his 
 
 death ; 
 And death is nothing ; what can you say 
 
 more? 
 
 I bring a long globe, and a little earth, 
 Am seated like earth, betwixt both the 
 
 heavens, 
 
 That if I rise, to heaven I rise ; if fall, 
 I likewise fall to heaven ; what stronger 
 
 faith 
 Hath any of your souls? what say you 
 
 more? 
 Why lose I time in these things ? Talk of 
 
 knowledge, 
 It serves for inward use. I will not 
 
 die 
 
 Like to a clergyman ; but like the cap- 
 tain 
 That pray'd on horseback, and with sword 
 
 in hand, 
 Threaten'd the sun, commanding it to 
 
 stand ; 
 These are but ropes of sand. 
 
 Ch. Desire you then 
 To speak with any man ? 
 
 By. I would speak with La Force and 
 
 ' Saint Blancart. 
 Do they fly me ? 
 
 Where is Prevost, controller of my house ? 
 Pr. Gone to his house ith' country three 
 
 days since. 
 By. He should have stay'd here, he 
 
 keeps all my blanks. 
 Oh all the world .forsakes me ! wretched 
 
 world, 
 Consisting most of parts that fly each 
 
 other ; 
 
 A firmness, breeding all inconstancy, 
 A bond of all disjunction ; like a man 
 Long buried, is a man that long hath 
 
 lived ; 
 Touch him, he falls to ashes ; for one 
 
 fault, 
 
 I forfeit all the fashion of a man ; 
 Why should I keep my soul in this dark 
 
 light, 
 Whose black beams lighted me to lose my 
 
 When I have lost my arms, my fame, my 
 
 wind, 
 Friends, brother, hopes, fortunes, and even 
 
 my fury ? 
 
 O happy were the man could live alone, 
 To know no man, nor be of any known ! 
 Ha. My lord, it is the manner once 
 
 again 
 
 To read the sentence. 
 By. Yet more sentences ? 
 
 How often will you make me suffer death, 
 As ye were proud to hear your powerful 
 
 dooms? 
 I know and feel you were the men that gave 
 
 it, 
 
 And die most cruelly to hear so often 
 My crimes and bitter condemnation urged. 
 Suffice it I am brought here, and obey, 
 And that all here are privy to the crimes. 
 Ch. It must be read, my lord, no re- 
 medy. 
 By. Read, if it must be, then, and I must 
 
 talk. 
 
 Ha. The process being extraordinarily 
 made and examined by the Court, and 
 
 chambers assembled 
 
 By. Condemn'd for depositions of a 
 
 witch? 
 
 The common deposition, and her whore 
 To all whorish perjuries and treacheries. 
 Sure he call'd up the devil in my spi- 
 rits, 
 
 And made him to usurp my faculties : 
 Shall I be cast away now he's cast 
 
 out? 
 
 What justice is in this? dear country- 
 men, 
 Take this true evidence, betwixt heaven 
 
 and you, 
 
 And quit me in your hearts. 
 Ch. Go on. 
 
 Ha. Against Charles Gontaut of Byron, 
 Knight of both the Orders, Duke of Byron, 
 Peer and Marshal of France, Governor of 
 Burgundy, accused of treason, in a sentence 
 was given the twenty-second of this month, 
 condemning the said Duke of Byron of 
 high treason, for his direct conspiracies 
 against the King's person, enterprises 
 
 against his state 
 
 By. That is most false ; let me for ever 
 
 be 
 Deprived of heaven, as I shall be of 
 
 earth, 
 
 If it be true ; know, worthy countrymen, 
 These two and twenty months I have been 
 
 clear 
 Of all attempts against the king and 
 
 state. 
 
 Ha. Treaties and treacheries with his 
 enemies, being Marshal of the King's army, 
 for reparation of which crimes they de- 
 prived him of all his estates, honours, and 
 dignities, and condemned him to lose his 
 head upon a scaffold at the Greave. 
 By. The Greave? had that place stood 
 
 your forces should 
 
 for my dispatch 
 had not yielded; all 
 
 not 
 
272 
 
 BYRON'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Stir me one foot, wild horses should have 
 
 drawn 
 My body piecemeal ere you all had brought 
 
 me. 
 
 Ha. Declaring all his goods, moveable 
 and immoveable, whatsoever, to be confis- 
 cate to the King, the Seigneury of Byron 
 to lose the title of Duchy and Peer for 
 ever. 
 
 By. Now is your form contented ? 
 Ch. Ay, my lord, 
 
 And I must now entreat you to deliver 
 Your order up; the King demands it of 
 
 you. 
 By. And I restore it, with my vow of 
 
 safety 
 In that world where both he and I are 
 
 one, 
 I never brake the oath I took to take 
 
 it. 
 Ch. Well, now, my lord, we'll take our 
 
 latest leaves, 
 Beseeching heaven to take as clear from 
 
 you 
 All sense of torment in your willing 
 
 death, 
 All love and thought of what you must 
 
 leave here 
 As when you shall aspire heaven's highest 
 
 sphere. 
 By. Thanks to your lordship, and let me 
 
 pray too 
 That you will hold good censure of my 
 
 life 
 
 By the clear witness of my soul in death 
 That I have never pass'd act 'gainst the 
 
 King, 
 
 Which, if my faith had let me under- 
 take, 
 They had been three years since amongst 
 
 the dead. 
 Ha. Your soul siall find his safety in her 
 
 own. 
 Call the executioner. 
 
 By. Good sir, I pray 
 Go after and beseech the Chancellor 
 That he will let my body be interr'd 
 Amongst my predecessors at Byron. 
 D'E. I go, my lord. {Exit. 
 
 By. Go, go ! can all go thus, 
 And no man come with comfort ? Farewell, 
 
 world ! 
 
 He is at no end of his actions blest 
 Whose ends will make him greatest, and 
 
 not best ; 
 They tread no ground, but ride in air on 
 
 storms 
 That follow state, and hunt their empty 
 
 forms ; 
 
 Who see not that the valleys of the 
 
 world . . 
 Make even right with mountains, that they 
 
 grow 
 Green and lie warmer, and ever peaceful 
 
 are, 
 When clouds spit fire at hills and burn 
 
 them bare ; 
 Not valleys' part, but we should imitate 
 
 streams, 
 
 That run below the valleys and do yield 
 To every molehill, every bank embrace 
 That checks their currents, and when tor- 
 rents come, 
 That swell and raise them past their natural 
 
 height, 
 How mad they are, and troubled, like low 
 
 streams 
 
 With torrents crown'd, are men with dia- 
 dems. 
 Vi. My lord, 'tis late ; will't please you 
 
 to go up ? 
 By. Up? 'tis a fair preferment ha, ha, 
 
 ha! 
 There should go shouts to upshots ; not a 
 
 breath 
 Of any mercy, yet? Come, since we 
 
 must ; 
 
 Who's this? 
 
 Pr. The executioner, my lord. 
 By. Death ! slave, down ! or by the blood 
 
 that moves me 
 I'll pluck thy throat out ; go, I'll call you 
 
 straight, 
 
 Hold, boy ; and this 
 Hang. Soft, boy, I'll bar you that. 
 By. Take this then, yet, I pray thee, that. 
 
 again 
 
 I do not joy in sight of such a pageant 
 As presents death ; though this life have a 
 
 curse, 
 
 Tis better than another that is worse. 
 Arch. My lord, now you are blind to this 
 
 world's sight, 
 Look upward to a world of endless 
 
 light. 
 By. Ay, ay, you talk of upward still to 
 
 others, 
 And downwards look, with headlong eyes, 
 
 yourselves. 
 
 Now come you up, sir; but not touch me yet; 
 Where shall I be now ? 
 Hang. Here, my lord. 
 By. Where's that ? 
 Hang. There, there, my lord. 
 By. And where, slave, is that there ? 
 Thou seest I see not ? yet I speak as I 
 
 saw; 
 Well, now, is'tfit? 
 
SCENE I. "| 
 
 BYRON'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 273 
 
 Hang. Kneel, I beseech your grace, 
 That I may do mine office with most 
 
 order. 
 By. Do it, and if at one blow thou art 
 
 short, 
 Give one and thirty, I'll endure them 
 
 all. 
 Hold ; stay a little. Comes there yet no 
 
 mercy ? 
 
 High heaven curse these exemplary pro- 
 ceedings, 
 When justice fails, they sacrifice our 
 
 example. 
 Hang. Let me beseech you I may cut 
 
 your hair. 
 
 By. Out, ugly image of my cruel jus- 
 tice! 
 Yet wilt thou be before me ? stay my 
 
 will, 
 Or by the will of heaven I'll strangle 
 
 thee. 
 Vi. My lord, you make too much of 
 
 this your body, 
 Which is no more your own. 
 
 By. Nor is it yours ; 
 I'll take my death with all the horrid 
 
 rites 
 
 And representments of the dread it merits; 
 Let tame nobility and numbed fools 
 That apprehend not what they undergo, 
 Be such exemplary and formal sheep ; 
 I will not have him touch me till I 
 
 will ; 
 If you will needs rack me beyond my 
 
 reason, 
 Hell take me but I'll strangle half that's 
 
 here, 
 And force the rest to kill me. I'll leap 
 
 down 
 
 If but once more they tempt me to de- 
 spair. 
 You wish my quiet, yet give cause of 
 
 fury: 
 Think you to set rude winds upon the 
 
 sea, 
 
 Yet keep it calm ? or cast me in a sleep 
 With shaking of my chains about mine 
 
 ears? 
 O honest soldiers, you have seen me 
 
 free 
 
 From any care of many thousand deaths ; 
 Yet of this one the manner doth amaze 
 
 me. 
 View, view this wounded bosom, how much 
 
 bound 
 Should that man make me that would 
 
 shoot it through. 
 
 Is it not pity I should lose my life 
 By such a bloody and infamous stroke ? 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 Soldier. Now by thy spirit, and thy 
 better angel, 
 
 If thou wert clear, the continent of 
 France 
 
 Would shrink beneath the burthen of thy 
 death 
 
 Ere it would bear it. 
 Vi. Who's that? 
 Sol. I say well, 
 
 And clear your justice, here is no ground 
 shrinks ; 
 
 If he were clear it would ; and I say 
 more, 
 
 Clear, or not clear, if he with all his foul- 
 ness, 
 
 Stood here in one scale, and the King's 
 chief minion 
 
 Stood in another, here, put here a par- 
 don, 
 
 Here lay a royal gift, this, this in merit, 
 
 Should hoise the other minion into air. 
 Vi. Hence with that frantic. 
 By. This is some poor witness 
 
 That my desert might have out weigh 'd my 
 forfeit : 
 
 But danger haunts desert when he is 
 greatest ; 
 
 His hearty ills are proved out of his 
 glances, 
 
 And kings' suspicions needs no balances ; 
 
 So here's a most decretal end of me : 
 
 Which I desire, in me, may end my 
 wrongs. 
 
 Commend my love, I charge you, to my 
 brothers, 
 
 And by my love and misery command 
 them 
 
 To keep their faiths that bind them to the 
 King, 
 
 And prove no stomachers of rr.y misfor- 
 tunes ; 
 
 Nor come to Court till time hath eaten 
 out 
 
 The blots and scars of my opprobrious , 
 death. 
 
 And tell the Earl, my dear friend of D'Au- 
 vergne, 
 
 That my death utterly were free from 
 grief 
 
 But for the sad loss of his worthy friend- 
 ship ; 
 
 And if I had been made for longer life 
 
 I would have more deserved him in my 
 service ; 
 
 Beseeching him to know I have not used 
 
 One word in my arraignment that might 
 touch him, 
 
 Had I no other want than so ill mean- 
 ing. 
 
274 
 
 BYRON'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 And so farewell for ever. Never more 
 Shall any hope of my revival see me. 
 Such is the endless exile of dead men. 
 Summer succeeds the spring ; autumn the 
 
 summer ; 
 The frosts of winter, the fall'n leaves of 
 
 autumn : 
 All these, and all fruits in them yearly 
 
 fade, 
 
 And every year return : but cursed man 
 Shall never more renew his vanish'd 
 
 face. 
 Fall on your knees then, statists, ere ye 
 
 fall, 
 
 That you may rise again : knees bent too { 
 late, 
 
 Stick you in earth like statues : see in me 
 
 How you are pour'd down from your 
 clearest heavens ; 
 
 Fall lower yet, mix'd with th' unmoved 
 centre, 
 
 That your own shadows may no longer 
 mock ye. 
 
 Strike, strike, O strike ; fly, fly, command- 
 ing soul, 
 
 And on thy wings for this thy body's 
 breath, 
 
 Bear the eternal victory of death. 
 
May-Day 
 
 ACT THE FIRST. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Chants j nven um cantantes and saltantes. 
 [Exeunt saltan. 
 
 Interim, Intrat Lorenzo, papers in his 
 hand. 
 
 Lo, Well done, my lusty bloods, well 
 done. Fit, fit observance for this May 
 morning ; not the May-month alone, they 
 take when it comes ; nor the first week of 
 that month, nor the first day ; but the 
 first minute of the first hour of the first 
 day. Lose no time, bloods, lose no time ; 
 though the sun go to bed never so much 
 before you, yet be you up before him ; call 
 the golden sluggard from the silver arms 
 of his lady to light you into yours : when 
 your old father January here in one of his 
 last days, thrusts his forehead into the 
 depth of May's fragrant bosom, what 
 may you Aprils perform then ! O, what 
 what may you do ! Well, yet will I say 
 thus much for myself, wheresoever the 
 affections of youth are, there must needs 
 be the instruments, and where the instru- 
 ments are, there must of necessity be the 
 faculties. What, am I short of them then ? 
 A sound old man, ably constituted, whole- 
 somely dieted, that 'took his May tem- 
 perately at their ages, and continued his 
 own, why should he not continue their 
 ages in his own? By the mass, I feel 
 nothing that stands against it, and, there- 
 fore, sweet May, I salute thee with the 
 youngest ; I have love to employ thee in, 
 as well as the proudest young princock ; 
 and so have at you, mistress Franceschina ; 
 have at you, mistress Frank ; I'll spread 
 my nets for you, i'faith, though they be 
 my very purse-nets, wherein what heart 
 will not willingly lie panting ? 
 
 "May-Day. A witty Comedie, diuers 
 times acted at the Blacke Fryers. Written by 
 George Chapman. London. Printed for lohn 
 Browne, dwelling in Fleetstreete in Saint Dun- 
 stones Church-yard. 1611." 
 
 Enter Angelo. 
 
 An. How now? God's my life, I wondered 
 
 I what made this May morning so cold, and 
 
 | now I see 'tis this January that intrudes 
 
 into it ; what paper is that he holds in 
 
 hand, trow we? 
 
 Lo. Here have I put her face in rhyme, 
 but I fear my old vein will not stretch to 
 her contentment. 
 
 "O hair, no hair but beams stol'n from 
 the sun." 
 
 An. Out upon her ; if it be she that I 
 think, she has a fox-red cranion. 
 
 Lo. "A forehead that disdains the name 
 ! of fair." 
 
 An. And reason, for 'tis a foul one. 
 
 Lo. "A matchless eye." 
 
 An. True, her eyes be not matches. 
 
 Lo. " A cheek vermilion red." 
 
 An. Painted, I warrant you. 
 
 Lo. " A far-commanding mouth." 
 
 An. It stretches to her ears, indeed. 
 
 Lo. " A nose made out of wax." 
 
 An. A red nose, in sincerity. 
 
 Lo. This could I send ; but person, 
 person does it. A good presence, to bear 
 out a good wit ; a good face, a pretty 
 Court leg, and a deft dapper personage ; 
 no superfluous dimensions, but fluent in 
 competence ; for it is not Hector but Paris, 
 not the full armful, but the sweet handful 
 that ladies delight in. 
 
 An. O notable old whinyard ! 
 
 Lo. Such a size oi humanity now, and 
 brain enough in it, it is not in the strength 
 of a woman to withstand : well, she may 
 hold out a parley or two, for 'tis a weak 
 fort that obeys at the first or second sum- 
 mons ; if she resist the third, she is dis- 
 charged, though she yield in future ; for 
 then it appears it was no fault of hers, but 
 the man that would take no denial. What 
 rests now? means for access. True. O 
 an honest bawd were worth gold now. 
 
 An. A plague upon him, I had thought 
 to have appeared to him, but now if I do 
 he will take me for the man he talks on. I 
 will therefore post by his dull eyesight, as 
 in haste of business. 
 
 T 2 
 
276 
 
 MAY-DAY. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 Lo. What, Signer Angelo ? soft, I com- 
 mand you. 
 
 An. God's precious ! what mean you, 
 sir? 
 
 Lo. I would be loth to be outrun, I 
 assure you, sir ; was I able to stay you ? 
 
 An. Your ability stood too stiff, sir ; be- 
 shrew me else. 
 
 Lo. O most offenceless fault ; I would 
 thou would 'st blaze my imperfection to one 
 thou know'st, i'faith. 
 
 An. Well, sir, another time tell me 
 where she is, and I'll do so much for you 
 gratis. Good morrow, sir. 
 
 Lo. Nay, stay, good Angelo. 
 
 An. My business says nay, sir ; you have 
 made me stay to my pain, sir, I thank you. 
 
 Lo. Not a whit, man, I warrant thee. 
 
 An. Go to, then ; briefly, to whom shall 
 I commend your imperfections ? Will you 
 tell me if I name her? 
 
 Lo. That I will, i' faith, boy. 
 
 An. Is not her hair " no hair, but beams 
 stol'n from the sun ?" 
 
 Lo. Black, black as an ouzel. 
 
 An. "A forehead that disdains the 
 name of fair?" 
 
 Lo. Away, witch, away ! 
 
 An. "A matchless eye ?" 
 
 Lo. Nay, fie, fie, fie ! I see th 'art a very 
 devil, Angelo. And in earnest, I jested 
 when I said my desire of thy friendship 
 touched myself, for it concerns a friend of 
 mine just of my standing. 
 
 An. To whom, then, would he be re- 
 membered that I can solicit ? 
 
 Lo. To sweet Mistress Franceschina, with 
 whom I hear thou art ready to lie down, 
 thou art so great with her. 
 
 An. I am as great as a near kinsman 
 may be with her, sir, not otherwise. 
 
 Lo. A good consanguinity; and good 
 Angelo, to her wilt thou deliver from my 
 friend, in all secrecy, these poor brace of 
 bracelets ? 
 
 An. Perhaps I will, sir, when I know 
 what the gentleman and his intent is. 
 
 Lo. Never examine that, man ; I would 
 not trouble you with carrying too much at 
 once to her ; only tell her such a man will 
 resolve her, naming me ; and I do not 
 greatly care if I take the pains to come to 
 her, so I stay not long and be let in privily ; 
 and so, without making many words, here 
 they be. Put them up closely, I beseech 
 thee, and deliver them as closely. 
 
 An. Well, sir, I love no contention with 
 friends, and therefore pocket many things 
 that otherwise I would not ; but I pray, sir, 
 
 license me a question. Do not I know this 
 gentleman that offers my cousin this kind- 
 ness? 
 
 Lo. Never saw'st him in thy life, at least 
 never knew'st him ; but for his bounty sake 
 to all his well-willers, if this message be 
 friendly discharged, I may chance put a 
 dear friend of him into your bosom, sir, 
 and make you profitably acquainted. 
 
 An. But I pray you, sir, is he not a well 
 elderly gentleman ? 
 
 Lo. Wide, wide ; as young as day, I 
 protest to thee. 
 
 An. I know he is young too, but that is 
 in ability of body ; but is he not a pretty 
 little squat gentleman as you shall see 
 amongst a thousand ? 
 
 Lo. Still from the cushion, still ; tall and 
 high, like a cedar. 
 
 An. I know he is tall also, but it is in 
 his mind, sir; and "it is not Hector but 
 Paris, not the full armful but the sweet 
 handful," that a lady delights to dandle. 
 
 Lo. Now the good devil take thee, if 
 there be any such in hell ! I beseech thee 
 
 An. Well, well, Signer Lorenzo, i'faith, 
 the little squire is thought to be as peerless 
 a piece of flesh, for a piece of flesh, as any 
 hunts the whole pale of Venus, I protest 
 t'ye. 
 
 Lo. I cannot contain myself, i'faith, boy ; 
 if the wenches come in my walk, I give 'em 
 that they come for ; I dally not with 'hem. 
 
 An. I know you do not, sir ; his dallying 
 days be done. 
 
 Lo. It is my infirmity, and I cannot do 
 withal, to die for't. 
 
 An. I believe you, sir. 
 
 Lo. There are certain envious old 
 fellows, my neighbours, that say I am one 
 unwieldy and stiff : Angelo, didst ever 
 hear any wench complain of my stiffness ? 
 
 An. Never in my life ; your old neigh- 
 bours measure you by themselves. 
 
 Lo. Why, there's the matter then. 
 
 An. But, i'faith, sir, do you ever hope 
 to win your purpose at my losing hands, 
 knowing her, as all the world does, a 
 woman of that approved lowliness of life, 
 and so generally tried ? 
 
 Lo. As for that, take thou no care ; 
 she's a woman, is she not? 
 
 An. Sure I do take her to have the flesh 
 and blood of a woman. 
 
 Lo. Then good enough, or then bad 
 enough, this token shall be my gentleman 
 usher to prepare my access, and then let 
 me alone with her. 
 
 An. Ay, marry sir, I think you would 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 MAY-DAY. 
 
 277 
 
 be alone with her : well, sir, I will do my 
 best, but if your gentleman usher should 
 not get entrance for you now, it would be 
 a grief to me. 
 
 Enter Gasparo, an old clown. 
 
 Lo. Fear it not, man ; gifts and gold 
 take the strong'st hold. Away, here 
 comes a snudge that must be my son-in- 
 law ; I would be loth he should suspect 
 these tricks of youth in me, for fear he fear 
 my daughter will trot after me. 
 
 An. Fare you well, sir. {Exit. 
 
 Ga. Godge you God morrow, sir ; godge 
 you God morrow.* 
 
 Lo. God morrow, neighbour Gasparo ; 
 I have talked with my daughter, whom I 
 do yet find a green young plant, and there- 
 fore unapt to bear such ripe fruit, I think 
 I might have said rotten, as yourself. But 
 she is at my disposition, and shall be at 
 yours in the end ; here's my hand, and 
 with my hand take hers. 
 
 Ga. Nay, by my faith, sir, you must 
 give me leave to shake her portion by the 
 hand first. 
 
 Lo. It is ready told for you, sir ; come 
 home when you will, and receive it [Enter 
 Emilia] ; and see, yonder she comes ; 
 away, she cannot yet abide you, because 
 she fears she can abide you too well. 
 
 Ga. Well, I will come for her portion, 
 sir, and till then, God take you to his 
 mercy. [Exit. 
 
 Lo. Adieu, my good son-in-law, I'll not 
 interrupt her ; let her meditate a my late 
 motion. [Exit. 
 
 JEm. Tis strange to see the impiety of 
 
 parents, 
 
 Both privileged by custom, and profess'd 
 The holy institution of heaven, 
 Ordaining marriage for proportion'd 
 
 minds, 
 For our chief humane comforts, and t'in- 
 
 crease 
 
 The loved images of God in men, 
 Is now perverted to th' increase of 
 
 wealth ; 
 We must bring riches forth, and like the 
 
 cuckoo 
 Hatch others' eggs ; join house to house, in 
 
 choices 
 
 Fit timber-logs and stones, not men and 
 women ; 
 
 * i.e., God gi'e you good morrow. This cur- 
 tailed form of the expression is frequent in the 
 1 Elizabethan dramatists. ED. 
 
 Enter Aurelio. 
 
 Ay me, here's one I must shun, would 
 embrace. [Exit. 
 
 Au. O stay and hear me speak or see 
 me die. 
 
 Enter Lodovico and Giacomo. 
 
 Lod. How now ! what have we here ? 
 what a loathsome creature man is being 
 drunk ; is it not pity to see a man of good 
 hope, a toward scholar, writes a theme 
 well, scans a verse very well, and likely in 
 time to make a proper man, a good leg, 
 specially in a boot, valiant, well-spoken, 
 and in a word, what not ? and yet all this 
 overthrown as you see drowned, quite 
 drowned, in a quart pot. 
 
 Gia. O these same wicked healths breed 
 monstrous diseases. 
 
 Lod. Aurelio, speak, man Aurelio ! 
 
 Gia. Pray heaven all be well. 
 
 Lod. O speak if any spark of speech 
 
 remain, 
 It is thy dear ./Emilia that calls. 
 
 Au. Well, well, it becomes not a friend 
 to touch the deadly wounds of his friend 
 with a smiling countenance. 
 
 Lod. Touch thee ? 'Sblood, I could find 
 in my heart to beat thee up, in a fool's 
 name, up ; what a scene of foppery have 
 we here ! 
 
 Au. Prithee have done. 
 
 Lod. Up, cuckoo, Cupid's bird, or by this 
 light I'll fetch thy father to thee. 
 
 Au. Good Lodovico, if thou lovest me, 
 leave me ; thou comest to counsel me from 
 that which is joined with my soul in eter- 
 nity ; I must and will do what I do. 
 
 Led. Do so then, and I protest thou shall 
 never lick thy lips after my kinswoman 
 while thou livest : I had thought to have 
 spoken for thee, if thou hadst taken a 
 manly course with her, but to fold up 
 thyself like an urchin, and lie a-calving to 
 bring forth a husband, I am ashamed to 
 think on't. 'Sblood, I have heard of 
 wenches that have been won with singing 
 and dancing, and some with riding, but 
 never heard of any that was won with 
 tumbling in my life. 
 
 A u. If thou knew'st how vain thou 
 seem'st. 
 
 Lod. I do it of purpose, to show how 
 vain I hold thy disease. 'Sheart, art thou 
 the first that has shot at a wench's heart 
 and missed it? must that shot that missed 
 her wound thee ? Let her shake her heels, in 
 a shrew's name : were she my cousin a 
 
2 7 8 
 
 MAY-DAY. 
 
 FACT I. 
 
 thousand times, and if I were as thee, I 
 would make her shake her heels too, afore 
 I would shake mine thus. 
 
 Au. O vanity, vanity ! 
 
 Lod. 'Sdeath, if any wench should offer 
 to keep possession of my heart against my 
 will, I'd fire her out with sack and sugar, 
 or smoke her out with tobacco like a 
 hornet, or purge for her, for love is but a 
 humour ; one way or other I would vent 
 her, that's infallible. 
 
 Au. For shame hold thy tongue; me- 
 thinks thy wit should feel how stale are 
 these love-storms, and with what general 
 privilege love pierces the worthiest. Seek 
 to help thy friend, not mock him. 
 
 Lod. Marry, seek to help thyself then, in 
 a halter's name; do not lie in a ditch, and 
 say God help me ; use the lawful tools he 
 hath lent thee. Up, I say, I will bring 
 thee to her. 
 
 Au. She'll not endure me. 
 
 Lod. She shall endure thee, do the worst 
 thou canst to her, ay, and endure thee till 
 thou canst not endure her ; but then thou 
 must use thyself like a man, and a wise man; 
 how deep soever she is in thy thoughts, 
 carry not the prints of it in thy looks : be 
 bold and careless, and stand not sautering 
 afar off, as I have seen you, like a dog in 
 a furmety-pot, that licks his chops and 
 wags his tail, and fain would lay his lips to 
 it, but he fears 'tis too hot for him ; that's 
 the only way to make her too hot for thee. 
 He that holds religious and sacred thought 
 of a woman, he that bears so reverend a 
 respect to her that he will not touch her 
 but with a kissed hand and a timorous 
 heart, he that adores her like his goddess, 
 let him be sure she will shun him like her 
 slave. Alas ! good souls, women of them- 
 selves are tractable and tactable enough, 
 and would return quid for quod still, but 
 we are they that spoil 'em, and we shall 
 answer for't another day. We are they 
 that put a kind of wanton melancholy into 
 'em, that makes 'em think their noses 
 bigger than their faces, greater than the 
 sun in brightness ; and whereas nature 
 made 'em but half fools, we make 'em all 
 fool. And this is our palpable flattery of 
 them, where they had rather have plain 
 dealing. Well, in conclusion, I'll to her 
 instantly, and if I do not bring her to thee, 
 or at least some special favour from her, 
 as a feather from her fan, or a string from 
 her shoe, to wear in thy hat, and so forth, 
 then never trust my skill in poultry whilst 
 thou livest again. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Quintiliano, Innocentio, Frances- 
 china, Angelo, and Fannio. 
 
 Fr. Thou shalt not to the wars, or if 
 thou do'st, I'll bear thee company, dear 
 Quint ; do not offer to forsake me. 
 
 Qu. Hands off, wife ; hang not upon me 
 thus ; how can I maintain thee but by 
 using my valour ? and how can I use that 
 but in action and employment? Go in; 
 play at cards with your cousin Angelo here, 
 and let it suffice I love thee. 
 
 An. Come, sweet cousin, do not cloy 
 your husband with your love so, especially 
 to hinder his preferment ; who shall the 
 Duke have to emplSy in these martial 
 necessities if not Captain Quintiliano? He 
 bears an honourable mind, and 'tis pity 
 but he should have employment. Let 
 him get a company now, and he will be 
 able to maintain you like a duchess here- 
 after. 
 
 In. Well said, Signor Angelo ; gossave 
 me, you speak like a true cousin indeed ; 
 does he not, Quint ? 
 
 Qu. He does so, and I thank him ; yet 
 see how the fool puts finger i'th'eye still. 
 
 An. I'll cheer her up, I warrant you, 
 Captain : come, coz, let's in to tables. 
 
 In. Farewell, sweet mistress. 
 
 Fr. Farewell, my good servant. 
 
 An. Now take away thy hand, and 
 show thou didst laugh all this while ; good 
 Lord, who would not marry to have so 
 kind a wife make much on him ? [Exit. 
 
 Qu. After, boy, give your attendance. 
 
 Fa. Could you not spare me money for 
 mine hostess where you put me to board ? 
 Y'are a whole fortnight in arrerages. 
 
 Qu. Attend, I say ; the hostess of the 
 Lion has a leg like a giant ; want for 
 nothing, boy, so she score truly. 
 
 Fa. 'Faith sir, she has chalked up twenty 
 shillings already, and swears she will chalk 
 no more. 
 
 Qu. Then let her choke, and choke thou 
 with her : 'sblood hobby-horse, and she 
 had chalked up twenty pounds, I hope the 
 world knows I am able to pay it with a 
 wet finger. 
 
 Fa. Alas ! sir, I think y'are able, but the 
 world does not know it. 
 
 Qu. Then the world's an ignorant, sir, 
 and you are an innocent; vanish, boy, 
 away. 
 
 Fa. I hope he will foist some money for 
 my score out of this gull here. [Exit. 
 
 In. 'Tis a plaguy good wag, Quint, is't 
 not? 
 
SCENE II. J 
 
 MAY-DAY. 
 
 279 
 
 Qu. I'll make him a good on? ere I ha' 
 done with him ; but this same loving fool 
 my wife now will never leave weeping till I 
 make her believe I will not have a com- 
 pany. Who would be cumbered with these 
 soft-hearted creatures, that are ever in ex- 
 tremes, either too kind or too unkind? 
 
 In. Save me, 'tis true ; 'tis a hard thing 
 must please 'em, in sadness. 
 
 Qu. Damn me if I do not pity her with 
 my heait ; plague on her kindness ! she has 
 half persuaded me to take no company. 
 
 In. Nay, sweet Quint ; then how shall 
 I be a lieutenant ? 
 
 Qu. Well, and my promise were not past 
 to thee, T am a villain if all the world 
 should part Frank and me ; think I love 
 thee therefore, and will do thee credit. It 
 will cost me a great deal a this same foolish 
 money to buy me drum and ensign, and 
 furnish me throughly, but the best is I 
 know my credit. 
 
 In. 'Sfoot, Quint, we'll want no money, 
 man ; I'll make my row of houses fly first. 
 
 Qu. Let 'em walk, let 'em walk ; candle- 
 rents : if the wars hold, or a plague come 
 to the town, they'll be worth nothing. 
 
 In. True, or while I am beyond sea, 
 some sleepy wench may set fire i' th' bed- 
 straw. 
 
 Qu. Right, or there may come an earth- 
 quake and overturn 'em. 
 
 In. Just, or there may be conjuring, and 
 the wind may down with 'em. 
 
 Qu. Or some crafty pettifogger may find 
 a hole in the title ; a thousand casualties 
 belongs to 'em. 
 
 In. Nay, they shall walk, that's certain. 
 I'll turn 'em into money. 
 
 Qu. That's thy most husbandly course, 
 i'faith, boy ; thou may'st have twenty i'th* 
 hundred for thy life ; I'll be thy man for 
 two hundred. 
 
 In. Wilt, i'faith, Quint? gossaveme, 'tis 
 done. 
 
 Qu. For your life, not otherwise. 
 
 In. Well, I desire no more, so you'll re- 
 member me for my lieutenantship. 
 
 Qu. Remember thee ! 'tis thine own 
 already, boy, a hundred pounds shall not 
 buy it from thee ; give me thy hand, I do 
 here create thee Lieutenant Innocentio. 
 
 In. If you have a company, captain. 
 
 Qu. If I have : damn me if such another 
 word do not make me put thee out ath' 
 place again ; if I have a company, 'sfoot ! let 
 the Duke deny me one ; I would 'twere 
 come to that once, that employment should 
 go with the undeserver, while men of ser- 
 
 vice sit at home, and feed their hunger 
 with the blood of red lattices. Let the 
 Duke deny me to-day, I'll renounce him to- 
 morrow. I'll to the enemy point blank ; 
 I'm a villain else. 
 
 In. And I, by heaven, I swear. 
 
 Qu. Well, if that day come, it will prove 
 a hot day with somebody. 
 
 In. But, Captain, did you not say that 
 you would enter me at an ordinary, that I 
 might learn to converse ? 
 
 Qtt, When thou wilt, Lieutenant ; no 
 better time than now, for now th'art in 
 good clothes, which is the most material 
 point for thy entrance there. 
 
 In. Ay, but how should I behave my- 
 self? 
 
 Qu. Marry, sir, when you come first in 
 you shall see a crew of gallants of all sorts. 
 
 /;/. Nay, Captain, if I come first in I 
 shall see nobody. 
 
 Qu. Tush, man, you must not do so, if 
 you have good clothes and will be noted, 
 let 'em all come in afore you, and then as 
 I said shall you see a lusty crew of gallants, 
 some gentlemen, some none ; but that's 
 all one ; he that bears himself like a 
 gentleman, is worthy to have been born a 
 gentleman : some aged have beards, and 
 some have none, some have money, and 
 some have none, yet all must have meat : 
 now will all these, I say, at your first en- 
 trance wonder at you, as at some strange 
 owl, examine your person, and observe 
 your bearing for a time. Do you then 
 ath' tother side seem to neglect their ob- 
 servance as fast, let your countenance be 
 proof against all eyes, not yielding or con- 
 fessing in it any inward defect. In a word 
 be impudent enough, for that's your chief 
 virtue of society. 
 
 In. Is that? 'faith and I need not learn 
 that : I have that by nature, I thank 
 God. 
 
 Qu. So much the better ; for nature is 
 far above art or judgment. Now for 
 your behaviour ; let it be free and negli- 
 gent, not clogged with ceremony or obser- 
 vance ; give no man honour, but upon 
 equal terms ; for look how much thou 
 givest any man above that, so much thou 
 takest from thyself ; he that will once give 
 the wall, shall quickly be thrust into the 
 kennel ; measure not thy carriage by any 
 man's eye, thy speech by no man's ear, 
 but be resolute and confident in doing and 
 saying, and this is the grace of a right 
 gentleman, as thou art. 
 
 In. 'Sfoot, that I am, I hope; I am sure 
 
280 
 
 MAY-DAY. 
 
 [ACT ir. 
 
 my father has been twice Warden on's 
 Company. 
 
 Qu. That's not a pear matter, man ; 
 there's no prescription for gentility but 
 good clothes and impudence : for your 
 place, take it as it falls, but so as you 
 think no place too good for you ; fall to 
 with ceremony whatsoever the company 
 be ; and as near as you can, when they are 
 in their mutton, be thou in thy woodcock 
 it shows resolution. Talk anything, thou 
 carest not what, so it be without offence, 
 and as near as thou canst without sense. 
 
 In. Let me alone for that, captain, I 
 warrant you. 
 
 Qu. If you chance to tell a lie, you must 
 bind it with some oath, as " by this bread ;" 
 for bread's a binder, you know. 
 
 In. True. 
 
 Qu. And yet take heed you swear by no 
 man's bread but your own, for that may 
 breed a quarrel ; above all things you must 
 carry no coals. 
 
 In. ByheavennotI; I'll freeze to death first. 
 
 Qu. Well, sir, one point more I must 
 remember you of. After dinner there will 
 be play, and if you would be counted com- 
 plete, you must venture amongst them ; 
 for otherwise, they'll take you for a scholar 
 or a poet, and so fall into contempt of you ; 
 for there is no virtue can scape the ac- 
 compt of baseness if it get money, but 
 gaming and law ; yet must you not lose 
 much money at once, for that argues little 
 wit at all times. 
 
 In. As gossave me, and that's my fault ; 
 for if I be in once, I shall lose all I have 
 about me. 
 
 Qu. Is true, Lieutenant? by'rlady, sir, 
 I'll be your moderator ; therefore let me see, 
 how much money have you about you? 
 
 In. Not much ; some twenty mark or 
 twenty pound in gold. 
 
 [A purse of twenty pound in gold. 
 
 Qu. 'Tis too much to lose, by my faith, 
 Lieutenant ; give me your purse, sir ; hold 
 ye, here's two brace of angels : you shall 
 venture that, for fashion sake. I'll keep the 
 rest for you, till you have done play. 
 
 In. That will be all one, for when that's 
 lost I shall never leave till I get the rest 
 from you ; for I know thou wilt let me 
 have it if I ask it. 
 
 Qu. Not a penny, by this gold. 
 
 In. Prithee do not then : as gossave me 
 and you do 
 
 Qu. And I do, hang me : come let's to 
 the Duke. [ Exeunt. 
 
 END OF ACT I. 
 
 ACT THE SECOND. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Enter Lucretia and Temperance, several 
 
 ways. 
 
 Te. Nay, mistress, pray e'en go in again, 
 for I have some inward news for you. 
 
 Lu. What are those, pray? 
 
 Te. 'Tis no matter, mistress, till you 
 come in ; but make much a time in the 
 meantime. Good fortune thrusts herself 
 upon you in the likeness of a fine young 
 gentleman ; hold up your apron and receive 
 him while you may, a God's name. 
 
 Lu. How say by that ? y'are a very wise 
 counsellor. 
 
 Te. Well, mistress, when I was a maid 
 and that's a good while ago, I can tell you 
 
 Lu. I think very well. 
 
 Te. You were but a little one then, I wis. 
 
 Lu. Nor you neither, I believe. 
 
 Te. 'Faith, it's one of the furthest things 
 I can remember. 
 
 Lu. But what when you were a maid ? 
 
 Te. Marry, mistress, I took my time, I 
 warrant you. And there's Signer Leonoro 
 now, the very flower of Venice, and one 
 that loves you dearly, I insure you. 
 
 Lu. God forgive him if he do, for I'll be 
 sworn I never deserved his love, nor never 
 will, while I live. 
 
 Te. Why, then, what say to Signor Colla- 
 tine ? there's a dainty piece of venison for 
 you, and a fervent lover indeed. 
 
 Lu. He ? I dare say, he knows not what 
 wood love's shafts are made of ; his Signiory 
 would think it the deepest disparagement 
 could be done to him, to say that ever he 
 spent sigh for any dame in Italy. 
 
 Te. Well, you have a whole brown 
 dozen a suitors at least, I am sure ; take 
 your choice amongst 'em all ; if you love 
 not all, yet you may love' three or four on 
 'em, to be doing withal. 
 
 Lu. To be doing withal? love three or 
 four? 
 
 Te. Why not? so you love 'em mode- 
 rately. What, must that strange-made 
 piece Theagines that you cry out upon so 
 often, have all from other, and yet know 
 not where he is ? 
 
 Lu. Oh my Theagine, not Theagines, 
 Thy love hath turn'd me woman like thyself; 
 Shall thy sight never turn me man again ? 
 Come, let's to the minster ; God hear my 
 prayers as I intend to stop mine ears 
 against all my suitors. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 MAY-DAY. 
 
 281 
 
 TV. Well, mistress, yet peradventure, 
 they may make you open afore the priest 
 have a penny for you. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Lodovico and /Emilia. 
 
 Lod. Here's a coil to make wit and women 
 friends. Come hither, wench, let me have 
 thee single ; now sit thee down, and hear 
 good counsel next thy heart, and God give 
 thee grace to lay it to thy heart. 
 
 SEm. Fie, cousin ; will this wild tongue 
 of yours never receive the bridle ? 
 
 Lod. Yes, thou shalt now see me stroke 
 my beard, and speak sententiously : thou 
 tell'st me thy little father is in hand with a 
 great rich marriage for thee, and would 
 have thee commit matrimony with old 
 Gaspare ; art thou willing with it ? 
 
 &m. I rather wish myself married to a 
 thousand deaths. 
 
 Lod. Then I perceive thou know'st him 
 not ; did he never woo thee ? 
 
 &m. I protest, I never changed three 
 words with him in my life ; he hath once 
 or twice wooed my father for me, but 
 never me. 
 
 Lod. Why, that's the reason thou lovest 
 him not, because thou takest in none of 
 his valiant breath to enflame thee, nor 
 vouchsafest his knowledge. I'll tell thee 
 what he is an old sapless trunk, fit to 
 make touch-wood of, hollow and bald like 
 a blasted oak, on whose top ravens sit and 
 croak the portents of funerals ; one that 
 'noints his nose with clouted cream and 
 pomatum. His breath smells like the butt 
 end of a shoemaker's horn. A leperous 
 scaly hide like an elephant. The son of a 
 sow-gelder, that came to town (as I have 
 heard thy father himself say) in a tattered 
 russet coat, high shoes, and yet his hose 
 torn above 'em ; a long pike-staff in his 
 neck, and a turd in his teeth, and a wallet 
 on his right shoulder ; and now the cullion 
 hath with noverint universi eaten up some 
 hundred gentlemen, he must needs rise a 
 gentleman as 'twere out of their ashes, or 
 disparage a gentlewoman to make himself 
 a gentleman, at least by the wife's side. 
 
 sEm. The worse my fortune to be en- 
 tangled with such a winding bramble. 
 
 Lod. Entangled? Nay, if I thought 
 'twould ever come to that, I'd hire some 
 shag-rag or other for half a zequine to cut's 
 throat, only to save thy hands from doing 
 it ; for I know thou wouldst poison him 
 within one month ; love thee he will never, 
 and that must be thy happiness ; for if he 
 do, look to be cooped up like a prisoner 
 
 condemned to execution, scarce suffered to 
 take the air so much as at a window, or 
 waited on continually by an old beldame ; 
 not to keep thee company, but to keep thee 
 from company ; thy pocket searched, thy 
 cabinets ransacked for letters ; ever in 
 opposition, unless, like the moon, once a 
 month in conjunction ; wealth thou mayst 
 have indeed, but enjoy it as in a dream, 
 for when thou wakest thou shalt find 
 nothing in thy hand ; [JSnterGasparo] and, 
 to keep my tale in goodness, see hoft all 
 the ill that can be spoken of him is ex- 
 pressed in his presence. 
 
 sEm. O ugly and monstrous spectacle. 
 
 Lod. Now tell me whether thou wouldst 
 make choice of him or a young gallant in 
 prime of his choiceness ; one that for birth,, 
 person, and good parts might meritoriously 
 marry a countess ; and one to whom hi . 
 soul is not so dear as thyself. [Enter 
 Aurelio.] For all the world such another 
 as he that comes here now ; mark him 
 well : see whether Gasparo and he be not a, 
 little different. [Exit ^Emilia.] How now? 
 Zounds, Aurelio? stay, beast, wilt thou 
 make such a blest opportunity curse thee ? 
 I'll fetch her out to thee. [Exit Lodovico. 
 
 Au. Wretch that I am, how she loathes 
 me ! if I abide her, I shall consume in the 
 lightnings of her anger. [Exit Aurelio, 
 
 Enter Lodovico with /Emilia. 
 
 Lod. Here's a life indeed ; what's he 
 
 fne ? passion of death, what a babe 'tis ! 
 could find in my heart to jerk him, but 
 temper me friendship, no remedy now ; 
 now wit turn his defects to perfection. 
 Why, coz, he's quite out of sight. By my 
 life I commend him ; why, this is dene like 
 thyself, Aurelia : were she the Queen of Love 
 and would run from thee, fly thou from 
 her. Why, now I love thee, for I see th'art 
 worthy of my love : thou earnest a respect 
 to thine own worth, and wilt express it with 
 spirit ; I daresay thou lookedst to have had 
 him fall on his knees and adored thee, or 
 beg his life at thy hands ; or else turned 
 Queen Dido, "and pierce his tender heart 
 with sword full sharp ;" no 'faith, wench : 
 the case is altered ; love made Hercules 
 spin, but it made him rage after ; there 
 must go time to the bridling of every 
 passion. I hope my friend will not love a 
 wench against her will ; if she would have 
 met his kindness half way, so ; if she skit 
 and recoil, he shoots her off warily, and 
 away he goes. Ay, marry sir, this was a 
 gentlemanly part indeed. Farewell, coz, 
 
282 
 
 MAY-DAY. 
 
 [ACT II. 
 
 be thou free in thy choice too, and take a 
 better and thou canst, a God's name. 
 
 \Exiturus. 
 
 &m. Nay, dear coz, a word. 
 
 Lod. A word ? what's the matter ? I must 
 needs after him, and clap him ath 1 back : 
 this spirit must be cherished. 
 
 sEm. Alas ! what would you wish me to 
 do? 
 
 Lod. Why, nothing. 
 
 ^Em. Would you counsel me to marry 
 him against my father's will ? 
 
 Lod. Not for the world ; leave him, leave 
 him, leave him ; you see he's resolved, he'll 
 take no harm on you, never fear to imbrue 
 your hands with his liver, I warrant you. 
 
 sEm. Come, you are such another. 
 
 Lod. This same riches with a husband is 
 the only thing in the world, I protest ; 
 good Gasparo, I am sorry I have abused 
 thee, i'faith, for my cousin's sake ; how 
 prettily the wretch came crawling by with 
 his crooked knees even now. I have seen 
 a young gentlewoman live as merry a life 
 with an old man as with the proudest 
 young upstart on 'em all. Farewell, coz ; 
 I am glad th'art so wise, i'faith. 
 
 sEm. If you go I die ; fie on this affec- 
 tion, it rageth with suppression. Good 
 coz, I am no longer able to contain it : I 
 love Aurelio better than it is possible for 
 him to love me. 
 
 Lod. Away, away; and could not this 
 have been done at first without all these 
 superfluous disgracings ? O this same un- 
 hearty niceness of women is good for 
 nothing but to keep their huswife hands 
 still occupied in this warp of dissembling. 
 Well, wench, redeem thy fault, and write 
 a kind letter to him presently, before this 
 resolution of his take too deep root in him. 
 
 sEm. Nay, sweet coz, make me not so 
 immodest to write so suddenly ; let me 
 have a little time to think upon't. 
 
 Lod. Think me on nothing till you write ; 
 think as you write, and then you shall be 
 sure to write as you think. Women do 
 best when they least think on't. 
 
 sEm. But rather than write I will meet 
 him at your pleasure. 
 
 Lod. Meet him ? dost thou think that I 
 shall ever draw him again to meet thee, 
 that rushed from thee even now with so 
 just a displeasure ? 
 
 sEm. Nay, good coz, urge not my 
 offence so bitterly ; our next meeting shall 
 pay the forfeit of all faults. 
 
 Lod. Well, th'art my pretty coz, and I'll 
 do my best to bring him to thee again ; if 
 
 I cannot I shall be sorry i'faith, thou wert 
 so injuriously strange to him. But where 
 shall this interview be now ? 
 
 sEm, There is the mischief, and we shall 
 hardly avoid it ; my father plies my haunts 
 so closely, and uses means by our maid to 
 entrap us, so that this terrace at our back 
 gate is the only place we may safely meet 
 at, from whence I can stand and talk to 
 you. But, sweet coz, you shall swear to 
 keep this my kindness from Aurelio, and 
 not intimate by any means that I am any- 
 thing acquainted with his coming. 
 
 Led. 'Slife, dost think I am an ass ? to 
 what end should I tell him ? he and I'll 
 come wandering that way to take the air, 
 or so, and I'll discover thee. 
 
 sEm. By mere chance as 'twere. 
 
 Lod. By chance, by chance ; and you 
 shall at no hand see him at first, when I 
 bring him, for all this kindness you bear 
 him. 
 
 jEm. By no means, coz. 
 
 Lod. Very good ; and if you endure any 
 conference with him, let it be very little ; 
 and as near as you can, turn to your 
 former strangeness in any case. 
 
 sEm. If I do not, coz, trust me not. 
 
 Lod. Or if you think good, you may 
 flirt away again as soon as you see him, 
 and never let your late fault be any warn- 
 ing t'ye. 
 
 +-Em. I will do all this, I warrant thee, 
 coz. 
 
 Lod. Will you so, cousin fool? canst thou 
 be brought to that silly humour again by 
 any persuasions? by God's Lord, and you 
 be strange again more than needs must, 
 for a temperate modesty, I'll break's neck 
 down from thee, but he shall do as he did 
 to thee. 
 
 ^Em. Now, fie upon you, coz ; what a 
 fool do you make me ! 
 
 Lod. Well, dame, leave your superfluous 
 nicety in earnest, and within this hour I 
 will bring him to this terrace. 
 
 sF.m. But, good coz, if you chance to 
 see my chamber window open that is upon 
 the terrace, do not let him come in at it in 
 any case. 
 
 Lod. 'Sblood, how can he ? can he come 
 over the wall, think'st? 
 
 JEm. O sir, you men have not de- 
 vices with ladders of ropes to scale such 
 walls at your pleasure, and abuse us poor 
 wenches. 
 
 Lod. Now a plague of your simplicity, 
 would you discourage him with prompting 
 him ? well, dame, I'll provide for you. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 MAY-DAY. 
 
 283 
 
 . As you love me, coz, no words of 
 my kindness from me to him. 
 Lod. Go to, no more ado. 
 
 [Exit Lodovico and ^Emilia. 
 
 Enter Leonoro, Lionel, and Temperance. 
 
 Te. God ye God morrow, sir ; truly I 
 have not heard a sweeter breath than your 
 page h/j. 
 
 Le. I am glad you like him, Mistress 
 Temperance. 
 
 Te. And how d'ye, sir? 
 
 Le. That I must know of you, lady ; my 
 welfare depends wholly upon your good 
 speed. 
 
 Te. How say, sir? and by my soul I 
 was coming to you in the morning when 
 your young man came to me ; I pray let 
 him put on, unless it be for your pleasure. 
 
 Le. He is young, and can endure the 
 cold well enough bareheaded. 
 
 Te. A pretty sweet child 'tis, I promise 
 you. 
 
 Le. But what good news, Mistress Tem- 
 perance ; will your mistress be won to our 
 kind meeting ? 
 
 Te. 'Faith, I'll tell you, sir, I took her 
 in a good mood this morning, and broke 
 with her again about you, and she was 
 very pleasant, as she will be many times. 
 
 Le. Very well, and is there any hope of 
 speed ? 
 
 Te. No, by my troth, gentleman, none 
 in the world ; an obstacle young thing it is, 
 as ever I broke withal in my life ; I have 
 broke with a hundred in my days, though 
 I say it, yet never met her comparison. 
 
 Le. Are all my hopes come to this, 
 Mistress Temperance ? 
 
 Te. Nay, 'tis no matter, sir ; this is the 
 first time that ever I spake to any in these 
 matters, and it shall be the last, God 
 willing. 
 
 Le. And even now she had broke with a 
 hundred and a hundred. 
 
 Te. But do you love her, sir, indeed ? 
 
 Le. Dost thou make a question of that ? 
 
 Te. Pardon me, I pray, sir ; I mean d'ye 
 love her as a gentleman ought to do that 
 is, to consummate matrimony with her, as 
 they say ? 
 
 Le. That's no matter to you, mistress 
 Temperance ; do you procure our meeting, 
 and let my favour be at her hands as I can 
 enforce it. 
 
 Te. You say like an honest gentleman ; 
 a woman can have no more : and 'faith, sir, 
 I wish you well, and every day after dinner 
 my mistress uses to go to her chair, or else 
 
 lie down upon her bed, to take a nap or 
 so, to avoid idleness as many good huswives 
 do, you know, and then do I sit by her and 
 sew or so : and when I see her fast asleep, 
 Lord, do I think to myself (as you know we 
 waiting-women have many light thoughts 
 in our heads), now if I were a man, and 
 should bear my mistress an ill will, what 
 might I do to her now ? 
 
 Le. Indeed then, you have very good 
 opportunity. 
 
 Te. The best that may be, for she sleeps 
 like a sucking-pig ; you may jog her a hun- 
 dred times, and she'll stir no more than 
 one of your stones, here. 
 
 Le. And could you put a friend in your 
 place, think you ? 
 
 Te. Nay, by'rlady, sir, back with that 
 leg, for if anything come on't but well, all 
 the burden will lie upon me. 
 
 Le. Why, what can come of it? only 
 that by this means I may solicit her love 
 myself. 
 
 Te. Ay, but who knows if the devil, God 
 bless us, should be great wi'ye, how you 
 would use her ? 
 
 Le. What dost thou take me for a beast, 
 to force her that I would make my wife ? 
 
 Te. Beast, sir ! nay, there's no beastliness 
 in it neither, for a man will shew like a 
 man in those cases : and besides, you may 
 mar the bed, which everybody will see 
 that comes in ; and that I would not for 
 the best gown I shall wear this twelve- 
 month. 
 
 Le. Well, to put thee out of that fear, it 
 shall be worth such a gown to thee. 
 
 Te. I thank you for that, sir, but that's all 
 one : and thus sir, my old master Honorio, 
 at two a-clock will be at tilting, and then 
 will his son Signer Aurelio and his man 
 Angelo, be abroad ; at which hour if you 
 will be at the back gate, and muffle your- 
 self handsomely, you may linger there till I 
 call you. 
 
 Le. Ay, marry, sir, so I may be there 
 long enough. 
 
 Te. Nay, but two a-clock, now, is my 
 hour, sir. 
 
 Le. Very well, and till then farewell. 
 
 Te. Boy, to you heartily. 
 
 Le. Boy to him indeed, if he knew all. 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Lodovico and Aurelio. 
 Lod. I have provided thee a ladder of 
 ropes ; therefore resolve to meet her ; go 
 wash thy face, and prepare thyself to die. 
 I'll go make ready the ladder. 
 
284 
 
 MAY-DAY. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Au. But when is the happy hour of our 
 meeting ? 
 
 Lod. Marry, sir, that's something un- 
 certain, for it depends wholly upon her 
 father's absence, and when that will be God 
 knows ; but I doubt not it will happen 
 once within this twelvemonth. 
 
 Au. Zounds ! a twelvemonth. 
 
 Lod. Nay, hark you, you are all upon the 
 spur now, but how many lovers have served 
 seven twelvemonths prenticeships for the 
 freedom of their mistress' favours ? Not- 
 withstanding, to shorten your torments, 
 your man Angelo must be the mean to 
 draw the lapwing her father from his nest, 
 by this device, that I tell you. 
 
 Enter Angelo. 
 
 An. I did ever dream that once in my 
 life good fortune would warm her cold 
 hand in my naked bosom. And that once 
 is now come, I'll lay hold upon't, i'faith ; 
 I have you, my little squire, I have you 
 upon mine anvil, upon which I will mallet 
 you and work you ; coining crowns, 
 zequins, bracelets, and what-not out of 
 you, for procuring you the dear gullage 
 of my sweetheart, Mistress Franceschina. 
 
 Au. I am glad it rests in my kind ser- 
 vant Angelo. Angelo, well met, it lies in 
 thee now, make me no more thy master, 
 but thy friend, and for ever happy in thy 
 friendship. 
 
 An. In what part of me does that lie, 
 sir, that I may pull it out for you pre- 
 sently ? 
 
 Au. My friend Lodovico here hath told 
 me what thou revealed'st to him to-day, 
 touching his uncle Lorenzo, and his love- 
 suit to Franceschina. 
 
 An. 'Slight, I told it him in secret, sir. 
 
 Lod. And so did I tell it him, Angelo ; I 
 am a Jew, else. 
 
 An. It may well be, sir ; but what of 
 that? 
 
 Lod. This, Angelo ; he would have thee 
 procure my old uncle's absence from home 
 this afternoon, by making him meet or 
 pretending his meeting with his mistress 
 and thy sweetheart, Franceschina. 
 
 Au. Which if thou dost, Angelo, be 
 sure of reward to thy wishes. 
 
 An. What talk you of reward, sir? to 
 the loving and dutiful servant, 'tis a greater 
 encouragement to his service to hear his 
 master say, ' ' God-a-mercy, Angelo, spy 
 out, Angelo, I'll think of thy pains one duy, 
 Angelo," than all your base rewards and 
 preferments ; yet not to hinder your hand, 
 
 sir, I will extend mine to his service pre- 
 sently, and get your old uncle, Signer 
 Lorenzo, out of the way long enough, I 
 warrant you. 
 
 Lod. 'Tis honestly said, which, when thou 
 hast performed, enforce us. [Exeunt. 
 
 An. I will not fail, sir. I was resolved 
 to make him away afore they spake to me, 
 in procuring his access to Franceschina, 
 for what is his presence at her house but 
 his absence at his own ? and thus shall I 
 with one trowel daub two walls. {Enter 
 Franceschina.] See how fitly she meets 
 me. I will stand close here as if it were in 
 my shop of good fortune, and in respect 
 of all ornaments I can help her to, I will 
 out of the fulness of my joy, put her out of 
 her study and encounter her thus : D'ye 
 lack, gentlewoman, d'ye lack ? very fair 
 new gowns, kirtles, petticoats, wrought 
 smocks, bracelets ; d'ye lack, gentlewoman, 
 d'ye lack ? [/folds up the bracelets. 
 
 Fr. What means my love by these 
 strange salutations ? 
 
 An. Prithee, ask me no questions ; hold, 
 take these bracelets, put up this purse of 
 gold quickly, and if thou wilt have any of 
 these things I have cried to thee, speak, 
 and 'tis performed. 
 
 Fr. From whose treasury comes all this, 
 I prithee ? 
 
 An. Lorenzo, Lorenzo, a gentleman of 
 much antiquity, and one that for his love 
 hath burned hundreds of hearts to powder ; 
 yet now it falls out that his tree of life is 
 scorched and blasted with the flames of thy 
 beauty, ready to wither eternally, unless 
 it be speedily comforted with the sweet 
 drops of thy nose. 
 
 Fr. God's my life, is that old squire so 
 amorous ? 
 
 An. You wrong him to term him old ; 
 he can draw his bow, ride his horse, use 
 his sword, and trail his pike under love's 
 colours, as well as ever he did. 
 
 Fr. I believe that easily. 
 
 An. Well, go thy ways in and prepare 
 
 to entertain him now thy husband is from 
 
 home, only with good words and best kind- 
 
 i nesses, making him put all into deeds till 
 
 his treasury be deedless. 
 
 Fr. You speak as if I had nothing to 
 respect but his entertainment, when you 
 know how close and timely it must be put 
 in execution, considering w'ith what envious 
 eyes my neighbours survey me. 
 ' An. Think'st thou I consider not all 
 this? He shall come in disguised, wench, 
 and do thou devise for our mirth, what 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 MAY-DAY. 
 
 285 
 
 ridiculous disguise he shall come in, and he ' 
 shall assume it. 
 
 Fr. What, a magnifico of the city, and 
 one of the senate ; thinkest thou he will 
 not see into that inconvenience? 
 
 An. No more than no senator ; for, in 
 this case, my assurance is that Cupid will 
 take the scarf from his own eyes, and 
 hoodwink the old buzzard, while two other 
 true turtles enjoy their happiness : get thee 
 in, I beseech thee, love, tell thy gold, and 
 say thy prayers. [Enter Lorenzo.] Now 
 for a far-fetched device to fetch over my 
 love-squire. \_Exit Franceschina.] I see 
 him within ear-shot ; well, may beauty 
 inflame others, riches may tempt others, 
 but for me, mine ears and mine eyes are 
 proof against all the syrens and Venuses in 
 all the seas of the world : beauty is a whore, 
 riches a bawd, and I'll trust none on you. 
 
 Lo. What ails poor Angelo ? 
 
 An. Nay, Mistress Frank, if you prove 
 disloyal once, farewell all constancy in 
 women. 
 
 Lo. How now, man? what's the matter? 
 
 An. O sir, are you so near? I shall 
 trust your experience in women the better 
 while I live. 
 
 Lo. I prithee, why so? 
 
 An. Say true, sir, did you never solicit 
 your love suit to fair Mistress Frances- 
 China ? 
 
 Lo. Never, I protest, Angelo. 
 
 An. Upon my life, 'tis a strange thing ; 
 I would have sworn all Italy could not so 
 suddenly have fastened a favour upon her ; 
 I looked for a siege of Troy at least, to 
 surprise the turrets of her continence, but 
 to yield at the first sight of her assailant's 
 colours, and before any cannon w.is 
 mounted afore her, 'tis one of the loosest 
 parts of a modest woman that ever I heard 
 of. 
 
 Lo. How say'st thou? Did not I tell 
 thee as much? Beware of an old colt 
 while you live ; he can tell when to strike, 
 I warrant you. 
 
 An. Women and feathers? Now fie on 
 that affinity. 
 
 Lo Alas, Angelo ! a feeble generation, 
 soon overcome, God knows ; the honester 
 mind, the sooner overcome. 
 
 An. God's my life! what light huswife 
 would yield at first to a stranger? And 
 yet does this whirligig stand upon terms of 
 honour, forsooth ; tenders her reputation 
 as the apple of her eye ! She has a jealous 
 and a cutting husband, envious neigh- 
 bours, and will die many deaths, rather 
 
 than by any friend's open access to her be 
 whipped naked with the tongues of scandal 
 and slander, and a whole sanctuary of such 
 ceremonies. 
 
 Lo. O, she does worthily in that, Angelo, 
 and like a woman of honour : thou hast 
 painted her perfection in her faults thou 
 find'st, and ticklest me with her appetite. 
 
 An. And to avoid all sight of your 
 entrance, you must needs come in some 
 disguise, she says ; so much she tenders 
 your high credit in the city, and her own 
 reputation, forsooth. 
 
 Lo. How! Come in some disguise? 
 
 An. A toy, a very toy, which runs in 
 her head with such curious feet, sir, 
 because if there be any resemblances of 
 your person seen to enter her house, your 
 whole substantial self will be called in 
 question ; any other man, she says, might 
 better adventure with the least thing 
 changed about 'em, than you with all, as 
 if you were the only noted mutton-monger 
 in all the city. 
 
 Lo. Well, Angelo, heaven forgive us the 
 sins of our youth. 
 
 An. That's true, sir ; but for a paltry 
 disguise, being a magnifico, she shall go 
 snick up. 
 
 Lo. Soft, good Angelo, soft, let's think 
 on't a little ; what disguise would serve the 
 turn, says she ? 
 
 An. "Faith, I know 'not what disguise 
 she would have for you ; she would have 
 you come like a calf with a white face, I 
 think; she talks of tinkers, pedlars, porters, 
 chimney-sweepers, fools, and physicians, 
 such as have free egress and regress into 
 men's houses without suspicion. 
 
 Lo. Out upon 'em, would she have me 
 undergo the shame and hazard of one of 
 those abjects ? 
 
 An. I' faith I told her so, a squire of 
 that worship, one of the senate, a grave 
 justicer, a man of wealth, a magnifico ! 
 
 Lo. And yet by my troth, f&r the safe- 
 guard of her honour, I would do much ; 
 methinks a friar's weed were nothing. 
 
 An. Out upon't, that disguise is worn 
 threadbare upon every stage, and so much 
 villany committed under that habit that 
 'tis grown as suspicious as the vilest. If 
 you will hearken to any, take such a trans- 
 formance as you may be sure will keep you 
 from discovery : for though it be the stale 
 refuge of miserable poets, by change of a 
 hat or a cloak, to alter the whole state of a 
 comedy, so as the father must not know 
 his own child forsooth, nor the wife her 
 
286 
 
 MAY- DAY. 
 
 [ACT 
 
 husband, yet you must not think they do it 
 earnest to carry it away so : for say you 
 were stuffed into a motley coat, crowded in 
 the case of a base viol, or buttoned up in 
 a cloak-bag, even to your chin, yet if I see 
 your face, I am able to say, this is Signor 
 Lorenzo, and therefore unless your disguise 
 be such that your face may bear as great 
 a part in it as the rest, the rest is 
 nothing. 
 
 Lo. Good reason, in faith, Angelo ; and 
 what, shall I then smurch my face like a 
 chimney-sweeper, and wear the rest of his 
 smokiness ? 
 
 An. I'll tell you, sir, if you be so mad 
 to condescend to the humour of a foolish 
 woman, by consideration that Jove for his 
 love took on him the shape of a bull, which 
 is far worse than a chimney-sweeper, I can 
 fit you rarely. 
 
 Lo. As how, I prithee ? 
 
 An. There is one little Snail, you know, 
 an old chimney-sweeper. 
 
 Lo. What, he that sings, "Maids in 
 your smocks, hold open your locks ?" 
 
 An. The very same, sir, whose person 
 (I borrowing his words) you will so lively 
 resemble, that himself in person cannot de- 
 tect you. 
 
 Lo. But is that a fit resemblance to 
 please a lover, Angelo? 
 
 An. For that, sir, she is provided: for 
 you shall no sooner enter but off goes 
 your rusty scabbard, sweet water is ready 
 to scour your filthy face, milk, and a bath 
 of fernbrakes for your fusty body, a cham- 
 ber perfumed, a wrought shirt, night-cap, 
 and her husband's gown, a banquet of 
 oyster-pies, potatoes, skirret-roots, eringoes, 
 and divers other whetstones of venery. 
 
 jLo. O let me hug thee, Angelo. 
 
 An. A bed as soft as her hair, sheets as 
 delicate as her skin, and as sweet as her 
 breath, pillows imitating her breasts, and 
 her breasts to boot, hippocras in her cups, 
 and nectar In her lips ; ah, the gods have 
 been beasts for less felicity. 
 
 Lo. No more, good Angelo, no more ; 
 how shall I requite the happiness thou wilt 
 bring me to? hast any mind of mar- 
 riage ? 
 
 An. Not much, sir, but an extraordi- 
 nary wife might tempt me. 
 
 Lo. By my troth and she were not pro- 
 mised, thou shouldest have my daughter : 
 but come let's to our disguise, in which I 
 long to be singing. [Exit. 
 
 An. I'll follow you presently. Signor 
 Lodovico. 
 
 Enter Lodovico and Giovenelle. 
 
 Lod. How now, Angelo ? 
 
 A n . Why, sir, I am providing means to lead 
 your old uncle out a th' way, as you willed 
 me, by drawing him into the way of Quin- 
 tiliano's wife, my sweetheart, and so make 
 room for him by Quintiliano s room : you 
 that lead him any way, must needs seek 
 him out and employ him to some tavern. 
 
 Lod. He will be with me presently, An- 
 gelo, and here's a freshman come from 
 Padua, whom I will powder with his ac- 
 quaintance, and so make him an excellent 
 morsel to relish his carouses. 
 
 An. Go to, sir, by this light you'll be 
 complained on ; there cannot be a fool within 
 twenty mile of your head but you engross 
 him for your own mirth : noblemen's tables 
 cannot be served for you. 
 
 Lod. 'Sfoot, I'll complain of them, man ; 
 they hunt me out and hang upon me, so- 
 that I cannot be rid on'em ; but they shall 
 get somebody else to laugh at, or I'll turn 
 'em over to our poets, and make all the 
 world laugh at 'em. 
 
 An. Well, sir, here comes your man \ 
 make him sure from his wife, and I'll make 
 the t'other sure with her. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Quintiliano, Innocentio, Fannio, 
 Tailor, Tailor's son, he reads a bill. 
 
 Lod. See, Signor Giovenelle, here comes 
 the famous captain you would so fain be 
 acquainted withal ; be acquainted with him 
 at your peril : I'll defend you from his 
 swaggering humour, but take heed of his 
 cheating. 
 
 Gi. I warrant you, sir, I have not been 
 matriculated at the university, to be mere- 
 triculated by him ; salted there to be colted 
 here. 
 
 Lod. Very well, sir, let's hear him. 
 
 Qu. I have examined the particulars 
 of your bill, master tailor, and if find 
 them true orthography, thy payment shall 
 be correspondent : marry, I will set no 
 day, because I am loth to break. 
 
 Ta. Alas, sir, pray let this be the day : 
 consider my charge, I have many children, 
 and this my poor child here whom I have 
 brought up at school, must lose all I have 
 bestowed on him hitherto, if I pay not his 
 master presently the quartridge I owe 
 him. 
 
 Qu. Fool, dost thou delight to hear thy 
 son beg in Latin ? Pose him, lieutenant. 
 
 In. How make you this in Latin, boy? 
 " My father is an honest tailor." 
 
i SCENE V.] 
 
 MAY-DAY. 
 
 287 
 
 Boy. That will hardly be done in true 
 Latin, sir. 
 
 In. No ? why so, sir ? 
 
 Boy. Because it is false English, sir. 
 
 Qu. An excellent boy. 
 
 In. Why is it false English ? 
 
 Boy. Marry, sir, as bona mulieris said to 
 befalse Latin, because though bona begood, 
 mulier is naught ; so to say my father 
 is an honest tailor, is false English ; for 
 though my father be honest, yet the tailor 
 is a thief. 
 
 Qu. Believe it, a rare shred, not of home- 
 spun cloth upon my life : tailor, go, send 
 the schoolmaster to me at night and I'll 
 pay him. 
 
 Ta. Thank yo\i, good captain, and if you 
 do" not pay him at night, my wife will come 
 to you herself, that's certain, and you know 
 what a tongue she has. 
 
 Eu. Like the sting of a scorpion, she 
 mine ears to the pillory with it, in the 
 shame and torment she does me. Go, I 
 will void this bill and avoid her. 
 
 Ta. I thank you, sir. {Exit cumfilio. 
 
 Qu. Lieutenant, is not this a brave gul- 
 lery ? The slave has a pretty wife, and she 
 will never have me pay him, because she 
 may ever come to my chamber, as she says, 
 to rail at me, and then she goes home and 
 tells her husband she has tickled me 
 i'faith. 
 
 In. By my life, a rare jest. 
 
 Qu. Thou mayst see this boy is no shred 
 of a tailor ; is he not right of my look and 
 spirit ? 
 
 In. Right as a line, i'faith. 
 
 Lod. And will agree in the halter. 
 Save you, Captain Qumtiliano. 
 
 Qit. And dost thou live, my noble Lodo- 
 vico ? Boy, take my cloak. When shall's 
 have a rouse, ha ? My lieutenant and I were 
 drunk last night, with drinking health on 
 our knees to thee. 
 
 Gi. Why, would not your legs bear you, 
 Sir? 
 
 Sit. How many miles to midsummer? 
 aod, whose fool are you? are not you 
 the tassel of a gander ? 
 
 Gi. No indeed, not I, sir : I am your 
 poor friend, sir, glad to see you in health. 
 
 Qu. Health ? 'Sfoot, how mean you 
 that? d'ye think I came lately out ath' 
 powdering tub ? 
 
 Gi. Gossave me, sir, 'twas the furthest 
 part of my thought. 
 
 Qu. Why, y'are not angry, are you ? 
 
 Lod. No, nor you shall not be. 
 
 Qu. 'Sblood, I hope I may, and I will. 
 
 Lod. Be and you dare, sir. 
 
 u. Dare? 
 od. Ay, dare. 
 
 O. Plague on thee, th'art the maddest 
 Lodovico in the world; 'sfoot, do thou stab 
 me, and th'ast a mind to't, or bid me stab 
 myself. Is this thy friend ? dost thou love 
 Lodovico ? 
 
 Gi. With my heart, I protest, sir. 
 
 Qu. 'Sheart, a lie's in's throat that does 
 not ; and whence comest thou, wag, ha ? 
 
 Gi. Even now arrived from Padua, sir, 
 to see fashions. 
 
 Qu. Give me thy hand, th'art welcome ; 
 and for thy fashions, thou shalt first drink 
 and wench it ; to which end we will carouse 
 a little, some six or seven miles hence, and 
 every man carry his wench. 
 
 In. But where shall we have them, 
 Captain ? 
 
 Qu. Have 'em, Lieutenant ? if we have 
 'em not, my Valentine shall be one, and 
 she shall take a neighbour or two with her 
 to see their nursed childs or so ; we'll want 
 for no wenches, I warrant thee. 
 
 Enter Cuthbert Barber. 
 
 Lod. But who comes here ? 
 
 Qu. O 'tis my barber. 
 
 Lo. 'Sblood, how thy tradesmen haunt 
 thee. 
 
 Qu. Alas ! they that live by men, must 
 haunt 'em. 
 
 Cut. God save you, sir ! 
 
 Qu. How now, Cutbeard; what news 
 out of Barbary ? 
 
 Cut. Sir, I would borrow a word with 
 you in private. 
 
 Qu. Be brief then, Cutbeard ; thou look'st 
 lean, methinks; I think th'art newly married. 
 
 Cut. I am indeed, sir. 
 
 Qu. I thought so; keep on thy hat, man, 
 'twill be the less perceived. What, is not 
 my tailor and you friends yet ? I will have 
 you friends, that's certain; I'll maintain 
 you both else. 
 
 Cut. I know no enmity betwixt us, sir ; 
 you know, captain, I come about another 
 matter. 
 
 Qu. Why, but, Cutbeard, are not you 
 
 neighbours ? your trades cousin-german, 
 
 the tailor and the barber? does not the 
 
 tailor sew ? doest not thou, barber, reap ? 
 
 and do they not both band themselves 
 
 against the common enemy of mankind, 
 
 j the louse ? are you not both honest men 
 
 ! alike ? is not he an arrant knave ? you next 
 
 j door to a knave, because next door to him ? 
 
 Cut. Alas ! sir, all this is to no purpose: 
 
=3S 
 
 MAY-DAY. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 there are certain odd crowns betwixt us, 
 you know. 
 
 Qu. True, Cutbeard; wilt thou lend me 
 as many more to make 'em even, boy ? 
 
 Cut. Faith, sir, they have hung long 
 enough a conscience. 
 
 Qu. Cut 'em down then, Cutbeard; it 
 belongs to thy profession if they hang too 
 long. 
 
 Cut. Well, sir, if this be all, I'll come 
 fay 'em as I can, and you had any ho- 
 nesty. 
 
 Gi. 'Sblood, honesty, you knave ? do 
 you tax any gentleman in this company for 
 his honesty ? 
 
 Cut. Blame me not, sir ; I am undone 
 by him, and yet I am still of as good 
 credit in my parish as he too. 
 
 Qu. 'Sblood, rascal, as good credit as I ? 
 
 Lod. Nay, prithee, captain, forbear. 
 
 In. Good captain ! Begone. 
 
 Qu. Let me alone ; I'll not strike him, 
 by this hand. Why, heark ye, rogue : put 
 your credit in balance with mine ! Dost 
 thou keep this company ? Here's Signer 
 Lodovico, one of the clarissimi, a man of 
 worship ; here's a gentleman of Padua, a 
 man of rare parts, an excellent scholar, a 
 fine Ciceronian. 
 
 Cut. Well, sir. 
 
 Qu. And here's my lieutenant I hope 
 thou know'st the worshipful man his father 
 with the blue beard and all these are my 
 companions ; and dare you, a barbarous 
 slave, a squirting companion, compare 
 with me ? But here's the point; now behold 
 and see : Signor Giovenelle, lend me four 
 or five pounds let it be five pounds, if you 
 have so much about you. 
 
 Gi. Here's my purse, sir; I think there 
 be just so much int. 
 
 Qu. Very good; now, Cutbeard, are you 
 a slanderous cut-throat or no ? will thy 
 credit do this now ? without scrip or scroll. 
 But thou wilt think this is done for a colour 
 now ! Do you not lend it me simply? 
 
 Gi. What a question's that ! 
 
 gu. For how long ? 
 i. At your pleasure, Captain. 
 
 Qu. Why, so ; here, you poling rascal, 
 here's two crowns out of this money : now 
 I hope thou wilt believe 'tis mine, now the 
 property is altered. 
 
 Cut. Why, you might a done this be- 
 fore then. 
 
 Qu. No, Cutbeard; I have been burned 
 ith' hand for that, I'll pay ne'er a knave 
 an ye all money, but in the presence of 
 such honest gentlemen that can witness it ; 
 
 of my conscience I have paid it thee half a 
 dozen times ; go to, sir, begone. 
 
 Cut. Fare ye well, sir. 
 
 Qu. Thank you, Signor Giovenelle ; 
 though y'are sure of this money again at 
 my hands, yet take heed how this same 
 Lodovico get it from you, he's a great 
 sharker ; but th'ast no more money about 
 thee, hast thou ? 
 
 Gi. Not a doit, by this candle. 
 
 Qu. All the better, for he'd cheat thee 
 on't, if thou had'st ever so much; therefore 
 when thou comest to Padua, ply thy book 
 and take good courses, and 'tis not this 
 again shall serve thy turn at my hands, I 
 swear to thee. 
 
 Gi. Thank you, good captain. 
 
 Qu. Signor Lodovico, adieu. 
 
 Lod. Not so, sir, we will not part yet; a 
 carouse or two methinks is very necessary 
 betwixt us. 
 
 Qu. With all my heart, boy; into the 
 Emperor's Head here. 
 
 Lod. Content. {Exeunt. 
 
 END OF ACT II. 
 
 ACT THE THIRD. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 Lodovico, Angelo. 
 
 An. Say, sir, have you played the man 
 and housed the Captain ? 
 
 Lod. I have housed and lodged him in 
 the Emperor's Head tavern, and there I 
 have left him glorified with his two gulls, 
 so that presume of what thou wilt at his 
 house, for he is out of the way by this time 
 both ways. 
 
 An. 'Tis very well handled, sir, and pre- 
 sume you and your friend my master Au- 
 relio of what may satisfy you at your 
 uncle's, for he is now going out of the way, 
 and out of himself also. I have so be- 
 smeared him with a chimney-sweeper's 
 resemblance as never was poor Snail, whose 
 counterfeit he triumphs in ; never thinking 
 I have daubed his face sufficient, but is at 
 his glass as curiously busied to beautify his 
 face (for as of Moors so of chimney- 
 sweepers the blackest is most beautiful) as 
 as any lady to paint her lips. 
 
 Lod. Thou art a notable villain. 
 
 An. I am the fitter for your employ- 
 ment, sir ; stand close, I beseech you, and 
 when I bring him into the streets, encounter 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 MAY-DAY. 
 
 289 
 
 and bait him instead of Snail, but in any 
 case let none else know it. 
 
 Lod. Not for the world. 
 
 An. If you should tell it to one, so you 
 charge him to say nothing, 'twere nothing, 
 and so if one by one to it play holy water 
 frog with twenty, you know any secret is 
 kept sufficiently ; and in this we shall have 
 the better sport at a bear-baiting : fare ye 
 well, sir. 
 
 Enter Honorio and Gasparo. 
 
 Ho. Signor Lodovico, good even to you. 
 
 Lod. The like to Signor Honorio, and 
 hark you, sir, I must be bound with my 
 uncle Lorenzo, and tell you a pleasant se- 
 cret of him, so in no sort you will utter it. 
 
 Ho. In no sort, as I am a gentleman. 
 
 Lod. Why, sir, he is to walk the streets 
 presently in the likeness of Snail the chim- 
 ney-sweeper, and with his cry. 
 
 Ho. What is he, sir ? to what end I be- 
 seech you, sir, will he disfigure himself so ? 
 
 Lod. I'faith, sir, I take it for some matter 
 of policy that concerns town government. 
 
 Ho. Town-bull government ; do you not 
 mean so, sir? 
 
 Lod. Oh no, sir, but for the general busi- 
 ness of the city, I take it. 
 
 Ho. Well, sir, well, we will not examine 
 it too far, but guess at it. 
 
 Lod. So, sir, when he comes forth, do you 
 take one corner to encounter him as I will 
 do another, and, taking him for Snail, 
 imagine he went about stealing of city 
 venison (though he do not) and make what 
 sport you think good with him, always pro- 
 vided it be cleanly, and that he may still 
 think he goes invisible. 
 
 Ho. I warrant ye, Signor Lodovico, and 
 thank you heartily for this good cause of 
 our honest recreation. 
 
 Lod. Scarce honest neither, sir, but much 
 good do it you, as it is. 
 
 Ho. Oh that my son, your friend Aurelio, 
 were here to help to candy this jest a little. 
 
 Lod. Alas ! sir, his sick stomach can abide 
 no sweetmeats, he's all for "ay me ;" we'll 
 make the jest relish well enough, I warrant 
 you. Lorenzo, my uncle, an old senator, 
 one that has read Marcus Aurelius, Gesta 
 Romanorum, The Mirror of Magistrates, 
 &c, , to be led by the nose like a blind bear 
 that has read nothing. Let my man read 
 how he deserves to be baited. 
 
 Ho. Tis a pretty wonder, i'faith, Signor 
 Lodovico. 
 
 Lod. 'Slife, 'twere a good deed to get 
 boys to pin cards at his back, hang squibs 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 at his tail, ring him through the town with 
 basons, besnowball him with rotten eggs, 
 and make him ashamed of the commission 
 before he seal it. 
 
 Ga. What says Signor Lodovico, I be- 
 seech you, sir? 'methinks his pleasant dis- 
 position should intend some waggery. 
 
 Ho. I will tell you, Signor Gasparo, but 
 in any case you must say nothing. 
 
 Ga. In no case will I say anything, 
 sir. 
 
 Ho. Then this is the case : Signor Lo- 
 renzo (your probable father-in-law) in the 
 case of Snail the chimney-sweeper, will 
 straight tread the streets for his pleasure. 
 
 Ga. For his pleasure? 
 
 Lod. For his pleasure, sir, say it be so, 
 wonder not, but jest at it, consider what 
 pleasure the world says he is most given 
 to, and help bait him hereafter, but in any 
 case cleanly, and say nothing. 
 
 Ga. Oh monstrous ! I conceive you, my 
 father-in-law, will his daughter have his 
 tricks, think you ? 
 
 Ho. 'Faith, for that you must even take 
 fortune de la pace, kiss the Paxe, and be 
 patient like your other neighbours. So, 
 here stand I, choose you another place. 
 
 Ga. Oh me, what if a man should call 
 him to sweep a chimney in right earnest, 
 what would he do? \'\\ put him to't, a 
 my credit, and here will I stand. 
 
 Enter Lorenzo with his glass in his hand, 
 and Angelo with a pot of painting. 
 
 An. How now, sir, are you well yet, 
 think you ? 
 
 Lo. A little more here, good Angelo. 
 
 An. Very well, sir, you shall have 
 enough. 
 
 Lo. It will be the most perfect disguise 
 that ever was imitated. 
 
 An. I'll warrant you that, i'faith, sir; 
 y'are fitted beyond the forehead for a right 
 counterfeit ; it is well now, sir ? 
 
 Lo. Yet a little more here, Angelo, and 
 then, master painter, let Michael Angelo 
 himself amend thee. 
 
 An. For a perfect natural face I care 
 not if all the world explain it. 
 
 Lo. So now take this glass and give me 
 my furniture, and have at your smoky 
 chimney. 
 
 An. Have at your smoky chimney, mis- 
 tress Frank ; here, sir, take up your occu- 
 pation, and down with Snail for a chim- 
 ney-sweeper. 
 
 Lo. Away, see if the coast be clear. 
 
 An. I will, sir. 
 
 u 
 
MAY-DAY. 
 
 [ACT m. 
 
 Lo. Take good view, look about to the 
 doers and windows. 
 
 An. Not a dog at a door, not a cat at a 
 window. Appear in your likeness, and not 
 with your quality. 
 
 Lo. Chimney-sweep ! work for chimney- 
 sweep ! Will't do, sirrah ? 
 
 An. Admirably. 
 
 Lo. Does my suit become me ? 
 
 An. Become you, sir? would to heaven 
 mistress Frank could bring you to the 
 wearing of it always. 
 
 Lo. I'll forth, i'faith, then 
 
 " Maids in your smocks, 
 Set open your locks, 
 
 Down, down, down, 
 Let chimney-sweeper in 
 And he will sweep your chimneys clean, 
 
 Hey, deny, derry, down." 
 How dost like my cry, ha ? 
 
 An. Out of all cry ; I forbid Snail him- 
 self to creep beyond you. 
 
 Lo. As God help, I begin to be proud 
 on't. Chimney-sweep ! 
 
 An. God's pity, who comes yonder? 
 
 Lo. My nephew Lodovic ; God's me, 
 I'll start back again. 
 
 An. Nay, there's no starting now, he'll 
 see you go into your house, then ; fall into 
 your note, stand to Snail's person and I 
 warrant you. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Lodovico. 
 
 Lo. Chimney-sweep ! 
 
 Lod. How now, Snail, how dost thou ? 
 
 Lo. Thank your good worship. 
 
 Lod. Methinks thy song is more hearty 
 than 'twas wont to be, and thou look'st 
 much better. 
 
 Lo. Thank God and good friends, sir, 
 and a merry heart that prolongs life. 
 Chimney-sweep ! 
 
 Lod. Nay, good Snail, let's talk a little. 
 You know Rose, mine uncle Lorenzo's 
 maid, Snail. 
 
 Lo. That I do well, sir. 
 
 Lod. She complains of you, Snail, and 
 says y'are the bawdiest old knave in venery. 
 
 Lo. Alas, sir, she wrongs me ; I am not 
 fed thereafter, let her look for that com- 
 mendation in her richer customers. 
 
 Lod. Who are they, Snail ? I hope you 
 do not mean mine uncle, her master ; he's 
 mine uncle and I love him well, and I 
 know the old lick-spiggot will be nibbling a 
 little when he can come to't, but I must 
 needs say he will do no hurt. He's as 
 gentle as an adder that has his teeth taken 
 out. 
 
 Lo. Y'are a merry gentleman, sir, and I 
 have hasty labour in hand. I must crave 
 pardon. \_Enter Honorio.] Chimney- 
 sweep ! 
 
 Ho. What, old Snail? how dost thou 
 and thy chimneys ? 
 
 Lod. Marry, sir, I was asking him ques- 
 tions about one of them. 
 
 Ho. What, Signer Lodovico ? what one 
 is that, I pray ? 
 
 Lod. Mine uncle Lorenzo's maid, Rose, 
 sir, and he will needs persuade me her old 
 master keeps her for his own saddle. 
 
 Ho. Her old master ? I dare swear they 
 wrong him that say so, his very age would 
 make him ashamed to be overtaken with 
 those goatish licences. 
 
 Lod. True, sir, and his great authority 
 in the city, that should whip such unsea- 
 sonable lechers about the walls of it. 
 
 Ho. Why, y'are ith' right, sir, and now 
 you talk of your uncle, I heard say Captain 
 Quintiliano cheated him yesterday of five 
 pounds, as he did a young gentleman of 
 Padua this morning of as much more. 
 
 Lod. 'Faith, sir, he drew such a kind of 
 tooth from him indeed. 
 
 Ho. Is it possible he should be so 
 wrought upon by him ? Now certain I 
 have ever held him a most wise gentleman. 
 
 Lod. An arrant rook, by this light, a 
 capable cheating stock ; a man may carry 
 him up and down by the ears like a pip- 
 kin. 
 
 Ho. But do you think he will let the 
 Captain pass so ? 
 
 Lod. Why, alas, what should he do to 
 him, sir? the pasture is so bare with him 
 that a goose cannot graze upon't. 
 
 Ho. Marry, sir, then would I watch him 
 a time when he were abroad, and take out 
 my pennyworths of his wife. If he drew a 
 tooth from me, I would draw another from 
 her. 
 
 Lo. Well, God be with your worships. 
 Chimney-sweeper! I thought I should 
 never have been rid of them. [Enter Gas- 
 paro.] Chimney-sweep ! 
 
 Ga. What, old Snail, dost thou cry chim- 
 ney sweep still ? why, they say thou art 
 turned mighty rich of late. 
 
 Lo. I would they said true, sir. 
 
 Ga. Yes, by the mass, by the same token 
 that those riches make thy old name for 
 venery increase upon thee. 
 
 Lo. Foolish tales, sir, foolish tales. 
 
 Ga. Yes, by the mass, Snail, but they be 
 told for such certain tales, that, if thou hadst 
 a daughter to marry v/ith ten thousand 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 MAY-DAY. 
 
 291 
 
 crowns, I would see her pit-hole afore I 
 would deal with her, for fear she should 
 trot through her father's trumperies. 
 
 Lo. Alas, sir, your worship knows I have 
 neither daughter nor riches ; idle talk, sir, 
 idle talk. Chimney-sweep ! 
 
 Ga. Nay, stay, Snail, and come into my 
 house, thou shalt earn some money of me ; 
 I have a chimney to sweep for thee. 
 
 Lo. I thank your worship, I will wait 
 upon you next morning early, sir ; but now 
 I have promised to sweep another man's 
 chimney in truth. 
 
 Go. But, good Snail, take mine in the 
 way. 
 
 Lod. What, does he cry chimney-sweep, 
 and refuse to sweep "em ? 
 
 Lo. No, master, alas you know I live by 
 it, and now I cry as I go to work that I 
 have promised, that I may get more against 
 other times : what would you have me do, 
 trow ? 
 
 Ho. Alas, poor Snail ! farewell, good 
 Snail, farewell. 
 
 Lo. Lord keep your good worship. And a 
 very vengeance, I beseech the black father 
 of vengeance. 
 
 Lod. Poor uncle, he begins to be melan- 
 choly, has lost his song among's. 
 
 Ga. Was never such man touched with 
 such oversight ? 
 
 Ho. Bear with age, Signer Gasparo, 
 bear with age, and let us all tender his 
 credit as we have vowed, and be silent ; he 
 little thought to have been thus betrayed 
 as he is ; and where secrecy is assured, it 
 bears with many bad actions in the very 
 best I can tell you, and so, good Signer 
 Lodovico, adieu, and I heartily thank 
 you. 
 
 Lod. Adieu, good Signor Honorio. 
 Ga. Adieu to you likewise, sir. 
 
 [Exeunt Gasparo and Honorio. 
 Lod. Likewise to you, sir. Alas, poor 
 uncle, I have monstrously abused him ; 
 and yet marvellous wotthy, for he dis- 
 parageth the whole blood of us ; and I 
 wish all such old sheepbiters might always 
 dip their fingers in such sauce to their 
 mutton ; but thus will he presently be safe; 
 for by this he is near his sweetheart's house, 
 where he is like to be entertained with 
 worse cheer than we made him. Quin- 
 tiliano is now carousing in the Emperor's 
 Head, while his own head buds horns to 
 carouse in ; and in the meantime will my 
 amorous friend and I make both their 
 absences shoeing-horns to draw on the 
 presence of /Emilia. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Lorenzo and Angelo (Franceschina 
 above}. 
 
 An. What says your worship now ? Do 
 you not walk invisible, all your ancient 
 acquaintance, your own nephew to talk 
 with you and never discover you ? 
 
 Lo. But Angelo, a villanous fear shook 
 me the whiles I swear, for still I was afraid 
 my tongue would have licked away the 
 soot off my face, and bewrayed me ; but, 
 Snail, hitherto thy rusty shell has protected 
 me : persevere till I have yonder house a 
 my head, hold in thy horns till they look 
 out of Quintiliano's forehead : for an old 
 man to make a young man cuckold, is one 
 of Hercules' labours. 
 
 An. That was the cleansing of other 
 men's stables. 
 
 Lo. To make youth rampant in age, and 
 age passant in youth, to take a man down 
 at his own weapon ; to call back time in 
 one, and thrust him headlong upon 
 another. 
 
 An. Now your worship is oracle to your 
 own miracles ; how you shine in this smoky 
 cloud ! which you make the golden net to 
 embrace Venus, y'ave past the pikes i'faith, 
 and all the jails of the love-god swarm in 
 yonder house, to salute your recovery. 
 
 Lo. Well, Angelo, I tell thee, now we 
 are past the danger, I would not for forty 
 crowns but have heard what I have heard. 
 
 An. Tnie, sir, now you know what the 
 world thinks on you, 'tis not possible for a 
 great man, that shines always in his great- 
 ness, to know himself ; but, O twice young 
 Leander, see where your Hero stands with 
 torch of her beauty to direct you to her 
 tower ; advance your sweet note, and upon 
 her. 
 
 Lo. Chimney-sweep, work for chimney- 
 weep! 
 
 Fr. Come in, chimney-sweeper. 
 
 Lo. Oh, Angelo. 
 
 An. Why now, sir, thine Angelo is your 
 good angel ; enter and prosper, and when 
 you are in the midst of your happiness, 
 think of him that preferred you. 
 
 [Exit Lorenzo. 
 
 Fr. Angelo, give him not too much time 
 with me, for fear of the worst, but go 
 presently to the back gate, and use my 
 husband's knock, then will I presently 
 thrust him into my coal-house : and there 
 shall the old flesh-monger fast for It is 
 'niquity. [Exit. 
 
 An. Well said, mine own Frank ; i'faith 
 we shall trim him betwixt us, I for the 
 
 U a 
 
MAY-DAY. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 most slovenly case in the town ; she for 
 the most sluttish place in the house. Never 
 was old horseman so notoriously ridden ; 
 well, I will presently knock him into the 
 coal-house, and then haste to Lodovico, to 
 know when he shall be released. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Lodovico with a ladder of ropes, 
 Aurelio, (^Emilia above.) 
 
 Lod. Here's thy ladder, and there's thy 
 gallows, thy mistress is thy hangman, and 
 must take thee down. This is the tarrasse 
 where thy sweetheart tarries ; what wouldst 
 thou call it in rhyme ? 
 
 A-u. Celestial sphere, wherein more 
 beauty shines 
 
 Lod. Room for a passion. 
 
 An. Than on Dardanian Ida, where the 
 
 pride 
 
 Of heaven's selected beauties strived for 
 prize. 
 
 Lod. Nay, you shall know, we have 
 watered our horses in Helicon. I cannot 
 abide this talking and undoing poetry ; 
 leave your mellifluous numbers : yonder's 
 a sight will steal all reason from your 
 rhyme, I can tell you ; down of your knees 
 you slave, adore. Now let's hear you in- 
 vocate. Oh, the supple hams of a lover; go 
 to, do not stand up close, for she must not 
 see you yet, though she know you are here. 
 
 sEm. Cousin Lodovic. 
 
 Lod. Who calls Lodovic ? 
 
 sm. What tempest hath cast you on 
 this solitary shore ? Is the party come ? 
 
 Lod. The party? now a plague of your 
 modesty, are your lips too nice to name 
 Aurelio ? 
 
 sEm. Well, is he come then ? 
 
 Lo. He, which he ? 'sfoot name your man 
 with a mischief to you; I understand you not. 
 
 sm. Was there ever such a wild-brain ? 
 Aurelio. 
 
 Lod. Aurelio ? Lord, how loth you are to 
 let any sound of him come out an you, you 
 hold him so dear within ; I'll present her 
 with a sight will startle her nicety a little 
 better; hold you, fasten the end of this 
 ladder, I pray. 
 
 sEm. Now Jesus bless us why, cousin, 
 are you mad ? 
 
 Lod. Go to, yon spirit of a feather, be not 
 so soft-hearted, leave your nicety, or by 
 this hemp I'll so hamper thy affections in 
 the halter of thy lover's absence, making 
 it up in a Gordian knot of forgetfulness, 
 that no Alexander of thy allurements, with 
 all the swords of thy sweet words, shall 
 ever cut it in pieces. 
 
 . Lord, how you roll in your rope- 
 ripe terms. 
 
 Lod. Go to, tell me, will you fasten the 
 ladder or no ? 
 
 sEm. } know not what I should say t'ye : 
 I will fasten it, so only yourself will come up. 
 
 Lod. Only myself will come up then. 
 
 /Em. Nay, sweet coz, swear it. 
 
 Lod. If I should swear thou wouldst curse 
 me : take my word in a halter's name, and 
 make the ladder as fast to the tarrasse, as 
 thou wouldst be to Aurelio. 
 
 sEm. Nay, see if he do not make me 
 give over again. 
 
 Lod. Was there ever such a blue kitling? 
 fasten it now, or by heaven, thou dost loose 
 me for ever. 
 
 sEm. Well, sir, remember your word ; 
 I will fasten it, but i'faith, coz, is not the 
 gentleman and his parting choler parted yet? 
 
 Lod. Ffaith, with much ado. 
 
 ^Em. Nay, nay, choose him : I shall 
 live, if they be not : and if I live till his 
 choler kill me, I shall live till he leave loving 
 me, and that will be a good while first. 
 
 Lod. Lord, Lord, who has informed you 
 of such amorous fervency in him ? are you 
 so confident in his kindness ? 
 
 sEm. Nay, by my troth, 'tis but a care- 
 less confidency neither, which always lasts 
 longer than that which is timorous : well, 
 coz, here I have fastened it for your plea- 
 sure ; but, alas, the fear of my father's 
 coming so distracts me, that I scarce know 
 what I do or say. 
 
 Lod. Your father ? dost think we would 
 venture all this preparation, and not make 
 him safe? 
 
 &m. But are you sure he is safe ? 
 
 Lod. Am I sure this is Aurelio? look 
 upon him, wench, is it not thy love ? thy 
 life? come, sir, mount. 
 
 sEm. O cousin Lodovic, do you thus 
 cozen and betray me ? 
 
 Lod. Coz, coz, ^thou has acted thy dis- 
 sembling part long enough, in the most 
 modest judgment, and passing naturally, 
 give over with thy credit then, unmask thy 
 love, let her appear in her native simpli- 
 city, strive to conceal her no longer from 
 thy love, for I must needs tell thee he knows 
 all. 
 
 /Em. What does he know ? 
 
 Lod. Why, all that thou told'st me, that 
 thou lovest him more than he can love thee, 
 that thou hast set up thy resolution, in de- 
 spite of friends or foes, weals or woes, to 
 let him possess thee wholly, and that thou 
 didst woo me to bring him hither to thee : 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 MAY-DAY. 
 
 293 
 
 all this he knows ; that it was thy device 
 to prepare this ladder, and in a word, all 
 the speech that passed betwixt thee and me, 
 he knows. I told him every word truly and 
 faithfully, God's my judge. 
 
 sm. Now, was there ever such such an 
 immodest creature? 
 
 Lod. Via, with all vain modesty, leave 
 this colouring, and strip thy love stark 
 naked. This time is too precious to spend 
 vainly ; mount, I say. 
 
 Au. Model of heavenly beauty. 
 
 Lod. Zounds, wilt thou melt into rhyme 
 a the t'other side ? shall we have lines ? 
 Change thy style for a ladder, this will bring 
 thee to Parnassus ; up, I say. 
 
 Au. Unworthy I t'approach the fur- 
 thest step 
 To that felicity that shines in her. 
 
 Lod. O purblind affection ! I have seen a 
 fellow, to a worse end ascend a ladder with 
 a better will, and yet this is in the way of 
 marriage, and they say marriage and 
 hanging have both one constellation. To 
 approve the which old saying, see if a new 
 ladder make 'em not agree. 
 
 dELm. Peace, somebody comes. 
 
 Lod. That you heard was but a mouse, 
 so boy, I warrant thee. 
 
 Au. O sacred goddess, whatsoe'er thou art 
 That in mere pity to preserve a soul 
 From undeserved destruction, hast vouch- 
 safed 
 To take ^Emilia's shape. 
 
 Lod. What a poetical sheep is this ! 
 'Slife, will you stand rhyming there upon 
 a stage, to be an eyemark to all that pass ? 
 is there not a chamber by? withdraw, I 
 say for shame, have you no shame in you ? 
 here will come somebody presently, I lay 
 my life on't. 
 
 Au. Dear mistress, to avoid that likely 
 
 danger, 
 
 Vouchsafe me only private conference, 
 And 'tis the fulness of my present hopes. 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Lod. Aurelio, occasion is bald, take her 
 by the forelock ; so, so. In Hymen's 
 name get you together, here will I stand 
 sentinel. This is the back gate to Hono- 
 rio's house, which shall be Aurelio's, if 
 God give him grace to weep for his father's 
 death in time. And in this garden, if I 
 could see the chaste Lucrece, or the 
 affable mistress Temperance, I might, thus 
 -wrapt in my cloak, steal a little courtship 
 through the chink of a pale. But, indeed, 
 I think it safer to sit closer, and so to 
 cloud the sun of my visnomy, that no eye 
 
 discern it. [He sits down and muffles him- 
 self in his cloak.~\ So be it, that's my 
 resolution. Now to my contemplation, 
 this is no pandarism, is it? No, for there 
 is neither money nor credit proposed or 
 expected, and besides there is no un- 
 lawful act intended, no, not this same 
 lasciva. actio animi, I think for his part, 
 much less hers ; go to, let me do my 
 kinswoman and her sex right. Sit at 
 rest with me, then-, reputation, and con- 
 science, fall asleep with the world ; but this 
 same idle attendance is the spite of it. 
 Idleness is accounted with other men a sin, 
 to me 'tis a penance. I was begot in a 
 stirring season, for now hath my soul a 
 thousand fancies in an instant, as what 
 wench dreams not on when she lies on 
 her back, when one hen lays an egg and 
 another sits it, whether that hen shall 
 mother that chicken? If my bull leap 
 your cow, is not the calf yours? yes, no 
 doubt, for ^.dificium cedit solo, says the 
 lawyer : and then to close all comes in a 
 sentence, Non omnia possumus omnes : for 
 some are born to riches, others to verses, 
 some to be bachelors, others to be cuckolds, 
 some to get crowns, and others to spend 
 'em, some to get children, and others to 
 keep 'em : and all this is but idleness. 
 Would to God I had some scurvy poem 
 about me to laugh at [Enter Temperance] ; 
 but mark, yonder 's a motion to be seen. 
 
 Te. Yonder he sits i'faith. Well done, 
 true love, good Signer Leonoro, he keeps 
 promise the best, he does not see me yet. 
 
 Lod. 'Tis the staid Madam Temperance. 
 A pretty pinnace she has been in her days, 
 and in her nights too, for her burthen, and 
 reasonable good under sail, and see she 
 hath discovered a sail, see, see, she hales 
 him in, ha? 'tis this way to the rewards, 
 'slight, 'tis this way ; I hope the bawd 
 knows not me, and yet I know not, she 
 may be a witch, for a whore she was 
 before I knew her, a bawd I have known 
 her any time this dozen years, the next 
 step to honour then is a witch, because of 
 Nature, for where the whore ends, the 
 bawd begins, and the corruption of a bawd 
 is the generation of a witch. And Pytha- 
 goras holds opinion, that a witch turns to 
 a wild cat, as an old ostler turns to an 
 ambling nag. 
 
 Enter Leonoro muffled in his cloak 
 with Lionel. 
 
 Le. This is the back gate, where Tem- 
 perance should meet me at this hour. 
 
294 
 
 MAY-DAY. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Li. I wonder she fails, for I see her not. 
 
 Le. Why sits that fellow there, trow? 
 come, let's hover hereabouts, 'twill not be 
 long ere we encounter. [Exit. 
 
 Lod. So, now this riddle is expounded ; 
 this bawd took me for this adventurer 
 whom, twenty to one, she attended, to 
 waft him into Lucretia's chamber. What a 
 beast was I not to apprehend this ad- 
 vantage. Thus muffled as I am, she could 
 not have perceived me till I had been in, 
 and I might safely have stayed awhile 
 without endangering my lovers. [Enter 
 Temperance stealing along the stage. 
 'Slight, she takes me still for her first man. 
 
 Te. Come, come, gingerly ; for God's 
 sake, gingerly. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Leonoro and Lionel. 
 
 Le. See, Lionel, yet she is not come, 
 and the privy attendant is gone. 
 
 Li. I wonder what it was. 
 
 Le. I fear me some other client of hers, 
 whom she prefers before me. Come, we 
 must not linger here too long together ; 
 we'll enter on this backside, to the Em- 
 peror's Head, where we will stay a little, 
 and then make the last trial of this bawd's 
 honesty. 
 
 Enter Quintiliano, Giovenelli, and Fannio 
 in their doublet and hose. 
 
 Qu. Come, ancient, let's leave our com- 
 pany a little, and air ourselves in this back- 
 side. Who goes there ? 
 
 Le. A friend. 
 
 Qu. The word? 
 
 Le. God save you, Captain Quintiliano. 
 
 Qu. Shoot him, ancient, a spy ; the 
 word's the Emperor's Head, and thither 
 you shall go, sir. 
 
 Le. Pardon me, good captain. 
 
 Gi. Come, be not retrograde to our de- 
 sires. 
 
 Le. I attend a friend of mine. 
 
 Qu. Th'ast attended him already, I am 
 witness to't ; deny't and he dare, whatsoe'er 
 he be, and he shall attend thee another 
 while, and he will. Th'art as good a man 
 as he, and he be the duke himself, for a 
 clarissimo ; entertain him, ancient, bid the 
 clarissimo welcome. I'll call a drawer, 
 and we'll have some wine in this arbour. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Gi. You are very welcome, Signor Cla- 
 rissimo ; desire you more acquaintance, sir. 
 
 Le. My name is Leonoro, sir, and indeed 
 I scarce know you. 
 
 Gi. No, sir, and you know me you must 
 
 know as much as I know, for scientia and 
 scieiitificus is all one ; but that's all one, in 
 truth, sir, you shall not spend a penny here. 
 I had money, I thank God, even now, and 
 perad venture shall have again ere we part. 
 I have sent to a friend of mine. 
 
 Enter Quintiliano and a Drawer, with 
 a cup of wine and a towel. 
 
 Qu. Here, honourable clarissimo, I drink 
 to thee. 
 
 Le. Thank you, good captain. 
 
 Qu. 'Sfoot, winesucker, what have you 
 filled us here, balderdash ? Taste, Leonoro. 
 
 Le. Methinks 'tis sack. 
 
 Gi. Let us taste, sir ; 'tis claret, but it 
 has been fetched again with aqua-vitae. 
 
 Qu. 'Slight, methinks 't has taken salt 
 water. Who drew this wine, you rogue ? 
 
 Dr. My fellow Sam drew it, sir ; the 
 wine's a good neat wine, but you love a 
 pleasanter grape. I'll fit your palate, sir. 
 [He stands close. 
 
 u. Is this thy boy, Leonoro ? 
 e. For fault of a better, sir. 
 
 Qu. Afore heaven 'tis a sweet-faced 
 child, methinks he should show well in 
 woman's attire. "And he took her by the 
 lily-white hand, and he laid her upon a 
 bed." I'll help thee to three crowns a week 
 for him and she can act well. Hast ever 
 practised, my pretty Ganymede ? 
 
 Ly. No, nor never mean, sir. 
 
 Gi. Mean, sir? No, marry, captain, 
 there will never be mean in his practice, I 
 warrant him. 
 
 Qu. Oh, finely taken. Sirrah Clarissimo, 
 this fellow was an arrant ass this forenoon, 
 afore he came to be an ancient. 
 
 Le. But where's your lieutenant, captain ? 
 
 Qu. Zounds, man, he's turned swaggerer. 
 
 Le. Is't possible ? 
 
 Qu. Swaggerer by this light he, and is 
 in the next room writing a challenge to this 
 tall gentleman, my ancient here. 
 
 Le. What, mutinous in your own com- 
 pany? 
 
 Qu. 'Sfoot, man, who can bridle the 
 ass's valour ? 
 
 Gi. 'Sblood, and any man think to bridle 
 me. 
 
 Le. But what was the quarrel ? 
 
 Qu. Why, sir, because I entertained this 
 gentleman for my ancient, being my dear 
 friend and an excellent scholar, he takes 
 pepper i'th' nose and sneezes it out upon my 
 ancient ; now, sir, he being of an uncoal- 
 carrying spirit, falls foul on him, calls him 
 gull openly ; and ever since I am fain to 
 
SCENE IV.J 
 
 MAY-DAY. 
 
 295 
 
 drink with 'em in two rooms, dare not let 
 
 'em come together for my life, but with 
 
 pen and ink-horns, and so my lieutenant 
 
 is in the next chamber casting cold ink 
 
 upon the \_Enter Innocentio] flame of his 
 
 courage to keep him from the blot of 
 
 I cowardice ; see where he comes with his 
 
 ! challenge. Good Clarissimo, hold my 
 
 | ancient. 
 
 Lc. Good ancient, forbear in a tavern. 
 
 Qu. Revenge, noble lieutenant, hast 
 thou done it ? 
 
 ///. 'Slight, I think I have peppered him ; 
 but 'twas his own seeking, you know. 
 
 Qn. That's certain. 
 
 Gi. Zounds, my seeking, sir ? 
 
 Qn. Hold him, Leonoro ; and if it be 
 possible, persuade him to hear the challenge 
 from the enemy's own mouth. 
 
 Lc. I'll undertake he shall, Captain. 
 Good ancient, let me entreat you. 
 
 Gi. Well, sir, because y'are a stranger 
 to me, you shall do more with me. 
 
 Lc. Thank you, good ancient. 
 
 Qn. Read, fiery lieutenant ; read, boy, 
 legibly. 
 
 ///. Here it is, sir. Signer Giovenelli, it 
 is not ignorant unto you, that even now 
 you crossed me over the cockscomb. 
 
 Gi. I did so, sir ; I will not deny it, I 
 waiTant you. 
 
 Lc. Good ancient, peace. 
 
 In. And that openly, or else it would 
 never have grieved me. 
 
 Qu. That openly was all, indeed. 
 
 In. And, moreover, very unreverendly 
 to call me gull and ass to my face. And 
 therefore, though I held it good discretion 
 in me to wink at the blow, not seeming to 
 take notice of it 
 
 Lc. Good discretion indeed ! 
 
 In. Yet know that I will have satisfaction 
 from you. 
 
 Gi. Well, sir, and you shall. 
 
 Qn. Nay, good ancient, hear him. 
 
 ///. And desire you to send me word, 
 whether you will maintain it or no, hoping 
 that you will not offer that discourtesy to 
 do me wrong, and stand to it when you 
 have done. 
 
 Le. That were foul indeed ! 
 
 In. And as for the words, in that you 
 called me gull and ass to my face, resolve 
 me by letter, for I do not think fit we 
 should meet, first, whether you spake any 
 such words or no ; and, secondly, by 
 whom you meant 'em. And if by me, as I 
 think you durst not, confess you are sorry 
 for 'hem ; and if I have offended you, I 
 
 heartily ask you forgiveness. And so fare- 
 well. 
 
 Qu. Afore heaven, ancient, this would 
 have tickled you. But good Leonoro, and 
 thon be'st a right clarissimo, let's make 
 'em friends, and drink to one another ; 
 'Sfoot, we have no wine here, methinks. 
 Where's this aperner? 
 
 Dr. Here, sir. 
 
 Qu. Have you mended your hand, sir? 
 
 Dr. Ay, captain, and if this please not 
 your taste, either you or I cannot taste a 
 cup of wine. 
 
 Qu. Zounds, y'are very saucy, sir. 
 Here, lieutenant, drink to thy ancient, and 
 void mutinies with your officer; martial law 
 is dangerous. 
 
 In. Is he content I should drink to him? 
 
 Le. He is, I warrant thee. 
 
 In. Why, then, ancient, good luck t'ye. 
 
 Gi. Let come, lieutenant, I pledge you. 
 
 Qu. Why so, now my company is cured 
 again afore 'twas wounded. Come honour- 
 able clarissimo, let's retire to our strength, 
 taste a fresh carouse or two, and then 
 march home with music. Tapster, call us 
 in some music. 
 
 Dr. I will, sir. 
 
 END OF ACT III. 
 
 ACT THE FOURTH. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Enter Quintiliano, Leonoro, Innocentio, 
 Lionello, Fannio, with music. 
 
 Qu. Strike up, scrapers. Honourable 
 Clarissimo, and thy sweet Adonis, adieu. 
 Remember our device at the show soon. 
 
 Le. I will not fail, captain, farewell t'ye 
 both ; come, Lionel, now let us try the 
 truth of Madam Temperance, and see if 
 she attend us. 
 
 In. I hope by this time she remembers 
 her promise, sir. [Exeunt Leo. and Lio. 
 
 Qu. How now, lieutenant, where's my 
 ancient ? 
 
 In. Marry, captain, y'ave left him cast- 
 ing the reckoning ith' chimney. 
 
 Qu. Why, then, his purse and his stomach 
 will be empty together, and so I cashier 
 him ; let the scholar report at Padua, that 
 Venice has other manner of learning 
 belongs to it ; what does his Continuum 
 &> Contiguum here ? let 'em go to the ink- 
 pot and beware of the wine-pot. 
 
29 6 
 
 MAY-DAY. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 "Fill red-cheek'd Bacchus, let the Bour- 
 
 deaux grape 
 
 Skip like la voltos in their swelling veins." 
 Te dan, dan tidle, te dan de dan tidle 
 didle, &c. 
 
 In. O God, Captain, that I could dance 
 so. 
 
 Qu. " He took her by" (strike up 
 fiddlers), " the lily white hand, and he laid 
 her upon the bed." Oh, what a spirit 
 have I now ! I long to meet a serjeant in 
 this humour. I would but have one whiff 
 at one of these same pewter-buttoned 
 shoulder-clappers, to try whether this 
 chopping-knife or their pestles were the 
 better weapons. Here's a blade, boy ; it 
 was the old Duke's first predecessor's ; I'll 
 tell thee what, lieutenant, this sword has 
 dubbed more knights than thy knife has 
 opened oysters. 
 
 In. Is't possible, Captain, and methir.ks 
 it stands a little. 
 
 Qu. No matter for that, your best 
 mettled blades will stand soonest ; so, 
 now we have attained our mansion house. 
 At which I'll sing a verse shall break the 
 doors. "O noble Hercules, let no Stygian 
 lake." 
 Te dan, dan tidle, te dan de dan tidle 
 
 didle, &c. 
 
 Farewell, scrapers, yeur reward now shall 
 be that I will not cut your strings nor 
 break your fiddles : via, away. 
 
 ///. Come, captain, let's enter. I long to 
 see my mistress. I warrant she's a heavy 
 gentlewoman for your absence. 
 
 Qu. 'Sfoot, she's an ass, honour wooes 
 me, preferment calls me, and I must lie 
 pampered in a wench's lap, because she 
 dotes on me. Honour says no, lieutenant. 
 Pugnapro patria, wemustto't, i'faith, and 
 seek our portion amongst the scratched faces. 
 
 Lo. [within] Mistr-ess, mistress, is he 
 gone? 
 
 u. Who's that calls there ? 
 t. I heard nobody. 
 
 Qu. No? there was one called mistress ; 
 1 say who called mistress? 'Sblood, I hope 
 I am not drunk. 
 
 Fa. In truth, sir, I heard nobody. 
 
 Qu. I tell thee I smelt a voice here in 
 my entry. 'Sfoot, I'll make it smell worse, 
 and I hear it again. 
 
 In. Oh me, he'll draw upon his own 
 shadow in this humour, if it take the wall 
 of him. Follow him, Fannio, look he do 
 no harm, for God's sake. 
 
 Lo. Help, help, help ! 
 
 In. Name of God, what's there to do? 
 
 Enter Quintiliano and Lorenzo. 
 
 Lo. Good Captain, do not hurt me. 
 
 Qu. Zounds, is hell broke loose ? Why, 
 Snail, though you can sing songs and do 
 things, Snail, I must not allow ye to creep 
 into my wife's coal-house. What, Snail, 
 into my withdrawing chamber ? 
 
 Lo. I beseech your worship hear me 
 speak. 
 
 Qu. Oh, Snail, this is a hard case; no 
 room serve your turn but my wife's coal- 
 house, and her other house of office 
 annexed to it, a privy place for herself, 
 and me sometimes, and will you use it, 
 being a stranger ? 'Slight, how comes this 
 about? Up, sirrah, and call your mistress. 
 
 Lo. A plague of all disguises ! 
 
 [Exit Fannio. 
 
 In. Alas, poor Snail, what didst thou 
 make here ? 
 
 Lo. I protest, sir, for no harm. My 
 mistress called me in to sweep her chimney, 
 and because I did it not to her mind, she 
 made me do penance in her coal-house. 
 
 In. Search him, Captain, and see if he 
 have stolen nothing. 
 
 Lo. Kill me, hang me, if I have ! 
 
 Qu. Yes, Snail ; and besides, I hear 
 complaints, of you ; y'are an old luxurious 
 hummerer about wenches, Snail ; does this 
 become your gravity, sir? Lieutenant, 
 fetch me a coal-sack ; I'll put him in it, 
 and hang him up for a sign. 
 
 Lo. I beseech your worship be good tome. 
 
 In. Good Captain, pardon him, since he 
 has done nothing bul swept your chimney 
 worse than my mistress would have it 
 swept : he will do it better another time. 
 
 Qu. Well, Snail, at this gentleman's 
 request (to whom I can deny nothing), I 
 release you for this once, but let me take 
 you no more thus, I advise you. 
 
 Lo. Not while I live, good Captain. 
 
 Qu. Hence, trudge, you drudge, go 
 away ! 
 
 Lo. A plague of all disguises ! 
 
 {Exit Lorenzo. 
 
 Enter Fannio. 
 
 Fa. I have looked about all the house 
 for my mistress, sir, but I cannot find her. 
 
 Qu. Go, then, look all about the town 
 for her, too. Come in, Lieutenant, let's 
 repose a little after our liquor. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Aurelio and Emilia, above. 
 
 Au. Dear life, be resolute, that no 
 respect, 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 MAY-DAY. 
 
 297 
 
 Heightcd above the compass of your 
 
 love, 
 
 Depress the equal comforts it retains ; 
 For since it finds a firm consent in both, 
 And both our births and years agree so 
 
 well, 
 
 If both our aged parents should refuse, 
 For any common object of the world, 
 To give their hands to ours, let us resolve 
 To live together like our lives and souls. 
 sm. I am resolved, my love ; and yet, 
 
 alas ! 
 
 So much affection to my father's will 
 Consorts the true desires I bear to you, 
 That I would have no spark of our love 
 
 seen 
 Till his consent be ask'd, and so your 
 
 father's. 
 Au. So runs the mutual current of my 
 
 wish, 
 And with such staid and circumspect 
 
 respects, 
 
 We may so serve and govern our desires, 
 That till fit observation of our fathers 
 Prefer the motion to them, we may love 
 Without their knowledge and the skill of 
 
 any, 
 
 Save only of my true friend Lodovic. 
 sEm. I wonder where he is ? 
 Au. Not far, I know, 
 For in some place he watcheth to prevent 
 The feared danger of your father's presence. 
 
 Enter Lorenzo and Angelo, running. 
 
 Ax. Zounds, stay, for the love of your 
 honour, sir. 
 
 Lo. A plague of all disguises, Angelo ! 
 
 An. What reason have you to curse 
 them ? Has not one of them kept you safe 
 from the shame of the world, as much as a 
 poor disguise might do ; but when your 
 ridiculous fears will cast it off, even while 
 it is on, so running through the streets that 
 they rise all in an uproar after you ; alas ! 
 what is the poor disguise to blame, sir ? 
 
 Lo. Well, then, fortune is to blame, or 
 something. Come, as thou didst help to 
 daub me, help to cleanse me, I prithee. 
 
 An. Let alone awhile, sir, for God's 
 sake. I'll go see whether the Captain be 
 gone from home or no. 
 
 Lo. Out upon that course, Angelo ; I am 
 frighted out of it. Come, enter my house, 
 enter. 
 
 An. What, will you enter your house, 
 sir, afore you know who is in it? Keep 
 yourself close, and let me first enter and 
 discover. 
 
 Lo. I know there is nobody. 
 
 An. You cannot know it, sir. I heard 
 even now that divers of the Senate were 
 determined to come and sit in council there. 
 
 Lo. A tale, a very tale, Angelo ; enter, 
 for the love of heaven, enter and unsmother 
 me. [Exit. 
 
 An. What shall I do? My poor master 
 is bewrayed. Oh, that same faithless Lodo- 
 vic, that could drown the swaggering 
 Captain no better in his drunkenness ! alas, 
 how should I salve this ? [Exit. 
 
 Enter Lorenzo, and after him Angelo. 
 
 Lo. How now? whom do I see? my 
 daughter and a younker together ? passion 
 of death, hell and damnation, what leche- 
 rous Capricorn reigns this unhappy day? 
 old and young in a predicament ? Oh, fie of 
 filthy sin and concupiscence, I will conceal 
 my rage awhile, that it may break forth in 
 fury. I'll shift me presently, Angelo, and 
 go fetch the provost. 
 
 An. Oh, unspeakable madness ! will you 
 for ever dishonour your daughter, and in 
 her yourself, sir? 
 
 Lo. Talk not to me ; out upon this 
 abominable concupiscence, this pride of the 
 flesh, this witchcraft of the devil : talk not 
 to me, justice cries out on't in the streets, 
 and I will see it punished. Come, good 
 Angelo, to help to shift me. 
 
 An. I'll follow you, sir, instantly : mas- 
 ter, master ! 
 
 Au. Angelo! what news? 
 
 An. Miserable master, cast down your 
 ladder, and come down instantly. 
 
 sEm. Alas, why, Angelo, is my father 
 coming ? 
 
 An. Let us not talk, but come down, I 
 say. 
 
 Au. Dear life, farewell ! we'll shortly 
 
 meet again. 
 
 So parts the dying body from the soul, 
 As I depart from my ^Emilia. 
 
 . So enter frighted souls to the low 
 world, 
 
 As my poor spirit upon this sudden doubt, 
 What may succeed this danger. 
 
 An. Come away, you'll be whipped anon 
 for your amorosity; haste, for shame, haste, 
 &c. 
 
 sm. Once more and ever, fare my dear 
 life well. [Exit ^Emil. 
 
 An. Leave your amorous conge*s and 
 get you in, dame. Sir, you and J will talk 
 as 'twere betwixt the pales. Now, get you 
 and shift you of this suit presently. 
 
 Au. Shift me, Angelo? why, man? 
 
 An. Ask me no questions, but go home 
 
MAY-DAY. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 and shift you presently, and when I have 
 done a little business here within, I'll come 
 and tell you my device : there hath more 
 chanced than you are aware of, and than I 
 can stand to tell you ; away therefore pre- 
 sently. Go home and shift you. 
 
 Au. Very good, sir; I will be ruled by 
 you, and after learn the mysteries. 
 
 [Exit Aurel. 
 
 An. Now will I let the little squire shift 
 and cleanse himself without me, that he may 
 be longer about fetching the provost, and 
 in the meantime will I take my master's 
 suit (of which the little squire took note) 
 and put it on my sweetheart, Franceschina, 
 who shall presently come and supply my 
 master's place,. with his mistress ; for the 
 little squire, amazed with his late affrights 
 and this sudden offenceful spectacle of his 
 daughter, took no certain note who it was 
 that accosted her ; for if he had, he would 
 have blamed me for my master, only the 
 colour of his garment sticks in his fancy, 
 which, when he shall still see where he left 
 it, he will still imagine the same person 
 wears it, and thus shall his daughter's 
 honour and my master's be preserved with 
 the finest sugar of invention. And when 
 the little squire discovers my sweetheart, 
 she shall swear she so disguised herself to 
 follow him, for her love to him ; ha, ha, 
 ha ! Oh, the wit of man when it has the 
 wind of a woman ! [Exit. 
 
 Enter Lodovico and Lucretia, with rapiers, 
 
 Lod. Hold, hold, I prithee hold ; I yield 
 
 my rapier, 
 
 Let my submission, my presumption salve. 
 Lu. Ignoble Lodovic, should I take 
 
 thy life, 
 It were amends too little for the wrong. 
 
 Lo. Oh, the precious heavens ! 
 How was I gull'd ! hand, hide thyself for 
 
 shame, 
 And henceforth have an eye before thy 
 
 fingers. 
 
 Lu. Well, do not jest it out, for I pro- 
 test 
 
 If this disguise, which my inhuman fate 
 Puts on my proper sex, be by thy means 
 Seen through by any other than thy- 
 self, 
 The quarrel 'twixt us shall be more than 
 
 mortal, 
 
 And thy dishonour to a friendless stranger 
 (Exiled his native country, to remain 
 Thrall to the mercy of such unknown 
 minds 
 
 As fortunes make the rulers of my life) 
 Shall spread itself beyond my misery. 
 Lod. Nay, mix not cause of mirth with 
 
 passion. 
 Do me the grace t'unfold thy name and 
 
 state, 
 
 And tell me what my whole estate may do, 
 To salve this wrong unwittingly I did 
 
 thee, 
 And set the plaintive thoughts of thy hard 
 
 fate 
 
 In such peace as my friendship may pro- 
 cure ? 
 
 And if I fail thee, let Jove fail my soul, 
 When most this earth makes it need help 
 
 of heaven. 
 Lu. In this you more than temper my 
 
 late rage 
 
 And show your virtues perfectly derived 
 From the Venetian noblesse ; for my name 
 It is Lucretio, which to fit this habit 
 I turn'd Lucretia : the rests that rests 
 To he related of my true estate, 
 I'll tell some other time : lest now your 
 
 presence 
 
 Might dumbly tell it (if it should be seen) 
 To all the world, or else make it suspect 
 My femall life of lightness ; then with 
 
 thanks 
 And vow of all true friendship, for 
 
 th 'am ends 
 Your kindness makes me, take your sword 
 
 again, 
 And with it while I live the power of 
 
 mine, 
 
 In any honour 'd use you shall command. 
 Then till we meet, and may laugh at this 
 
 error, 
 I'll once more try the free peace of my 
 
 chamber. [Exit. 
 
 Lod. Do so, sweet friend ; a plague of 
 
 Gingerly ! 
 
 Where is that stale and fulsome Gingerly ? 
 She brought me to a fury, I'll be sworn, 
 Rather than man or woman ; a flat beat- 
 ing : 
 
 I found her supposed mistress fast asleep, 
 Put her to the touchstone, and she proved 
 
 a man, 
 He waked, and with a more than manly 
 
 spirit 
 
 Flew in my face, and gave me such a dash 
 Instead of kissing, of these liquorish lips 
 That still my teeth within them bleed I 
 
 swear. ' [He spits. 
 
 Gingerly, Gingerly, a plague a you ! 
 
 [He spits again. 
 But now how does my lovers on the 
 
 tarrasse ? 
 
$CENE III.] 
 
 MAY-DAY. 
 
 299 
 
 Enter Aurelio ivith Angelo, shifting 
 his apparel. 
 
 Au. Hold, take my doublet, too, my 
 hat and all, and quickly hie thee to thy 
 sweet. 
 
 An. Zounds, see, sir, see, your proper 
 sentinel, that when you needed him gave 
 you a slip. 
 
 Au. Friend Lodovico, by my life, well 
 welcome to this my father's backside. 
 
 Lod. Well, sir, well, I would I had 
 kissed almost your father's backside, so I 
 had never known it. 
 
 An. A my life, he faints extremely, he 
 left you even now to purchase him the 
 amorous interview of your fair coz Lucretia 
 that lies here. 
 
 Au. God's me, sweet friend, would'st 
 thou use such a slight to any one that lay 
 within my walk? who was thy mean to 
 her ? 
 
 An. I lay my life, tame Madam Tempe- 
 rance, the notorious pandar. 
 
 Au. 'Sfoot, friend, what a notorious 
 oversight was that, and what a violent 
 injury unto thy friend. 
 
 Lod. A plague upon you both ! you 
 scurvy hind, have you no gull but me to 
 whet your wit upon ? 
 
 Au. My friend a privy lover? I'd have 
 
 sworn 
 
 Love might spend all his shafts at butter- 
 flies 
 As well as at his bosom. 
 
 An. 'Twas your fault then, 
 For I have noted a most faithful league 
 Betwixt him and his barber now of late, 
 And all the world may see he does not 
 
 leave 
 One hair on his smooth chin, as who should 
 
 say, 
 
 His hapless love was gone against the 
 hair. 
 
 Lod. 'Sblood, and these rogues knew 
 
 how I was deceived, 
 They'd flout me into motley by this light. 
 
 An. Well, sir, I ever thought y'ad the 
 
 best wit 
 
 Of any man in Venice next mine own, 
 But now I'll lay the bucklers at your 
 feet. 
 
 Lod. A pox upon thee, tame your bald 
 
 hew'd tongue, 
 Or by the Lord of heaven I'll pull it out. 
 
 An. Oh my sweet friend, come I'll no 
 
 more of this, 
 
 And tell thee all our fortune, hence good 
 Angelo. 
 
 An. Oh, if this man had patience to his 
 
 brain, 
 
 A man might load him till he smart again. 
 [Exit Ang. 
 
 Lod. Patience, worthy friend" he knows 
 you love him for his knavish wit. [Exciint. 
 
 Enter Leonoro, Temperance, and Lionel. 
 
 Le. Thou shalt not stay, sweet Tempe- 
 rance ; tell us the manner of our war, and 
 we'll leave thee presently. 
 
 Te. Why, that pearl's man, Lodovic, 
 according to your appointment was jump 
 at three with me, just, e'en full at your 
 hour ; muffled as I willed you, e'en your 
 fashion and your very leg for all the earth, 
 and followed me in so gingerly, that by my 
 troth I must needs say he was worthy the 
 pleasuring ; but in what a taking was I 
 when I perceived his voice, and when I 
 saw my mistress and he together by the 
 ears ! 
 
 Le. What, did thy mistress fight him ? 
 
 Te. O king a heaven, she ran upon his 
 naked weapon, the most finely that ever 
 lived, and I ran away in a swoon for fear. 
 
 Le. Has she a good courage ? 
 
 Li. It seems she is too honest for our 
 companies: a little more, good Temperance. 
 
 Te. And when he saw me, he called me 
 punk, and pandar, and doxy, and the vilest 
 nicknames, as if I had been an arrand 
 naughty-pack. 
 
 Le. Tis no matter, Temperance ; he's 
 known and thou art known. 
 
 Te. I thank heaven for it, and there's 
 all indeed ; I can stay no longer. \Exit. 
 
 Le. Farewell, honest Temperance"; how 
 was it possible Lodovico should fit all these 
 circumstances without the confederacy and 
 treachery of this beldam ? Well, Lodovico 
 must satisfy this doubt when I see him. 
 
 Li. That will be at the May-night show 
 at Signer Honorio's. 
 
 Le. I would not meet him there, I shall 
 offend him ; but there I must needs be, and 
 have thee disguised like a woman. 
 
 Li. Me, sir? 
 
 Le. No remedy; the Captain Quintiliano 
 and I have devised it to gull his lieutenant; 
 for thou shalt dance with him, we will 
 thrust him upon thee, and then for his 
 courting and gifts, which we will tell him 
 he must win thee withal, I hope thou wilt 
 have wit enough to receive the one and pay 
 him again with the t'other. Come, Lionel, 
 let me see how naturally thou canst play 
 the woman. \_Exit~ 
 
 Li. Better than you think for. 
 
3 oo 
 
 MAY-DAY. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Enter Quintiliano and Innocentio. 
 
 Qit. Come, Lieutenant, this nap has set 
 a nap of sobriety upon our brains ; now 
 let's sit here and consult what course were 
 best for us to take in this dangerous man- 
 sion of man's life. 
 
 In. I am for you, i'faith, Captain, and 
 you go to consult once. 
 
 Qu. I know it, lieutenant. Say then, 
 what think'st thou? We talked of em- 
 ployment, of action, of honour, of a com- 
 pany, and so forth. 
 
 In. Did we so, Captain ? 
 
 Qu. Did we so, ass ? 'Sfoot, wert thou 
 drunk afore thou went'st to the tavern, that 
 thou hast now forgotten it ? 
 
 In. Cry you mercy, good Captain ; I re- 
 member I am your lieutenant. 
 
 Qu. Well, sir, and so thou shalt be 
 called still, and I Captain, though we never 
 lead other company than a sort of quart 
 pots. 
 
 In. Shall we, Captain, by th' mass ? then 
 let's never have other company indeed. 
 
 Qu. Why, now th'art wise, and hast a 
 mind transformed with main right ; and to 
 confirm thee I will compare the noble ser- 
 vice of a feast with the honourable service 
 of the field, and then put on thy hand to 
 which thou wilt. 
 
 /;/. Thank you, good Captain, but do 
 you think that war is naught, sir? 
 
 Qu. Exceeding naught. 
 
 In. Why then, sir, take heed what you 
 say, for 'tis dangerous speaking against 
 anything that is naught, I can tell you. 
 
 Qu. Thou say'st wisely, lieutenant, I will 
 not then use the word naught, nor speak 
 ill of either, but compare them both, and 
 choose the better. 
 
 In. Take heed then, good Captain, there 
 be some prick-eared intelligencers conveyed 
 into some wall or other about us. 
 
 Qu. If there were I care not ; for to say 
 true, the first model of a battle was taken 
 from a banquet. And first touching the 
 offices of both : for the general of the field 
 there is the master of the feast ; for the 
 lieutenant-general, the mistress ; for the 
 sergeant-major, the steward ; for the 
 gentleman-usher, the marshal ; for master 
 oth' ordinance, the sewer, and all other 
 officers. 
 
 ///. Yet y'are reasonable well, Captain. 
 
 Qu Then for the preparation, as in a 
 field is all kind of artillery, your cannon, 
 your demi-cannon, culverings. falcons, 
 sacres, minions, and such goodly orna- 
 
 ments of a field, I speak no hurt of 'em thou 
 seest, I'll have nothing to do with 'em. 
 
 In. Hold you still there, Captain. 
 
 Qu. Besides other munition of powder 
 and shot, and so for the feast, you have 
 your court-cupboards planted with flagons, 
 cans, cups, beakers, bowls, goblets, basins, 
 and ewers ; and more glorious show I wis 
 than the t'other, and yet 1 speak no hurt of 
 the other. 
 
 In. No, I'll be sworn, Caprain. 
 
 Qu. Besides your munition of manchet, 
 nappery, plates, spoons, glasses, and so 
 forth ; then for your kitchen artillery, there 
 shall you see all your brass pieces mounted 
 in order, as your beef-pots, your chaldrons, 
 your kettles, chafing-dishes, ladles, spits, 
 a more edifying spectacle than your 
 cannon and culvering, and yet I speak no 
 hurt of them neither. 
 
 In. No, Captain, thus far I go wi'ye. 
 
 Qu. Then, sir, as in the field the drum, 
 o to the feast the dresser gives the alarm, 
 ran tan tara, tan tan tantara tan. 
 
 In. Oh, how it stirs my stomach ! 
 
 Qu. First then set's forward a wing of 
 light horse, as salads, broths, sauces, 
 stewed meats, and other kickshaws, and 
 they give a charge, then do the battle join 
 Captain Capon in white-broth, Lieutenant 
 Calves'-head. 
 
 In. That's my place. 
 
 Qu. Ancient Sirloin, a man of a goodly 
 presence, and full of expectation, as you, 
 ancient, ought to be. Then have you 
 Sergeant Piemeat, Corporal Coney, Lance- 
 prezado Lark, Gentleman Pancake, and all 
 the species of a company. 
 
 In. Would we might fall to the fight 
 once. 
 
 Qu. Why, now grows the fight hot, man ; 
 now shall you see many a tall piece of beef, 
 many a tough capon go down, and here's 
 the trial of a man's stomach, all the while 
 the artillery plays on both hands, the 
 cannons lay about them, the flagons go off 
 thick and threefold, and many a tall man 
 goes halting off, some quite overthrown 
 both horse and foot. 
 
 In. Oh, my heart bleeds ! 
 
 Qu. That is, thy teeth water. In con- 
 clusion, as the remnant of the feast (I 
 mean such dishes as 'scaped the fury of the 
 fight), if they be serviceable, are reserved to 
 furnish out another day; if they be maimed 
 or spoiled, they are sent abroad to relieve 
 prisons and hospitals ; so the remainder 
 of the fight, if they be serviceable, they are 
 reserved to supply a second field, for the 
 
SCENE IV. J 
 
 MAY-DAY. 
 
 301 
 
 fragments of the fight viz., the maimed 
 soldiers, they are sent likewise to furnish 
 prisons and hospitals. How sayest thou 
 now, lieutenant, shall we to the feast, or to 
 the fight ? 
 
 /;/. No fighting, good Captain, to the 
 feast, for God's sake. 
 
 Qit. Th'art a my mind right, and so will 
 we presently march on to the sack of the 
 Emperor's Head, then to the May-night 
 feast, and show at Signor Honorio's, and 
 there will be a wench there, boy, a delicate 
 young morsel, a kinswoman of Signor 
 Honorio's, and her father's only child, he 
 a mighty rich clarissimo, and her shalt 
 thou court, win her and wear her, thou 
 hast wit at will. 
 
 In. But shall that wench be her father's 
 son and heir, Captain ? 
 
 Qu. She shall be his heir, a mine 
 honesty. 
 
 In. But shall not my mistress your wife 
 be at that show ? 
 
 Qu. She shall, and we could find her ; 
 Fannio has been abroad this hour to seek 
 her : the ass is stepped into some corner or 
 other, mourning for my absence. 
 
 Enter Angelo and Franceschina in 
 disguise. 
 
 See ! who comes here ? 
 
 An. Come, coz, march fair, methinks 
 thou becomest a page excellent naturally, 
 cheer up thy heart, wench. [Kisses her. 
 
 Fr. Fie, for shame : kiss in the streets ! 
 
 An. Why not ? truth seeks no corners, 
 and 'twas a true love's kiss, and so is this. 
 
 Qu. Ware riot, dost thou mark, Lieu- 
 tenant ? 
 
 Fr. God's pity, my husband ! 
 
 [Exeunt Franc., Ang. 
 
 In. What were these, Captain ? 
 
 Qu. Upon my life, the hindermost of 
 them is a wench in man's attire. Didst thou 
 not mark besides his slabbering about her, 
 her big thighs and her splay feet ? 
 
 In. By the meskin, methought they 
 were so, indeed. 
 
 Qu. 'Slife, the hungry knave her squire, 
 could not hold in the open streets. 
 
 /;/. What should she be ? 
 
 Qu. The doxy was muffled in her cloak. 
 I had but a glimpse of her ; but "slight, I 
 will know her, she passes not so, come, 
 we'll follow. I'll beat the rogue, and take 
 away's whore from him. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Angelo and Franceschina. 
 An. Come, courage, coz, we have sailed 
 
 the man-of-war out of sight, and here we 
 must put into harbour. Hist, ha, ^Emilia? 
 
 O, welcome, good Angelo. 
 
 An. Here take in, go, get up lightly, 
 away, take heed you slip not, coz, remem- 
 ber y'are short-heeled. 
 
 Fr. Hold fast, for God's sake. 
 
 An. Nay, hold you fast, you'll shame 
 us all else ; so Jove receive thy soul ; I 
 take away the ladder. Now, till you have 
 deceived the provost, farewell, remember 
 your lesson, coz. [Exit. 
 
 Fr. I warrant you. 
 
 Enter Quintiliano and Innocentio. 
 
 Qu. How unhappily did we miss 'em ! 
 they slipped into some vaulting-house, I 
 hold my life. 
 
 In. Faith, it's good we missed 'em. She 
 was some stale punk, I warrant her. 
 
 Qu. Twenty to one she is some honest 
 man's wife of the parish, that steals abroad 
 for a trimming, while he sits secure at 
 home, little knowing, God knows, what 
 hangs over his head ; the poor cuckold 
 esteeming her the most virtuous wife in the 
 world. And should one tell him he had 
 seen her dressed like a page, following a 
 knave thus, I'll lay my life he would not 
 believe it. 
 
 In. Why no, Captain, wives take all the 
 faith from their husbands. And that makes 
 'em do so many good works as they do. 
 
 Qu. Mercy for that i'faith, lieutenant. 
 Stand close. 
 
 Enter Fannio and Giacomo. 
 
 Fa. My mistress in man's apparel, say'st 
 thou ? 
 
 Gl. Thy mistress in man's apparel, I 
 assure thee, and attended by Angelo. 
 
 Fa. Would to heaven I had seen her ! 
 canst tell whither she went ? 
 
 Gi. Full-butt into Lorenzo's house, 
 and if thou knew'st him, thou know'st 
 wherefore ; an ill-favoured trimming is her 
 errand. 
 
 Fa. "Tis very well, she trims my Captain 
 prettily ; in the meantime his head pays for 
 all, and yet, alas, poor hornstock, he thinks 
 her to have no fault, but her too much 
 dotage upon him. Well, my conscience will 
 not let me keep her counsel, he shall know 
 on't. 
 
 Gi. Why, man, if both of us should tell 
 him her fault he will not believe us. 
 
 Fa. No, nor if he had seen it with his 
 own eyes, I think. I shall never forget how 
 the profound cockatrice hung on his sleeve 
 
3 02 
 
 MAY-DAY. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 to-day, and he should not from her sight ; 
 she'd follow him into the wars ; one day 
 should make an end of both their loves and 
 lives. And then to see him, the wittol, my 
 Captain began to strut, and battle the 
 pride of his merits that so heightened her 
 affection. 
 
 Gi. True, and how the foppasty, his 
 IK u enant, stept in to persuade with her, to 
 take it patiently, for friends must part ; we 
 came not all together, and we must not go 
 all together. 
 
 Fa. Well, 'twill not be for any man to 
 follow him, if this were known once. 
 
 Gi. Lord, how all the boys in the town 
 would flock about him as he walks the 
 streets, as 'twere about a bagpipe, and 
 hoot the poor cuckold out of his horncase. 
 
 Fa. Well, and I were worthy to give 
 him counsel, he should e'en fair-and-well 
 hang himself. 
 
 Gi. No, no, keep it from him, and say 
 thou found'st her at a woman's labour. 
 
 Fa. A plague of her labour ! the Captain's 
 brows sweat while she labours. 
 
 Gi. If I were in thy case, I should laugh 
 outright when I saw him. 
 
 Fa. That dare not I do, but as often as 
 he turns his back to me, I shall be here V 
 with him, that's certain : or when I follow 
 him and his cheating stock, Innocentio, in 
 the streets, I shall imagine still I am driving 
 an ox and an ass before me, and cry phtroh 
 ho, ptrough. 
 
 In. 'Slight, captain ! take this and take 
 all. 
 
 Qu. Not a word for the world, for if we 
 should take notice of his words the slave 
 would deny all ; leave it to me to sift it in 
 private. Now, sir, what news with you? 
 where's your mistress, that you can range 
 thus at your pleasure ? 
 
 Fa. In health, sir, I trust. 
 
 Qu. Come forward, you rogue you 
 come forward, whither creep you behind 
 so? where's your mistress, sir? 
 
 Fa. At a poor woman's labour, sir. 
 
 Qu. Very well, sir. Come, Lieutenant, go 
 you afore, and do you follow him, sir. 
 
 Fa. What, afore my Captain, sir? you 
 shall pardon me. 
 
 Qu, Afore, you rogue, afore. [Exeunt. 
 
 END OF ACT IV. 
 
 "The 'V.,' which no commentator has un 
 derstood, represents the actor's fingers in making 
 horns." STAUNTON. 
 
 ACT THE FIFTH. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Enter Honorio, Lorenzo, Gasparo, 
 and Angelo. 
 
 Ho. Signer Lorenzo, and Gasparo, y'are 
 very welcome ; we shall have good com- 
 pany and sport to entertain you, ere long, 
 I hope ; shall we not, Angelo? 
 
 An. Yes, sir, I have invited all you com- 
 manded me. 
 
 Lo. This is the honest man, indeed, that 
 took the pains to come for me. 
 Ga. And for me also. 
 An. No pains, but pleasure, sir ; I was 
 glad I had such good means to be known 
 to your worship. 
 
 Lo. Nay, I have known you before, to be 
 the servant of Signor Honorio here, I take it. 
 Ho. Not my servant, Signor Lorenzo, 
 but my son's. 
 
 Lo. Oh, your son Aurelio's servant? Be- 
 lieve me, you or your son, in mine opinion, 
 though I say it before him, made good 
 choice of him ; for he hath a good honest 
 face, and to a man of judgment, I tell 
 you, that's as good as a good surety for 
 him. I will be better acquainted with you, 
 sir ; pray you give me your hand. 
 
 An. Both my hand and heart, sir, shall 
 be ever at your service. 
 
 Lo. Thanks, my good friend ; I'll make 
 thee laugh anon, Angelo. 
 
 An. I thank your worship, you have 
 done so often. 
 
 Ho. A notable wag, Signor Gasparo ! 
 Ga. How curiously Lorenzo thinks he 
 carries the matter. 
 
 Lo. How now, gentlemen, is't a merry 
 secret, that you smile so ? 
 
 Ho. No secret, Signor Lorenzo, but a 
 merry conceit we were thinking on, to 
 furnish our show anon, if it had been 
 thought on in time. 
 Lo. What was that, I pray ? 
 Ho. Marry, sir, we had good sport to- 
 day with Snail, the chimney-sweeper. 
 Lo. Had you so, sir ? 
 Ga. That ever was. 
 
 Lo. Lord that I had been amongst you ; 
 but what more of him, sir? 
 
 Ho. Marry, sir, we were thinking how 
 we might merrily deceive our company 
 that is to come, if we could have gotten 
 him some Magnifico's suit of the city, 
 whom for his little stature and lean face he 
 might resemble, that in that habit he 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 MAY-DAY. 
 
 303 
 
 might have stolen some kind favours from 
 the ladies, to make him amends and please 
 bim for the anger we put him in. 
 
 Lo, It would have made excellent merri- 
 ment. 
 
 An. You are his best master, sir, and if 
 it please you to send me for him by some 
 token, I'll go for him ; otherwise he will 
 not come to these gentlemen. 
 
 Lo. Shall he come, gentlemen ? 
 
 An. If you please, sir. 
 
 Lo. Why then, hark thee, Angelo; not 
 for the world. 
 
 An. Think you me such an ass, sir? 
 
 Lo. Shall he have one of my little 
 brother's suits, and come in amongst the 
 dames for him ? 
 
 i Ho. If you could, it would fit him ex- 
 ceedingly. 
 
 Lo. Much ; now laugh, Angelo. What 
 gentleman was that I spied aloft with my 
 daughter, think'st thou ? 
 
 An. I know not, sir ; I beseech your 
 worship who was it ? 
 
 Lo. Frank, in man's apparel, Angelo. 
 
 An. O wonderful ! 
 
 Lo. We cannot invent a token for my 
 love, Angelo. 
 
 An. O excellent. 
 
 Lo. We will hit it anon, gentlemen. 
 
 An. At your leisure, sir. 
 
 Lo. The swaggerer, her husband, had 
 note of it by his page, and yet the same 
 page hath persuaded him since that 'twas 
 but a gullery. 
 
 An. Tis a notable crack ; and his 
 master hath such a pure belief in his 
 wife, that he's apt to believe any good of her. 
 
 Lo. True, Angelo, enough for this time ; 
 thou shalt make as if thou went'st for Snail, 
 and return without him, saying thou canst 
 not find him. 
 
 An. Agreed, sir. 
 
 Lo. Now, gentlemen, we have devised a 
 wile to bring Snail amongst us, and I have 
 given Angelo order for a suit for him that 
 is my little brother's, and him he shall 
 counterfeit ; go, Angelo, seek him out. 
 
 An. I will, sir. [Exit Angelo. 
 
 Ho. Thank you for this, good Signor 
 Lorenzo. 
 
 Ga. It will quicken the company well. 
 
 Enter ^Emilia, Lionel, Franceschina, and 
 another woman. 
 
 Lo. For their sakes and yours I have 
 done it, gentlemen ; and see, the fair flock 
 come upon us. 
 
 Ho. Welcome, fair ladies, but especially 
 
 you, lady, that are so mere a stranger. 
 Signer Lorenzo, you know young Leonoro? 
 
 Lo. Very well, sir ; a gallant spark. 
 
 Ga. And I think you know his father. 
 
 Lo. Know him? I'faith, sir, there was 
 a reveller, I shall never see man do his 
 lofty tricks like him while I live. 
 
 Ho. This gentlewoman is his niece, sir. 
 
 Lo. His niece ? She shall do herself 
 wrong not to be acquainted with her dear 
 uncle's companion. [Kisses her. 
 
 Ga. You know not this gentlewoman, 
 sir? 
 
 Lo. Not very well, sir, indeed, but 
 entertainment must be given ; mercy, 
 Frank, for thy man's apparel, a plague of 
 all swaggering husbands ! Nay, I must 
 forth, i 'faith, Signor Honorio ; this is for 
 your sake. Am I not a kind help to your 
 entertainment ? 
 
 Ho. An exceeding kind one, sir, and I 
 exceedingly thank you. 
 
 Enter Messenger. 
 
 Me. The maskers are come, sir. 
 
 Ho. Do you and your fellows attend 
 them in. 
 
 Me. We will, sir. [Exit Messenger. 
 
 Ho. Sit, gentle ladies, till the maskers 
 raise you to dance. 
 
 Enter Aurelio, Leonoro, Quintiliano, and 
 Innocentio, in a mask, dancing. 
 
 Ho. Welcome, gallants ; Oh, the room's 
 too scant, a hall, gentlemen ! 
 
 Le. See how womanly my boy looks, 
 Quintiliano. 
 
 Qu. 'Twill be rare sport ; Lieutenant, 
 that sweet wench in the branched gown is 
 the heir I told thee of. 
 
 In. God's me, I'll to her and kiss her. 
 
 Qu. Oh no, you must not unmask. 
 
 In. No, no, I'll kiss her with my mask 
 and all. 
 
 Le. No, lieutenant, take her and court 
 her first, and then kiss her. 
 
 Omnes. To her, slave. 
 
 Au. There's thy wife too, Quintiliano. 
 
 Qu. True ; little knows she I am so near 
 her. I'll single her out, and try what 
 entertainment a stranger may find with 
 her. 
 
 Au. Do so, and we'll take up the t'other. 
 [They dance. 
 
 Enter Angelo. 
 
 An. I can by no means find Snail, sir. 
 Ho. The worse luck, but what remedy ? 
 Le. Gramercy, Angelo ; but Signor Lo- \ 
 
34 
 
 MAY-DAY. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 renzo, methinks I miss one flower in this 
 female garland. 
 
 Ho. Whose that? 
 
 Le. Your niece, Lucretia. 
 
 Ho. By my soul 'tis true ; what's the 
 reason, Angelo, Lucretia is not here? 
 
 An. I know no reason but her own will, 
 sir. 
 
 Ga. There's somewhat in it certain. 
 
 [ They dance again. 
 
 In. Did you see the play to-day, I 
 pray ? 
 
 Li. No, but I see the fool in it here. 
 
 In. Do you so, forsooth? where is he, 
 pray? 
 
 Li. Not far from you, sir, but we must 
 not point at anybody here. 
 
 In. That's true indeed : cry mercy for- 
 sooth, do you know me through my mask? 
 
 Li. Not I, sir, she must have better skill 
 in baked meats than I, that can discern a 
 woodcock through the crust. 
 
 In. That's true indeed, but yet I thought 
 I'd try you. 
 
 Enter Lodovico. They dance. 
 
 Lo. What, nephew Lodovic, I thought 
 you had been one of the maskers. 
 
 Lod. I use no masking, sir, with my 
 friends. 
 
 Ho. No, Signer Lodovic, but y'are a 
 very truant in your school of friendship, 
 that come so late to your friends. 
 
 Ga. Somewhat has crossed him sure. 
 
 Le. Somewhat shall cross him ; Lo- 
 dovico, let me speak with you. 
 
 Lod. With me, sir? 
 
 Le. You are the man, sir, I can scarce 
 say the gentleman, for you have done a 
 wrong the credit of a gentleman cannot 
 answer. 
 
 Lod. Would I might see his face, that 
 durst say so much. 
 
 Le. Observe him well, he shows his 
 face that will prove it when thou darest. 
 
 Au. How now, I^eonoro, you forget 
 yourself too much, to grow outrageous in 
 this company. 
 
 Le. Aurelio, do not wrong me and 
 yourself. I undertake your quarrel. This 
 man hath dishonour'd your kinswoman, 
 Lucretia, whom, if I might, I intended to 
 marry. 
 
 Au. Some error makes you mistake, 
 Leonoro, I assure myself. 
 
 Ho. What interruption of our sport is 
 this, gentlemen? 
 
 Lo. Are not my nephew and Leonoro 
 friends? 
 
 Lod. He charges me with dishonouring 
 his mistress, Lucretia. 
 
 Ho. By'rlady, Lodovico, the charge 
 touches you deeply, you must answer it. 
 
 Lod. I only desire I may, sir, and then 
 will refer me to your censures. 
 
 Lo. Well, nephew, well ; will you never 
 leave this your haunt of fornication? I 
 school him, and do all I can, but all is lost. 
 
 Lod. Good uncle, give me leave to 
 answer my other accuser, and then I'll 
 descend, and speak of your fornication, as 
 the last branch of my division. 
 
 Lo. Very well, be brief. 
 
 Lod. I will, sir : the ground upon which 
 this man builds his false imagination, is 
 his sight of me at Honorio's back gate, 
 since dinner, where, muffled in my cloak, 
 kind Madam Temperance, the attendant 
 of Lucretia, from the Tarrasse, wafted me 
 to her with her hand ; taking me, as now 
 I understand, for this honest gentleman. 
 I not knowing what use she had to put me 
 to, obeyed the attraction of her signal, as 
 gingerly as she bade me, (a plague upon her 
 gingerly), till she locked me into Lucretia's 
 chamber, where Lucretia lying asleep on 
 her bed, I thought it rudeness to wake 
 her ; and imagining when she waked she 
 had something to say to me, attended her 
 leisure at my ease, and lay down softly by 
 her ; when (having chaster and simpler 
 thoughts than Leonoro imagines) because 
 he measures my waist by his own, in the 
 very coldness and dulness of my spirit, I 
 fell suddenly asleep. In which my fancy 
 presented me with the strangest dream 
 that ever yet possessed me. 
 
 Lo. Pray God you did but dream, 
 nephew. 
 
 Lod. You shall know that by knowing 
 the event of it. 
 
 Ho. Go to, pray let us hear it. 
 
 Lod. Methought Lucretia and I were at 
 maw ; a game, uncle, that you can well 
 skill of. 
 
 Lo. Well, sir, I can so. 
 
 Lod. You will the more muse at my for- 
 tune, or my oversights ; for my game 
 stood, methought, upon my last two tricks, 
 when I made sure of the set, and yet lost 
 it, having the varlet and the five finger to 
 make two tricks. 
 
 Lo. How had that been possible? 
 
 Ho. That had been no misfortune sure, 
 but plain oversight. 
 
 Ga. But what was the reason you ; 
 thought you lost it, sir? 
 
 Lod. You shall hear ; she had in her i 
 
SCENE 11.] 
 
 MAY-DAY. 
 
 35 
 
 hand the ace of hearts, methought, and a 
 coat-card ; she led the board with her coat, 
 I played the varlet and took up her coat, 
 and meaning to lay my five finger upon her 
 ace of hearts, up start quite a contrary 
 card ; up she rises withal, takes me a dash 
 a the mouth, drew a rapier he had lay by 
 him, and out of doors we went together by 
 the ears. 
 
 Ho. A rapier he had lay by him ? 
 
 Lo. What, a she turned to a he? Dost 
 thou not dream all this while, nephew? 
 
 Lod. No, nor that time neither, though 
 I pretended it. Let him be fetched ; I 
 warrant you he will show as good cards as 
 the best on you to prove him an heir male, 
 if he be the eldest child of his father. 
 
 Ho. This is exceeding strange. Go, 
 Angelo, fetch her and her handmaid. 
 
 An. I will, sir, if her valour be not too 
 hot for my fingers. {Exit. 
 
 Ho. Could such a disguise be made 
 good all this while without my knowledge ? 
 To say truth, she was a stranger to me, 
 her father being a Sicilian : fled thence 
 for a disastrous act, and coming hither, 
 grew kindly acquainted with me, and 
 called me brother, at his death committing 
 his supposed daughter to my care and 
 protection till she were restored to her 
 estate in her native country. 
 
 Lo. Was he in hope of it ? 
 
 Ho. He was, and in near possibility of 
 it himself, had he lived but little longer. 
 
 Enter Angelo and Lucretia. 
 
 An. Here's the gentlewoman you talked 
 of, sir ; nay, you must come forward too, 
 grave Mistress Temperance. 
 
 Lod. How now, sir ! who wants gentility 
 now, I beseech you ? 
 
 Le. Who have we here ? 
 
 Lu. Stand not amazed, nor disparage 
 him. You see, sir, this habit truly doth 
 suit my sex, howsoever my hard fortunes 
 have made me awhile reject it. 
 
 Ho. What hard fortunes? 
 
 Lu. Those you know of my father, sir, 
 who feared my following of him in my 
 native likeness to the haven where he by 
 stealth embarked us, and would have dis- 
 covered him, his offence being the slaugh- 
 ter of a gentleman that would have slain 
 him. 
 
 Ho. But did you not tell me you were 
 betrothed, before this misfortune happened, 
 to a young gentleman of Sicily, called 
 Theagines ? 
 
 Lu. I told you I was betrothed to one 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 Theagine, not Theagines, who indeed was 
 a woman. 
 
 Le. And yet whosoever had seen that 
 Theagine since might have taken him for 
 a man. 
 
 Lu. Do you know her, gentlewoman ? 
 
 Li. It seems you will not know her. 
 
 Le. Hark how my boy plays the knave 
 with her. 
 
 Qu. A noble rogue. 'Sfoot, lieutenant, 
 wilt thou suffer thy nose to be wiped of 
 this great heir ? 
 
 In. 'Slight, sir, you are no handkercher, 
 are you ? 
 
 Lu. Prithee forbear; more happy than 
 unlocked for is this dear accident. Adopted 
 and noble father, this is the gentlewoman 
 to whom I told you I was betrothed : the 
 happy news she had to relate to me made 
 her a traveller, the more search of her pas- 
 sage made her a page, and her good for- 
 tune obtained her this honest gentle- 
 man to her master, who, I thank him, 
 being as he supposed me, loved me : 
 accept us both for your children. 
 
 Ho. Most gladly, and with no less care 
 than mine own protect you. 
 
 Qu. 'Sfoot ! how now, Leonoro ? New 
 fireworks ? 
 
 Lod. New, sir? Who wants gentility? 
 This is a gentlemanly part of you to keep 
 a wench in a page's furniture. 
 
 Le. It was more than I knew, sir; but 
 this shall be a warning to me while I live, 
 how I judge of the instrument by the case 
 again. 
 
 Lu. Nay, it is you, friend Lodovico, 
 that are most to blame, that, holding the 
 whole feminine sex in such contempt, 
 would yet play the pickpurse, and steal a 
 poor maid's maidenhead out of her pocket 
 sleeping. 
 
 Le. 'Twas but to cozen me. 
 
 Au. And to be before me in love. 
 
 Lo. And to laugh at me. 
 
 Lod. Nay, jest not at me, sweet gentles. 
 I used plain and mannerly dealing ; I nei- 
 ther used the brokage of any, as you know 
 who did, Leonoro, nor the help of a ladder 
 to creep in at a wench's chamber-window 
 (as you know who did, Aurelio), nor did I 
 case myself in buckram and cry chimney- 
 sweep (where are you, uncle ?) ; but I 
 was trained to it by this honest matron 
 here. 
 
 Te. Meddle not with me, sir. 
 
 Lu. I am beholding to her ; she was 
 loth to have me lead apes in hell. 
 
 Qu. Look that you keep promise with 
 X 
 
306 
 
 MAY-DAY. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 me, lady. When will thy husband be 
 from home? 
 
 Fr. Not so soon as I would wish him ; 
 but whensoever you shall be welcome. 
 
 Qu. I very kindly thank you, lady. 
 
 Fr. God's me, I took you for Signer 
 Placentio. 
 
 Qu. 'Sfoot ! thou liest in thy throat ; 
 thou knew'st me as well as myself. 
 
 Ho, What, Signer Quintilian and friend 
 Innocentio? I looked not for you here, 
 and y'are much the better welcome. 
 
 Qu. Thanks, dad Honorio, and lives my 
 little squire? When shall I see thee at 
 my house, lad ? 
 
 Lo. A plague a your house, I was there 
 too lately. 
 
 Lod. See, lordings, here's two will not 
 let go till they have your consents to be 
 made surer. 
 
 Lo. By my soul, and because old Gas- 
 paro here has been so cold in his love-suit, 
 if she be better pleased with Aurelio, and his 
 father with her, heaven give abundance of 
 good with him. 
 
 Ho. So you stand not too much upon 
 goods, I say Amen. 
 
 Lo. Faith, use him as your son and heir, 
 a.nd I desire no more. 
 
 Ho. So will I, of mine honour. Are you 
 agreed, youths? 
 
 A mbo. And most humbly gratulale your 
 high favours. 
 
 Ga. 'Faith, and Jove give 'em joy toge- 
 ther for my part. 
 
 Lod. Yet is here another nail to be 
 driven. Here's a virtuous matron, Madam 
 Temperance, that is able to do much good 
 
 in a commonwealth ; a woman of good 
 parts, sells complexion, helps maids to 
 services, restores maidenheads, brings wo- 
 men to bed, and men to their bedsides. 
 
 Te. By my faith , but save votre grace, sir. 
 
 Lod. Hath drinks for love, and gives the 
 diet. 
 
 Te. By'rlady, and that's not amiss for 
 you, sir. 
 
 Lod. For me, with a plague t'ye? 
 
 Te. No, nor for any man that's not 
 sound, I mean, sir. 
 
 Lod. 'Sfoot ! masters, these be good parts 
 in the old wench. Wilt thou have her, 
 lieutenant? She'll be a good stay to the 
 rest of thy living ; the gallants will all 
 honour thee at thy house, I warrant thee. 
 
 In. 'Fore God, Captain, I care not if I 
 have. 
 
 Te. Well, young gentleman, perhaps it 
 should not be the worst for you. 
 
 Qu. Why, law, thy virtues have won her 
 at first sight ; she shall not come to thee 
 empty, for I'll promise thee that I'll make 
 her able to bid any gentleman welcome 
 to a piece of mutton and rabbit at all times. 
 
 Lo. By'rlady, a good ordinary. 
 
 Qu. Thou't visit sometimes, dad ? 
 
 Lo. That I will i'faith, boy, in authority 
 wise. 
 
 Qu. Why then strike hands, and if the 
 
 rest be pleased, 
 Let all hands strike as these have struck 
 
 afore, 
 
 And with round echoes make the welkin 
 roar. {Exeunt, 
 
 END OF ACT V. AND LAST. 
 
The Widow's Tears.* 
 
 TO 
 THE RIGHT VIRTUOUS AND TRULY NOBLE GENTLEMAN, 
 
 MR JO. REED, 
 
 OF MITTON, IN THE COUNTY OF GLOCESTER, 
 ESQUIRE. 
 
 SIR, If any work of this nature be worth the presenting to friends worthy and 
 noble, I presume this will not want much of that value. Other countrymen have 
 thought the like worthy of dukes' and princes' acceptations ; Injusti Sdegnij ; II 
 Pentamento Amorose ; Calisthe, Pastor Fido, &c. (all being but plays) were all dedicate 
 to Princes of Italy. And, therefore, only discourse to shew my love to your right 
 virtuous and noble disposition, this poor Comedy (of many desired to see printed) I 
 thought not utterly unworthy that affectionate design in me ; well knowing that your 
 free judgment weighs nothing by the name, or form, or any vain estimation of the 
 vulgar ; but will accept acceptable matter as well in plays as in many less materials, 
 masking in more serious titles. And so, till some work more worthy I can select and 
 perfect out of my other studies, that may better express me, and more fit the gravity of 
 your ripe inclination, I rest, 
 
 Yours at all parts most truly affected, 
 
 GEO. CHAPMAN. 
 
 THE ACTORS. 
 
 Tharsalio, the wooer. 
 
 Lysander, his brother. 
 
 Thir. Governor of Cyprus. 
 
 Lycas, servant to the widow Countess. 
 
 Argus, Gentleman Usher. 
 
 Three Lords, suitors to Eudora, the widow 
 
 Countess. 
 Hylus, nephew to Tharsalio, and son to 
 
 Lysander. 
 
 Captain of the watch. 
 Two Soldiers. 
 
 Eudora, the widow Countess. 
 
 Cynthia, wife to Lysander. 
 
 Sthenio. 
 
 lanthe, gentlewoman attending on Eudora. 
 
 Ero, waiting-woman to Cynthia. 
 
 * " The Widdmves Teare's. A Comedie. As it was often presented in the blacke and 
 white Friers. Written by Geor. Chap. London, Printed for lohn Browne, and are to be sold a 
 his shop in Fleet-street in Saint Dunstanes Church-yard. 1612." 
 
 X 2 
 
THE WIDOW'S TEARS. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 ACT THE FIRST. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Tharsalio solus, with a glass in his 
 hand, making ready. 
 
 Tha. Thou blind imperfect goddess, that 
 delight'st, 
 
 Like a deep-reaching statesman, to con- 
 verse 
 
 Only with fools ; jealous of knowing 
 spirits, 
 
 For fear their piercing judgments might 
 discover 
 
 Thy inward weakness, and despise thy 
 power ; 
 
 Contemn thee for a goddess ; thou that 
 ladest 
 
 Th'unworthy ass with gold, while worth 
 and merit 
 
 Serve thee for nought, weak Fortune, I 
 renounce 
 
 Thy vain dependance, and convert my 
 duty 
 
 And sacrifices of my sweetest thoughts, 
 
 To a more noble deity. Sole friend to 
 worth, 
 
 And patroness of all good spirits, Confi- 
 dence, 
 
 She be my guide, and hers the praise of 
 these 
 
 My worthy undertakings. 
 
 E,itcr Lysander with a glass in his hand, 
 Cynthia, Hylus, Ero. 
 
 Lys. Morrow, brother ; not ready yet ? 
 
 Tha. No ; I have somewhat of the 
 brother in me. I dare say your wife is 
 many times ready, and you not up. Save 
 you, sister ; how are you enamoured of my 
 presence ? how like you my aspect ? 
 
 Cy. Faith, no worse than I did last 
 week ; the weather has nothing changed 
 the grain of your complexion. 
 
 Tha. A firm proof 'tis in grain, and 
 
 are not all complexions : 
 A good soldier's face, sister. 
 
 Cy. Made to be worn under a beaver. 
 
 Tha. Ay, and 'twould show well enough 
 under a mask, too. 
 
 Lys. So much for the face. 
 
 Tha. But is there no object in this suit to 
 whet your tongue upon ? 
 
 Lys. None, but Fortune send you well to 
 wear it; for she best knows how you got it. 
 
 Tha. 'Faith, 'tis the portion she bestows 
 upon younger brothers ; valour, and good 
 clothes. Marry, if you ask how we come 
 
 by this new suit, I must take time to 
 answer it ; for as the ballad says, /// written 
 books I find it. Brother, these are the 
 blossoms of spirit ; and I will have it said 
 for my father's honour, that some of his 
 children were truly begotten. 
 
 Lys. Not all ? 
 
 Tha. Shall I tell you, brother, that I know 
 will rejoice you? My former suits have 
 been all spenders, this shall be a speeder. 
 
 Lys. A thing to be heartily wished ; but, 
 brother, take heed you be not gulled ; be 
 not too forward. 
 
 Tha. T had been well for me if you had 
 followed that counsel. You were too for- 
 ward when you stepped into the world before 
 me and gulled me of the land, that my 
 spirits and parts were indeed born to. 
 
 Cy. May we not have the blessing to 
 know the aim of your fortunes? what coast, 
 for heaven's love ? 
 
 Tha. Nay, 'tis a project of state : you 
 may see the preparation, but the design lies 
 hidden in the breasts of the wise. 
 
 Lys. May we not know't ? 
 
 Tha. Not unless you'll promise me to 
 laugh at it, for without your applause I'll 
 none. 
 
 Lys. The quality of it may be such as a 
 laugh will not be ill bestowed upon't ; pray 
 heaven I call not Arsace sister. 
 
 Cy. What, the pandress ? 
 
 Tha. Know you (as who knows not) the 
 exquisite lady of the palace, the late 
 governor's admired widow, the rich and 
 haughty Countess Eudora ? Were not she 
 a jewel worth the wearing, if a man knew 
 how to win her ? 
 
 Lys. How's that? how's that? 
 
 Tha. Brother, there is a certain goddess 
 called Confidence, that carries a main 
 stroke in honourable preferments. Fortune 
 waits upon her, Cupid is at her beck ; she 
 sends them both of errands. This deity 
 doth promise me much assistance in this 
 business. 
 
 Lys. But if this deity should draw you 
 up in a basket to your countess's window, 
 and there let you hang for all the wits in 
 the town to shoot at ; how then ? 
 
 Tha. If she do, let them shoot their bolts 
 and spare not ; I have a little bird in a cage 
 here that sings me better comfort. What 
 should be the bar ? You'll say, I was page 
 to the Count her husband. What of that ? 
 I have thereby one foot in her favour 
 already. She has taken note of my spirit 
 and surveyed my good parts, and the 
 picture of them lives in her eye : which 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE WIDOWS TEARS. 
 
 3C9 
 
 sleep I know cannot close till she have em- 
 braced the substance. 
 
 Lys. All this savours of the blind goddess 
 you speak of. 
 
 Tha. Why should I despair, but that 
 Cupid hath one dart in store for her great 
 ladyship, as well as for any other huge 
 lady whom she hath made stoop gallant to 
 kiss their worthy followers? In a word, 1 
 am assured of my speed. Such fair at- 
 tempts led by a brave resolve are evermore 
 seconded by Fortune. 
 
 Cy. But, brother, have I not heard you 
 say your own ears have been witness to her 
 vows, made solemnly to your late lord, in 
 memory of him to preserve till death the 
 unstained honour of a widow's bed? If 
 nothing else, yet that might cool your con- 
 fidence. 
 
 Tha. Tush, sister, suppose you should 
 protest with solemn oath (as perhaps you 
 have done, if ever heaven hears your 
 prayers, that you may live to see my brother 
 nobly interred), to feed only upon fish and 
 not endure the touch of flesh, during the 
 wretched Lent of your miserable life ; 
 would you believe it, brother ? 
 
 Lys. I am therein most confident. 
 
 Tha. Indeed you had better believe it 
 than try it. But pray, sister, tell me you 
 are a woman do not you wives nod your 
 heads and smile one upon another when ye 
 meet abroad ? 
 
 Cy. Smile ? why so ? 
 
 Tha. As who should say, Are not we 
 mad wenches, that can lead our blind hus- ' 
 bands thus by the noses ? Do you not brag j 
 among yourselves how grossly you abuse j 
 their honest credulities ? how they adore I 
 you for saints ; and you believe it ? while ' 
 you adorn their temples, and. they believe 
 it not ? how you vow widowhood in their 
 lifetime, and they believe you, when even 
 in the sight of their breathless corse, ere 
 they be fully cold, you join embraces with 
 his groom, or his physician, and perhaps 
 his poisoner ; or at least, by the next moon 
 (if you can expect so long) solemnly plight 
 new hymeneal bonds, with a wild, con- 
 fident, untamed ruffian. 
 
 Lys. As for example. 
 
 Tha. And make him the top of his 
 house, and sovereign lord of the palace, as 
 for example. Look you, brother, this 
 glass is mine. 
 
 Lys. What of that? 
 
 Tha. While I am with it, it takes 
 impression from my face ; but can I make 
 it so mine, that it shall be of no use to any 
 
 other ? Will it not do his office to you or 
 you ; and as well to my groom as to my- 
 self? Brother, monopolies are cried down. 
 Is it not madness for me to believe, when I 
 have conquered that fort of chastity the 
 great Countess ; that if another man of my 
 making and mettle shall assault her, her 
 eyes and ears shall lose their function, her 
 other parts their use, as if nature had made 
 her all in vain, unless I only had stumbled 
 into her quarters ? 
 
 Cy. Brother, I fear me in your travels, 
 you have drunk too much of that Italian 
 air, that hath infected the whole mass of 
 your ingenuous nature, dried up in you all 
 sap of generous disposition, poisoned the 
 very essence of your soul, and so polluted 
 your senses, that whatsoever enters there 
 takes from them contagion, and is to your 
 fancy represented as foul and tainted, 
 which in itself perhaps is spotless. 
 
 Tha. No, sister, it hath refined my 
 senses, and made me see with clear eyes, 
 and to judge of objects, as they truly are, 
 not as they seem, and through their mask 
 to discern the true face of things. It tells 
 me how short-lived widows' tears are, that 
 their weeping is in truth but laughing 
 under a mask, that they mourn in their 
 gowns and laugh in their sleeves ; all 
 which I believe as a Delphian oracle, and 
 am resolved to burn in that faith ; and in 
 that resolution do I march to the great 
 lady. 
 
 Lys. You lose time, brother, in discourse; 
 by this had you bore up with the lady, and 
 clapped her aboard, for I know your con- 
 fidence will not dwell long in the service. 
 
 Tha. No, I will perform it in the 
 conqueror's style. Your way is, not to 
 win Penelope by suit, but by surprise. 
 The castle's carried by a sudden assault, 
 that would perhaps sit out a twelvemonth's 
 siege. It would be a good breeding to my 
 young nephew here, if he could procure a 
 stand at the palace to see with what 
 alacrity I'll accost her countesship, in what 
 garb I will woo her, with what facility I 
 will win her. 
 
 Lys. It shall go hard but we'll hear your 
 entertainment for your confidence sake. 
 
 Tha. And having won her, nephew, 
 
 this sweet face 
 
 Which all the city says is so like me, 
 Like me shall be preferr'd, for I will wed 
 
 thee 
 To my great widow's daughter and sole 
 
 heir, 
 The lovely spark, the bright Laodice. 
 
310 
 
 THE WIDOW'S TEARS. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 Lys. A good pleasant dream. 
 Tha. In this eye I see 
 That fire that shall in me inflame the 
 
 mother, 
 And that in this shall set on fire the 
 
 daughter. 
 
 It goes, sir, in a blood ; believe me, brother, 
 These destinies go ever in a blood. 
 
 Lys. These diseases do, brother, take 
 heed of them ; fare you well ; take heed 
 you be not baffled. 
 
 [Exeunt Lysander, Cynthia, Hylus, 
 
 Ero ; manet Tharsalio. 
 Tha. Now, thou that art the third blind 
 
 deity 
 
 That governs earth in all her happiness, 
 The life of all endowments, Confidence, 
 Direct and prosper my intention. 
 Command thy servant deities, Love, and 
 
 Fortune, 
 To second my attempts for this great 
 
 lady, 
 Whose page I lately was ; that she, whose 
 
 board 
 
 I might not sit at, I may board abed, 
 And under bring, who bore so high her 
 
 head. [Exit. 
 
 Lysander, Lycus. 
 
 Lye. 'Tis miraculous that you tell me, 
 sir ; he come to woo our lady mistress for 
 his wife ? 
 
 Lys. 'Tis a frenzy he is possessed with, 
 and will not be cured but by some violent 
 remedy. And you shall favour me so much 
 to make me a spectator of the scene. But 
 is she, say you, already accessible for 
 suitors ? I thought she would have stood so 
 stiffly on her widow vow, that she would not 
 endure the sight of a suitor. 
 
 Lye. Faith, sir, Penelope could not bar 
 her gates against her wooers, but she will 
 still be mistress of herself. It is, you 
 know, a certain itch in female blood : they 
 love to be sued to ; but she'll hearken to 
 no suitors. 
 
 Lys. But by your leave, Lycus, Penelope 
 is not so wise as her husband Ulysses, for 
 he, fearing the jaws of the Syren, stopped his 
 ears with wax against her voice. They 
 that fear the adder's sting, will not come 
 near her hissing. Is any suitor with her 
 now? 
 
 Lye. A Spartan lord, dating himself our 
 great viceroy's kinsman, and two or three 
 other of his country lords, as spots in his 
 train. He comes armed with his Altitude's 
 letters in grace of his person, with promise | 
 to make her a duchess if .-^e embrace the i 
 
 match. This is no mean attraction to her 
 high thoughts ; but yet she disdains him. 
 
 Lys. And how then shall my brother 
 presume of acceptance ? yet I hold it much 
 more under her contentment, to marry 
 such a nasty braggart, than under her 
 honour to wed my brother a gentleman, 
 (though I say't) more honourably descended 
 than that lord ; who, perhaps, for all his 
 ancestry, would be much troubled to name 
 you the place where his father was born. 
 
 Lye. Nay, I hold no comparison betwixt 
 your brother and him. And the venerean 
 disease, to which they say he has been long 
 wedded, shall I hope first rot him, ere she 
 endure the savour of his sulphurous breath . 
 Well, her ladyship is at hand ; y'are best 
 take you to your stand. 
 
 Lys. Thanks, good friend Lycus. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Argus, barehead, with whom another 
 usher, Lycus joins, going over the 
 stage. Hiarbas and Psorabeus next, 
 Rebus single, before Eudora, Laodice, 
 Sthenia bearing her train, lanthe fol- 
 
 Re. I admire, madam, you cannot love 
 whom the Viceroy loves. 
 
 Hi. And one whose veins swell so with his 
 blood, madam, as they do in his lordship. 
 
 Ps. A near and dear kinsman his lord- 
 ship is to his Altitude the Viceroy ; in care 
 of whose good speed here, I know his Al- 
 titude hath not slept a sound sleep since 
 his departure. 
 
 Eu. I thank Venus I have, ever since he 
 came. 
 
 Re. You sleep away your honour, madam, 
 if you neglect me. 
 
 Hi. Neglect your lordship ? that were a 
 negligence np less than disloyalty. 
 
 Eu. I much doubt that, sir ; it were 
 rather a presumption to take him, being of 
 the blood viceroyal. 
 
 Re. Not at all, being offered, madam. 
 
 Eu. But offered ware is not so sweet, 
 you know. They are the graces of the 
 Viceroy that woo me, not your lordship's, 
 and I conceive it should be neither honour 
 nor pleasure to you to be taken in for 
 another man's favours. 
 
 Re. Taken in, madam ? you speak as I 
 had no house to hide my head in. 
 
 Eu. I have heard so indeed, my lord, 
 unless it be another man's. 
 
 Re. You have heard untruth then : these 
 lords can well witness I can want no 
 houses. 
 
 Hi. Nor palaces neither, my lord. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 THE WIDOW'S TEARS. 
 
 Ps. Nor courts neither. 
 Eu. Nor temples, I think, neither ; I 
 believe we shall have a god of him. 
 
 Enter Tharsalio. 
 
 Ar. See the bold fellow ! whither will 
 you, sir? 
 
 Tha. Away ! all honour to you, madam ! 
 
 Eu. How now, base companion ? 
 
 Tha. Base, madam? he's not base that 
 fights as high as your lips. 
 
 Eu. And does that beseem my servant? 
 
 Tha. Your court servant, madam. 
 
 Eu. One that waited on my board ? 
 
 Tha. That was only a preparation to 
 my weight on your bed, madam. 
 
 Eu. How darest thou come to me with 
 such a thought ? 
 
 Tha. Come to you, madam? I dare 
 come to you at midnight, and bid defiance 
 to the proudest spirit that haunts these 
 your loved shadows ; and would any way 
 make terrible the access of my love to 
 you. 
 
 Eu. Love me ? love my dog. 
 
 Tha. I am bound to that by the pro- 
 verb, madam. 
 
 Eu. Kennel without with him, intrude 
 not here. What is it thou presumest on ? 
 
 Tha. On your judgment, madam, to 
 choose a man, and not a giant ; as these 
 are that come with titles and authority, 
 as they would conquer or ravish you. But 
 I come to you with the liberal and in- 
 genuous graces, love, youth, and gentry ; 
 which, in no more deformed a person than 
 myself, deserve any princess. 
 
 Eu. In your saucy opinion, sir, and 
 sirrah too ; get gone ; and let this malapert 
 humour return thee no more, for afore 
 heaven I'll have thee tossed in blankets. 
 
 Tha. In blankets, madam ? you must 
 add your sheets, and you must be the 
 tosser. 
 
 Re. Nay then, sir, y'are as gross as you 
 are saucy. 
 
 Tha. And all one, sir,- for I am neither. 
 
 Re. Thou art both. 
 
 Tha. Thou liest ; keep up your smiter, 
 Lord Rebus. 
 
 Hi. Usest thou thus his Altitude's cousin? 
 
 Re. The place thou knowest protects 
 thee. 
 
 Tha. Tie up your valour then till an- 
 other place turn me loose to you. You are 
 the lord, I take it, that wooed my great 
 mistress here with letters from his Altitude ; 
 which while she was reading, your lordship 
 '. (to entertain time) stroddled and scaled 
 
 your fingers ; as you would show what an 
 itching desire you had to get betwixt her 
 sheets. 
 
 Hi. 'Slight ! why does your lordship 
 endure him ? 
 
 Re. The place, the place, my lord. 
 
 Tha. Be you his attorney, sir? 
 
 Hi. What would you do, sir ? 
 
 Tha. Make thee leap out at window at 
 which thou earnest in : whoreson bag- 
 pipe lords. 
 
 Eu. What rudeness is this ? 
 
 Tha. What tameness is it in you, 
 madam, to stick at the discarding of such 
 a suitor? A lean lord, dubbed with the 
 lard of others ! A diseased lord too, that 
 opening certain magic characters in an un- 
 lawful book, up start as many aches in's 
 bones, as there are ouches in's skin. Send 
 him, mistress, to the widow your tenant, 
 the virtuous pandress Arsace. I perceive 
 he has crowns in's purse, that make him 
 proud of a string ; let her pluck the goose 
 therefore, and her maids dress him. 
 
 Ps, Still, my lord, suffer him ? 
 
 Re. The place, sir, believe it, the place. 
 
 Tha. O, good Lord Rebus, the place is 
 never like to be yours that you need respect 
 it so much. 
 
 Eu. Thou wrong'st the noble gentleman. 
 
 Tha. Noble gentleman ? A tumour, an 
 impostume, he is, madam ; a very haut- 
 boy, a bag-pipe, in whom there is nothing 
 but wind, and that none of the sweetest 
 neither. 
 
 Eu. Quit the house of him by the head 
 and shoulders. 
 
 Tha. Thanks to your honour, madam, 
 and my lord cousin, the Viceroy shall thank 
 you. 
 
 Re. So shall he indeed, sir. 
 
 ^' \ Will you begone, sir? 
 
 Tha. Away, poor fellows. 
 
 Eu. What is he made of, or what devil 
 
 sees your childish and effeminate spirits in 
 
 him, that thus ye shun him ? 
 
 Free us of thy sight. 
 
 Begone, or I protest thy life shall go ! 
 Tha. Yet shall my ghost stay still, and 
 haunt those beauties 
 
 And glories that have render'd it im- 
 mortal. 
 
 But since I see your blood runs, for the 
 time, 
 
 High in that contradiction that fore-runs 
 
 Truest agreements (like the elements, 
 
 Fighting before they generate), and that 
 time 
 
3 I2 
 
 THE WIDOW'S TEARS. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 Must be attended most, in things most 
 
 worth, 
 
 I leave your honour freely, and commend 
 That life you threaten, when you please, 
 
 to be 
 Adventured in your service, so your 
 
 honour 
 
 Require it likewise. 
 Eu. Do not come again. 
 Tha. I'll come again, believe it, and 
 again. [Exit. 
 
 Eu. If he shall dare to come again, I 
 charge you shut doors upon him. 
 
 Ar. You must shut them, madam, 
 To all men else then, if it please your 
 
 honour ; 
 For if that any enter, he'll be one. 
 
 Eu. I hope, wise sir, a guard will keep 
 him out. 
 
 Ar. Afore heaven, not a guard, an't 
 please your honour. 
 Eu. Thou liest, base ass ; one man 
 
 enforce a guard ? 
 
 I'll turn ye all away, by our isle's goddess, 
 If he but set a foot within my gates. 
 
 Lu. Your honour shall do well to have 
 him poisoned. 
 
 Hi. Or begged of your cousin the Vice- 
 roy. [Exit. 
 Lysander, from his stand. 
 
 Lys. This braving wooer hath the success 
 expected ; the favour I obtained made me 
 witness to the sport, and let his confidence 
 be sure, I'll give it him home. The news 
 by this is blown through the four quarters 
 of the city. Alas ! good confidence ; but 
 the happiness is, he has a forehead of 
 proof ; the stain shall never stick there, 
 whatsoever his reproach be. 
 
 Enter Tharsalio. 
 
 Lys. What? In discourse? 
 
 Tha. Hell and the furies take this vile 
 
 encounter ; 
 
 Who would imagine this Saturnian pea- 
 cock 
 
 Could be so barbarous to use a spirit 
 Of my erection, with such low respect ? 
 'Fore heaven, it cuts my gall ; but I'll 
 
 dissemble it. 
 
 Lys. What? My noble lord? 
 Tha. Well, sir, that may be yet, and 
 
 means to be. 
 
 Lys. What means your lordship then, to 
 hang that head that hath been so erected ; 
 it knocks, sir, at your bosom to come in 
 and hide itself. 
 Tha. Not a jot. 
 
 Lys. I hope by this time it needs fear 
 no horns. 
 
 Tha. Well, sir, but yet that blessing 
 runs not always in a blood. 
 
 Lys. What, blanketed ? O the gods ! 
 Spurned out by grooms, like a base 
 bisogno ! Thrust out by th'heacl and 
 shoulders ! 
 
 Tha. You do well, sir, to take your 
 pleasure of me ; I may turn tables with 
 you ere long. 
 
 Lys. What, has thy wit's fine engine 
 taken cold ? art stuffed in th" head ? canst 
 answer nothing ? 
 
 Tha. Truth is, I like my entertainment 
 the better that 'twas no better. 
 
 Lys. Now the gods forbid that this 
 opinion should run in a blood ! 
 
 Tha. Have not you heard this principle, 
 All things by strife engender ? 
 
 Lys. Dogs and cats do. 
 
 Tha. And men and women too. 
 
 Lys. Well, brother, in earnest ; you 
 have now set your confidence to school, 
 from whence I hope't has brought home 
 such a lesson as will instruct his master 
 never after to begin such attempts as end 
 in laughter. 
 
 Tha. Well, sir, you lessen my confi- 
 dence, still ; I pray heavens your confidence 
 have not more shallow ground for that I 
 know, than mine you reprehend so. 
 
 Lys. My confidence? in what? 
 
 Tha. May-be you trust too much. 
 
 Lys Wherein? 
 
 Tha. In human frailty. 
 
 Lys. Why, brother, know you ought 
 that may impeach my confidence, as this 
 success may yours? Hath your observa- 
 tion discovered any such frailty in my wife 
 (for that is your aim I know) ? then let me 
 know it. 
 
 Tha. Good, good. Nay, brother, I 
 write no books of observations ; let your 
 confidence bear out itself, as mine shall 
 me. 
 
 Lys. That's scarce a brother's speech. 
 If there be ought wherein your brother's 
 good might any way be questioned, can 
 you conceal it from his bosom ? 
 
 Tha. So, so. Nay, my saying was but 
 general. I glanced at no particular. 
 
 Lys. Then must I press you further. 
 You spake (as to yourself, but yet I over- 
 heard), as if you knew some disposition of 
 weakness where I most had fixed my trust. 
 I challenge you to let me know what 
 'twas. 
 
 Tha. Brother, are you wise ? 
 
SCENE IV. j 
 
 THE WIDOW'S TEARS. 
 
 Lys. Why? 
 
 Tha. Be ignorant. Did you never hear 
 of Actaeon ? 
 
 Lys. What then ? 
 
 Tha. Curiosity was his death. He 
 could not be content to adore Diana in 
 her temple, but lie must needs dog her to her 
 retired pleasures, and see her in her naked- 
 ness. Do you enjoy the sole privilege of 
 your wife's bed ? have you no pretty Paris 
 for your page ? no young Adonis to front 
 you there ? 
 
 Z._yj. I think none ; I know not. 
 
 Tha. Know not still, brother. Ignor- 
 ance and credulity are your sole means to 
 obtain that blessing. You see your greatest 
 clerks, your wisest politicians are not that 
 way fortunate ; your learned lawyers would 
 lose a dozen poor men's causes to gain a 
 leaf an't, but for a term. Your physician 
 is jealous of his. Your sages in general, 
 by seeing too much, oversee that happi- 
 ness. Only your blockheadly tradesman, 
 your honest-meaning citizen, your nott- 
 headed country gentleman, your unappre- 
 hending stinkard, is blessed with the sole 
 prerogative of his wife's chamber, for 
 which he is yet beholding, not to his stars, 
 but to his ignorance. For, if he be wise, 
 brother, I must tell you the case alters. 
 How do you relish these things, brother ? 
 
 Lys. Passing ill. 
 
 Tha. So do sick men solid meats. Hark 
 you, brother, are you not jealous ? 
 
 Lys. No ; do you know cause to make 
 me? 
 
 Tha. Hold you there. Did your wife 
 never spice your broth with a dram of 
 sublimate? hath she not yielded up the 
 fort of her honour to a staring soldado ? 
 and, taking courage from her guilt, played 
 open bankrout of all shame, and run the 
 country with him ? Then bless your stars, 
 bow your knees to Juno. Look where she 
 appears. 
 
 Enter Cynthia, Hylus. 
 
 Cy. We have sought you long, sir 
 there's a messenger within hath brought 
 you letters from the Court, and desires 
 your speech. 
 
 Lys. I can discover nothing in her looks. 
 Go, I'll not be long. 
 
 Cy. Sir, it is of weight, the bearer says 
 and besides, much hastens his departure. 
 Honourable brother ! cry mercy ! what, in 
 a conqueror's style? but come and over- 
 come ? 
 
 Tha. A fresh course. 
 
 Cy. Alas ! you see of how slight metal 
 widow's vows are made. 
 
 Tha. And that shall you prove too ere 
 ong. 
 
 Cy. Yet for the honour of our sex, boast 
 not abroad this your easy conquest ; another 
 might perhaps have stayed longer below 
 stairs, it was but your confidence that sur- 
 prised her love. 
 
 Hy. My uncle hath instructed me how to 
 accost an honourable lady ; to win her, not 
 by suit, but by surprise. 
 
 Tha. The whelp and all. 
 
 Hy. Good uncle, let not your near 
 honours change your manners ; be not for- 
 getful of your promise to me touching your 
 lady's daughter, Laodice. My fancy runs 
 so upon't that I dream every night of her. 
 
 Tha. A good chicken ! go thy ways, 
 thou hast done well ; eat bread with thy 
 meat. 
 
 Cy. Come, sir, will you in ? 
 
 Lys. I'll follow you. 
 
 Cy. I'll not stir a foot without you. I 
 cannot satisfy the messenger's impatience. 
 
 Lys. [He takes Tha. aside}. Will you not 
 resolve me, brother? 
 
 Tha. Of what? 
 
 [Lysander stamps and goes out vexed 
 
 with Cynthia, Hylus, Ero. 
 So, there's veney for veney, I have given't 
 him ith' speeding place for all his con- 
 fidence. Well, out of this perhaps there 
 maybe moulded matter of more mirth than 
 my baffling. It shall go hard but I'll make 
 my constant sister act as famous a scene as 
 Virgil did his mistress, who caused all the 
 fire in Rome to fail, so that none could 
 light a torch but at her nose. Now forth. 
 At this house dwells a virtuous dame, 
 sometimes of worthy fame, now like a de- 
 cayed merchant turned broker, and retails 
 refuse commodities for unthrifty gallants. 
 Her wit I must employ upon this business 
 to prepare my next encounter, but in such 
 a fashion as shall make all split. Ho ! 
 Madam Arsace, pray heaven the oyster- 
 wives have not brought the news of my 
 wooing hither amongst their stale pilchards, 
 
 Enter Arsace, Tomasin. 
 
 Ars. What, my lord of the palace? 
 
 Tha. Look you. 
 
 Ars. Why, this was done like a beaten 
 soldier. 
 
 Tha. Hark, I must speak with you. I 
 have a share for you in this rich adventure. 
 You must be the ass charged with crowns 
 to make way to the fort, and I the con- 
 
3*4 
 
 THE WIDOW'S TEARS. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 queror to follow, and seize it. Seest thou 
 this jewel ? 
 
 Ars. Is't come to that ? Why, Tomasin. 
 
 To. Madam. 
 
 Ars. Did not one of the countess's serving- 
 men tell us that this gentleman was sped ? 
 
 To. That he did ; and how her honour 
 graced and entertained him in very familiar 
 manner. 
 
 Ars. And brought him downstairs herself. 
 
 To. Ay, forsooth, and commanded her 
 men to bear him out of doors. 
 
 Tha. "Slight, pelted with rotten eggs ? 
 
 Ars. Nay, more ; that he had already 
 possessed her sheets. 
 
 To. No, indeed, mistress, 'twas her 
 blankets. 
 
 Tha. Out, you young hedge-sparrow, 
 learn to tread afore you be fledge ! 
 
 {He kicks her out. 
 Well, have you done now, lady ? 
 
 Ars. O, my sweet kilbuck. 
 
 Tha. You now, in your shallow pate, 
 think this a disgrace to me ; such a disgrace 
 as is a battered helmet on a soldier's head, 
 it doubles his resolution. Say, shall I use 
 thee? 
 
 Ars. Use me ? 
 
 Tha. O, holy reformation ! how art 
 thou fallen down from the upper bodies of 
 the church to the skirts of the city ! 
 Honesty is stripped out of his true substance 
 into verbal nicety. Common sinners 
 startle at common terms, and they that 
 by whole mountains swallow down the 
 deeds of darkness, a poor mote of a 
 familiar word makes them turn up the 
 white o'th' eye. Thou art the lady's tenant? 
 
 Ars. For term, sir. 
 
 Tha. A good induction : be successful 
 for me, make me lord of the palace, and 
 thou shalt hold thy tenement to thee and 
 thine heirs for ever, in free smockage, as 
 of the manner of panderage, provided 
 always 
 
 Ars. Nay, if you take me unprovided. 
 
 Tha. Provided, I say, that thou makest 
 thy repair to her, presently, with a plot I 
 will instruct thee in ; and for thy surer 
 access to her greatness, thou shalt present 
 her, as from thyself, with this jewel. 
 
 Ars. So her old grudge stand not betwixt 
 her and me. 
 
 Tha. Fear not that. 
 Presents are present cures for female 
 
 grudges, 
 
 Make bad seem good, alter the case with 
 judges. [Exit. 
 
 END OF ACT I. 
 
 ACT THE SECOND. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 Lysander, Tharsalio. 
 
 Lys. So now we are [by] ourselves. Bro- 
 ther, that ill-relished speech you let slip from 
 your tongue hath taken so deep hold of my 
 thoughts, that they will never give me rest 
 till I be resolved what 'twas you said, you 
 know, touching my wife, 
 
 Tha. Tush, I am weary of this subject ; 
 I said not so. 
 
 Lys. By truth itself, you did ; I over- 
 heard you. Come, it shall nothing move 
 me, whatsoever it be ; pray thee unfold 
 briefly what you know. 
 
 Tha. Why, briefly, brother, I know my 
 sister to be the wonder of the earth, and 
 the envy of the heavens ; virtuous, loyal, 
 and what-not. Briefly, I know she hath 
 vowed that till death and after death she'll 
 hold inviolate her bonds to you, and that 
 her black shall take no other hue, all 
 which I firmly believe. In brief, brother, 
 I know her to be a woman. But you 
 know, brother, I have other irons on the 
 anvil. \Exiturus. 
 
 Lys. You shall not leave me so unsatis 
 fied ; tell me what 'tis you know. 
 
 Tha. Why, brother, if you be sure ot 
 your wife's loyalty for term of life, why 
 should you be curious to search the alma- 
 nacks for after-times, whether some wan- 
 dering ^Eneas should enjoy your reversion ; 
 or whether your true turtle would sit 
 mourning on a withered branch, till 
 Atropos cut her throat. Beware of curio- 
 sity, for who can resolve you? you'll say 
 perhaps her vow. 
 
 Lys. Perhaps I shall. 
 
 Tha. Tush, herself knows not what she 
 shall do, when she is transformed into a 
 widow. You are now a sober and staid 
 gentleman. But if Diana for your curiosity 
 should translate you into a monkey, do 
 you know what gambols you should play ? 
 your only way to be resolved is to die and 
 make trial of her. 
 
 Lys. A dear experiment ; then I must 
 rise again to be resolved. 
 
 Tha. You shall not need. I can send 
 you speedier advertisement of her constancy 
 by the next ripier that rides that way with 
 mackerel. And so I leave you. 
 
 [Exit Tharsalio. 
 
 Lys. All the furies in hell attend thee ! 
 
SCENE I. 
 
 THE WIDOW'S TEARS. 
 
 315 
 
 has given me a bone to tire on with a 
 
 pestilence ; 'slight know? 
 
 What can he know ? what can his eye ob- 
 serve 
 
 More than mine own, or the most piercing 
 sight 
 
 That ever view'd her? by this light I 
 think 
 
 Her privatest thought may dare the eye of 
 heaven, 
 
 And challenge th' envious world to wit- 
 ness it, 
 
 I know him for a wild, corrupted youth, 
 
 Whom profane ruffians, squires to bawds, 
 and strumpets ; 
 
 Drunkards, spew'd out of taverns into th' 
 sinks 
 
 Of tap-houses and stews, revolts from 
 manhood. 
 
 Debauch 'd perdus, have by their com- 
 panies 
 
 Turn'd devil like themselves, and stuff 1 d 
 his soul 
 
 With damn'd opinions and unhallow'd 
 thoughts 
 
 Of womanhood, of all humanity, 
 
 Nay, deity itself. 
 
 Enter Lycus. 
 
 Lys. Welcome, friend Lycus. 
 
 Lye. Have you met with your capricious 
 brother? 
 
 Lys. He parted hence but now. 
 
 Lye. And has he yet resolved you of that 
 point you brake with me about ? 
 
 Z/KJ. Yes, he bids me die for further 
 trial of her constancy. 
 
 Lye . That were a strange physic for a 
 jealous patient ; to cure his thirst with a 
 draught of poison. Faith, sir, discharge 
 your thoughts an't ; think 'twas but a buzz 
 devised by him to set your brains a-work, 
 and divert your eye from his disgrace. 
 The world hath written your wife in highest 
 lines of honoured fame ; her virtues so ad- 
 mired in this isle, as the report thereof 
 sounds in foreign ears ; and strangers oft 
 arriving here, as some rare sight, desire to 
 view her presence, thereby to compare the 
 picture with the original. 
 Nor think he can turn so far rebel to his 
 
 blood, 
 
 Or to the truth itself to misconceive 
 Her spotless love and loyalty ; perhaps 
 Oft having heard you hold her faith so 
 
 sacred, 
 As you being dead, no man might stir a 
 
 spark 
 Of virtuous love, in way of second bonds ; 
 
 As if you at your death should carry with 
 
 you 
 
 Both branch and root of all affection. 
 'T may be, in that point he's an infidel, 
 And thinks your confidence may over- 
 ween. 
 
 Lys. So think not I. 
 Lye. Nor I, if ever any made it good. 
 I am resolved of all, she'll prove no 
 
 changeling. 
 Lys. Well, I must yet be further 
 
 satisfied ; 
 And vent this humour by some strain of 
 
 wit ; 
 
 Somewhat I'll do, but what I know not 
 yet. \Exeunt. 
 
 EnterSthenio, lanthe. 
 
 St. Passion of virginity, lanthe, how 
 shall we quit ourselves of this pandress 
 that is so importunate to speak with us ? 
 Is she known to be a pandress ? 
 
 la. Ay, as well as we are known to be 
 waiting-women. 
 
 St. A shrew take your comparison ! 
 
 la. Let's call out Argus, that bold ass, 
 that never weighs what he does or says, 
 but walks and talks like one in a sleep, to 
 relate her attendance to my lady, and 
 present her. 
 
 St. Who, an't please your honour? 
 None so fit to set on any dangerous 
 exploit. Ho ! Argus ! 
 
 Enter Argus, bare. 
 
 Arg. What's the matter, wenches? 
 
 St. You must tell my lady here's a 
 gentlewoman called Arsace, her honour's 
 tenant, attends her, to impart important 
 business to her. 
 
 Arg. I will, presently. [Exit Argus. 
 
 la. Well, she has a welcome present to 
 bear out her unwelcome presence ; and I 
 never knew but a good gift would welcome 
 a bad person to the purest. An>ace ! 
 
 Enter Arsace. 
 
 Ars. Ay, mistress. 
 
 St. Give me your present ; I'll do all I 
 can to make way both for it and your- 
 self. 
 
 Ars. You shall bind me to your service, 
 lady. 
 
 St. Stand unseen. 
 
 Enter Lycus, Eudora, Laodice, Rebus, 
 Hiarbas, Psorabeus, coming after ; 
 Argus coining to Eudora. 
 
 Arg. Here's a gentlewoman (an't please 
 
THE WIDOW'S TEARS. 
 
 [ACT IT. 
 
 your honour) one of your tenants, desires 
 access to you. 
 
 Eu. What tenant ? What's her name? 
 
 Arg. Arsace, she says, madam. 
 
 Eu. Arsace ? What, the bawd ? 
 
 Arg. The bawd, madam? [she strikes] 
 that's without my privity. 
 
 Eu. Out, ass ! know'st not thou the 
 pandress, Arsace? 
 
 St. She presents your honour with this 
 jewel. 
 
 Eii. This jewel? How came she by 
 such a jewel? She has had great cus- 
 tomers. 
 
 Arg. She had need, madam ; she sits at 
 a great rent. 
 
 Eu. Alas, for your great rent ; I'll keep 
 her jewel, and keep you her out, ye were 
 best : speak to me for a pandress ? 
 
 Arg. What shall we do ? 
 
 St. Go to ; let us alone. Arsace ! 
 
 Ars. Ay, lady. 
 
 St. You must pardon us, we cannot 
 obtain your access. 
 
 Ars. Mistress Sthenio, tell her honour, 
 if I get not access to her, and that instantly, 
 she's undone. 
 
 St. This is something of importance. 
 Madam, she swears your honour is undone, 
 if she speak not with you instantly. 
 
 Eu. Undone? 
 
 Ars. Pray her, for her honour's sake, 
 to give me instant access to her. 
 
 St. She makes her business your honour, 
 madam ; and entreats, for the good of that, 
 her instant speech with you. 
 
 Eu. How comes my honour in question ? 
 Bring her to me. 
 
 Enter Arsace. 
 
 Ars. Our Cyprian goddess save your 
 good honour ! 
 
 Eu. Stand you off, I pray. How dare 
 you, mistress, importune access to me thus, 
 considering the last warning I gave for 
 your absence ? 
 
 Ars. Because, madam, I have been moved 
 by your honour's last most chaste admoni- 
 tion to leave the offensive life I led before. 
 
 Eu. Ay ? have you left it then ? 
 
 Ars. Ay, I assure your honour, unless it 
 be for the pleasure of two or three poor 
 ladies, that have prodigal knights to their 
 husbands. 
 
 Eu. Out on thee, impudent ! 
 
 Ars. Alas, madam, we would all be glad 
 to live in our callings. 
 
 Eu. Is this the reformed life thou talkest 
 on? 
 
 Ars. I beseech your good honour mistake 
 me not, I boast of nothing but my charity, 
 that's the worst. 
 
 Eu. You get these jewels with charity, 
 no doubt. But what's the point in which 
 my honour stands endangered, I pray ? 
 
 Ars. In care of that, madam, I have pre- 
 sumed to offend your diaste eyes with my 
 presence. Hearing it reported for truth 
 and generally, that your honour will take 
 to husband a young gentleman of this city 
 called Tharsalio. 
 
 En. I take him to husband ? 
 
 Ars, If your honour does, you are utterly 
 undone, for he's the most incontinent ; and 
 insatiate man of women that ever Venus 
 blessed with ability to please them. 
 
 Eu. Let him be the devil ; I abhor his 
 thought, and could I be informed particu- 
 larly of any of these slanderers of mine 
 honour, he should as dearly dare it as any- 
 thing wherein his life were endangered. 
 
 Ars. Madam, the report of it is so strongly 
 confident, that I fear the strong destiny of 
 marriage is at work in it. But if it be, 
 madam, let your honour's known virtues 
 resist and defy it for him : for not a hun- 
 dred will serve his one turn. I protest to 
 your honour, when (Venus pardon me) I 
 winked at my unmaidenly exercise, I have 
 known nine in a night made mad with his 
 love. 
 
 Eu. What, tell'st thou me of his love ? I 
 tell thee I abhor him ; and destiny must 
 have another mould for my thoughts than 
 Nature or mine honour, and a witchcraft 
 above both, to transform me to another 
 shape, as soon as to another conceit of 
 him. 
 
 Ars. Then is your good honour just as 
 I pray for you ; and good madam, even for 
 your virtue's sake, and comfort of all your 
 dignities and possessions, fix your whole 
 womanhood against him. He will so en- 
 chant you, as never man did woman : nay, 
 a goddess (say his light huswives) is not 
 worthy of his sweetness. 
 
 Eu. Go to, begone. 
 
 Ars. Dear madam, your honour's most 
 perfect admonitions have brought me to 
 such a hate of these imperfections, that I 
 could not but attend you with my duty, 
 and'urge his unreasonable manhood to the 
 fill. 
 
 Eu. Manhood, quoth you ? 
 
 Ars. Nay, beastlihood, I might say, 
 indeed, madam, but for saving your 
 honour ; nine in a night, said I ? 
 
 Eu. Go to, no more. 
 
SCENE II.'J 
 
 THE WIDOW'S TEARS. 
 
 317 
 
 Ars. No more, madam? that's enough, 
 one would think. 
 
 Eu. Well, begone, I bid thee. 
 
 Ars. Alas, madam, your honour is the 
 chief of our city, and to whom shall I com- 
 plain of these inchastities (being your 
 ladyship's reformed tenant) but to you that 
 are chastest ? 
 
 Eu. I pray thee go thy ways, and let 
 me see this reformation you pretend con- 
 tinued. 
 
 Ars. I humbly thank your good honour, 
 that was first cause of it. 
 
 Eu. Here's a complaint as strange as 
 my suitor. 
 
 Ars. I beseech your good honour think 
 Upon him, make him an example. 
 
 Eu. Yet again ? 
 
 Ars. All my duty to your excellence. 
 
 [Exit Arsace. 
 
 Eu. These sorts of licentious persons, 
 when they are once reclaimed, are most 
 vehement against licence. But it is the 
 course of the world to dispraise faults and 
 use them, that so we may use them the 
 safer. What might a wise widow resolve 
 upon this point, now? Contentment is 
 the end of all worldly beings. Beshrew 
 her ! would she had spared her news. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Re. See if she take not a contrary way 
 to free herself of us. 
 
 Hi. You must complain to his Altitude. 
 
 Ps. All this for trial is ; you must en- 
 dure 
 
 That will have wives, nought else with 
 them is sure. \Exit. 
 
 Tharsalio, Arsace. 
 
 Tha. Hast thou been admitted, then ? 
 
 Ars. Admitted? ay, into her heart, I'll 
 able it ; never was man so praised with a 
 dispraise ; nor so spoken for in being 
 railed on. I'll give you my word, I have 
 set her heart upon as tickle a pin as the 
 needle of a dial, that will never let it rest 
 till it be in the right position. 
 
 Tha. Why dost thou imagine this ? 
 
 Ars. Because I saw Cupid shoot in my 
 words, and open his wounds in her looks. 
 Her blood went and came of errands 
 betwixt her face and her heart, and these 
 changes I can tell you are shrewd tell- 
 tales. 
 
 Tha. Thou speak'st like a doctress in 
 thy faculty ; but, howsoever, for all this 
 foil I'll retrieve the game once again. He's 
 a shallow gamester that for one displeasing- 
 cast gives up so fair a game for lost. 
 
 Ars. Well, 'twas a villanous invention 
 of thine, and had a swift operation; it took 
 like sulphur. And yet this virtuous coun- 
 tess hath to my ear spun out many a 
 tedious lecture of pure sister's thread 
 against concupiscence ; but ever with 
 such an affected zeal as my mind gave me 
 she had a kind of secret titillation to grace 
 my poor house sometimes, but that she 
 feared a spice of the sciatica, which, as 
 you know, ever runs in the blood. 
 
 Tha. And, as you know, soaks into the 
 bones. But to say truth, these angry 
 heats that break out at the lips of these 
 strait-laced ladies, are but as symptoms 
 of a lustful fever that boils within them. 
 For wherefore rage wives at their husbands 
 so when they fly out ? for zeal against the 
 sin? 
 
 Ars. No, but because they did not 
 purge that sin. 
 
 Tha. Th'art a notable siren, and I 
 swear to thee, if I prosper, not only to 
 give thee thy manor-house gratis, but to 
 marry thee to some one knight or other, 
 and bury thy trade in thy ladyship. Go, 
 begone. \Exit Arsace. 
 
 Enter Lycus. 
 
 Tha. What news, Lycus? where's the 
 lady? 
 
 Lye. Retired into her orchard. 
 
 Tha. A pregnant badge of love, she's 
 melancholy. 
 
 Lye, 'Tis with the sight of her Spartan 
 wooer. But howsoever 'tis with her, you 
 have practised strangely upon your brother. 
 
 Tha. Why so? 
 
 Lye. You had almost lifted his wit off 
 the hinges. That spark jealousy, falling 
 into his dry, melancholy brain, had well 
 near set the whole house on fire. 
 
 Tha. No matter, let it work ; I did but 
 pay him in's own coin. 'Sfoot, he plied 
 me with such a volley of unseasoned 
 scoffs, as would have made patience itself 
 turn ruffian, attiring itself in wounds and 
 blood. But is his humour better qualified, 
 then? 
 
 Lye. Yes, but with a medicine ten parts 
 more dangerous than the sickness : you 
 know how strange his dotage ever was on 
 his wife ; taking special glory to have her 
 love and loyalty to him so renowmed 
 abroad. To whom she oftentimes hath 
 vowed constancy after life, till her own 
 death hath brought, forsooth, her widow- 
 troth to bed. This he joyed in strangely, 
 and was therein of infallible belief, till 
 
THE WIDOW'S TEARS. 
 
 [ACT n. 
 
 your surmise began to shake it ; which 
 i hath loosed it so, as now there's nought 
 I can settle it but a trial, which he's resolved 
 
 upon. 
 
 Tha. As how, man ? as how ? 
 
 Lye, He is resolved to follow your advice, 
 to die, and make trial of her stableness ; 
 and you must lend your hand to it. 
 
 Tha. What, to cut's throat ? 
 
 Lye. To forge a rumour of his death, to 
 uphold it by circumstance, maintain a 
 public face of mourning, and all things 
 appertaining. 
 
 Tha. Ay, but the means, man. What 
 time ? what probability ? 
 
 Lye. Nay, I think he has not licked his 
 whelp into full shape yet, but you shall 
 shortly hear on't. 
 
 Tha. And when shall this strange con- 
 ception see light ? 
 
 Lye. Forthwith ; there's nothing stays 
 him' but some odd business of import, 
 which he must wind up ; lest perhaps his 
 absence by occasion of his intended trial 
 be prolonged above his aims. 
 
 Tha. Thanks for this news, i'faith. 
 This may perhaps prove happy to my 
 nephew. Truth is, I love my sister well 
 and must acknowledge her more than ordi- 
 nary virtues. But she hath so possessed 
 my brother's heart with vows and disavow- 
 ings, sealed with oaths of second nuptials ; 
 as in that confidence, he hath invested her 
 in all his state, the ancient inheritance of 
 our family ; and left my nephew and the 
 rest to hang upon her pure devotion ; so as 
 he dead, and she matching (as I am re- 
 solved she will) with some young prodigal ; 
 what must ensue, but her post-issue beg- 
 gared, and our house, already sinking, 
 buried quick in ruin. But this trial may 
 remove it ; and since 'tis come to this, 
 mark but the issue, Lycus, for all these 
 solemn vows, if I do not make her prove 
 in the handling as weak as a wafer, say I 
 lost my time in travail. This resolution, 
 then, has set his wits in joint again ; he's 
 quiet. 
 
 Lye. Yes, and talks of you again in the 
 fairest manner ; listens after your speed 
 
 Tha. Nay, he's passing kind ; but I am 
 glad of this trial, for all that. 
 
 Lye. Which he thinks to be a flight 
 beyond your wing. 
 
 Tha. "But he will change that thought 
 ere long. My bird you saw even now sings 
 me good news, and makes hopeful signs to 
 me. 
 
 Lye. Somewhat can I say too. Since 
 
 your messenger's departure her ladyship 
 hath been something altered more pensive 
 than before and took occasion to question 
 of you, what your addictions were? of 
 what taste your humour was ? of what cut 
 you wore your wit ? and all this in a kind 
 of disdainful scorn. 
 
 Tha. Good callenders, Lycus. Well, 
 I'll pawn this jewel with thee, my next en- 
 counter shall quite alter my brother's ! 
 judgment. Come, let's in ; he shall com- ! 
 mend it for a discreet and honourable , 
 attempt. 
 Men's judgments sway on that side fortune 
 
 leans, 
 Thy wishes shall assist me. 
 
 Lye. And my means. [Exeunt. 
 
 Argus, Clinias, Sthenio, lanthe. 
 
 Arg. I must confess I was ignorant what 
 'twas to court a lady till now. 
 
 St. And I pray you, what is it now ? 
 
 Arg. To court her, I perceive, is to woo 
 her with letters from Court ; for so this 
 Spartan lord's Court discipline teacheth. 
 
 St. His lordship hath procured a new 
 packet from his Altitude. 
 
 Cl. If he bring no better ware than 
 letters in's packet, I shall greatly doubt of 
 his good speed. 
 
 la. If his lordship did but know how 
 gracious his aspect is to my lady in this 
 solitary humour. 
 
 Cl. Well, these retired walks of hers are 
 not usual, and bode some alteration in 
 her thoughts. What may be the cause, 
 Sthenio ? 
 
 St. Nay, 'twould trouble Argus with his 
 his hundred eyes to descry the cause. 
 
 la. Venus keep her upright, that she 
 fall not from the state of her honour ; my 
 fear is that some of these serpentine suitors 
 will tempt her from her constant vow of 
 widowhood. If they do, good night to our 
 good days. 
 
 Si. 'Twere a sin to suspect her ; I have 
 been witness to so many of her fearful pro- 
 testations to our late lord against that 
 course ; to her infinite oath imprinted on 
 his lips, and sealed in his heart with such 
 imprecations to her bed, if ever it should 
 receive a second impression ; to her open 
 and often detestations of that incestuous 
 life (as she termed it) of widows' marriages; 
 as being but a kind of lawful adultery ; 
 like usury, permitted by the law, not ap- 
 proved. That to wed a second, was no 
 better than to cuckold the first : that wo- 
 men should entertain wedlock as one body, 
 
SCENE III. I 
 
 THE WIDOW'S TEARS. 
 
 319 
 
 as one life, beyond which there were no 
 desire, no thought, no repentance from it, 
 no restitution to it. So as if the conscience 
 of her vows should not restrain her, yet the 
 world's shame to break such a constant re- 
 solution, should repress any such motion 
 in her. 
 
 Arg. Well, for vows, they are gone to 
 heaven with her husband, they bind not 
 upon earth : and as for women's resolu- 
 tions, I must tell you, the planets, and (as 
 Ptolemy says) the winds have a great stroke 
 in them. Trust not my learning if her 
 late strangeness and exorbitant solitude 
 I be not hatching some new monster. 
 
 la. Well applied, Argus ; make you 
 husbands monsters ? 
 
 Arg. I spoke of no husbands : but you 
 wenches have the pregnant wits to turn 
 monsters into husbands, as you turn hus- 
 bands into monsters. 
 
 St. Well, lanthe, 'twere high time we 
 made in, to part our lady and her Spartan 
 wooer. 
 
 la. We shall appear to her like the two 
 fortunate stars in a tempest, to save the 
 shipwrack of her patience. 
 
 St. Ay, and to him too, I believe ; for by 
 this time he hath spent the last dram of his 
 news. 
 
 Arg. That is, of his wit. 
 
 St. Just, good \vittols. 
 
 la. If not, and that my lady be not too 
 deep in her new dumps, we shall hear from 
 his lordship, what such a lord said of his 
 wife the first night he embraced her ; to 
 what gentleman such a count was behold- 
 ing for his fine children ; what young lady, 
 such an old count should marry ; what 
 revels, what presentments, are towards ; 
 and who penned the Pegmas; and so forth: 
 and yet for all this, I know her harsh suitor 
 hath tired her to the uttermost scruple of 
 her forbearance, and will do more, unless 
 we two, like a pair of shears, cut asunder 
 the thread of his discourse. 
 
 St. Well then, let's in ; but, my masters, 
 wait you on your charge at your perils, see 
 that you guard her approach from any 
 more intruders. 
 
 la. Excepting young Tharsalio. 
 
 St. True, excepting him indeed, for a 
 guard of men is not able to keep him out, 
 an't please your honour. 
 
 Arg. Oh, wenches, that's the property of 
 true valour, to promise like a pigmy, and 
 perform like a giant. If he come, I'll be 
 sworn I'll do my lady's commandment 
 upon him. 
 
 la. What ! beat him out ? 
 
 St. If he should, Tharsalio would not 
 take it ill at his hands, for he does but his 
 lady's commandment. 
 
 Enter Tharsalio. 
 
 Arg. Well, by Hercules, he comes not 
 here. 
 
 St. By Venus, but he does : or else she 
 hath heard my lady's prayers, and sent 
 some gracious spirit in his likeness to fright 
 away that Spartan wooer that haunts 
 her. 
 
 Tha. There stand her sentinels. 
 
 Arg. 'Slight, the ghost appears again. 
 
 Tha. Save ye, my quondam fellows in 
 arms ; save ye, my women ! 
 
 St. Your women, sir ? 
 
 Tha. 'Twill be so. What, no curtseys ? 
 No preparation of grace ? observe me, Ii 
 advise you for your own sakes. 
 
 fa. For your own sake, I advise you to 
 pack hence, lest your impudent valour cost 
 you dearer than you think. 
 
 Cl. What senseless boldneso is this,. 
 Tharsalio ? 
 
 Arg. Well said, Clinias, talk to him. 
 
 Cl. I wonder that notwithstanding the 
 shame of your last entertainment, and 
 threatenings of worse, you would yet pre- 
 sume to trouble this place again. 
 
 Tha. Come, y'are a widgeon ; off with 
 your hat, sir ; acknowledge forecast is 
 better than labour. Are you squint-eyed ? 
 can you not see afore you ? A little fore- 
 sight I can tell you might stead you, much 
 as the stars shine now. 
 
 Cl. 'Tis well, sir, 'tis not for nothing 
 your brother is ashamed on you. But, sir, 
 you must know, we are charged to bar 
 your entrance. 
 
 Tha. But, whiffler, know you, that whoso 
 shall dare to execute that charge, I'll be 
 his executioner. 
 
 Arg. By Jove, Clinias, methinks the gen- 
 tleman speaks very honourably. 
 
 Tha. Well, I see the house needs refor- 
 mation ; here's a fellow stands behind now 
 of a forwarder insight than ye all. What 
 place hast thou ? 
 
 Arg. What place you please, sir. 
 
 Tha. Law you, sir. Here's a fellow to 
 make a gentleman usher, sir. I discharge 
 you of the place, and do here invest thee 
 into his room. Make much of thy hair, thy 
 wit will suit it rarely. And for the full pos- 
 session of thine office, come, usher me to 
 thy lady ; and to keep thy hand supple, 
 take this from me. 
 
320 
 
 THE WIDOW'S TEARS. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Arg. No bribes, sir, an't please your wor- 
 ship. 
 
 Tha. Go to, thou dost well ; but pocket 
 it for all that ; it's no impair to thee ; the 
 greatest do't. 
 
 Arg. Sir, 'tis your love only that I respect, 
 but since out of your love you please to be- 
 stow it upon me, it were want of courtship 
 in me to refuse it ; I'll acquaint my lady 
 with your coming. \_Exit Arg. 
 
 Tha. How say by this ? have not I made 
 I a fit choice, that hath so soon attained the 
 ! deepest mystery of his profession ? good 
 i sooth, wenches, a few curtseys had not 
 ' been cast away upon your new lord, 
 i St. We'll believe that, when our lady 
 ! has a new son of your getting. 
 
 Enter Argus, Eudora, Rebus, Hiarbas, 
 Psorabeus. 
 
 Eu. What's the matter ; who's that, you 
 i say, is come ? 
 
 Arg. The bold gentleman, and please 
 i your honour. 
 
 Eu. Why, thou fleering ass, thou ! 
 
 Arg. An't please your honour. 
 
 Eu. Did not I forbid his approach by 
 i all the charge and duty of thy service ? 
 
 Tha. Madam, this fellow only is intelli- 
 gent ; for he truly understood his com- 
 mand according to the style of the Court of 
 Venus ; that is, by contraries : when you 
 forbid you bid. 
 
 Eu. By heaven, I'll discharge my house 
 of ye all. 
 
 Tha. You shall not need, madam, for I 
 have already cashiered your officious usher 
 here, and choosed this for his successor. 
 
 Eu. O incredible boldness ! 
 
 Tha. Madam, I come not to command 
 your love with enforced letters, nor to woo 
 
 rwith tedious stories of my pedigree, as 
 who draws the thread of his descent 
 from Leda's distaff, when 'tis well known 
 his grandsire cried coneyskins in Sparta. 
 Re. Whom mean you, sir ? 
 Tha. Sir, I name none, but him who 
 first shall name himself. 
 
 Re. The place, sir, I tell you still, and 
 this goddess's fair presence, or else my 
 reply should take a far other form upon't. 
 
 Tha. If it should, sir, I would make your 
 lordship an answer. 
 
 Arg. Anser's Latin for a goose, an't 
 please your honour. 
 
 Eu. Well noted, gander; and what of that? 
 Arg. Nothing, an't please your honour, 
 | but that he said he would make his lordship 
 i on answer. 
 
 Eu. Thus every fool mocks my poor 
 suitor. Tell me, thou most frontless of all 
 men, didst thou (when thou hadst means 
 to note me best) ever observe so base a 
 temper in me as to give any glance at 
 stooping to my vassal ? 
 
 Tha. Your drudge, madam, to do your 
 drudgery. 
 
 Eu. Or am I now so scant of worthy 
 suitors that may advance mine honour, ad- 
 vance my estate, strengthen my alliance (if 
 I list to \ved) that I must stoop to make 
 my foot my head ? 
 
 Tha. No, but your side, to keep you 
 warm a-bed. But, madam, vouchsafe me 
 your patience to that point's serious answer. 
 Though I confess to get higher place in 
 your graces, I could wish my fortunes more 
 honourable, my person more gracious, my 
 mind more adorned with noble and heroical 
 virtues, yet, madam (that you think not your 
 blood disparaged by mixture with mine), 
 deign to know this ; howsoever, I once, only 
 for your love, disguised myself in the service 
 of your late lord and mine, yet my descent is 
 as honourable as the proudest of your Spar- 
 tan attempters, who, by unknown quills 
 or conduits undergound, draws his pedi- 
 gree from Lycurgus his great toe to the 
 Viceroy's little finger, and from thence to his 
 own elbow, where it will never leave itching. 
 
 Re. "Tis well, sir ; presume still of the 
 place. 
 
 Tha. 'Sfoot, madam, am I the first great 
 personage that hath stooped to disguises 
 for love? What think you of our country- 
 man Hercules, that for love put on Om- 
 phale's apron and sat spinning amongst 
 her wenches, while his mistress wore his 
 lion's skin, and lamb-skinned him if he did 
 not his business ? 
 
 Eu. Most fitly thou resemblest thyself to 
 that violent outlaw that claimed all other 
 men's possessions as his own by his mere 
 valour. For what less hast thou done ? 
 Come into my house, beat away these 
 honourable persons 
 
 Tha. That I will, madam. Hence, ye 
 Sparta-velvets ! 
 
 Ps. Hold, she did not mean so. 
 
 Tha. Away, I say, or leave your lives, I 
 protest, here. 
 
 Hi. Well, sir, his Altitude shall know you. 
 
 Re. I'll do your errand, sir. \Exeunt. 
 
 Tha. Do, good cousin Altitude, and beg 
 the reversion of the next lady, for Dido lias 
 betrothed her love to me. By this fair 
 hand, madam, a fair riddance of this Cali- 
 donian boar. 
 
SCKXE IV.] 
 
 THE WIDOW'S TEARS. 
 
 En. O most prodigious audaciousness ! 
 
 Tha. True, madam ; O fie upon 'em, 
 they are intolerable. And I cannot but 
 admire your singular virtue of patience, 
 not common in your sex, and must there- 
 fore carry with it some rare endowment of 
 other masculine and heroical virtues. To 
 hear a rude Spartan court so ingenuous 
 a lady, with dull news from Athens or the 
 Viceroy's Court ; how many dogs were 
 spoiled at the last bull-baiting ; what ladies 
 dubbed theirhusbands knights, and so forth. 
 
 Eu. But hast thou no shame ? no sense 
 of what disdain I showed thee in my last 
 entertainment ? chasing thee from my pre- 
 sence, and charging thy duty not to attempt 
 the like intrusion for thy life ; and darest 
 thou yet approach me in this unmannerly 
 manner ? No question this desperate bold- 
 ness cannot choose but go accompanied 
 with other infinite rudenesses. 
 
 Tha. Good madam, give not the child an 
 unfit name, term it not boldness which the 
 sages call true confidence, founded on the 
 most infallible rock of a woman's con- 
 stancy. 
 
 Eu. If shame cannot restrain thee, tell 
 me yet if any brainless fool would have 
 tempted the danger attending thy ap- 
 proach. 
 
 Tha. No, madam, that proves I am no 
 fool : then had I been here a fool, and a 
 base, low-spirited Spartan, if foralady's, ora 
 lord's threats, or for a guard of grooms, I 
 should have shrunk in the wetting, and 
 suffered such a delicious flower to perish in 
 the stalk, or to be savagely plucked by a pro- 
 fane finger. No, madam : first, let me be 
 made a subject for disgrace ; let your re- 
 morseless guard seize on my despised body, 
 bind me hand and foot, and hurl me into 
 your ladyship's bed. 
 
 Eu. O gods ! I protest thou dost more 
 and more make me admire thee. 
 
 Tha. Madam, ignorance is the mother of 
 admiration : know me better, and you'll 
 j admire me less. 
 
 Eu. What would'st thou have me know ? 
 i what seeks thy coming? why dost thou 
 haunt me thus ? 
 
 Tha. Only, madana, that the ^Etna of 
 my sighs, and Nilus of my tears, poured 
 forth in your presence, might witness to 
 your honour the hot and moist affection of 
 my heart, and work me some measure of 
 favour from your sweet tongue, or your 
 sweeter lips, or what else your good lady- 
 ship shall esteem more conducible to your 
 divine contentment. 
 
 VOL. r. 
 
 Eu. Pen and ink-horn, I thank thcc. 
 This you learned when you were a serving- 
 man. 
 
 Tha. Madam, I am still the same crea- 
 ture ; and I will so tie my whole fortunes 
 to that style, as were it my happiness (as I 
 know it will be) to mount into my lord's 
 succession, yet vow I never to assume 
 other title, or state, than your servants : not 
 approaching your board, but bidden : not 
 pressing to your bed, but your pleasure 
 shall be first known if you will command 
 me any service. 
 
 Eu. Thy vows are as vain as a ruffian's 
 oaths ; as common as the air ; and as 
 cheap as the dust. How many of the light 
 huswives, thy muses, hath thy love pro- 
 mised this service besides, I pray thee ? 
 
 Tha. Compare shadows to bodies, ma- 
 dam ; pictures to the life ; and such are 
 they to you, in my valuation. 
 
 Eu. I see words will never free me of 
 thy boldness, -and will therefore now use 
 blows; and those of the mortallest enforce- 
 ment. Let it suffice, sir, that all this time, 
 and to this place, you enjoy your safety ; 
 keep back ; no one foot follow me further; 
 for I protest to thee, the next threshold 
 past, lets pass a prepared ambush to thy 
 latest breath. {Exit Eu, 
 
 Tha. This for your ambush, {he draws]. 
 Dare my love with death ? 
 
 Cl. 'Slight ; follow, an't please your 
 honour. 
 
 Arg. Not I, by this light. 
 
 Cl. I hope, gentlewomen, you will. 
 
 St. Not we, sir, we are no parters ef 
 frays. 
 
 Cl. 'Faith, nor I'll be any breaker of cus- 
 toms. {Exeunt, 
 
 END OF ACT II. 
 
 ACT THE THIRD. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Enter Lysander and Lycus, booted. 
 
 Lye. Would any heart of adamant, for 
 satisfaction of an ungrounded humour, 
 rack a poor lady's innocence as you intend 
 to do ? It was a strange curiosity in that 
 Emperor, that ripped his mother's womb to 
 see the place he lay in. 
 
 Lys. Come, do not load me with volumes 
 of persuasion ; I am resolved : if she be 
 
3 22 
 
 THE WIDOW'S TEARS. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 gold she may abide the test ; let's away. I 
 wonder where this wild brother is. 
 
 Enter Cynthia, Hylus, and Ero. 
 
 Cy. Sir. 
 
 Lys. I pray thee, wife, show but thy- 
 self a woman, and be silent ; question no 
 more the reason of my journey, which our 
 great Viceroy's charge, urged in this letter, 
 doth enforce me to. 
 
 Cy. Let me but see that letter. There is 
 something in this presaging blood of mine, 
 tells me this sudden journey can portend 
 no good ; resolve me, sweet ; have not I 
 given you cause of discontent, by some 
 misprision, or want of fit observance ? Let 
 me know, that I may wreak myself upon 
 myself. 
 Lys. Come, wife, our love is now grown 
 
 old and staid, 
 
 And must not wanton it in tricks of court, 
 Nor interchanged delights of melting 
 
 lovers ; 
 
 Hanging on sleeves, sighing, loth to depart; 
 These toys are past with us ; our true love's 
 
 substance 
 
 Hath worn out all the show ; let it suffice, 
 I hold thee dear : and think some cause of 
 
 weight, 
 
 With no excuse to be dispensed withal, 
 Compels me from thy most desired em- 
 braces. 
 I stay but for my brother ; came he not in 
 
 last night ? 
 Hy. For certain no, sir, which gave us 
 cause of wonder what accident kept him 
 abroad. 
 
 Cy. Pray heaven it prove not some wild 
 resolution, bred in him by his second re- 
 pulse from the Countess. 
 
 Lys. Trust me I something fear it, this 
 insatiate spirit of aspiring being so dan- 
 gerous and fatal ; desire mounted on the 
 wings of it, descends not but headlong. 
 
 Enter Tharsalio. 
 
 Hy. Sir, sir, here's my uncle. 
 
 Lys. What, wrapt in careless cloak, face 
 hid in hat unbanded ! these are the ditches, 
 brother, in which outraging colts plunge 
 both themselves and their riders. 
 
 Tha. Well, we must get out as well as 
 we may ; if not, there's the making of ; 
 grave saved. 
 
 Cy. That's desperately spoken, brother . 
 had it not been happier the colt had been 
 better broken, and his rider not fallen in. 
 
 Tha. True, sister, but we must ride colts 
 before we can break them, you know. 
 
 Lys. This is your blind goddess, Confi- 
 dence. 
 
 Tha. Alas, brother, our house is de- 
 cayed, and my honest ambition to restore 
 t, I hope be pardonable. My comfort 
 s : the poet that pens the story will write 
 o'er my head magnis /amen excidit an sis ; 
 hich in our native idiom, lets you know 
 His mind was high, though Fortune was 
 
 his foe. 
 
 Lys. A good resolve, brother, to out-jest 
 disgrace : come, I had been on my journey 
 Dut for some private speech with you : let's 
 n. 
 
 Tha. Good brother, stay a little, help 
 out this ragged colt out of the ditch. 
 Lys. How now ? 
 
 Tha. Now I confess my oversight, this 
 have I purchased by my confidence. 
 Lys. I like you, brother, 'tis the true 
 
 garb, you know, 
 
 What wants in real worth supply in show. 
 Tha. In show ? alas, 'twas even the 
 
 thing itself ; 
 I oped my counting house, and took away 
 These simple fragments of my treasury. 
 "Husband," my Countess cried, "take 
 
 more, more yet," 
 
 Yet I, in haste, to pay in part my debt, 
 And prove myself a husband of her store, 
 Kiss'd and came off, and this time took no 
 
 more. 
 
 Cy. But good brother. 
 Tha. Then were our honour'd spousal 
 
 rites perform'd, 
 We made all short, and sweet, and close, 
 
 and sure. 
 Lys. He's wrapt. 
 
 Tha. Then did my ushers and chief ser- 
 vants stoop, 
 
 Then made my women curtseys, and envied 
 Their lady's fortune : I was magnified. 
 Lys. Let him alone, this spirit will soon 
 
 vanish. 
 
 Tha. Brother and sister, as I love you, 
 and am true servant to Venus, all the pre- 
 mises are serious and true, and the conclu- 
 sion is : the great Countess is mine, the 
 palace is at your service, to which I invite 
 you all to solemnize my honoured nuptials. 
 Lys. Can this be credited ? 
 Tha. Good brother, do not you envy my 
 fortunate achievement ? 
 
 Lys. Nay, I ever said the attempt was 
 commendable. 
 Tka. Good ! 
 
 Lys. If the issue were successful. 
 Tha. A good state-conclusion ; happy 
 events make good the worst attemots. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE WIDOW'S TEARS. 
 
 323 
 
 n 
 
 Here are your widow-vows, sister ; thus 
 are ye all in your pure naturals ; certain 
 moral disguises of coyness, which the igno- 
 rant call modesty, ye borrow of art to cover 
 your busk points; which a blunt and reso- 
 lute encounter, taken under a fortunate 
 aspect, easily disarms you of; and then, 
 alas, what are you? poor naked sinners, 
 God wot ! weak paper walls thrust down 
 with a finger ; this is the way on't, boil 
 their appetites to a full height of lust ; and 
 then take them down in the nick. 
 
 Cy. Is there probability in this, that a 
 lady so great, so virtuous, standing on so 
 high terms of honour, should so soon 
 stoop ? 
 
 Tha. You would not wonder, sister, if 
 you knew the lure she stooped at : great- 
 ness ? think you that can curb affection ; 
 no, it whets it more ; they have the full 
 stream of blood to bear them, the sweet 
 gale of their sublimed spirits to drive them, 
 the calm of ease to prepare them, the sun- 
 shine of fortune to allure them, greatness 
 to waft them safe through all rocks of 
 infamy. When youth, wit, and person 
 come aboard once, tell me, sister, can you 
 choose but hoise sail, and put forward to 
 the main ? 
 
 Lys. But let me wonder at this frailty 
 yet ; would she in so short time wear out 
 his memory, so soon wipe from her eyes, 
 nay, from her heart, whom I myself, and 
 this whole isle besides, still remember with 
 grief, the impression of his loss taking 
 worthily such root in us ; how think you, 
 wife? 
 
 Cy. I am ashamed an't, and abhor to 
 
 think 
 
 So great and vow'd a pattern of our sex 
 Should take into her thoughts, nay, to her 
 
 bed 
 (O stain to womanhood !) a second love. 
 
 Lye. In so short time. 
 
 Cy. In any time. 
 
 Lys. No, wife. 
 
 Cy. By Juno, no ; sooner a loathsome 
 toad. 
 
 Tha. High words, believe me, and I 
 think she'll keep them ; next turn is yours, 
 nephew ; you shall now marry my noblest 
 lady-daughter; the first marriage in Paphos; 
 next my nuptials shall be yours. These 
 are strange occurrents, brother, but pretty 
 and pathetical ; if you see me in my chair 
 of honour, and my Countess in mine arms, 
 you will then believe, I hope, I am the lord 
 of the palace, then shall you try my great 
 lady's entertainment ; see your hands freed 
 
 of me, and mine taking you to advance- 
 ment. 
 
 Lys. Well, all this rids not my business ; 
 wife, you shall be there to partake the un- 
 expected honour of our house. Lycus and 
 I will make it our recreation by the way, 
 to think of your revels and nuptial sports. 
 Brother, my stay hath been for you. Wife, 
 pray thee be gone, and soon prepare for 
 the solemnity ; a month returns me. 
 
 Cy. Heavens guide your journey ! 
 
 Lys. Farewell. 
 
 Tha. Farewell, nephew ; prosper in 
 virility ; but do you hear, keep your hand 
 from your voice, I have a part for you in 
 our hymeneal show. 
 
 Hy. You speak too late for my voice ; 
 but I'll discharge the part. 
 
 \Exit Cynthia, Hylus. 
 
 Lys. Occurrents call ye them? foul 
 shame confound them all ! that impreg- 
 nable fort of chastity and loyalty, that 
 amazement of the world, O ye deities, 
 could nothing restrain her ? I took her 
 spirit to be too haughty for such a de- 
 pression. 
 
 Tha. But who commonly more short- 
 heeled than they that are high i'th' instep. 
 
 Lys. Methinks yet shame should have 
 controlled so sudden an appetite. 
 
 Tha. Tush, shame doth extinguish lust 
 
 as oil doth fire ; 
 The blood once hot, shame doth inflame 
 
 the more, 
 What they before by art dissembled 
 
 most, 
 They act more freely ; shame once found 
 
 is lost ; 
 
 And to say truth, brother, what shame is 
 due to't? or what congruence doth it carry, 
 that a young lady, gallant, vigorous, full 
 of spirit and complexion ; her appetite 
 new-whetted with nuptial delights, to be 
 confined to the speculation of a death's- 
 head ; or for the loss of a husband, the 
 world affording flesh enough, make the 
 noontide of her years the sunset of her 
 pleasures ? 
 
 Lye. And yet there have been such 
 women. 
 
 Tha. Of the first stamp, perhaps, v,hc;i 
 the metal was purer than in these de- 
 generate days. Of later years, much of 
 that coin hath been counterfeit, and be- 
 sides, so cracked and worn with use, that 
 they are grown light, and indeed fit for 
 nothing but to be turned over in play. 
 
 Lys. Not all, brother. 
 
 Tha. My matchless sister only excepted. 
 
324 
 
 THE WIDOW'S TEARS. 
 
 For she, you know, is made of another 
 metal than that she borrowed of her 
 mother. But do you, brother, sadly intend 
 the pursuit of this trial ? 
 
 Lys. Irrevocably. 
 
 Tha. It's a high project ; if it be once 
 raised, the earth is too weak to bear so 
 weighty an accident ; it cannot be conjured 
 down again without an earthquake : there- 
 fore believe she will be constant. 
 
 Lye. No, I will not. 
 
 Tha. Then believe she will not be con- 
 stant. 
 
 Lys. Neither ; I will believe nothing but 
 what trial enforces. Will you hold your 
 promise for the governing of this project 
 with skill and secrecy ? 
 
 Tha. If it must needs be so. But hark 
 you, brother ; have you no other capricions 
 in your head to intrap my sister in her 
 frailty, but to prove the firmness of her 
 widow vows after your supposed death ? 
 
 Lys. None in the world. 
 
 Tha. Then here's my hand ; I'll be as 
 close as my lady's shoe to her foot that 
 pinches and pleases her, and will bear on 
 with the plot till the vessel split again. 
 
 Lys. Forge any death, so you can force 
 
 belief. 
 Say I was poison'd, drown'd. 
 
 Tha. Hanged. 
 
 Lys. Anything ; so you assist it with 
 likely circumstance, I need not instruct 
 you ; that must be your employment, Lycus. 
 
 Lye. Well, sir. 
 
 Tha. But, brother, you must set in too ; 
 to countenance truth out, a hearse there 
 must be too. It's strange to think how 
 much the eye prevails in such impressions ; 
 I have marked a widow, that just before 
 was seen pleasant enough, follow an 
 empty hearse, and weep devoutly. 
 
 Lye. All those things leave to me. 
 
 Lys. But, brother, for the bestowing of 
 this hearse in the monument of our family, 
 and the marshalling of a funeral. 
 
 Tha. Leave that to my care, and if I do 
 not do the mourner, as lively as your heir, 
 and weep as lustily as your widow, say 
 there's no virtue in onions : that being 
 done, I'll come to visit the distressed widow; 
 apply old ends of comfort to her grief, but 
 the burden of my song shall be to tell her 
 words are but dead comforts ; and there- 
 fore counsel her to take a living comfort ; 
 that might ferret out the thought of her 
 dead husband, and will come prepared 
 with choice of suitors ; either my Spartan 
 lord for grace at the Viceroy's Court, or 
 
 some great lawyer that may solder up her 
 cracked estate, and so forth. But what 
 would you say, brother, if you should find 
 her married at your arrival ? 
 
 Lys. By this hand, split her weasand. 
 
 Tha. Well, forget not your wager, a 
 stately chariot with four brave horses of 
 the Thracian breed, with all appurtenances. 
 I'll prepare the like for you, if you prove 
 victor. But well remembered, where will 
 you lurk the whiles ? 
 
 Lys. Mewed up close, some short day's 
 journey hence. Lycus shall know the place. 
 Write still how all things pass. Brother, 
 adieu ; all joy attend you ! 
 
 Tha. Will you not stay our nuptial now 
 so near? 
 
 Lys. I should be like a man that hears a 
 
 tale 
 
 And heeds it not ; one absent from him- 
 self: my wife shall attend the countess, and 
 my son. 
 
 Tha. Whom you shall hear at your re- 
 turn call me father. 
 Adieu ; Jove be your speed. 
 My nuptials done, your funerals succeed. 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Argus barehead. 
 
 Arg. A hall, a hall ! who's without 
 there ? \_Enter two or three with cushions. J 
 Come on, y'are proper grooms, are ye not? 
 'Slight, I think y'are all bridegrooms, ye 
 take your pleasures so. A company of 
 dormice ! Their honours are upon coming, 
 and the room not ready. Rushes and 
 seats instantly. 
 
 Tha. Now, alas, fellow Argus, how thou 
 art cumbered with an office ! 
 
 Arg. Perfume, sirrah, the room's dampish. 
 
 Tha. Nay, you may leave that office to 
 the ladies, they'll perfume it sufficiently. 
 
 Arg. Cry mercy, sir : here's a whole 
 chorus of Sylvans at hand, curveting and 
 tripping ath' toe, as the ground they trod 
 on were too hot for their feet. The device 
 is rare ; and there's your young nephew 
 too, he hangs in the clouds deified with 
 Hymen's shape. 
 
 Tha. Is he perfect in's part? has not his 
 tongue learned of the Sylvans to trip ath' 
 toe? 
 
 Arg. Sir, believe it, he does it preciously 
 for accent and action, as if he felt the part 
 he played ; he ravishes all the young 
 wenches in the palace ; pray Venus my 
 young lady Laodice have not some little 
 prick of Cupid in her, she's so diligent at's 
 rehearsals. 
 
THE WIDOW'S TEARS. 
 
 3 2 5 
 
 Tha. No force, for my next vows be 
 heard, that if Cupid have pricked her, 
 Hymen may cure her. 
 
 Arg. You mean your nephew, sir, that 
 presents Hymen. 
 
 Tha. Why so, I can speak nothing but 
 thou art within me ; fie of this wit of thine, 
 'twill be thy destruction ! But howsoever 
 you please to understand, Hymen send the 
 boy no worse fortune ; and where's my 
 lady's honour? 
 
 Arg. At hand, sir, with your unpara- 
 goned sister ; please you take your chair of 
 honour, sir? 
 
 Tha. Most serviceable Argus, the gods 
 reward thy service ; for I will not. 
 
 Enter Eudora, leading Cynthia, Laodice, 
 Sthenio, lanthe, Ero, with others 
 following. 
 
 Eu. Come, sister, now we must exchange 
 
 that name 
 
 For stranger titles, let's dispose ourselves 
 To entertain these sylvan revellers, 
 That come to grace our loved nuptials. 
 I fear me we must all turn nymphs to-night, 
 To side those sprightly wood-gods in 
 
 their dances ; 
 Can you do't nimbly, sister? 'slight, what 
 
 ail you, 
 
 Are you not well ? 
 Cy. Yes, madam. 
 Eu. But your looks, 
 
 Methinks, are cloudy ; suiting ill the sun- 
 shine 
 Of this clear honour to your husband's 
 
 house. 
 Is there aught here that sorts not with 
 
 your liking ? 
 Tha. Blame her not, mistress, if her 
 
 looks show care. 
 Excuse the merchant's sadness that hath 
 
 made 
 
 A doubtful venture of his whole estate, 
 His livelihood, his hopes, in one poor 
 
 bottom, 
 
 To all encounters of the sea and storms. 
 Had you a husband that you loved as well, 
 Would you not take his absent plight as 
 
 ill? 
 
 Cavil at every fancy ? not an object 
 That could present itself, but it would 
 
 forge 
 Some vain objection, that did doubt his 
 
 safety : 
 
 True love is ever full of jealousy. 
 Eu. Jealous ? of what ? of every little 
 
 journey ? 
 Mere fancy, then, is wanton ; and doth cast 
 
 At those slight dangers there, too doting 
 
 glances ; 
 
 Misgiving minds ever provoke mischances. 
 Shines not the sun in his way bright as 
 
 here? 
 Is not the air as good ? what hazard doubt 
 
 you? 
 Arg. His horse may stumble, if it please 
 
 your honour ; 
 The rain may wet, the wind may blow on 
 
 him ; 
 
 Many shrewd hazards watch poor travellers. 
 Eu. True, and the shrewdest thou hast 
 
 reckon'd us, 
 Good sister, these cares fit young married 
 
 wives. 
 Cy. Wives should be still young in their 
 
 husbands' loves ; 
 Time bears no scythe should bear down 
 
 them before him: 
 Our lives he may cut short, but not our 
 
 loves. 
 Tha. Sister, be wise, and ship not in 
 
 one bark 
 
 All your ability ; if he miscarry, 
 Your well-tried wisdom should look out 
 
 for new. 
 Cy. I wish them happy winds that run 
 
 that course, 
 From me 'tis far ; one temple seal'd our 
 
 troth; 
 One tomb, one hour shall end, and shroud 
 
 us both. 
 Tha. Well, y'are a phoenix, there, be 
 
 that your cheer : 
 Love with your husband be, your wisdom 
 
 here : 
 Hark ! our sports challenge it ; sit, dearest 
 
 mistress. 
 
 Eu. Take your place, worthiest servant. 
 
 Tha. Serve me, heaven, [Music. 
 
 As I my heavenly mistress : sit, rare sister. 
 
 Music : Hymen descends, and six Sylvans 
 enter beneath, with torches. 
 
 Arg. A hall, a hall ! let no more citizens 
 
 in there. 
 La. O, not my cousin sec ; but Hymen's 
 
 self. 
 
 St. He does become it most enflamingly. 
 Hy. Hail, honour 'd bridegroom, and his 
 
 princely bride, 
 
 With the most famed for virtue, Cynthia ; 
 And this young lady, bright Laodice, 
 One rich hope of this noblest family. 
 St. Hark how he courts ; he is enamour'd 
 
 too. 
 
 La. Oh, grant it, Venus, and be ever 
 honour'd ! 
 
326 
 
 THE WIDOWS TEARS. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Hy. In grace and love of you, I, Hymen, 
 
 search 'd 
 The groves and thickets that embrace this 
 
 palace 
 With this clear-flamed and good-aboding 
 
 torch 
 For summons of these fresh and flowery 
 
 Sy Ivans 
 To this fair presence ; with their winding 
 
 hays, 
 
 Active and antic dances, to delight 
 Your frolic eyes, and help to celebrate 
 These noblest nuptials ; which great 
 
 destiny 
 
 Ordain'd past custom and all vulgar object, 
 To be the readvancement of a house 
 Noble and princely, and restore this palace 
 To that name that six hundred summers 
 
 since 
 Was in possession of this bridegeoom's 
 
 ancestors, 
 The ancient and most virtue-famed Ly- 
 
 sandri. 
 Sylvans ! the courtships you make to your 
 
 Dryads 
 Use to this great bride, and these other 
 
 dames, 
 And heighten with your sports, my nuptial 
 
 flames. 
 La. O, would himself descend, and me 
 
 command. 
 St. Dance ; and his heart catch in 
 
 another's hand. 
 
 [Sylvans take out the Bride and the 
 rest, they dance: after which, and 
 all set in their places, 
 
 Hymen. 
 Hy. Now, what the power and my 
 
 torch's influence 
 
 Hath in the blessings of your nuptial joys 
 (Great bride and bridegroom) you shall 
 
 amply part 
 Betwixt your free loves, and forego it 
 
 never. 
 
 Omnes. Thanks to great Hymen and 
 fair Sylvans, ever. [Exeunt. 
 
 END OF ACT III. 
 
 ACT THE FOURTH. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Tharsalio, Lycus, "with his arm in a scarf, 
 a night-cap oris head. 
 
 Lye. I hope, sir, by this time 
 Tha. Put on, man, by ourselves. 
 
 Lye. The edge of your confidence is well 
 taken off; would you not be content to 
 withdraw your wager ? 
 
 Tha. 'Faith, fellow Lycus, if my wager 
 were weakly built, this unexpected accident 
 might stagger it. For the truth is, this 
 strain is extraordinary, to follow her 
 husband's body into the tomb, and there, 
 for his company, to bury herself quick ; 
 it's new and stirring ; but for all this, I'll 
 not despair of my wager. 
 
 Lye. Why, sir, can you think such a 
 passion dissembled ? 
 
 Tha. All's one for that ; what I think I 
 think. In the meantime, forget not to 
 write to my brother, how the plot hath 
 succeeded, that the news of his death hath 
 taken, a funeral solemnity performed, his 
 supposed corse bestowed in the monument 
 of our family, thou and I horrible mourners. 
 But above all, that his intolerable virtuous 
 widow, for his love; and (for her love) Ero, 
 her handmaid, are descended with his 
 corse into the vault, there wipe their eyes 
 time out of mind, drink nothing but their 
 own tears, and by this time are almost 
 dead with famine. There's a point will 
 sting it (for you say 'tis true) : where left 
 you him ? 
 
 Lye. At Dipolis, sir, some twenty miles 
 hence. 
 
 Tha. He keeps close. 
 
 Lye. Ay, sir, by all means ; skulks un- 
 known under the name of a strange knight. 
 
 Tha. That may carry him without des- 
 crying, for there's a number of strange 
 knights abroad. You left him well ? 
 
 Lye. Well, sir, but for this jealous 
 humour that haunts him. 
 
 Tha. Well, this news will absolutely 
 purge that humour. Write all ; forget not 
 to describe her passion at thy discovery of 
 his slaughter : did she perform it well for 
 her husband's wager ? 
 
 Lye. Perform it, call you it ? You may 
 jest ; men hunt hares to death for their 
 sports, but the poor beasts die in earnest : 
 you wager of her passions for your pleasure, 
 but she takes little pleasure in those earnest 
 passions. I never saw such an ecstasy 01 
 sorrow, since I knew the name of sorrow. 
 Her hands flew up to her head like Furies, 
 hid all her beauties in her dishevelled hair, 
 and wept as she would turn fountain. I would 
 you and her husband had been behind the 
 arras but to have heard her. I assure you, sir, 
 I was so transported with the spectacle, that 
 in despite of my discretion, I was forced 
 to turn woman, and bear a part with her. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE WIDOW'S TEARS. 
 
 3 2 7 
 
 Humanity broke loose from my heart, and 
 Streamed through mine eyes. 
 
 Tha. In prose, thou wept'st. So have I 
 seen many a moist auditordoat aplay ; when 
 the story was but a mere fiction. And didst 
 act the Nuntius well? would I had heard it: 
 could 'st thou dress thy looks in a mournful 
 habit? 
 
 Lye. Not without preparation, sir ; no 
 more than my speech, 'twas a plain acting 
 of an interlude to me, to pronounce the 
 part. 
 
 Tha. As how, for heaven's sake ? 
 
 Lye. " Phoebus address'd his chariot 
 
 towards the West, 
 To change his wearied coursers," and so 
 
 forth. 
 
 Tha. Nay on, and thou lovest me. 
 Lye. ' ' Lysander and myself beguiled the 
 
 way 
 With interchanged discourse, but our chief 
 
 theme 
 
 Was of your dearest self, his honour'd wife ; 
 Your love, your virtue, wondrous con- 
 stancy." 
 Tha. Then was her cue to whimper ; 
 
 on. 
 Lye. ' ' When suddenly appear'd as far as 
 
 sight 
 
 A troop of horse, arm'd, as we might dis- 
 cern, 
 
 With javelins, spears, and such accoutre- 
 ments. 
 
 He doubted nought (as innocency ever 
 Is free from doubting ill.)" 
 Tha. There dropt a tear. 
 Lye. " My mind misgave me 
 They might be mountaineers. At their 
 
 approach 
 They used no other language but their 
 
 weapons, 
 
 To tell us what they were ; Lysander drew, 
 And bore himself Achilles-like in fight, 
 And as a mower sweeps off t' heads of 
 
 bents, 
 So did Lysander 's sword shave off the 
 
 points 
 
 Of their assaulting lances. 
 His horse at last, sore hurt, fell under him ; 
 I seeing I could not rescue, used my spurs 
 To fly away." 
 
 Tha. What, from thy friend ? 
 
 Lye. Ay, in a good quarrel, why not ? 
 
 Tha. Good ; I am answer'd. 
 
 Lye. "A lance pursued me, brought me 
 
 back again ; 
 
 And with these wounds left me t'accompany 
 Dying Lysander : then they rifled us, 
 And left us. 
 
 They gone, my breath not yet gone, 'gan 
 
 to strive 
 And revive sense ; I with my feeble 
 
 joints 
 Crawl'd to Lysander, stirr'd him, and 
 
 withal 
 He gasp'd ; cried ' Cynthia !' and breathed 
 
 no more." 
 
 Tha. O then she howled outright ! 
 Lye. " Passengers came, and in a chariot 
 
 brought us 
 Straight to a neighbour-town ; where I 
 
 forthwith 
 Coffin'd my friend in lead : and so convey 'd 
 
 him 
 To this sad place." 
 
 Tha. 'Twas well ; and could not show 
 
 but strangely. 
 
 Lye. Well, sir, this tale pronounced with 
 terror, suited with action clothed with such 
 likely circumstance ; my wounds in show, 
 her husband's hearse in sight, think what 
 effect it wrought ; and if you doubt, let 
 the sad consequence of her retreat to his 
 tomb, be your woful instructor. 
 
 Tha. For all this, I'll not despair of my 
 
 wager : 
 These griefs that sound so loud, prove 
 
 always light, 
 True sorrow evermore keeps out of sight. 
 This strain of mourning within a sepulchre, 
 like an overdoing actor, affects grossly, and 
 is indeed so far forced from the life, that it 
 bewrays itself to be altogether artificial. 
 To set open a shop of mourning ! 'Tis 
 palpable. Truth the substance, hunts not 
 after the shadow of popular fame. Her 
 officious ostentation of sorrow condemns 
 her sincerity. When did ever woman 
 mourn so unmeasurably, but she did dis- 
 semble ? 
 
 Lye. O gods ! a passion thus borne ; 
 thus apparelled with tears, sighs, swoon- 
 ings, and all the badges of true sorrow, to 
 be dissembled ! by Venus, I am sorry I 
 ever set foot in't. Could she, if she dis- 
 sembled, thus dally with hunger, be deaf 
 to the barking of her appetite, not having 
 these four days relieved nature with one 
 dram of sustenance? 
 
 Tha. For this does she look to be 
 deified, to have hymns made of her, nay to 
 her : the tomb where she is to be no more 
 reputed the ancient monument of our 
 family, the Lysandri, but the new-erected 
 altar of Cynthia ; to which all the Paphian 
 widows shall after their husbands' funerals 
 offer their wet muckinders, for monuments 
 of the danger they have passed, as seamen 
 
338 
 
 THE WIDOWS TEARS. 
 
 [ACT IV. 
 
 do their wet garments at Neptune's temple 
 after a shipwrack. 
 
 Lye, Well, I'll apprehend you, at your 
 pleasure ; I for my part will say, that if her 
 faith be as constant as her love is hearty 
 and unaffected, her viitues may justly 
 challenge a deity to enshrine them. 
 
 Tha. Ay, there's another point, too. 
 But one of 'those virtues is enough at once. 
 All natures are not capable of all gifts. If 
 the brain of the West were in the heads of 
 the learned, then might parish clerks be 
 common-councilmen, and poets aldermen's 
 deputies. My sister may turn Niobe for 
 love ; but till Niobe be turned to a marble, 
 I'll not despair but she may prove a woman. 
 Let the trial run on : if she do not outrun 
 it, I'll say poets are no prophets, prognos- 
 ticators are but mountebanks, and none 
 tell true but wood-mongers. \Exit. 
 
 Lye. A sweet gentleman you are ! I 
 marvel what man, what woman, what 
 name, what action, doth his tongue glide 
 over, but it leaves a slime upon't? Well, 
 I'll presently to Dipolis, where Lysander 
 stays, and will not say but she may prove 
 frail : 
 But this I'll say, if she should chance to 
 
 break, 
 
 Her tears are true, though women's truths 
 are weak. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Lysander, like a Soldier disguised 
 at all parts ; a half-pike, gorget, &>c. 
 He discovers the tomb, looks in, and 
 wonders, &c. 
 
 O miracle of nature ! women's glory, 
 
 Men's shame, and envy of the deities ! 
 
 Yet must these matchless creatures be sus- 
 pected, 
 
 Accused, condemn'd ! Now by the im- 
 mortal gods, 
 
 They rather merit altars, sacrifice, 
 
 Than love and courtship. 
 
 Yet see, the Queen of these lies here in- 
 terr'd, 
 
 Tearing her hair, and drowned in her tears. 
 
 Which Jove should turn to crystal, and -a 
 mirror 
 
 Make of them, wherein men may see and 
 wonder 
 
 At women's virtues. Shall she famish, 
 then? 
 
 Will men, without dissuasions, suffer thus 
 
 So bright an ornament to earth, tomb'd 
 quick 
 
 In earth's dark bosom ? Ho ! who's in the 
 
 tomb there ? 
 Er. Who calls? whence are you ? 
 
 Lys. I am a soldier of the watch and 
 
 must enter. 
 
 Er. Amongst the dead? 
 Lys. Do the dead speak ? Ope, or I'll 
 
 force it open. 
 Er. What violence is this ? what seek 
 
 you here, 
 
 Where nought but death and her atten- 
 dants dwell ? 
 
 Lys. What wretched souls are you, that 
 thus by night lurk here amongst the dead? 
 Er. Good soldier, do not stir her. She's 
 weak, and quickly seized with swooning 
 and passions, and with much trouble shall 
 we both recall her fainting spirits. Five 
 days thus hath she wasted, and not once 
 seasoned her palate with the taste of meat; 
 her powers of life are spent ; and what re- 
 mains of her famished spirit, serves not to 
 breathe but sigh. 
 She hath exiled her eyes from sleep or 
 
 sight, 
 And given them wholly up to ceaseless 
 
 tears, 
 
 Over that ruthless hearse of her dear spouse, 
 Slain by bandittoes, nobly-born Lysander. 
 Lys. And hopes she with these heavy 
 notes and cries to call him from the dead ? 
 in these five days hath she but made him 
 stir a finger or fetch one gasp of that for- 
 saken life she mourns? 
 Come, honour'd mistress, I admire your 
 
 virtues, 
 
 But must reprove this vain excess of moan. 
 Rouse yourself, lady, and look up from 
 
 death. 
 Well said, 'tis well ; stay by my hand and 
 
 rise. 
 This face hath been maintain'd with better 
 
 huswifery. 
 Cy. What are you? 
 Lys. Lady, I am sentinel, 
 Set 'in this hallow'd place, to watch and 
 
 guard 
 
 On forfeit of my life, these monuments 
 From rape and spoil of sacrilegious 
 
 hands ; 
 
 And save the bodies, that without you see 
 Of crucified offenders, that no friends 
 May bear them hence to honour'd burial. 
 Cy. Thou seem'st an honest soldier; pray 
 
 thee then 
 Be as thou seem'st ; betake thee to thy 
 
 charge, 
 
 And leave this place ; add not affliction 
 To the afflicted. 
 
 Lys. You misname the children. 
 For what you term affliction now, in you 
 Is but self-humour ; voluntary penance 
 
' SC2XE II.] 
 
 THE WIDOW'S TEARS. 
 
 329 
 
 Imposed upon yourself; and you lament, 
 As did the Satyr once, that ran affrighted 
 From that horn's sound that he himself 
 
 had winded. 
 
 'Which humour to abate, my counsel tend- 
 ing your term'd affliction ; 
 What I for physic give, you take for poison. 
 I tell you, honour'd mistress, these in- 
 
 gre'dients 
 Are wholesome, though perhaps they seem 
 
 untoothsome. 
 Er. This soldier, sure, is some decayed 
 
 pothecary. 
 Lys. Dear ghost, be wise, and pity your 
 
 fair self, 
 
 Thus by yourself unnaturally afflicted ; 
 Chide back heart-breaking groans, clear 
 
 up those lamps, 
 
 Restore them to their first creation ; 
 Windows for light, not sluices made for 
 
 tears, 
 
 Beat not the senseless air with needless cries, 
 Baneful to life and bootless to the dead. 
 This is the inn where all Deucalion's race, 
 Sooner or later, must take up their lodging. 
 No privilege can free us from this prison ; 
 No tears nor prayers can redeem from hence 
 A captived soul ; make use of what you see : 
 Let this affrighting spectacle of death 
 Teach you to nourish life. 
 Er. Good hear him ; this is a rare 
 
 soldier. 
 Lys. Say that with abstinence you should 
 
 unloose 
 
 The knot of life ; suppose that in this tomb 
 For your dear spouse, you should entomb 
 
 yourself 
 
 A living corse ; say that before your hour, 
 Without due summons from the Fates, you 
 
 send 
 Your hasty soul to hell; can your dear 
 
 spouse 
 
 Take notice of your faith and constancy ? 
 Shall your dear spouse revive to give you 
 
 thanks ? 
 
 Cy. Idle discourser! 
 Lys. No, your moans are idle. 
 Go to, I say, be counsejl'd ; raise yourself; 
 Enjoy the fruits of life, there's viands for 
 
 you. 
 
 Now, live for a better husband. 
 No? will you none? 
 Er. For love of courtesy, good mistress, 
 
 eat, 
 
 Do not reject so kind and sweet an offer ; 
 Who knows but this may be some Mercury 
 Disguised, and sent from Juno to relieve us? 
 Did ever any lend unwilling ears 
 To those that came with messages of life ? 
 
 Cy. I pray thee leave thy rhetoric. 
 
 Er. By my soul, to speak plain truth, I 
 could rather wish t'employ my teeth than 
 my tongue, so your example would be my 
 warrant. 
 
 Cy. Thou hast my warrant. 
 
 Lys. Well then, eat, my wench, let 
 obstinacy starve, fall to. 
 
 Er. Persuade my mistress first. 
 
 Lys. 'Slight, tell me, lady, 
 Are you resolved to die ? If that be so, 
 Choose not, for shame, a base and 
 
 beggar's death ; 
 
 Die not for hunger ; like a Spartan lady, 
 Fall valiantly upon a sword, or drink 
 A noble death, expel your grief with poison. 
 There 'tis, seize it tush ! you dare not die. 
 Come, wench, 
 Thou hast not lost a husband ; thou shalt 
 
 eat ; 
 
 Th'art now within the place where I 
 command. 
 
 Er. I protest, sir. 
 
 Lys. Well said ; eat, and protest, or I'll 
 
 protest 
 And do thou eat ; thou eat'st against thy 
 
 will, 
 That's it thou would 'st say? 
 
 Er. It is. 
 
 Lys. And under such a protestation 
 Thou lost thy maidenhead. 
 For your own sake, good lady, forget this 
 
 husband. 
 
 Come, you are now become a happy widow, 
 A blessedness that many would be glad of. 
 That and your husband's inventory to- 
 gether, 
 
 Will raise you up husbands enow. 
 What think you of me? 
 
 Cy. Trifler, pursue this wanton theme 
 
 no further ; 
 Lest, which I would be loth, your speech 
 
 provoke 
 
 Uncivil language from me ; I must tell you, 
 One joint of him I lost, was much more 
 
 worth 
 Than the rack'd value of thy entire body. 
 
 Er. I know what joint she means. 
 
 Lys. Well, I have done ; 
 And well done, frailty ; proface, * how likest 
 thou it? 
 
 Er. Very toothsome ingredients surely, 
 sir ; want but some liquor to 5 n corporate them . 
 
 Lys. There 'tis, carouse. 
 
 Er. I humbly thank you, sir. 
 
 Lys. Hold, pledge me now. 
 
 * i.e. "much good may it do you!" prqfi- 
 ctat.Eo. 
 
33 
 
 THE WIDOW'S TEARS. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Er. 'Tis the poison, sir, 
 That preserves life, I take it. (Bibit Ancill. 
 Lys. Do so, take it. 
 Er. Sighing has made me something 
 
 short-winded. 
 I'll pledge y'at twice. 
 Lys. 'Tis well done ; do me right. 
 Er. I pray, sir, have you been a pothe- 
 
 cary* 
 Lys. Marry have I, wench ; a woman's 
 
 pothecary. 
 
 Er. Have you good ingredients ? 
 I like your bottle well. Good mistress, 
 
 taste it. 
 
 Try but the operation, 'twill fetch up 
 The roses in your cheeks again. 
 Doctor Verolles' bottles are not like it ; 
 There's no guaiacum here, I can assure you, 
 Lys. This will do well anon. 
 Er. Now fie upon't. 
 
 O, I have lost my tongue in this same limbo 
 The spring ants spoil'd methinks ; it goes 
 
 not off 
 
 With the old twang. 
 Lys. Well said, wench, oil it well ; 'twill 
 
 make it slide well. 
 
 Er. Aristotle says, sir, in his Poste- 
 rionds 
 Lys. This wench is learned ; and what 
 
 says he ? 
 
 Er. That when a man dies, the last 
 thing that moves is his heart, in a woman 
 her tongue. 
 
 Lys. Right ; and adds iurther, that you 
 
 women are a kind of spinners ; if their legs 
 
 be plucked off, yet still they'll wag them ; 
 
 : so will you your tongues. 
 
 | With what an easy change does this same 
 
 weakness 
 j Of women slip from one extreme t' 
 
 another ? 
 
 \ All these attractions take no hold of her ; 
 No, not to take refection ; 't must not be 
 
 thus. 
 
 Well said, wench ; tickle that Helicon. 
 But shall we quit the field with this disgrace 
 Given to our oratory ? Both not gain 
 So much ground of her as to make her eat ? 
 Er. Faith, the truth is, sir, you are no 
 
 fit organ 
 
 For this business ; 
 Tis quite out of your element. 
 Let us alone, she'll eat, I have no fear : 
 A woman's tongue best fits a woman's ear. 
 Jove never did employ Mercury, 
 But Iris for his messenger to Juno. 
 Lys. Come, let me kiss thee, wench ; 
 
 wilt undertake 
 To make thy mistress eat? 
 
 Er. It shall go hard, sir, 
 But I will make her turn to flesh and blood, 
 And learn to live as other mortals do. 
 Lys. Well said ; the morning hastes j 
 
 next night expect me. 
 Er. With more provision, good sir. 
 Lys. Very good. [Exiturus. 
 
 Er. And bring more wine. 
 
 [She shuts up the tomb. 
 Lys. What else : "shalt have enough : 
 O Cynthia, heir of her bright purity, 
 Whose name thou dost inherit ; thou 
 
 disdain'st 
 
 (Sever'd from all concretion) to feed 
 Upon the base food of gross elements. 
 Thou all art soul ; all immortality. 
 Thou fast'st for nectar and ambrosia ; 
 Which till thou find'st, and eat'st above 
 
 the stars, 
 
 To all food here thou bidd'st celestial wars. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Cynthia, Ero, the tomb opening. 
 
 Er. So ; let's air our dampish spirits, 
 almost stifled in this gross muddy element. 
 
 Cy. How sweet a breath the calmness of 
 the night inspires the air withal ? 
 
 Er. Well said, now y'are yourself ; did 
 not I tell you how sweet an operation the 
 soldier's bottle had? and if there be such 
 virtue in the bottle, what is there in the 
 soldier? know, and acknowledge his worth 
 when he comes in any case, mistress. 
 
 Cy. So, maid. 
 
 Er. God's my patience ! did you look 
 torsooth that Juno should have sent you 
 meat from her own trencher, in reward of 
 your widow's tears? you might sit and sigh 
 first till your heart-strings broke, I'll able't. 
 
 Cy. I fear me thy lips have gone so oft 
 to the bottle, that thy tongue-strings are 
 come broken home. 
 
 Er. 'Faith the truth is my tongue hath 
 been so long tied up. that 'tis covered with 
 rust, and I rub it against my palate, as we 
 do suspected coins, to try whether it be 
 current or no. But now, mistress, for an 
 upshot of this bottle ; let's have one carouse 
 to the good speed of my old master, and 
 the good speed of my new. 
 
 Cy. So, damsel. 
 
 Er. You must pledge it, here's to it. 
 Do me right, I pray. 
 
 Cy. You say I must. 
 
 Er. Must? what else? 
 
 Cy. How excellent ill this humour suits 
 our habit. 
 
 Er. Go to, mistress, do not think but 
 you and I shall have good sport with this 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 THE WIDOWS TEARS. 
 
 33* 
 
 jest, when we are in private at home. I 
 would to Venus we had some honest shift 
 or other to get oft" withal ; for I'll no more 
 an't ; I'll not turn saltpetre in this vault 
 for never a man's company living ; much 
 less for a woman's. Sure I am the wonder's 
 over, and 'twas only for that, that I 
 endured this ; and so a my conscience did 
 you. Never deny it. 
 
 Cy. Nay, pray thee take it to thee. 
 
 Enter Lysander. 
 
 Cy. Hark, I hear some footing near us. 
 
 Er. God's me, 'tis the soldier, mistress. 
 By Venus, if you fall to your late black 
 Santus again, I'll discover you. 
 
 Lys. What's here? The maid hath 
 certainly prevailed with her ; methinks 
 those clouds that last night covered her 
 looks are now dispersed. I'll try this 
 further. Save you, lady ! 
 
 Er. Honourable soldier, y'are welcome ; 
 please you step in, sir? 
 
 Lys. With all my heart, sweetheart ; by 
 your patience, lady. Why, this bears some 
 shape of life yet. Damsel, th'ast performed 
 a service of high reckoning, which cannot 
 perish unrewarded. 
 
 Er. 'Faith, sir, you are in the way to do 
 it once, if you have the heart to hold on. 
 
 Cy. Your bottle has poisoned this wench, 
 sir. 
 
 Lys. A wholesome poison it is, lady, if I 
 may be judge ; of which sort here is one 
 better bottle more. 
 Wine is ordain'd to raise such hearts as 
 
 sink ; 
 
 Whom woful stars distemper, let him drink. 
 I am most glad I have been some mean 
 to this part of your recovery, and will drink 
 to the rest of it. 
 
 Er. Go to, mistress ; pray simper no 
 more ; pledge the man of war here. 
 
 Cy. Come, y'are too rude. 
 
 Er. Good. 
 
 Lys. Good sooth, lady, y'are honoured 
 in her service. I would have you live, and 
 she would have you live freely, without 
 which life is but death. To live freely is 
 to feast our appetites freely, without which 
 humanes are stones ; to the satisfaction 
 whereof I drink, lady. 
 
 Cy. I'll pledge you, sir. 
 
 Er. Said like a mistress, and the mistress 
 of yourself. Pledge him in love too ; I see 
 he loves you ; she's silent, she consents, 
 sir. 
 
 Lys. O happy stars ! And now pardon, 
 lady ; methinks these are all of a piece. 
 
 Er. Nay, if you kiss all of a piece we 
 shall ne'er have done. Well, 'twas well 
 offered, and as well taken. 
 
 Cy. If the world should see this. 
 
 Lys. The world ! should one so rare as 
 yourself respect the vulgar world ? 
 
 Cy. The praise I have had I would con- 
 tinue. 
 
 Lys. What of the vulgar ? Who hates 
 not the vulgar deserves not love of the vir- 
 tuous. And to affect praise of that we 
 despise, how ridiculous it is. 
 
 Er. Comfortable doctrine, mistress; 
 edify, edify. Methinks even thus it was 
 when Dido and ^Eneas met in the cave ; 
 and hark, methinks I hear some of the 
 hunters. [She shuts the tomb. 
 
 END OF ACT IV. 
 
 ACT THE FIFTH. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 Enter Tharsalio, Lycus. 
 
 Lye. Tis such an obstinacy in you, sir, 
 As never was conceited, to run on 
 With an opinion against all the world, 
 And what your eyes may witness ; to ad- 
 venture 
 
 The famishment for grief of such a woman 
 As all men's merits met in any one, 
 Could not deserve. 
 
 Tha. I must confess it, Lycus, 
 We'll therefore now prevent it if we may, 
 And that our curious trial hath not dwelt 
 Too long on this unnecessary haunt ; 
 Grief and all want of food, not having 
 
 wrought 
 
 Too mortally on her divine disposure, 
 Lye. I fear they have, and she is past 
 
 our cure. 
 Tha. I must confess with fear and shame 
 
 as much. 
 
 Lye. And that she will not trust in any- 
 thing 
 What you persuade her to. 
 
 Tha. Then thou shalt haste 
 And call my brother from his sec ;et shroud, 
 Where he appointed thee to come and tell. 
 
 him 
 How all things have succeeded. 
 
 Lye. This is well ; 
 If, as I say, the ill be not so grown, 
 That all help is denied her. But I fear 
 The matchless dame is famish'd. 
 
 [Tharsalio looks into the tomb.. 
 Tha. 'Slight, who's here ? 
 
332 
 
 THE WIDOW'S TEARS. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 A soldier with my sister ! wipe, wipe, see, 
 Kissing, by Jove ; she, as I lay, 'tis she. 
 
 Lye. What ! is she well, sir ? 
 
 Tha. O no, she is famish'd ; 
 She's past our comfort, she lies drawing 
 on. 
 
 Lye. The gods forbid ! 
 
 Tha. Look thou, she's drawing on. 
 How say'st thou ? 
 
 Lye. Drawing on ? Illustrious witch- 
 crafts ! 
 
 Tha. Lies she not drawing on ? 
 
 Lye. She draws on fairly. 
 Our sister, sir ? this she ? can this be she? 
 
 Tha. She, she, she, and none but she ! 
 \He dances and sings. 
 She only queen of love and chastity. 
 
 chastity ! this women be. 
 Lye. 'Slight, 'tis prodigious. 
 Tha. Horse, horse, horse, 
 
 Four chariot-horses of the Thracian breed, 
 
 Come, bring me, brother. O the happiest 
 evening, 
 
 That ever drew her veil before the sun, 
 
 Who is't, canst tell ? 
 
 Lye. The soldier, sir, that watcht s 
 
 The bodies crucified in this hallow'd place, 
 
 Of which to lose one, it is death to him, 
 
 And yet the lustful knave is at his venery, 
 
 While one might steal one. 
 Tha. What a slave was I, 
 
 That held not out my wind's strength con- 
 stantly, 
 
 That she would prove thus ! O, incredi- 
 ble ! 
 
 A poor eightpenny soldier ! She that 
 lately 
 
 Was at such height of interjection, 
 
 Stoop now to such a base conjunction ! 
 
 By heaven, I wonder now I see't in act, 
 
 My brain could ever dream of such a 
 thought. 
 
 And yet 'tis true. Rare, peerless, is't not, 
 
 Lycus ? 
 Lye. I know not what it is, nor what to 
 
 say. 
 
 Tha. O had I held out (villain that I 
 was) 
 
 My blessed confidence but one minute 
 longer, 
 
 1 should have been eternized. God's my 
 
 fortune, 
 
 What an unspeakable sweet sight it is ! 
 O eyes, I'll sacrifice to your dear sense, 
 And consecrate a fane to confidence. 
 Lye. But this you must at no hand tell 
 
 your brother ; 
 Twill make him mad : for he that was 
 before 
 
 L 
 
 So scourged but only with bare jealousy, 
 What would he be if he should come to 
 
 know it ? 
 Tha. He would be less mad ; for your 
 
 only way 
 To clear his jealousy, is to let him know 
 
 it. 
 When knowledge comes, suspicion 
 
 vanishes. 
 The sunbeams breaking forth, swallow the 
 
 mists. 
 
 But as for you, sir gallant, howsoever 
 Your banquet seems sweet in your liquorous 
 
 palate, 
 
 It shall be sure to turn gall in your maw. 
 Thy hand a little, Lycus, here without. 
 Lye. To what ? 
 
 Tha. No booty serve you, sir soldado, 
 But my poor sister ? Come, lend me thy 
 
 shoulder, 
 I'll climb the cross ; it will be such a 
 
 cooler 
 
 To my venerean gentleman's hot liver, 
 When he shall find one of his crucified 
 
 bodies 
 Stol'n down, and he to be forthwith made 
 
 fast 
 
 In place thereof, for the sign 
 OF the lost sentinel. Come, glorify 
 Firm confidence in great inconstancy. 
 And this believe (for all proved knowledge 
 
 swears) 
 He that believes in error, never errs. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 The tomb opens, Lysander, Cynthia, Ero. 
 
 Lys. 'Tis late ; I must away. 
 
 Cy. Not yet, sweet love. 
 
 T.ys. Tempt not my stay, 'tis dangerous. 
 The law is strict, and not to be dispensed 
 with. If any sentinel be too late in's 
 watch, or that by his neglect one of the 
 crucified bodies should be stolen from the 
 cross, his life buys it. 
 
 Cy. A little stay will not endanger them. 
 The day's proclaimer has not yet given 
 
 warning, 
 The cock yet has not beat his third alarm. 
 
 Lys. What? Shall we ever dwell here 
 amongst th' antipodes? Shall I not enjoy 
 the honour of my fortune in public? sit in 
 Lysander's chair? reign in his wealth ? 
 
 Cy. Thou shalt, thou shall ; though my 
 
 love to thee 
 Hath proved thus sudden, and for haste 
 
 leapt over 
 
 The complement of wooing, 
 Yet only for the world's opinion 
 
 Lys. Mark that again. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 THE WIDOW'S TEARS. 
 
 333 
 
 Cy, I must maintain a form in parting 
 hence. 
 
 Lys. Out upon't ! Opinion, the blind 
 goddess of fools, foe to the virtuous, and 
 only friend to undeserving persons, con- 
 temn it. Thou know'st thou hast done 
 virtuously, thou hast strangely sorrowed 
 for thy husband, followed him to death, 
 further thou could'st not, thou hast buried 
 thyself quick (O that 'twere true !), spent 
 more tears over his carcase than would 
 serve a whole city of saddest widows in a 
 plague-time, besides sighings and swoon- 
 ings not to be credited. 
 
 Cy. True ; but those compliments might 
 have their time, for fashion sake. 
 
 Lys. Right, opinion, and fashion. 'Sfoot, 
 what call you time? t'hast wept these four 
 whole days. 
 
 Er. Nay, by'rlady, almost five. 
 
 Lys. Look you there ; near upon five 
 whole days. 
 
 Cy. Well, go and see ; return, we'll go 
 home. 
 
 Lys. Hell be thy home ! Huge monsters 
 damn ye, and your whole creation ! O ye 
 gods, in the height of her mourning in a 
 tomb, within sight of so many deaths, her 
 husband's believed body in her eye ! He 
 dead, a few days before ! this mirror of 
 nuptial chastity ; this votaress of widow- 
 constancy, to change her faith, exchange 
 kisses, embraces, with a stranger, and, but 
 my shame withstood, to give the utmost 
 earnest of her love to an eightpenny 
 sentinel ! In effect, to prostitute herself 
 on her husband's coffin ! Lust, impiety, 
 hell, womanhood itself, add, if you can, 
 one step to this ! 
 
 Enter Captain, with two or three Soldiers. 
 
 Ca. One of the crucified bodies taken 
 down ! 
 
 Lys. Enough. {Slinks away. 
 
 Ca. And the sentinel not to be heard 
 of? 
 
 ist So!. No, sir. 
 
 Ca. Make out! Haste, search about 
 for him ! Does none of you know him, 
 nor his name ? 
 
 2nd So!. He's but a stranger here, of 
 some four days' standing ; and we never 
 set eye on him, but at setting the watch. 
 
 Ca. For whom serves he? You look 
 well to your watch, masters. 
 
 Lst Sol. For Seigneur Stratio ; and 
 whence he is, 'tis ignorant to us ; we are 
 not correspondent for any but our own 
 places. 
 
 Ca. Y'are eloquent. Abroad, I say, let 
 me have him. [Exeunt.'] This negligence 
 will, by the Governor, be wholly cast on 
 me ; he hereby will suggest to the Viceroy 
 that the city-guards are very carelessly 
 attended. 
 He loves me not, I know, because of 
 
 late 
 
 I knew him but of mean condition ; 
 But now, by Fortune's injudicious hand, 
 Guided by bribing courtiers, he is raised 
 To this high seat of honour. 
 Nor blushes he to see himself advanced 
 Over the heads of ten times higher worths, 
 But takes it all, forsooth, to his merits, 
 and looks (as all upstarts do) for most 
 huge observance. Well, my mind must 
 stoop to his high place, and learn within 
 itself to sever him from that, and to adore 
 Authority the goddess, however borne by 
 an unworthy beast ; and let the beast's 
 dull apprehension take the honour done to 
 Isis, done to himself. I must sit fast, and 
 be sure to give no hold to these fault- 
 hunting enemies. [Exit. 
 
 Tomb opens, and Lysander within lies 
 along, Cynthia and Ero. 
 
 Lys. Pray thee disturb me not ; put out 
 
 the lights. 
 
 Er. Faith I'll take a nap again. 
 Cy. Thou shalt not rest before I be re- 
 solved 
 What happy wind hath driven thee back to 
 
 harbour ? 
 Was it my love? 
 Lys. No. 
 Cy. Yet say so, sweet, that with the 
 
 thought thereof 
 I may enjoy all that I wish in earth. 
 
 Lys. I am sought for. A crucified body 
 is stolen while I loitered here ; and I must 
 die for't. 
 
 Cy. Die? All the gods forbid ! O this 
 affright torments me ten parts more than 
 the sad loss of my dear husband. 
 Lys. Damnation ! I believe thee. 
 Cy. Yet hear a woman's wit : 
 Take counsel of necessity and it. 
 I have a body here which once I loved 
 And honour'd above all ; but that time's 
 
 past. 
 
 Lys. It is ; revenge it, heaven ! 
 Cy. That shall supply at so extreme a 
 
 need the vacant gibbet. 
 Lys. Canero. What! thy husband's 
 
 body? 
 
 Cy. What hurt is't, being dead, it save 
 the living ? 
 
.334 
 
 THE WIDOW'S TEARS. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Lys. O heart, hold in, check thy rebellious 
 
 motion. 
 Cy. Vex not thyself, dear love, nor use 
 
 delay ; 
 
 Tempt not this danger, set thy hands to work. 
 Lys. I cannot do't ; my heart will not 
 
 permit 
 
 My hands to execute a second murther : 
 The truth is I am he that slew thy husband. 
 Cy. The gods forbid ! 
 Lys. It was this hand that bathed my 
 
 reeking sword 
 
 In his life blood, while he cried out for mercy, 
 But I, remorseless, panch'd him, cut his 
 
 throat, 
 
 He with his last breath crying, Cynthia. 
 Cy. O thou hast told me news that 
 
 cleaves my heart. 
 Would I had never seen thee, or heard 
 
 sooner 
 
 This bloody story ; yet see, note my truth, 
 Yet I must love thee. 
 
 Lys. Out upon the monster ! 
 Go, tell the Governor ; let me be brought 
 To die for that most famous villany ; 
 Not for this miching, base transgression 
 Of tenant negligence. 
 Cy. I cannot do't. 
 
 "Love must salve any murther : I'll be judge 
 Of thee, dear love, and these shall be thy 
 
 pains, 
 
 Instead of iron, to suffer these soft chains. 
 Lys. O, I am infinitely obliged. 
 Cy. Arise, I say, thou saver of my life, 
 Do not with vain-affrighting conscience 
 Betray a life, that is not thine but mine : 
 Rise and preserve it. 
 
 Lys. Ha ! thy husband's body ? 
 Hang't up, you say, instead of that that's 
 
 stolen, 
 
 Yet I his murtherer, is that your meaning? 
 Cy. It is, my love. 
 Lys. Thy love amazes me : 
 The point is yet how we shall get it thither, 
 Ha ! Tie a halter about's neck, and drag 
 him to the gallows : shall I, my love ? 
 Cy. So you may do indeed, 
 Or if your own strength will not serve, we'll 
 
 aid 
 Our hands to yours, and bear him to the 
 
 place. 
 For heaven's love come, the night goes off 
 
 apace. 
 Lys. All the infernal plagues dwell in thy 
 
 soul ! 
 
 I'll fetch a crow of iron to break the coffin. 
 Cy. Do, love ; be speedy. 
 Lys. As I wish thy damnation. 
 
 [Shut the tomb. 
 
 I could tear myself into atoms ; off with 
 this antic, the shirt that Hercules wore for 
 his wife was not more baneful. Is't 
 possible there should be such a latitude in 
 the sphere of this sex, to entertain such an 
 extension of mischief, and not turn devil ? 
 What is a woman? what are the worst 
 when the best are so past naming ? As men 
 like this let them try their wives again. Put 
 women to the test ; discover them ; paint 
 them ten parts more than they do them- 
 selves, rather than look on them as they 
 are ; their wits are but painted that dislike 
 their painting. 
 
 Thou foolish thirster after idle secrets 
 And ills abroad, look home, and store and 
 
 choke thee ; 
 There sticks an Acheloiis' horn of all, copie 
 
 enough,* 
 
 As much as Alizon of streams receives, 
 Or lofty Ida shows of shady leaves. 
 
 Enter Tharsalio. 
 Who's that ? 
 
 Tha. I wonder Lycus fails me. Nor can 
 
 1 hear what's become of him. He would 
 not certain ride to Dipolis to call my 
 brother back, without my knowledge. 
 
 Lys. My brother's voice ; what makes 
 
 he hereabouts so untimely ? I'll slip him. 
 
 \Exiturus. 
 
 Tha. Who goes there ? 
 
 Lys. A friend. 
 
 Tha. Dear friend, let's know you. A 
 friend least looked for but most welcome, 
 and with many a long look expected here, j 
 What, sir, unbooted ! have you been long 
 arrived ? 
 
 Lys. Not long, some two hours before \ 
 night. 
 
 Tha. Well, brother, y'have the most j 
 rare, admirable, unmatchable wife, that ] 
 ever suffered for the sin of a husband. I j 
 cannot blame your confidence indeed now, ! 
 'tis built on such infallible ground. Lycus, | 
 I think, be gone to call you to the rescue 
 of her life. Why she ! O incomprehen- 
 sible ! 
 
 Lys. I have heard all related since my 
 arrival. We'll meet to-morrow. 
 
 Tha. What haste, brother ! But was it 
 related with what intolerable pains I and 
 my mistress, her other friends, matrons 
 
 * This line is undoubtedly corrupt. It is diffi- 
 cult to decide whether the "Copie enough" 
 bears reference to the Cornucopia, or is a tech- 
 nical memorandum of the printer, inadvertently i 
 transferred from the MS. into the text. ED. 
 
SCENE III.J 
 
 THE WIDOW'S TEARS. 
 
 335 
 
 and magistrates, laboured her diversion 
 from that course ? 
 
 Lys. Yes, yes. 
 
 Tha. What streams of tears she 
 poured out ; what tresses of her hair 
 she tore ; and offered on your supposed 
 hearse ! 
 
 Lys. I have heard all. 
 
 Tha. But above all, how since that 
 time her eyes never harboured wink of 
 slumber these six days ; no, nor tasted 
 the least dram of any sustenance. 
 
 Lys. How is that assured ? 
 
 Tha. Not a scruple. 
 
 Lys. Are you sure there came no soldier 
 to her nor brought her victuals ? 
 
 Tha. Soldier? what soldier? 
 
 Lys. Why, some soldier of the watch, 
 that attends the executed bodies ; well, 
 brother, I am in haste ; to-morrow shall 
 supply this night's defect of conference : 
 adieu. \Exit Lysander. 
 
 Tha. A soldier? of the watch? bring 
 her victuals? Go to, brother, I have you in 
 the wind ; he's unharnessed of all his 
 travelling accoutrements. I came directly 
 from's house, no word of him there ; he 
 knows the whole relation ; he's passionate. 
 All collections speak he was the soldier. 
 What should be the riddle of this? that he 
 is stolen hither into a soldier's disguise? he 
 should have stayed at Dipolis to receive 
 news from us. Whether he suspected our 
 relation, or had not patience to expect it, 
 or whether that furious, frantic, capricious 
 devil, jealousy, hath tossed him hither on 
 his horns, I cannot conjecture. But the 
 case is clear, he's the soldier. Sister, look 
 to your fame, your chastity's uncovered. 
 Are they here still? here, believe it, both, 
 most wofully weeping over the bottle. 
 
 [He knocks. 
 
 Er. Who's there? 
 
 Tha. Tharsalio : open. 
 
 Er. Alas, sir, 'tis no boot to vex your 
 sister and yourself; she is desperate, 
 and will not hear persuasion, she's very 
 weak. 
 
 Tha. Here's a true-bred chamber-maid. 
 Alas, I am sorry for't ; I have brought 
 her meat and Candian wine to strengthen 
 her. 
 
 Er. Oh, the very naming an't will drive 
 her into a swoon : good sir, forbear. 
 
 Tha. Yet open, sweet, that I may bless 
 mine eyes with sight of her fair shrine ; 
 and of thy sweetest self (her famous 
 pandress) ; open I say. Sister, you hear 
 me well, paint not your tomb without ; we 
 
 know too well what rotten carcasses are 
 lodged within : open I say. [Ero <yVv/.v, 
 and he sees her head laid on the coffin, 
 6^.] Sister, I have brought you tidings 
 to wake you out of this sleeping mum- 
 mery. 
 
 Er. Alas ! she's faint, and speech is 
 painful to her. 
 
 Tha. Well said, frubber. Was there 
 no soldier here lately ? 
 
 Er. A soldier? When? 
 
 Tha. This night, last night, t'other 
 night ; and I know not how many nights 
 and days. 
 
 Cy. Who's there ? 
 
 Er. Your brother, mistress, that asks if 
 there were not a soldier here. 
 
 Cy. Here was no soldier. 
 
 Er. Yes, mistress ; I think here was 
 such a one, though you took no heed of 
 him. 
 
 Tha. Go to, sister ; did not you 
 join kisses, embraces, and plight indeed 
 the utmost pledge of nuptial love with 
 him ? Deny't, deny't ; but first hear 
 me a short story. The soldier was your 
 disguised husband ! Dispute it not. That 
 you see yonder is but a shadow ; an empty 
 chest, containing nothing but air. Stand 
 not to gaze at it, 'tis true. This was a 
 project of his own contriving, to put your 
 loyalty and constant vows to the test : 
 y'are warned, be armed. \Exit. 
 
 Er. O fie, a these perils ! 
 
 Cy. O Ero ! we are undone. 
 
 Er. Nay, you'd ne'er be warned ; I ever 
 wished you to withstand the push of that 
 soldier's pike, and not enter him too deep 
 into your bosom, but to keep sacred your 
 widow's vows made to Lysander. , 
 
 Cy. Thou didst, thou didst. 
 
 Er. Now you may see th 'event. Well, 
 our safety lies in our speed ; he'll do us 
 mischief if we prevent not his coming. 
 Let's to your mother's, and there call out 
 your mightiest friends to guard you from 
 his fury. Let them begin the quarrel with 
 him for practising this villany on your sex 
 to entrap your frailties. 
 
 Cy. Nay, I resolve to sit out one brunt 
 more, to try to what aim he'll enforce his 
 project ; were he some other man, un- 
 known to me, his violence might awe me, 
 but knowing him as I do, I fear him not. 
 Do thou but second me, thy strength and 
 mine shall master his best force, if he 
 should prove outrageous. Despair, they 
 say, makes cowards turn courageous. 
 Shut up the tomb. [Shut the tomb. 
 
336 
 
 THE WIDOW'S TEARS. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Enter one of the Soldiers sent out before 
 to seek the Sentinel. 
 
 ist Sol. All pains are lost in hunting out 
 this soldier ; his fear (adding wings to his 
 heels) out-goes us as far as the fresh hare 
 the tired hounds. Who goes there ? 
 
 Enter 2nd Soldier, another way. 
 
 znd Sol. A friend ! 
 
 ist Sol. O, your success and mine, 
 touching this sentinel, tells, I suppose, one 
 tale ; he's far enough, I undertake, by this 
 time. 
 
 znd Sol. I blame him not ; the law's 
 severe (though just, and cannot be dis- 
 pensed). 
 
 ist Sol. Why should the laws of Paphos, 
 with more rigour than other city laws, 
 pursue offenders ? That not appeased 
 with their lives' forfeit, exact a justice of 
 them after death ? And if a soldier in his 
 watch, forsooth, lose one of the dead 
 bodies, he must die for't. It seems the 
 State needed no soldiers when that was 
 made a law. 
 
 2nd Sol. So we may chide the fire for 
 burning us, or say the bee's not good 
 because she stings. 'Tis not the body the 
 law respects, but the soldier's neglect ; 
 when the watch (the guard and safety of 
 the city) is left abandoned to all hazards. 
 But let him go ; and tell me if your news 
 sort with mine, for Lycus, apprehended, 
 they say, about Lysander's murther. 
 
 ist Sol. 'Tis true ; he's at the .captain's 
 lodge under guard, and 'tis my charge, in 
 the morning, to unclose the leaden coffin 
 and discover the body. The captain will 
 assay an old conclusion, often approved, 
 that at the murtherer's sight the blood 
 revives again, and boils afresh ; and every 
 wound has a condemning voice to cry out 
 guilty 'gainst the murtherer. 
 
 2nd Sol. O world, if this be true ; his 
 dearest friend, his bed companion, whom 
 of all his friends he culled out for his 
 bosom ! 
 
 ist Sol. Tush, man, in this topsy-turvy 
 world friendship and bosom-kindness are 
 but made covers for mischief, means to 
 compass ill. Near-allied trust is but a 
 bridge for treason. The presumptions cry 
 loud against him, his answers sound dis- 
 jointed, cross-legged, tripping up one 
 another. He names a town whither he 
 brought Lysander, murthered by moun- 
 taineers ; that's false, some of the dwellers 
 have been here, and all disclaim it. Be- 
 
 sides, the wounds he bears in show, are 
 such as shrews closely give their husbands, 
 that never bleed, and find to be counter- 
 feit. 
 2nd Sol. .O that jade falsehood, is ; 
 
 never sound of all, 
 But halts of one leg still. 
 Truth pace is all upright, sound every- 
 where, 
 
 And like a die, sets ever on a square. 
 And how is Lycus his bearing in this con- \ 
 
 dition ? 
 
 ist Sol. 'Faith (as the manner of such ' 
 desperate offenders is till it come to the 
 point), careless and confident, laughing ; 
 at all that seem to pity him. But leave it 
 to th 'event. Night, fellow-soldier, you'll 
 not meet me in the morning at the tomb, 
 and lend me your hand to the unrigging 
 of Lysander's hearse ? 
 
 2nd Sol. I care not if I do, to view 
 heaven's power in this unbottomed cellar. 
 Blood, though it sleep a time, yet never 
 
 dies. 
 
 The gods on murtherers fix revengeful 
 eyes. [Exeunt. 
 
 Lysander solus ^vith a crow of iron, and a 
 halter which he lay* down, and puts ' 
 on his disguise again. 
 
 Come, my borrow "d disguise, let me once 
 
 more 
 
 Be reconciled to thee, my trustiest friend ; 
 Thou that in truest shape hast let me see 
 That which my truer self hath hid from me : 
 Help me to take revenge on a disguise, 
 Ten times more false and counterfeit than 
 
 thou. 
 Thou, false in show, hast been most true 
 
 to me ; 
 The seeming true hath proved more false 
 
 than her. 
 
 Assist me to behold this act of lust, 
 Note with a scene of strange impiety. 
 Her husband's murther'd corse ! O more 
 
 than horror ! 
 
 I'll not believe untried ; if she but lift 
 A hand to act it, by the fates her brains fly 
 
 out, 
 Since she has madded me, let her beware 
 
 my horns. 
 
 For though by goring her, no hope be shown 
 To cure myself, yet I'll not bleed alone. 
 
 [He knocks. 
 Er. Who knocks? 
 Lys. The soldier ; open. 
 
 [She opens, and he enters. 
 See, sweet, here are the engines that must 
 
 do't, 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 THE WIDOW'S TEARS. 
 
 337 
 
 Which, with much fear of my discovery, 
 I have at last procured. 
 Shall we about this work ? I fear the morn 
 Will overtake's ; my stay hath been pro- 
 
 long'd 
 
 With hunting obscure nooks for these em- 
 ployments, 
 
 The night prepares away. Come, art re- 
 solved ? 
 
 Cy. Ay, you shall find me constant. 
 Lys. Ay, so I have, most prodigiously 
 
 constant. 
 Here's a rare halter to hug him with. 
 
 Er. Better you and I join our hands 
 and bear him thither, you take his head. 
 Cy. Ay, for that was always heavier 
 
 than's whole body besides. 
 Lys. You can tell best that loaded it. 
 Er. I'll be at the feet, I am able to bear 
 against you, I warrant you. 
 Lys. Hast thou prepared weak nature to 
 
 digest 
 A sight so much distasteful ; hast sear'd 
 
 thy heart, 
 
 It bleed not at the bloody spectacle ? 
 Hast arm'd thy fearful eyes against th'af- 
 
 front 
 
 Of such a direful object ? 
 Thy murthered husband ghastly staring on 
 thee ; his wounds gaping to affright thee ; 
 his body soiled with gore ? 'fore heaven my 
 heart shrugs at it. 
 
 Cy. So does not mine : 
 Love's resolute ; and stands not to consult 
 With petty terror ; but in full career 
 Runs blindfold through an army of mis- 
 doubts 
 
 And interposing fears ; perhaps I'll weep, 
 Or so make a forced face and laugh 
 
 again. 
 
 Lys. O most valiant love ! 
 I was thinking with myself as I came, how 
 
 if this 
 
 Brake to light ; his body known ; 
 (As many notes might make it) would it 
 
 not fix 
 
 Upon thy fame an unremoved brand 
 Of shame and hate ; they that in former 
 
 times 
 
 Adored thy virtue, would they not abhor 
 Thy loathest memory ? 
 
 Cy. All this I know, but yet my love to 
 
 thee 
 
 Swallows all this, or whatsoever doubts 
 Can come against it. 
 Shame's but a feather balanced with thy 
 
 love. 
 Lys. Neither fear nor shame? you are 
 
 steel toth' proof, 
 VOL. I. 
 
 But I shall iron you ; come -then, let's to 
 
 work. 
 
 Alas, poor corpse, how many martyrdoms 
 Must thou endure ! mangled by me a. 
 
 villain, 
 And now exposed to foul shame of the 
 
 gibbet ? 
 
 'Fore piety there is somewhat in me strives 
 Against the deed, my very arm relents 
 To strike a stroke so inhuman, 
 To wound a hallow'd hearse? suppose 
 
 'twere mine, 
 Would not my ghost start up and fly upon 
 
 thee? 
 
 Cy. No, I'd mall it down again with 
 this. [She snatches up the crow. 
 
 Lys. How now ? 
 
 \He catches at her throat. 
 
 Cy. Nay, then I'll assay my strength ; 
 
 a soldier, and afraid of a dead man ! A 
 
 soft-roed milk-sop ! Come, I'll do't myself. 
 
 Lys. And I look on ? give me the iron. 
 
 Cy. No, I'll not lose the glory an't. 
 
 This hand 
 
 Lys. Pray thee, sweet, let it not be said 
 the savage act was thine ; deliver me the 
 engine. 
 
 Cy. Content yourself, 'tis in a fitter 
 
 hand. 
 Lys. Wilt thou first ? art not thou the 
 
 most 
 Cy. Ill-destined wife of a transformed 
 
 monster, 
 
 Who to assure himself of what he knew, 
 Hath lost the shape of man. 
 Lys. Ha ! cross-capers ? 
 Cy. Poor soldier's case ; do not we know 
 
 you, sir? 
 But I have given thee what thou earnest to 
 
 seek. 
 
 Go, satyr, run affrighted with the noise 
 Of that harsh-sounding horn thyself hast 
 
 blown; 
 Farewell ; I leave thee there my husband's 
 
 corpse, 
 
 Make much of that. \Exit cum Ero. 
 
 Lys. What have I done? Oh, let me lie 
 and grieve, and speak no more. 
 
 Captain, Lycus with a guard of three or 
 four soldiers. 
 
 Cy. Bring him away ; you must have 
 patience, sir : if you can say aught to quit 
 you of those presumptions that lie heavy 
 on you, you shall be heard. If not, 'tis not 
 your braves, nor your affecting looks can 
 carry it. We must acquit our duties. 
 
 Lye. Y'are Captain ath' watch, sir. 
 
 Ca. You take me right. 
 
333 
 
 THE WIDOW'S TEARS. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Lye. So were you best do me ; see your 
 presumptions be strong ; or be assured 
 that shall prove a dear presumption, to 
 brand me with the murther of my friend. 
 But you have been suborned by some close 
 villain to defame me. 
 
 Ca. 'Twill not be so put off, friend 
 Lycus, I could wish your soul as free from 
 taint of this foul fact as mine from any 
 such unworthy practice. 
 
 Lye. Conduct me to the Governor him- 
 self ; to confront before him your shallow 
 accusations. 
 
 Ca. First, sir, I'll bear you to Lysander's 
 tomb, to confront the murthered body, and 
 see what evidence the wounds will yield 
 against you. 
 
 Lye. Y'are wise, Captain. But if the 
 body should chance not to speak if the 
 wounds should be tongue-tied, Captain 
 where's then your evidence, Captain ? will 
 you not be laughed at for an officious 
 Captain ? 
 
 Ca. Y'are gallant, sir. 
 
 Lye. Your captainship commands my 
 sendee no further. 
 
 Ca. Well, sir, perhaps I may, if this 
 conclusion take not ; we'll try what opera- 
 tion lies in torture, to pull confession from 
 you. 
 
 Lye. Say you so, Captain? but hark 
 you, Captain, might it not concur with the 
 quality of your office, ere this matter grow 
 to the height of a more threatening 
 danger, to wink a little at a by-slip or so ? 
 
 Ca. How's that ? 
 
 Lye. To send a man abroad under 
 guard of one of your silliest shack-rags ; 
 that he may beat the knave, and run's 
 way? I mean this on good terms, Cap- 
 tain ; I'll be thankful. 
 
 Ca. I'll think on't hereafter. Mean- 
 time I have other employment for you. 
 
 Lye. Your place is worthily replenished, 
 Captain. My duty, sir ; hark, Captain, 
 there's a mutiny in your army ; I'll go 
 raise the Governor. \Exiturus. 
 
 Ca. No haste, sir ; he'll soon be here 
 without your summons. 
 
 Soldiers thrust up Lysander/hw the 
 tomb. 
 
 ist Sol. Bring forth the knight ath' 
 tomb ; have we met with you, sir ? 
 
 Lys. Pray thee, soldier, use thine office 
 with better temper. 
 
 znd Sol. Come, convey him to the 
 Lord Governor. 
 
 Lys. First afore the Captain, sir. Have 
 
 the heavens nought else to do but to stand 
 still, and turn all their malignant aspects 
 upon one man ? 
 
 2nd Sol. Captain, here's the sentinel 
 we sought for ; he's some new-pressed 
 soldier, for none of us know him. 
 
 Ca. Where found you him ? 
 
 ist Sol. My truant was miched, sir, into 
 a blind corner of the tomb. 
 
 Ca. Well said, guard him safe. But for 
 the corpse. 
 
 ist. For the corpse, sir? bare misprision; 
 there's no body, nothing. A mere blanda- 
 tion, a deceptio visus. Unless this soldier 
 for hunger have eat up Lysander's body. 
 
 Lye. Why, I could have told you this 
 before, Captain ; the body was borne away 
 piecemeal by devout ladies of Venus' 
 order, for the man died one of Venus' 
 martyrs. And yet I heard since 'twas 
 seen whole ath' other side the downs upon 
 a colestaff betwixt two huntsmen, to feed 
 their dogs withal. Which was a miracle, 
 Captain. 
 
 Ca. Mischief in this act hath a deep 
 bottom, and requires more time to sound 
 it. But you, sir, it seems, are a soldier of 
 the newest stamp. Know you what 'tis to 
 forsake your stand? There's one of the 
 bodies in your charge stolen away ; how 
 answer you that? See, here comes the 
 Governor. 
 
 Enter a Guard, bare, after the Governor ; 
 Tharsalio, Argus, Clinias, before Eu- 
 dora, Cynthia, Laodice, Sthenio, 
 lanthe, Ero, &c. 
 
 Gu. Stand aside there. 
 
 Ca. Room for a strange Governor ! The 
 perfect draught of a most brainless, im- 
 perious upstart. O desert ! where wert 
 thou when this wooden dagger was gilded 
 over with the title of Governor? 
 
 Gu. Peace, masters ; hear my lord. 
 
 Tha. All wisdom be silent ; now speaks 
 authority. 
 
 Go. I am come in person to discharge 
 justice. 
 
 Tha. Of his office. 
 
 Go. The cause you shall know here- 
 after ; and it is this. A villain, whose very 
 sight I abhor ; where is he ? Let me see 
 him. 
 
 Ca. Is't Lycus you mean, my lord? 
 
 Go. Go too, sirrah, y'are too malapert ; I 
 have heard of your sentinel's escape, look 
 to't. 
 
 Ca. My lord, this is the sentinel you 
 speak of. 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 THE WIDOW'S TEARS. 
 
 339 
 
 Go. How now, sir? What time a day 
 is't? 
 
 Arg. I cannot show you precisely, an't 
 please your honour. 
 
 Go. What ? shall we have replications, 
 rejoinders ? 
 
 Tha. Such a creature fool is, when he 
 bestrides the back of authority. 
 
 Go. Sirrah, stand you forth ! It is 
 supposed thou hast committed a most 
 inconvenient murther upon the body of 
 Lysander. 
 
 Lye. My good lord, I have not. 
 
 Go. Peace, varlet, dost chop with me? 
 I say it is imagined thou hast murthered 
 Lysander. How it will be proved, I know 
 not. Thou shalt therefore presently be 
 had to execution ; as justice, in such cases, 
 requireth. Soldiers, take him away. Bring 
 forth the sentinel. 
 
 Lvc. Your lordship will first let my 
 defence be heard. 
 
 Go. Sirrah ! I'll no fending nor proving. 
 For my part, I am satisfied it is so ; that's 
 enough for thee. I had ever a sympathy 
 in my mind against him. Let him be had 
 away. 
 
 Tha. A most excellent apprehension ! 
 He's able, ye see, to judge of a cause at 
 first sight, and hear but two parties. 
 Here's a second Solon. 
 
 Eu. Hear him, my lord ; presumptions 
 
 oftentimes 
 (Though likely grounded) reach not to the 
 
 truth, 
 
 And truth is oft abused by likelihood. 
 Let him be heard, my lord. 
 
 Go. Madam, content yourself. I will 
 do justice ; I will not hear him. Your late 
 lord was my honourable predecessor, but 
 your ladyship must pardon me : in matters 
 of justice I am blind. 
 
 Tha. That's true. 
 
 Go. I know no persons. If a Court 
 favourite write to me in a case of justice, I 
 will pocket his letter, and proceed. If a 
 suitor in a case of justice thrusts a bribe 
 into my hand, I will pocket his bribe, and 
 proceed. Therefore, madam, set your 
 heart at rest ; I am seated in the throne of 
 justice, and I will do justice ; I will not 
 hear him. 
 
 Eu. Not hear him, my lord ? 
 
 Go. No, my lady : and moreover, put 
 you in mind in whose presence you stand ; 
 if you parrot to me long go to. 
 
 Tha. Nay, the Vice must snap his 
 authority at all he meets, how shall't else 
 be known what part he plays ? 
 
 Go. Your husband was a noble gentle- 
 man, but, alas ! he came short : he was 
 no statesman. He has left a foul city 
 behind him. 
 
 Tha. Ay, and I can tell you 'twill 
 trouble his lordship and all his honourable 
 assistants of scavengers to sweep it clean. 
 
 Go. It's full of vices, and great ones, 
 too. 
 
 Tha. And thou none of the meanest. 
 
 Go. But I'll turn all topsy-turvy, and set 
 up a new discipline amongst you. I'll cut 
 off all perished members. 
 
 Tha. That's the surgeon's office. 
 
 Go. Cast out these rotten, stinking car- 
 casses, for infecting the whole city. 
 
 Arg. Rotten they may be, but their 
 wenches use to pepper them, and their 
 surgeons to parboil them ; and that pre- 
 serves them from stinking, an't please your 
 honour. 
 
 Go. Peace, sirrah, peace ; and yet 'tis 
 well said, too. A good pregnant fellow, 
 i 'faith ! But to proceed. I will spue 
 drunkenness out ath' city. 
 
 Tha. Into th' country. 
 
 Go. Shifters shall cheat and starve, and 
 no man shall do good but where there is 
 no need. Braggarts shall live at the head, 
 and the tumult that haunt taverns. Asses 
 shall bear good qualities, and wise men 
 shall use them. I will whip lechery out 
 ath' the city ; there shall be no more 
 cuckolds. They that heretofore were 
 arrant cornutos, shall now be honest shop- 
 keepers, and justice shall take place. I 
 will hunt jealousy out of my dominion. 
 
 Tha. Do'ye hear, brother? 
 
 Go. It shall be the only note of love to 
 the husband, to love the wife ; and none 
 shall be more kindly welcome to him than 
 he that cuckolds him. 
 
 Tha. Believe it a wholesome reforma- 
 tion. 
 
 Go. I'll have no more beggars. Fools 
 shall have wealth, and the learned shall 
 live by their wits. I'll have no more bank- 
 routs. They that owe money shall pay it 
 at their best leisure, and the rest shall 
 make a virtue of imprisonment, and their 
 wives shall help to pay their debts. I'll 
 have all young widows spaded for marry- 
 ing again. For the old and withered, 
 they shall be confiscate to unthrifty gal- 
 lants and decayed knights ; if they be poor 
 they shall be burnt to make soap-ashes, or 
 given to Surgeon's Hall to be stamped to 
 salve for the French measles. To con- 
 clude, I will cart pride out ath' town. 
 
 Z 2 
 
340 
 
 THE WIDOW'S TEARS. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Arg. An't please your honour, Pride, 
 an't be ne'er so beggarly, will look for a 
 coach. 
 
 Go. Well said, a mine honour. A good 
 significant fellow, i 'faith ! What is he ? 
 he talks much ; does he follow your 
 ladyship ? 
 
 Arg. No, an't please your honour, I go 
 before her. 
 
 Go. A good undertaking presence ; a 
 well-promising forehead. Your gentleman 
 usher, madam? 
 
 Eu. Yours, if you please, my lord. 
 
 Go. Born i'th' city ? 
 
 Arg. Ay, an't please your honour, but 
 begot i'th' Court. 
 
 Go. Tressel-legged ? 
 
 Arg. Ay, an't please your honour. 
 
 Go. The better ; it bears a breadth, 
 makes room a both sides. Might I not 
 see his pace ? 
 
 Arg. Yes, an't please your honour. 
 
 [Argus stalks. 
 
 Go. 'Tis well, 'tis very well. Give me 
 thy hand. Madam, I will accept this pro- 
 perty at your hand, and will wear it thread- 
 bare for your sake. Fall in there, sirrah. 
 And for the matter of Lycus, madam, I 
 must tell you you are shallow. There's a 
 state point in't, hark you : the Viceroy 
 Bas given him, and we must uphold cor- 
 respondence. He must walk. Say one 
 man goes wrongfully out ath' world, there 
 are hundreds to one come wrongfully into 
 th'' world. 
 
 Eu. Your lordship will give me but a 
 word in private. 
 
 Tha. Come, brother, we know you well. 
 What means this habit ? Why stayed you 
 not at Dipolis, as you resolved, to take ad- 
 vertisement for us of your wife's bearing ? 
 
 Lye. O brother, this jealous frenzy has 
 borne me headlong to ruin. 
 
 Tha. Go to, be comforted ; uncase 
 yourself and discharge your friend. 
 
 Go. Is that Lysander, say you ? And is 
 
 all his story true ? 
 
 By'rlady, madam, this jealousy will cost 
 him dear. He undertook the person of a 
 soldier; and, as. a soldier, must have jus- 
 tice. Madam, his Altitude in this case 
 cannot dispense. Lycus, this soldier hath 
 acquitted you. 
 
 Tha. And that acquital I'll for him re- 
 quite ; the body lost, is by this time 
 restored to his place. 
 Sol. It is, my lord. 
 Tha. These are State points, in which 
 
 your lordship's time 
 Has not yet train'd your lordship ; please 
 
 your lordship 
 To grace a nuptial we have now in hand. 
 
 [Hylus and Laodice stand together. 
 'Twixt this young lady and this gentle- 
 man. 
 Your lordship there shall hear the ample 
 
 story ; 
 
 And how the ass wrapt in a lion's skin 
 Fearfully roar'd ; but his large ears ap- 
 
 pear'd 
 And made him laugh 'd at, that before was 
 
 fearU 
 
 Go. I'll go with you. For my part, I 
 am at a nonplus. 
 
 [Eudora whispers with Cynthia. 
 Tha. Come, brother, thank the coun- 
 tess ; she hath sweat to make your peace. 
 Sister, give me your hand. 
 So, brother, let your lips compound the 
 
 strife, 
 
 And think you have the only constant wife. 
 [Exeunt. 
 
The Mask of the Middle Temple and 
 Lincoln's Inn.* 
 
 TO 
 
 THE MOST NOBLE AND CONSTANT COMBINER OF HONOUR 
 AND VIRTUE, 
 
 SIR EDWARD PHILIPS, KNIGHT, 
 MASTER OF THE ROLLS. 
 
 THIS noble and magnificent performance, renewing the ancient spirit and honour 
 of the Inns of Court, being especially furthered and followed by your most laborious 
 and honoured endeavours (for his Majesty's service, and honour of the all-grace-deserv 
 ing nuptials of the thrice gracious Princess Elizabeth, his Highness' daughter), deserves 
 especially to be in this sort consecrate to your worthy memory and honour. Honoxir 
 having never her fair hand more freely and nobly given to riches (being a fit particle of 
 this invention) than by yours at this nuptial solemnity. To which assisted and memor- 
 able ceremony the joined hand and industry of the worthily honoured Knight, Sir H. 
 Hubberd, his Majesty's Attorney-General, deserving in good part a joint memory with 
 yours, I have submitted it freely to his noble acceptance. The poor pains I added to 
 this Royal service being vvholy chosen and commanded by your most constant and free 
 favour, I hope will now appear nothing neglective of their expected duties. Hearty 
 will and care enough, I am assured, was employed in me, and the only ingenuous will, 
 being first and principal step to virtue, I beseech you let it stand for the performing 
 virtue itself. In which addition of your ever-honoured favours you shall ever bind all 
 my future service to your most wished commandment. 
 
 God send you long health, and your virtues will indue you with honour enough, 
 
 By your free merits' ever-vowed honourer, 
 
 and most unfeignedly affectionate observant, 
 
 GEO. CHAPMAN. 
 
 * " The Memorable Maske of the two Honorable Houses or Inns of Court ; the Middle 
 Temple, and Lyncolns Inne. As it was performed before the King, at White-Hall on Shroue 
 Munday at night; being the 15. of February. 1613. At the Princely celebration of the most 
 Royall Nuptialls of the Palsgraue, and his thrice gratious Princesse Elizabeth. &c. With a de- 
 scription of their whole show ; in the manner of their march on horse-backe to the Court from the 
 Maistcr of the Rolls his house : with all their right Noble consorts, and most showfull attendants. 
 Inuented, and fashioned, with the ground, and speciall structure of the whole worke, By our 
 Kingdomes most Artfull and Ingenious Architect Innigo lones. Supplied, Aplied, Digested, 
 and written, By Geo: Chapman. At London, Printed by G. Eld, for George Norton, and are 
 to be sould at his shoppe neere Temple-bar." 
 
342 
 
 THE MASK OF THE 
 
 AT the house of the most worthily 
 honoured preferrer and gracer of all 
 honourable actions and virtues, Sir 
 Edward Philips, Knight, Master of the 
 Rolls, all the performers and their as- 
 sistants made their rendez-vous, prepared 
 to their performance, and thus set 
 forth. 
 
 Fifty gentlemen, richly attired, and as 
 gallantly mounted, with footmen particu- 
 larly attending, made the noble vant- 
 guard of these nuptial forces. Next (a fit 
 distance observed between them) marched a 
 mock-mask of baboons, attired like fantas- 
 tical travellers, in Neapolitan suits and 
 great ruffs, all horsed with asses ; and 
 dwarf palfreys, with yellow foot-clothes, 
 and casting cockle-demois about, in cour- 
 tesy, by way of largess ; torches borne on 
 either hand of them ; lighting their state 
 as ridiculously as the rest nobly. After 
 them were sorted two cars triumphal, 
 adorned with great mask-heads, festoons, 
 scrolls, and antic leaves, every part inriched 
 with silver and gold. These were through- 
 varied with different invention, and in them 
 advanced the choice musicians of our king- 
 dom, six in each ; attired like Virginian 
 priests, by whom the sun is there adored ; 
 and therefore called the Phoebades. Their 
 robes were tucked up before; strange hoods 
 of feathers, and scallops about their necks, 
 and on their heads turbans, stuck with 
 several coloured feathers, spotted with wings 
 of flies, of extraordinary bigness, like 
 those of their country ; and about them 
 marched two ranks of torches. Then rode 
 the chief maskers, in Indian habits, all of 
 a resemblance : the ground-cloth of silver, 
 richly embroidered , with golden suns, and 
 about every sun ran a trail of gold, imi- 
 tating Indian work : their bases of the 
 same stuff and work, but betwixt every 
 pane of embroidery went a row of white 
 estridge feathers, mingled with sprigs of 
 gold plate ; under their breasts they wore 
 bawdricks of gold, embroidered high with 
 pearl, and about their necks, ruffs of 
 feathers, spangled with pearl and silver. 
 On their heads high sprigged-fcathers, 
 compassed in coronets; like the Virginian 
 princes they presented. Betwixt every set 
 of feathers, and about their brows, in the 
 under-part of their coronets, shined suns of 
 gold plate, sprinkled with pearl ; from 
 whence sprung rays of the like plate, that 
 mixing with the motion of the feathers, 
 showed exceedingly delightful and gracious. 
 Their legs were adorned with close long 
 
 white silk stockings, curiously embroidered 
 with gold to the mid-leg. 
 
 And over these (being on horseback) they 
 drew greaves or buskins, embroidered with 
 gold and interlaced with rows of feathers ; 
 altogether estrangeful and Indian-like. 
 
 In their hands (set in several postures as 
 they rode) they brandished cane darts of 
 the finest gold. Their vizards of olive 
 colour, but pleasingly visaged ; their hair, 
 black and large, waving down to their 
 shoulders. 
 
 Their horse, for rich show, equalled the 
 maskers themselves, all their caparisons 
 being enchased with suns of gold and 
 ornamental jewels ; to every one of which 
 was tacked a scarfing of silver, that ran 
 sinuously in works over the whole capari- 
 son, even to the dazzling of the admiring 
 spectators. 
 
 Their heads, no less gracefully and pro- 
 perly decked with the like light scarfing 
 that hung about their ears, wantonly 
 dangling. 
 
 Every one of these horse had two Moors, 
 attired like Indian slaves, that for state 
 sided them, with swelling wreaths of gold 
 and watchet on their heads, which arose 
 in all to the number of a hundred. 
 
 The torch-bearers' habits were likewise 
 of the Indian garb, but more stravagant 
 than those of the maskers, all showfully 
 garnished with several-hued feathers. The 
 humble variety whereof stuck off the more 
 amply the maskers' high beauties, shining 
 in the habits of themselves ; and reflected 
 in their kind a new and delightfully-varied 
 radiance on the beholders. 
 
 All these sustained torches of virgin 
 wax, whose staves were great canes all 
 over gilded ; and these, as the rest, had 
 every man his Moor attending his horse. 
 
 The maskers, riding single, had every 
 masker his torch-bearer mounted before 
 him. 
 
 The last chariot, which was most of all 
 adorned, had his whole frame filled with 
 moulded work, mixed all with paintings and 
 glittering scarfings of silver, over which 
 was cast a canopy of gold borne up with 
 antic figures, and all composed a la gro- 
 tesca. Before this, in the seat of it, as 
 the charioteer, was advanced a strange 
 person, and as strangely habited, half 
 French, half Swiss ; his name Capriccio ; 
 wearing on his head a pair of golden bel- 
 lows, a gilt spur in one hand, and with the 
 other managing the reins of the four 
 horses that drew it. 
 
MIDDLE TEMPLE AND LINCOLN'S INN. 
 
 343 
 
 On a seat of the same chariot, a little 
 more elevate, sate Eunomia, the Virgin 
 Priest of the goddess Honour, together 
 with Phemis, her herald : the habit of her 
 priest was a robe of white silk gathered 
 about the neck ; a pentacle of silvered 
 Stuff about her shoulders, hanging foldedly 
 down, both before and behind. 
 
 A vestal veil on her head of tiffany, 
 Striped with silver, hanging with a train 
 to the earth. 
 
 The Herald was attired in an antique 
 cuirass of silver stuff, with labels at the 
 wings and bases ; a short gown of gold 
 Stuff, with wide sleeves, cut in panes ; a 
 wreath of gold on his head, and a rod of 
 gold in his hand. 
 
 Highest of all, in the most eminent seat 
 of the Triumphal car, sat, side to side, the 
 celestial goddess Honour, and the earthy 
 deity, Plutus, or Riches. His attire, a 
 short robe of gold, fringed ; his wide 
 sleeves turned up, and out-showed his 
 naked arms ; his head and beard sprinkled 
 with showers of gold ; his buskins clinquant 
 as his other attire. The ornaments of 
 Honour were these ; a rich full robe of 
 blue silk girt about her, a mantle of silver 
 worn overthwart. full-gathered, and de- 
 scending in folds behind : a veil of net 
 lawn, embroidered with O's and spangled ; 
 her tresses in tucks, braided with silver, 
 the hinder part shadowing in waves her 
 shoulders. 
 
 These, thus particularly and with pro- 
 priety adorned, were strongly attended 
 with a full guard of two hundred halber- 
 diers ; two Marshals (being choice gentle- 
 men of either house) commander-like 
 attired, to and fro coursing, to keep all in 
 their orders. 
 
 A show at all parts so novel, conceitful, 
 and glorious as hath not in this land (to 
 the proper use and object it had proposed) 
 been ever before beheld. Nor did those 
 honourable Inns of Court, at any time in 
 that kind, such acceptable service to the 
 sacred Majesty of this kingdom, nor were 
 returned by many degrees, with so thrice 
 gracious and royal entertainment and 
 honour. But (as above said) all these so 
 marching to the Court at Whitehall, the 
 King, Bride, and Bridegroom, with all the 
 Lords of the most honoured Privy Council, 
 and our chief nobility, stood in the gallery 
 before the Tilt-yard, to behold their arrival ; 
 who, for the more full satisfaction of his 
 Majesty's view, made one turn about the 
 yard, and dismounted ; being then honour- 
 
 ably attended through the gallery to a 
 chamber appointed, where they were to 
 make ready for their performance in the 
 Hall, c. 
 
 The King being come forth, the maskers 
 ascended, unseen, to their scene. Then 
 for the works. 
 
 First, there appeared at the lower end of 
 the Hall an artificial rock, whose top was 
 near as high as the hall itself. This rock 
 was in the undermost part craggy, and full 
 of hollow places, in whose concaves were 
 contrived two winding pair of stairs, by 
 whose greeces the persons above might 
 make their descents, and all the way be 
 seen. All this rock grew by degrees up 
 into a gold-colour, and was run quite 
 through with veins of gold. On the one 
 side whereof, eminently raised on a fair 
 hill, was erected a silver temple of an 
 octangle figure, whose pillars were of a 
 composed order, and bore up an architrave, 
 frieze, and cornice, over which stood a 
 continued plinth, whereon were advanced 
 statues of silver ; above this was placed a 
 bastard order of architecture, wherein were ] 
 carved compartments, in one of which was ' 
 written in great gold capitals, HONORIS >, 
 FA NUM. Above all was a Coupolo or 
 type, which seemed to be scaled with 
 silver plates. 
 
 For finishing of all, upon a pedestal was 
 fixed a round stone of silver, from which 
 grew a pair of golden wings, both feigned 
 to be Fortune's. The round stone (when 
 her feet trod it) ever affirmed to be rolling, 
 figuring her inconstancy ; the golden 
 wings denoting those nimble powers that 
 pompously bear her about the world ; on 
 that temple (erected to her daughter, 
 Honour, and figuring this kingdom) put 
 off by her, and fixed, for assured sign she 
 would never forsake it. 
 
 About this temple hung festoons, 
 wreathed with silver, from one pillar's head 
 to another. Besides, the frieze was en- 
 riched with carvings, all showing greatness 
 and magnificence. 
 
 On the other side of the rock grew a 
 grove, in whose utmost part appeared a 
 vast, withered, and hollow tree, being 
 the bare receptacle of the baboonery. 
 
 These following, should in duty have 
 had their proper places after every fitted 
 speech of the actors ; but being prevented, 
 by the unexpected haste of the printer, 
 which he never let me know, and never 
 sending me a proof till he had passed those 
 speeches, I had no reason to imagine he 
 
344 
 
 THE MASK OF THE 
 
 could have been so forward. His fault is, 
 therefore, to be supplied by the observation 
 and reference of the reader, who will easily 
 perceive where they were to be inserted. 
 
 After the speech of Plutus (who, as you 
 may see after, first entered), the middle 
 part of the rock began to move, and being 
 come some five paces up towards the King, 
 it split in pieces with a great crack, and 
 out brake Capriccio, as before described. 
 The pieces of the rock vanished, and he 
 spake, as in his place. 
 
 At the singing of the first song, full, 
 which was sung by the Virginian priests, 
 called the Phoebades, to six lutes (being 
 used as an Orphean virtue for the state of { 
 the mines opening), the upper part of the 
 rock was suddenly turned to a cloud, 
 discovering a rich and refulgent mine of 
 gold, in which the twelve maskers were 
 triumphantly seated, their torch-bearers 
 attending before them ; all the lights being 
 so ordered, that though none were seen, 
 yet had their lustre such virtue, that by it 
 
 the least spangle or spark of the maskers' 
 rich habits might with ease and clearness 
 be discerned as far off as the seat. 
 
 Over this golden mine, in an evening 
 sky, the ruddy sun was seen ready to. 
 set ; and behind the tops of certain white 
 cliffs, by degrees descended, casting up a 
 bank of clouds ; in which, awhile, he was 
 hidden : but then gloriously shining, gave 
 that usually- observed good omen of suc- 
 ceeding fair weather. 
 
 Before he was fully set, the Phoebades 
 (showing the custom of the Indians to 
 adore the sun setting), began their ob- 
 servance with the song, to whose place we 
 must refer you for the manner and words. 
 All the time they were singing, the torch- 
 bearers holding up their torches to the sun; 
 to whom the priests themselves, and the 
 rest, did, as they sung, obeisance ; which 
 was answered by other music and voices, 
 at the commandment of Honour, with all 
 observances used to the King, &c. As in 
 the following places. 
 
 To answer certain insolent objections made against the length of my speeches and 
 narrations ; being, for the probability of all accidents, rising from the invention of this 
 Mask ; and their application to the persons and places for whom and by whom it 
 was presented, not convenient, but necessary ; I am enforced to affirm this : that as 
 there is no poem nor oration so general but hath his one particular proposition ; nor 
 no river so extravagantly ample, but hath his never-so-narrow fountain, worthy to be 
 named ; so all these courtly and honouring inventions, having poesy and oration in 
 them, and a fountain to be expressed, from whence their rivers flow should expressively 
 arise out of the places and persons for and by whom they are presented ; without 
 which limits they are luxurious and vain. But what rules soever are set down to any 
 art or act, though, without their observation, no art, nor act. is true, and worthy ; yet 
 they are nothing the more followed ; or those few that follow them credited. Every 
 vulgarly-esteemed upstart dares break the dreadful dignity of ancient and authentical 
 poesy ; and presume luciferously to proclaim in place thereof, repugnant precepts of 
 their own spawn. Truth and worth have no faces to enamour the licentious ; but 
 vain-glory and humour. The same body, the same beauty, a thousand men seeing ; 
 only the man whose blood is fitted, hath that which he calls his soul enamoured. And 
 this out of infallible cause, for men understand not these of Menander. 
 
 il est morbus opportunitas 
 
 Animae, quod ictus, vulnus accipit grave." 
 
 But the cause of all men's being enamoured with truth, and of her slight respect, 
 in others, is the divine freedom ; one touching with his apprehensive finger, the other 
 passing. The Hill of the Muses (which all men must climb in the regular way to truth) 
 is said, of old, to be forked. And the two points of it, parting at the top, are insania 
 and divinus furor. Insania is that which every rank-brained writer and judge of 
 poetical writing is rapt withal, when he presumes either to write or censure the height 
 of poesy, and that transports him with humour, vain-glory, and pride, most profane 
 and siacrilegious; when divinus furor makes gentle and noble the never-so-truly inspired 
 
 " Emollit mores, nee sinit essc feros." 
 
MIDDLE TEMPLE AND LINCOLN'S INN. 
 
 345 
 
 And the mild beams of the most holy inflamer easily and sweetly enter, with all 
 understanding sharpness, the soft and sincerely humane, but with no time, no study, 
 no means under heaven, any arrogant all-occupation devourer (that will, chandler-like, 
 set up with all wares, selling poesy's nectar and ambrosia, as well as mustard and 
 vinegar), the chaste and restrained beams of humble truth will ever enter, but only 
 graze and glance at them, and the further fly them. 
 
 THE APPLICABLE ARGUMENT OF THE MASK. 
 
 Honour is so much respected and adored, that she hath a temple erected to her, 
 like a goddess ; a virgin priest consecrated to her (which is Eunomia, or Law, since 
 none should dare access to honour but by virtue, of which, law being the rule, must 
 needs be a chief), and a Herald (called Phemis, or Fame) to proclaim her institutions and 
 commandments. To amplify yet more the divine graces of this goddess, Plutus (or 
 Riches) being by Aristophanes, Lucian, &c., presented naturally blind , deformed, and 
 dull-witted, is here, by his love of honour, made see, made sightly, made ingenious, 
 made liberal. And all this converted and consecrate to the most worthy celebration of 
 these sacred nuptials ; all issuing (to conclude the necessary application) from aa 
 honourable temple, &c. 
 
 " Non est certa fides, quam non Injuria versat. 
 Fallit portus et ipse fidem." 
 
 THE NAMES OF THE SPEAKERS. 
 
 Honour, a Goddess. 
 
 Plutus (or Riches), a God. 
 
 Eunomia (or Law), Priest of Honour. 
 
 Phemis, Honour's Herald. 
 Capri ccio, a man of wit, &V. 
 
 THE PRESENTMENT. 
 
 Plutus appeared, surveying the work with 
 this speech. 
 
 Plu. Rocks ! Nothing but rocks in 
 these masking devices ! Is Invention so 
 poor she must needs ever dwell amongst 
 rocks ? But it may worthily have chanced 
 (being so often presented) that their vain 
 custom is now become the necessary hand 
 of heaven, transforming into rocks some 
 stony-hearted ladies courted in former 
 masks, for whose loves some of their re- 
 pulsed servants have perished ; or perhaps 
 some of my flinty-hearted usurers have 
 been here metamorphosed, betwixt whom 
 and ladies there is resemblance enough ; 
 ladies using to take interest, besides their 
 principal, as much as usurers. See, it is 
 so ; and now is the time of restoring them 
 to their natural shapes. It moves, opens : 
 
 excellent ! This metamorphosis I intend 
 to overhear. 
 
 \A rock moving and breaking with a 
 crack abotit Capriccio, he enters 
 with a pair of bellows on his head, 
 a spur in one hand, and a piece of 
 gold ore in the other, &c. He 
 speaks, ut sequitur. 
 
 Cap. How hard this world is to a man 
 of wit ! He must eat through main rocks 
 for his food, or fast. A restless and tor- 
 menting stone his wit is to him, the very 
 stone of Sisyphus in hell ; nay, the philo- 
 sopher's stone makes not a man more 
 wretched. A man must be a second 
 Proteus, and turn himself into all shapes, 
 like Ulysses, to wind through the straits 
 I of this pinching vale of misery. I have 
 j turned myself into a tailor, a man, a gen- 
 | tleman, a nobleman, a worthy man ;"but 
 I had never the wit to turn myself into an 
 
THE MASK OF THE 
 
 alderman. There are many shapes to 
 perish in, but one to live in, and that's an 
 alderman's. 'Tis not for a man of wit to 
 take any rich figure upon hirn. Your bold, 
 proud, ignorant, that's brave and clinquant, 
 that finds crowns put into his shoes every 
 morning by the fairies and will never tell ; 
 whose wit is humour, whose judgment is 
 fashion, whose pride is emptiness, birth his 
 full man, that is in all things something, 
 in sum total nothing ; he shall live in the 
 land of spruce, milk and honey flowing 
 into his mouth sleeping. 
 
 Plu. This is no transformation, but an 
 intrusion into my golden mines : I will 
 hear him further. 
 
 Cap. This breach of rocks I have made, 
 in needy pursuit of the blind deity, Riches, 
 who is miraculously arrived here. For (ac- 
 cording to our rare men of wit), heaven stand- 
 ing, and earth moving, her motion (being 
 circular) hath brought one of the most re- 
 mote parts of the world to touch at this 
 all-exceeding island ; which a man of wit 
 would imagine must needs move circularly 
 with the rest of the world, and so ever 
 maintain an equal distance. But poets (our 
 chief men of wit) answer that point directly ; 
 most ingeniously affirming that this isle 
 is (for the excellency of it) divided from the 
 world (divisus ab orbe Britannus), and 
 that though the whole world besides moves, 
 yet this isle stands fixed on her own feet, 
 and defies the world's mutability, which 
 this rare accident of the arrival of Riches, 
 in one of his furthest-off-situate dominions, 
 most demonstratively proves. 
 
 Plu. This is a man of wit indeed, and 
 knows of all our arrivals. 
 
 Cap. With this dull deity Riches, a rich is- 
 land lying in the South-sea, called Paeana (of 
 the Paeans, or songs, sung to the Sun, whom 
 there they adore, being for strength and 
 riches called the Navel of that South-sea), 
 is by earth's round motion moved near this 
 Britain shore. In which island (being yet 
 in command of the Virginian continent), 
 a troop of the noblest Virginians inhabit- 
 ing, attended hither the god of Riches, 
 all triumphantly shining in a mine of gold. 
 For hearing of the most royal solemnity 
 of these sacred nuptials they crossed the 
 ocean in their honour, and are here 
 arrived. A poor snatch at some of the 
 golden ore, that the feet of Riches have 
 turned up as he trod here, my poor 
 hand hath purchased ; and hope the re- 
 mainder of a greater work will be shortly 
 extant. 
 
 Plu. You, sir, that are miching about 
 my golden mines here. 
 
 Cap. What, can you see, sir ? you have 
 heretofore been presented blind, like your 
 mother Fortune, and your brother Love. 
 
 Plu. But now, sir, you see I see. 
 
 Cap. By what good means, I beseech 
 you, sir? 
 
 Plu. That means I may vouchsafe you 
 hereafter ; mean space, what are you ? 
 
 Cap. I am, sir, a kind of man, a man 
 of wit ; with whom your worship has noth- 
 ing to do, I think. 
 
 Plu. No, sir, nor will have anything 
 to do with him : a man of wit ! what's that? 
 a beggar. 
 
 Cap. And yet no devil, sir. 
 
 Plu. As I am, you mean. 
 
 Cap. Indeed, sir, your kingdom is under 
 the earth. 
 
 Plu. That's true ; for Riches is the Atlas 
 that holds it up, it would sink else. 
 
 Cap. 'Tis rather a wonder it sinks not 
 with you, sir, y'are so sinfully and damna- 
 
 Plu. Sinful ? and damnable ? what, a 
 Puritan ? These bellows you wear on your 
 head show with what matter your brain 
 is puffed up, sir : a religion-forger I see you 
 are, and presume of inspiration from these 
 bellows, with which ye study to blow up 
 the settled governments of kingdoms. 
 
 Cap. Your worship knocks at a wrong 
 door, sir. I dwell far from the person you 
 speak of. 
 
 Plu. What may you be, then, being a 
 man of wit ? a buffoon, a jester ? Before I 
 would take upon me the title of a man of 
 wit, and be baffled by every man of wisdom 
 for a buffoon, I would turn bankrout, or 
 set up a tobacco shop, change cloaks with 
 an alchemist, or serve an usurer, be a water- 
 ing-post for every groom ; stand the push 
 of every rascal wit ; enter lists of jests with 
 trencher-fools, and be fooled down by 
 them, or (which is worse) put them down 
 in fooling : are these the qualities a man 
 of wit should run proud of ? 
 
 Cap. Your worship, I see, has obtained ! 
 wit with sight, which I hope yet my poor 
 wit will well be able to answer ; for touch- 
 ing my jesting, I have heard of some cour- 
 tiers that have run themselves out of their 
 states with jousting ; and why may not I 
 then raise myself in the state with jesting? 
 An honest shoemaker (in a liberal king's 
 time) was knighted for making a clean 
 boot, and is it impossible that I, for break- 
 ing a clean jest, should be advanced ia 
 
MIDDLE TEMPLE AND LINCOLN'S INN. 
 
 347 
 
 court or council ? or at least served out 
 for an ambassador to a dull climate ? jests 
 and merriments are but wild weeds in a 
 rank soil, which being well manured, yield 
 the wholesome crop of wisdom and discre- 
 tion at time ath' year. 
 
 Plu. Nay, nay, I commend thy judg- 
 ment for cutting thy coat so just to the 
 breadth of thy shoulders ; he that cannot 
 be a courser in the field, let him learn to 
 play the jackanapes in the chamber ; he 
 that cannot personate the wise-man well 
 amongst wizards, let him learn to play the 
 fool amongst dizzards. 
 
 Cap. Tis passing miraculous that your 
 dull and blind worship should so suddenly 
 turn both sightful and witful. 
 
 Plu. The riddle of that miracle I may 
 chance dissolve to you in sequel ; mean- 
 time, what name sustain'st thou ? and 
 what toys are these thou bear'st so fantas- 
 tically about thee ? 
 
 Cap. These toys, sir, are the ensigns that 
 discover my name and quality, my name 
 being Capriccio ; and I wear these bellows 
 on my head to show I can puff up with 
 glory all those that affect me ; and, besides, 
 bear this spur, to show I can spur-gall even 
 the best that contemn me. 
 
 Plu. A dangerous fellow ! But what 
 makest thou, poor man of wit, at these 
 pompous nuptials ? 
 
 Cap. Sir, I come hither with a charge 
 to do these nuptials, I hope, very acceptable 
 service ; and my charge is, a company of 
 accomplished travellers, that are excellent 
 at antemasks, and will tender a taste of 
 their quality, if your worship please. 
 
 Plu. Excellent well pleased ; of what 
 virtue are they besides ? 
 
 Cap. Passing grave, sir, yet exceeding 
 acute : witty, yet not ridiculous ; never 
 laugh at their own jests ; laborious, yet not 
 base ; having cut out the skirts of the whole 
 world, in amorous quest of your gold and 
 silver. 
 
 Plu. They shall have enough ; call them, 
 I beseech thee call them : how far hence 
 abide they ? 
 
 Cap. Sir (being by another eminent 
 quality the admired soldiers of the world), 
 in contempt of softness and delicacy, they 
 lie on the naturally hard boards of that 
 naked tree ; and will your worship assure 
 them rewards fit for persons of their freight? 
 
 Plu. Dost thou doubt my reward, being 
 pleased ? 
 
 Cap. I know, sir, a man may sooner win 
 your reward, for pleasing you, than de- 
 
 serving you. But j'ou great wise persons 
 have a fetch of state, to employ with coun- 
 tenance and encouragement, but reward 
 with austerity and disgrace, save your 
 purses, and lose your honours. 
 
 Plu. To assure thee of reward, I will 
 now satisfy thee touching the miraculous 
 cause, both of my sight and wit, and which 
 consequently moves me to humanity and 
 bounty ; and all is only this, my late 
 being in love with the lovely goddess 
 Honour. 
 
 Cap. If your worship love Honour, in- 
 deed, sir, you must needs be bountiful. 
 But where is the rare goddess you speak of 
 to be seen ? 
 
 Plu. In that rich temple, where Fortune 
 fixed those her golden wings, thou seest ; 
 and that rolling-stone she used to tread 
 upon, for sign she would never forsake this 
 kingdom ; there is adored the worthy god- 
 dess Honour, the sweetness of whose voice, 
 when I first heard her persuasions, both to 
 myself and the Virginian princes arrived 
 here to do honour and homage to these 
 heavenly nuptials, so most powerfully ena- 
 moured me, that the fire of my love flew 
 up to the sight of mine eyes, that have 
 lighted within me a whole firmament of 
 bounty, which may securely assure thee thy 
 reward is certain : and therefore call thy 
 accomplished company to their antemask. 
 
 Cap. See, sir, the time set for their ap- 
 pearance being expired, they appear to 
 their service of themselves. 
 
 Enter the Baboons, after whose dance, being 
 antic and delightful, they returned to 
 their tree, when Plutus spake to Cap- 
 riccius. 
 
 Plu. Gramercy now, Capriccio, take thy 
 men of complement, and travel with them 
 to other marriages. My riches to thy wit, 
 they will get something somewhere. 
 
 Cap. What's this ? 
 
 Plu. A strain of wit beyond a man of 
 wit. I have employed you, and the grace 
 of that is reward enough ; hence, pack, 
 with your complemental fardle : the sight 
 of an attendant for reward is abominable 
 in the eyes of a turn-served politician, and 
 I fear will strike me blind again. I cannot 
 abide these bellows of thy head, they and 
 thy men of wit have melted my mines with 
 them, and consumed me ; yet take thy life 
 and begone. Neptune let thy predeces- 
 sor, Ulysses, live after all his slain com- 
 panions, but to make him die more 
 miserably living ; gave him up to ship- 
 
348 
 
 THE MASK OF THE 
 
 wracks, enchantments ; men of wit are but 
 enchanted, there is no such thing as wit in 
 this world. So take a tree, inure thy 
 soldiers to hardness, 'tis honourable, though 
 not clinquant. 
 
 Cap. Can this be possible ? 
 
 Plu. Alas ! poor man of wit, how want 
 of reward daunts thy virtue ! But because 
 I must send none away discontented from 
 these all-pleasing nuptials, take this wedge 
 of gold and wedge thyself into the world 
 with it, renouncing that loose wit of thine : 
 'twill spoil thy complexion. 
 
 Cap. Honour, and all Argus' eyes, to 
 earth's all-commanding riches ! Pluto etiam 
 cedit Jupiter. \Exit Capriccio. 
 
 [After this low indiiction by these suc- 
 ceeding degrees, the chief maskers 
 were advanced to their discovery. 
 
 piutus calls to pi u . These humble objects 
 
 can no high eyes draw, 
 Eunomia (or the sacred power of law), 
 Daughter of Jove, and goddess Honour's 
 
 priest ; 
 
 Appear to Piutus, and his love assist, 
 tunomiainthe Eun. What would the god 
 
 Temple gates. o f Riches? 
 
 Plu. Join with Honour ; 
 
 In purposed grace of these great nuptials ; 
 
 And since to Honour none should dare ac- 
 cess, 
 
 But help'd by Virtue's hand (thyself, chaste 
 love, 
 
 Being Virtue's rule, and her directful light) 
 
 Help me to th 1 honour of her speech and 
 
 sight. 
 
 Eun. Thy will shall straight be honour'd ; 
 all that seek 
 
 Access to Honour, by clear virtue's beam, 
 
 Her grace prevents their pains, and comes 
 to them. 
 
 Loud music and Honour appears, de- 
 scending with her herald Phemis, 
 and Eunomia (her priest] before 
 her. The music ceasing, Piutus 
 spake. 
 
 Plu. Crown of all merit, goddess, and 
 
 my love ; 
 'Tis now high time that th' end for which 
 
 we come 
 
 Should be endeavour'd in our utmost rite 
 Done to the sweetness of this nuptial 
 
 night. 
 Hon. Piutus, the princes of the Virgin 
 
 land, 
 
 Whom I made cross the Britain ocean 
 To this most famed isle of all the world, 
 
 To do due homage to the sacred nuptials 
 Of Love and Beauty, celebrated here, 
 By this hour of the holy even, I know, 
 Are ready to perform the rites they owe 
 To setting Phoebus, which (for greater state 
 To their appearance) their first act ad- 
 vances. 
 And with songs ushers their succeeding 
 
 dances. 
 Herald ! give summons to the virgin 
 
 knights, 
 
 No longer to delay their purposed rites. 
 Her. Knights of the Virgin land, whom 
 
 Beauty's lights 
 
 Would glorify with their inflaming sights, 
 Keep now obscured no more your fair in- 
 tent 
 
 To add your beams to this night's orna- 
 ment ; 
 The golden-winged Hour strikes now a 
 
 plain, 
 
 And calls out all the pomp ye entertain ; 
 The princely bridegroom and the bride's 
 
 bright eyes 
 Sparkle with grace to your discoveries. 
 
 [At these words the Phcebades (or 
 Priests of the Sun) appeared, first 
 with six lutes and six voices, and 
 sung to the opening of the Mine 
 and Maskers discovery, this full 
 song 
 
 THE FIRST SONG. 
 
 Ope, Earth, thy womb of gold, 
 
 Show Heaven thy cope of stars. 
 All glad aspects unfold, 
 
 Shine out and clear our cares : 
 Kiss, Heaven and Earth, and so combine 
 In all mix' d joy our nuptial twine. 
 
 [This song ended, a mount opened and 
 spread like a sky, in which appeared 
 a sun setting, beneath which sat the 
 twelve maskers in a mine of gold, 
 twelve torch-bearers holding their 
 torches before them, after which . 
 Honour, 6^. 
 Hon. See now the setting sun casts up 
 
 his bank, 
 
 And shows his bright head at his sea's re- 
 pair, 
 
 For sign that all days future shall be fair. 
 Plu. May He that rules all nights and 
 
 days confirm it. 
 Hon. Behold the Sun's fair Priests the 
 
 Phcebades, 
 
 Their evening service in an hymn address 
 To Phoebus setting, which we now shall 
 hear, 
 
MIDDLE TEMPLE AND LINCOLN'S IXX. 
 
 349 
 
 And see the forms of their devotions 
 there. 
 
 The Phoebades sing the first stance of the 
 second song, ut sequitur. 
 
 One alone, i. 
 Descend, fair Sun, and sweetly rest, 
 
 In Tethys' crystal anus thy toil ; 
 Fall burning on, her marble breast, 
 
 And make with love her billows boil. 
 
 Another alone. 2. 
 Blow, blow, sweet winds, O blow away 
 
 All vapours from the fined air : 
 That to his golden, head no ray 
 
 May languish with the least impair. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Dance, Tethis, and thy love's red beams 
 Embrace withjov, he now descends ; 
 Burns, burns with love to drink thy streams, 
 And on him endless youth attends. 
 
 After this stance, Honour, &c. 
 
 Hon. This superstitious hymn, sung to 
 
 the Sun, 
 
 Let us encounter with fit duties done 
 To our clear Phoebus, whose true piety 
 Enjoys from heaven an earthly deity. 
 
 \0thcr music and voices, and this second 
 stance was sung, directing their ob- 
 servance to the King. 
 
 One alone, i. 
 Rise, rise, O Phccbus, ever rise, 
 
 Descend not to th inconstant stream, 
 But grace with endless light our skies, 
 
 To thce that Sun is but a beam. 
 
 Another. 2. 
 Dance, ladies, in our Sun's bright rays, 
 
 In which the bride and bridegroom shine, 
 Clear, sable night with your eyes' days, 
 
 And set firm lights on Hymen's shrine. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 O may our sun not set before 
 
 He sees his endless seed arise 
 And deck his triple-crowned shore 
 
 With springs of human deities. 
 
 This ended, the Phoebades sung the third 
 stance. 
 
 Set, set, great sun, our rising love 
 Shall ever celebrate thy grace ; 
 
 Whom entering the high court of Jove, 
 Each god greets rising from his place. 
 
 When thou thy silver bow dost bcird 
 
 All start aside and dread thy draughts; 
 How can we thce enough commend, 
 
 Commanding all worlds with thy shafts f 
 
 CHORUS. 
 Blest was thy mother bearing thee, 
 
 And Phoe'be, that delights in darts ; 
 Thou arlful songs dost set, and she 
 Winds horns, loves hounds and 
 palmed harts. 
 
 After this Honour. 
 
 Hon. Again our music and conclude this 
 
 song 
 
 To him to whom all Phoebus' beams be- 
 long. 
 
 The other voices sung to other music the 
 third stance. 
 
 Rise still, clear sun, and never set, 
 But be to earth her only light ; 
 
 All other kings in thy beams met, 
 Are clouds and dark effects of night. 
 
 2. 
 
 As when the rosy morn doth rise, 
 
 Like mists, all give thy wisdom way; 
 
 A learned king is, as in skies, 
 
 To poor dim stars thefiaming day. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Blest was thy mother, bearing thee; 
 
 Thee, only relic of her race, 
 Made by thy virtue's beams a tree 
 
 Whose arms shall all the earth em- 
 brace. 
 
 This done, Eunomia spake to the Maskers 
 set yet above. 
 
 Eun. Virginian princes, you must now 
 
 renounce 
 
 Your superstitious worship of these Suns, 
 Subject to cloudy darkenings and de- 
 scents, 
 
 And of your fit devotions turn the events 
 To this our Briton Phoebus, whose bright 
 
 sky 
 
 (Enlighten'd with a Christian piety) 
 Is never subject to black Error's night, 
 And hath already offer'd heaven's true 
 
 light 
 To your dark region, which acknowledge 
 
 now, 
 
 Descend, and to him all your homage 
 vow. 
 
350 THE MASK OF THE MIDDLE TEMPLE AND LINCOLN'S INN. 
 
 Beauty. 
 
 [ With this the torch-bearers descended 
 and performed another antemask, 
 dancing with torches lighted at 
 both ends, which done the Maskers 
 descended and fell into their dances, 
 two of which being past, and others 
 with the ladies. Honour spake. 
 
 bride a:id Music ! your voices now tune 
 
 sweet and high, 
 and And sing the nuptial hymn of 
 
 Love and Beauty. 
 Twins, as of one age, so to one desire 
 Twins of which May both their bloods give 
 Hi s P p P e T S 'an imparted fire. 
 
 And as those twins that Fame 
 
 gives all her prize, 
 
 Combined their life's power in such sympa- 
 thies, 
 That one being merry, mirth the other 
 
 graced ; 
 
 If one felt sorrow, th'other grief embraced ; 
 If one were healthful, health the other 
 
 pleased ; 
 
 If one were sick, the other was diseased ; 
 And always join'd in such a constant troth 
 That one like cause had like effect in both : 
 Called twins, So may these nuptial twins 
 of an age their whole lives' store 
 
 Spend in such even parts, 
 
 never grieving more 
 
 Than may the more set off their joys di- 
 vine, 
 
 As after clouds the Sun doth clearest 
 shine. 
 
 This said, this song of Love and Beauty 
 was sung, single. 
 
 Bright Panthsea born to Pan, 
 Of the noblest race of man, 
 
 Her white hand to Eros giving, 
 With a kiss join' d heaven to earth 
 And begot so fair a birth 
 
 As yet never graced the living. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 A twin that all worlds did adorn, 
 For so were Love and Beauty born. 
 
 2. 
 
 Both so loved they did contend 
 Which the other should transcend, 
 
 Doing either grace and kindness ; 
 Love from Beauty did remove 
 Lightness, call'd her stain in love, 
 
 Beauty took from Love his blindness. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Love sparks made flames in Beauty's sky, 
 And Beauty blew up Love as high. 
 
 3- 
 
 Virtue then commix d lierfire, 
 To which Bounty did aspire, 
 
 Innocence a crown conferring ; 
 Mine and thine were then unused, 
 All things common, nought abused, 
 
 Freely earth her fruitage bearing. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Nought then was cared for that could fade, 
 Ana thus the golden world was made. 
 
 This sung, the Maskers danced again with 
 the ladies, after which Honour. 
 
 Hon. Now may the blessings of the gol- 
 den age 
 
 Swim in these nuptials, even to holy rage, 
 A Hymn to Sleep prefer, and all the joys 
 That in his empire are of dearest choice, 
 Betwixt his golden slumbers ever flow, 
 In these and theirs, in springs as endless 
 grow. 
 
 This said, the last song was sung full. 
 
 THE LAST SONG. 
 Now Sleep, bind fast the flood of air, 
 
 Strike all things dumb and deaf, 
 And to disturb our nuptial pair 
 
 Let stir no aspen leaf. 
 Send flocks of golden dreams 
 That all true joys presage, 
 Bring in thy oily streams 
 
 The milk-and-honey age. 
 Now close the world-round sphere of bliss, 
 And Jill it with a heavenly kiss. 
 
 After this Plutus to the Maskers. 
 
 Plu. Come, Virgin knights, the homage 
 
 ye have done 
 
 To Love and Beauty, and our Briton Sun, 
 Kind Honour will requite with holy feasts 
 In her fair temple ; and her loved guests 
 Gives me the grace 't invite, when she 
 
 and I 
 
 (Honour and Riches) will eternally 
 A league in favour of this night combine, 
 In which Love's second hallow'd tapers 
 
 shine, 
 Whose joys may Heaven and Earth as 
 
 highly please 
 
 As those two nights that got great Her- 
 cules. 
 
 [The speech ended, they concluded with 
 a dance that brought them off ; Plu- 
 tus, with Honour and the rest, con- 
 ducting them up to the Temple of 
 Honour. 
 
The Tragedy of Caesar and Pompey.* 
 
 TO 
 THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, HIS EXCEEDING GOOD LORD, 
 
 THE EARL OF MIDDLESEX, &c. 
 
 THOUGH, my good lord, this martial history suffer the division of Acts and Scenes, 
 both for the more perspicuity and height of the celebration, yet never touched it at the 
 stage ; or if it had, though some may perhaps causelessly impair it, yet would it, I 
 hope, fall under no exception in your lordship's better-judging estimation, since 
 scenical representation is so far from giving just cause of any least diminution, that 
 the personal and exact life it gives to any history, or other such delineation of human 
 actions, adds to them lustre, spirit, and apprehension, which the only section of acts 
 and scenes makes me stand upon thus much, since that only in some precisianisms will 
 require a little prevention, and the hasty prose the style avoids, obtain to the more 
 temperate and staid numerous elocution, some assistance to the acceptation and grace 
 of it. Though ingeniously rny gratitude confesseth, my lord, it is not such as hereafter 
 I vow to your honour, being written so long since, and had not the timely ripeness of 
 that age that, I thank God, I yet find no fault withal for any such defects. 
 
 Good my lord, vouchsafe your idle minutes may admit some slight glances at this, 
 till some work of more novelty and fashion may confer this the more liking of your 
 honour's more worthy deservings ; to which his bounden affection vows all services. 
 
 Ever your lordship's 
 
 GEO. CHAPMAN. 
 
 THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 Pompey and Caesar bring their armies so near Rome, that the Senate except 
 against them. Caesar unduly and ambitiously commanding his forces. Pompey more 
 for fear of Caesar's violence to the State, than moved with any affectation of his own 
 greatness. Their opposite pleadings, out of which admirable narrations are made, 
 which yet not conducing to their ends, war ends them. In which at first Caesar is 
 forced to fly, whom Pompey not pursuing with such wings as fitted a speeding 
 conqueror, his victory was prevented, and he unhappily dishonoured. Whose ill 
 fortune his most loving and learned wife Cornelia travelled after, with pains solemn 
 and careful enough, whom the two Lentuli and others attended, till she miserably 
 found him, and saw him monstrously murthered. 
 
 Both the consuls and Cato are slaughtered with their own invincible hands, and 
 Caesar, in spite of all his fortune, without his victory, victor. 
 
 * " Caesar and Pompey : A Roman Tragedy, declaring their Warres. Out of whose euents is 
 euicted this Proposition. Only a iust man is a freeman. By George Chapman. London : 
 Printed by Thomas Harper, and are to be sold by Godfrey Emondson, and Thomas Alchorne. 
 M.DC.XXXI." 
 
352 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF CAESAR AND POMPEY. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 ACT THE FIRST. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 Cato, Athenodorus, Porcius, Statilius. 
 
 Ca. Now will the two suns of our 
 
 Roman heaven, 
 Pompey and Caesar, in their tropic 
 
 burning, 
 With 'heir contention, all the clouds 
 
 assemble 
 That threaten tempests to our peace and 
 
 empire, 
 Which we shall shortly see pour down in 
 
 blood, 
 Civil and natural wild and barbarous 
 
 turning. 
 
 At. From whence presage you this ? 
 Ca. From both their armies, 
 Now gather'd near our Italy, contending 
 To enter severally : Pompey 's brought so 
 
 near 
 By Rome's consent ; for fear of tyrannous 
 
 Caesar, 
 
 Which Caesar, fearing to be done in favour 
 Of Pompey, and his passage to the empire, 
 Hath brought on his for intervention. 
 And such a flock of puttocks follow Caesar, 
 For fall of his ill-disposed purse 
 (That never yet spared cross to aquiline 
 
 virtue) 
 
 As well may make all civil spirits suspicious. 
 I,ook how against great rains, a standing 
 
 pool 
 
 Of paddocks, toads, and water-snakes put up 
 Their speckled throats above the venomous 
 
 lake, 
 Croaking and gasping for some fresh-fall'n 
 
 drops, 
 To quench their poison'd thirst ; being near 
 
 to stifle 
 With clotter'd purgings of their own foul 
 
 bane : 
 So still, where Caesar goes, there thrust up 
 
 head 
 
 Impostors, flatterers, favourites, and bawds, 
 Buffoons, intelligencers, select wits ; 
 Close murtherers, mountebanks, and de- 
 cay 'd thieves, 
 To gain their baneful lives' reliefs from 
 
 him. 
 
 From Britain, Belgia, France, and Ger- 
 many, 
 The scum of either country (choosed by 
 
 him, 
 
 To be his black guard and red agents here) 
 Swarming about him. 
 
 For. And all these are said 
 
 To be suborn'd, in chief, against yourself ; 
 Since Caesar chiefly fears that you will sit 
 This day his opposite ; in the car.se for 
 
 which 
 Both you were sent for home ; and he hath 
 
 stol'n 
 Access so soon here ; Pompey's whole rest 
 
 raised 
 To his encounter ; and on both sides, 
 
 Rome 
 In general uproar. 
 
 St. Which, sir, if you saw, 
 And knew, how for the danger, all suspect 
 To this your worthiest friend (for that 
 
 known freedom 
 His spirit will use this day, 'gainst both the 
 
 rivals, 
 His wife and family mourn, no food, no 
 
 comfort 
 Allow'd them for his danger) you would 
 
 use 
 Your utmost powers to stay him from the 
 
 senate 
 All this day's session. 
 
 Ca. He's too wise, Statilius ; 
 For all is nothing. 
 
 St. Nothing, sir? I saw 
 Castor and Pollux Temple, thmst up full 
 With all the damn'd crew you have lately 
 
 named ; 
 The market-place and suburbs swarming 
 
 with them ; 
 And where the Senate sit, are ruffians 
 
 pointed 
 
 To keep from entering the degrees that go 
 Up to the Bench, all other but the Consuls, 
 Caesar and Pompey, and the Senators, 
 And all for no cause, but to keep out Cato, 
 With any violence, any villany. 
 And is this nothing, sir ? Is his one life, 
 On whom all good lives and their goods 
 
 depend, 
 In Rome's whole Empire ; all the justice 
 
 there 
 
 That's free and simple ; all such virtues too, 
 And all such knowledge ; nothing, nothing, 
 
 all? 
 Ca. Away, Statilius ; how long shall thy 
 
 love 
 Exceed thy knowledge of me and the 
 
 gods? 
 Whose rights thou wrong'st for my right ? 
 
 have not I 
 Their powers to guard me, in a cause of 
 
 theirs ? 
 
 Their justice and integrity included, 
 In what I stand for? He that fears the 
 
 gods. 
 For guard of any goodness, all things fears, 
 
n 
 
 SCENE I.] 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF CVF.SAR AND POMPEY. 
 
 353 
 
 Earth, seas, and air ; heaven, darkness, 
 
 broad daylight, 
 
 Rumour, and silence, and his very shade ; 
 And what an aspen soul hath such a crea- 
 ture ; 
 
 How dangerous to his soul is such a fear ! 
 In whose cold fits is all heaven's justice 
 
 shaken 
 To his faint thoughts ; and all the goodness 
 
 there 
 Due to all good men, by the gods' own 
 
 vows, 
 
 Nay, by the firmness of their endless being, 
 All which shall fail as soon as any one 
 Good to a good man in them : for his 
 
 goodness 
 Proceeds from them, and is a beam of 
 
 theirs. 
 
 O never more, Statilius, may this fear 
 Taint thy bold bosom, for thyself or friend, 
 More than the gods are fearful to defend. 
 At. Come, let him go, Statilius ; and 
 
 your fright ; 
 This man hath inward guard, past your 
 
 young sight. {Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Minutius, manet Cato. 
 
 Ca. Welcome ; come stand by me in 
 
 what is fit 
 
 For our poor city's safety, nor respect 
 Her proudest foe's corruption, or our danger 
 Of what seen face soever. 
 
 Mi. I am yours. 
 
 But what, alas, sir, can the weakness do 
 Against our whole state of us only two ? 
 You know our statists' spirits are so corrupt 
 And servile to the greatest, that what 
 
 crosseth 
 Them, or their own particular wealth or 
 
 honour, 
 They will not enterprise to save the Empire. 
 
 Ca. I know it, yet let us do like our- 
 selves. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter some bearing axes, bundles of rods, 
 bare, before two Consuls, Caesar and 
 Metellus : Antonius and Marcellus in 
 couples ; Senators, People, Soldiers, 
 &c., following. The Consuls enter 
 the degrees with Antonius and Mar- 
 cellus ; Caesar staying awhile without 
 with Metellus, who hath a paper in 
 his hand. 
 
 C<zs. Move you for entering only Pom- 
 
 pey's army, 
 Which if you gain for him, for me all 
 
 justice 
 Will join with my request of entering mine. 
 
 VOL. Ir 
 
 Me. Tis like so, and I purpose to en- 
 force it. 
 Cas. But might we not win Cato to our 
 
 friendship 
 
 By honouring speeches, nor persuasive gifts? 
 Me. Not possible. 
 Cess. Nor by enforcive usage ? 
 Ate. Not all the violence that can be used 
 Of power or set authority can stir him, 
 Much less fair words win or rewards cor- 
 rupt him ; 
 And therefore all means we must use to 
 
 keep him 
 From off the Bench. 
 
 Ctes. Give you the course for that ; 
 And if he offer entry, I have fellows 
 Will serve your will on him, at my given 
 signal. [They ascend. 
 
 Enter Pompey, Gabinius, Vibius, Deme- 
 trius, with papers. Enter the Lists, 
 ascend and sit. After whom enter 
 Cato, Minutius, Athenodorus, Stati- 
 lius, Porcius. 
 
 Ca. He is the man that sits so close to 
 
 Caesar, 
 And holds the law there, whispering ; see 
 
 the coward 
 Hath guards of arm'd men got, against 
 
 one naked : 
 
 I'll part their whispering virtue. 
 ist Co. Hold, keep out. 
 2nd Co. What ! honoured Cato ? enter, 
 
 choose thy place. 
 Ca. Come in ; 
 
 [He draws him in and sits betwixt 
 
 Caesar and Metellus. 
 Away, unworthy grooms. 
 yd Co. No more. 
 
 Cces. What should one say to him ? 
 Me. He will be stoical. 
 Ca. Where fit place is not given, it must 
 
 be taken. 
 4//fc Co. Do, take it, Cato ; fear no 
 
 greatest of them ; 
 Thou seek'st the people's good, and these 
 
 their own. 
 
 <fh Co. Brave Cato ! what a coun- 
 tenance he puts on ! 
 
 Let's give his noble will our utmost power. 
 6th Co. Be bold in all thy will ; for being 
 
 just, 
 
 Thou mayst defy the gods. 
 Ca. Said like a god. 
 Me. We must endure these people. 
 Cas. Do ; begin. 
 Me. Consuls, and reverend fathers ; and 
 
 ye people, 
 Whose voices are the voices of the gods ; 
 
354 
 
 THE TRAG ',DY OF CAESAR AND POMPEY. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 I here have dra\ 7n a law, by goo I consent, 
 
 For entering into Italy the army 
 
 Of Rome's great Pompey : that his forces 
 
 here 
 As well as he, great Rome may rest 
 
 secure 
 
 From danger of the yet still smoking fire 
 Of Catiline's ahhorr d conspiracy : 
 Of which the very chief are left alive, 
 Only chastised but w.'th a gentle prison. 
 Ca. Put them to dt\ath, then, and strike 
 
 dead our fear, 
 
 That well you urge, b) their unfit survival. 
 Rather than keep it q\\ick ; and two lives 
 
 give it, 
 
 By entertaining Pompey' s army too, 
 That gives as great cause of our fear as 
 
 they. 
 
 For their conspiracy only was to make 
 One tyrant over all the State of Rome. 
 And Pompey 's army, suffer'd to be enter'd, 
 Is to make him, or give him means to be 
 
 so. 
 
 Me. It follows not. 
 Ca. In purpose clearly, sir, 
 Which I'll illustrate with a clear example. 
 If it be day, the sun's above the earth ; 
 Which follows not (you'll answer) for 'tis 
 
 day 
 When first the morning breaks ; and yet is 
 
 then 
 
 The body of the sun beneath the earth ; 
 But he is virtually above it too, 
 Because his beams are there ; and who 
 
 then knows not 
 
 His golden body will soon after mount. 
 So Pompey 's army enter'd Italy, 
 Yet Pompey's not in Rome ; but Pompey 's 
 
 beams 
 
 Who sees not there ? and consequently he 
 Is in all means enthroned in th' Empery. 
 Me. Examples prove not ; we will have 
 
 the army 
 Of Pompey enter'd. 
 
 Ca. We? which we intend you? 
 Have you already bought the people's 
 
 voices ? 
 
 Or bear our Consuls or our Senate here 
 So small love to their country, that their 
 
 wills 
 
 Beyond their country's right are so per- 
 verse, 
 
 To give a tyrant here entire command ? 
 Which I have proved as clear as day they 
 
 do, 
 
 If either the conspirators surviving 
 Be let to live, or Pompey's army enter'd ; 
 Both which beat one sole path and threat 
 
 one danger. 
 
 Cces. Consuls, and honour 'd fathers, 
 
 the sole entry 
 
 Of Pompey's army I'll not yet examine : 
 But for the great conspirators yet living, 
 Which Cato will conclude as one self 
 
 danger 
 
 To our dear country ; and deter all there- 
 fore 
 That love their country, from their lives' 
 
 defence, 
 
 I see no reason why such danger hangs 
 On their saved lives, being still safe kept 
 
 in prison ; 
 
 And since close prison to a Roman free- 
 dom, 
 Tenfold torments more than directest 
 
 death, 
 Who can be thought to love the less his 
 
 country, 
 
 That seeks to save their lives ? and lest my- 
 self 
 (Thus speaking for them), be unjustly 
 
 touch' d 
 
 With any less doubt of my country's love, 
 Why, reverend fathers, may it be esteem' d 
 Self-praise in me to prove myself a chief, 
 Both in my love of her and in desert 
 Of her like love in me ? for he that does 
 Most honour to his mistress, well may 
 
 boast, 
 Without least question, that he loves her 
 
 most. 
 And though things long since done, were 
 
 long since known, 
 
 And so may seem superfluous to repeat ; 
 Yet being forgotten, as things never done, 
 Their repetition needful is, in justice, 
 T'inflame the shame of that oblivion. 
 For hoping it will seem no less impair 
 To others' acts, to truly tell mine own ; 
 Put all together ; I have past them all 
 That by their acts can boast themselves to 
 
 be 
 Their country's lovers : first, in those wild 
 
 kingdoms 
 
 Subdued to Rome by my unwearied toils, 
 'Which I dissavaged and made nobly civil. 
 Next, in the multitude of those rude 
 
 realms 
 That so I fashion' d, and to Rome's young 
 
 empire 
 
 Of old have added ; then the battles num- 
 ber' d 
 This hand hath fought and won for her, 
 
 with all 
 
 Those infinites of dreadful enemies 
 (I slew in them twice fifteen hundred 
 
 thousand, 
 All able soldiers) I have driven at once 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OB" C^SAR AND POMPEY. 
 
 355 
 
 Before my forces, and in sundry onsets, 
 A thousand thousand of them put to 
 
 sword : 
 Besides, I took in less than ten years' 
 
 time, 
 By strong assault, above eight hundred 
 
 cities, 
 Three hundred several nations in that 
 
 space 
 
 Subduing to my country ; all which ser- 
 vice, 
 
 I trust, may interest me in her love, 
 Public, and general enough, to acquit me 
 Of any self-love, past her common good: 
 For any motion of particular justice 
 (By which her general empire is maintain'd) 
 That I can make for those accused pri- 
 soners, 
 Which is but by the way ; that so the 
 
 reason 
 Metellus makes for entering Pompey's 
 
 aimy, 
 
 May not more weighty seem, than to agree 
 "With those imprison'd nobles' vital safeties. 
 Which granted, or but yielded fit to be, 
 May well extenuate the necessity 
 Of entering Pompey's army. 
 
 Ca. All that need 
 
 I took away before ; and reasons gave 
 For a necessity to keep it out, 
 Whose entry, I think, he himself affects 
 
 not. 
 Since I as well think he affects not th' 
 
 Empire, 
 And both those thoughts hold ; since he 
 
 loves his country, 
 
 In my great hopes of him, too well to seek 
 His sole rule of her, when so many souls, 
 So hard a task approve it ; nor my hopes 
 Of his sincere love to his country, build 
 On sandier grounds than Caesar's ; since 
 
 he can 
 
 As good cards show for it as Caesar did, 
 And quit therein the close aspersion 
 Of his ambition, seeking to employ 
 His army in the breast of Italy. 
 
 Pom. Let me not thus, imperial Bench 
 
 and Senate, 
 
 Feel myself beat about the ears, and tost 
 With others' breaths to any coast they 
 
 please ; 
 And not put some stay to my errors in 
 
 them. 
 
 The gods can witness that not my ambition 
 Hath brought to question th' entry of my 
 
 army, 
 
 And therefore not suspected the effect 
 Of which that entry is supposed the cause. 
 Which is a will in me, to give my power 
 
 The rule of Rome's sole empire ; that most 
 
 strangely 
 Would put my will in others' powers, and 
 
 powers 
 
 (Unforfeit by my fault) in others' wills. 
 My self-love, out of which all this must 
 
 rise, 
 I will not wrong the known proofs of my 
 
 love 
 
 To this my native city's public good, 
 To quit or think of, nor repeat those 
 
 proofs, 
 Confirm'd in those three triumphs I have 
 
 made, 
 
 For conquest of the whole inhabited world, 
 First Afric, Europe, and then Asia, 
 Which never Consul but myself could 
 
 boast. 
 Nor can blind Fortune vaunt her partial 
 
 hand 
 
 In any part of all my services, 
 Though some have said she was the page 
 
 of Caesar, 
 
 Both sailing, marching, fighting, and pre- 
 paring 
 
 His fights in very order of his battles ; 
 The parts she play'd for him inverting 
 
 nature, 
 
 As giving calmness to th' enraged sea, 
 Imposing summer's weather on stern 
 
 winter, 
 
 Winging the slowest foot he did com- 
 mand, 
 And his most coward making fierce of 
 
 hand. 
 
 And all this ever when the force of man 
 Was quite exceeded in it all ; and she 
 
 Yet, her for me, I both disclaim and 
 
 In th' instant adding: her clear deitv. 
 her f 
 
 scorn, 
 And where all fortune is renounced, no 
 
 reason 
 
 Will think, one man transferr'd with affec- 
 tation 
 Of all Rome's empire, for he must have 
 
 fortune, 
 That goes beyond a man ; and where so 
 
 many 
 Their handfuls find with it, the one is 
 
 mad 
 That undergoes it ; and where that is 
 
 clear'd, 
 Th' imputed means to it, which is my 
 
 suit 
 For entry of mine army, I confute. 
 
 Ca. What rests then, this of all parts 
 
 being disclaim'd ? 
 Me. My part, sir, rests, that let great 
 
 Pompey bear 
 
 A A 2 
 
35* 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF CAESAR AND POM FEY. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 What spirit he lists, 'tis needful yet for 
 
 Rome, 
 
 That this law be establish' d for his army. 
 Cccs. Tis then as needful to admit in 
 
 mine ; 
 Or else let both lay down our arms, for 
 
 else 
 To take my charge off, and leave Pompey 
 
 his, 
 
 You wrongfully accuse me to intend 
 A tyranny amongst ye, and shall give 
 Pompey full means to be himself a tyrant. 
 An. Can this be answer' d ? 
 \st Co. Is it then your wills 
 That Pompey shall cease arms ? 
 An. What else ? 
 Omnes. No, no. 
 
 2nd Co. Shall Caesar cease his arms ? 
 Omnes. Ay, ay. 
 An. For s'hame ! 
 
 Then yield to this clear equity, that both 
 May leave their arms. 
 
 Omnes. We indifferent stand. 
 
 Me. Read but this law, and you shall 
 
 see a difference 
 
 'Twixt equity and your indifferency, 
 All men's objections answer 'd ; read it, 
 
 notary. 
 
 Ca. He shall not read it. 
 Me. I will read it then. 
 Mi. Nor thou shalt read it, being a 
 
 thing so vain, 
 Pretending cause for Pompey's army's 
 
 entry, 
 
 That only by thy complices and thee, 
 'Tis forged to set the Senate in an uproar. 
 Me. I have it, sir, in memory, and will 
 speak it. 
 
 Ca. Thou shalt be dumb as soon. 
 C<es. Pull down this Cato, 
 Author of factions, and to prison with him. 
 Ge. Come down, sir. 
 Pom. Hence, ye mercenary ruffians. 
 
 \He draws, and all draw. 
 ^st Co. What outrage show you? sheathe 
 
 your insolent swords, 
 Or be proclaim'd your country's foes and 
 
 traitors. 
 Pom. How insolent a part was this in 
 
 you, 
 
 To offer the imprisonment of Cato, 
 When there is right in him (were form so 
 
 answer'd 
 With terms and place) to send us both to 
 
 prison ? 
 
 If, of our own ambitions, we should offer 
 The entry of our armies ; for who knows 
 That, of us both, the best friend to his 
 country, 
 
 And freest from his own particular ends 
 (Being in his power), would not assume the 
 
 Empire, 
 
 And having it, could rule the State so well 
 As now 'tis govern'd for the common good ? 
 Cess. Accuse yourself, sir (if your con- 
 science urge it), 
 Or of ambition, or corruption, 
 Or insufficiency to rule the Empire, 
 And sound not me with your lead. 
 
 Pom. Lead ? 'tis gold, 
 And spirit of gold too, to the politic 
 
 dross 
 W T ith which false Caesar sounds men, and 
 
 for which 
 His praise and honour crowns them ; who 
 
 sounds not 
 
 The inmost sand of Caesar ? for but sand 
 Is all the rope of your great parts affected. 
 You speak well, and are learn' d ; and 
 
 golden speech 
 
 Did Nature never give man but to gild 
 A copper scul in him ; and all that learning 
 That heartily is spent in painting speech, 
 Is merely painted, and no solid knowledge. 
 But y'ave another praise for temperance, 
 Which nought commends your free choice 
 
 to be temperate. 
 
 For so you must be, at least in your meals, 
 Since y'ave a malady that ties you to it ; 
 For fear of daily falls in your aspirings. 
 And your disease the gods ne'er gave to 
 
 man, 
 
 But such a one, as had a spirit too great 
 For all his body's passages to serve it ; 
 Which notes th' excess of your ambition. 
 The malady chancing where the pores and 
 
 passages 
 
 Through which the spirit of a man is borne, 
 So narrow are, and strait, that oftentimes 
 They intercept it quite, and choke it up. 
 And yet because the greatness of it notes 
 A heat mere fleshly, and of blood's rank 
 
 fire, 
 
 Goats are of all beasts subject to it most. 
 Cess. Yourself might have it, then, if those 
 
 faults cause it ; 
 
 But deals this man ingeniously to tax 
 Men with a frailty that the gods inflict ? 
 Pom. The gods inflict on men diseases 
 
 never, 
 
 Or other outward maims, but to decipher, 
 Correct and order some rude vice within 
 
 them : 
 
 And why decipher they it, but to make 
 Men note and shun, and tax it to th 
 
 extreme ? 
 
 Nor will I see my country's hopes abused 
 In any man commanding in her empire ; 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF C,SAR AND POMPEY. 
 
 357 
 
 If my more trial of him makes me see 
 
 more 
 
 Into his intricacies ; and my freedom 
 Hath spirit to speak more than observers 
 
 servile. 
 C&s. Be free, sir, of your insight and 
 
 your speech, 
 And speak and see more than the world 
 
 besides ; 
 
 I must remember I have heard of one, 
 That fame gave out, could see through oak 
 
 and stone : 
 
 And of another set in Sicily 
 That could discern the Carthaginian navy, 
 And number them distinctly, leaving har- 
 bour, 
 Though full a day and night's sail distant 
 
 thence. 
 
 But these things, reverend fathers, I con- 
 ceive 
 
 Hardly appear to you worth grave belief : 
 And therefore since such strange things 
 
 have been seen 
 
 In my so deep and foul detractions, 
 By or.ly Lyncean Pompey, who was most 
 Loved and believed of Rome's most famous 
 
 whore, 
 
 Infamous Flora, by so fine a man 
 As Galba, or Sarmentus, any jester 
 Or flatterer may draw through a lady's 
 
 ring ; 
 
 By one that all his soldiers call in scorn 
 Great Agamemnon, or the king of men ; 
 I rest unmoved with him ; and yield to 
 
 you 
 
 To right my wrongs, or his abuse allow. 
 Ca. My lord, ye make all Rome amazed 
 
 to hear. 
 Pom. Away, I'll hear no more ; I hear it 
 
 thunder, 
 My lords ; all you that love the good of 
 
 Rome, 
 I charge ye, follow me ; all such as 
 
 stay 
 Are friends to Caesar and their country's 
 
 foes. 
 Cees. Th' event will fall out contrary, my 
 
 lords, 
 u/. Co. Go, thou art a thief to Rome ; 
 
 discharge thine army, 
 Or be proclaim'd, forthwith, her open 
 
 foe. 
 2nd. Co. Pompey, I charge thee, help thy 
 
 injured country 
 With what powers thou hast arm'd, and 
 
 levy more. 
 
 The Ruffians. War, war, O Caesar ! 
 Sen. and people. Peace, peace, worthy 
 
 Pompey ! 
 
 ACT THE SECOND. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Enter Fronto, all ragged, in an overgrown, 
 red beard, black head, with a halter in 
 his hand, looking about. 
 
 Fr. Wars, wars, and presses fly in fire 
 
 about ; 
 
 No more can I lurk in my lazy corners 
 Nor shifting courses, and with honest 
 
 means 
 
 To rack my miserable life out more. 
 The rack is not so fearful ; when dishonest 
 And villanous fashions fail me, can I hope 
 To live with virtuous, or to raise my 
 
 fortunes 
 
 By creeping up in soldierly degrees ? 
 Since villainy, varied thorough all his figures, 
 Will put no better case on me than this, 
 Despair, come seize me ; I had able 
 
 means, 
 And spent all in the swinge of lewd 
 
 affections ; 
 
 Plunged in all riot, and the rage of blood ; 
 In full assurance that being knave enough, 
 Barbarous enough, base, ignorant enough, 
 I needs must have enough, while this world 
 
 lasted ; 
 
 Yet, since I am a poor and ragged knave, 
 My rags disgrace my knavery so, that none 
 Will think I am a knave ; as if good 
 
 clothes 
 Were knacks to know a knave ; when all 
 
 men know 
 He has no living ; which knacks since my 
 
 knavery 
 
 Can show no more, and only show is all 
 That this world cares for ; I'll step out of all 
 The cares 'tis steep 'd in. 
 
 [tfe offers to hang himself. 
 
 TJmnder, and the gulf opens, jlamcs issu- \ 
 ing ; and Ophioneus ascending, with 
 the face, wings, and tail of a dragon / 
 a skin coat all speckled on the throat. 
 
 Op. Hold, rascal, hang thyself in these 
 days ! The only time that ever was for a 
 rascal to live in. 
 
 Fr. How chance I cannot live then ? 
 
 Op. Either th'art not rascal nor villain j 
 enough ; or else thou dost not pretend 
 honesty and piety enough to disguise it. 
 
 Fr. That's certain, for every ass does that 
 What art thou ? 
 
 Cp. A villain worse than thou. 
 
 Fr. And dost breathe ? 
 
353 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF CAESAR AND POMPEY. 
 
 [ACT n. 
 
 Op. I speak, thou hear'st, I move, my 
 pulse beats fast as thine. 
 
 Fr. And wherefore livest thou ? 
 
 Op. The world's out of frame, a thousand 
 rulers wresting it this way and that, with 
 as many religions ; when, as heaven's upper 
 sphere is moved only by one, so should 
 the sphere of earth be, and I'll have it 
 so. 
 
 Fr. How canst thou ? what art thou ? 
 
 Op. My shape may tell thee. 
 
 Fr. No man ? 
 
 Op. Man ! no, spawn of a clot, none of 
 that cursed crew, damned in the mass itself ; 
 plagued in his birth, confined to creep 
 below, and wrestle with the elements ; 
 teach himself tortures ; kill himself, hang 
 himself ; no such galley-slave, but at war 
 with heaven, spurning the power of the 
 gods, command the elements. 
 
 Fr. What may'st thou be, then ? 
 
 Op. An endless friend of thine, an 
 immortal devil. 
 
 Fr. Heaven bless us ! 
 
 Op. Nay, then, forth, go, hang thyself, 
 and thou talk'st of heaven once. 
 
 Fr. I have done : what devil art thou ? 
 
 Op. Read the old stoic Pherecides, that 
 tells thee me truly, and says that I, Ophio- 
 neus (for so is my name) 
 
 Fr. Ophioneus? what's that? 
 
 Op. Devilish serpent, by interpretation 
 was general captain of that rebellious host 
 of spirits that waged war with heaven. 
 
 Fr. And so were hurled down to hell. 
 
 Op. We were so ; and yet have the rule 
 of earth ; and cares any man for the worst 
 of hell, then ? 
 
 Fr. Why should he? 
 
 Op. Well said ; what's thy name now ? 
 
 Fr. My name is Fronto. 
 
 Op. Fronto ? A good one ; and has 
 Fronto lived thus long in Rome, lost his 
 state at dice, murthered his brother for his 
 means, spent all, run through \vorse offices 
 since, been a promoter, a purveyor, a 
 pander, a sumner, a sergeant, an intelli- 
 gencer, and at last hang thyself? 
 
 Fr. How the devil knows he all this ? 
 
 Op. Why, thou art a most green plover 
 in policy, I perceive ; and may'st drink 
 colts'-foot, for all thy horse-mane beard : 
 'slight, what need hast thou to hang thy- 
 self, as if there was a dearth of hangmen 
 in the land ? Thou livest in a good cheap 
 state ; a man may be hanged here for a 
 little or nothing. What's the reason of 
 thy desperation ? 
 
 Fr. My idle, dissolute life, is thrust out o.' 
 
 all his corners by this searching tumult 
 now on foot in Rome. 
 
 Caesar now and Pompey 
 
 Are both for battle : Pompey (in his fear 
 Of Cassar's greater force) is sending hence 
 His wife and children, and he bent to fly. 
 
 Enter Pompey running over the stage with 
 his -wife and children, Gabinius, De- 
 metrius, Vibius, Pages ; other Senators, 
 the Consuls and all following. 
 
 See, all are on their wings, and all the city 
 In such an uproar, as if fire and sword 
 Were ransacking and ruining their houses ; 
 No idle person now can lurk near Rome, 
 All must to arms, or shake their heels 
 
 beneath 
 
 Her martial halters, whose officious pride 
 I'll shun, and use mine own swinge : I be 
 
 forced 
 
 To help my country, when it forceth. me 
 To this past-helping pickle ! 
 
 Op. Go to, thou shalt serve me ; choose 
 
 thy profession, 
 
 And what cloth thou wouldst wish to have 
 thy coat cut out on. 
 
 Fr. I can name none. 
 
 Op. Shall I be thy learn 'd counsel? 
 
 Fr. None better. 
 
 Op. Be an archflamen, then, to one of 
 the gods. 
 
 Fr. Archflamen ! what's that ? 
 
 Op. A priest. 
 
 Fr. A priest, that ne'er was clerk? 
 
 Op. No clerk ! what then? 
 The greatest clerks are not the wisest men. 
 Nor skills it for degrees in a knave, or a 
 fool's preferment; thou shalt rise by fortune: 
 let desert rise leisurely enough, and by 
 degrees ; fortune prefers headlong, and 
 comes like riches to a man ; huge riches 
 being got with little pains, and little with 
 huge pains. And for discharge of the 
 priesthood, what thou want'st in learning 
 thou shalt take out in good-fellowship : 
 thou shalt equivocate with the sophister, 
 prate with the lawyer, scrape with the 
 usurer, drink with the Dutchman, swear 
 with the Frenchman, cheat with the Eng- 
 lishman, brag with the Scot, and turn all 
 this to religion : hoc est regnum Deorum 
 Gcntibus. 
 
 Fr. All this I can do to a hair. 
 
 Op. Very good ; wilt thou show thyself 
 deeply learned too, and to live licentiously 
 here, care for nothing hereafter ? 
 
 Fr. Not for hell ? 
 
 Op. For hell ! soft, sir ; hopest thou to 
 purchase hell with only dicirg or \vhoring 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF C^SAR AND POMPEY. 
 
 359' 
 
 away thy living, murlhering thy brother, 
 and so forth ? No. there remain works of 
 a higher hand and deeper brain to obtain 
 hell. Think'st thou earth's great potentates 
 have gotten their places there with any 
 single act of murther, poisoning, adultery, 
 and the rest ? No ; 'tis a purchase for all 
 manner of villainy, especially that may be 
 privileged by authority, coloured with holi- 
 ness, and enjoyed with pleasure. 
 
 Fr. O this were most honourable and 
 admirable ! 
 
 Op. Why such an admirable, honour- 
 able villain shalt thou be. 
 
 Fr. Is't possible ? 
 
 Op. Make no doubt on't ; I'll inspire 
 thee. 
 
 Fr. Sacred and puissant ! [He kneels. 
 
 Op. Away ! companion and friend, give 
 me thy hand ; say, dost not love me ? art 
 not enamoured of my acquaintance ? 
 
 Fr. Protest I am. 
 
 Op. Well said ; protest and 'tis enough. 
 And know for infallible, I have promotion 
 for thee, both here and hereafter, which 
 not one great one amongst millions shall 
 ever aspire to. Alexander, nor great Cyrus, 
 retain those titles in hell that they did on 
 earth. 
 
 Fr. No? 
 
 Op. No. He that sold sea-coal here 
 shall be a baron there ; he that was a 
 cheating rogue here shall be a justice of 
 peace there ; a knave here, a knight there. 
 In the mean space learn what it is to live, 
 and thou shalt have chopines at command- 
 ment to any height of life thou canst 
 wish. 
 
 Fr. I fear my fall is too low. 
 
 Op. Too low, fool ! hast thou not heard 
 of Vulcan's falling out of heaven ? Light a 
 thy legs, and no matter though thou halt'st 
 with thy best friend ever after; 'tis the more 
 comely and fashionable. Better go lame 
 in the fashion with Poinpey, than never so 
 upright, quite out of the fashion, with 
 Cato. 
 
 Fr. Yet you cannot change the old fa- 
 shion, they say, and hide your cloven feet. 
 
 Op. No? I can wear roses that shall 
 spread quite over them. 
 
 Fr. For love of the fashion, do, then. 
 
 Op. Go to ; I will hereafter. 
 
 Fr. But for the priesthood you offer me, 
 I affect it not. 
 
 Op. No? What say'st thou to a rich 
 office, then ? 
 
 Fr. The only second means to raise a 
 rascal in the earth. 
 
 Op, Go to ; I'll help thee to the best ith' 
 earth, then, and that's in Sicilia, the very 
 storehouse of the Romans, where the Lord 
 Chief Censor there lies now a-dying, whose 
 soul I will have, and thou shalt have his 
 office. 
 
 Fr. Excellent ! was ever great office 
 better supplied ? \Excunt. 
 
 Nuntius. Now is the mighty empress of 
 
 the earth, 
 Great Rome, fast lock'd up in her fancied 
 
 strength, 
 
 All broke in uproars, fearing the just gods 
 In plagues will drown her so abused bless- 
 ings ; 
 
 In which fear, all without her walls, fly in, 
 By both their jarring champions rushing 
 
 out ; 
 And those that were within as fast fly 
 
 forth ; 
 
 The Consuls both are fled, without one rite 
 Of sacrifice submitted to the gods, 
 As ever heretofore their custom was 
 When they began the bloody frights of 
 
 war : 
 
 In which our two great soldiers now en- 
 countering, 
 Since both left Rome opposed in bitter 
 
 skirmish, 
 
 Pompey (not willing yet to hazard battle, 
 By Cato's counsel, urging good cause) fled, 
 Which, firing Caesar's spirit, he pursued 
 So home and fiercely, that great Pompey, 
 
 scorning 
 
 The heart he took by his advised flight, 
 Despised advice as much as his pursuit. 
 And as in Lybia an aged lion, 
 Urged from his peaceful covert, fears the 
 
 light, 
 
 With his unready and diseased appear- 
 ance. 
 Gives way to chase awhile and coldly 
 
 hunts, 
 Till with the youthful hunter's wanton 
 
 heat 
 
 He all his cool wrath frets into a flame ; 
 And then his sides he swinges with his stern 
 To lash his strength up, lets down all his 
 
 brows 
 
 About his burning eyes, erects his mane, 
 Breaks all his throat in thunders, and to 
 
 wreak 
 
 His hunter's insolence his heart even bark- 
 ing ; 
 
 He frees his fury, turns, and rushes back 
 With such a ghastly horror that in heaps 
 His proud foes fly, and he that station 
 keeps : 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF CAESAR AND POMPEY. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 So Pompey's cool spirits, put to all their 
 
 heat, 
 By Caesar's hard pursuit, he turn'd fresh 
 
 head, 
 
 And flew upon his foe with such a rapture 
 As took up into furies all friend's fears ; 
 Who fired with his first turning, all turn'd 
 
 head, 
 And gave so fierce a charge, their followers 
 
 fled; 
 Whose instant issue on their both sides, 
 
 see, 
 
 And after, set out such a tragedy, 
 As all the princes of the earth may come 
 To take their patterns by the spirits of 
 
 Rome. 
 
 Alarm, after which enter Caesar, following 
 Crassinius, calling to the Soldiers. 
 
 Cr. Stay, cowards ! Fly ye Caesar's 
 
 fortunes ? 
 
 Cces. Forbear, foolish Crassinius ; we 
 contend in vain to stay these vapours, and 
 must raise our camp. 
 
 Cr. How shall we rise, my lord, but all 
 
 in uproars, 
 Being still pursued ? 
 
 Enter Acilius. 
 
 The pursuit stays, my lord ; 
 Pompey hath sounded a retreat, resigning 
 His time to you, to use in instant raising 
 Your ill-lodged army, pitching now where 
 
 fortune 
 
 May good amends make for her fault to- 
 day. 
 Cces. It was not fortune's fault, but mine, 
 
 Acilius, 
 To give my foe charge, being so near the 
 
 sea ; 
 Where well I knew the eminence of his 
 
 strength, 
 And should have driven th' encounter 
 
 further off, 
 
 Bearing before me such a goodly country, 
 So plentiful and rich, in all things fit 
 To have supplied my army's want with 
 
 victuals, 
 
 And th' able cities, too, to strengthen it, 
 Of Macedon and Thessaly, where now 
 I rather was besieged for want of food, 
 Than did assault with fighting force of 
 
 arms. 
 
 Enter Anthony, Vibius, with others. 
 
 An. See, sir, here's one friend of your 
 
 foes recover'd. 
 
 CCES. Vibius? In happy hour. 
 Vi. For me, unhappy. 
 
 Cces. What ! brought against your will? 
 
 Vi. Else had not come. 
 
 An. Sir, he's your prisoner, but had 
 
 made you his, 
 Had all the rest pursued the chase like 
 
 him ; 
 
 He drave on like a fury, past all friends, 
 But we that took him quick in his engage- 
 ment. 
 Cces. O Vibius, you deserve to pay a 
 
 ransom 
 
 Of infinite rate; for had your general join'd 
 In your addression, or known how to 
 
 conquer, 
 This day had proved him the supreme of 
 
 Caesar. 
 Vi. Known how to conquer ? His five 
 
 hundred conquests 
 Achieved ere this day make that doubt 
 
 unfit 
 For him that flios him ; for, of issues 
 
 doubtful, 
 
 Who can at all times put on for the best ? 
 If I were mad, must he his army venture 
 In my engagement? Nor are generals 
 
 ever 
 Their powers' disposers, by their proper 
 
 angels, 
 But trust against them, oftentimes, their 
 
 counsels; 
 Wherein, I doubt not, Caesar's self hath 
 
 err'd 
 Sometimes, as well as Pompey, 
 
 Cces. Or done worse, 
 In disobeying my counsel, Vibius, 
 Of which this day's abused light is wit- 
 ness, 
 By which I might have seen a course 
 
 secure 
 Of this discomfiture. 
 
 An. Amends sits ever 
 Above repentance ; what's done, wish not 
 
 undone ; 
 
 But that prepared patience that, you know, 
 Best fits a soldier charged with hardest 
 
 fortunes, 
 Asks still your use, since powers, still 
 
 temperate kept, 
 Ope still the clearer eyes by one fault's 
 
 sight 
 
 To place the next act in the surer right. 
 Cces. You prompt me nobly, sir, repairing 
 
 in me 
 Mine own stay's practice, out of whose 
 
 repose 
 The strong convulsions of my spirits 
 
 forced me 
 Thus far beyond my temper ; but, good 
 
 Vibius, 
 
SCF.NT: i.l 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF CAESAR AND POMPEY. 
 
 361 
 
 Be ransom'd with my love, and haste to 
 
 Pompey, 
 Entreating him from me, that we may 
 
 meet, 
 
 And for that reason which I know this day 
 (Was given by Cato, for his pursuit's stay^ 
 Which was prevention of our Roman blood) 
 Propose my offer of our hearty peace. 
 That being reconciled, and mutual faith 
 Given on our either part, not three days' 
 
 light 
 May further show us foes, but (both our 
 
 armies 
 
 Dispersed in garrisons) we may return 
 Within that time to Italy, such friends 
 As in our country's love, contain our 
 
 spleens. 
 Vi. Tis offer'd, sir, above the rate of 
 
 Caesar, 
 
 In other men, but in what I approve 
 Beneath his merits ; which I will not fail 
 T'enforce at full to Pompey, nor forget 
 In any time the gratitude of my service. 
 
 [Vi. salutes Ant. and the other, and 
 
 exit. 
 
 Cces. Your love, sir, and your friendship. 
 An. This prepares 
 
 A good induction to the change of for- 
 tune ' 
 
 In this day's issue, if the pride it kindles 
 In Pompey 's veins makes him deny a 
 
 peace 
 
 So gently offer'd : for her alter'd hand 
 Works never surer from her ill to good. 
 On his side she hath hurt, and on the 
 
 other 
 With other changes, than when means 
 
 are used 
 To keep her constant, yet retire refused. 
 
 Ca. I try no such conclusion, but desire 
 Directly peace. In mean space, I'll pre- 
 pare 
 
 For other issue in my utmost means ; 
 Whose hopes now resting at Brundusium, 
 In that part of my army with Sabinus, 
 I wonder he so long delays to bring me, 
 And must in person haste him, if this even 
 I hear not from him. 
 
 Cr. That, I hope, flies far 
 Your full intent, my lord, since Pompey *s 
 
 navy, 
 You know, lies hovering all alongst those 
 
 seas 
 
 In too much danger, for what aid soever 
 You can procure to pass your person safe. 
 Ac. Which doubt may prove the cause 
 
 that stays Sabinus ; 
 
 And, if with shipping fit to pass your army, 
 He yet strains time to venture, I presume 
 
 You will not pass your person with such 
 
 convoy 
 Of those poor vessels as may serve you 
 
 here. 
 Cces. How shall I help it ? shall I suffer 
 
 this 
 
 Torment of his delay ? and rack suspicions 
 Worse than assured destructions through 
 
 my thoughts? 
 An. Past doubt he will be here : I left 
 
 all order' d, 
 And full agreement made with him to 
 
 make 
 
 All utmost haste, no least let once sus- 
 pected. 
 Cess. Suspected ? what suspection should 
 
 fear a friend 
 In such assured straits from his friend's 
 
 enlargement ? 
 
 If 'twere his soldiers' safeties he so tenders, 
 Were it not better they should sink by sea, 
 Than wrack their number, king and cause, 
 
 ashore ? 
 Their stay is worth their ruin, should we 
 
 live, 
 
 If they in fault were ? if their leader, he 
 Should die the deaths of all ; in mean space, I 
 That should not, bear all ; fly the sight in 
 
 shame, 
 
 Thou eye of nature, and abortive night, 
 Fall dead amongst us : with defects, de- 
 fects 
 
 Must serve proportion ; justice never can 
 Be else restored, nor right the wrongs of 
 
 man. \_Exeunt, 
 
 Pompey, Cato, Gabinius, Demetrius, Athe- 
 nodorus, Porcius, Statilius. 
 
 Pom. This charge of our fierce foe, the 
 
 friendly gods 
 Have in our strengthen 'd spirits beaten 
 
 back 
 
 With happy issue, and his forces lessen'd, 
 Of two and thirty ensigns, forced from him, 
 Two thousand soldiers slain. 
 
 Ca. O boast not that ; 
 Their loss is yours, my lord. 
 
 Pom. I boast it not, 
 But only name the number. 
 
 Ga. Which right well 
 You might have raised so high, that on j 
 
 their tops 
 
 Your throne was offer'd, ever t'overlook 
 Subverted Caesar, had you been so blest 
 To give such honour to your captain's 
 
 counsels 
 
 As their alacrities did long to merit 
 With prooffull action. 
 
 De. O, 'twas ill neglected. 
 
 I 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF CAESAR AND POMPEY. 
 
 [ACT ir. 
 
 Sf. It was deferr'd with reason, which 
 
 not yet 
 Th' event so clear is to confute. 
 
 Pom. If 'twere, 
 
 Our likeliest then was, not to hazard battle, 
 Th' adventure being so casual ; if com- 
 pared 
 
 With our more certain means to his sub- 
 version ; 
 
 For finding now our army amply stored 
 With all things fit to tarry surer time, 
 Reason thought better to extend to length 
 The war betwixt us ; that his little strength 
 May by degrees prove none ; which urged 
 
 now 
 
 (Consisting of his best and ablest soldiers), 
 We should have found at one direct set 
 
 battle 
 Of matchless valours ; their defects of 
 
 victual 
 Not tiring yet enough on their tough 
 
 nerves, 
 Where, on the other part, to put them 
 
 still 
 
 In motion, and remotion, here and there ; 
 Enforcing them to fortifying still 
 Wherever they set down ; to siege a wall, 
 Keep watch all night hi armour : their 
 
 most part 
 
 Can never bear it, by their years' oppres- 
 sion ; 
 Spent heretofore too much in those steel 
 
 toils. 
 
 Ca. I so advised, and yet repent it not, 
 But much rejoice in so much saved blood 
 As had been pour'd out in the stroke of 
 
 battle, 
 
 Whose fury thus prevented, comprehends 
 Your country's good, and empire's ; in 
 
 whose care 
 
 Let me beseech you that in all this war 
 You sack no city subject to our rule, 
 Nor put to sword one citizen of Rome ; 
 But when the needful fury of the sword 
 Can make no fit distinction in main battle, 
 That you will please still to prolong the 
 
 stroke 
 
 Of absolute decision to these jars, 
 Considering you shall strike it with a man 
 Of much skill and experience, and one 
 That will his conquest sell at infinite rate, 
 If that must end your difference ; but I 
 
 doubt 
 
 There will come humble offer on his part 
 Of honour 'd peace to you, for whose sweet 
 
 name 
 
 So cried out to you in our late-met Senate, 
 Lost no fit offer of that wished treaty. 
 Take pity on your country's blood as much 
 
 As possible may stand without the danger 
 Of hindering her justice on her foes, 
 Which all the gods to your full wish 
 
 dispose. 
 Pom. Why will you leave us? whither 
 
 will you go 
 To keep your worthiest person in more 
 
 safety 
 
 Than in my army, so devoted to you? 
 Ca. My person is the least, my lord, I 
 
 value ; 
 
 I am commanded by our powerful Senate 
 To view the cities, and the kingdoms 
 
 situate 
 
 About your either army, that which side 
 Soever conquer, no disorder'd stragglers, 
 Puff d with the conquest, or by need im- 
 
 pell'd, 
 May take their swinge more than the care 
 
 of one 
 May curb and order in these neighbour 
 
 confines ; 
 
 My chief pass yet resolves for Utica. 
 Pom. Your pass, my truest friend and 
 
 worthy father, 
 May all good powers make safe, and 
 
 always answer 
 
 Your infinite merits with their like protec- 
 tion. 
 In which I make no doubt but we shall 
 
 meet 
 With mutual greetings, or for absolute 
 
 conquest 
 
 Or peace preventing that our bloody stroke, 
 Nor let our parting be dishonour 'd so 
 As not to take into our noblest notice 
 Yourself, most learned and admired father, 
 Whose merits, if I live, shall lack no hon- 
 our. 
 Porcius, Statilius, though your spirits with 
 
 mine 
 Would highly cheer me, yet ye shall bestow 
 
 them 
 In much more worthy conduct ; but love 
 
 me, 
 And wish me conquest for your country's 
 
 sake. 
 St. Our lives shall seal our loves, sir, 
 
 with worst deaths 
 
 Adventured in your service. 
 
 Pom. Y'are my friends. 
 
 \ Exeunt Q,Q.\.., Athen., Por., Sta. 
 These friends thus gone, 'tis more than 
 
 time we minded 
 Our lost friend Vibius. 
 
 Gii. You can want no friends ; 
 See, our two consuls, sir, betwixt them 
 
 bringing 
 The worthy Brutus. 
 
SCKXE I.J 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF CJESAR AND POMPEY. 
 
 363 
 
 Enter tivo Consuls h.tding Brutus betwixt 
 them. 
 
 ist Co. We attend , my lord, 
 With no mean friend, to spirit your next 
 
 encounter, 
 
 Six thousand of our choice patrician youths 
 Brought in his conduct. 
 
 2nd Co. And though never yet 
 He hath saluted you with any 'word 
 Or look of slenderest love in his whole life, 
 Since that long time since of his father's 
 
 death 
 By your hand author'd ; yet, see, at your 
 
 need 
 
 He comes to serve you freely for his coun- 
 try. 
 Pom. His friendly presence making up a 
 
 third 
 
 With botli your persons, I as gladly wel- 
 come 
 
 As if Jove's triple flame had gilt this field, 
 And lighten'd on my right hand from his 
 
 shield. 
 Br. I well assure myself, sir, that no 
 
 thought 
 
 In your ingenious construction touches 
 At the aspersion that my tender'd service 
 Proceeds from my despair of elsewhere 
 
 safety. 
 
 But that my country's safety, owning justly 
 My whole abilities of life and fortunes, 
 And you, the ablest fautor of her safety, 
 Her love, and (for your love of her) your 
 
 own 
 
 Only makes sacred to your use my offering. 
 Pom. Far fly all other thought from my 
 
 construction, 
 
 And due acceptance of the liberal honour 
 Your love hath done me, which the gods 
 
 are witness 
 
 I take as stirr'd up in you by their favours, 
 Nor less esteem it than an offering holy ; 
 Since, as of all things, man is said the 
 
 measure, 
 
 So your full merits measure forth a man. 
 ist Co. See yet, my lord, more friends. 
 znd Co. Five kings, your servants. 
 
 Enter five Kings. 
 
 Iber. Conquest and all grace crown the 
 
 gracious Pompey, 
 To serve whom in the sacred Roman 
 
 safety, 
 
 Myself, Iberia's king, present my forces. 
 The. And I that hold the tributary 
 
 throne 
 
 Of Grecian Thessaly, submit my homage 
 To Rome and Pompey. 
 
 Ci. So Cilicia too. 
 Ep. And so Epirus. 
 Thr. Lastly, I from Thrace 
 ! Present the duties of my power and ser- 
 vice. 
 Pom. Your royal aids deserve of Rome 
 
 and Pompey 
 Our utmost honours. O, may now our 
 
 fortune 
 Not balance her broad breast 'twixt two 
 
 light wings, 
 
 Nor on a slippery globe sustain her steps ; 
 But as the Spartans say the Paphian 
 
 queen 
 
 (The flood Eurotas passing) laid aside 
 Her glass, her ceston, and her amorous 
 
 graces, 
 
 And in Lycurgus' favour arm'd her beauties 
 With shield and javelin ; so may fortune 
 
 now, 
 
 The flood of all our enemy's forces passing 
 With her fair ensigns, and arrived at ours, 
 Displume her shoulders, cast off her wing'd 
 
 shoes, 
 Her faithless and still-rolling stone spurn 
 
 from her, 
 
 And enter our powers, as she may re- 
 main 
 
 Our firm assistant ; that the general aids, 
 Favours, and honours you perform to ; 
 
 Rome, 
 May make her build with you her endless ; 
 
 home. 
 Omnes. The gods vouchsafe it, and our 
 
 cause's right. 
 
 De. What sudden shade is this? Ob- 
 serve, my lords, 
 
 The night, methinks, comes on before her 
 hour. \Thunder and lightning. 
 
 Ga. Nor trust me if my thoughts con- 
 ceive not so. 
 Br. What thin clouds fly the winds, like 
 
 swiftest shafts 
 Along air's middle region ! 
 
 ist Co. They presage 
 Unusual tempests. 
 
 2nd Co. And 'tis their repair, 
 That timeless darken thus the gloomy air. 
 Pom. Let's force no omen from it, but 
 
 avoid 
 The vapours' furies now by Jove employ 'd. 
 
 Thunder continued, and Caesar enters 
 disguised. 
 
 The wrathful tempest of the angry night, 
 Where hell flies muffled up in clouds of 
 
 pitch, 
 Mingled with sulphur, and those dreadful 
 
 bolts 
 
364 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF CJESAR AND POMPEY. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 The Cyclops ram in Jove's artillery,* 
 Hath roused the furies, arm'd in all their 
 
 horrors, 
 Up to the envious seas, in spite of Caesar. 
 
 night, O jealous night, of all the noblest 
 Beauties and glories, where the gods have 
 
 stroke 
 Their four digestions from thy ghastly 
 
 chaos, 
 Blush thus to drown them all in this hour, 
 
 sign'd 
 By the necessity of fate for Caesar. 
 
 1 that have ransack'd all the world for 
 
 worth, 
 
 To form in man the image of the gods, 
 Must like them have the power to check 
 
 the worst 
 
 Of all things under their celestial empire, 
 Stoop it, and burst it, or break through it all 
 With use and safety, till the crown be set 
 On all my actions, that the hand of nature 
 In all her worst works aiming at an end, 
 May in a master-piece of hers be served 
 With tops and state fit for his virtuous 
 
 crown. 
 
 Nor lift arts thus far up in glorious frame, 
 To let them vanish thus in smoke and 
 
 shame. 
 
 This river Anius (in whose mouth now lies 
 A pinnace I would pass in to fetch on 
 My army's dull rest from Brundusium), 
 That is at all times else exceeding calm, 
 By reason of a purling wind that flies 
 Off from the shore each morning, driving up 
 The billows far to sea, in this night yet 
 Bears such a terrible gale, put oft' from sea, 
 As beats the land-wind back, and thrusts 
 
 the flood 
 
 Up in such uproar, that no boat dare stir. 
 And on it is dispersed all Pom pay's navy, 
 To make my peril yet more envious. 
 Shall I yet shrink for all? were all, yet 
 
 more? 
 
 There is a certain need that I must give 
 Way to my pass, none known that I must 
 
 live. 
 
 Enter Master of a ship -with Sailors. 
 
 Ma. What battle is there fought now in 
 
 the air 
 That threats the wrack of nature ? 
 
 Ccei. Master, come, 
 Shall we thrust through it all ? 
 
 Ma. What lost man 
 Art thou in hopes and fortunes, that darest 
 
 make 
 So desperate a motion ? 
 
 * See Bassy D'Ambois, page 166. 
 
 Cas. Launch, man, and all thy fears 
 
 straight disavow ; 
 Thou earnest Caesar and his fortunes now. 
 
 ACT THE THIRD. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Pompey, two Consuls, five Kings, Brutus, 
 Gabinius, Demetrius. 
 
 Pom. Now to Pharsalia, where the smart- 
 ing strokes 
 
 Of our resolved contention must resound. 
 
 My lords and friends of Rome, I give you 
 all 
 
 Such welcome as the spirit of all my for- 
 tunes, 
 
 Conquests, and triumphs (now come for 
 their crown), 
 
 Can crown your favours with, and serve the 
 hopes 
 
 Of my dear country to her utmost wish. 
 
 I can but set up all my being to give 
 
 So good an end to my forerunning nets, 
 
 The powers in me that form'd them having 
 lost 
 
 No least time since in gathering skill to 
 better ; 
 
 But, like so many bees, have brought me 
 home 
 
 The sweet of whatsoever flowers have grown 
 
 In all the meads and gardens of the world. 
 
 All which hath grown still, as the time in- 
 crease 
 
 In which 'twas gather 'd, and with which it 
 stemm'd. 
 
 That what decay soever blood inferr'd, 
 
 Might with my mind's store be supplied 
 and cheer' d : 
 
 All which, in one fire of this instant fight, 
 
 I'll burn and sacrifice to every cinder 
 
 In sacred offering to my country's love. 
 
 And, therefore, what event soever sort, 
 
 As I no praise will look for, but the good 
 
 Freely bestow on all (if good succeed) ; 
 
 So if adverse fate fall, I wish no blarne, 
 
 But th' ill befall'n me, made my fortune's 
 shame, 
 
 Not mine, nor my fault. 
 
 rsl Co. We too well love Pompey 
 
 To do him that injustice. 
 Br. Who more thirsts 
 
 The conquest than resolves to bear the 
 
 foil? 
 
 Pom. Said Brutus-like. Give several 
 witness all, 
 
 That you acquit me whatsoever fall. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF CAESAR AND POMPEY. 
 
 365 
 
 -2nd Co. Particular men particular fates 
 
 must bear : 
 Who feels his own wounds less to wound 
 
 another? 
 The. Leave him the worst whose best is 
 
 left undone, 
 
 He only conquers whose mind still is one. 
 Ep. Free minds, like dice, fall square 
 
 whate'er the cast. 
 Ib. Who on himself sole stands, stands 
 
 Vi. Ay, sir, my ransom needed little time 
 Either to gain agreement for the value, 
 Or the disbursement, since in Caesar's grace 
 We both concluded. 
 
 Pom. Was his grace so free ? 
 
 Vi. For your respect, sir. 
 
 Pom. Nay, sir, for his glory. 
 That the main conquest he so surely builds 
 
 on 
 
 (Which ever is forerun with petty fortunes) 
 Take not effect, by taking any friend 
 
 solely fast. 
 Thr. He's never down whose mind 
 
 fights still aloft. 
 Ci. Who cares for up or down, when 
 
 all's but thought ? 
 Ga. To things' events doth no man's 
 
 power extend. 
 De. Since gods rule all, who anything j So past his wisdom ; that knows much too 
 
 would mend ? well 
 
 Pom. Ye sweetly ease my charge, your- ' Th' uncertain state of conquest, to raise 
 
 selves unburthening. frames 
 
 Return'd not yet our trumpet, sent to know Of such presumption on her fickle wings, 
 
 rf~vrtT-i - , -\ A i _i_- n _ . i i-A- i : , 
 
 From all the most my poor defence can 
 
 make, 
 
 But must be complete, by his perfect own. 
 Vi. I know, sir, you more nobly rate the 
 
 freedom 
 He freely gave your friend, than to pervert it 
 
 Of Vibius' certain state ? 
 Ga. Not yet, my lord. 
 Pom. Too long protract we all means to 
 
 And chiefly in a loss so late and grievous ; 
 Besides, your forces far exceeding his, 
 His whole powers being but two and twenty 
 
 recover thousand, 
 
 His person quick or dead ; for I still think | And yours full four and forty thousand 
 His loss served fate before we blew retreat, I strong : 
 Though some affirm him seen soon alter For all which yet he stood as far from fear 
 
 fighting. In my enlargement, as the confident glory 
 
 DC. Not after, sir, I heard, but ere it i You please to put on him, and had this end 
 
 ended. ! In my so kind dismission, that as kindly 
 
 Ga. He bore a great mind to extend our 
 
 pursuit 
 Much further than it was ; and served that 
 
 day 
 (When you had, like the true head of a 
 
 battail, 
 
 Led all the body in that glorious turn) 
 Upon a far-off squadron that stood fast 
 In conduct of the great Mark Anthony, 
 When all the rest were fled, so past a man 
 That in their tough receipt, of him, I saw him | 
 
 I might solicit a sure peace betwixt you. 
 Pom. A peace ! Is't possible? 
 Vo. Come, do not show this wanton 
 
 incredulity too. 
 Pom. Believe me I was far from such a 
 
 thought 
 
 In his high stomach : Cato prophesied then. 
 What think my lords our Consuls, and 
 
 friend Brutus ? 
 Omnes. An offer happy. 
 Br. Were it plain and hearty. 
 Pom. Ay, there's the true inspection to 
 
 Thrice break through all with ease, and j 
 
 pass as fair 
 As he had all been fire, and they but air. 
 
 Pom. He stuck at last yet, in their rnidst, > a sleight 
 
 it seem'd. | Of some hid stratagem to bring him off. 
 
 j his prospect. 
 
 Br. This strait of his perhaps may need 
 
 Ga. So have I seen a fire-drake glide at 
 
 midnight 
 
 Before a dying man to point his grave, 
 And in it stick and hide. 
 
 De. He comes yet safe. 
 
 A Trumpet sounds, and enters before 
 Vibius, with others. 
 
 Pom. Devices of a new forge to entrap 
 
 me? 
 I rest in Caesar's shades ? walk his strow'd 
 
 paths ? 
 
 Sleep in his quiet waves? I'll sooner trust 
 Hibernian bogs and quicksands, and hell- 
 mouth 
 
 Take for my sanctuary : in bad parts 
 Pom. O Vibius, welcome; what, a prisoner i That no extremes will better, nature's fingei 
 With mighty Caesar, and so quickly ran- j Hath mark'dhimtome, to take heed of him. 
 som'd ? I What thinks my Brutus ? 
 
366 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF OESAR AND POMPEY. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Br. 'Tis your best and safest. 
 
 Pom. This offer'd peace of his is sure a 
 
 snare 
 To make our war the bloodier, whose fit 
 
 fear 
 Makes me I dare not now, in thoughts 
 
 maturer 
 Than late inclined me, put in use the 
 
 counsel 
 
 Your noble father Cato, parting, gave me, 
 Whose much too tender shunning innocent 
 
 blood 
 This battle hazards now, that must cost 
 
 more. 
 ist Co. It does, and therefore now ho 
 
 more defer it. 
 Pom. Say all men so ? 
 Omnes. We do. 
 Pom. I grieve ye do. 
 Because I rather wish to err with Cato 
 Than with the truth go of the world be- 
 sides ; 
 
 But since it shall abide this other stroke, 
 Ye gods, that our great Roman genius 
 Have made, not give us one day's conquest 
 
 only, 
 
 Nor grow in conquests for some little time, 
 As did the genius of the Macedons ; 
 Nor be by land great only, like Laconians ; 
 Nor yet by sea alone, as was th' Athenians ; 
 Nor slowly stirr'd up, like the Persian angel ; 
 Nor rock'd asleep soon, like the Ionian 
 
 spirit ; 
 But made our Roman genius, fiery, 
 
 watchful, 
 And even from Rome's prime join'd his 
 
 youth with hers, 
 Grow as she grew, and firm as earth 
 
 abide, 
 By her increasing pomp at sea and shore, 
 
 So. Imperial Csesar, at your sacred 
 
 charge 
 
 I drew a milk-white ox into the temple, 
 And turning there his face into the east 
 (Fearfully shaking at the shining light), 
 Down fell his horned forehead to his hoof. 
 When I began to greet him with the 
 
 stroke 
 That should prepare him for the holy 
 
 rites, 
 With hideous roars he laid out such a 
 
 throat 
 
 As made the secret lurkings of the god 
 To answer, echo-like, in threatening sounds: 
 I stroke again at him, and then he slept, 
 His life-blood boiling out at every wound 
 In streams as clear as any liquid ruby, 
 And there began to alter 'my presage'; 
 The other ill signs, showing th' other for- 
 tune 
 Of your last skirmish, which far opposite 
 
 now 
 
 Proves ill beginnings good events fore- 
 show. 
 For now the beast, cut up and laid on th' 
 
 altar, 
 His limbs were all lick'd up with instant 
 
 flames, 
 
 Not like the elemental fire that burns 
 In household uses, lamely struggling up, 
 This way and that way winding as it rises, 
 But, right and upright, reach'd his proper 
 
 sphere 
 
 Where burns the fire eternal and sincere. 
 Cess. And what may that presage ? 
 So. That even the spirit 
 Of heaven's pure flame flew down and 
 
 ravish 'd up 
 
 Your offering's blaze in that religious in- 
 stant, 
 
 In peace, in battle ; against Greece as well | Which shows th' alacrity and cheerful 
 
 As our barbarian foes ; command yet 
 
 further, 
 
 Ye firm and just gods ! our assistful angel 
 For Rome and Pompey, who now fights for 
 
 Rome ; 
 That all these royal laws, to us, and 
 
 justice 
 Of common safety, may the self-love 
 
 drown 
 
 Of tyrannous Csesar ; and my care for all 
 Your altars crown'd with endless festival. 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Csesar, Anthony, a Soothsayer, Crassinius, 
 Acilius, with others. 
 
 virtue 
 Of heaven's free bounty, doing good in 
 
 time, 
 And with what swiftness true devotions 
 
 climb. 
 
 Omncs. The gods be honour'd ! 
 So. O, behold with wonder ! 
 The sacred blaze is like a torch en- 
 
 lighten'd, 
 
 Directly burning just above your camp ! 
 Omnes. Miraculous ! 
 So. Believe it, with all thanks : 
 The Roman genius is alter'd now, 
 And arms for Caesar. 
 
 Cess. Soothsayer, be for ever 
 
 C&s. Say, sacred soothsayer, and inform ' Reverenced erf Caesar. O Mark Anthony. 
 
 the truth. 
 What liking hast thou of our sacrifice? 
 
 I thought to raise my camp, and ail my 
 tents 
 
SCENE I.J 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF CAESAR AND POMPEY. 
 
 367 
 
 Took down for swift remotion to Scotussa. 
 Shall now our purpose hold? 
 
 An. Against the gods? 
 They grace in th' instant, and in th' instant 
 
 we 
 Must add our parts, and be in th' use as 
 
 free. 
 Cr. See, sir, the scouts return. 
 
 Enter two scouts. 
 
 C(ss. What news, my friends ? 
 
 ist Sc. Aim, arm, my lord, the vaward 
 
 of the foe 
 Is ranged already. 
 
 znd Sc. Answer them, and arm : 
 You cannot set your rest of battle up 
 In happier hour ; for I this night beheld 
 A strange confusion in your enemy's camp, 
 The soldiers taking arms in all dismay, 
 And hurling them again as fast to earth. 
 j Every way routing ; as th' alarm were then 
 Given to their army. A most causeless 
 
 fear 
 Dispersed quite through them. 
 
 Cccs. Then 'twas Jove himself 
 That with his secret finger stirr'd in them. 
 Cr. Other presages of success, my lord, 
 Have strangely happen'd in the adjacent 
 
 cities, 
 
 To this your army ; for in Tralleis, 
 Within a temple built to victory, 
 There stands a statue with your form and 
 
 name, 
 Near whose firm base, even from the 
 
 marble pavement, 
 There sprang a palm-tree up, in this last 
 
 night, 
 That seems to crown your statue with his 
 
 boughs, 
 Spread in wrapt shadows round about your 
 
 brows. 
 Cce. The sign, Crassinius, is most strange 
 
 and graceful, 
 
 Nor could get issue, but by power divine ; 
 Yet will not that, nor all abodes besides 
 (Of never such kind promise of success) 
 Perform it without tough acts of our own. 
 No care, no nerve the less to be employ 'd ; 
 No offering to the gods, no vows, no 
 
 prayers ; 
 
 Secure and idle spirits never thrive 
 When most the gods for their advance- 
 ments strive. 
 ' And therefore tell me what abodes thou 
 
 build'st on, 
 
 In any spirit to act enflamed in thee, 
 1 Or in our soldiers' seen resolved addresses ? 
 Cr. Great and fiery virtue. And this day 
 | Be sure, great Caesar, of effects as great 
 
 In absolute conquest ; to which are pre- 
 pared 
 Enforcements resolute from this arm'd 
 
 hand, 
 Which thou shalt praise me for, alive or 
 
 dead. 
 Cccs. Alive (ye gods, vouchsafe!) and my 
 
 true vows 
 For life in him (great heaven!) for all my 
 
 foes 
 
 (Being natural Romans) so far jointly hear 
 As may not hurt our conquest ; as with 
 
 fear, 
 
 Which thou already strangely hast diffused 
 Through all their army ; which extend to 
 
 flight 
 Without one bloody stroke of force and 
 
 fight. 
 Cr. Tis time, my lord, you put in form 
 
 your battle. 
 CCBS. Since we must fight, then, and no 
 
 offer'd peace 
 
 Will take with Pompey, I rejoice to see 
 This long-time-look'd-for and most happy 
 
 day, 
 In which we now shall fight, with men, not 
 
 hunger, 
 With toils, not sweats of blood through 
 
 years extended, 
 
 This one day serving to decide all jars 
 'Twixt me and Pompey. Hang out of my 
 
 tent 
 My crimson coat-of-arms, to give my 
 
 soldiers 
 
 That ever-sure sign of resolved-for fight. 
 Cr. These hands shall give that sign to 
 all their longings. [Exit Crassinius. 
 Cces. My lord, my army, I think best to 
 
 order 
 In three full squadrons ; of which let me 
 
 pray 
 Yourself would take on you the left wing's 
 
 charge ; 
 i Myself will lead the right wing, and my 
 
 place 
 
 Of fight elect, in my tenth legion ; 
 My battle by Domitius Calvinus 
 Shall take direction. 
 
 [The coat-of-arms ( s hung out, and the 
 
 soldiers shout within. 
 An. Hark, your soldiers shout 
 i For joy to see your bloody coat-of-arms 
 j Assure their fight this morning. 
 
 CCES, A blest even 
 j Bring on them worthy comforts ! And, ye i 
 
 gods, 
 
 Perform your good presages in events 
 Of fit crown for our discipline, and deeds 
 Wrought up by conquest ; that my use of it '. 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF C^SAR AND POMPEY. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 .May wipe the hateful and unworthy stain 
 i Of tyrant from my temples, and exchange it 
 1 For fautor of my country, ye have given 
 That title to those poor and fearful souls 
 That every sound puts up in frights and 
 
 cries ; 
 Even then, when all Rome's powers were 
 
 weak and heartless, 
 When traitorous fires and fierce barbarian 
 
 swords, 
 
 Rapines, and soul-expiring slaughters fill'd 
 Her houses, temples, all her air and earth. 
 To me, then (whom your bounties have 
 
 inform'd 
 
 With such a spirit as despiseth fear, 
 j Commands in either fortune, knows, and 
 
 arms 
 Against the worst of fate, and therefore 
 
 can 
 Dispose best means, encouraged to the 
 
 best) 
 Much more vouchsafe that honour ; chiefly 
 
 now, 
 When Rome wants only this day's conquest 
 
 given me 
 
 To make her happy, to confirm the bright- 
 ness 
 
 That yet she shines in over all the world ; 
 In empire, riches, strife of all the arts, 
 In gifts of cities, and of kingdoms sent her, 
 In crowns laid at her feet, in every grace 
 That shores, and seas, floods, islands, 
 
 continents, 
 Groves, fields, hills, mines, and metals can 
 
 produce, 
 
 All which I , victor, will increase, I vow, 
 By all my good, acknowledged given by 
 
 you. 
 
 ACT THE FOURTH. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Pompey, in haste, Brutus, Gabinius, 
 Vibius following. 
 
 Pom. The poison, steep'd in every vein of 
 
 empire 
 
 In all the world, meet now in only me, 
 Thunder and lighten me to death, and 
 
 make 
 My senses feed the flame, my soul the 
 
 crack. 
 
 Was ever sovereign captain of so many 
 Armies and nations, so oppress'd as I 
 With one host's headstrong outrage ? urg- 
 ing fight, 
 Yet fly about my camp in panic terrors, 
 
 No reason under heaven suggesting cause. 
 And what is this but even the gods 
 
 deterring 
 My judgment from enforcing fight this 
 
 morn? 
 
 The new-fled night made day with meteors, 
 Fired over Caesar's camp, and fall'n in 
 
 mine, 
 
 As pointing out the terrible events 
 Yet in suspense ; but where they threat 
 
 their fall, 
 
 Speak not these prodigies with fiery tongues 
 And eloquence, that should not move, but 
 
 ravish 
 All sound minds from thus tempting the 
 
 just gods, 
 And spitting out their fair premonishing 
 
 flames 
 
 With brackish rheums of rude and brain- 
 sick number ; 
 What's infinitely more, thus wild, thus 
 
 mad, 
 
 For one poor fortune of a beaten few, 
 To half so many staid and dreadful 
 
 soldiers ? 
 Longtrain'd, long foughten? able, nimble, 
 
 perfect 
 
 To turn and wind advantage every way ? 
 Increase with little, and enforce with none? 
 Made bold as lions, gaunt as famish'd 
 
 wolves, 
 With still-served slaughters and continual 
 
 toils. 
 Br. You should not, sir, forsake your 
 
 own wise counsel, 
 Your own experienced discipline, own 
 
 practice, 
 
 Own god-inspired insight to all changes 
 Of Protean fortune, and her zany war, 
 For hosts and hells of such ; what man 
 
 will think 
 The best of them not mad, to see them 
 
 range 
 
 So up and down your camp, already suing 
 For offices fall'n, by Caesar's built-on fall, 
 Before one stroke be struck? Domitius, 
 
 Spinther, 
 
 Your father Scipio, now preparing friends 
 For Caesar's place of universal bishop ? 
 Are you th 'observed rule and vouch 'd 
 
 example ? 
 
 Whoever would commend physicians 
 That would not follow the diseased desires 
 Of their sick patients? yet incur yourself 
 The faults that you so much abhor in 
 
 others. 
 Pom. I cannot, sir, abide men's open 
 
 mouths, 
 Nor be ill spoken of ; nor have my counsels 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF OESAR AND POMPEY. 
 
 369 
 
 And circumspections turn 'don me forfears 
 
 With mocks and scandals that would make 
 a man 
 
 Of lead a lightning; in the desperatest onset 
 
 That ever trampled under death his life. 
 
 I bear the touch of fear for all their safe- 
 ties, 
 
 Or for mine own? enlarge with twice as 
 many 
 
 Self-lives, self-fortunes? they shall sink be- 
 neath 
 
 Their o\vn credulities, before I cross them. 
 
 Come, haste, dispose our battle. 
 VL Good my lord, 
 
 Against your genius war not for the 
 
 world. 
 
 Pom. By all worlds he that moves me 
 next to bear 
 
 Their scoffs and imputations of my fear 
 
 For any cause, shall bear this sword to 
 hell. 
 
 Away, to battle ; good my lord, lead you 
 
 The whole six thousand of our young pa- 
 tricians, 
 
 Placed in the left wing to environ Caesar. 
 
 My father Scipio shall lead the battle ; 
 
 Domitius the left wing ; I the right 
 
 Against Mark Anthony. Take now your 
 fills, 
 
 Ye beastly doters on your barbarous wills. 
 \Excunt. 
 
 Alarm, excursions of all : the five Kings 
 driven over the stage, Crassinius chiefly 
 pursuing : at tlwdoor enter again the 
 five Kings. Thebattlecontinuedwithin. 
 
 Ep. Fly, fly, the day was lost before 
 
 'twas fought. 
 
 Th. The Romans fear'd their shadows. 
 Ci. Were there ever 
 
 Such monstrous confidences as last night 
 Their cups and music show'd ? before the 
 
 morning 
 Made such amazes ere one stroke was 
 
 struck ? 
 Ib. It made great Pompey mad ; which 
 
 who could mend ? 
 The gods had hand in it. 
 
 Tr. It made the Consuls 
 Run on their swords to see't. The brave 
 
 patricians 
 
 Fled with their spoiled faces, arrows stick- 
 ing 
 As shot from heaven at them. 
 
 Th. 'Twas the charge 
 That Caesar gave against them. 
 
 Ep. Come, away, 
 Leave all, and wonder at this fatal day. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 VOL. i. 
 
 The fight nearer ; and enter Crassinius, a 
 sword as thrust thrsit^h his face ; he 
 falls. To him Pompey and Caesar 
 fighting: Pompey gives way, Caesar 
 follows, and enters at another door. 
 
 C&s. Pursue, pursue ; the gods fore- 
 
 shovv'd their powers, 
 
 Which we gave issue, and the day is ours. 
 Crassinius ! O look up : he does, and 
 
 shows 
 Death in his broken eyes, which Caesar's 
 
 hands 
 
 Shall do the honour of eternal closure. 
 Too well thou kept'st thy word, that thou 
 
 this day 
 
 Wouldst do me service to our victory, 
 Which in thy life and death I should be- 
 hold. 
 
 And praise thee for ; I do, and must ad- 
 mire 
 
 Thy matchless valour ; e% r er, ever rest 
 Thy manly lineaments, which in a tomb 
 Erected to thy noble name and virtues, 
 I'll curiously preserve with balms and 
 
 spices, 
 
 In eminent place of these Pharsalian fields, 
 Inscribed with this true soul of funeral : 
 
 EPITAPH. 
 
 Crassinius fought for fame and died for 
 Rome, 
 
 Whose public weal springs from this pri- 
 vate tomb. 
 
 [Enter some taking htm off, whom 
 Caesar helps. 
 
 Enter Pompey, Demetrius, with black 
 robes in their hands, broad hats, 
 &>c. 
 Pom. Thus have the gods their justice, 
 
 men their wills, 
 
 And I, by men's wills ruled, myself renounc- 
 ing, 
 
 Am by my angel and the gods abhorr'd, 
 Who drew me, like a vapour, up to heaven, 
 To dash me like a tempest 'gainst the 
 
 earth. 
 
 O, the deserved terrors that attend 
 On human confidence ! had ever men 
 Such outrage of presumption to be victors 
 Before they arm'd ? To send to Rome be- 
 fore 
 For houses near the market-place ; their 
 
 tents 
 Strow'd all with flowers and nosegays; 
 
 tables cover'd 
 
 With cups and banquets, bays and myrtle 
 garlands, 
 
 B B 
 
370 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF CESAR AND POMPEY. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 As ready to do sacrifice for conquest 
 Rather than arm them for fit fight t* en- 
 force it ; 
 Which, when I saw, I knew as well th' 
 
 event 
 
 As now I feel it, and because I raged 
 In that presage, my genius showing me 
 
 clearly 
 
 (As in a mirror) all this cursed issue ; 
 And therefore urged all means to put it off 
 For this day, or from these fields to some 
 
 other, 
 
 Or from this ominous confidence, till I saw 
 Their spirits settled in some graver know- 
 ledge 
 
 Of what belong'd to such a dear decision. 
 They spotted me with fear, with love of 
 
 glory, 
 
 To keep in my command so many kings, 
 So great an army ; all the hellish blastings 
 That could be breathed on me, to strike 
 
 me blind 
 Of honour, spirit, and soul. And should I 
 
 then 
 Save them that would in spite of heaven be 
 
 ruin'd? 
 
 And in their safeties ruin me and mine 
 In everlasting rage of their detraction. 
 De. Your safety and own honour did 
 
 deserve 
 
 Respect past all their values. O, my lord, 
 Would you? 
 
 Pom. Upbraid me not ; go to, go on. 
 De. No ; I'll not rub the wound. The 
 
 misery is, 
 
 The gods for any error in a man 
 (Which they might rectify, and should, 
 
 because 
 That man maintain 'd the right) should 
 
 suffer wrong 
 To be thus insolent, thus graced, thus 
 
 blest ? 
 P&m. O, the strange carriage of their 
 
 acts, by which 
 Men order theirs, and their devotions in 
 
 them ; 
 
 Much rather striving to entangle men 
 In pathless error than with regular right 
 Confirm their reason's and their piety's 
 
 light. 
 
 For now, sir, whatsoever was foreshown 
 By heaven or prodigy, ten parts more 
 
 for us, 
 
 Forewarning us, deterring us and all 
 Our blind and brainless frenzies, than for 
 
 Caesar ; 
 
 All yet will be ascribed to his regard 
 Given by the gods for his good parts, pre- 
 ferring 
 
 Their gloss (being stark impostures) to the 
 justice, 
 
 Love, honour, piety of our laws and coun- 
 try. 
 
 Though I think these are arguments enow 
 
 For my acquittal, that for all these fought. 
 De. Y'are clear, my lord. 
 Pom. Gods help me, as I am. 
 
 Whatever my untouch'd command of mil- 
 lions 
 
 Through all my eight and fifty years hath 
 won, 
 
 This one day, in the world's esteem, hath 
 lost. 
 
 So vile is praise and dispraise by event. 
 
 For I am still myself in every worth 
 
 The world could grace me with, had this 
 day's even 
 
 In one blaze join'd with all my other con- 
 quests. 
 
 And shall my comforts in my well-known 
 self 
 
 Fail me for their false fires, Demetrius ? 
 De. O no, my lord. 
 Pom. Take grief for them, as if 
 
 The rotten-hearted world could steep my 
 soul 
 
 In filthy putrefaction of their own ? 
 
 Since their applauses fail me, that are 
 hisses 
 
 To every sound acceptance ? I confess 
 
 That till th' affair was past my passions 
 flamed, 
 
 But now 'tis helpless, and no cause in me 
 
 Rest in these embers my unmoved soul, 
 
 With any outward change, this distich 
 minding ; 
 
 No man should more allow his own loss, 
 woes 
 
 (Being past his fault] than any stranger does. 
 
 And for the world's false loves and airy 
 honours, 
 
 What soul that ever loved them most in 
 life 
 
 (Once sever'd from this breathing sepul- 
 chre) 
 
 Again came and appear'd in any kind 
 
 Their kind admirer still, or did the state 
 
 Of any best man here associate ? 
 
 And every true soul should be here so 
 sever'd 
 
 From love of such men as here drown their 
 
 souls 
 I As all the world does, Cato sole excepted ; 
 
 To whom I'll fly now, and my wife in way 
 
 (Poor lady and poor children, worse than 
 fatherless) 
 
 Visit and comfort. Come, Demetrius, 
 
 \They disguise themselves. 
 
SCKNR II.] 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF CffiSAR AND POMPEY. 
 
 We now must suit our habits to our for- 
 tunes, 
 
 And since these changes ever chance to 
 greatest 
 
 Nor desire to be 
 
 (Do fortune to exceed it what she can) 
 
 A Pompey, or a Caesar, but a man. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Caesar, Anthony, Acilius, with 
 soldiers. 
 
 Cess. Oh, we have slain, not conquer'd; 
 
 Roman blood 
 Perverts th' event, and desperate blood let 
 
 out 
 With their own swords. Did ever men 
 
 before 
 
 Envy their own lives since another lived 
 Whom they would wilfully conceive their 
 
 foe, 
 
 And forge a tyrant merely in their fears 
 To justify their slaughters? Consuls? furies! 
 An. Be, sir, their faults their griefs ! 
 
 The greater number 
 Were only slaves that left their bloods to 
 
 ruth, 
 
 And altogether but six thousand slain. 
 Cces. However many, gods and men can 
 
 witness 
 Themselves enforced it, much against the 
 
 most 
 
 I could enforce on Pompey for our peace. 
 Of all slain, yet if Brutus only lived 
 I should be comforted, for his life saved 
 Would weigh the whole six thousand that 
 
 are lost. 
 But much I fear his death, because the 
 
 battle, 
 
 Full stricken now, he yet abides unfound. 
 Ac. I saw him fighting near the battle's 
 
 end, 
 But suddenly give off, as bent to fly. 
 
 Enter Brutus. 
 
 An. He comes here ; see, sir. 
 Br. I submit to Caesar 
 My life and fortunes. 
 
 Cas. A more welcome fortune 
 Is Brutus than my conquest. 
 
 Br. Sir, I fought 
 Against your conquest and yourself, and 
 
 merit 
 
 (I must acknowledge) a much sterner wel- 
 come. 
 Cas. You fought with me, sir, for I know 
 
 your arms 
 
 Were taken for your country, not for Pom- 
 pey. 
 And for my country I fought, nothing less 
 
 Than he, or both the mighty-stomach'd 
 
 Consuls ; 
 Both whom, 1 hear, have slain themselves 
 
 before 
 They would enjoy life in the good of 
 
 Caesar. 
 
 But I am nothing worse, how ill soever 
 They and the great authority of Rome 
 Would fain enforce me by their mere sus- 
 picions. 
 Loved they their country better than her 
 
 Brutus ? 
 
 Or knew what fitted noblesse and a Roman 
 With freer souls than Brutus. Those that 
 
 live 
 
 Shall see in Caesar's justice, and whatever 
 Might make me worthy both their lives and 
 
 loves, 
 
 That I have lost the one without my merit, 
 And they the other with no Roman spirit. 
 Are you impair 'd to live and joy my love ? 
 Only requite me, Brutus, love but Caesar, 
 And be in all the powers of Caesar, Caesar. 
 In which free wish I join your father Cato; 
 For whom I'll haste to Utica, and pray 
 His love may strengthen my success to-day. 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Porcius in haste, Marcilius, bare, follow- 
 ing. Porcius discovers a bed, and a 
 wuord hanging by it, -which he takes 
 down. 
 
 Ma. To what use take you that, my 
 lord? 
 
 Par. Take you 
 
 No note that I take it, nor let any servant 
 Besides yourself, of all my father's nearest, 
 Serve any mood he serves with any know- 
 ledge 
 
 Of this or any other. Caesar comes 
 And gives his army wings to reach this 
 
 town, 
 Not for the town's sake, but to save my 
 
 father, 
 
 Whom justly he suspects to be resolved 
 Of any violence to his life, before 
 He will preserve it by a tyrant's favour. 
 For Pompey hath miscarried and is fled. 
 Be true to me and to my father's life, 
 And do not tell him, nor his fury serve 
 With any other. 
 
 Ma. I will die, my lord, 
 Ere I observe it. 
 
 For. O, my lord and father I 
 
 Cato, Athenodorus, Statilius. Cato with 
 a book in his hand. 
 
 Ca. What fears fly here on all sides? 
 what wild looks 
 
 B B 2 
 
373 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF C^iSAR AND POMPEY. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Are squinted at me from men's mere sus- 
 picions 
 
 That I am wild myself, and would enforce 
 
 What will be taken from me by the tyrant ? 
 At. No. Would you only ask life, he 
 would think 
 
 His own life given more strength in giving 
 
 yours. 
 
 Ca. I ask my life of him ? 
 St. Ask what's his own 
 
 Of him he scorns should have the least 
 drop in it 
 
 At his disposure ? 
 Ca. No, Statilius. 
 
 Men that have forfeit lives by breaking 
 laws, 
 
 Or have been overcome, may beg their 
 lives ; 
 
 But I have ever been in every justice 
 
 Better than Caesar, and was never con- 
 quer'd 
 
 Or made to fly for life as Caesar was. 
 
 But have been victor ever to my wish, 
 
 "Gainst whomsoever ever hath opposed ; 
 
 Where Caesar now is conquer 'd in his con- 
 quest, 
 
 In the ambition he till now denied ; 
 
 Taking upon him to give life, when death 
 
 Is tenfold due to his most tyrannous self. 
 
 No right, no power given him to raise an 
 army 
 
 Which in despite of Rome he leads about, 
 
 Slaughtering her loyal subjects like an out- 
 law ; 
 
 Xor is he better. Tongue, show, falsehood 
 are, 
 
 To bloodiest deaths his parts so much ad- 
 mired, 
 
 Vainglory, villainy, and at best you can, 
 
 Fed with the parings of a worthy man. 
 
 My fame affirm my life received from him ? 
 
 I'll rather make a beast my second father. 
 St. The gods avert from every Roman 
 mind 
 
 The name of slave to any tyrant's power. 
 
 Why was man ever just but to be free 
 
 'Gainst all injustice ? and to bear about him 
 
 As well all means to freedom every hour, 
 
 As every hour he should be arm'd for 
 death, 
 
 Which only is his freedom ? 
 At. But, Statilius, 
 
 Death is not free for any man's election, 
 
 Till nature or the law impose it on him. 
 Ca. Must a man go to law, then, when 
 he may 
 
 Knjoy his own in peace ? If I can use 
 
 Mine own myself, must I, of force, re- 
 serve it 
 
 To serve a tyrant with it ? All just men 
 Not only may enlarge their lives, but must, 
 From all rule tyrannous, or live unjust. 
 
 At. By death must they enlarge their 
 lives"? 
 
 Ca. By death. 
 
 At. A man's not bound to that. 
 
 Ca. I'll prove he is. 
 
 Are not the lives of all men bound to 
 justice ? 
 
 At. They are. 
 
 Ca. And therefore not to serve injustice : 
 Justice itself ought ever to be free, 
 And therefore every just man being a part 
 Of that free justice, should be free as it. 
 
 At. Then wherefore is there law for 
 death ? 
 
 Ca. That all 
 
 That know not what law is. nor freely can 
 Perform the fitting justice of a man 
 In kingdoms' common good, may be en- 
 forced. 
 
 But is not every just man to himself 
 The perfect'st law ? 
 
 At. Suppose. 
 
 Ca. '\ hen to himself 
 Is every just man's life subordinate. 
 Again, sir, is not our free soul infused 
 To every body in her absolute end 
 To rule that body? in which absolute 
 
 rule 
 
 Is she not absolutely empress of it ? 
 And being empress, may she not dispose 
 It, and the life in it, at her just pleasure ? 
 
 At. Not to destroy it. 
 
 Ca. No, she not destroys it 
 When she di.slives it, that their freedoms 
 
 may 
 Go firm together, like their powers and 
 
 organs, 
 
 Rather than let it live a rebel to her, 
 Profaning that divine conjunction 
 'Twixt her and it ; nay, a disjunction 
 
 making 
 Betwixt them worse than death, in killing 
 
 quick 
 That which in just death lives : being dead 
 
 to her 
 
 If to her rule dead, and to her alive 
 If dying in her just rule. 
 
 At. The body lives not 
 When death hath reft it. 
 
 Ca. Yet 'tis free, and kept 
 1 Fit for rejunction in man's second life, 
 Which dying rebel to the soul, is far 
 Unfit to join with her in perfect life. 
 
 At. It shall not join with her again. 
 
 Ca It shall. 
 
 At. In reason shall it ? 
 
r 
 
 SCF.NK in.] THE TRAGEDY OF CESAR AND POMPEY. 
 
 373 
 
 Ca. In apparent reason, 
 Which I'll prove clearly. 
 St. Hear, and judge it, sir. 
 Ca. As nature works in all things to an 
 
 end, 
 
 So in th' appropriate honour of that end 
 All things precedent have their natural 
 
 frame, 
 
 And therefore is there a proportion 
 Betwixt the ends of those things and their 
 
 primes ; 
 
 For else there could not be in their crea- 
 tion, 
 
 Always, or for the most part, that firm form 
 In their still like existence, that we see 
 In each full creature. What proportion 
 
 then 
 
 Hath an immortal with a mortal substance? 
 And therefore the mortality to which 
 A man is subject, rather is a sleep 
 Than bestial death, since sleep and death 
 
 are call'd . 
 
 The twins of nature. For if absolute death 
 And bestial seize the body of a man, 
 Then is there no proportion in his parts, 
 His soul being free from death, which 
 
 otherwise 
 
 Retains divine proportion. For as sleep 
 No disproportion holds with human souls, 
 But aptly quickens the proportion 
 "Twixt them av:d bodies, making bodies 
 
 fitter 
 To give up forms to souls, which is their 
 
 end : 
 
 So death (twin-born of sleep), resolving all 
 Man's body's heavy parts, in lighter nature 
 Makes a reunion with the spritely soul, 
 When in a second life their beings given, 
 Holds their proportion firm, in highest 
 
 heaven. 
 At. Hold you our bodies shall revive, 
 
 resuming 
 Our souls again to heaven ? 
 
 Ca. Past doubt, though others 
 Think heaven a world too high for our low 
 
 reaches. 
 Not knowing the sacred sense of him that 
 
 sings, 
 "Jove can let down a golden chain from 
 
 heaven, 
 Which, tied to earth, shall fetch up earth 
 
 and seas :" 
 And what's that golden chain but our pure 
 
 souls ? 
 
 A golden beam of him, let down by him, 
 That govern'd with his grace, and drawn 
 
 by him, 
 
 Can hoist this earthy bcdy up to him, 
 The sea and air, and all the elements 
 
 Compress'd in it ; not while 'tis thus con- 
 crete, 
 But fined by death, and then given 
 
 heavenly heat. 
 At. Your happy exposition of that 
 
 place 
 (Whose sacred depth I never heard so 
 
 sounded), 
 Evicts glad grant from me you hold a 
 
 truth. 
 St. Is't not a manly truth, and mere 
 
 divine? 
 Ca. 'Tis a good cheerful doctrine for 
 
 good men. 
 
 But, son and servants, this is only argued 
 To spend our dear time well, and no life 
 
 urgeth 
 
 To any violence further than his owner 
 And graver men hold fit. Let's talk of 
 
 Caesar ; 
 
 He's the great subject of all talk, and he 
 Is hotly hasting on. Is supper ready ? 
 Ma. It is, my lord. 
 Ca. Why then, let's in and eat, 
 Our cool submission will quench Caesar's 
 
 heat. 
 
 St. Submission ? here's for him. 
 Ca. Statilius, 
 My reasons must not strengthen you in 
 
 error, 
 
 Nor Icarn'd Athenodorus' gentle yielding. 
 Talk with some other deep philosophers, 
 Or some divine priest of the knowing 
 
 gods, 
 
 And hear their reasons : in meantime come 
 sup. 
 
 [Exeunt. Cato going out arm-in-arm 
 betwixt Athenodorus and Statilius. 
 
 ACT THE FIFTH. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Enter Ushers with the two Lentuli, and 
 Septimius before Cornelia, Cyris, 
 Telesilla, Lnsli.i, Drusus, with others 
 following, Cornelia, Septimius, and 
 the two Lentuli reading letters. 
 
 Co. So may my comforts for this good 
 
 news thrive, 
 
 As I am thankful for them to the gods. 
 Joys unexpected, and in desperate plight, 
 Are still most sweet, and prove from 
 
 whence they come ; 
 When earth's still moonlike confidence in 
 
 joy 
 Is at her full ; true joy descending far 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF C.& VR AND POMPEY. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 From past her sphere, and from that 
 
 highest heaven 
 That moves and is not moved ; how far 
 
 was I 
 From hope of these events, when fearful 
 
 dreams 
 
 Of harpies tearing out my heart, of armies 
 Terribly joining, cities, kingdoms falling, 
 And all on me, proved sleep not twin to 
 
 death, 
 
 But to me, death itself? yet waking then, 
 These letters, full of as much cheerful life, 
 I found closed in my hand. O gods, how 
 
 justly 
 
 Ye laugh at all things earthly ! at all fears 
 That rise not from your judgments ; at all 
 
 joys 
 Not drawn directly from yourselves, and 
 
 in ye, 
 Distrust in man is faith, trust ia him, 
 
 ruin. 
 Why write great learned men, men merely 
 
 rapt 
 
 With sacred rage of confidence, belief, 
 Undaunted spirits, inexorable fate 
 And all fear treading on ? 'tis all but air ; 
 If any comfort be, 'tis in despair. 
 
 ist Le. You learned ladies may hold 
 
 anything. 
 2nd Le. Now, madam, is your walk from 
 
 coach come near 
 
 The promontory, where you late com- 
 manded 
 
 A sentinel should stand to see from thence 
 If either with a navy, brouglr. t/y sea, 
 Or train by land ; great Pompey comes to 
 
 greet you 
 
 As in your letters, he near this time pro- 
 mised. 
 Co. O may this isle of Lesbos, com- 
 
 pass'd in 
 
 With the ^Egasan sea, that doth divide 
 Europe from Asia, the sweet literate 
 
 world 
 From the barbarian, from my barbarous 
 
 dreams 
 
 Divide my dearest husband and his for- 
 tunes. 
 znd Le. He's busied now with ordering 
 
 offices.- 
 By this time, madam, sits your honoured 
 
 father [He looks in his letter. 
 
 In Caesar's chair of universal bishop. 
 Domitius ^inobarbus is made Consul, 
 Spinther his consort ; and Phaonius 
 Tribune, or Praetor. 
 
 Septimius with a letter. 
 Se. These were only sought 
 
 Before the battle, not obtain'd ; nor 
 
 moving 
 My father but in shadows. 
 
 Co. Why should men 
 Tempt fate with such firm confidence? 
 
 seeking places 
 Before the power that should dispose could 
 
 grant them ? 
 
 For then the stroke of battle was not struck. 
 ^st Le. Nay, that was sure enough. Phy- 
 sicians know 
 When sick men's eyes are broken they 
 
 must die. 
 
 Your letters telling you his victory 
 Lost in the skirmish, which I know hath 
 
 broken 
 Both the eyes and heart of Coesar : for as 
 
 men 
 Healthful through all their lives to grey- 
 
 hair'd age, 
 
 When sickness takes them once, they sel- 
 dom 'scape : 
 
 So Caesar, victor in his general fights 
 Till this late skirmish, could no adverse 
 
 blow 
 
 Sustain without his utter overthrow. 
 zndLe. See, madam, now; your sentinel : 
 
 inquire. 
 Co. Seest thou no fleet yet, sentinel, nor 
 
 train 
 
 That may be thought great Pompey 's ? 
 Se. Not yet, madam. 
 ist Le. Seest thou no travellers ad- 
 
 dress'd this way, 
 
 In any number on this Lesbian shore ? 
 Se. I see some not worth note ; a couple 
 
 coming 
 This way, on foot, that are ^ot now far 
 
 hence. 
 
 2nd Le. Come they apace, like mes- 
 sengers with news ? 
 Se. No, nothing like, my lord, nor are 
 
 their habits 
 Of any such men's fashions ; being long 
 
 mantles, 
 And sable-hued ; their heads all hid in 
 
 hats 
 Of parching Thessaly, broad-brimm'd, 
 
 high-crown'd. 
 
 Co. These serve not our hopes. 
 Se. Now I see a ship 
 A kenning hence, that strikes into the 
 
 haven. 
 
 Co. One only ship? 
 Se. One only, madam, yet. 
 Co. That should nof. be my lord. 
 ist Le. Your lord ? no, madam. 
 Se. She now lets out arm'd men upon 
 the land. 
 
SCENE I.J 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF CESAR AND POMPEY. 
 
 znd Le. Arm'd men ? with drum and 
 
 colours ? 
 
 Se. No, my lord, 
 But bright in arms, yet bear half pikes or 
 
 beadhooks. 
 ist Le. These can be no plumes in the 
 
 train of Pompey. 
 
 Co. I'll see him in his letter once again. 
 Se. Now, madam, come the two I saw 
 
 on foot. 
 
 Enter Pompey and Demetrius. 
 
 De. See your princess, sir, come thus 
 far from the city in her coach, to encounter 
 your promised coming about this time in 
 your last letters. 
 
 Pom. The world is altered since, Deme- 
 trius. [Offer to go by. 
 
 ij/ Le. See, madam, two Thessalian 
 augurs, it seems, by their habits. Call, 
 and inquire if either by their skills or 
 travels they know no news of your hus- 
 band. 
 
 Co. My friends, a word. 
 
 De. With us, madam ? 
 
 Co. Yes. Are you of Thessaly ? 
 
 De. Ay, madam, and all the world be- 
 sides. 
 
 Co. Your country is great. 
 
 De. And our portions little. 
 
 Co. Are you augurs ? 
 
 De. Augurs, madam ? yes, a kind of 
 augurs, alias wizards, that go up and down 
 the world teaching how to turn ill to good. 
 
 Co. Can you do that ? 
 
 De. Ay, madam, you have no work for 
 us, have you ? No ill to turn good, I mean ? 
 
 Co. Yes, the absence of my husband. 
 
 De. What's he? 
 
 Co. Pompey the Great. 
 
 De. Wherein is he great ? 
 
 Co. In his command of the world. 
 
 De. Then he's great in others. Take 
 him without his addition, great, what is he 
 then? 
 
 Co. Pompey. 
 
 De. Not your husband then? 
 
 Co. Nothing the less for his greatness. 
 
 De. Not in his right ; but in your com- 
 forts he is. 
 
 Co. His right is my comfort. 
 
 De. What's his wrong ? 
 
 Co. My sorrow. 
 
 De. And that's ill. 
 
 Co. Yes. 
 
 De. Y'are come to the use of our pro- 
 fession, madam : would you have that ill 
 turned good ? that sorrow turned comfort ? 
 
 Cc. Why, is my lord wronged ? 
 
 DC. We possess not that knowledge, 
 madam : suppose he were. 
 
 Co. Not I. 
 
 De. You'll suppose him good ? 
 
 Co. He is so. 
 
 De. Then must you needs suppose him 
 wronged ; for all goodness is wronged in 
 this world. 
 
 Co. What call you wrong? 
 
 De. Ill fortune, affliction. 
 
 Co. Think you my lord afflicted ? 
 
 De. If I think him good, madam, I 
 must. Unless he be worldly good, and 
 then either he is ill or has ill ; since, as no 
 sugar is without poison, so is no worldly 
 good without ill. Even naturally nourished 
 in it, like a household thief, which is the 
 worst of all thieves. 
 
 Co. Then he is not worldly, but truly 
 good. 
 
 De. He's too great to be truly good ; for 
 worldly greatness is the chief worldly good- 
 ness ; and all worldly goodness (I proved 
 before) has ill in it, which true good has 
 not. 
 
 Co. If he rule well with his greatness, 
 wherein is he ill ? 
 
 De. But great rulers are like carpenters 
 that wear their rules at their backs still ; 
 and therefore to make good your true good 
 in him, y'ad better suppose him little or 
 mean; for in the mean only is the true 
 good. 
 
 Pom. But every great lady must have her 
 husband great still, or her love will be little. 
 
 Co. I am none of those great ladies. 
 
 ist Le. She's a philosophress, augur, and 
 can turn ill to good as well as you. 
 
 Pom. I would then not honour, but adore 
 her. Could you submit yourself cheerfully 
 to your husband, supposing him fallen ? 
 
 Co. If he submit himself cheerfully to his 
 fortune. 
 
 Pom. Tis the greatest greatness in the 
 world you undertake. 
 
 Co. I would be so great, if he were. 
 
 Pom. In supposition. 
 
 Co. In fact. 
 
 Pom. Be no woman, but a goddess, then, 
 and make good thy greatness. I am cheer- 
 fully fallen ; be cheerful. 
 
 Co. I am, and welcome, as the world 
 were closed in these embraces. 
 
 Pom. Is it possible ? a woman, losing 
 greatness, still as good as at her greatest ? 
 O gods ! was I ever great till this minute ? 
 
 Amb. Len. Pompey? 
 
 Pom. View me better. 
 
 Amb. Len. Conquered by Caesar? 
 
376 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF C/ESAR AND POMPEY. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Pom. Not I, but mine army. 
 No fault in me in it ; no conquest of me ; 
 I tread this low earth as I trod on Caesar. 
 Must I not hold myself, though lose the 
 
 world ? 
 
 Nor -lose I less : a world lost at one clap, 
 'Tis more than Jove ever thunder'd with. 
 What glory is it to have my hand hurl 
 So vast a volley through the groaning air ? 
 And is't not great to turn griefs thus to 
 
 joys 
 
 That break the hearts of others ? 
 Amb. Len. O, tis Jove-like ! 
 Pom. It is to imitate Jove, that from the 
 
 wounds 
 Of softest clouds, beats up the terriblest 
 
 sounds. 
 I now am good, for good men still have 
 
 least, 
 That 'twixt themselves and God might rise 
 
 their rest. 
 Co. O, Pompey, Pompey ! never great 
 
 till now. 
 Pom. O, my Cornelia, let us still be 
 
 good, 
 
 And we shall still be great ; and greater far 
 In every solid grace than when the 
 
 tumour 
 
 And bile of rotten observation swell'd us. 
 Griefs for wants outward are without our 
 
 cure, 
 
 Greatness, not of itself, is never sure. 
 Before we went upon heaven, rather tread- 
 ing 
 
 The virtues of it underfoot in making 
 The vicious world our heaven, than walking 
 
 there 
 Even here, as knowing that our home ; 
 
 contemning 
 All forged heavens here raised, setting hills 
 
 on hills. 
 Vulcan from heaven fell, yet on's feet did 
 
 light, 
 
 And stood no less a god than at his height. 
 At lowest, things lie fast ; we now are like 
 The two poles propping heaven, on which 
 
 heaven moves, 
 
 And they are fix'd and quiet, being above 
 All motion far ; we rest above the 
 
 heavens. 
 Co. Oh, I more joy t'embrace my lord, 
 
 thus fix'd, 
 Than he had brought me ten inconstant 
 
 conquests. 
 ist Le. Miraculous standing in a fall so 
 
 great ! 
 Would Caesar knew, sir, how you con- 
 
 quer'd him 
 In your conviction. 
 
 Pom. 'Tis enough for me 
 That Pompey knows it. I will stand no 
 
 more 
 On others' legs, nor build one joy without 
 
 me. 
 
 If ever I be worth a house again 
 I'll build all inward ; not a light shall ope 
 The common outway, no expense, no art, 
 No ornament, no door will I use there, 
 But raise all plain and rudely, like a ram- 
 pier 
 
 Against the false society of men 
 That stiil batters 
 All reason piecemeal. And for earthy 
 
 greatness 
 
 All heavenly comforts rarefies to air, 
 I'll therefore live in dark, and all my 
 
 light, 
 
 Like ancient temples, let in at my top. 
 This were to turn one's back to all the 
 
 world, 
 
 And only look at heaven. Empedocles 
 Recured a mortal plague through all has 
 
 country 
 
 With stopping up the yawning of a hill, 
 From whence the hollow and unwholesome 
 
 south 
 Exhaled his venom'd vapour. And what 
 
 else 
 
 Is any king, given over to his lusts, 
 But even the poison 'd cleft of that crack'd 
 
 mountain, 
 
 That all his kingdom plagues with his ex- 
 ample ? 
 Which I have stopp'd now, and so cured 
 
 my country 
 
 Of such a sensual pestilence : 
 When therefore our diseased affections, 
 Harmful to human freedom, and, storm- 
 like, 
 
 Inferring darkness to th 1 infected mind, 
 Oppress our comforts ; 'tis but letting in 
 The light of reason, and a purer spirit, 
 Take in another way ; like rooms that 
 
 fight 
 With windows 'gainst the wind, yet let in 
 
 light. 
 
 Amb. Len. My lord, we served before, 
 but now adore you. 
 
 Se. My lord, the arm'd men I discover'd 
 
 lately 
 Unshipp'd and landed, now are trooping 
 
 near. 
 
 Pom. What arm'd men are they ? 
 ist Le. Some, my lord, that lately 
 The sentinel discover'd, but not knew. 
 Se. Now all the sea, my lords, is hid 
 
 with ships : 
 Another promontory flanking this, 
 
I SCENE ii.] THE TRAGEDY OF CAESAR AND POMPEY. 
 
 377 
 
 Some furlong hence, is climb'd, and full of 
 
 people, 
 
 That easily may see hither, it seems looking 
 What these so near intend : take heed, 
 
 they come. 
 
 Enter Acilius, Septius, Salvius, with 
 soldiers. 
 
 Ac. Hail to Rome's great commander; 
 
 to whom ./Egypt 
 (Not long since seated in his kingdom by 
 
 thee, 
 
 And sent to by thee in thy passage by) 
 Sends us with answer, which withdraw and 
 
 hear. 
 
 Pom. I'll kiss my children first. 
 Se. Bless me, my lord. 
 Pom. I will, and Cyris, my poor daughter 
 
 too. 
 Even that high hand that hurl'd me down 
 
 thus low, 
 Keep you from rising high ! I hear ; now 
 
 tell me. 
 
 I think, my friend, you once served under 
 
 me. [Septius only nods with his head. 
 
 Pom. Nod only ! not a word deign ? 
 
 what are these ? 
 
 Cornelia, I am now not worth men's words. 
 Ac. Please you receive your aid, sir? 
 Pom. Ay, I come. 
 
 \_Exit Pom. They draw and folhnu. 
 Co. Why draw they ? See, my lords ; 
 
 attend them, ushers. 
 Se. O they have slain great Pompey ! 
 Co. O my husband. 
 
 ] \ Mother, take comfort. 
 
 Enter Pompey bleeding. 
 
 O, my lord, and father ! 
 Pom. See heavens your sufferings, is my 
 
 country's love, 
 
 The justice of an empire, piety, 
 Worth this end in their leader ? last yet 
 
 life 
 
 And bring the gods off fairer : after this 
 Who will adore or serve the deities ? 
 
 \He hides his face ^vith his robe. 
 
 Enter the Murtherers. 
 
 Ac. Help ! hale him off: and take his 
 
 head for Caesar. 
 Se. Mother ! O save us : Pompey ! O 
 
 my father. 
 
 Enter the two Lentuli and Demetrius bleed- 
 ing, and kneel about Cornelia. 
 
 I Lc. Yet falls not heaven ? Madam, O 
 make good 
 
 Your late great spirits ; all the world \vill 
 
 say 
 
 You know not how to bear adverse events, 
 If now you languish. 
 
 Omnes. Take her to her coach. 
 
 \They bear her out. 
 
 Cato with a book in his hand. 
 
 O beastly apprehenders of things manly, 
 And merely heavenly ; they with all the 
 
 reasons 
 
 used for just men's liberties, to bear 
 Their lives and deaths up in their own free 
 
 hands, 
 
 Fear still my resolution, though I seem 
 To give it off like them ; and now am 
 
 won 
 To think my life in law's rule, not mine 
 
 own, 
 When once it comes to death, as if the 
 
 law 
 Made for a sort of outlaws, must bound 
 
 me 
 
 In their subjection ; as if I could 
 Be rack'd out of my veins to live in others, 
 As so I must, if others rule my life, 
 And public power keep all the right of 
 
 death, 
 As if men needs must serve the place of 
 
 justice, 
 
 The form and idol, and renounce itself, 
 Ourselves and all our rights in God and 
 
 goodness ; 
 
 Our whole contents and freedoms to dis- 
 pose 
 
 All in the joys and ways of arrant rogues ! 
 No, stay but their wild errors to sustain 
 
 us ! 
 No forges but their throats to vent our 
 
 breaths, 
 To form our lives in, and repose our 
 
 deaths ! 
 See, they have got my sword. Who's 
 
 there ? 
 
 Enter Marcilius bare. 
 
 Ma. My lord ! 
 
 Ca. Who took my sword hence? Dumb! 
 
 I do not ask 
 
 For any use or care of it, but hope 
 I may be answer'd. Go, sir, let me have it. 
 [Exit Mar. 
 Poor slaves, how terrible this death is to 
 
 them ! 
 If men would sleep they would be wroth 
 
 with all 
 
 That interrupt them ; physic take to take 
 The golden rest it brings ; both pay and 
 pray 
 
378 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF CAESAR AND POMPEY. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 For good and soundest naps, all friends 
 
 consenting 
 
 In those kind invocations, praying all 
 Good rest the gods vouchsafe you, but 
 
 when Death, 
 Sleep's natural brother, comes, (that's 
 
 nothing worse, 
 But better, being more rich, and keeps the 
 
 store, 
 
 Sleep ever fickle, wayward still, and poor), 
 O how men grudge, and shake, and fear, 
 
 and fly 
 His stern approaches ; all their comforts 
 
 taken 
 In faith and knowledge of the bliss and 
 
 beauties 
 That watch their wakings in an endless 
 
 life; 
 Drown'd in the pains and horrors of their 
 
 sense 
 
 Sustain'd but for an hour ! Be all the earth 
 Rapt with this error, I'll pursue my reason, 
 And hold that as my light and fiery pillar, 
 Th' eternal law of heaven and earth no 
 
 firmer. 
 But while I seek to conquer conquering 
 
 Caesar, 
 My soft-spleen 'd servants overrule and curb 
 
 me. '\He knocks, and Brutus enters. 
 Where's he I sent to fetch and place my 
 
 sword 
 Where late I left it? Dumb, too? Come, 
 
 another ! 
 
 Enter Cleanthes. 
 
 Where's my sword hung here ? 
 Cl. My lord, I know not. 
 
 Enter Marcilius. 
 
 Ca. The rest come in there ! Where's 
 
 the sword I charged you 
 To give his place again? I'll break your 
 
 lips ope. 
 Spite of my freedom, all my servants, 
 
 friends, 
 My son and all, will needs betray me 
 
 naked 
 
 To th' armed malice of a foe so fierce 
 And bear-like, mankind of the blood of 
 
 virtue. 
 
 O gods, who ever saw me thus contemn'd? 
 Go, call my son in, tell him that the less 
 He shows himself my son, the less I'll care 
 To live his father. 
 
 Enter Athenodorus, Porcius ; Porcius 
 kneeling ; Brutus, Cleanthes, and 
 Marcilius by him. 
 
 Po, I beseech you, sir, 
 
 Rest patient of my duty, and my love ; 
 Your other children think on, our poor 
 
 mother, 
 Your family, your country. 
 
 Ca. If the gods 
 
 Give over all, I'll fly the world with them. 
 Athenodorus, I admire the changes 
 I note in heavenly providence. When 
 
 Pompey 
 Did all things out of course, past right, 
 
 past reason, 
 
 He stood invincible against the world : 
 Yet now his cares grew pious, and his 
 
 powers 
 
 Set all up for his country, he is conquer'd. 
 At. The gods' wills secret are, nor must 
 
 we measure 
 Their chaste-reserved deeps by our dry 
 
 shallows. 
 
 Sufficeth us, we are entirely such 
 As 'twixt them and our consciences we 
 
 know 
 
 Their graces, in our virtues, shall present 
 Unspotted with the earth, to the high throne 
 That overlooks us ; for this giant world, 
 Let's not contend with it, when heaven itself 
 Fails to reform it : why should we affect 
 The least hand over it, in that ambition ? 
 A heap 'tis of digested villany ; 
 Virtue in labour with eternal chaos 
 Press'd to a living death, and rack'd beneath 
 
 it. 
 
 Her throes unpitied ; every worthy man 
 Limb by limb sawn out of her virgin womb, 
 To live here piecemeal tortured ; fly life 
 
 then ; 
 Your life and death made precedents for 
 
 men. [Exit. 
 
 Ca. Ye hear, my masters, what a life 
 
 this is, 
 
 And use much reason to respect it so. 
 But mine shall serve ye. Yet restore my 
 
 sword, 
 
 Lest too much ye presume, and I conceive 
 Ye front me like my fortunes. Where's 
 
 Statilius ? 
 Po. I think, sir, gone with the three 
 
 hundred Romans 
 In Lucius Caesar's charge, to serve the 
 
 victor. 
 Ca. And would not take his leave of his 
 
 poor friend ? 
 Then the philosophers have stoop'd his 
 
 spirit, 
 
 Which I admire in one so free and knowing, 
 And such a fiery hater of base life ; 
 Besides, being such a vow'd and noted foe 
 To our great conqueror. But I advised him 
 To spare his youth, and live. 
 
SCENE III. 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF CAESAR AND POMPEY. 
 
 379 
 
 Po. My brother Brutus 
 Is gone to Qesar. 
 
 Ca. Brutus ? Of mine honour 
 (Although he be my son-in-law) I must say 
 There went as worthy and as learned a 
 
 president 
 As lives in Rome's whole rule, for all life's 
 
 actions ; 
 
 And yet your sister Porcia (his wife) 
 Would scarce have done this. But for 
 
 you, my son, 
 However Caesar deals with me, be coun- 
 
 sell'd 
 
 By your experienced father not to touch 
 At any action of the public weal, 
 Nor any rule bear near her politic stern : 
 For, to be upright and sincere therein 
 Like Gate's son, the time's corruption 
 Will never bear it ; and, to soothe the time, 
 You shall do basely, and unworthy your 
 
 life, 
 Which to the gods I wish may outweigh 
 
 mine 
 
 In every virtue, howsoever ill 
 You thrive in honour. 
 
 Po. I, my lord, shall gladly 
 Obey that counsel. 
 
 Ca. And what needed you 
 Urge my kind care of any charge that 
 
 nature 
 
 Imposes on me ? have I ever shown 
 Love's least defect to you ? or any dues 
 The most indulgent father, being discreet, 
 Could do his dearest blood ? do you me 
 
 right 
 
 In judgment and in honour, and dispense 
 With passionate nature : go, neglect me 
 
 not, 
 But send my sword in. Go, 'tis I that charge 
 
 you. 
 Co. O, my lord and father, come, advise 
 
 me. [Exeunt. 
 
 Ca. What have I now to think on in 
 
 this world ? 
 No one thought of the world, I go each 
 
 minute 
 Discharged of all cares that may fit my 
 
 freedom. 
 The next world and my soul then let me 
 
 serve 
 
 With her last utterance, that my body may 
 With sweetness of the passage drown the 
 
 sour 
 That death will mix with it : the consuls' 
 
 souls 
 That slew themselves so nobly, scorning 
 
 life 
 Led under tyrants' sceptres, mine would 
 
 see. 
 
 For we shall know each other, and past 
 
 death 
 Retain those fcrms of knowledge learn'd in 
 
 life; 
 Since, if what here we learn, we there shall 
 
 lose, 
 
 Our immortality were not life, but time. 
 And that our souls in reason are immortal 
 Their natural and proper objects prove ; 
 Which immortality and knowledge are. 
 For to that object ever is referr'd 
 The nature of the soul, in which the acts 
 Of her high faculties are still employ 'd. 
 And that true object must her powers 
 
 obtain 
 
 To which they are in nature's aim directed. 
 Since 'twere absurd to have her set an 
 
 object 
 Which possibly she never can ar.pire. 
 
 Enter a Page with his sword taken out 
 before. 
 
 Pa. Your sword, my lord. 
 Ca. O, is it found ? lay't down 
 Upon the bed, my boy. [Exit Page.] 
 
 Poor men ! a boy 
 
 Must be presenter ; manhood at no hand 
 Must serve so foul a fact ; for so are call'd, 
 In common mouths, men's fairest acts of all. 
 Unsheathe ! is't sharp ? 'tis sweet ! Now 
 
 I am safe ; 
 Come Caesar, quickly now, or lose your 
 
 vassal. 
 Now wing thee, dear soul, and receive her 
 
 heaven. 
 
 The earth, the air, and seas I know, and all 
 The joys and horrors of their peace and 
 
 wars, 
 And now will see the gods' state, and the 
 
 stars. 
 
 [He falls upon his sword, and enter 
 Statilius at another side of the 
 stage with his sword drawn; 
 Porcius, Bnitus, Cleanthes, and 
 Marcilius holding his hands. 
 
 St. Cato ? my lord ! 
 Po. I swear, Statilius, 
 He's forth, and gone to seek you, charging 
 
 me 
 
 To seek elsewhere, lest you had slain your- 
 self ; 
 
 And by his love entreated you would live. 
 St. I swear by all the gods, I'll run his 
 
 fortunes. 
 Fo. You may, you may ; but shun the 
 
 victor now, 
 
 Who near is, and will make us all his 
 slaves. 
 
3 8o 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF CAESAR AND POMPEY. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 St. He shall himself be mine first, and 
 
 my slaves. [Exit. 
 
 Po. Look, look in to my father, O I 
 
 fear, 
 He is no sight for me to bear and live. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Omnes 3. O ruthful spectacle ! 
 Cl. He hath ripp'd his entrails. 
 Br. Search, search ; they may be found. 
 Cl. They may, and are. 
 Give leave, my lord, that I may sew them 
 
 up, 
 Being yet unperish'd. 
 
 Ca. Stand off ; now they are not. 
 
 [He thrusts him back and plucks out 
 
 his entrails. 
 Have he my curse that my life's least part 
 
 saves ; 
 
 Just men are only free, the rest are slaves. 
 Br. Mirror of men ! 
 Ma. The gods envied his goodness. 
 
 Enter Caesar, Anthony, Brutus, Acilius, 
 with lords and citizens ^/"Utica. 
 
 Cces. Too late, too late ! with all our 
 
 haste. O Cato, 
 All my late conquest, and my life's whole 
 
 acts, 
 Most crown'd, most beautified, are blasted 
 
 all 
 With thy grave life's expiring in their 
 
 scorn. 
 Thy life was rule to all lives ; and thy 
 
 death 
 
 (Thus forcibly despising life) the quench 
 Of all lives' glories. 
 
 An. Unreclaimed man ! 
 How censures Brutus his stern father's 
 
 fact? 
 
 Br. 'Twas not well done. 
 Cces. O censure not his acts ; 
 Who knew as well what fitted man as all 
 men. 
 
 Enter Acilius, Septimius, Salvius, "with 
 Pompey's head. 
 
 All kneeling. Your enemy's head, great 
 
 Csesar! 
 
 Cces. Cursed monsters, 
 Wound not mine eyes with it, nor in my 
 
 camp 
 
 Let any dare to view it ; far as noblesse 
 The den of barbarism flies, and bliss, 
 
 The bitterest curse of vex'd and tyrannized 
 
 nature, 
 Transfer it from me. Born the plagues of 
 
 virtue, 
 How durst ye poison thus my thoughts? to 
 
 torture 
 
 Them with instant rapture. 
 Omnes 3. Sacred Caesar ! 
 Cces. Away with them ; I vow by all my 
 
 comforts 
 
 Who slack seems, or not fiery in my charge, 
 Shall suffer with them. 
 
 All the soldiers. Out, base murtherers ; 
 Tortures, tortures for them ! 
 
 {Hale them out. 
 Omnes. Cruel Caesar ! 
 Cces. Too mild with any torture. 
 Br. Let me crave 
 
 The ease of my hate on their one cursed life. 
 Cces. Good Brutus, take it ; O you cool 
 
 the poison 
 These villains flaming pour'd upon my 
 
 spleen 
 
 To suffer with my loathings. If the blood 
 Of every common Roman touch'd so near. 
 Shall I confirm the false brand of my 
 
 tyranny 
 With being found a fautor of his mur- 
 
 ther 
 Whom my dear country choosed to fight 
 
 for her? 
 An. Your patience, sir; their tortures well 
 
 will quit you. 
 Br. Let my slaves' use, sir, be your 
 
 precedent. 
 Cces. It shall, I swear; you do me infinite 
 
 honour. 
 
 O Cato, I envy thy death, since thou 
 Envied'st my glory to preserve thy life. 
 Why fled his son and friend Statilius ? 
 So far 1 fly their hurt, that all my good 
 Shall fly to their desires. And, for himself, 
 My lords and citizens of Utica, 
 His much renown of you, quit with your 
 
 most ; 
 
 And by the sea, upon some eminent rock, 
 Erect his sumptuous tomb ; on which 
 
 advance 
 With all fit state his statue ; whose right 
 
 hand 
 Let hold his sword, where, may to all 
 
 times rest 
 His bones as honour'd as his soul is blest. 
 
 L .. 
 
Alphonsus Emperor of Germany. 
 
 TO THE READER. 
 
 I SHALL not need to bespeak thee courteous, if thou hast seen this piece presented with 
 all the elegance of life and action on the Blackfriars' stage ; but if it be a stranger to 
 thee, give me leave to prepare thy acceptation, by telling thee it was received with 
 general applause, and thy.judgment, I doubt not, will be satisfied in the reading. 
 
 I will not raise thy expectation further, nor delay thy entertainment by a tedious 
 preface. The design is high, the contrivement subtle, and will deserve thy grave attention 
 in the perusal. Farewell. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Alphonsus, Emperor of Germany. 
 
 King of Bohemia, 
 
 Bishop of Mentz, 
 
 Bishop of Collen, 
 
 Bishop of Trier, 
 
 Palatine of the Rhein, 
 
 Duke of Saxon, 
 
 Marquess of Brandenburg, 
 
 Prince Edward of England. 
 
 Richard, Duke of Cornwall, 
 
 the Seven 
 Electors of 
 the German 
 
 Empire. 
 
 Lorenzo de Cyprus, Secretary to the 
 
 Emperor. 
 
 Alexander, his Son, the Emperor's Page. 
 Isabella, the Empress. 
 Hedewick, Daughter to the Duke of 
 
 Saxon. 
 
 Captain of the Guard. 
 Two Boors. 
 Soldiers. 
 Jailor. 
 
 ACT THE FIRST. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Enter Alphonsus the Emperor in his night- 
 gown and his shirt, and a torch in his 
 hand, Alexander de Cyprus, his Page, 
 following him. 
 
 Alp. Give me the master-key of all the 
 
 doors ; 
 To bed again, and leave me to myself ! 
 
 [Exit Alexander. 
 
 * " The Tragedy of Alphonsus Emperour of 
 Germany. As it hath been very often Acted 
 (with great applause) at the Privat house in 
 Black-Friers by his late Maiesties Servants. By 
 George Chapman Gent. London, Printed for 
 Humphrey Moscley, and are to be sold at his 
 Shopp at the Princes- Arms in St. Pauls Church- 
 yard 1654." 
 
 Is Richard come ? Have four Electors 
 
 sworn 
 
 To make him Kaiser in despite of me? 
 Why then, Alphonsus, it is time to wake ! 
 No, Englishman, thou art too hot at hand, 
 Too shallow-brain'd to undermine my 
 
 throne ; 
 
 The Spanish sun hath purified my wit, 
 And dried up all gross humours in my 
 
 head, 
 
 That I am sighted as the king of birds, 
 And can discern thy deepest stratagems. 
 I am the lawful German Emperor, 
 Chosen, install'd, by general consent ; 
 And they may term me tyrant as they 
 
 please, 
 
 I will be king and tyrant if I please, 
 For what is empire, but a tyranny ? 
 And none but children use it otherwise. 
 Of seven Electors four are fall'n away, 
 The other three I dare not greatly trust ; 
 
ALPHONSUS EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 
 
 [ACT S 
 
 My i eife is sister to mine enemy, 
 And, therefore, wisely to be dealt withal. 
 But \vhy do I except in special, 
 When this position must be general, 
 That no man living must be credited 
 Further than tends unto thy proper good. 
 But to the purpose of my silent walk ! 
 Within this chamber lies my secretary, 
 Lorenzo de Cyprus, in whose learned brain 
 Is all the compass of the world contain'd, 
 And as the ignorant and simple age 
 Of our forefathers, blinded in their zeal, 
 Received dark answers from Apollo's 
 
 shrine, 
 
 And honour'd him as patron of their bliss, 
 So I, not muffled in simplicity, 
 Zealous indeed of nothing but my good, 
 Haste to the augur of my happiness, 
 To lay the ground of my ensuing wars. 
 He learns his wisdom not by flight of birdsj 
 By prying into sacrificed beasts, 
 By hares that cross the way, by howling 
 
 wolves, 
 
 By gazing on the starry element, 
 Or vain imaginary calculations ; 
 But from a settled wisdom in itself, 
 Which teacheth to be void of passion; 
 To be religious as the ravenous wolf, 
 Who lo\es the lamb for hunger and for 
 
 prey ; 
 
 To threaten our inferiors with our looks ; 
 To flatter our superiors at our need ; 
 To be an outward saint, an inward devil ; 
 These are the lectures that my roaster 
 
 reads. 
 This key commands all chambers in the 
 
 court. 
 
 Now on a sudden will I try his wit, 
 I know my coming is unlocked for. 
 
 {He opens the door and finds Lorenzo 
 
 asleep. 
 
 Nay, sleep, Lorenzo, I will walk awhile. 
 As Nature, in the framing of the world, 
 Ordain 'd there should be nihil vacuum* 
 Even so, methinks, his wisdom should con- 
 trive 
 
 That all his study should be full of wit, 
 And every corner stuff d with sentences. 
 What is this ? Plato ? Aristotle ? Tush ! 
 These are but ordinary ; 't seems this is 
 A note but newly written. 
 
 {He reads a note which he finds among 
 
 Lorenzo's books. 
 
 " Unum arbustum non alit duos eri- 
 thacos ; which being granted, the Roman 
 Empire will not suffice Alphonsus, King of 
 Castile, and Richard, Earl of Cornwall, his 
 competitor. Thy wisdom teacheth thee to 
 cleave to the strongest ; Alphonsus is in 
 
 possession and therefore the strongest, but 
 he is in hatred with the Electors, and men 
 rather honour the sun rising than the sun 
 going down." 
 
 Ay marry, this is argued like himself ; 
 And now, methinks, he wakes. 
 
 [Lorenzo rises and snatches at his 
 
 sword, which hung by his bedside. 
 
 Lo. What ! are there thieves within the 
 
 Emperor's Court ? 
 Villain, thou diest ! What makest thou in 
 
 my chamber ? 
 Al. How now, Lorenzo ! wilt thou slay 
 
 thy lord ? 
 
 Lo. I do beseech your sacred majesty 
 To pardon me, I did not know your 
 
 grace. 
 Alp. Lie down, Lorenzo, I will sit by 
 
 thee. 
 The air is sharp and piercing ; tremble 
 
 not ! 
 
 Had it been any other but ourself, 
 He must have been a villain and a thief. 
 Lo. Alas, my lord ! What means you~ 
 
 excellence 
 To walk by night in these so dangerous 
 
 times ? 
 Alp. Have I not reason now to walk and 
 
 watch, 
 
 When 1 am compass'd with so many foes ? 
 They ward, they watch, they cast, and they 
 
 conspire 
 
 To win confederate princes to their aid, 
 And batter down the eagle from my crest. 
 Oh, my Lorenzo, if thou help me not, 
 The imperial crown is shaken from my 
 
 head, 
 
 And given from me unto an English earl. 
 Thou know'st how all things stand as well 
 
 as we, 
 
 Who are our enemies and who our friends, 
 Who must be threaten'd and who dallied 
 
 with, 
 Who won by words and who by force of 
 
 arms. 
 
 For all the honour I have done to thee 
 Now speak, and speak to purpose in the 
 
 cause ; 
 
 Nay, rest thy body, labour with thy brain, 
 
 And of thy words myself will be the scribe. 
 
 Lo. Why then, my lord, take paper, pen, 
 
 and ink, 
 Write first this maxim, it shall do you 
 
 good: 
 
 i. A prince must be of the nature of the 
 lion and the fox, but not the one without 
 the other. 
 Alp. The fox is subtle, but he wanteth 
 
 force, 
 
SCENE I.J 
 
 /.i.rnoNsus EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 
 
 323 
 
 I The lion strong, but soorncth policy. 
 I I'll imitate Lysandcr in this point, 
 And where the lion's hide is thin and 
 
 scant, 
 
 I'll firmly patch it with the fox's fell. 
 Let it suffice, I can be both in one. 
 
 Lo. 2. A prince above all things must 
 seem devout ; but there's nothing so 
 clangorous to his state, as to regard his 
 promise or his oath. 
 
 Alp. Tush; fear not me, my promises are 
 
 sound, 
 But he that trusts them shall be sure to 
 
 fail. 
 Lo. Nay, my good lord, but that I know 
 
 your majesty 
 
 To be a ready, quick-witted scholar, 
 I would bestow a comment on the text. 
 
 3. Trust not a reconciled friend, for 
 good turns cannot blot out old grudges. 
 Alp. Then must I watch the Palatine of 
 
 the Rhein ; 
 
 I caused his father to be put to death. 
 Lo. Your highness hath as little cause to 
 
 trust 
 
 The dangerous, mighty duke of Saxony ; 
 You know you sought to banish him the 
 
 land ; 
 
 And as for Collen, was not he the first 
 That sent for Richard into Germany? 
 Alp. What's thy opinion of the other 
 
 four? 
 Lo. That Bohemia, neither cares for one 
 
 nor other. 
 But hopes this deadly strife between you 
 
 twain 
 Will cast the imperial crown upon his 
 
 head. 
 For Trier and Brandenburg, I think of 
 
 them 
 As simple men, that wish the common 
 
 good ; 
 And as for Mentz, I need not censure 
 
 him, 
 Richard hath chain'd him in a golden 
 
 bond, 
 
 And saved his life from ignominious death. 
 
 Alp. Let it, suffice, Lorenzo, that I know, 
 
 When Kurfurst Mentz was taken prisoner 
 
 By young victorious Otho, Duke of Brun- 
 
 schweig, 
 That Richard, Earl of Cornwall, did 
 
 disburse 
 
 The ransom of a king, a million, 
 To save his life, and rid him out of bands ; 
 That sum of gold did fill the Brunschweig 
 
 bags, 
 But since, myself have rain'd a golden 
 
 shower 
 
 Of bright Hungarian ducats and crusadccs 
 Into the private coffers of the bishop, 
 The English angels took their wings and 
 
 fled; 
 My crosses bless his coffers, and plead for 
 
 me ; 
 His voice is mine, bought with ten tons of 
 
 gold, 
 
 And at the meeting of the seven Electors 
 His princely double-dealing holiness 
 Will spoil the English emperor of hope. 
 But I refer these matters to the sequel ; 
 Proceed, Lorenzo, forward to the next. 
 Lo. I'm glad your grace hath dealt so 
 
 cunningly 
 
 With that victorious fickle-minded prelate, 
 For in election his voice i:> first ; 
 But to the next. 
 
 4. 'Tis more safety for a prince to be 
 feared than loved. 
 Alp. Love is an humour pleaseth him 
 
 that loves ; 
 
 Let rne be hated, so I please myself. 
 Love is an humour mild and changeable, 
 But fear engraves a reverence in the heart. 
 LQ. 5. To keep an usurped crown, a 
 prince must swear, forswear, poison, murder, 
 and commit all kind of villanies, provided 
 it be cunningly kept from the eye of the 
 world. 
 Alp. But, my Lorenzo, that's the hardest 
 
 point ; 
 
 It is not for a prince to execiite, 
 Physicians and apothecaries must know, 
 And servile fear or counsel-breaking bribes 
 Will from a peasant in an hour extort 
 Enough to overthrow a monarchy. 
 Lo. Therefore, my lord, sit down this 
 
 sixth and last article. 
 6. Be always jealous of him that knows 
 
 your secrets. 
 
 And therefore it behoves you credit few, 
 And when you grow into the least suspect, 
 With silent cunning must you cut them 
 
 off. 
 
 As for example, Julius Lentulus, 
 A most renowned Neapolitan, 
 Gave me this box of poison ; 'twas not long 
 But therewithal I sent him to his grave. 
 Alp. And what's the special virtue of the 
 
 same? 
 Lo. That it is twenty hours before it 
 
 works. 
 
 Alp. But what is this ? 
 Lo. This? an infection that kills sud- 
 denly ; 
 
 This, but a toy to cast a man asleep. 
 Alp. How? being drunk? 
 Lo. No, being smelt unto. 
 
384 
 
 ALPHONSUS EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 Alp. Then smell, Lorenzo ; I did break 
 
 thy sleep, 
 
 And, for this time, this lecture shall suffice. 
 Lo. What have you done, my lord? 
 
 you've made me safe 
 For stirring hence these four-and-twenty 
 
 hours. 
 
 Alp. I see, this charms his senses sud- 
 denly. 
 
 How now, Lorenzo ! half asleep already ? 
 ^Eneas' pilot, by the god of dreams, 
 Was never lull'd into a sounder trance. 
 And now Alphonsus, over-read thy notes ! 
 [He reads. 
 
 These are already at my fingers' ends, 
 And lest the world should find this little 
 
 schedule, 
 
 Thus will I rend the text, and after this 
 On my behaviour set so fine a gloss 
 That men shall take me for a convertite. 
 But some may think I should forget my 
 
 part 
 
 And have been over-rash in rending it ; 
 To put them out of doubt I'll study sure ; 
 I'll make a backward repetition 
 In being jealous of my counsel-keepers. 
 This is the poison that kills suddenly : 
 So didst thou unto Julius Lentulus, 
 And blood with blood must be requited 
 thus. [Poisons him. 
 
 Now am I safe, and no man knows my 
 
 counsels. 
 Kurfurst of Mentz, if now thou play thy 
 
 part, 
 
 Earning thy gold with cunning workman- 
 ship 
 
 Upon the Bemish king's ambition, 
 Richard shall shamefully fail of his hope, 
 And I with triumph keep my Emperv. 
 
 [Exit. 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Enter the King of Bohemia, the Bishops 
 of Mentz, Collen, Trier, the Palatine 
 of the Rhein, the Duke of Saxon, and 
 the Marquess of Brandenburg. 
 
 Bo. Kurfursts and princes of the election, 
 Since by the adverse fortune of our age 
 The sacred and imperial majesty 
 Hath been usurp'd by open tyranny, 
 We, the seven pillars of the German em- 
 pire, 
 
 To whom successively it doth belong 
 To make election of our emperors, 
 Are here assembled to unite anew 
 Unto her former strength and glorious 
 
 type 
 
 Our half-declining Roman monarchy, 
 And in that hope I, Henry, King of Bohem, 
 
 Kurfurst and Sewer to the Emperor 
 Do take my seat next to the sacred throne. 
 Me. Next seat belongs to Julius Florins, 
 Archbishop of Mentz, Chancellor of Ger- 
 
 n:any, 
 
 By birth the Duke of fruitful Pomerland. 
 Pa. The next place in election 'longs 
 
 to me, 
 
 George Casimirus, Palsgrave of the Rhein, 
 His highness' taster, and upon my knee 
 I vow a pure, sincere, innated zeal 
 Unto my country, and no wrested hate 
 Or private love shall blind mine intellect. 
 Co. Brave Duke of Saxon, Dutchland's 
 
 greatest hope, 
 
 Stir now or never, let the Spanish tyrant 
 That hath dishonour'd us, murder'd our 
 
 friends, 
 
 And stain'd this seat with blood of inno- 
 cents, 
 
 At last be chastised with the Saxon sword, 
 And may Albertus, Archbishop of Collen, 
 Chancellor of Italy, and the fourth Elector, 
 Be thought unworthy of his place and birth, 
 But he assist thee to his utmost power. 
 Sa. Wisdom, not words, must be the 
 
 sovereign salve 
 To search and heal these grievous fester 'd 
 
 wounds ; 
 And in that hope Augustus, Duke of 
 
 Saxon, 
 Arch-Marshal to the Emperor, take my 
 
 place. 
 
 Tr. The like doth Frederick, Arch- 
 bishop of Trier, 
 
 Duke of Lorrain, Chancellor of Gallia. 
 Br. The seventh and last is Joachim 
 
 Carolus, 
 Marquess of Brandenburg, o'erworn with 
 
 age, 
 
 Whose office is to be the Treasurer ; 
 But wars have made the coffers like the 
 
 chair ; 
 
 Peace bringeth plenty, wars bring poverty ; 
 Grant heavens this meeting may be to 
 
 effect, 
 Establish peace and cut off tyranny. 
 
 Enter the Empress Isabella, King Johns 
 daughter. 
 
 Em. Pardon my bold intrusion, mighty 
 
 Kurfursts, 
 
 And let my words pierce deeply in your 
 hearts. 
 
 0, I beseech you on my bended knees, 
 
 1, the poor miserable Empress, 
 
 A stranger in this land, unused to broils, 
 Wife to the one and sister to the other 
 That arc competitors for sovereignty ; 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 ALPHONSUS EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 
 
 335 
 
 All that I pray is, make a quiet end, 
 
 Make peace between my husband and my 
 brother. 
 
 O think, how grief doth stand on either 
 side, 
 
 If either party chance to be amiss. 
 
 My husband is my husband, but my 
 brother 
 
 My heart doth melt to think he should 
 miscarry ! 
 
 My brother is my brother, but my hus- 
 band 
 
 O how my joints do shake fearing his 
 wrong ! 
 
 If both should die in these uncertain broils, 
 
 O me, why do I live to think upon 't ! 
 
 Bear with my interrupted speeches, lords, 
 
 Tears stop my voice your wisdoms know 
 my meaning. 
 
 Alas ! 'l know my brother Richard's heart 
 
 Affects not empire, he would rather choose 
 
 To make return again to Palestine 
 
 And be a scourge unto the infidels. 
 
 As for my lord, he is impatient ; 
 
 The more my grief, the lesser is my hope. 
 
 Yet, princes, thus he sends you word by 
 me, 
 
 He will submit himself to your award, 
 
 And labour to amend what is amiss. 
 
 All I have said, or can devise to say, 
 
 Is few words of great worth : Make unity ! 
 Bo. Madam, that we have suffer'd you 
 to kneel so long, 
 
 Agrees not with your dignity nor ours ; 
 
 Thus we excuse it : When we once are set 
 
 In solemn council of election, 
 
 We may not rise till somewhat be con- 
 cluded. 
 
 So much for that ; touching your earnest 
 suit, 
 
 Your majesty doth know how it concerns 
 us. 
 
 Comfort yourself, as we do hope the best ! 
 
 But tell us, madam, where's your husband 
 
 now? 
 Em. I left him at his prayers, good my 
 
 lord. 
 
 Sa. At prayers, madam ? that's a miracle. 
 Pa. Undoubtedly your highness did 
 mistake, 
 
 'Twas sure some book of conjuration ; 
 I think, he ne'er said prayers in his life. 
 Em. Ah me ! my fear, I fear, will take 
 effect ; 
 
 Your hate to him and love unto my brother 
 
 Will break my heart and spoil the imperial 
 
 peace. 
 
 Me. My lord of Saxon and Prince Pala- 
 tine, 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 This hard opinion yet is more than needs ; 
 
 But, gracious madam, leave us to our- 
 selves. 
 
 Em. I go, and heaven, that holds the 
 hearts of kings, 
 
 Direct your counsels unto unity. [Exit, 
 Do. Now to the depth of that we have in 
 hand. 
 
 This is the question, whether the king of 
 Spain 
 
 Shall still continue in the royal throne, 
 
 Or yield it up unto Plantagenet, 
 
 Or we proceed unto a third election. 
 Sa. Ere such a viperous, bloodthirsty 
 Spaniard 
 
 Shall suck the hearts of our nobility, 
 
 Th' imperial sword which Saxony dotfc 
 bear 
 
 Shall be unsheathed to war against the 
 
 world. 
 
 Pa. My hate is more than words can 
 testify, 
 
 Slave as he is, he murdered my father. 
 Co. Prince Richard is the champion of 
 the world, 
 
 Learned and mild, fit for the government. 
 Bo. And what have we to do witb 
 Englishmen ? 
 
 They are divided from our continent. 
 
 But now, that we may orderly proceed 
 
 To our high office of election, 
 
 To you, my lord of Mentz, it doth be- 
 long, 
 
 Having first voice in this imperial synod, 
 
 To name a worthy man for emperor. 
 Me. It may be thought, most grave ared 
 reverend princes, 
 
 That in respect of divers sums of gold, 
 
 Which Richard of mere charitable love, 
 
 Not as a bribe, but as a deed of alms, 
 
 Disbursed for me unto the Duke of Bruns- 
 chweig, 
 
 That I dare name no other man but he ; 
 
 Or should I nominate another prince, 
 
 Upon the contrary I may be thought 
 
 A most ingrateful wretch unto my friend*; 
 
 But private cause must yield to public 
 good; 
 
 Therefore, methinks, it were the fittest 
 course 
 
 To choose the worthiest upon this bench. 
 Bo. We are all Germans ; why should we 
 be yoked 
 
 Either by Englishmen or Spaniards ? 
 Sa. The Earl of Cornwall, by a full con- 
 sent, 
 
 Was sent for out of England. 
 Me. Though he were, 
 
 Our later thoughts are purer than our first. 
 
3-56 
 
 ALPHONSUS EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 
 
 TACT i. 
 
 And to conclude, I think this end were 
 
 best, 
 
 Since we have once chosen him emperor, 
 That some great prince of wisdom and of 
 
 power, 
 Whose countenance may overbear his 
 
 pride, 
 Be join'd in equal government with Al- 
 
 phonsus. 
 Bo. Your holiness hath soundly, in few 
 
 words, 
 
 Set down a mean to quiet all these broils. 
 Tr. So may we hope for peace, if he 
 
 amend ; 
 But shall Prince Richard then be join'd 
 
 with him ? 
 Pa. Why should your highness ask that 
 
 question, 
 
 As if a prince of so high kingly birth 
 Would live in couples with so base a cur ? 
 Bo. Prince Palatine, such words do ill 
 
 become thee. 
 Sa. He said but right, and call'd a dog 
 
 a dog. 
 
 Bo. His birth is princely. 
 Sa. His manners villainous, 
 And virtuous Richard scorns so base a 
 
 yoke. 
 Bo. My lord of Saxon, give me leave to 
 
 tell you, 
 Ambition blinds your judgment in this 
 
 case ; 
 You hope, if by your means Richard be 
 
 emperor, 
 
 He, in requital of so great advancement, 
 Will make the long-desired marriage up 
 Between the Prince of England and your 
 
 daughter, 
 And to that end Edward, the Prince of 
 
 Wales, 
 
 Hath borne his uncle company to Germany. 
 Sa. Why, King of Bohem, is't unknown 
 
 to thee, 
 How oft the Saxon's sons have married 
 
 queens, 
 
 His daughters kings, yea, mightiest em- 
 perors ? 
 
 If Edward like her beauty and behaviour 
 He'll make no question of her princely 
 
 birth ; 
 
 But let that pass ; I say, as erst I said, 
 That virtuous Richard scorns so base a 
 
 yoke. 
 Me. If Richard scorn, some one upon 
 
 this bench, 
 Whose power may overbear Alphonsus' 
 
 pride, 
 
 Is to be named. What think you, my 
 lords ? 
 
 Sa. I think it was a mighty mass of 
 
 gold 
 
 That made your grace of this opinion. 
 Me. My lord of Saxony, you wrong me 
 
 much, 
 
 And know I highly scorn to take a bribe. 
 Pa. I think you scorn indeed to have it 
 
 known. 
 
 But to the purpose : if it must be so, 
 Who is the fittest man to join with him ? 
 Co. First with an ox to plough will I be 
 
 yoked. 
 Me. [to Bohemia]. The fittest is your 
 
 grace, in mine opinion. 
 Bo. I am content, to stay these mutinies, 
 To take upon me what you do impose. 
 Sa. Why, here's a tempest quickly over- 
 blown. 
 
 God give you joy, my lord, of half the em- 
 pire ; 
 
 For me, I will not meddle in the matter, 
 But warn your majesty to have a care 
 And vigilant respect unto your person. 
 I'll hie me home to fortify my towns, 
 Not to offend, but to defend myself. 
 Pa. Have with you, cousin, and adieu, 
 
 my lords. 
 
 I am afraid this sudden knitted peace 
 Will turn unto a tedious, lasting war ; 
 Only thus much we do request you all, 
 Deal honourably with the Earl of Corn- 
 wall ; 
 
 And so adieu. {Exeunt Saxon and Palatine. 
 Br. I like not this strange farewell of 
 
 the dukes. 
 
 Bo. In all elections some are malcontent. 
 It doth concern us now with speed to 
 
 know 
 
 How the competitors will like of this, 
 And therefore you, my lord Archbishop of 
 
 Trier, 
 
 Impart this order of arbitrament 
 Unto the emperor ; bid him be content 
 To stand content with half, or lose the 
 
 whole. 
 My lord of Mentz, go you unto Prince 
 
 Richard, 
 And tell him flatly here's no crown nor 
 
 empire 
 
 For English islanders ; tell him 'twere best 
 To hie him home to help the king his 
 
 brother, 
 Against the Earl of Leicester and the 
 
 barons. 
 Co. My lord of Mentz, sweet words will 
 
 qualify, 
 
 When bitter terms will add unto his rage. 
 Tis no small hope that hath deceived the 
 
 duke ; 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 ALPHONSUS EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 
 
 387 
 
 Therefore be mild : I know an English- 
 man, 
 
 Being flatter'd, is a lamb ; threaten'd, a lion ; 
 
 Tell him his charges, whatsoe'er they are, 
 
 Shall be repaid with treble vantages ; 
 
 Do this : we will expect his resolutions. 
 Me. Brother of Collen, I entreat your 
 grace, 
 
 To take this charge upon you in my stead, 
 
 For why, I shame to look him in the face. 
 Co. Your holiness shall pardon me in 
 this; 
 
 Had I the profit I would take the pains : 
 
 With shame enough your grace may bring 
 
 the message. 
 Me. Thus am I wrong'd, God knows, 
 
 unguiltily. 
 
 Br. Then arm your countenance with 
 innocence, 
 
 And boldly do the messsage to the prince ; 
 
 For no man else will be the messenger. 
 Me. Why then I must, since there's no 
 remedy. \Exit. 
 
 Br. If heaven, that guides the hearts of 
 mighty men, 
 
 Do calm the minds of these great poten- 
 tates, 
 
 And make them like of this arbitrament, 
 
 Sweet Peace will triumph thoroughChristen- 
 dom, 
 
 And Germany shall bless this happy day. 
 
 Enter Alexander de Toledo, the Page. 
 
 Ale. O me most miserable ! O my dear 
 
 father ! 
 Bo. What means this passionate accent ? 
 
 What art thou 
 That sound'st these exclamations in our 
 
 ears? 
 Ale. Pardon me, princes, I have lost a 
 
 father. 
 
 O me, the name of father kills my heart 1 
 O, I shall never see my father more, 
 He's ta'en his leave of me for aye and aye ! 
 Co. What was thy father ? 
 Ale. Ah me ! what was he not? 
 Noble, rich, valiant, well-beloved of all, 
 The glory and the wisdom of his age, 
 Chief secretary to the Emperor. 
 
 Co. Lorenzo de Toledo ! Is he dead ? 
 Ale. Dead, ay me, dead ! Ay me, my 
 
 life is dead ! 
 Strangely this night bereft of breath and 
 
 sense, 
 
 And I, poor I, am comforted in nothing, 
 But that the Emperor laments with me ; 
 As I exclaim, so he ; he wrings his hands, 
 And makes me mad to see his majesty 
 Excruciate himself with endless sorrow. 
 
 Co. The happiest news that ever I did 
 
 hear ! 
 
 Thy father was a villain murderer, 
 Witty, not wise, loved like a scorpion, 
 Grown rich by the impoverishing of others, 
 The chiefest cause of all these mutinies, 
 And Caesar's tutor to all villany. 
 Ale. None but an open liar terms him 
 
 so. 
 
 Co. What, boy, so malapert ? 
 Bo. Good Collen, bear with him, it was 
 
 his father ; 
 
 Dutchland is blessed in Lorenzo's death. 
 Br. Did never live a viler-minded man. 
 [ Exeunt. Manet Alexander. 
 Ale. Nor king, nor Kurfurst should be 
 
 privileged 
 
 To call me boy, and rail upon my father, 
 Were I wehrhafftig ; but in Germany 
 A man must be a boy at forty years, 
 And dares not draw his weapon at a dog, 
 Till, being soundly box'd about the ears, 
 His lord and master gird him with a sword ; 
 The time will come I shall be made a man ; 
 Till then I'll pine with thought of dire 
 
 revenge, 
 And live in hell until I take revenge. 
 
 ACT THE SECOND. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Enter Alphonsus, Richard, Earl of Corn- 
 wall, Mentz, Trier, Prince Edward, 
 Bohemia, Collen, Brandenburg, At- 
 tendants, and Pages -with a sword. 
 
 Bo. Behold, here come the princes hand 
 
 in hand 
 Pleased highly with the sentence, as it 
 
 seems. 
 
 Alp. Princes and pillars of the monarchy, 
 We do admire your wisdoms in this cause, 
 And do accept the King of Bohemia 
 As worthy partner in the government. 
 Alas ! my lords, I flatly now confess, 
 I was alone too weak to underprop 
 So great a burden as the Roman Empire, 
 And hope to make you all admire the 
 
 course 
 
 That we intend in this conjunction. 
 Ri. That I was call'd from England 
 
 with consent 
 
 Of all the seven electors to this place 
 Yourselves best know, who wrote for me to 
 
 come. 
 'Twas no ambition moved me to the 
 
 journey, 
 
 c c 2 
 
ALPHONSUS EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 But pity of your half-declining State ; 
 Which being likely now to be repair'd, 
 By the united force of these two kings, 
 I rest content to see you satisfied. 
 Me. Brave Earl, wonder of princely pa- 
 tience, 
 I hope your grace will not mis-think of 
 
 me, 
 Who for your good, and for the empire's 
 
 best, 
 Bethought this means to set the world at 
 
 peace. 
 Ed. No doubt this means might have 
 
 been thought upon, 
 Although your holiness had died in 
 
 prison. 
 Me. Peace, peace, young prince, you 
 
 want experience ! 
 
 Your uncle knows what cares accompany 
 And wait upon the crowns of mightiest 
 
 kings, 
 And glad he is, that he hath shaked 
 
 it off. 
 Ed. Hark in your ear, my lord, hear me 
 
 one word, 
 
 Although it were more than a million, 
 Which these two kings bestow'd upon your 
 
 grace, 
 Mine uncle Richard's million saved your 
 
 life. 
 Me. You're best to say, your uncle bribed 
 
 me, then. 
 Ed. I do but say, mine uncle saved your 
 
 life; 
 
 You know, Count Mansfield, your fellow- 
 prisoner, 
 Was by the Duke of Brunschweig put to 
 
 death. 
 Me. You are a child, my lord, your words 
 
 are wind. 
 Ed. You are a fox, my lord, and past a 
 
 child. 
 Bo. My lord of Cornwall, your great 
 
 forwardness, 
 
 Crossing the seas with aid of English- 
 men, 
 
 Is more than we can any way requite ; 
 But this your admirable patience, 
 In being pleased with our election, 
 Deserves far more than thanks can 
 
 satisfy : 
 
 In anything command the emperors, 
 Who live to honour Richard, Earl of 
 
 Cornwall. 
 
 Alp. Our deeds shall make our protesta- 
 tions good ; 
 Meanwhile, brave princes, let us leave this 
 
 place, 
 And solace us with joy of this accord. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Enter Isabella, the Empress ; Hedewick, 
 the Duke of Saxons daughter, ap- 
 parelled like Fortune, drawn on a 
 globe, with a cup in her hand, where- 
 in are bay-leaves, -whereupon are 
 written the lots. A train of ladies 
 following with music. 
 Em. To gratulate this unexpected peace. 
 This glorious league confirm'd against all 
 
 hope, 
 
 Joyful Isabella doth present this show 
 Of Fortune's triumph, as the custom is 
 At coronation of our Emperors. 
 If therefore every party be well-pleased , 
 And stand content with this arbitrament, 
 Then deign to do as your progenitors, 
 And draw in sequence lots for offices. 
 
 Alp. This is an order here in Germany 
 For princes to disport themselves withal, 
 In sign their hearts so firmly are conjoin'd 
 That they will bear all fortunes equally, 
 And that the world may know I scorn no 
 
 state, 
 
 Or course of life to do the Empire good, 
 I take my chance : [Draws a lot. 
 
 My fortune is to be the forester ! 
 Em. If we want venison, either red or 
 
 fallow, 
 Wild boar or bear, you must be fined, my 
 
 lord. 
 
 Bo. The Emperor's taster I. 
 Em. Your majesty hath been tasted to 
 
 so oft, 
 
 That you have need of small instructions. 
 Ri. 1 am the boor ; sister, what's my 
 
 charge ? 
 Em. 'Tired like a carter and a clownish 
 
 boor, 
 
 To bring a load of wood into the kitchen. 
 Now for myself: 'faith, I am chambermaid! 
 I know my charge ; proceed unto the next. 
 Alp. Prince Edward standeth melan- 
 choly still ; 
 Please it your grace, my lord, to draw your 
 
 lot. 
 Em. Nephew, you must be solemn with 
 
 the sad, 
 
 And given to mirth in sportful company. 
 The German princes, when they will be 
 
 lusty, 
 Shake off all cares, and clowns and they 
 
 are fellows. 
 Ed. Sweet aunt, I do not know the 
 
 country guise, 
 
 Yet would be glad to learn all fashions : 
 Since I am next, good fortune be my 
 guide. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 ALPHONSUS EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 
 
 389 
 
 Br. A most ingenuous countenance hath 
 
 this prince, 
 
 Worthy to be the King of England's heir. 
 Ed. Be it no disparagement to you, my 
 
 lords, 
 
 I am your Emperor ! 
 Alp : Sound trumpets : God save the 
 
 Emperor ! 
 Co. The world could never worse have 
 
 fitted me ! 
 I am not old enough to be the cook. 
 
 Em. If you be cook, there is no remedy, 
 But you must dress one mess of meat your- 
 self. 
 
 Br. I am physician. 
 Tr. I am secretary. 
 Me. I am the jester ! 
 
 - Ed. O excellent ! Is your holiness the vice ? 
 Fortune hath fitted you, i'faith, my lord ; 
 You'll play the ambodexter cunningly. 
 Me. Your highness is too bitter in your 
 
 jests. 
 Alp. Come hither, Alexander, to comfort 
 
 thee 
 
 After the death of thy beloved father, 
 Whose life was dear unto his Emperor, 
 Thou shalt make one in this solemnity ; 
 Yet ere thou draw, myself will honour thee, 
 And as the custom is, make thee a man. 
 Stand stiff, sir boy, now comest thou to 
 
 thy trial ! 
 
 Take this and that and therewithal this 
 sword. 
 \_He gives Alexander a box on the ear 
 
 or two. 
 
 If, while thou live, thou ever take the like 
 Of me, or any man, I here pronounce 
 Thou art a schelm, but otherwise a man. 
 Now draw thy lot, and fortune be thy speed. 
 Ed. Uncle, I pray, why did he box the 
 
 fellow? 
 
 Foul lubber as he is to take such blows. 
 Ri. Thus do the princes make their 
 
 pages men. 
 Ed. But that is strange to make a man 
 
 with blows. 
 
 We say in England that he is a man 
 That like a man dare meet his enemy, 
 And in my judgment 't is the sounder trial. 
 Ale. Fortune hath made me marshal of 
 the triumphs. 
 
 Alp. Now what remains ? 
 Em. That Fortune draw her lot. 
 [She opens it and gives it to the Empress 
 
 to read. 
 Em. Sound trumpets ; Fortune is your 
 
 Empress. 
 
 Alp. This happens right, for Fortune 
 will be queen. 
 
 Now, Emperor, you must unmask her face, 
 And tell us how you like your Empress ; 
 In my opinion England breeds no fairer. 
 Bo. Fair Hedewick, the Duke of Saxon's 
 
 daughter ! 
 Young prince of England, you are bravely 
 
 match 'd. 
 Ed. Tell me, sweet aunt, is that this 
 
 Saxon princess, 
 Whose beauty's fame made Edward cross 
 
 the seas ? 
 Em. Nephew, it is ; hath fame been 
 
 prodigal, 
 
 Or oversparing in the princess' praise ? 
 Ed. Fame, I accuse thee, thou didst 
 
 niggardize 
 
 And faintly sound my love's perfections. 
 Great lady Fortune and fair Empress, 
 Whom chance this day hath thrown into 
 
 my arms, 
 
 More welcome than the Roman Empress. 
 [Edward kisses her. 
 
 He. Sieh dock, das ist hier kein gebrauch ! 
 Mein Gott, ist das die Englisch manier? 
 Dass dichl 
 
 Ed. What meaneth this? Why chafes 
 
 my Empress ? 
 Alp. Now by my troth, I did expect this 
 
 jest, 
 
 Prince Edward used his country's fashion. 
 Ed. I am an Englishman, why should I 
 
 not? 
 
 Em. Fie, nephew Edward, here in Ger- 
 many 
 
 To kiss a maid 's a fault intolerable. 
 Ed. Why should not German maids be 
 
 kissed as well as others ? 
 Ri. Nephew, because you did not know 
 
 the fashion, 
 
 And want the language to excuse your- 
 self, 
 
 I'll be your spokesman to your Empress. 
 Ed. Excuse it thus : I like the first so 
 
 well 
 That, tell her, she shall chide me twice as | 
 
 much 
 For such another : nay, tell her more 
 
 than so, 
 
 I'll double kiss on kiss and give her leave 
 To chide and brawl and cry ten thousand 
 
 Dass dich ! 
 And make her weary of her fretting 
 
 humour 
 
 Ere I be weary of my kissing vein. 
 Dass dich ! a jungfrau angry for a kiss ! 
 Em. Nephew, she thinks you mock her 
 
 in your mirth. 
 
 Ed. I think the princes make a scorn of 
 me; 
 
59- 
 
 ALPHONSUS EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 
 
 [ACT n. 
 
 If any do, I'll prove it with my sword 
 That English courtship leaves it from the 
 world. 
 
 Bo. The pleasant'st accident that I have 
 seen. 
 
 Br. Methinks the prince is chafed as 
 well as she. 
 
 Ri. Gnediges Frawlin. 
 
 He. Dass dick / muss ich armes kindt zu 
 schanden gemacht werden ? 
 
 Ed. Dass dich ! I have kiss'd as good as 
 
 you ; 
 Pray, uncle, tell her, if she mislike the 
 
 kiss 
 I'll take it off again with such another. 
 
 Ri. Ei, liebes Frawlin, nempt es all fur 
 giitte, es ist die Englisch manier und 
 Rebranch. 
 
 He. Ewer Gnaden wissts wol, es ist mir 
 ein gross e schande, 
 
 Ed. Good aunt, teach me so much 
 Dutch to ask her pardon. 
 
 Em. Say so : Gnediges Frawlin, vergebet 
 mirs, ich wills nimmermehr thuen ; then 
 kiss your hand three times : upsy Dutch. 
 
 Ed. Ich wills nimmermehr thzien : if I 
 understand it right, that's as much to say 
 as I'll do so no more. 
 
 Em. True, nephew. 
 
 Ed. Nay, aunt, pardon me, I pray ; 
 I hope to kiss her many thousand times, 
 And shall I go to her like a great boy, 
 And say, I will do so no more ? 
 
 Em. I pray, cousin, say as I tell you. 
 
 Ed. Gncc'.iges Frawlin, vergebet mirs, 
 ich will's nimmermehr thuen. 
 
 Alp. Furwahr, kein schand. 
 
 He. Gnediger hochgeborner Fiirsl undt 
 Herr, wanich konteso vil Englisch sprechen, 
 ich wolt Ewer Gnaden furwahr ein filtz 
 geben ; ich hoffe aber, ich soil einmahl so 
 vil lernen, dass sie mich verstehen soil. 
 
 Ed. What says she ? 
 
 Alp. O excellent young prince, look to 
 
 yourself ; 
 She swears shell learn some English for 
 
 your sake, 
 
 To make you understand her when she 
 chides. 
 
 Ed. I'll teach her English, she shall 
 
 teach me Dutch ; 
 Gnediges Frawlin, &c. 
 
 Bo. It is great pity that the Duke of 
 
 Saxon 
 
 Is absent at this joyful accident ; 
 I see no reason, if his grace were here, 
 But that the marriage might be solemnized; 
 I think the Prince of Wales were well 
 
 Ed. I left sweet England to none other 
 
 end, 
 And though the prince, her father, be not 
 
 here, 
 This royal presence knows his mind in 
 
 this. 
 Em. Since you do come so roundly to 
 
 the purpose, 
 'Tis time for me to speak ; the maid is 
 
 mine, 
 
 Given freely by her father unto me, 
 And to the end these broils may have an 
 
 end, 
 
 I give the father's interest and mine own 
 Unto my nephew, Edward, Prince of 
 
 Wales. 
 
 Ed. A jewel of incomparable price 
 Your majesty hath here bestow'd on me ; j 
 How shall I ask her if she be content ? 
 
 Em. Say thus ; Ist Ewer Gnaden wol 
 hiemit zu fried en ? 
 
 Ed. Ist Ewer Gnaden wol hiemet zu 
 frieden f 
 
 He. Was Ihre Durchleuchtigkeit will, 
 
 das will mein Vatter, undt was mein 
 
 Vatter will, darmit muss ich zii frieden 
 
 sein. 
 
 Alp. It is enough, she doth confirm the 
 
 match ; 
 
 We will despatch a post unto her father. 
 On Sunday shall the revels and the 
 
 wedding 
 
 Be both solemnized with mutual joy. 
 Sound trumpets, each one look unto his 
 
 charge 
 For preparation of the festivals. \JZxeunt. 
 
 Manent Alphonsus and Alexander. 
 
 Alp. Come hither, Alexander, thy 
 
 father's joy. 
 If tears, and sighs, and deep-fetch'd 
 
 deadly groans 
 
 Could serve to avert inexorable fate, 
 Divine Lorenzo, whom in life my heart, 
 In death my soul and better part adores, 
 Had to thy comfort and his prince's honour 
 Survived, and drawn this day his breath of 
 
 life. 
 Ale. Dread Caesar, prostrate on my 
 
 bended knee, 
 
 I thank your majesty for all favours shown 
 To my deceased father and myself. 
 I must confess, I spend but bootless tears. 
 Yet cannot bridle nature : I must weep, 
 Or heart will break with burden of my 
 
 thoughts ; 
 
 Nor am I yet so young or fond withal, 
 Causeless to spend my gall and fret my 
 
 heart ; 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 ALPHONSUS EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 
 
 Tis not that he is dead, for all must die, 
 But that I live to hear his life's reproach. 
 O sacred Emperor, these ears have heard 
 What no son's ears can unrevenged hear ; 
 The princes, all of them , but 'specially 
 The prince elector, Archbishop of Collen, 
 Reviled him by the names of murderer, 
 Arch-villain, robber of the empire's fame, 
 And Caesar's tutor in all \vickedness, 
 And with a general voice applaused his 
 
 death 
 
 As for a special good to Christendom. 
 Alp. Have they not reason to applaud 
 
 the deed 
 Which they themselves have plotted? Ah, 
 
 my boy, 
 
 Thou art too young to dive into their drifts. 
 Ale. Yet old enough, I hope, to be re- 
 venged. 
 Alp. What wiltthou do, or whither wilt 
 
 thou run ? 
 Ale. Headlong to bring them death. 
 
 then die thyself. 
 
 Alp. First hear the reason why I do mis- 
 trust them. 
 Ale. They had no reason for my father's 
 
 death, 
 
 And I scorn reason till they all be dead. 
 Alp. Thou wilt not scorn my counsel in 
 
 revenge. 
 Ale. My rage admits no counsel but 
 
 revenge. 
 Alp. First let me tell thee whom I do 
 
 mistrust. 
 Ale. Your highness said, you did mistrust 
 
 them all. 
 Alp. Yea, Alexander, all of them, and 
 
 more than all 
 
 My most especial, nearest, dearest friends. 
 Ale. All's one to me, for know thou, 
 
 Emperor, 
 
 Were it thy father, brother, or thine Em- 
 press, 
 Yea, were't thyself that didst conspire his 
 
 death, 
 
 This fatal hand should take away thy life. 
 Alp. Spoke like a son, worthy so dear a 
 
 father ; 
 
 Be still and hearken, I will tell thee all. 
 The Duke of Saxon 
 Ale. O, I thought no less. 
 Alp. Suppress thy choler, hearken to the 
 
 rest. 
 Saxon, I say, so wrought with flattering 
 
 Mentz, 
 
 Mentz with Bohemia, Trier, and Branden- 
 burg 
 
 (Fof Collen and the Palsgrave of the Rhein 
 Were principals with Saxon in the plot), 
 
 That, in a general meeting to that purpose, 
 The seven elected Emperor's electors 
 Most heinously concluded of the murder. 
 The reason why they doom'd him unto 
 
 death 
 
 Was his deep wisdom and sound policy, 
 Knowing, while he did live, my state was 
 
 firm, 
 
 He being dead, my hope must die with him. 
 Now, Alexander, will we be revenged 
 Upon this wicked whore of Babylon, 
 This hideous monster with the seven-fold 
 
 head ; 
 
 We must with cunning level at the heart, 
 Which pierced and perish'd all the body 
 
 dies ; 
 
 Or strike we off her heads by one and one, 
 Behooveth us to use dexterity, 
 Lest she do trample us under her feet 
 And triumph in our honour's overthrow. 
 Ale. Mad and amazed to hear this tragic 
 
 doom 
 
 I do subscribe unto your sound advice. 
 Alp. Then hear the rest ; these seven 
 
 gave but the sentence, 
 A nearer hand put it in execution, 
 And but I loved Lorenzo as my life, 
 I never would betray my dearest wife. 
 Ale. What? Was the Empress acces- 
 sary to't? 
 Alp. What cannot kindred do? Her 
 
 brother Richard, 
 
 Hoping thereby to be an emperor, 
 Gave her a dram that sent him to his grave. 
 Ale. O my poor father, wert thou such 
 
 an eye-sore, 
 
 That the nine greatest princes of the earth 
 Must be confederate in thy tragedy ? 
 But why do I respect their mightiness, 
 Who did not once respect my father's life? 
 Your majesty may take it as you please, 
 I '11 be revenged upon your Empress, 
 On English Richard, Saxon, and the Pals- 
 grave, 
 On Bohem, Collen, Mentz, Trier, and 
 
 Brandenburg. 
 If that the Pope of Rome himself were 
 
 one 
 
 In this confederacy, undaunted I, 
 Amidst the college of his cardinals, 
 Would press and stab him in St. Peter's 
 
 chair, 
 
 Though clad in all his pontificalibus. 
 Alp. Why, Alexander, dost thou speak 
 
 to me 
 
 As if thou didst mistrust my forwardness ? 
 No, thou shalt know my love to him was 
 
 such, 
 i That in my heart I have proscribed them all 
 
392 
 
 ALPHONSUS EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 
 
 [ACT n. 
 
 That had to do in this conspiracy. 
 
 The bands of wedlock shall not serve her 
 
 turn, 
 
 Her fatal lot is cast among the rest ; 
 And to conclude, my soul doth live in hell, 
 Till I have set my foot upon their necks, 
 That gave this spur of sorrow to my heart. 
 But with advice it must be managed, 
 Not with a headlong rage as thou in- 
 
 tend'st ; 
 
 Nor in a moment can it be perform 'd ; 
 This work requires long time, dissembling 
 
 looks, 
 
 Commix'd with undermining actions, 
 Watching advantages to execute. 
 Our foes are mighty, and their number 
 
 great ; 
 
 It therefore follows that our stratagems 
 Must branch forth into manifold deceits, 
 Endless devices, bottomless conclusions. 
 Ale. What by your majesty is prescribed 
 
 to me 
 
 That will I execute, or die the death. 
 I am content to suck my sorrows up 
 And with dull patience will attend the 
 
 time, 
 
 Gaping for every opportunity 
 That may present the least occasion, 
 Although each minute multiply mine an- 
 guish, 
 
 And to my view present a thousand forms 
 Of senseless bodies in my father's shape, 
 Yelling with open throat for just revenge. 
 Alp. Content thyself, he shall not cry in 
 
 vain, 
 
 I have already plotted Richard's death. 
 Ale. That hath my father's sacred ghost 
 
 inspired. 
 
 O tell me, shall I stab him suddenly? 
 The time seems long till I be set a-work. 
 Alp. Thou know'st, in griping at our 
 
 lots to-day, 
 
 It was Prince Richard's lot to be the boor, 
 So that his office is to drive the cart 
 And bring a load of wood into the kitchen. 
 Ale. O excellent, your grace being 
 
 forester, 
 
 As in the thicket he doth load the cart, 
 May shoot him dead, as if he were a deer. 
 Alp. No, Alexander, that device were 
 
 shallow. 
 
 Thus it must be : there are two very boors 
 Appointed for io help him in the wood, 
 These must be bribed, or cunningly se- 
 duced, 
 Instead of helping him to murder him. 
 
 A le. Verbum satis sapienti : 'tis enough . 
 Fortune hath made me marshal of the 
 
 sports, 
 
 I hope to marshal them to the devil's feast. 
 
 Plot you the rest, this will I execute, 
 
 Dutch boors as towsandt schelms and gold 
 
 to tempt them. 
 
 Alp. 'Tis right, about it then, but cun- 
 ningly. 
 Ale. Else let me lose that good opinion 
 
 Which by your highness I desire to hold. 
 
 By letters which I'll strew within the wood \ 
 
 I'll undermine the boors to murder him, 
 
 Nor shall they know who set them so j 
 a-work ; 
 
 Like a familiar will I fly about 
 
 And nimbly haunt their ghosts in every 
 nook. [Exit. Manet Alphonsus. 
 
 Alp. This one nail helps to drive the \ 
 other out. 
 
 I slew the father and bewitch the son 
 
 With power of words to be the instrument ; 
 
 To rid my foes with danger of his life. 
 
 How easily can subtle age entice 
 
 Such credulous young novices to death ! 
 
 Huge wonders will Alphonsus bring to 
 pass 
 
 By the mad mind of this enraged boy ; 
 
 Even they which think themselves my 
 greatest friends 
 
 Shall fall by this deceit ; yea, my arch- 
 enemies 
 
 Shall turn to be my chief confederates. 
 
 My solitary walks may breed suspect. 
 
 I'll therefore give myself to company, 
 
 As I intended nothing but these sports, 
 
 Yet hope to send most actors in this 
 pageant 
 
 To revel it with Rhadamant in hell. 
 
 [Exit. 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Enter Richard, Earl of Cornwall, like a 
 
 clown. 
 
 Ri. How far is Richard now unlike the 
 
 man 
 
 That cross 'd the seas to win an empery ! 
 But as I plod it like a plumper boor 
 To fetch in fuel for the kitchen fire, 
 So every one in his vocation 
 Labours to make the pastime plausible ; 
 My nephew Edward jets it through the 
 
 court 
 With princess Hedewick, Empress of his 
 
 fortune ; 
 
 The demi-Caesar, in his hunter's suit, 
 Makes all the court to ring with horns and 
 
 hounds ; 
 
 Collen, the cook, bestirs him in the kitchen. 
 But that which joys me most in all these 
 
 sports 
 Is Mentz, to see how he is made an ass, 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 ALPHONSUS EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 
 
 393 
 
 The common scorn and by-word of the 
 
 court ; 
 
 i And every one, to be the same he seems, 
 j Seems to forget to be the same he is. 
 
 Yet to my robes I cannot suit my mind, 
 i Nor with my habit shake dishonour off. 
 The seven electors promised me the em- 
 pire, 
 The perjured Bishop Mentz did swear no 
 
 less, 
 
 Yet I have seen it shared before my face, 
 While my best friends do hide their heads 
 
 for shame ; 
 
 I bear a show of outward full content, 
 But grief thereof hath almost kill'd my 
 
 heart. 
 Here rest thee, Richard, think upon a 
 
 mean, 
 
 To end thy life, or to repair thine honour, 
 And vow never to see fair England's bounds 
 Till thou in Aix be crowned emperor. 
 
 Enter two Boors. 
 
 Holla, methinks there cometh company, 
 The boors, I trow, that come to hew the 
 
 wood, 
 
 Which I must carry to the kitchen fire ; 
 I'll lie awhile and listen to their talk. 
 
 Enter Hans and Jerick, two Dutch boors. 
 
 Je. Komm hier, Hans, wor bist dow ? 
 Warumb bist dow so trawrick ? Bis fro- 
 lick! Kanst vel gelt verdienen, wirwill 
 ihn bey potz tawsandt todt schlagen. 
 
 Ha. Lat mich die brieffe sehen. 
 
 Ri. Methinks they talk of murdering 
 
 somebody ; 
 I'll listen more. 
 
 Je. {Reads the letter.] "Hans undt 
 Jerick, meine liebe Freunde, ich bitte lasset 
 es bey euch bleiben in geheim, und schlaget 
 den Engelldnder zu todt." 
 
 Ri. What's that? Hans and Jerick, my 
 good friends, I pray be secret, and murder 
 the Englishman. 
 
 Je. {Reads. 1 Hear wetter; "denn er ist 
 kein bowr nicht, erist einjuncker undt hat 
 viel golt und kleinoten bey sich." 
 
 Ri. For he is no boor, but a gentleman, 
 and hath store of gold and jewels by him. 
 
 Je. Noch weiter; " ihr so lit solche 
 gelegenheit nicht versaumen, undt wann 
 ihrs gethan habet, will ich euch sagen, was 
 ich fur ein guter kerl bin, der euch rath 
 gegeben habe." 
 
 Ri. Slip not this opportunity, and when 
 you have done I will discover who gave 
 you the counsel. 
 
 Je. Wat sagst dow, wilt dow es thun f 
 
 Ha. Wat will ich nicht fur gelt thun ! 
 sieh, potz tausend, dar ist erl 
 
 Je. Ja, bey potz tausend sapperment, er 
 ist's! Holla, guten morgen, gluck zu, 
 juncker. 
 
 Ha. Juncker? Der diivel, he is eiu 
 
 Ri. Dow bist ein schelm, welch von mir. 
 Je. Holla, holla, bist dow so hoffertick ? 
 Juncker bowr, kompt hier, oder dieser und 
 jener soil euch holen. 
 
 Ri. Ich bin ein Fiirst, beriirt mich nicht, 
 ihr schelme, ihr i>errahter. 
 
 Both. Sla to, sla to, wir will yow furst- 
 lich tractieren ! 
 
 [Richard, having nothing in his hand 
 but his whip, defends himself 
 awhile and then falls down as if 
 he were dead. 
 
 Ri. O Gott, nimb meine Seele in deine 
 Hende. 
 
 Je. O excellent, hurtick / he is todt, he 
 is todt / Lat uns see wat he hat for gelt 
 bey sich; holla, hier is all enough, all satt; 
 dar is for dich, und dar is for mich, und 
 dit will ich dar to haben. 
 
 \Jerick puts the chain about his neck. 
 Ha- Hcnv so, Hans Narhals, gebe mir die 
 kette hier. 
 
 Je. Ja, ein dreck; dit kett stehet hiipsch 
 umb mein hals, dit will ich tragen. 
 
 Ha. Dal dich Potz Velten leiden, dat 
 soltu nimmermehr thun, dow schelm. 
 
 Je. Wat, solt dow mich schelm heiten ? 
 nimb dat / 
 
 Ha. Dat dich hundert tonnen duvels / 
 harr ! ich will dich lernen ! 
 
 Je. Wiltu hawen oder stechen f 
 Ha. Ich will redlich hawen. 
 Je. Nun wolan, dar ist mein ruck, sla to. 
 [They must have axes made for the 
 nonce to fight withal, and while 
 one strikes, the other holds his 
 back without defence. 
 Ha. Nimb dow das, und dar hast u mein 
 
 ruck. 
 
 Je. Nock amahl : O excellent, ligst dow 
 dar, nun will ich alles haben, gelt und \ 
 kett, and alles mit einander. O hurtig, \ 
 frisch-up, luslig, nun bin ich ein hurtig 
 juncker. 
 
 [Richard rises up again and snatcheth 
 up the fellow's hatchet that was 
 slain. 
 
 Ri. Ne Hercules quidem contra duos : 
 Yet policy hath gone beyond them both. 
 Du hudler, schelm, mo r der, wehre dich. 
 
 siehstu mich f 
 Gebe mir die kett und gelt wieder. 
 
394 
 
 ALPHONSUS EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 ye. Wat, bistu wieder lebendig warden, 
 so muss ich mich wehren ; wat wiltu, 
 stechen oder hawen ? 
 
 Ri. So will ich machen, du schelm. 
 
 Je. Harr, harr, bistu ein redlich kerl, 
 soficht redlich ; O ich sterb, ich sterb, lat 
 mich leben ! 
 
 fit. Sagt mir dann, wer hatt die britffe 
 
 geschrieben ? 
 Lie nicht, sondern sagt die wahrheit* 
 
 ye. O mein frommer, guter, edler, gest- 
 renger juncker, dar ist das gelt und kett 
 wieder, yow soil alles haben, aber wer hatt 
 die brieffe geschrieben, dat weet ich bey 
 meiner seele nicht. 
 
 Ri. Lieg dar still, still sag ich. 
 The villain swears and deeply doth protest 
 He knows not who incited them to this, 
 And, as it seems, the scroll imports no less. 
 So stirb du mir, schelm I 
 
 Je. O ich sterb, awe, awe, awe ! dat dick 
 der diivel hole! 
 
 As Richard kills the Boor, enter Saxon 
 and the Palsgrave. 
 
 Sa. Pfui dich an, loser schelm, hastu 
 
 deinen gesellen todt geschlagen ? 
 Pa. Lasst uns den schelmen angreiffen. 
 Ri. Call you me schelm ? How dare you 
 
 then, 
 
 Being princes, offer to lay hands on me ? 
 That is the hangman's office here in Dutch- 
 land. 
 Sa. But this is strange, our boors Can 
 
 speak no English ; 
 
 What, bistu more than a damn'd murderer ? 
 
 For that thou art so much we're witnesses. 
 
 Ri. Can then this habit alter me so 
 
 much 
 
 That I am call'd a villain by my friends ? 
 Or shall I dare once to suspect your graces, 
 That for you could not make me emperor, 
 Pitying my sorrow through mine honour 
 
 lost, 
 
 You set these slaves to rid me of my life? 
 Yet far be such a thought from Richard's 
 
 heart. 
 Pa. How now ? What, do I hear prince 
 
 Richard speak ? 
 Ri. The same ; but wonder that he lives 
 
 to speak, 
 
 And had not policy help'd above strength 
 These sturdy swains had rid me of my life. 
 Sa. Far be it from your grace for to sus- 
 pect us. 
 Ri. Alas ! I know not whom I should 
 
 suspect, 
 
 But yet my heart cannot misdoubt your 
 graces. 
 
 Sa. How came your highness into this 
 
 apparel ? 
 Ri. We, as the manner is, drew lots for 
 
 offices, 
 
 My hap was hardest, to be made a carter, 
 And by this letter which some villain wrote 
 I was betray'd here to be murdered ; 
 Butheaven, which doth defend the innocent, 
 Arm'd me with strength and policy together, 
 That I escaped out of their treacherous 
 
 snare. 
 Pa. Were it well sounded, I dare lay my 
 
 life. 
 The Spanish tyrant knew of this con* 
 
 spiracy ; 
 
 Therefore the better to dive into the depth 
 Of this most devilish murderous complot, 
 As also secretly to be beholders 
 Of the long- wish "d-f or wedding of your 
 
 daughter, 
 
 We will disrobe these boors of their apparel, 
 Clapping their rustic cases on our backs, 
 And help your highness for to drive the cart. 
 'T may be the traitor that did write these 
 
 lines, 
 
 Mistaking us for them, will show himself. 
 Ri. Prince Palatine, this plot doth please 
 
 me well ; 
 
 I make no doubt, if we deal cunningly, 
 But we shall find the writer of this scroll. 
 Sa. And in that hope I will disrobe this 
 
 slave ; 
 Come, princes, in the neighbouring thicket 
 
 here 
 We may disguise ourselves and talk at 
 
 pleasure ; 
 
 Fie on him, heavy lubber, how he weighs. 
 
 [Dragging out the body <7/"Jerick. 
 
 Ri. The sin of murder hangs upon his 
 
 soul, 
 It is no marvel, then, if he be heavy. 
 
 \Exeunt.' 
 
 ACT THE THIRD. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 EntertotheRevels'E&vfa.rA. with an Imperial 
 Crown ; Hedewick, the Empress ; Bo- 
 hemia, the Taster; Alphonsus, the. 
 Forester ; Mentz, the Jester ; Empress, 
 the Chambermaid; Brandenburg, Phy- 
 sician ; Trier, Secretary ; Alexander, 
 the Ma-rshal, with his Marshal's. 
 Staff ; and all the rest in their proper 
 Apparel, and Attendants and Pages. 
 
 Ale. Princes and princes' superiors,: 
 lords and lords' fellows, gentlemen and' 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 ALPHONSUS EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 
 
 395 
 
 gentlemen's masters, and all the rest of the 
 states here assembled, as well masculine as 
 feminine, be it known unto you by these 
 presents, that I, Alexander de Toledo, 
 Fortune's chief marshal, do will and com- 
 mand you, by the authority of my said 
 office, to take your places in manner and 
 form following : first, the Emperor and 
 the Empress, then the Taster, the Secre- 
 tary, the Forester, the Physician ; as for 
 the Chambermaid and myself we will take 
 our places at the nether end, the Jester is 
 to wait up and live by the crumbs that fall 
 from the Emperor's trencher. But now I 
 have marshalled you to the table, what 
 remains ? 
 
 Me. Every fool can tell that ; when men 
 are set to dinner they commonly expect 
 meat. 
 
 Ed. That's the best jest the fool made 
 since he came into his office. Marshal, 
 walk into the kitchen and see how the 
 Kurfurst of Collen bestirs himself. 
 
 {Exit Alexander. 
 
 Me. Shall I go with him too ? I love to 
 be employed in the kitchen. 
 
 Ed. I prithee go, that we may be rid of 
 thy wicked jests. 
 
 Me. Have with thee, marshal, the fool 
 rides thee. {Exit on Alexander's back. 
 
 Alp. Now by mine honour, my lord of 
 Mentz plays the fool the worst that I ever 
 saw. 
 
 Ed. He does all by contraries, for I am 
 sure he played the wise man like a fool, 
 and now he plays the fool wisely. 
 
 Alp. Princes and Kurfursts, let us frolic 
 
 now ; 
 
 This is a joyful day to Christendom, 
 When Christian princes join in amity. 
 Schinck, bowls of Reinfal, and the purest 
 
 wine 
 
 We'll spend this evening lusty upsy Dutch 
 In honour of this unexpected league. 
 
 Em. Nay, gentle forester, there you 
 
 range amiss ! 
 
 His looks are fitly suited to his thoughts, 
 His glorious Empress makes his heart tri- 
 umph, 
 
 And heart's triumphing makes his coun- 
 tenance staid 
 In contemplation of his life's delight. 
 
 Ed. Good aunt, let me excuse myself in 
 
 this, 
 
 I am an Emperor but for a day, 
 She empress of my heart, while life doth 
 
 last; 
 
 Then give me leave to use imperial looks 
 Nay, if I be an Emperor I'll take leave 
 
 And here I do pronounce it openly, 
 What I have lately whisper'd in her ears, 
 I love mine Empress more than ernpery, 
 I love her looks above my fortune's hope. 
 Alp. Saving your looks, dread Emperor, 
 
 's gelt a bowl 
 Unto the health of your fair bride and 
 
 Empress. 
 
 Ed. Sam Gott, es soil mir ein lieber 
 trunck seinf So much Dutch have I 
 learned since I came into Germany. 
 Br. When you have drunk a dozen of 
 
 these bowls, 
 
 So can your majesty with a full mouth 
 Drawl out high Dutch ; till then it sounds 
 
 not right. 
 
 Drauff, es gelt nock eins, Ihr Majestat. 
 Edw. Sam Gott, lass lanffen. 
 Bo. My lord of Brandenburg, spoke like 
 
 a good Dutch brother, 
 But most unlike a good physician ; 
 You should consider what he has to do, 
 His bride will give you little thanks to- 
 night. 
 Alp. Ha, ha, my lord, now give me leave 
 
 to laugh ; 
 He need not therefore shun one beaker 
 
 full. 
 
 In Saxon land you know it is the use, 
 That the first night the bridegroom spares 
 
 the bride. 
 Bo. Tis true, indeed ; that had I quite 
 
 forgotten. 
 
 Ed. How understand I that ? 
 Alp. That the first night 
 The bride and bridegroom never sleep to- 
 gether. 
 Ed. That may well be, perchance they 
 
 wake together. 
 Bo. Nay, without fallacy, they've several 
 
 beds. 
 Ed. Ay, in one chamber, that's most 
 
 princely. 
 Alp. Not only several beds, but several 
 
 chambers, 
 Lock'd soundly too, with iron bolts and 
 
 bars. 
 
 Em. Believe me, nephew, that's the cus- 
 tom here. 
 Ed. O, my good aunt, the world is now 
 
 grown new ; 
 
 Old customs are but superstitions. 
 I'm sure this day, this presence all can wit- 
 ness, 
 The high and mighty prince the Archbishop 
 
 of Collen, 
 
 Who now is busy in the scullery, 
 Join'd us together in St. Peter's church, 
 And he that would disjoin us two to-night, 
 
396 
 
 ALPHONSUS EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 'Twixt jest and earnest be it proudly 
 
 spoken, 
 
 Shall eat a piece of ill-digesting iron. 
 Bride, wilt daw dis nacht bey me schlapen ? 
 He. Da behiite mich Gott fur, ich hoffe 
 Eure Majestat wills -von mir nicht be- 
 geren. 
 
 Ed. What says she ? Behiitc mich Gott 
 
 fur? 
 Alp. She says, God bless her from such 
 
 a deed. 
 Ed. Tush, Empress, clap thy hands upon 
 
 thy head, 
 And God will bless thee ; I've a Jacob's 
 
 staff 
 
 Shall take the elevation of the pole, 
 For I have heard it said, the Dutch north- 
 star 
 
 Is a degree or two higher than ours. 
 Bo. Nay, though we talk let's drink, 
 
 and, Emperor, 
 I'll tell you plainly what you must 
 
 trust to ; 
 
 Can they deceive you of your bride to- 
 night 
 
 They'll surely do't, therefore look to your- 
 self. 
 Ed. If she deceive me not, let all do 
 
 their worst. 
 Alp. Assure you, Emperor, she'll do her 
 
 best. 
 Ed. I think the maids in Germany are 
 
 mad ; 
 
 Ere they be married they will not kiss, 
 And, being married, will not go to bed. 
 We'll drink about, let's talk no more of 
 
 this, 
 
 Well-warn'd half-arm 'd, our English pro- 
 verb says. 
 
 Alp. Holla, marshal, what says the 
 cook? 
 
 Enter Alexander. 
 
 Belike he thinks we've fed so well already, 
 That we disdain his simple cookery. 
 
 Ale. 'Faith, the cook says so, that his 
 office was to dress a mess of meat with 
 that wood which the English prince should 
 bring in, but he hath neither seen Dutch 
 wood nor English prince, therefore he 
 desires you hold him excused . 
 
 Alp. I wonder where Prince Richard 
 
 stays so long. 
 Ale. An't please your majesty, he's come 
 
 at length, 
 And with him has he brought a crew of 
 
 boors 
 And hiipsch bowr-maikins, fresh as flowers 
 
 in May, 
 
 With whom they mean to dance a Saxon 
 
 round, 
 In honour of the bridegroom and his 
 
 bride. 
 Ed. So has he made amends for his 
 
 long tarrying ; 
 
 I prithee marshal them into the pre- 
 sence. 
 Alp. [aside to Alexander.] Lives Richard, 
 
 then? I'd thought thou'dst made him 
 
 sure. 
 Ale. O, I could tear my flesh to think 
 
 upon't ! 
 He lives, and secretly hath brought with 
 
 him 
 
 The Palsgrave and the Duke of Saxony, 
 Clad like two boors, ev'n in the same 
 
 apparel 
 That Hans and Jerick wore when they 
 
 went out 
 To murder him . 
 
 It now behoves us to be circumspect. 
 Alp. It likes me not ; away, and bring 
 
 them, marshal ! {Exit Alexander. 
 I long to see this sport's conclusion. 
 Bo. Is't not a lovely sight to see this 
 
 couple 
 
 Sit sweetly billing, like two turtle-doves ? 
 Alp. I promise you, it sets my teeth on 
 
 edge, 
 That I must take mine Empress in mine 
 
 arms. 
 Come hither, Isabel, though thy robes be 
 
 homely, 
 Thy face and countenance hold colour 
 
 still. 
 
 Enter Alexander, Collen, Mentz, Richard, 
 Saxony, Palsgrave, Collen cook, with 
 a gammon of raw bacon, and links or 
 puddings in a platter ; Richard, Pals- 
 grave, Saxon, Mentz, like Clowns, 
 with each of them a Mitre, with Co- 
 rances on their heads. 
 
 Co. Dread Emperor and Empress, for to- 
 day, *v. 
 I, your appointed cook until to-morrow, 
 Have by the marshal sent my just excuse, 
 And hope your highness is therewith con- 
 tent. 
 Our carter here, for whom I now do 
 
 speak, 
 
 Says that his axle-tree broke by the way, 
 That is his answer, anti. for you shall not 
 
 famish, 
 
 He and his fellow boors of the next dorp, 
 Have brought a schinken of good raw 
 
 bacon, 
 And that's a common meat with us, unsod, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 ALPHONSUS EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 
 
 397 
 
 Desiring you, you would not scorn the fare ; 
 'Twill make a cup of wine taste nippitate. 
 Ed. Welcome, good fellows, we thank 
 you for your present. 
 Ri. So spiel fresh up, and let us rammer 
 
 dantzen. 
 Ale. Please it your highness to dance 
 
 with your bride ? 
 Ed. Alas ! I cannot dance your German 
 
 dances. 
 Bo. I do beseech your highness mock 
 
 us not ; 
 We Germans have no changes in our 
 
 dances, 
 
 An Almain and an upspring, that is all. 
 So dance the princes, burghers, and the 
 
 boors. 
 Br. So danced our ancestors for thousand 
 
 years. 
 
 Ed. It is a sign the Dutch are not new- 
 fangled. 
 
 I'll follow in the measure ; marshal, lead ! 
 [Alexander and Mentz have the fore- 
 dance, with each of them a glass 
 of wine in their hands; then 
 Edward and Hedewick, Pals- 
 grave and Empress, and two 
 other couples, after drum and 
 trumpet. The Palsgrave whispers 
 with the Empress. 
 Alp. I think the boor is amorous of my 
 
 Empress ; 
 Fort, bowr, and leffel morgen, when thou 
 
 comest to house. 
 Co. Now is your grace's time to steal 
 
 away, 
 
 Look to't, or else you'll lie alone to-night. 
 [Edward steals away the Bride. 
 Ale. (drinketh to the Palsgrave.) 'S 
 gelt, bowr. 
 
 Pa. Sam Gott ! 
 
 [ The Palsgrave requests the Empress. 
 Pa. Ey jungfraw t help mich doch ! Ey 
 jungfraw, drinckl (To Alphonsus) Es 
 gelt, guterfreundt, einfrdhlichen triinck. 
 Alp. Sam Gott, meiti freundt, ich will 
 gern bescheid thun. 
 
 [Alphonsus takes the cup of the Pals- 
 grave and drinks to the King of 
 Bohemia, and after he hath drunk 
 puts poison in the beaker. 
 Alp. Half this I drink unto your highness" 
 
 health ; 
 
 It is the first since we were join'd in office. 
 Bo. I thank your majesty, I'll pledge 
 you half. 
 
 [As Bohem is a-drinking, ere he hath 
 drunk it all out, Alphonsus pulls 
 the beaker from his mouth. 
 
 Alp. Hold, hold, your majesty, drink 
 
 not too much. 
 
 Bo. What means your highness ? 
 Alp. Methinks that something grates be- 
 tween my teeth, 
 
 Pray God there be not poison in the bowl ! 
 Bo. Marry, God forbid ! 
 Ale. So were I peppered. 
 Alp. I highly do mistrust this schelmish 
 
 bowr ; 
 Lay hands on him, I'll make him drink 
 
 the rest. 
 Pa. Was ist, was ist, what will you mit 
 
 me machen ? 
 Alp. Drink out, drink out, oderder du'vel 
 
 soil dich holen. 
 Pa. Ey gebt youtofrieden, ich will gern 
 
 trincken. 
 Sa. Drink not, Prince Palatine, throw it 
 
 on the ground ; 
 
 It is not good to trust his Spanish flies. 
 Bo. Saxon and Palsgrave, this cannot 
 
 be good. 
 Alp. 'Twas not for nought my mind 
 
 misgave me so ; 
 This hath Prince Richard done to entrap 
 
 our lives. 
 Ri. No, Alphonsus, I disdain to be a 
 
 traitor. 
 Em. O, sheathe your swords, forbear 
 
 these needless broils. 
 Alp. Away, I do mistrust thee as the rest. 
 Bo. Lords, hear me speak to pacify these 
 
 broils. 
 
 For my part I feel no distemperature, 
 How do you feel yourself? 
 Alp. I cannot tell, not ill, and yet me- 
 
 thinks 
 
 I am not well. 
 Bo. Were it a poison, 'twould begin to 
 
 work. 
 Alp. Not so, all poisons do not work 
 
 alike. 
 Pa. If there were poison in, which God 
 
 forbid, 
 
 The Empress and myself and Alexander 
 Have cause to fear as well as any other. 
 Alp. Why didst thou throw the wine 
 
 upon the earth ? 
 Hadst thou but drunk, thou'dst satisfied our 
 
 minds. 
 Pa. I will not be enforced by Spanish 
 
 hands. 
 Alp. If all be well with us that juice shall 
 
 serve, 
 
 If not, the Spaniard's blood will be re- 
 venged. 
 Ri. Your majesty is more afraid than 
 
 hurt. 
 
ALPHONSUS EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Bo. For me, I do not fear myself a whit; 
 Let all be friends, and forward with our 
 mirth. 
 
 Enter Edward, in his night-gown and 
 his shirt. 
 
 Ri. Nephew, how now? is not all well 
 
 with you ? 
 Bo. I lay my life the prince has lost his 
 
 bride. 
 Ed. I hope not so, she is but stray'd a 
 
 little. 
 Alp. Your grace must not be angry, 
 
 though we laugh. 
 Ed. If it had happen'd by default of 
 
 mine, 
 You might have worthily laugh'd me to 
 
 scorn : 
 
 But to be so deceived, so over-reach'd, 
 Even as I meant to clasp her in mine 
 
 arms, 
 
 The griefs intolerable, not to be guess'd, 
 Or comprehended by the thought of any, 
 But by a man that hath been so deceived, 
 And that's by no man living but myself. 
 Sa. My princely son-in-law, God give 
 
 you joy. 
 
 Ed. Of what, my princely father ? 
 Sa. Of my daughter, 
 
 Your new-betrothed wife and bedfellow. 
 Ed. I thank you, father ; indeed, I must 
 
 confess 
 
 She is my wife, but not my bedfellow. 
 Sa. How so, young prince ? I saw you 
 
 steal her hence, 
 
 And, as methought, she went full will- 
 ingly. 
 Ed. Tis true, I stole her finely from 
 
 amongst you, 
 
 And, by the Archbishop of Collen's help, 
 Got her alone into the bridal chamber, 
 Where having lock'd the door, thought all 
 
 was well. 
 I could not speak, but pointed to the 
 
 bed; 
 
 She answer'd Ja and 'gan for to unlace her; 
 I, seeing that, suspected no deceit, 
 But straight untruss'd my points, uncased 
 
 myself, 
 And in a moment slipp'd between the 
 
 sheets : 
 
 There lying in deep contemplation, 
 The princess of herself drew near to me, 
 Gave me her hand, spoke prettily in Dutch, 
 I know not what, and kiss'd me lovingly, 
 And, as I shrank out of my lukewarm 
 
 place 
 
 To make her room, she clapp'd thrice with 
 her feet, 
 
 And through a trap-door sunk out of my 
 
 sight. 
 
 Knew I but her confederates in the deed 
 I say no more. 
 
 Em. Tush, cousin, be content ; 
 
 So many lands, so many fashions ; 
 It is the German use, be not impatient, 
 She will be so much welcomer to-morrow. 
 i. Come, nephew, we'll be bedfellows 
 
 to-night. 
 Ed. Nay, if I find her not, I'll lie 
 
 alone ; 
 
 I have good hope to ferret out her bed, 
 And so good night, sweet princes, all at 
 
 once. 
 
 Alp. Good night to all ; marshal, dis- 
 charge the train. 
 
 Ale. To bed, to bed, the marshal cries 
 'tis time. \Flourishofcornets. Exeunt. 
 
 Manent Saxon, Richard, Palsgrave, 
 Collen, Empress. 
 
 Sa. Now, princes, it is time that we ad- 
 vise ; 
 
 Now we are all fast in the fowler's gin, 
 Not to escape his subtle snares alive, 
 Unless by force we break the nets asunder. 
 When he begins to cavil and pick quarrels, 
 I will not trust him in the least degree. 
 
 Em. It may beseem me evil to mistrust 
 My lord and emperor of so foul a fact ; 
 But love unto his honour and your lives 
 Makes me with tears intreat your Excel- 
 lencies 
 To fly with speed out of his dangerous 
 
 reach. 
 
 His cloudy brow foretells a sudden storm 
 Of blood not naturaPbut prodigious. 
 Ri. The Castle-gates are shut, how 
 
 should we fly ? 
 
 But were they open I would lose my life, 
 Ere I would leave my nephew to the 
 
 slaughter ; 
 He and his bride were sure to bear the 
 
 brunt. 
 Sa. Could I get out of doors I'd venture 
 
 that, 
 
 And yet I hold their persons dear enough. 
 I would not doubt but ere the morning sun 
 Should half-way run his course into the 
 
 south, 
 
 To compass and begirt him in his fort, 
 With Saxon lantsknechts and brunt-bearing 
 
 Switzers, 
 
 Who lie in ambuscado not far hence, 
 That he should come to composition, 
 And with safe conduct bring into our tents 
 Both bride and bridegroom and all other 
 friends. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 ALPHONSUS EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 
 
 399 
 
 Em. My chamber-window stands upon 
 
 the wall, 
 And thence with case you may escape 
 
 away. 
 Sa. Prince Richard, you will bear me 
 
 company ? 
 Ri. I will, my lord. 
 Sa. And you, Prince Palatine? 
 Pa. The Spanish tyrant hath me in 
 
 suspect 
 
 Of poisoning him, I'll therefore stay it out; 
 To fly upon 't were to accuse myself. 
 Em. If need require, I'll hide the 
 
 Palatine 
 
 Until to-morrow, if you stay no longer. 
 Sa. If God be with us, ere to-morrow 
 
 noon 
 We'll be with ensigns spread before the 
 
 walls ; 
 
 We leave dear pledges of our quick return. 
 
 Em. May the heavens prosper then your 
 
 just intents ! \Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Alphonsus. 
 
 Alp. This dangerous plot was happily 
 
 o'erheard. 
 
 Here didst thou listen in a blessed hour. 
 Alexander, where dost thou hide thyself? 
 I've sought thee in each corner of the 
 
 court, 
 
 And now or never must thou play the man. 
 Ale. And now or never must your high- 
 ness stir ; 
 
 Treason hath round encompassed your life. 
 Alp. I have no leisure now to hear thy 
 
 talk: 
 
 Seest thou this key? 
 Ale. Intends your majesty that I should 
 
 steal into the Princes' chambers, 
 And sleeping stab them in their beds to- 
 night ? 
 That cannot be. 
 
 Alp. Wilt thou not hear me speak ? 
 Ale. The Prince of England, Saxon, 
 
 and of Collen, 
 
 Are in the Empress' chamber privily. 
 Alp. All this is nothing, they would 
 
 murder me, 
 I come not there to-night ; seest thou this 
 
 key? 
 
 A le. They mean to fly out at the chamber- 
 window, 
 
 And raise an army to besiege your grace ; 
 Now may your highness take them with 
 
 the deed. 
 Alp. The Prince of Wales, I hope, is 
 
 none of them. 
 Ale. Him and his bride by force they 
 will recover. 
 
 Alp. What makes the cursed Palsgrave 
 
 of the Rhein ? 
 Ale. Him hath the Empress taken to her 
 
 charge 
 
 And in her closet means to hide him safe. 
 Alp. To hide him in her closet? Of 
 
 bold deeds 
 
 The dearest charge that e'er she under- 
 took. 
 Yell, let them bring their complots to an 
 
 end, 
 
 I'll undermine to meet them in their works. 
 Ale. Will not your grace surprise them 
 
 ere they fly ? 
 Alp. No, let them bring their purpose 
 
 to effect, 
 
 ['11 fall upon them at my best advantage. 
 Seest thou this key ? There, take it, Alex- 
 ander, 
 
 Yet take it not, unless thou be resolved 
 Tush, I am fond to make a doubt of 
 
 thee! 
 
 Take it, I say, it doth command all doors, 
 nd will make open way to dire revenge. 
 Ale. I know not what your majesty doth 
 
 mean. 
 Alp. Hie thee with speed into the inner 
 
 chamber 
 Next to the chapel, and there shalt thou 
 
 find 
 The dainty trembling bride couch'd in her | 
 
 bed, 
 Having beguiled her bridegroom of his 
 
 hopes, 
 
 Taking her farewell of virginity, 
 Which she to-morrow night expects to lose. 
 By night all cats are grey, and in the dark 
 She will embrace thee for the Prince of 
 
 Wales, 
 Thinking that he hath found her chamber 
 
 out ; 
 
 Fall to thy business and make few words, 
 And having pleased thy senses with delight, 
 And fill'd thy beating veins with stealing 
 
 joy. 
 
 Make thence again before the break of 
 
 day. 
 
 What strange events will follow this device 
 We need not study on, our foes shall find. 
 How now? how stand'st thou? hast thou 
 
 not the heart ? 
 Ale. Should I not have the heart to do 
 
 this deed, 
 
 I were a bastard villain, and no man ; 
 Her sweetness and the sweetness of revenge 
 Tickles my senses in a double sense, 
 And so I wish your majesty good night. 
 Alp. Good night. Sweet Venus prosper I 
 
 thy attempt ! 
 
400 
 
 ALPHONSUS EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Ale. Sweet Venus and grim Ate I im- 
 plore, 
 Stand both of you to me auspicious. 
 
 {Exit Alexander. 
 
 Alp. It had been pity of his father's life, 
 Whose death hath made him such a per- 
 fect villain. 
 
 What murder, wrack, and causeless enmity 
 'Twixt dearest friends, that are my strongest 
 
 foes, 
 
 Will follow suddenly upon this rape 
 I hope to live to see and laugh thereat. 
 And yet this piece of practice is not all : 
 The King of Bohem, though he little 
 
 feel it, 
 
 Because in twenty hours it will not work, 
 Hath from my knife's point suck'd his 
 
 deadly bane. 
 
 Whereof I will be least of all suspected, 
 For I will feign myself as sick as he, 
 And blind mine enemies' eyes with deadly 
 
 groans. 
 
 Upon the Palsgrave and mine Empress 
 Heavy suspect shall light to bruise their 
 
 bones ; 
 Though Saxon would not suffer him to 
 
 taste 
 
 The deadly potion provided for him, 
 He cannot save him from the sword of 
 
 justice, 
 When all the world shall think that like a 
 
 villain 
 He's poison'd two great emperors with one 
 
 draught. 
 
 That deed is done, and by this time I hope 
 The other is a-doing ; Alexander, 
 I doubt it not, will do it thoroughly. 
 While these things are a-brewing I'll not 
 
 not sleep, 
 
 But suddenly break ope the chamber-doors 
 And rush upon my Empress and the Pals- 
 grave. 
 Holla, where is the captain of the guard? 
 
 Enter Captain and Soldiers. 
 
 Ca. What would your majesty ? 
 Alp. Take six travants well arm'd and 
 follow. 
 
 [They break with -violence into the 
 
 chamber, and Alphonsus trails 
 
 the Empress by the hair. 
 
 Enter Alphonsus, Empress, Soldiers, &c. 
 
 Alp. Come forth, thou damned witch, 
 
 adulterous whore ! 
 ; Foul scandal to thy name, thy sex, thy 
 
 blood ! 
 
 Em. O Emperor, gentle husband, pity 
 me ! 
 
 Alp. Canst thou deny thou wert con- 
 federate 
 With my arch-enemies that sought my 
 
 blood ? 
 
 And like a strumpet, through thy chamber- 
 window, 
 Hast with thine own hands help'd to let 
 
 them down, 
 
 With an intent that they should gather arms, 
 Besiege my court, and take away my life ? 
 Em. Ah, my Alphonsus ! 
 Alp. Thy Alphonsus? whore ! 
 Em. O pierce my heart, trail me not by 
 
 my hair ; 
 What I have done, I did it for the best. 
 
 Alp. So for the best advantage of thy lust 
 Hast thou in secret, Clytemnestra-like, 
 Hid thy ^Egisthus, thy adulterous love. 
 Em. Heaven be the record 'twixt my 
 
 lord and me, 
 
 How pure and sacred I do hold thy bed. 
 Alp. Art thou so impudent to belie the 
 
 deed? 
 
 Is not the Palsgrave hidden in thy cham- 
 ber? 
 Em. That I have hid the Palsgrave I 
 
 confess, 
 
 But to no ill intent, your conscience knows. 
 Alp. Thy treasons, murders, incests, sor- 
 ceries, 
 
 Are all committed to a good intent ; 
 Thou know'st he was my deadly enemy. 
 Em. By this device I hoped to make you 
 
 friends. 
 
 Alp. Then bring him forth, we'll recon- 
 cile ourselves. 
 Em. Should I betray so great a prince's 
 
 life? 
 Alp. Thou hold'st his life far dearer than 
 
 thy lord's. 
 This very night hast thou betray 'd my 
 
 But thus, and thus, will I revenge myself. 
 [Trailing her by the hair. 
 And but thou speedily deliver him, 
 I'll trail thee through the kennels of the 
 
 street, 
 
 And cut the nose from thy bewitching face, 
 And into England send thee, like a strum- 
 pet. 
 
 Em. Pull every hair from off my head, 
 Drag me at horses' tails, cut off my nose, 
 My princely tongue shall not betray a 
 
 prince. 
 
 Alp. That will I try. 
 Em. O heaven, revenge my shame ! 
 
 Enter Palsgrave. 
 Pa. Is Caesar now become a torturer. 
 
SCENE I.J 
 
 ALPHONSUS EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 
 
 401 
 
 A hangman of his wife, turn'd murderer? 
 Here is the Palatine, what wouldst thou 
 
 more? 
 Alp. Upon him, soldiers, strike him to 
 
 the ground. 
 Em. Ah, soldiers ! spare the princely 
 
 Palatine. 
 Alp. Down with the damn'd adulterous 
 
 murderer. 
 
 Kill him, I say ; his blood be on my head. 
 
 [They kill the Palatine. 
 
 Run to the tower and ring the 'larum 
 
 bell, 
 
 That Tore the world I may excuse myself, 
 And tell the reason of this bloody deed. 
 
 Enter Edward in his night-gown 
 and shirt. 
 
 Ed. How now ? what means this sudden, 
 
 strange alarm ? 
 What wretched dame is this with blubber 'd 
 
 cheeks, 
 And rent, dishevell'd hair? 
 
 Em. O my dear nephew, 
 
 Fly, fly the shambles, for thy turn is next. 
 Ed. What ! my imperial aunt ? then 
 
 break my heart ! 
 Alp. Brave prince, be still ; as I am nobly 
 
 born, 
 There is no ill intended to thy person. 
 
 Enter Mentz, Trier, Brandenburg, Bo- 
 hemia. 
 
 Me. Where is my page ? Bring me my 
 
 two-hand sword ! 
 Tr. What is the matter? Is the Court 
 
 a-fire ? 
 Br. Who's that ? The Emperor with his 
 
 weapon drawn ? 
 Bo. Though deadly sick, yet am I forced 
 
 to rise, 
 
 To know the reason of this hurly-burly. 
 Alp. Princes be silent ; I will tell the 
 
 cause, 
 
 Though suddenly a griping at my heart 
 Forbids my tongue his wonted course of 
 
 speech. 
 
 See you this harlot, traitress to my life, 
 See you this murderer, stain to mine 
 
 honour ? 
 
 These twain I found together in my bed, 
 Shamefully committing lewd adultery, 
 And heinously conspiring all your deaths, 
 I mean your deaths that are not dead al- 
 ready; 
 
 As for the King of Bohem and myself, 
 We are not of this world, we have our 
 
 transports 
 Given in the bowl by this adulterous prince, 
 
 VOL T. 
 
 And lest the poison work too strong with 
 
 me, 
 Before that I have warn'd you of your 
 
 harms, 
 
 I will be brief in the relation. 
 That he hath stain'd my bed, these eyes 
 
 have seen; 
 
 That he hath murder* d two imperial kings, 
 Our speedy deaths will be too sudden 
 
 proof ; 
 That he and she have bought and sold your 
 
 lives 
 
 To Saxon, Collen, and the English prince, 
 Their ensigns, spread before the walls to- 
 morrow, 
 
 Will all too suddenly bid you defiance. 
 Now tell me, princes, have I not just cause 
 To slay the murderer of so many souls ? 
 And have not all cause to applaud the 
 
 deed? 
 
 More would I utter, but the poison's force 
 Forbids my speech; you can conceive the 
 
 rest. 
 Bo. Your Majesty, reach me your dying 
 
 hand 
 
 With thousand thanks for this so just re- 
 venge ! 
 
 O, how the poison's force begins to work ! 
 Me. The world may pity and applaud 
 
 the deed. 
 Br. Did never age bring forth such 
 
 heinous acts. 
 Ed. My senses are confounded and 
 
 amazed. 
 Em. The God of heaven knows my un- 
 
 guiltiness. 
 
 Enter Messenger. 
 
 Mes. Arm, arm, my lords, we have de- 
 scried afar 
 
 An army often thousand men-at-arms. 
 Alp. Some run unto the walls, some draw 
 
 up the sluice, 
 
 Some speedily let the portcullis down. 
 Me. Now may we see the Emperor's 
 
 words are true; 
 
 To prison with the wicked murderous 
 whore. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT THE FOURTH. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 Enter Saxon and Richard with Soldiers. 
 
 Sa. My lord of Cornwall, let us march 
 
 before, 
 
 To speedy rescue of our dearest friends ; 
 D D 
 
4 02 
 
 ALPHONSUS EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 
 
 The rearward with the armed legions, 
 Committed to the Prince of Collen's 
 
 charge, 
 
 Cannot so lightly pass the mountain tops. 
 Ri. Let's summon suddenly unto a 
 
 parley, 
 
 I do not doubt but ere we need their helps, 
 Collen with all his forces will be here. 
 
 Enter Collen with Drums and an Army. 
 
 Ri. Your holiness hath made good haste 
 
 to-day, 
 
 And like a beaten soldier lead your troops. 
 Co. In time of peace I am an arch- 
 bishop, 
 And, like a churchman, can both sing and 
 
 say ; 
 
 But when the innocent do suffer wrong, 
 I cast my rochet off upon the altar, 
 And, like a prince, betake myself to arms. 
 
 Enter above Mentz, Trier, and 
 Brandenburg. 
 
 Me. Great Prince of Saxony, what mean 
 these arms ? 
 
 Richard of Cornwall, what may this in- 
 tend? 
 
 Brother of Collen, no more churchman 
 now ; 
 
 Instead of mitre and a crozier's staff, 
 
 Have you beta'en you to your helm and 
 targe? 
 
 Were you so merry yesterday as friends, 
 
 Cloaking your treason in your clown's 
 
 attire? 
 
 Sa. Mentz, we return the traitor in thy 
 face, 
 
 To save our lives, and to release our 
 friends 
 
 Out of the Spaniard's deadly trapping 
 snares, 
 
 Without intent of ill, this power is raised. 
 
 Therefore, grave prince marquess of Bran- 
 denburg, 
 
 My loving cousin, as indifferent judge, 
 
 To you, an aged peace-maker, we speak ; 
 
 Deliver with safe-conduct in our tents 
 
 Prince Edward and his bride, the Pala- 
 tine, 
 
 W r ith every one of high or low degree 
 
 That are suspicious of the King of Spain, 
 
 So shall you see, that in the self-same 
 hour 
 
 We marched to the walls with' colours 
 spread, 
 
 We will cashier our troops, and part good 
 
 friends. 
 
 Br. Alas ! my lord, crave you the Pala- 
 tine ? 
 
 Ri. If craving will not serve, we will 
 
 command. 
 Br. Ah me, since your departure, good 
 
 my lords, 
 Strange accidents of blood and death are 
 
 happen'd. 
 Sa. My mind misgave a massacre this 
 
 night. 
 
 Ri. How does Prince Edward then ? 
 Sa. How does my daughter? 
 Co. How goes it with the Palsgrave of 
 
 the Rhein ? 
 Br. Prince Edward and his bride do 
 
 live in health, 
 And shall' be brought unto you when you 
 
 please. 
 
 Sa. Let them be presently delivered. 
 Co. Lives not the Palsgrave too ? 
 Me. In heaven or hell 
 He lives, and reaps the merit of his deeds. 
 Co. What damned hand hath butchered 
 
 the prince ? 
 Sa. O that demand is needless ; who but 
 
 he 
 
 That seeks to be the butcher of us all ? 
 But vengeance and revenge shall light on 
 
 him. 
 Br. Be patient, noble princes, hear the 
 
 rest. 
 The two great Kings of Bohem and 
 
 Castile, 
 God comfort them, lie now at point 'of 
 
 death, 
 
 Both poison'd by the Palsgrave yesterday. 
 Ri. How is that possible ? So must my 
 
 sister, 
 
 The Palatine himself, and Alexander, 
 Who drunk out of the bowl, be poison'd 
 
 too. 
 Me. Nor is that heinous deed alone the 
 
 cause, 
 
 Though cause enough to ruin monarchies ; 
 He hath defiled with lust the imperial bed, 
 And by the Emperor in the act was slain. 
 Co. O worthy, guiltless prince ! 0, had 
 
 he fled ! 
 Ri. But say, where is the Empress ; 
 
 where 's my sister ? 
 Me. Not burnt to ashes yet, but shall be 
 
 shortly. 
 
 Ri. I hope her Majesty will live to see 
 A hundred thousand flattering turn-coat 
 
 slaves, 
 Such as your holiness, die a shameful 
 
 death. 
 Br. She is in prison, and attends her 
 
 trial. 
 
 Sa. O strange, heart-breaking, mis- 
 chievous intents ! 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 ALPHONSUS EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 
 
 403 
 
 Give me my children, if you love your 
 
 lives ! 
 
 No safety is in this enchanted fort. 
 O see, in happy hour, there comes my 
 
 daughter 
 And loving son, 'scaped from the massacre. 
 
 Enter Edward and Hedewick. 
 
 Ed. My body lives, although my heart 
 
 be slain. 
 O princes, this hath been the dismall'st 
 
 night 
 
 That ever eye of sorrow did behold ! 
 Here lay the Palsgrave, weltering in his 
 
 blood, 
 
 Dying Alphonsus standing over him, 
 Upon the other hand the King of Bohem, 
 Still looking when his poison'd bulk would 
 
 break ; 
 But that which pierced my soul with 
 
 nature's touch, 
 Was my tormented aunt, with blubber'd 
 
 cheeks, 
 
 Torn, bloody garments, and dishevell'd hair, 
 Waiting for death, deservedly or no, 
 That knows the searcher of all human 
 
 thoughts, 
 For these devices are beyond my reach. 
 
 Sa. Sag dock, Hebe dochter, wo wart dow 
 diesdbe nacht ? 
 
 He. A Is wo, wo solt ich sein ? ich war 
 im bette. 
 
 Sa. Wart dow allein, so wart d<nv gar 
 verschrocken. 
 
 He. Ich hab nicht anders gemeint, dann 
 das ich wolt allein geschlaffen haben, aber 
 limb mitternacht kam mein bridegroom 
 undt schlaffet bey mir, bis wir mit dem 
 getummel erwacht waren. 
 
 Ed. What says she? came her bride- 
 groom to her at midnight ? 
 Ri. Nephew, I see you were not over- 
 
 reach'd ; 
 Although she slipp'd out of your arms at 
 
 first, 
 You seized her surely, ere you left the 
 
 chase. 
 Sa. But left your grace your bride alone 
 
 in bed? 
 Or did she run together in the 'larum ? 
 
 Ed. Alas! my lords, this is no time to jest ; 
 I lay full sadly in my bed alone. 
 Not able for my life to sleep a wink, 
 Till that the 'larum-bell began to ring, 
 And then I started from my weary couch. 
 Sa. How now? this rhymes not with my 
 
 daughter's speech ; 
 
 She says, you found her bed, and lay with 
 her. 
 
 Ed. Not I, your highness did mistake 
 
 her words. 
 Co. Deny it not, Prince Edward ; 'tis an 
 
 honour. 
 Ed. My lords, I know no reason to deny 
 
 it; 
 To have found her bed, I would have given 
 
 a million. 
 
 Sa. Hedewick, der Furst sagt, er hatt 
 nicht bei dir geschlctfcn. 
 
 He. Es gefellt ihm also zu sagen, aber 
 ich hab es wol gefUlet. 
 Ri. She says, you are disposed to jest 
 
 with her, 
 
 But yesternight she felt it in good earnest. 
 Ed. Uncle, these jests are too unsavoury, 
 Ill-suited to these times, and please me not. 
 Hab ich bey you geschlapen yesternight ? 
 He. Ey lef, warum solt ihrs fragen ? 
 Sa. Edward, I tell thee, 'tis no jesting 
 
 matter, 
 
 Say plainly, wast thou by her, ay or no ? 
 Ed. As I am prince, true heir to Eng- 
 land's crown, 
 
 I never touch'd her body in a bed. 
 He. Das haste gethan, oder hole mich 
 
 der du-vel. 
 Ri. Nephew, take heed, you hear the 
 
 princess' words. 
 Ed. It is not she, nor you, nor all the 
 
 world, 
 
 Shall make me say I did another's deed. 
 Sa. Another's deed ? what, think'st thou 
 her a whore ? [Saxon strikes Edward. 
 Ed. She may be whore, and thou a 
 
 villain too ; 
 Struck me the Emperor, I will strike 
 
 again. 
 Co. Content you, princes; buffet not like 
 
 boys. 
 Ri. Hold you the one, and I will hold 
 
 the other. 
 He. O Herr Gott, help, help ! O ich 
 
 armes kindt ! 
 Sa. Soldiers, lay hands upon the Prince 
 
 of Wales, 
 
 Convey him speedily unto a prison, 
 And load his legs with grievous bolts of 
 
 iron ; 
 Some bring the whore my daughter from 
 
 my sight, 
 
 And thou, smooth Englishman, to thee I 
 speak, [ To Richard. 
 
 My hate extends to all thy nation, 
 Pack thee out of my sight, and that with 
 
 speed, 
 
 Your English practices have all too long 
 Muffled our German eyes pack, pack, I 
 say. 
 
 D D a 
 
404 
 
 ALPHONSUS EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Ri. Although your grace have reason 
 
 for your rage, 
 
 Yet be not like a madman to your friends. 
 Sa. My friends? I scorn the friendship 
 
 of such mates 
 That seek my daughter's spoil, and my 
 
 dishonour ; 
 
 But I will teach the boy another lesson. 
 His head shall pay the ransom of his 
 
 fault. 
 
 Ri. His head? 
 Sa. And thy head too. O, how my heart 
 
 doth swell ! 
 Was there no other prince to mock but 
 
 me? 
 First woo, then marry her, then lie with 
 
 her, 
 
 And, having had the pleasure of her bed, 
 Call her a whore in open audience ! 
 None but a villain and a slave would 
 
 do it. 
 
 My lords of Mentz, of Trier, and Branden- 
 burg, 
 Make ope the gates, receive me as a 
 
 friend, 
 
 I'll be a scourge unto the English nation. 
 Jlfe. Your grace shall be the welcomest 
 
 guest alive. 
 Co. None but a madman would do such 
 
 a deed. 
 Sa. Then, Collen, count me mad, for I 
 
 will do it ; 
 
 I'll set my life and land upon the hazard, 
 But I will thoroughly sound this deceit. 
 What will your grace, leave me or follow 
 
 me? 
 Co. No, Saxon, no ; I will not follow 
 
 thee, 
 
 And leave Prince Richard in so great ex- 
 tremes. 
 
 Sa. Then I defy you both, and so fare- 
 well. 
 Ri. Yet, Saxon, hear me speak before 
 
 thou go : 
 Look to the prince's life as to thine 
 
 own ; 
 Each perish'd hair that falleth from his 
 
 head 
 
 By thy default, shall cost a Saxon city ; 
 Henry of England will not lose his heir ; 
 And so farewell and think upon my words. 
 Sa. Away, I do disdain to answer thee ! 
 Pack thee with shame again into thy 
 
 country, 
 
 I'll have a cock-boat at my proper charge, 
 And send th' imperial crown which thou 
 
 hast won, 
 
 To England by Prince Edward after thee. 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Jlfattent Richard and Collen. 
 
 Co. Answer him not, Prince Richard ; he 
 
 is mad ; 
 holer and grief have robb'd him of his 
 
 senses. 
 
 Like accident to this was never heard. 
 Ri. Break, heart, and die ; fly hence, 
 
 my troubled spirit ; 
 am not able for to underbear 
 The weight of sorrow which doth bruise 
 
 my soul. 
 
 O Edward, O sweet Edward, O my life ! 
 O noble Collen, last of all my hopes, 
 The only friend in my extremities, 
 If thou dost love me, as I know thou dost, 
 Unsheathe thy sword and rid me of this 
 
 sorrow. 
 Co. Away with abject thoughts ! Fie, 
 
 princely Richard ; 
 Rouse up thyself, and call thy senses 
 
 home ; 
 
 Shake off this base pusillanimity, 
 And cast about to remedy these wrongs. 
 Ri. Alas ! I see no means of remedy. 
 Co. Then hearken to my counsel and 
 
 advice. 
 We will intrench ourselves not far from 
 
 hence, 
 With those small powers we have, and 
 
 send for more. 
 
 If they do make assault, we will defend ; 
 If violence be offer "d to the prince, 
 We'll rescue him with venture of our lives ; 
 Let us with patience attend advantage, 
 Time may reveal the author of these 
 
 treasons. 
 For why, undoubtedly the sweet young 
 
 princess, 
 Foully beguiled by night with cunning 
 
 show, 
 
 Hath to some villain lost her maidenhead. 
 Ri. O, that I knew the foul incestuous 
 
 wretch, 
 Thus would I tear him with my teeth and 
 
 nails. 
 Had Saxon sense, he would conceive so 
 
 much, 
 And not revenge on guiltless Edward's 
 
 life. 
 Co. Persuade yourself, he will be twice 
 
 advised, 
 
 Before he offer wrong unto the prince. 
 Ri. In that good hope I will have 
 
 patience. 
 Come, gentle prince, whose pity to a 
 
 stranger 
 
 Is rare and admirable, not to be spoken ; 
 England cannot requite this gentleness. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 ALPHONSUS EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 
 
 405 
 
 Co. Tush, talk not of requital, let us go 
 To fortify ourselves within our trench. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Enter Alphonsus, carried in the Couch ; 
 Saxony, Mentz, Trier, Brandenburg, 
 Alexander. 
 
 Alp. O most excessive pain, O raging 
 
 fire! 
 
 Is burning Cancer, or the Scorpion, 
 Descended from the heavenly zodiac, 
 To parch mine entrails with a quenchless 
 
 flame? 
 Drink, drink, I say, give drink, or I shall 
 
 die. 
 Fill a thousand bowls of wine ! Water, I 
 
 say, 
 
 Water from forth the cold Tartarian hills. 
 I feel the ascending flame lick up my 
 
 blood ; 
 
 Mine entrails shrink together, like a scroll 
 Of burning parchment, and my marrow 
 
 fries. 
 Bring hugy cakes of ice and flakes of 
 
 snow, 
 
 That I may drink of them, being dissolved. 
 Sa. We do beseech your Majesty, have 
 
 patience. 
 Alp. Had I but drunk an ordinary 
 
 poison, 
 
 The sight ofthee, great Duke of Saxony, 
 My friend in death, in life my greatest foe, 
 Might both allay the venom and the tor- 
 ment ; 
 But that adulterous Palsgrave and my 
 
 wife, 
 
 Upon whose life and soul I vengeance cry, 
 Gave me a mineral not to be digested, 
 Which burning eats, and eating burns my 
 
 heart. 
 
 My lord of Trier, run to the King of Bohem, 
 Commend me to him, ask him how he 
 
 fares, 
 
 None but myself can rightly pity him, 
 For none but we have sympathy of pains. 
 Tell him when he is dead, my time's not 
 
 long, 
 
 And when I die, bid him prepare to follow. 
 
 [Exit Trier. 
 
 Now, now it works afresh ; are you my 
 
 friends? 
 Then throw me on the cold, swift-running 
 
 Rhein 
 
 And let me bathe there for an hour or two, 
 I cannot bear this pain. 
 Me. O, would the impartial fates inflict 
 
 on me 
 
 These deadly pains, and ease my Emperor, 
 How willing would I bear them for his 
 
 sake. 
 Alp. O Mentz, I would not wish unto a 
 
 dog 
 The least of thousand torments that afflict 
 
 me, 
 
 Much less unto your princely holiness. 
 See, see, my lord of Mentz, Death points 
 
 at you. 
 
 Me. It is your fantasy, and nothing else ; 
 But were Death here, I would dispute with 
 
 him, 
 
 And tell him to his teeth he doth injustice, 
 To take your Majesty in the prime of youth ; 
 Such wither'd, rotten branches as myself 
 Should first be lopp'd, had he not partial 
 
 hands ; 
 
 And here I do protest, upon my knee, 
 I would as willingly now leave my life, 
 To save my King and Emperor alive, 
 As erst my mother brought me to the 
 
 world. 
 Br. My lord of Mentz, this flattery is too 
 
 gross ; 
 
 A prince of your experience and calling 
 Should not so fondly call the heavens to 
 
 witness. 
 Me. Think you, my lord, I would not hold 
 
 my word ? 
 Br. You know, my lord, Death is a 
 
 bitter guest. 
 
 Me. To ease his pain and save my Em- 
 peror, 
 
 I sweetly would embrace that bitterness. 
 Ale. If I were Death, I know what I 
 
 would do. 
 
 Me. But see, his Majesty is fall' n asleep - 
 Ah me ! I fear it is a dying slumber. 
 Alp. My lord of Saxony, do you hear this 
 
 jest? 
 
 Sa. What should I hear, my lord ? 
 Alp. Do you not hear, 
 How loudly Death proclaims it in mine 
 
 ears, 
 Swearing by trophies, tombs, and dead 
 
 men's graves, 
 
 If I have any friend so dear to me, 
 That to excuse my life will lose his own, 
 I shall be presently restored to health. 
 Me. I would he durst make good his 
 promises. 
 
 Enter Trier. 
 
 Alp. My lord of Trier, how fares my 
 
 fellow Emperor ? 
 
 Tr. His Majesty is eased of all his pain. 
 Alp. O happy news ! now have I hope of 
 
 health. 
 
4 o6 
 
 ALPHONSUS EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Me. My joyful heart doth spring within 
 
 my body 
 
 To hear these words ; 
 Comfort, your Majesty, I will excuse you, 
 Or, at the least, will bear you company. 
 Alp. My hope is vain, now, now my heart 
 
 will break ! 
 
 My lord of Trier, you did but flatter me ; 
 Tell me the truth, how fares his Majesty ? 
 Tr. I told your Highness, eased of all 
 
 his pain. 
 Alp. I understand thee now ; he's eased 
 
 by death, 
 
 And now I feel an alteration. 
 Farewell, sweet lords, farewell ; my lord of 
 
 Mentz, 
 
 The truest friend that ever earth did bear, 
 Live long in happiness ! To revenge my 
 
 death 
 
 Upon my wife and all the English brood, 
 My lord of Saxony, your grace hath cause. 
 Me. I dare thee, Death, to take away 
 
 my life. 
 
 Some charitable hand that loves his prince 
 And hath the heart, 
 
 Draw forth his sword and rid me of my life. 
 Ale. I love my prince, and have the 
 heart to do't. [Stabs him. 
 
 Me. O, stay awhile. 
 Ale. Nay, now it is too late. 
 Br. Villain, what hast thou done? thou'st 
 
 slain a prince ! 
 
 Ale. I did no more than he entreated me. 
 Alp. How now, what make I in my 
 
 couch so late ? 
 Princes, why stand you gazing so about 
 
 me? 
 
 Or who is that lies slain before my face ? 
 O, I have wrong, my soul was half in hea- 
 ven, 
 
 His holiness did know the joys above 
 And therefore is ascended in my stead* 
 Come, princes, let us bear the body hence ; 
 I'll spend a million to embalm the same. 
 Let all the bells within the empire ring, 
 Let mass be said in every church and 
 
 chapel, 
 
 And that I may perform my latest vow, 
 I will procure so much by gold or friends, 
 That my sweet Mentz shall be canonized 
 And number 'd in the bead-roll of the saints. 
 I hope the pope will not deny it me ; 
 I'll build a church in honour of thy name 
 Within the ancient, famous city Mentz, 
 Fairer than any one in Germany. 
 There shalt thou be interr'd with kingly 
 
 pomp, 
 
 Over thy tomb shall hang a sacred lamp, 
 Which till the day of doom shall ever burn ; 
 
 Yea, after-ages shall speak of thy renown, 
 
 And go a-pilgrimage to thy sacred tomb. 
 
 jrief stops my voice ; who loves his Em- 
 peror, 
 
 Lay to his helping hand and bear him 
 hence, 
 
 Sweet father and redeemer of my life. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 Manet Alexander. 
 
 Ale. Now is my lord sole Emperor of 
 
 Rome, 
 And three conspirators of my father's 
 
 death 
 
 Are cunningly sent unto heaven or hell ; 
 Like subtlety to this was never seen. 
 Alas ! poor Mentz ! 1, pitying thy prayers, 
 Could do no less than lend a helping hand ; 
 Thou wert a famous flatterer in thy life, 
 And now hast reap'd the fruits thereof in 
 
 death. 
 
 But thou shalt be rewarded, like a saint, 
 With masses, bells, dirges, and burning 
 
 lamps ; 
 
 'Tis good, I envy not thy happiness : 
 But, ah ! the sweet remembrance of that 
 
 night, 
 That night, I mean, of sweetness and of 
 
 stealth, 
 When, for a prince, a princess did embrace 
 
 me, 
 
 Paying the first fruits of her marriage-bed, 
 Makes me forget all other accidents. 
 O Saxon, I would willingly forgive 
 The deadly trespass of my father's death, 
 So I might have thy daughter to my wife, 
 And to be plain, I have best right unto her, 
 And love her best and have deserved her 
 
 best. 
 
 But thou art fond to think on such a match, 
 Thou must imagine nothing but revenge ; 
 And if my computation fail me not, 
 Ere long I shall be thoroughly revenged. 
 
 \Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Enter the Duke of Saxon, and Hedewick 
 -with the Child. 
 
 Sa. Come forth, thou perfect map of 
 
 misery, 
 
 Desolate daughter and distressed mother, 
 In whom the father and the son are cursed. 
 Thus once again we will assay the prince. 
 T may be, the sight of his own flesh and 
 
 blood 
 
 Will now at last pierce his obdurate heart. 
 Jailor, how fares it with thy prisoner ? 
 Let him appear upon the battlements. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 ALPHONSUS EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 
 
 407 
 
 He. O mein dear vatter, ich hale in disc 
 lang, lang viertzig -wccken, laclche mich 
 dunket sein viertzig jahr gewesen, tin lutt 
 Englisch gelernet, iind ich hope, he will 
 mich "uerstohn, und show me a little pity. 
 
 Enter Edward on the walls, and Jail or. 
 
 Sa. Good morrow to your grace, Edward 
 
 of Wales, 
 
 Son and immediateheirto Henry the Third, 
 King of England and Lord of Ireland, 
 Thy father's comfort and the people's 
 
 hope. 
 
 'Tis not in mockage, nor at unawares 
 That I am ceremonious to repeat 
 Thy high descent, join'd with thy kingly 
 
 might, 
 
 But therewithal to intimate unto thee 
 What God expecteth from the higher 
 
 powers, 
 
 Justice and mercy, truth, sobriety. 
 Relenting hearts, hands innocent of blood. 
 Princes are God's chief substitutes on 
 
 earth, 
 And should be lamps unto the common 
 
 sort. 
 
 But, you will say, I am become a preacher; 
 No, prince, I am an humble suppliant, 
 And to prepare thine ears make this ex- 
 ordium. 
 To pierce thine eyes and heart, behold this 
 
 spectacle : 
 
 Three generations of the Saxon blood, 
 Descended lineally from forth my loins, 
 Kneeling and crying to thy mightiness. 
 First look on me, and think what I have 
 
 been, 
 
 For now I think myself of no account 
 Next Caesar greatest man in Germany, 
 Nearly allied, and ever friend to England. 
 But woman's sighs move more in manly 
 
 hearts ; 
 
 O, see the hands she elevates to heaven, 
 Behold those eyes that whilome were thy 
 
 joys, 
 
 Uttering dumb eloquence in crystal tears. 
 If these exclaims and sights be ordinary, 
 Then look with pity .on thy other self: 
 This is thy flesh and blood, bone of thy 
 
 bone, 
 
 A goodly boy, the image of his sire. 
 Turn'st thou away ? O, were thy father here, 
 He would, as I do, take him in his arms, 
 And sweetly kiss his grandchild in the 
 
 face, 
 
 O Edward, too young in experience, 
 That canst not look into the grievous 
 
 wrack 
 Ensuing this thy obstinate denial; 
 
 O, Edward, too young in experience, 
 That canst not see into the future good 
 Ensuing thy most just acknowledgment; 
 Hear me, thy truest friend, I will repeat 
 
 them. 
 
 For good thou hast an heir indubitate, 
 Whose eyes already sparkle majesty, 
 Born in true wedlock of a princely mother, 
 And all the German princes to thy 
 
 friends; 
 Where, on the contrary, thine eyes shall 
 
 see 
 
 The speedy tragedy of thee and thine. 
 Like Athamas first will I seize upon 
 Thy young unchristen'd and despised son 
 And with his guiltless brains bepaint the 
 
 stones ; 
 
 Then, like Virginius, will I kill my child, 
 Unto thine eyes a pleasing spectacle ; 
 Yet shall it be a momentary pleasure, 
 Henry of England shall mourn with me, 
 For thou thyself, Edward, shall make the 
 
 third, 
 And be an actor in this bloody scene. 
 
 He. Ach mcin siisse F.duart, mein herz- 
 kin, mein scherzkin, mein herziges, cinigcs 
 herz, mcin allerlievest husband, I prythcc, 
 mein leve, see me freindlich an; good 
 sweetheart, tell the truth : and at least to 
 me and dein allerlievest child show pity ! 
 dan ich bin dein, und dow bist mein, dow 
 hast me geven ein kindclein; O Eduart, 
 siisse Eduart, erbarme sein ! 
 
 Ed. O Hedewick, peace ! thy speeches 
 pierce my soul. 
 
 He. Hedewick? does your excellency 
 hight me Hedewick? Siisse Eduart, yo-iv 
 weet, ich bin your allerlieveste wife. 
 Ed. The priest, I must confess, made 
 
 thee my wife ; 
 
 Curst be the damned villainous adulterer, 
 That with so foul a blot divorced our love. 
 He. O mein allerlievester, highborn. 
 Furst und Herr, denck dat unser Hcrr 
 Gott sitzt in Himmelstrone, and sees the 
 heart, ^lnd will my cause wol rechcn. 
 Sa. Edward, hold me not up with long 
 
 delays, 
 But quickly say, wilt thou confess the 
 
 truth? 
 Ed. As true as I am born of kingly 
 
 lineage, 
 And am the best Plantagenet next my 
 
 father, 
 I never carnally did touch her body. 
 
 Sa. Edward, this answer had we long 
 
 ago ; 
 See'st thou this brat ? Speak quickly, or 
 
 he dies. 
 
4 o8 
 
 ALPHONSUS EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Ed. His death will be more piercing to 
 
 thine eyes 
 Than unto mine ; he is not of my kin. 
 
 He. O Father, O mein Vatter, spare mein 
 Kindt! O Eduart, O Prince Eduart, speak 
 now oder nimmermehr ! dies Kindt ist 
 mein, es soil nicht sterben ! 
 
 Sa. Have I dishonoured myself so 
 
 much, 
 To bow my knee to thee, which never 
 
 bow'd 
 
 But to my God, and am I thus rewarded ? 
 Is he not thine ? Speak, murderous-minded 
 
 prince ! 
 
 Ed. O Saxon, Saxon, mitigate thy rage. 
 First thy exceeding great humility, 
 When to thy captive prisoner thou didst 
 
 kneel, 
 
 Had almost made my lying tongue confess 
 The deed, which I protest I never did ; 
 But thy not causeless furious madding 
 
 humour, 
 
 Together with thy daughter's piteous cries, 
 Whom as my life and soul I dearly love, 
 Had thoroughly almost persuaded me 
 To save her honour and belie myself, 
 And were I not a prince of so high blood, 
 And bastards have no sceptre-bearing 
 
 hands, 
 
 I would in silence smother up this blot, 
 And, in compassion of thy daughter's 
 
 wrong, 
 
 Be counted father to another's child ; 
 For why, my soul knows her unguiltiness. 
 Sa. Smooth words in bitter sense ; is 
 
 this thine answer? 
 
 He. Ey Vatter, gebe mir mein Kindt, das 
 Kindt ist mein. 
 
 Sa. Das we is ich wol ; er sagt, es ist 
 nicht sein, therefore it dies. 
 
 [He dashes out the child's brains. 
 He. O Gott in deinem Trone ! O mein 
 Kindt, mein Kindt! 
 Sa. There, murderer ! take his head and 
 
 breathless limbs, 
 There's flesh enough, bury it in thy 
 
 bowels, 
 
 Eat that, or die for hunger ; I protest 
 Thou gett'st no other food till that be 
 
 spent. 
 And now to thee, lewd whore, dishonour'd 
 
 strumpet, 
 
 Thy turn is next ; therefore prepare to die. 
 Ed. O mighty Duke of Saxon, spare thy 
 
 child. 
 Sit. She is thy wife, Edward, and thou 
 
 shouldst spare her ; 
 
 One gracious word of thine will save her 
 life. 
 
 L 
 
 Ed. I do confess, Saxon, she is mine 
 
 own, 
 
 As I have married her I'll live with her, 
 Comfort thyself, sweet Hedewick and sweet 
 
 wife. 
 
 He. Ach, ach und ivehe, warumb sagt 
 your excellence nicht so before, now is't 
 too late, unser armes Kindt is killed. 
 Ed. Though thou be mine, and I do 
 
 pity thee, 
 I would not nurse a bastard for a son. 
 
 He. O Eduart, now I mark your mean- 
 ing ; ich should be your whore ; mein 
 Vatter, ich begehr upon meine knie, last 
 mich lieber sterben. Ade, false Eduart 
 false prince, ich begehrs nicht. 
 
 Sa. Unprincely thoughts do hammer in 
 
 thy head ; 
 Is't not enough that thou hast shamed her 
 
 once, 
 
 And seen the bastard torn before thy face ; 
 But thou wouldst get more brats for 
 
 butchery ? 
 
 No, Hedewick, thou shalt not live the day. 
 He. O Herr Gott, nimb meine Seele in 
 deine Hende. 
 
 Sa. It is thy hand that gives this deadly 
 
 stroke. \Stabsher. 
 
 He. O Herr Sabaot, das mein unschuldt 
 
 an tag kommen mocht ! 
 
 Ed. Her blood be on that wretched 
 
 villain's head 
 That is the cause of all this misery. 
 
 Sa. Now, murderous-minded prince, 
 
 hast thou beheld 
 Upon my child and child's child thy 
 
 desire ; 
 
 Swear to thyself, that here I firmly swear, 
 That thou shalt surely follow her to-mor- 
 row, 
 
 In company of thy adulterous aunt. 
 Jailor, convey him to his dungeon, 
 If he be hungry, I have thrown him 
 
 meat, 
 If thirsty, let him suck the new-born 
 
 limbs. 
 Ed. O heavens and heavenly powers, if 
 
 you be just, 
 Reward the author of this wickedness. 
 
 [Exit Edward and Jailor. 
 
 Enter Alexander. 
 
 Ale, To arms, great Duke of Saxony, to 
 
 arms ! 
 
 MyLordofCollenand the Earl of Cornwall, 
 In rescue of Prince Edward and the Em- 
 press, 
 
 Have levied fresh supplies and presently 
 Will bid you battle in the open field. 
 
ACT V.] 
 
 ALPHONSUS EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 
 
 409 
 
 Sa. They never could have come in 
 
 fitter time ; 
 Thirst they for blood? and they shall 
 
 quench their thirst. 
 
 Ale. O piteous spectacle ! poor Princess 
 Hedewick ! 
 Sa. Stand not to pity, lend a helping 
 
 hand. 
 Ale. What slave hath murdered this 
 
 guiltless child ? 
 Sa. What? darest thou call me slave 
 
 unto my face ? 
 
 I tell thee, villain, I have done this deed, 
 And seeing the father's and the grandsire's 
 
 heart 
 
 Can give consent and execute their own, 
 Wherefore should such a rascal as thyself 
 Presume to pity them, whom we have slain? 
 
 Ale. Pardon me, if it be presumption 
 To pity them, I will presume no more. 
 Sa. Then help, I long to be amidst my 
 foes. 
 
 [Exeunt, bearing off the dead bodies. 
 
 ACT THE FIFTH. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Alarum and retreat. Enter Richard and 
 Collen, with drums and Soldiers. 
 
 Ri. What means your Excellence to 
 
 sound retreat ? 
 
 This is the day of doom unto our friends ; 
 Before sunset my sister and my nephew, 
 Unless we rescue them, must lose their 
 
 lives ; 
 
 The cause admits no dalliance nor delay ; 
 He that so tyrant-like hath slain his own, 
 Will take no pity on a stranger's blood. 
 Co. At my entreaty, ere we strike the 
 
 battle, 
 
 Let's summon out our enemies to a parley: 
 Words spoke in time have virtue, power, 
 
 and price, 
 
 And mildness may prevail and take effect, 
 When dint of sword perhaps will aggra- 
 vate. 
 Ri. Then sound a parley to fulfil your 
 
 mind, 
 Although I know no good can follow it. 
 
 [A parley. 
 
 Enter Alphonsus, Empress, Saxon, Ed- 
 ward, prisoner, Trier, Brandenburg, 
 Alexander, and Soldiers. 
 
 Alp. Why, how now, Emperor that 
 should have been, 
 
 Are these the English general's brava- 
 does? 
 
 Make you assault so hotly at the first, 
 
 And in the self-same moment sound re- ' 
 treat ? 
 
 To let you know that neither war nor 
 words 
 
 Have power for to divert their fatal 
 doom, 
 
 Thus are we both resolved : if we triumph, 
 
 And by the right and justice r f our cause 
 
 Obtain the victory, as I doubt it not, 
 
 Then both of you shall bear them com- 
 pany, 
 
 And ere sunset we will perform our oaths. 
 
 With just effusion of their guilty bloods ; 
 
 If you be conquerors, and we o'ercome, 
 
 Carry not that conceit to rescue them, 
 
 Myself will be the executioner, 
 
 And with these poniards frustrate all your 
 hopes ; 
 
 Making you triumph in a bloody field. 
 Sa. To put you out of doubt that we in- 
 tend it, 
 
 Please it your majesty to take your seat, 
 
 And make a demonstration of your mean- 
 ing. 
 
 Alp. First on my right hand bind the 
 English whore, 
 
 That venomous serpent, nursed within my 
 breast , 
 
 To suck the vital blood out of my veins ; 
 
 My Empress must have some pre-eminence, 
 
 Especially at such a bloody banquet ; 
 
 Her state and love to me deserves no less. 
 Sa. That to Prince Edward I may show 
 my love, 
 
 And do the latest honour to his state, 
 
 These hands of mine that never chained 
 any, 
 
 Shall fasten him in fetters to the chair. 
 
 Now, princes, are you ready for the 
 
 battle? 
 
 Co. Now art thou right the picture of 
 thyself, 
 
 Seated in height of all thy tyranny ; 
 
 But tell us, what intends this spectacle ? 
 Alp. To make the certainty of their 
 deaths more plain, 
 
 And cancel all your hopes to save their 
 lives ; 
 
 While Saxon leads the troops into the 
 field, 
 
 Thus will I vex their souls with sight of 
 death, 
 
 Loudly exclaiming in their half-dead ears, 
 
 That if we win they shall have company, 
 
 Videlicet the English Emperor, 
 
 And you, my lord Archbishop of Collen ; 
 
 I 
 
ALPHONSUS EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 
 
 [ACT V. 
 
 If we be vanquish'd then they must expect 
 Speedy despatch from these two daggers' 
 
 points. 
 Co. What canst thou, tyrant, then ex- 
 
 rt but death ? 
 __ , . Tush, hear me out ; that hand which 
 
 shed their blood 
 
 Can do the like to rid me out of bonds. 
 Ri. But that's a damned resolution. 
 Alp. So must this desperate disease be 
 
 cured. 
 Ri. O Saxon, I'll yield myself and all my 
 
 power 
 
 To save my nephew, though my sister die. 
 Sa. Thy brother's kingdom shall not 
 
 save his life. 
 Ed. U ncle, you see these savage-minded 
 
 men 
 Will have no other ransom but my 
 
 blood ; 
 England hath heirs, though I be never 
 
 king, 
 And hearts and hands to scourge this 
 
 tyranny ; 
 And so farewell. 
 
 Em. A thousand times farewell, 
 Sweet brother Richard and brave Prince of 
 
 Collen. 
 Sa. What, Richard, hath this object 
 
 pierced thy heart ? 
 
 By this imagine how it went with me 
 When yesterday I slew my children. 
 Ri. O Saxon, I entreat thee on my 
 
 knees. 
 Sa. Thou shalt obtain like mercy with 
 
 thy kneeling 
 As lately I obtain'd at Edward's hands. 
 
 Ri. Pity the tears I pour before thy 
 . feet. 
 Sa. Pity those tears ? why, I shed 
 
 bloody tears. 
 
 Ri. I'll do the like to save Prince Ed- 
 ward's life. 
 Sa. Then like a warrior spill it in the 
 
 field, 
 My grief-ful anger cannot be appeased 
 
 By sacrifice of any but himself 
 Thou hast dishonour'd me, 
 
 and thou shalt 
 
 die! 
 
 Therefore alarum, 'larum to the fight ! 
 That thousands more may bear thee com- 
 
 Ri. Nephew and sister, now farewell for 
 
 ever. 
 Ed. Heaven and the right prevail, and 
 
 let me die ! 
 Uncle, farewell ! 
 Em. Brother, farewell ! until we meet in 
 
 heaven. \Exeunt. 
 
 Manent Alphonsus, Edward, Empress, 
 Alexander. 
 
 Alp. Here's farewell, brother, nephew, 
 
 uncle, aunt, 
 As if in thousand years you should not 
 
 meet. 
 Good nephew and good aunt, content 
 
 yourselves, 
 The sword of Saxon and these daggers' 
 
 points, 
 
 Before the evening-star doth show itself, 
 Will take sufficient order for your meeting. 
 But Alexander, my trusty Alexander, 
 Run to the watch-tower as I pointed thee, 
 And by thy life I charge thee, look unto it 
 Thou be the first to bring me certain word, 
 If we be conquerors, or conquered. 
 Ale. With careful speed I will perform 
 this charge. [Exit. 
 
 Alp. Now have I leisure yet to talk with 
 
 you. 
 
 Fair Isabel, the Palsgrave's paramour, 
 Wherein was he a better man than I ? 
 O, wherefore should thy love to him effect 
 Such deadly hate -unto thy Emperor ? 
 Yet well fare wenches that can love good 
 
 fellows 
 
 And not mix murder with adultery. 
 Em. Great Emperor, I dare not call you. 
 
 husband, 
 Your conscience knows my heart's unguilti- 
 
 ness. 
 Alp. Didst thou not poison, or consent 
 
 to poison us ? 
 Em. Should any but your highness tell 
 
 me so, 
 
 I should forget my patience at my death, 
 And call him villain, liar, murderer. 
 Alp. She that doth so miscall me at her 
 
 end, 
 
 Edward, I prithee, speak thy conscience, 
 Think'st thou not that in her prosperity 
 She's vex'd my soul with bitter words and 
 
 deeds ? 
 
 O prince of England, I do count thee wise, 
 That thou wilt not be cumber'd with a 
 
 wife, 
 When thou hadst stolen her dainty rose- 
 
 corance, 
 
 And pluck'd the flower of her virginity. 
 Ed. Tyrant of Spain, thou liest in thy- 
 
 throat. 
 Alp. Good words ! thou seest thy life is 
 
 in our hands. 
 Ed. I see, thou art become a common 
 
 hangman, 
 
 An office far more fitting to thy mind 
 Than princely to the imperial dignity. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 ALPHOXSUS EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 
 
 411 
 
 Alp. I do not exercise on common 
 
 persons ; 
 Your highness is a prince, and she an 
 
 empress, 
 
 I therefore count not of a dignity. 
 Hark, Edward, how they labour all in vain, 
 With loss of many a valiant soldier's life, 
 To rescue them whom heaven and we have 
 
 doom'd ; 
 Dost thoti not tremble when thou think'st 
 
 upon't? 
 Ed. Let guilty minds tremble at sight of 
 
 death. 
 
 My heart is of the nature of the palm, 
 Not to be broken, till the highest bud 
 Be bent and tied unto the lowest root. 
 I rather wonder that thy tyrant's heart 
 Can give consent, that those thy butcherous 
 
 hands 
 
 Should offer violence to thy flesh and blood. 
 See, how her guiltless innocence doth plead 
 In silent oratory of chastest tears. 
 Alp. Those tears proceed from fury and 
 
 cursed heart ; 
 
 I know the stomach of your English dames. 
 Em. No, Emperor, these tears proceed 
 
 from grief. 
 Alp. Grief, that thou canst not be 
 
 revenged of us. 
 Em. Grief, that your highness is so ill 
 
 advised, 
 
 To offer violence to my nephew Edward. 
 Since then there must be sacrifice of blood, 
 Let my heart-blood save both your bloods 
 
 unspilt, 
 For of his death thy heart must pay the 
 
 guilt. 
 Ed. No, aunt, I will not buy my life so 
 
 dear ; 
 
 Therefore, Alphonsus, if thou beest a man, 
 Shed manly blood and let me end this 
 
 strife. 
 Alp. Here's straining courtesy at a bitter 
 
 feast! 
 Content thee, Empress, for thou art my 
 
 wife, 
 Thou shalt obtain thy boon and die the 
 
 death, 
 
 And for it were unprincely to deny 
 So slight request unto so great a lord, 
 Edward shall bear thee company in death. 
 [A retreat. 
 
 But hark, the heat of battle hath an end ; 
 One side or other hath the victory, 
 
 Enter Alexander. 
 
 And see, where Alexander sweating comes! 
 Speak, man, what news? speak, shall I die 
 or live ? 
 
 Shall I stab sure, or else prolong their lives 
 To grievous torments? Speak, am I 
 
 conqueror ? 
 What, hath thy haste bereft thee of thy 
 
 speech ? 
 Hast thou not breath to speak one syllable ? 
 
 speak, thy dalliance kills me, won or 
 
 lost? 
 
 Ale. Lost. 
 Alp. Ah me! my senses fail, my sight is 
 
 gone ! [Amazed, lets fall the daggers. 
 Ale. Will not your grace despatch the 
 
 strumpet queen ? 
 Shall she then live, and we be doom'd to 
 
 death ? 
 Is your heart faint, or is your hand too 
 
 weak? 
 Shall servile fear break your so sacred 
 
 oaths ? 
 
 Methinks an emperor should hold his word. 
 Give me the weapons, I will soon despatch 
 
 them, 
 
 My father's yelling ghost cries for revenge ; 
 His blood within my veins boils for revenge; 
 0, give me leave, Caesar, to take revenge ! 
 Alp. Upon condition that thou wilt pro- 
 test 
 
 To take revenge upon the murderers, 
 Without respect of dignity or state, 
 Afflicted, speedy, pitiless revenge, 
 
 1 will commit this dagger to thy trust, 
 And give thee leave to execute thy will. 
 
 Ale. What need I here reiterate the 
 
 deeds 
 
 Which deadly sorrow made me perpetrate? 
 How near did I entrap Prince Richard's 
 
 life ; 
 
 How sure set I the knife to Mentz's heart ; 
 How cunningly was Palsgrave doom'd to 
 
 death ; 
 
 How subtilely was Bohem poisoned ; 
 How slily did I satisfy my lust, 
 Commixing dulcet love with deadly hate, 
 When Princess Hedewick lost her maiden- 
 head, 
 
 Sweetly embracing me for England's heir. 
 Ed. O execrable deeds ! 
 Em. O savage mind ! 
 Ale. Edward, I give thee leave to hear 
 
 of this, 
 
 But will forbid the blabbing of your tongue. 
 Now, gracious lord and sacred Emperor, 
 Your highness knowing these and many 
 
 more, 
 Which fearless pregnancy hath wrought in 
 
 me, 
 
 You do me wrong to doubt, that I will dive 
 Into their hearts, that have not spared their 
 
 betters, 
 
412 
 
 ALPHONSUS EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Be therefore sudden lest we die ourselves, 
 I know the conqueror hastes to rescue them. 
 Alp. Thy reasons are effectual, take this 
 
 dagger ; 
 
 Yet pause awhile. 
 Em. Sweet nephew, now farewell. 
 Alp. They are most dear to me, whom 
 
 thou must kill. 
 Ed. Hark, aunt, he now begins to pity 
 
 you. 
 Ale. But they consented to my father's 
 
 death. 
 Alp. More than consented, they did 
 
 execute 
 
 Em. I will not make his majesty a liar ; 
 I kill'd thy father, therefore let me die, 
 But save the life of this unguilty prince. 
 Ed. I kill'd thy father, therefore let me 
 
 die, 
 
 But save the life of this unguilty Empress. 
 Alp. Hark thou to me, and think their 
 
 words as wind. 
 
 I kill'd thy father, therefore let me die, 
 And save the lives of these two guiltless 
 
 princes. 
 
 Art thou amazed to hear what I have said ? 
 There, take the weapon, now revenge at 
 
 full 
 
 Thy father's death and those my dire de- 
 ceits, 
 
 That made thee murderer of so many souls. 
 Ale. O Emperor, how cunningly wouldst 
 
 thou 
 
 Entrap my simple youth to credit fictions ! 
 Thou kill my father ? no, no, Emperor, 
 Caesar did love Lorenzo all too dearly : 
 Seeing thy forces now are vanquished, 
 Frustrate thy hopes, thy highness like to 
 
 fall 
 
 Into the cruel and revengeful hands 
 Of merciless, incensed enemies, 
 Like Caius Cassius weary of thy life, 
 Now wouldst thou make thy page an 
 
 instrument 
 
 By sudden stroke to rid thee of thy bonds. 
 Alp. Hast thou forgotten, how that very 
 
 night 
 
 Thy father died I took the master-key, 
 And with a lighted torch walk'd through 
 
 the court ? 
 Ale. I must remember that, for to my 
 
 death 
 
 I never shall forget the slightest deed, 
 Which on that dismal night or day I did. 
 Alp. Thou wast no sooner in thy restful 
 
 bed, 
 
 But I disturb'd thy father of his rest, 
 And to be short, not that I hated him, 
 But for he knew my deepest secrets, 
 
 With cunning poison I did end his life. 
 Art thou his son ? Express it with a stab, 
 And make account, if I had prospered, 
 Thy date was out, thou wast already 
 
 doom'd ; 
 Thou knew'st too much of me to live with 
 
 me. 
 Ale. What wonders do I hear, great 
 
 Emperor ! 
 
 Not that I [now] do steadfastly believe 
 That thou did'st murder my beloved father, 
 But in mere pity of thy vanquish'd state 
 I undertake this execution : 
 Yet for I fear the sparkling majesty, 
 Which issues from thy most imperial eyes, 
 May strike relenting passion to my heart, 
 And, after wound received from fainting 
 
 hand, 
 
 Thou fall half-dead among thine enemies, 
 I crave thy highness leave to bind thee first. 
 Alp. Then bind rne quickly, use me as 
 
 thou please. 
 
 Em. O villain ! wilt thou kill thy sove- 
 reign? 
 Ale. Your highness sees that I am forced 
 
 unto it. 
 Alp. Fair Empress, I shame to ask thee 
 
 pardon, 
 Whom I have wrong'd so many thousand 
 
 ways. 
 Em. Dread lord and husband, leave 
 
 these desperate thoughts, 
 Doubt not the princes may be reconciled. 
 Ale. 'T may be the princes will be re- 
 conciled, 
 But what is that to me ? All potentates on 
 
 earth 
 
 Can never reconcile my grieved soul. 
 Thou slew'st my father, thou didst make 
 
 this hand 
 
 Mad with revenge to murder innocents ; 
 Now hear, how in the height of all thy 
 
 pride 
 The rightful gods have pour'd their justful 
 
 wrath 
 
 Upon thy tyrant's head, devil as thou art, 
 And saved by miracles these princes' lives. 
 For know, thy side hath got the victory, 
 And Saxon triumphs o'er his dearest 
 
 friends ; 
 
 Richard and Collen both are prisoners, 
 And everything hath sorted to thy wish ; 
 Only hath heaven put it in my mind 
 (For he alone directed then my thoughts, 
 Although my meaning was most mischie- 
 vous) 
 
 To tell thee thou hadst lost, in certain hope 
 That suddenly thou would'st have slain 
 them both ; 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 ALPHONSUS EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 
 
 For if the princes came to talk about it, 
 I greatly fear'd their lives might be pro- 
 
 long'd. 
 
 Ait thou not mad to think on this deceit ? 
 I'll make thee madder with tormenting 
 
 thee. 
 
 I tell thee, arch-thief, villain, murderer, 
 Thy forces have obtain'd the victory, 
 Victory leads thy foes in captive bands ; 
 This victory hath crown'd thee emperor, 
 Only myself have vanquish'd victory 
 And triumph in the victor's overthrow. 
 Alp. O Alexander ! spare thy prince's 
 
 life. 
 Ale. Even now thou didst entreat the 
 
 contiary. 
 Alp. Think what I am that beg my life 
 
 of thee. 
 Ale. Think what he was whom thou 
 
 hast doom'd to death. 
 But lest the princes do surprise us here, 
 Before I have perform'd my strange re- 
 venge, 
 
 I will be sudden in the execution. 
 Alp. I will accept any condition. 
 Ale. Then in the presence of the Em- 
 press, 
 
 The captive prince of England, and my- 
 self, 
 Forswear the joys of heaven, the sight of 
 
 God, 
 Thy soul's salvation, and thy saviour 
 
 Christ, 
 
 Damning thy soul to endless pains of hell : 
 Do this, or die upon my rapier's point. 
 Em. Sweet lord and husband, spit him 
 
 in his face ! 
 
 Die like a man, and live not like a devil. 
 Ale. What ! Wilt thou save thy life, 
 
 and damn thy soul ? 
 Alp. O, hold thy hand, Alphonsus doth 
 
 renounce 
 Ed. Aunt, stop your ears, hear not this 
 
 blasphemy. 
 Em. Sweet husband, think that Christ 
 
 did die for thee. 
 Alp. Alphonsus doth renounce the joys 
 
 of heaven , 
 The sight of angels and his Saviour's 
 
 blood, 
 
 And gives his soul unto the devil's power. 
 Ale. Thus will I make delivery of the 
 
 deed, 
 
 Die and be damn'd ! Now am I satisfied ! 
 
 [Stabs him. 
 
 Ed. O damned miscreant, what hast 
 
 thou done ! 
 
 Ale. When I have leisure I will answer 
 thee ; 
 
 Meanwhile I'll take my heels and save my- 
 self. 
 
 If T be ever call'd in question, 
 I hope your majesties will save my life, 
 You have so happily preserved yours ; 
 Did I not think it, both of you should die. 
 [Exit Alexander, 
 
 Enter Saxon, Brandenburg, Trier ; 
 Richard and Collen as prisoners, and 
 Soldiers. 
 
 Sa. Bring forth these daring champions 
 
 to the block ! 
 
 Comfort yourselves, you shall have com- 
 pany. 
 
 Great Emperor Where is his majesty ? 
 What bloody spectacle do I behold ? 
 Em. Revenge, revenge, O Saxon, 
 
 Brandenburg ! 
 My lord is slain, Caesar is doom'd to 
 
 death. 
 Ed. Princes, make haste, follow the 
 
 murderer ! 
 Sa. Is Caesar slain? 
 Ed. Follow the murderer ! 
 Em. Why stand you gazing on another 
 
 thus? 
 
 Follow the murderer ! 
 Sa. What murderer ? 
 Ed. The villain Alexander's slain his 
 
 lord! 
 Make after him with speed, so shall you 
 
 hear 
 
 Such villany as you have never heard. 
 Br. My lord of Trier, we both with our 
 
 light horse 
 Will scour the coasts and quickly bring 
 
 him in. 
 
 Sa. That can your excellence alone per- 
 form ; [Exit Brandenburg. 
 Stay you, my lord, and guard the prisoners, 
 While I, alas ! unhappiest prince alive, 
 Over his trunk consume myself in tears. 
 Hath Alexander done this damned deed? 
 That cannot be, why should he slay his 
 
 lord? 
 
 O cruel fate ! O miserable me ! 
 Methinks I now present Mark Anthony, | 
 Folding dead Julius Caesar in mine arms. 
 No, no, I rather will present Achilles 
 And on Patroclus' tomb do sacrifice. 
 T^et me be spurn 'd and hated as a dog, 
 But I perform more direful, bloody rites 
 Than Thetis' son for Menetiades. 
 
 Ed. Leave mourning for thy foes, pity 
 
 thy friends. 
 Sa. Friends have I none, and that which 
 
 grieves my soul 
 Is want of foes to work my wreak upon ; 
 
414 
 
 ALPHONSUS EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 But were you traitors four, four hundred 
 
 thousand, 
 Then might I satisfy myself with blood. 
 
 Enter Brandenburg, Alexander, and 
 Soldiers. 
 
 Sa. See, Alexander, where Caesar lieth 
 
 slain, 
 
 The guilt whereof the traitors cast on thee; 
 Speak, canst thou tell who slew thy 
 sovereign ? 
 Ale. Why, who but I ? How should I 
 
 curse myself, 
 
 If any but myself had done this deed ! 
 This happy hand bless'd be my hand, 
 
 therefore ! 
 
 Revenged my father's death upon his soul : 
 And, Saxon, thou hast cause to curse and 
 
 ban 
 
 That he is dead, before thou didst inflict 
 Torments on him that so hath torn thy 
 
 heart. 
 
 Sa. What mysteries are these? 
 Br. Princes, can you inform us of the 
 
 truth ? 
 
 Ed. The deed's so heinous that my fal- 
 tering tongue 
 
 Abhors the utterance, yet I must tell it. 
 Ale. Your highness" shall not need to 
 
 take the pains ; 
 
 What you abhor to tell, I joy to tell. 
 Therefore be silent and give audience. 
 You mighty men and rulers of the earth, 
 Prepare your ears to hear of stratagems 
 Whose dire effects have gall'd your princely 
 
 hearts, 
 Confounded your conceits, muffled your 
 
 eyes. 
 
 First to begin, this villanous fiend of hell 
 Murder'd my father, sleeping in his chair ; 
 The reason why, because he only knew 
 All plots and complots of his villany ; 
 His death was made the basis and the 
 
 ground 
 Of every mischief that hath troubled you. 
 
 Sa. If thou, thy father, and thy progeny 
 Were hang'd and burnt, and broken on 
 
 the wheel, 
 How could their deaths heap mischief on 
 
 our heads ? 
 Ale. An' if you will not hear the reason 
 
 choose ! 
 
 I tell thee, I have slain an emperor, 
 And thereby think myself as good a man 
 As thou, or any man in Christendom ; 
 Thou shalt entreat me, ere I tell thee more. 
 Sa. Proceed. 
 Ale. Not I. 
 Sa. 1 prithee now proceed. 
 
 Ale. Since you entreat me, then, I will 
 
 proceed. 
 This murderous devil, having slain my 
 
 father, 
 
 Buzz'd cunningly into my credulous ears, 
 That by a general council of the states, 
 And, as it were, by act of parliament, 
 The seven electors had set down his death, 
 And made the Empress executioner, 
 Transferring all the guilt from him to you. 
 This I believed, and first did set upon 
 The life of princely Richard, by the boors, 
 But how my purpose fail'd in that, his 
 
 grace best knows ; 
 Next, by a double intricate deceit, 
 Midst all his mirth, was Bohem poisoned, 
 And good old Mentz, to save Alphonsus' 
 
 life 
 
 (Who at that instant was in perfect health), 
 Twixt jest and earnest made a sacrifice ; 
 As for the Palatine, your graces knew 
 His highness' and the queen's unguiltiness j 
 But now, my lord of Saxon, hark to me, 
 Father of Saxon should I rather call you, 
 Twas I that made your grace a grand- 
 father. 
 Prince Edward plough'd the ground, I 
 
 sow'd the seed ; 
 Poor Hedewick bore the most unhappy 
 
 fruit, 
 
 Created in a most unlucky hour, 
 To a most violent and untimely death. 
 Sa. O loathsome villain ! O detested 
 
 deeds ! 
 
 guiltless prince ! O me most miserable ! 
 Br. But tell us, who reveal'd to thee at 
 
 last 
 
 This shameful guilt and our unguiltiness ? 
 Ale. Why, that's the wonder, lords, and 
 
 thus it was : 
 
 When like a tyrant he had ta'en his seat, 
 And that the fury of the fight began, 
 Upon the highest watch-tower of the fort 
 It was my office to behold aloft 
 The war's event, and having seen the end, 
 
 1 saw how victory, with equal wings, 
 Hung hovering 'twixt the battles here and 
 
 there, 
 
 Till at last the English lions fled, 
 And Saxon's side obtain'd the victory ; 
 Which seen, I posted from the turret's top 
 More furiously than e'er Lapcoon ran, 
 When Trojan hands drew in Troy's over- 
 throw, 
 
 But yet as fatally as he or any. 
 The tyrant, seeing me, stared in my face, 
 And suddenly demanded what's the news ; 
 I, as the fates would have it, hoping 
 that he 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 ALPHONSUS EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 
 
 4T5 
 
 Even in a twinkling would have slain 'em 
 
 both, 
 
 For so he swore before the fight began, 
 Cried bitterly that ho had lost the day, 
 The sound whereof did kill his dastard 
 
 heart, 
 
 And made the villain desperately confess 
 The murder of my father, praying me 
 With dire revenge to rid him of his life. 
 Short tale to make, I bound him cun- 
 ningly, 
 Told him of my deceit, triumphing o'er 
 
 him, 
 
 And lastly with my rapier slew him dead. 
 Sa. O heavens ! justly have you ta'en 
 
 revenge. 
 But thou, thou murderous, adulterous 
 
 slave, 
 
 What bull of Phalaris, what strange device 
 Shall we invent to take away thy life? 
 Ale. If Edward and the Empress, whom 
 
 I saved, 
 
 Will not requite it now, and save my life, 
 Then let me die : contentedly I die, 
 Having at last revenged my father's 
 
 death. 
 Sa. Villain, not all the world shall save 
 
 thy life. 
 Ed. Hadst thou not been author of my 
 
 Hedewick's death, 
 I would have certainly saved thee from 
 
 death ; 
 
 But if my sentence now may take effect, 
 I would adjudge the villain to be hang'd 
 As here the Jews are hang'd in Germany. 
 Sa. Young prince, it shall be so ; go, 
 
 drag the slave 
 
 Unto the place of execution : 
 There let the Judas, on a Jewish ga!lows, 
 Hang by the heels, between two English 
 
 mastiffs ; 
 There feed on dogs, let dogs there feed on 
 
 thee, 
 
 And by all means prolong his misery. 
 Ale. O, might thyself, and all these 
 
 English curs, 
 
 Instead of mastiff-dogs, hang by my side, 
 How sweetly would I tug upon your flesh. 
 Sa. Away with him, surfer him not to 
 
 speak. 
 
 And now, my lords, Collen, Trier, and 
 Brandenburg, 
 
 Whose hearts are bruised to think upon 
 these woes, 
 
 Though no man hath such reason as my- 
 self; 
 
 We of the seven electors that remain 
 
 After so many bloody massacres, 
 
 Kneeling upon our knees, humbly entreat 
 
 Your excellence to be our emperor. 
 
 The royalties of the coronation 
 
 Shall be, at Aix, shortly solemnized. 
 Co. Brave, princely Richard, now refuse 
 it not, 
 
 Though the election be made in tears, 
 
 Joy shall attend thy coronation. 
 
 Hi. It stands not with mine honour to 
 deny it, 
 
 Yet, by mine honour, fain I would re- 
 fuse it. 
 
 Ed. Uncle, the weight of all these 
 miseries 
 
 Maketh my heart as heavy as your own, 
 
 But an imperial crown would lighten it ; 
 
 Let this one reason make you take the 
 
 crown. 
 
 Ri. What's that, sweet nephew ? 
 Ed. Sweet uncle, this it is ; 
 
 Was never Englishman yet emperor, 
 
 Therefore to honour England and your- 
 self, 
 
 Let private sorrow yield to public fame, 
 
 That once an Englishman bare Caesar's 
 
 name. 
 
 Ri. Nephew, thou hast prevail'd ; 
 princes, stand up, 
 
 We humbly do accept your sacred offer. 
 Co. Then sound the trumpets, and cry, 
 
 Vivat Ccesar ! 
 All. Vivat Casar! 
 
 Co. Richardus, Dei Gratia Romanorum 
 Imperator, semper Augustus, Comes 
 Cor nubia. 
 
 Ri. Sweet sister, now let Caesar comfort 
 you, 
 
 And all the rest that yet are comfort- 
 less, 
 
 Let them expect from English Caesar's 
 hands 
 
 Peace and abundance of all earthly joy ! 
 
Revenge for Honour.* 
 
 THE PERSONS ACTING. 
 
 Almanzor, Caliph of Arabia. 
 
 Abilqualit, his eldest son. 
 
 Abrahen his son, by a second wife, brother 
 
 to Abilqualit. 
 Tarifa, an old general, conqueror of Spain, 
 
 tutor to Abilqualit. 
 Mura, a rough lord, a soldier, kinsman 
 
 by his mother to Abrahen. 
 
 Selinthus, an honest, merry court lord. 
 Mesithes, a court eunuch, attendant on 
 
 Abilqualit. 
 
 Osman, a captain to Tarifa. 
 Gaselles, another captain. 
 Caropia, wife to Mura, first beloved of 
 
 Abrahen, then of Abilqualit. 
 Perilinda, her woman. 
 
 Simanthes, a court lord, allied to Abraken. \ Soldiers, Mutes, Guard, Attendants, 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 Our author thinks 'tis not i' th' power of 
 
 wit, 
 
 Invention, art, nor industry, to fit 
 The several fantasies which in this age, 
 With a predominant humour, rule the 
 
 stage. 
 
 Some men cry out for Satyr, others choose 
 Merely to story to confine each Muse ; 
 Most like no play, but such as gives large 
 
 birth 
 To that which they judiciously term 
 
 mirth. 
 Nor will the best works with their liking 
 
 crown, 
 Except 't be graced with part of fool or 
 
 clown. 
 
 Hard and severe the task is then to 
 
 write, 
 
 So as may please each various appetite. 
 Our author hopes well though, that in this 
 
 play, 
 
 He has endeavour 'd so, he justly may 
 Gain liking from you all, unless those 
 
 few 
 Who will dislike, be't ne'er so good, so 
 
 new ; 
 
 The rather gentlemen, he hopes, 'cause I 
 Am a main actor in this tragedy : 
 You've graced me sometimes in another 
 
 sphere, 
 And I do hope you'll not dislike me 
 
 here. 
 
 ACT THE FIRST. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 Enter Selinthus, Gaselles, and Osman. 
 
 Se. No murmurings, noble Captains. 
 Ga. Murmurings, cousin ? 
 This peace is worse to men of war and 
 action 
 
 | Than fasting in the face o'th' foe, or lodging 
 On the cold earth. Give me the camp, 
 
 say I, 
 
 Where in the suttler's palace on pay-day 
 We may the precious liquor quaff, and 
 
 kiss 
 His buxom wife ; who though she be not 
 
 clad 
 
 In Persian silks, or costly Tyrian purples, 
 Has a clean skin, soft thighs, and whole- 
 some corps, 
 
 Fit for the trailer of the puissant pike 
 To solace in delight with. 
 
 Os. Here in your lewd city 
 The harlots do avoid us sons o'th' sword 
 
ACT I., SCENE I.] 
 
 REVENGE FOR HONOUR. 
 
 417 
 
 Worse than a severe officer. Besides, 
 Here men o' th' shop can gorge their musty 
 
 maws 
 
 With the delicious capon, and fat limbs 
 Of mutton large enough to be held shoul- 
 ders 
 O' th' ram 'mong the twelve signs, while 
 
 for pure want 
 Your soldier oft dines at the charge o' th' 
 
 dead, 
 'Mong tombs in the great mosque. 
 
 Se. 'Tis believed, coz, 
 And by the wisest few too, that i' th' camp 
 You do not feed on pleasant poults ; a 
 
 salad, 
 
 And without oil or vinegar, appeases 
 Sometimes your guts, although they keep 
 
 more noise 
 
 Than a large poolful of ingendering frogs. 
 Then for accoutrements you wear the 
 
 buff, 
 
 As you believed it heresy to change 
 For linen : surely most of yours is spent 
 In lint, to make long tents for your green 
 
 wounds 
 After an onslaught. 
 
 Ga. Coz, these are sad truths, 
 Incident to frail mortals ! 
 
 Se. You yet cry 
 Out with more eagerness still for new 
 
 wars 
 Than women for new fashions. 
 
 Os. 'Tis confess'd 
 
 Peace is more opposite to my nature than 
 The running ache in the rich usurer's feet, 
 When he roars out as if he were in hell 
 Before his time. Why, I love mischief, 
 
 coz, 
 When one may do't securely ; to cut 
 
 throats 
 With a licentious pleasure : when good 
 
 men 
 And true o' th' jury, with their frosty 
 
 beards 
 Shall not have power to give the noble 
 
 weasand, 
 Which has the steel defied, to th' hanging 
 
 mercy 
 
 Of the ungracious cord. 
 Se. Gentlemen both, 
 And cousins mine, I do believe't much 
 
 pity 
 
 To strive to reconvert you from the faith 
 You have been bred in : though your large 
 
 discourse 
 And praise, wherein you magnify your 
 
 mistress 
 War, shall scarce drive me from my quiet 
 
 sheets, 
 VOL. I. 
 
 To sleep upon a turf. But pray say, 
 
 cousins, 
 
 How do you like your general, prince, 
 Is he a right Mars? 
 
 (ni. As if his nurse had lapt him 
 In swaddling clouts of steel ; a very Hector 
 And Alcibiades. 
 
 Se. It seems he does not relish 
 These boasted sweets of war : for all his 
 
 triumphs, 
 He is reported melancholy. 
 
 Os. Want of exercise 
 
 Renders all men of actions dull as dormice; 
 Your soldier only can dance to the drum, 
 And sing a hymn of joy to the sweet 
 
 trumpet : 
 There's no music like it. 
 
 Enter Abrahen, Mura, and Simanthes. 
 
 Abr. I'll know the cause, 
 
 He shall deny me hardly else 
 Mu. His melancholy 
 
 Known whence it rises once, 't may much 
 conduce 
 
 To help our purpose. 
 
 Ga. Pray, coz, what lords are these? 
 
 They seem as full of plot as generals are 
 
 in siege, they're very serious. 
 Se. That young stripling 
 
 Is our great F.mperor's son, by his last wife : 
 
 That in the rich imbroidery's the Court 
 Hermes ; 
 
 One that has hatch'd more projects than 
 the ovens 
 
 In Egypt chickens ; the other, though they 
 call 
 
 Friends, his mere opposite planet Mars, 
 
 One that does put on a reserved gravity, 
 
 Which some call wisdom, the rough sol- 
 dier Mura, 
 
 Governor i' th' Moroccos. 
 Os. Him we've heard of 
 
 Before ; but, cousin, shall that man of trust, 
 
 Thy tailor, furnish us with new accoutre- 
 ments ? 
 
 Hast thou ta'en order for them ? 
 Se. Yes, yes, you shall 
 
 Flourish in fresh habiliments ; but you must 
 
 Promise me not to engage your corporal 
 oaths, 
 
 You will see't satisfied at the next press, 
 
 Out of the profits that arise from ransom 
 
 Of those rich yeoman's heirs that dare not 
 look 
 
 The fierce foe in the face. 
 Ga. Doubt not our truths, 
 
 Though we be given much to contradic- 
 tions, 
 
 We will not pawn oaths of that nature. 
 
4 i8 
 
 REVENGE FOR HONOUR. 
 
 [ACT 
 
 Se. Well then, this note does fetch the 
 garments : meet me, cousins, anon, at 
 supper. 
 
 [Exeunt Gaselles, Osman. 
 Os. Honourable coz, we will come, give 
 our thanks. 
 
 Enter Abilqualit. 
 
 Abr. My gracious brother, 
 
 Make us not such a stranger to your 
 thoughts, 
 
 To consume all your hours in close retire- 
 ments ; 
 
 Perhaps since you from Spain return'd a 
 victor, 
 
 With the worlds conqueror, Alexander, 
 you grieve 
 
 Nature ordain'd no other earths to van- 
 quish ; 
 
 If t be so, princely brother, we'll bear part 
 
 In your heroic melancholy. 
 Abi. Gentle youth, 
 
 Press me no farther, I still hold my temper 
 
 Free and unshaken, only some fond 
 thoughts 
 
 Of trivial moment call my faculties 
 
 To private meditations. 
 Si. Howsoe'er your highness 
 
 Does please to term them, 'tis mere melan- 
 choly, 
 
 Which next to sin is the greatest malady 
 
 That can oppress man's soul. 
 Se. They say right : 
 
 And that your grace may see what a mere 
 madness, 
 
 A very midsummer frenzy, 'tis to be 
 
 Melancholy, for any man that wants no 
 money, 
 
 I, with your pardon, will discuss unto 
 you 
 
 All sorts, all sizes, persons, and conditions, 
 
 That are infected with it ; and the reasons 
 
 Why it in each arises. 
 Abr. Learn 'd Selinthus, 
 
 Let's taste of thy philosophy. 
 Mu. Pish, 'tis unwelcome 
 
 To any one of judgment, this fond prate : 
 
 I marvel that our Emperor does permit 
 
 Fools to abound i'th' Court ! 
 Se. What makes your grave lordship 
 
 In it, I do beseech you? But, sir, mark 
 me, 
 
 The kernel of the text enucleated, 
 
 I shall confute, refute, repel, refel, 
 
 Explode, exterminate, expunge, extinguish 
 
 Like a rush-candle, this same heresy, 
 
 That "is shot-up like a pernicious mush- 
 room, 
 
 To poison true humanity. 
 
 Abr. You shall stay and hear a lecture 
 read on your disease ; you shall, as I love 
 virtue. 
 
 Se. First, the cause then 
 From whence tlnsjtatus hypochondriacws, 
 This glimmering of the gizzard (for in wild- 
 fowl 
 
 Tis term'd so by Hippocrates) arises, 
 Is, as Averroes and Avicen, 
 With Abenbucar, Baruch, and Aboffli, 
 And all the Arabic writers have affirm 'd, 
 A mere defect, that is, as we interpret, 
 
 A want of 
 
 Abi. Of what, Selinthus? 
 Se. Of wit, and please your highness ; 
 That is the cause in general, for particular 
 And special causes, they are all derived 
 From several wants ; yet they must be con- 
 
 sider'd, 
 Ponder'd, perpended, or premeditated. 
 
 Si. My lord, y'ad best be brief, 
 Your patient will be weary else. 
 
 Se. I cannot play the fool rightly, I 
 
 mean the physician, 
 Without I have licence to expatiate 
 On the disease. But, my good lord, more 
 
 briefly, 
 
 I shall declare to you like a man of wisdom 
 And no physician, who deal all in simples, 
 Why men are melancholy. First, for your 
 
 courtier. 
 
 Si. It concerns us all to be attentive, sir. 
 , Se. Your sage and serious courtier, who 
 
 does walk 
 
 With a state face, as he had dress'd himself 
 I'th 1 Emperor's glass, and had his beard 
 
 turn'd up 
 
 By the' irons royal, he will be as pensive 
 As stallion after coitum,* when he wants 
 Suits, begging suits, I mean. Methinks, 
 
 my lord, 
 You are grown something solemn on the 
 
 sudden ; 
 
 Since your monopolies and patents, which 
 Made your purse swell like a wet sponge, 
 ! have been 
 Reduced to th' last gasp. Troth, it is far 
 
 better 
 
 To confess here than in a worser place. 
 Is it not so indeed ? 
 ; Abi. Whate'er he does 
 By mine, I'm sure has hit the cause from 
 
 whence 
 Your grief springs, Lord Simanthes. 
 
 Se. No Egyptian soothsayer 
 Has truer inspirations than your small 
 
 courtier's 
 
 * Omne animal post coitum triste est. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 REVENGE FOR HONOUR. 
 
 419 
 
 From causes and wants manifold ; as when 
 
 TheEmperor's countenance with propitious 
 noise 
 
 Does not cry chink in pocket, no repute is 
 
 With mercer, nor with tailor ; nay, some- 
 times, too, 
 
 The humour's pregnant in him, when re 
 pulse 
 
 Is given him by a beauty ; 1 can speak 
 this, 
 
 Though from no Memphian priest or sage 
 
 From the best mistress, gentleman, Expe- 
 rience. 
 
 Last night I had a mind t'a comely seam- 
 stress, 
 
 Who did refuse me, and behold, ere since 
 
 How like an ass I look. 
 
 Enter Tarifa. 
 
 Ta. What, at your counsels, lords? the 
 
 great Almanzor 
 Requires your presence, Mura ; has de- 
 
 cree'd 
 The war for Persia. You, my gracious 
 
 lord, 
 
 Prince Abilqualit, are appointed chief : 
 And you, brave spirited Abrahen, an 
 
 assistant 
 To your victorious brother. You, Lord 
 
 Mura, 
 
 Destined Lieutenant-General. 
 Abi. And must I march against the foe, 
 
 without 
 
 Thy company ? I relish not th" employ- 
 ment. 
 
 Ta. Alas ! my lord, 
 Tarifa's head's grown white beneath his 
 
 helmet ; 
 
 And your good father thought it charity 
 To spare mine age from travel : though 
 
 this ease 
 
 Will be more irksome to me than the toil 
 Of war in a sharp winter. 
 
 Abr. It arrives 
 
 Just to our wish. My gracious brother, I 
 Anon shall wait on you : meantime, valiant 
 
 Mura, 
 Let us attend my father. 
 
 {Exeunt Ahrahen, Mura, Simanthes. 
 Abi. Good Selinthus, 
 Vouchsafe awhile your absence, I shall 
 
 have 
 Employment shortly for your trust. 
 
 Se. Your grace shall have as much 
 
 power to command 
 Selinthus as his best fancied mistress. 
 I am your creature. \Exit. 
 
 Ta. Now. my lord, I hope 
 
 Y'are clothed with all those resolutions 
 
 That usher glorious minds to brave achieve- 
 ments. 
 
 The happy genius on your youth attendant 
 
 Declares it built for victories and triumphs ; 
 
 And the proud Persian monarchy, the sole 
 
 Emulous opposer of the Arabic greatness, 
 
 Courts, like a fair bride, your imperial 
 arms, 
 
 Waiting t'invest you sovereign of her 
 beauties. 
 
 Why are you dull, my lord ? Your cheer- 
 full looks 
 
 Should with a prosperous augury presage 
 
 A certain victory : when you droop already, 
 
 As if the foe had ravish'd from your crest 
 
 The noble palm. For shame, sir, be more 
 sprightly ; 
 
 Your sad appearance, should they thus 
 behold you, 
 
 Would half unsoul your army. 
 Abi. Tis no matter, 
 
 Such looks best suit my fortune. Know, 
 Tarifa, 
 
 I'm undisposed to manage this great 
 voyage, 
 
 And must not undertake it. 
 Ta. Must not, sir ! 
 
 Is't possible a love-sick youth, whose 
 hopes 
 
 Are fix'd on marriage, on his bridal night 
 
 Should in soft slumbers languish ? that 
 your arms 
 
 Should rust in ease, now when you hear 
 the charge, 
 
 And see before you the triumphant 
 prize 
 
 Destined t'adorn your valour? You should 
 rather 
 
 Be furnish 'd with a power above these 
 passions ; 
 
 And being invoked by the mighty charm of 
 honour, 
 
 Fly to achieve this war, not undertake it. 
 
 I'd rather you had said Tarifa lied, 
 
 Than utter'd such a sound, harsh and un- 
 welcome. 
 
 Abi. I know thou lovest me truly, and 
 durst I, 
 
 To any born of woman, speak my inten- 
 tions, 
 
 The fatal cause which does withdraw my 
 courage 
 
 From this employment, which like health 1 
 covet, 
 
 Thou shouldst enjoy it fully. But, Tarifa, 
 
 The sad discovery of it is not fit 
 
 For me to utter, much less for thy virtue 
 
 To be acquainted with. 
 
 E E2 
 
i 420 
 
 REVENGE FOR HONOUR. 
 
 [ACT I. 
 
 Ta. Why, my lord? 
 My loyalty can merit no suspicion 
 From you of falsehood : whatsoe'er the 
 
 cause be 
 
 Or good or wicked, 't meets a trusty silence, 
 And my best care and honest counsel shall 
 Endeavour to reclaim, or to assist you 
 If it be good, if ill, from your bad purpose.* 
 AM. Why, that I know, Tarifa. 'Tis the 
 
 love 
 
 Thou bear'st to honour renders thee unapt 
 To be partaker of those resolutions 
 That by compulsion keep me from this 
 
 voyage : 
 
 I For they with such inevitable sweetness 
 Invade my sense, that though in their per- 
 formance 
 
 My fame and virtue even to death do lan- 
 guish, 
 
 I must attempt, and bring them unto act, 
 Or perish i' th p pursuance. 
 
 Ta. Heaven avert 
 A mischief so prodigious ! Though I would 
 
 not 
 With over-saucy boldness press your 
 
 counsels ; 
 i Yet pardon, sir, my loyalty, which, 
 
 timorous 
 Of your loved welfare, must entreat, 
 
 beseech you 
 With ardent love and reverence, to 
 
 disclose 
 The hidden cause that can estrange your 
 
 courage 
 From its own Mars, withhold you from 
 
 this action 
 
 So much allied to honour. Pray reveal it : 
 By all your hopes of what you hold most 
 
 precious, 
 
 I do implore it ; for my faith in breeding 
 Your youth in war's great rudiments, re- 
 lieve 
 
 Tarifa's fears, that wander into strange 
 Unwelcome doubts, left some ambitious 
 
 frenzy 
 
 'Gainst your imperial father's dignity 
 Has late seduced your goodness. 
 
 Abi. No, Tarifa, 
 
 I ne'er durst aim at that unholy height 
 In viperous wickedness ; a sin less harm- 
 less 
 
 (If't can be truly term'd one) 'tis my 
 soul 
 
 * These two lines seem to be in some con- 
 fusion. Possibly Chapman wrote them thus : 
 " Endeavour if it be good, to assist you, 
 Or to reclaim, if ill, from your bad pur- 
 pose." ED. 
 
 Labours even to despair with : 't fain 
 would out, 
 
 Did not my blushes interdict my language : 
 
 'Tis unchaste love, Tarifa ; nay, take't all, 
 
 And when thou hast it, pity my mis- 
 fortunes, 
 
 To fair Caropia, the chaste, virtuous wife 
 
 To surly Mura. 
 
 Ta. What a fool Desire is ! 
 
 With giant strengths it makes us court the 
 knowledge 
 
 Of hidden mysteries, which once reveal'd, 
 
 Far more inconstant than the air, it 
 fleets 
 
 Into new wishes, that the coveted secret 
 
 Had slept still in oblivion. 
 Abi. I was certain 
 
 Twould fright thy innocence, and look 
 to be 
 
 Besieged with strong dissuasions from my 
 purpose : 
 
 But be assured that I have tired my 
 thoughts 
 
 With all the rules that teach men moral 
 goodness, 
 
 So to reclaim them from this love-sick 
 looseness ; 
 
 But they (like wholesome medicines mis- ; 
 applied) 
 
 Faced their best operation, fond and fruit- 
 less. 
 
 Though I as well may hope to kiss the 
 sunbeams 
 
 'Cause they shine on me, as from her to 
 gain 
 
 One glance of comfort ; yet my mind, that 
 pities 
 
 Itself with constant tenderness, must 
 needs 
 
 Revolve the cause of its calamity, 
 
 And melt i' th' pleasure of so sweet a sad- 
 ness. 
 
 Ta. Then y'are undone for ever, sir, 
 undone 
 
 Beyond the help of counsel or repen- 
 tance. 
 
 'Tis most ignoble, that a mind unshaken 
 
 By fear, should by a vain desire be 
 broken ; 
 
 Or that those powers no labour e'er could 
 vanquish, 
 
 Should be o'ercome and thrall'd by sordid 
 pleasure. 
 
 Pray, sir, consider, that in glorious war, 
 
 Which makes ambition (by base men 
 term'd sin) 
 
 A big and gallant virtue, y'ave been 
 nursed, 
 
 Lull'd, as it were, into your infant sleeps 
 
SCENE III.J 
 
 REVENGE FOR HONOUR. 
 
 421 
 
 By th' surly noise o' th' trumpet, which 
 now summons 
 
 You to victorious use of your endow- 
 ments : 
 
 And shall a mistress stay you ? such a one 
 too, 
 
 As to attempt, than war itself's more 
 
 dangerous ! 
 
 Abi. All these persuasions are to as 
 much purpose, 
 
 As you should strive to reinvest with 
 peace, 
 
 And all the joys of health and life, a 
 soul 
 
 Condemn'd to perpetuity of torments. 
 
 No, my Tarifa, though through all dis- 
 graces, 
 
 Loss of my honour, fame, nay, hope for 
 empire, 
 
 I should be forced to wade to obtain her 
 love ; 
 
 Those seas of mischief would be pleasing 
 streams, 
 
 Which I would haste to bathe in, and pass 
 through them 
 
 With that delight thou would'st to 
 victory, 
 
 Or slaves long-chain'd to th' oar, to sud- 
 den freedom. 
 
 Ta. Were you not Abilqualit, from this 
 time then 
 
 Our friendships (like two rivers from one 
 head 
 
 Rising) should wander a dissever'd course, 
 
 And never meet again, unless to quarrel. 
 
 Nay, old and stiff now as my iron garments, 
 
 Were you my son, my sword should teach 
 your wildness 
 
 A swift way to repentance. Y'are my 
 prince, 
 
 On whom all hopes depend ; think on your 
 father, 
 
 That lively image of majestic goodness, 
 
 Who never yet wrong'd matron in his lust, 
 
 Or man in his displeasure. Pray conjecture 
 
 Your father, country, army, by my mouth 
 
 Beseech your piety to an early pity 
 
 Of your yet unslain innocence. No atten- 
 tion ! 
 
 Farewell: my prayers shall wait you, though 
 my counsels 
 
 Be thus despised. Farewell, prince 1 
 
 {Exit. 
 Abi. 'Las ! good man, he weeps. 
 
 Such tears I've seen fall from his manly 
 eyes 
 
 Once when he lost a battle. Why should I 
 
 Put off my reason, valour, honour, virtue, 
 
 In hopes to gain a beauty, whose possession 
 
 Renders me more uncapable of peace, 
 Than I am now I want it ? Like a sweet, I 
 Much coveted banquet, 'tis no sooner 
 
 tasted 
 
 But its delicious luxury's forgotten ; 
 Besides, it is unlawful. Idle fool, 
 There is no law but what's prescribed by 
 
 love, 
 
 Nature's first moving organ ; nor can aught 
 That Nature dictates to us be held vicious. 
 On then, my soul, and destitute of fears, 
 Like an adventurous mariner, that knows 
 Storms must attend him, yet dares court 
 
 his peril, 
 
 Strive to obtain this happy port. Mesithes, 
 Love's cunning advocate, does for me 
 
 besiege, 
 
 With gifts and vows, her chastity. She is 
 Compass'd with flesh that's not invulner- 
 able, 
 And may by love's sharp darts be pierced. 
 
 They stand 
 Firm whom no art can bring to love's 
 
 command. 
 
 Enter Abrahen. 
 
 Abr. My gracious brother ! 
 
 Abi. Dearest Abrahen, welcome. 
 Tis certainly decreed by our dread father, 
 We must both march against th' insulting 
 
 foe. 
 
 How does thy youth, yet uninured to travel, 
 Relish the employment? 
 
 Abr. War is sweet to those 
 That never have experienced it. My youth 
 Cannot desire in that big art a nobler 
 Tutor than you, my brother : like an eaglet 
 Following her dam, I shall your honour'd 
 
 steps 
 Trace through all dangers, and be proud 
 
 to borrow 
 A branch, when your head's covered o'er 
 
 with laurel, 
 To deck my humbler temples. 
 
 Abi. I do know thee 
 
 Of valiant, active soul; and though a youth, 
 Thy forward spirit merits the command 
 Of chief, rather than second in an army. 
 Would heaven our royal father had bestow'd 
 On thee the charge of general. 
 
 Abr. On me, sir ! 
 
 Alas, 'tis fit I first should know those arts 
 That do distinguish valour from wild rash- 
 ness. 
 
 A general, brother, must have abler nerves 
 Of judgment than in my youth can be 
 
 hoped for. 
 
 Yourself already like a flourishing spring 
 Teeming with early victories, the soldier 
 
REVENGE FOR HONOUR. 
 
 [ACT I. 
 
 Expects should lead them to new triumphs, 
 as 
 
 If you had vanquish'd fortune. 
 Abi. I am not so 
 
 Ambitious, Abrahen, of particular glories, 
 
 But I would have those whom I love par- 
 take them. 
 
 This Persian war, the last of the whole 
 East, 
 
 Left to be managed, if I can persuade 
 
 The great Almanzor, shall be the trophy 
 
 Of thy yet maiden valour. I have done 
 
 Enough already to inform succession, 
 
 That Abilqualit durst on fiercest foes 
 
 Run to fetch conquest home, and would 
 have thy name 
 
 As great as mine in arms, that history 
 
 Might register our family abounded 
 
 With heroes born for victory. 
 Abr. 'Tis an honour, 
 
 Which, though it be above my powers, 
 committed 
 
 To my direction, I would seek to manage 
 
 With care above my years, and courage 
 equal 
 
 To his that dares the horrid'st face of 
 danger : 
 
 But 'tis your noble courtesy would thrust 
 
 This masculine honour (far above his 
 merits) 
 
 On your regardless brother ; for my 
 father, 
 
 He has no thought tending to your inten- 
 tions ; 
 
 Xor though your goodness should desire, 
 would hardly 
 
 Be won to yield consent to them. 
 Abi. Why, my Abrahen, 
 
 Ware both his sons, and should be both 
 alike 
 
 Dear to's affections ; and though birth 
 hath given me 
 
 The larger hopes and titles, 'twere un- 
 natural, 
 
 Should he not strive t' endow thee with a 
 portion 
 
 Apted to the magnificence of his off- 
 
 But thou perhaps art timorous lest thy 
 first 
 
 Essays of valour should meet fate disas- 
 trous. 
 
 The bold are Fortune's darlings. If thou 
 hast 
 
 Courage to venture on this great employ- 
 ment, 
 
 Doubt not I shall prevail upon our father 
 
 1" ordain thee chief in this brave hopeful 
 voyage. 
 
 Abr. You imagine me 
 Beyond all thought of gratitude, and 
 
 doubt not 
 That I'll deceive your trust. The glorious 
 
 ensigns 
 Waving i' th' air once, like so many 
 
 comets, 
 Shall speak the Persians' funerals, on 
 
 whose ruins 
 We'll build to Fame and Victory new 
 
 temples, 
 Which shall like pyramids preserve our 
 
 memories 
 When we are changed to ashes. 
 
 Abi. Be sure continue 
 In this brave mind. I'll instantly solicit 
 Our father to confirm thee in the charge 
 Of General. I'll about it. \Exit. 
 
 Abr. Farewell, gracious brother. 
 This haps above my hopes. 'Las, good \ 
 
 dull fool, 
 I see through thy intents, clear as thy j 
 
 soul 
 
 Were as transparent as thin air or crystal. 
 He would have me removed, march with 
 
 the army, 
 That he meantime might make a sure 
 
 defeat 
 On our aged father's life and empire : 
 
 'tmust 
 Be certain as the light. Why should not 
 
 his 
 With equal heat, be like my thoughts, 
 
 ambitious ? 
 Be they as harmless as the prayers of 
 
 virgins, 
 
 I'll work his ruin out of his intentions. 
 He like a thick cloud stands 'twixt me and 
 
 greatness ; 
 
 Greatness, the wise man's true felicity, 
 Honour's direct inheritance. My youth 
 Will quit suspicion of my subtile practice : 
 Then have I surly Mura and Simanthes, 
 My allies by my dead mother's blood, my 
 
 assistants, 
 
 I His Eunuch too, Mesithes, at my service. 
 Simanthes shall inform the King the 
 
 people 
 
 ! Desire Prince Abilqualit's stay : and Mura, 
 j Whose blunt demeanour renders him 
 
 oraculous, 
 j Make a shrewd inference out of it. He is 
 
 my half brother, 
 i Th' other's my father ; names, mere airy 
 
 titles ! 
 
 i Sovereignty's only sacred, greatness, good- 
 ness, 
 
 True self-affection, justice, everything 
 ' Righteous that's helpful to create a King. 
 
ACT II. ] 
 
 REVENGE FOR HONOUR. 
 
 423 
 
 Enter Mura, Simanthes. 
 
 Abr. My trusty friends, y'are vyelcome ; 
 
 Our fate's above our wishes. Abilqualit, 
 
 By whatsoe'er pow'r moved to his own 
 ruin, 
 
 Would fain enforce his charge of General 
 on me, 
 
 And stay at home. 
 
 Si. Why, how can this conduce 
 
 T' advance our purpose ? 
 
 Abr, 'Tis the mainest engine 
 
 Could ever move to ruin him. Simanthes, 
 
 You shall inform our father, 'tis the people 
 
 Out of their tender love desires his stay. 
 
 You, Mura, shall infer my brother's great- 
 ness 
 
 With [the] people out of it, how nice it is 
 and dangerous. 
 
 The air is open here ; come, we'll discourse 
 
 With more secure privacy our purpose. 
 
 Nothing's unjust, unsacred, tends to ad- 
 vance 
 
 Us to a kingdom ; that's the height of 
 chance. 
 
 ACT THE SECOND. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 Enter Almanzor, Mura, and Simanthes. 
 
 Al. How? not go, Simanthes? 
 Si. My dread sovereign, 
 I speak but what the well-affected people 
 Out of their loyal care and pious duty 
 Injoin'd me utter ; they do look upon him 
 As on your eldest son and next successor, 
 And would be loth the Persian war should 
 
 rob 
 Their eyes of light, their souls of joy and 
 
 comfort, 
 This flourishing empire leave as it were 
 
 widow 'd 
 Of its loved spouse : they humbly do 
 
 beseech 
 
 Your majesty would therefore destine some 
 More fitting general, whose loss (as heaven 
 Avert such a misfortune !) should it happen, 
 Might less concern the state. 
 
 Al. 'Tis not the least 
 Among the blessings heaven has shower'c 
 
 upon us, 
 
 That we are happy in snch loving subjects 
 To govern whom, when we in peace are 
 
 ashes, 
 We leave them a successor whom they trulj 
 
 reverence. 
 A loving people and a loving sovereign 
 
 Makes kingdoms truly fortunate and 
 flourishing. 
 
 But I believe, Simanthes, their intents, 
 Though we confirm them, will scarce take 
 effect : 
 
 VI y Abilqualit (like a princely lion, 
 
 [n view of's prey) will scarcely be o'ercome 
 
 To leave the honour of the Persian war, 
 
 In's hopes already vanquish'd by his valour, 
 
 And rest in lazy quiet, while that triumph 
 
 Is ravish'd by another. 
 Si. With the pardon 
 
 Of your most sacred majesty, 'tis fit then 
 
 Your great commands forbid the prince's 
 voyage : 
 
 Boldness inforces youth to hard achieve- 
 ments 
 
 Before their time, makes them run forth 
 like lapwings 
 
 From their warm nest, part of the shell yet 
 sticking 
 
 Unto their downy heads. Sir, good success 
 
 Is oft more fatal far than bad ; one winning 
 
 Cast from a flattering die tempting a 
 gamester 
 
 To hazard his whole fortunes. 
 Mu. This is dull, 
 
 Fruitless philosophy, he that falls nobly 
 
 Wins as much honour by his loss as con- 
 quest. 
 
 Si. This rule may hold well among com- 
 mon men, 
 
 But not 'mong princes. Such a prince as 
 ours is, 
 
 Who knows as well to conquer men's 
 affections 
 
 As he does enemies, should not be exposed 
 
 To every new cause, honourable danger. 
 
 Prince Abilqualit's fair and winning 
 carriage 
 
 Has stolen possession of the people's hearts. 
 
 They dote on him since his late Spanish 
 conquest, 
 
 As new-made brides on their much-coveted 
 husbands ; 
 
 And they would pine like melancholy 
 turtles, 
 
 Should they so soon lose the unvalued object 
 
 Both of their love and reverence : how- 
 soe'er, 
 
 Whate'er your awful will, sir, shall deter- 
 mine, 
 
 As heaven is, by their strict obedience, 
 
 Held sacred and religious. 
 Al. Good Simanthes, 
 
 Let them receive our thanks for their true 
 care 
 
 Of our dear Abilqualit. We'll consider 
 
 Of their request, say. 
 
424 
 
 REVENGE FOR HONOUR. 
 
 [ACT n. 
 
 Si. Your highness' humblest crea- 
 ture. [Exit. 
 Mu. I do not like this. 
 A I. Like what? valiant Mura, 
 We know thy counsels so supremely wise, 
 And thy true heart so excellently faithful, 
 That whatsoe'er displeases thy sage judg- 
 ment, 
 
 Almanzor's wisdom must account distaste- 
 ful. 
 What is't dislikes thee? 
 
 Mu. Your majesty knows me 
 A downright soldier, I affect not words ; 
 But to be brief, I relish not your son 
 Should (as if you were in your tomb 
 
 already) 
 
 Ingross so much the giddy people's favours. 
 'Tis neither fit for him, nor safe for you 
 To suffer it. 
 
 A 1. Why, how can they, Mura, 
 Give a more serious testimony of reverence 
 To me, than by conferring their affections, 
 Their pious wishes, zealous contempla- 
 tions, 
 
 On him that sits the nearest to my heart, 
 My Abilqualit, in whose hopeful virtues 
 My age more glories than in all my con- 
 quests ? 
 Mu. May you prove fortunate in your 
 
 pious care 
 
 Of the Prince Abilqualit. But, my lord, 
 Mura is not so prone to idle language 
 (The parasite's best ornament) to utter 
 Aught but what, if you please to give him 
 
 audience, 
 He'll show you a blunt reason for. 
 
 A I. Come, I see 
 Into thy thoughts, good Mura ; too much 
 
 care 
 
 Of us informs thy loyal soul with fears 
 The prince's too much popularity 
 May breed our danger : banish those sus- 
 picions ; 
 Neither dare they who under my long 
 
 reign 
 
 Have been triumphant in so many bless- 
 ings, 
 
 Have the least thought may tend to dis- 
 obedience ; 
 
 Or if they had, my Abilqualit's goodness 
 Would ne'er consent with them to become 
 
 impious. 
 
 Mu. 'Tis too secure a confidence be- 
 trays 
 
 Minds valiant to irreparable dangers. 
 Not that I dare invade with a foul thought 
 The noble prince's loyalty ; but, my lord, 
 When this same many-headed beast, the 
 people, 
 
 Violent, and so not constant in affections, 
 Subject to love of novelty, the sickness 
 Proper fall human, specially light natures, 
 Do magnify with too immoderate praises 
 The prince's actions, doat upon his pre- 
 sence, 
 Nay, chain their souls to th' shadow of his 
 
 footsteps, 
 
 As all excesses ought to be held dangerous, 
 Especially when they do aim at sceptres, 
 Their too much dotage speaks, you in their 
 
 wishes 
 
 Are dead already, that their darling hope 
 The prince might have the throne once. 
 
 A I. 'Tis confess'd, 
 All this as serious truth. 
 
 Mu. Their mad applauses 
 O'th' noble prince, though he be truly vir- 
 tuous, 
 
 May force ambition into him, a mischief 
 Seizing the soul with too much craft and 
 
 sweetness, 
 As pride or lust does minds unstaid and 
 
 wanton : 
 'T makes men like poison'd rats, which 
 
 when they've swallow'd 
 The pleasing bane, rest not until they 
 
 drink, 
 And can rest then much less, until they 
 
 burst with't. 
 
 A I. Thy words are still oraculous. 
 Mu. Pray then think 
 
 With what an easy toil the haughty prince, 
 A demigod by th' popular acclamations, 
 Nay, the world's sovereign in the vulgar 
 
 wishes, 
 
 Had he a resolution to be wicked, 
 Might snatch this diadem from your aged 
 
 temples ? 
 
 What law so holy, tie of blood so mighty, 
 Which for a crown, minds sanctified and 
 
 religious 
 Have not presumed to violate ? How much 
 
 more then 
 
 May the soul-dazzling glories of a sceptre 
 Work in his youth, whose constitution's 
 
 fiery 
 
 As overheated air, and has to fan it 
 Into a flame, the breath of love and praises 
 Blown by strong thought of his own worth 
 
 and actions. 
 
 Al. No more of this, good Mura. 
 Mu. They dare already limit your inten- 
 tions ; 
 Demand, as 'twere, with cunning zeal 
 
 (which, rightly 
 
 Interpreted, is insolence), the prince's 
 Abode at home. I will not say it is, 
 But I guess it may be their subtle purpose^ 
 
SCF.NE I.] 
 
 REVENGE FOR HONOUR. 
 
 425 
 
 While we abroad fight for new kingdoms' 
 purchase, 
 
 Deprived by that means of our faithful 
 succours, 
 
 They may deprive you of this crown, en- 
 force 
 
 Upon the prince this diadem, which, how- 
 ever, 
 
 He may be loth t'accept ; being once 
 possess d oft, 
 
 And tasted the delights of supreme great- 
 ness, 
 
 He'll be more loth to part with. To 
 prevent this, 
 
 Not that I think it will, but that may 
 happen, 
 
 'Tis fit the prince march. I'ave observed 
 in him, too, 
 
 Of late, a sullen melancholy, whence 
 rising 
 
 I'll not conjecture ; only I should grieve, 
 sir, 
 
 Beyond a moderate sorrow, traitorous 
 practice 
 
 Should take that from you, which, with 
 loyal blood, 
 
 Ours and your own victorious arms have 
 purchased. 
 
 And now I have discharged my honest 
 conscience 
 
 Censure on't as you please ; henceforth I'm 
 
 silent. 
 
 A I. Would thou hadst been so now, thy 
 loyal fears 
 
 Have made me see how miserable a king is, 
 
 Whose rule depends on the vain people's 
 suffrage. 
 
 Black now and horrid as the face of storms 
 
 Appears all Abilqualit's lovely virtues, 
 
 Because to me they only make him 
 dangerous, 
 
 And with great terror shall behold those 
 actions 
 
 Which with delight before we view'd, and 
 dotage ; 
 
 Like mariners that bless the peaceful seas, 
 
 Which when suspected to grow-up tem- 
 pestuous, 
 
 They tremble at. Though he may still be 
 
 virtuous, 
 'Tis wisdom in us, to him no injustice, 
 
 To keep a vigilant eye o'er his proceedings 
 And the wild people's purposes. 
 
 Enter Abilqualit. 
 
 AL Abilqualit! 
 Come to take your leave, I do conjecture. 
 
 Abi. Rather, sir, to beg 
 Your gracious licence, I may still at home 
 
 Attend your dread commands, and that 
 
 you'd please 
 To nominate my hopeful brother Abrahen 
 'In lieu of me) chief of your now raised 
 
 forces 
 
 For th' Persian expedition. 
 A I. Dare you, sir, presume to make this 
 
 suit to us ? 
 
 Abi. Why, my royal lord, 
 ! hope this cannot pull your anger on 
 our most obedient son ; a true affection 
 To the young prince, my brother, did 
 
 beget 
 
 This my request ; I willingly would have 
 His youth adorn'd with glory of this con- 
 quest. 
 
 tree bears fruit in autumn, 'less it 
 blossom 
 
 First in the spring ; 'tis fit he were ac- 
 quainted 
 
 [n these soft years with military action, 
 That when grown perfect man, he may 
 
 grow up too 
 Perfect in warlike discipline. 
 
 Al. Hereafter 
 We shall by your appointment guide our 
 
 counsels. 
 
 Why do you not intreat me to resign 
 My crown, that you, the people's much- 
 loved minion, 
 Maywith't impale your glorious brow ? sir, 
 
 henceforth, 
 Or know your duty better, or your pride 
 Shall meet our just-waked anger. To your 
 
 charge, 
 And march with speed, or you shall know 
 
 what 'tis 
 To disobey our pleasure. When y'are 
 
 king, 
 Learn tc command your subjects ; I will 
 
 mine, sir. 
 You know your charge, perform it. 
 
 \Exit Almanzor and Mura. 
 Abi. I have done. 
 Our hopes, I see, resemble much the 
 
 sun, 
 That rising and declining cast large 
 
 shadows ; 
 
 But when his beams are dress'd in's mid- 
 day brightness, 
 Yields none at all : when they are farthest 
 
 from 
 
 Success, their gilt reflection does display 
 The largest shows of events fair and pros- 
 perous. 
 
 With what a settled confidence did I pro- 
 mise 
 
 Myself my stay here, Mura's wish'd de- 
 parture ! 
 
426 
 
 REVENGE FOR HONOUR. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 When 'stead of these, I find my father's 
 
 wrath 
 
 Destroying mine intentions. Such a fool 
 Is self-compassion, soothing us to faith 
 Of what we wish should hap, while vain 
 
 desire . 
 ! Of things we have not, makes us quite 
 
 forget 
 Those w'are possess'd of. 
 
 Enter Abrahen. 
 
 Abr. Alone the engine works 
 Beyond or hope or credit. How I hug 
 With vast delight, beyond that of stolen 
 
 pleasures, 
 
 Forbidden lovers taste, my darling mistress, 
 My active brain : if I can be thus subtle 
 While a young serpent, when grown up a 
 
 dragon 
 
 How glorious shall I be in cunning practice ! 
 My gracious brother ! 
 
 Abi. Gentle Abrahen, I 
 Am grieved my power cannot comply my 
 
 promise ; 
 
 My father's so averse from granting my 
 Request concerning thee, that with angry 
 
 frowns 
 
 He did express rather a passionate rage 
 Than a refusal civil, or accustom'd 
 To his indulgent disposition. 
 
 Abr. He's our father, 
 And so the tyrant custom doth enforce us 
 To yield him that which fools call natural ; 
 When wise men know 'tis more than servile 
 
 duty, 
 
 A slavish, blind obedience to his pleasure, 
 Be it nor just, nor honourable. 
 
 Abi. O my Abrahen, 
 These sounds are unharmonious, as un- 
 
 look'd-for 
 From thy unblemish'd innocence ; though 
 
 he could 
 
 Put off paternal piety, 't gives no privilege 
 For us to wander from our filial duty ; 
 Though harsh, and to our natures much 
 
 unwelcome 
 Be his decrees, like those of heaven, we 
 
 must not 
 Presume to question them. 
 
 Abr. Not if they concern 
 Our lives and fortunes ? 'tis not for myself 
 I urge 'these doubts ; but 'tis for you, who are 
 My brother, and I hope, must be my 
 
 sovereign, 
 
 My fears grow on me almost to distraction ; 
 Our father's age betrays him to a dotage 
 Which may be dangerous to your future 
 
 safety ; 
 He does suspect your loyalty. 
 
 Abi. How, Abrahen? 
 Abr. I knew 'twould start your inno- 
 cence ; but 'tis truth, 
 
 A sad and serious truth ; nay, his suspicion 
 Almost arrived unto a settle'd faith 
 That y'are ambitious. 
 Abi. 'Tis impossible. 
 Abr. The glorious shine of your illus- 
 trious virtues 
 Are grown too bright and dazzling for his 
 
 eyes 
 
 To look on as he ought, with admiration ; 
 And he with fear beholds them, as it were, 
 Through a perspective, where each brave 
 
 action 
 Of yours survey f d though at remotest 
 
 distance, 
 
 Appears far greater than it is. In brief, 
 That love which you have purchased from 
 
 the people, 
 That sing glad hymns to your victorious 
 
 fortunes, 
 Betrays you to his hate ; and in this 
 
 voyage, 
 
 Which he enforces you to undertake, 
 He has set spies upon you. 
 Abi. 'Tis so ; afflictions 
 Do fall like hailstones, one no sooner drops, 
 But a whole shower does follow. I ob- 
 served 
 Indeed, my Abrahen, that his looks and 
 
 language 
 Was dressed in unaccustom'd clouds, but 
 
 did not 
 
 Imagine they'd presaged so fierce a tempest. 
 Ye gods ! why do you give us gifts and 
 
 graces, 
 Share your own attributes with men, your 
 
 virtues, 
 When they betray them to worse hate than 
 
 vices ? 
 
 But, Abrahen, prithee reconfirm my fears 
 By testimonial how this can be truth ; 
 For yet my innocence with too credulous 
 
 trust, 
 Soothes up my soul, our father should not 
 
 thus 
 Put that off which does make him so, his 
 
 sweetness, 
 To feed the irregular flames of false 
 
 suspicions 
 And soul-tormenting jealousies. 
 
 Abr. Why, to me, 
 To me, my lord, he did with strong 
 
 injunctions 
 Give a solicitous charge to o'erlook your 
 
 actions. 
 "My Abrahen," quoth he, "I'm not so 
 
 unhappy, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 REVENGE FOR HONOUR. 
 
 427 
 
 That like thy brother thou shouldst be 
 
 ambitious, 
 Who does affect, 'fore thy aged father's 
 
 ashes, 
 With greedy lust my empire. Have a 
 
 strict 
 
 And cautious diligence to observe his car- 
 riage, 
 'Twill be a pious care." Moved with the 
 
 base 
 
 Indignity that he on me should force 
 The office of a spy, your spy my noble 
 And much-loved brother, my best man- 
 hood scarce 
 
 Could keep my angry tears in ; I resolved 
 I was in duty bound to give you early 
 Intelligence of his unjust intentions, 
 That you in wisdom might prevent all 
 
 dangers 
 Might fall upon you from them, like swift 
 
 lightning, 
 Killing 'cause they invade with sudden 
 
 fierceness. 
 Abi. In afflicting me misery is grown 
 
 witty. 
 
 Abr. Nay, besides, sir, 
 The sullen Mura has the self-same charge 
 
 too 
 Consign'd and settled on him ; which his 
 
 blind 
 
 Duty will execute. O brother, your 
 Soft passive nature, does like jet on fire 
 When oils cast on't, extinguish : other- 
 wise 
 This base suspicion would inflame your 
 
 sufferance, 
 
 Nay, make the purest loyalty rebellious. 
 However, though your too religious piety 
 Force you endure this foul disgrace with 
 
 patience, 
 Look to your safety, brother, that dear 
 
 safety 
 Which is not only yours, but your whole 
 
 empire's. 
 
 For my part, if a faithful brother's service 
 May aught avail you, though against our 
 
 father, 
 
 Since he can be so unnaturally suspicious, 
 As your own thoughts, command it. 
 
 Enter Selinthus and Mesithes. 
 
 Se. Come, I know, 
 Although th' hast lost some implements of 
 
 manhood, 
 May make thee gracious in the sight of 
 
 woman, 
 
 Yet th' hast a little engine, call'd a tongue, 
 By which thou canst o'ercome the nicest 
 
 female, 
 
 In the behalf of friend. In sooth, you 
 
 eunuchs 
 May well be styled pimps-royal, for the 
 
 skill 
 You have in quaint procurement. 
 
 Me. Your lordship's merry, and would 
 inforce on me what has been your office far 
 oftener than the cunning'st squire belong- 
 ing to the smock transitory. May't please 
 your highness 
 
 Abi. Ha! Mesithes. 
 
 Abr. His countenance varies strangely, 
 
 some affair 
 The eunuch gives him notice of, 't should 
 
 seem, 
 
 Begets much pleasure in him. 
 Abi. Is this truth? 
 Me. Else let me taste your anger. 
 Abi. My dear Abrahen, 
 We'll march to-night, prithee give speedy 
 
 notice 
 
 To our lieutenant Mura, to collect 
 The forces from their several quarters, and 
 Draw them into battalia on the plain 
 Behind the city ; lay a strict command 
 He stir not from the ensigns, till ourself 
 Arrive in person there. Be speedy, brother, 
 A little hasty business craves our presence. 
 We will anon be with you, my Mesithes. 
 
 [Exeunt Abilqualit and Mesithes. 
 Se. Can your grace imagine 
 Whither his highness goes now? 
 
 Abr. No, Selinthus ; 
 Canst thou conjecture at the eunuch's 
 
 business ? 
 Whate'er it was, his countenance seem'd ; 
 
 much alter' d : \ 
 
 I'd give a talent to have certain knowledge 
 What was Mesithes' message. 
 
 Se. I'll inform you 
 
 At a far easier rate. Mesithes' business 
 Certes concern 'd a limber petticoat, 
 And the smock soft and slippery ; on my 
 
 honour, 
 He has been providing for the prince some 
 
 female, 
 
 That he may take his leave of ladies' flesh 
 Ere his departure. 
 
 Abr. Not improbable, 
 It may be so. 
 
 Se. Nay, certain, sir, it is so : 
 And I believe your little body yearns 
 After the same sport. You were once 
 
 reported 
 A wag would have had business of ingender- 
 
 ing 
 
 With surly Mura's lady : and men may 
 Conjecture y'are no chaster than a vo- 
 tary : 
 
428 
 
 REVENGE FOR HONOU-R. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Yet, though she would not solace your 
 
 desires, 
 
 There are as handsome ladies will be proud 
 To have your grace inoculate their stocks 
 With your graft-royal. 
 
 Abr. Thou art Selinthus still, 
 And wilt not change thy humour. I must go 
 And find out Mura ; so farewell, Selinthus ; 
 Thou art not for these wars, I know. [Exit. 
 
 Se. No, truly, 
 
 Nor yet for any other, 'less 't be ori 
 A naked yielding enemy ; though there may 
 Be as hot service upon such a foe 
 As on those clad in steel : the little squadron 
 We civil men assault body to body, 
 Oft carry wild-fire about them pri- 
 vately, 
 
 That singes us i' th' service from the crown 
 Even to the sole, nay, sometimes hair and 
 
 all off. 
 But these are transitory perils. 
 
 Enter Gaselles, Osman. 
 Cousins, 
 I thought you had been dancing to the 
 
 drum ; 
 
 Your general has given order for a march 
 This night, I can assure you. 
 
 Ga. It is, cousin, 
 Something of the soonest ; but we are 
 
 prepared 
 At all times for the journey. 
 
 Se. To-morrow morning may serve the turn 
 though. Hark you, cousins mine ; if in this 
 Persian war you chance to take a handsome 
 she-captive, pray you be not unmindful of 
 us your friends at home ; I will disburse 
 her ransom, cousins, for I've a month's 
 mind to try if strange flesh, or that of our 
 own country, has the completer relish. 
 Os. We will accomplish thy pleasure, 
 
 noble cousin. 
 Se. . But pray do not 
 Take the first say of her yourselves. I do 
 
 not . 
 
 Love to walk after any of my kindred 
 Ith' path of copulation. 
 
 Ga. The first fruits 
 Shall be thy own, dear coz. But shall we 
 
 part 
 
 (Never perhaps to meet again) with dry 
 Lips, my right honour' d coz? 
 
 Se. By no means, 
 
 Though by the Alkoran wine be forbidden, 
 You soldiers in that case make't not your 
 
 faith. 
 Drink water in the camp, when you can 
 
 purchase 
 No other liquor ; here you shall have plenty 
 
 Of wine, old and delicious. I'll be your 
 
 leader, 
 And bring you on, let who will bring you 
 
 off. 
 To the encounter, come let us march, 
 
 cousins. \_Exeunt omnes. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Enter Abilqualit, Caropia, Mesithes, 
 and Perilinda. 
 
 Co.. No more, my gracious lord, where 
 real love is 
 
 Needless are all expressions ceremonious : 
 
 The amorous turtles, that at first acquain- 
 tance 
 
 Strive to express in murmuring notes their 
 loves, 
 
 Do when agreed on their affections change 
 
 Their chirps to billing. 
 
 Abi. And in feather'd arms 
 
 Incompass mutually their gaudy necks. 
 Me. How do you like 
 
 These love tricks, Perilinda ? 
 Pe. Very well ; 
 
 But one may sooner hope from a dead man 
 
 To receive kindness, than from thee, an 
 eunuch. 
 
 You are the coldest creatures in the bodies; 
 
 No snow-balls like you. 
 Me, We must needs, who have not 
 
 That which like fire should warm our con- 
 stitutions, 
 
 The instruments of copulation, girl, 
 
 Our toys to please the ladies. 
 Abi. Caropia, in your well-becoming 
 pity 
 
 Of my extreme afflictions and stern suf- 
 ferings, 
 
 You've shown that excellent mercy as must 
 render 
 
 Whatever action you can fix on virtuous. 
 
 But, lady, I till now have been your 
 tempter, 
 
 One that desired hearing the brave resis- 
 tance 
 
 You made my brother, when he woo'd 
 your love, 
 
 Only to boast the glory of a conquest 
 
 Which seem'd impossible, now I have 
 gain'd it 
 
 By being vanquisher, I myself am van- 
 quish'd 
 
 Your everlasting captive. 
 Ca. Then the thraldom 
 
 Will be as prosperous as the pleasing 
 bondage 
 
SCENE IT.] 
 
 REVENGE FOR HONOUR. 
 
 429 
 
 Of palms that flourish most when bow'd 
 down fastest. 
 
 Constraint makes sweet and easy things 
 laborious, 
 
 When love makes greatest miseries seem 
 pleasures. 
 
 Yet 'twas ambition, sir, join'd with affec- 
 tion, 
 
 That gave me up a spoil to your temp- 
 tations. 
 
 I was resolved if ever I did make 
 
 A breach on matrimonial faith, 't should 
 be 
 
 With him that was the darling of kind for- 
 tune 
 
 As well as liberal nature, who possess'd 
 
 The height of greatness to adorn his 
 beauty ; 
 
 Which since they both conspire to make 
 you happy, 
 
 I thought 'twould be a greater sin to 
 suffer 
 
 Your hopeful person born to sway this 
 empire, 
 
 In love's hot flames to languish by refusal 
 
 To a consuming fever, than t' infringe 
 
 A vow which ne'er proceeded from my 
 heart 
 
 When I unwillingly made it. 
 Abi. And may break it 
 
 With confidence, secure from the least 
 guilt, 
 
 As if't had only in an idle dream 
 
 Been by your fancy plighted. Madam, 
 there 
 
 Can be no greater misery in love 
 
 Than separation from the object which 
 
 We affect ; and such is our misfortune, we 
 
 Must in the infancy of our desires 
 
 Breathe at unwelcome distance ; ith' mean- 
 time 
 
 Let's make good use of the most precious 
 minutes 
 
 We have to spend together. 
 Ca. Else we were 
 
 Unworthy to be titled lovers ; but 
 
 I fear loathed Mura may with swift ap- 
 proach 
 
 Disturb our happiness. 
 Abi. By my command he's mustering up 
 our forces. 
 
 Yet, Mesithes, 
 
 Go you to Abrahen, and with intimations 
 
 From us, strengthen our charge. Come, 
 my Caropia, 
 
 Love's wars are harmless, for whoe'er does 
 yield, 
 
 Gains as much honour as who wins the 
 field. 
 
 ACT THE THIRD. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Enter Abilqualit and Caropia, as rising 
 from bed, Abrahen without, Perilinda. 
 
 Abr. Open the door. I must and will 
 
 have entrance 
 
 Unto the prince, my brother, as you love 
 Your life and safety and that lady's honour, 
 Whom you are lodged in amorous twines 
 
 with, do not 
 
 Deny me entrance to you. I am Abrahen, 
 Your loyal brother Abrahen. 
 
 Abi. 'Tis his voice, 
 
 And there can be no danger in't, Caropia. 
 Be not dismay'd, though w'are to him dis- 
 co ver'd. 
 Your fame shall taste no blemish by't. 
 
 Now, brother, 
 
 'Tis something rude in you, thus violently 
 To press upon our privacies. 
 
 Abr. My affection 
 
 Shall be my advocate, and plead my care 
 Of your loved welfare ; as you love your 
 
 honour, 
 Haste from this place, or you'll betray the 
 
 lady 
 
 To ruin most inevitable. Her husband 
 Has notice of your being here, and's 
 
 coming 
 
 On wings of jealousy and desperate rage 
 To intercept you in your close delights. 
 In brief, I overheard a trusty servant 
 Of his ith' camp come and declare your 
 
 highness 
 Was private with Caropia ; at which 
 
 tidings 
 The sea with greater haste when vex'd with 
 
 tempests, 
 Sudden and boisterous, flies not towards 
 
 the shore, 
 Than he intended homewards. He by 
 
 this 
 Needs must have gain'd the city ; for with 
 
 all my power 
 
 hasted hitherward, that by your absence 
 You might prevent his view of you. 
 
 Abi. Why? the slave 
 Dare not invade my person, had he found 
 
 me 
 
 [n fair Caropia's arms : 'twould be ignoble, 
 Now I have caused her danger, should I 
 
 not 
 
 Defend her from his violence. I'll stay 
 Though he come arm'd with thunder. 
 
 Abr. That will be 
 A certain means to ruin her : to me 
 
430 
 
 REVENGE FOR HONOUR. 
 
 [ACT m. 
 
 Commit that care, I'll stand between the 
 lady 
 
 And Mura's fury, when your very sight, 
 
 Giving fresh fire to th' injury, will incense 
 him 
 
 'Gainst her beyond all patience. 
 Ca. Nay, besides 
 
 His violent wrath breaking through his al- 
 legiance 
 
 May riot on your person. Dear my lord, 
 
 Withdraw yourself, there may be some ex- 
 cuse 
 
 When you are absent thought on, to take 
 
 Mura's suspicion : by our loves, depart 
 I do beseech you. Hapless I was born 
 To be most miserable. 
 
 Abi. You shall overrule me. 
 Better it is for him with unhallow'd hands 
 To act a sacrilege on our prophet's tomb 
 Than to profane this purity with the least 
 Offer of injury : be careful, Abrahen, 
 To thee I leave my heart. Farewell, Ca- 
 
 ropia, 
 Your tears inforce my absence. {Exit Abi. 
 
 Abr. Pray haste, my lord, 
 Lest you should meet the inraged Mura : 
 
 now, madam, 
 Where are the boasted glories of that 
 
 virtue, 
 Which like a faithful fort withstood my 
 
 batteries ? 
 
 Demolish'd now, and ruin'd they appear ; 
 Like a fair building totter'd from its base 
 By an unruly whirlwind, and are now 
 Instead of love the objects of my pity. 
 Ca. I'm bound to thank you, sir, yet 
 
 credit me ; 
 
 My sin's so pleasing 't cannot meet re- 
 pentance. 
 Were Mura here, and arm'd with all the 
 
 horrors 
 Rage could invest his powers with ; no! 
 
 forgiven 
 Hermits with greater peace shall haste to 
 
 death, 
 
 Than I to be the martyr of this cause, 
 Which I so love and reverence. 
 
 Abr. 'Tis a noble 
 
 And well-becoming constancy, and merits 
 A lover of those supreme eminent graces, 
 That do like full winds swell the glorious 
 
 sails 
 
 Of Abilqualit's dignity and beauty ! 
 Yet, madam, let me tell you, though I 
 
 could not 
 
 Envy my brother's happiness, if he 
 Could have enjoy'd your priceless love with 
 safety. 
 
 ree from discovery, I am afflicted 
 Beyond a moderate sorrow, that my youth 
 Which with as true a zeal, courted your 
 
 love, 
 
 Should appear so contemptible to receive 
 A killing scorn from you : yet I forgive 
 
 you, 
 A.nd do so much respect your peace, I 
 
 wish 
 
 You had not sinn'd so carelessly to be 
 Betray'd ith' first fruitions of your wishes 
 To your suspicious husband. 
 
 Ca. 'Tis a fate, sir, 
 Which I must stand, though it come dress'd 
 
 in flames, 
 
 Killing as circular fire, and as prodigious 
 As death-presaging comets : there's that 
 
 strength 
 In love, can change the pitchy face of 
 
 dangers 
 To pleasing forms, make ghastly fears 
 
 seem beauteous. 
 And I'm resolved, since the sweet prince is 
 
 free 
 From Mura's anger, which might have 
 
 been fatal 
 If he should here have found him, unre- 
 
 sistless 
 I dare his utmost fury. 
 
 Abr. Twill bring death with't, 
 Sure as stifling damp ; and 'twere much 
 
 pity 
 
 So sweet a beauty should unpitied fall, 
 Betray'd to endless infamy ; your husband 
 Knows only that my brother in yoxtr 
 
 chamber 
 Was entertain'd ; the servant that be- 
 
 tray'd you, 
 
 Curse on his diligence ! could not affirm 
 He saw you twined together : yet it is 
 Death by the law, you know, for any lady 
 At such an hour, and in her husband's 
 
 absence, 
 To entertain a stranger. 
 
 Ca. Tis consider'd, sir ; 
 And since I cannot live to enjoy his love, 
 I'll meet my death as willingly as I 
 Met Abilqualit's dear embraces. 
 
 Abr. That 
 
 Were too severe a cruelty. Live, Caropia, 
 Till the kind destinies take the loathed 
 
 Mura 
 
 To their eternal mansions, till he fall 
 Either in war a sacrifice to fortune, 
 Or else by stratagem take his destruction 
 From angry Abilqualit, whose fair Empress 
 You were created for : there is a mean yet 
 To save th' opinion of your honour spot- 
 less 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 REVENGE FOR HONOUR. 
 
 As that of virgin innocence, nay, to pre- 
 serve 
 
 (Though he doth know, as certainly he 
 must do, 
 
 My brother have enjoy'd thee), thee still 
 precious 
 
 In his deluding fancy. 
 Ca. Let me adore you 
 
 If you can give effect to your good pur- 
 pose : 
 
 But 'tis impossible. 
 
 Abr. With as secure an ease 
 
 'T shall be accomplished as the blest desires 
 
 Of uncross'd lovers ; you shall with one 
 breath 
 
 Dissolve these mists that with contagious 
 darkness 
 
 Threaten the lights both of your life and 
 honour. 
 
 Affirm my brother ravish'd you. 
 Ca. How, my lord ? 
 Abr. Obtain 'd by violence entry into 
 your chamber, 
 
 Where his big lust, seconded by force, 
 
 Despite of yours and your maid's weak 
 resistance, 
 
 Surprised your honour : when't shall come 
 to question, 
 
 My brother cannot so put off the truth, 
 
 He owes his own affection and your white- 
 ness, 
 
 But to acknowledge it a rape. 
 Ca. And so 
 
 By saving mine, betray his fame and safety 
 
 To the law's danger and your father's 
 justice, 
 
 Which with impartial doom will most 
 severely 
 
 Sentence the prince, although his son. 
 Abr. Your fears 
 
 And too affectionate tenderness will ruin 
 
 All that my care has builded. Sure, 
 Mesithes 
 
 Has (as my charge injoin'd him) made 
 relation 
 
 Enter Mura. 
 
 To him of Abilqualit's action. See your 
 
 husband ! 
 Resolve on't, or y'are miserable. 
 
 Mu. Furies, 
 Where is this lustful prince, and this 
 
 lascivious 
 Strumpet? ha, Abrahen, here! 
 
 Abr. Good cousin Mura, 
 Be not so passionate, it is your prince 
 Has wrought your injury ; resolve to bear 
 I Your crosses like a man : the greatest 
 afflictions 
 
 Should have the greatest fortitude in their 
 
 sufferings 
 From minds resolved and noble. 'Las ! 
 
 poor lady, 
 
 'Twas not her fault ; his too unruly lust 
 Tis, has destroy'd her purity. 
 
 Mu. Ha, in tears ! 
 Are these the livery of your fears and 
 
 penitence, 
 Or of your sorrows, minion, for being 
 
 robb'd 
 So soon of your adulterer ? 
 
 Abr. Fie, your passion 
 Is too unmannerly ; you look upon her 
 With eyes of rage, when you with grief and 
 
 pity 
 Ought to survey her innocence. My 
 
 brother, 
 Degenerate as he is from worth, and 
 
 merely 
 The beast of lust (what fiends would fear 
 
 to violate), 
 Has with rude insolence destroy'd her 
 
 honour, 
 By him inhuman ravish'd. 
 
 Ca. Good sir, be 
 
 So merciful as to set free a wretch 
 From loathed mortality, whose life's so 
 
 great 
 And hateful burden now sh'as lost her 
 
 honour ; 
 
 'Twill be a friendly charity to deliver 
 Her from the torment of it. 
 
 Mu. That I could 
 Contract the soul of universal rage 
 Into this swelling heart, that it might be 
 As full of poisonous anger as a dragon's 
 When in a toil ensnared. Caropia ravish'd ! 
 Methinks the horror of the sound should 
 
 fright 
 
 To everlasting ruin the whole world, 
 Start nature's genius. 
 
 Abr. Gentle madam, pray 
 Withdraw yourself, your sight, till I have 
 
 wrought 
 
 A cure upon his temper, will but add 
 To his affliction. 
 
 Ca. You're as my good angel ; 
 I'll follow your directions. {Exit. 
 
 Abr. Cousin Mura, 
 I thought a person of your masculine 
 
 temper, 
 
 In dangers foster'd, where perpetual terrors 
 Have been your playfellows, would not 
 
 have resented 
 
 With such effeminate passion a disgrace, 
 Though ne'er so huge and hideous. 
 
 Mu. I am tame, 
 Collected now in all my faculties, 
 
REVENGE FOR HONOUR. 
 
 [ACT nr. 
 
 Which are so much oppress'd with 
 They've lost the anguish of them ; 
 
 injuries, 
 can you 
 
 "think, sir, 
 When all the winds fight, the enraged 
 
 billows 
 That use to imprint on the black lips of 
 
 clouds 
 
 A thousand briny kisses, can lie still 
 As in a lethargy? that when baths of oil 
 Are pour'd upon the wild, irregular flames 
 In populous cities, that they'll then ex- 
 tinguish ? 
 
 Your mitigations add but seas to seas, 
 Give matter to my fires to increase their 
 
 burning, 
 
 And I ere long enlighten'd by my anger 
 Shall be my own pile, and consume to 
 
 ashes. 
 Abr. Why, then I see indeed your 
 
 injuries 
 Have ravish'd hence your reason and 
 
 discourse, 
 
 And left you the mere prostitute of passion. 
 Can you repair the ruins you lament so 
 With these exclaims ? was ever dead man 
 
 call'd 
 
 To life again by fruitful sighs ? or can 
 Your rage re-edify Caropia's honour, 
 Slain and betray'd by his foul lust ? Your 
 
 manhood, 
 That heretofore has thrown you on all 
 
 dangers, 
 Methinks should prompt you to a noble 
 
 vengeance, 
 Which you may safely prosecute with 
 
 justice, 
 To which this crime, although he be a 
 
 prince, 
 Renders him liable. 
 
 Mu. Yes, I'll have justice 
 Or I'll awake the sleepy deities, 
 Or like the ambitious giants wage new wars 
 With heaven itself ; my wrongs shall steel 
 
 my courage ; 
 
 And on this vicious prince, like a fierce sea- 
 breach, 
 
 My just waked rage shall riot till it sink 
 In the remorseless eddy, sink where time 
 Shall never find his name, but with dis- 
 grace 
 To taint his hateful memory. 
 
 Abr. This wildness 
 Neither befits your wisdom nor your 
 
 courage, 
 Which should with settled and collected 
 
 thoughts, 
 
 Walk on to noble vengeance. He before 
 Was by our plots proscribed to death and 
 
 To advance me to the empire ; now with 
 
 ease 
 We may accomplish our designs. 
 
 Mu. Would heaven 
 I ne'er had given consent, o'ercome by 
 
 love 
 To you, to have made a forfeit on my 
 
 allegiance ; 
 "Tis a just punishment, I by him am 
 
 wrong'd, 
 Whom, for your sake, I fearless sought 
 
 to ruin. 
 Abr. Are you repentant grown, Mura? 
 
 this softness 
 
 111 suits a person of your great resolves, 
 On whom my fortunes have such firm 
 
 dependence. 
 
 Come, let Caropia's fate invoke thy ven- 
 geance 
 
 To gain full mastery o'er all other passions; 
 Leave not a corner in thy spacious heart 
 Unfurnish'd of a noble rage, which now 
 Will be an attribute of glorious justice : 
 The law, you know, with loss of sight doth 
 
 punish 
 All rapes, though on mean persons ; and 
 
 our father 
 
 Is so severe a justicer, not blood 
 Can make a breach upon his faith to 
 
 justice. 
 Besides, we have already made liim 
 
 dangerous 
 In great Almanzor's thoughts, and being 
 
 delinquent, 
 He needs must suffer what the meanest 
 
 offender 
 Merits for such a trespass. 
 
 Mu. I'm awake now ; 
 The lethargy of horror and amaze 
 That did obscure my reason, like those 
 
 dull 
 
 And lazy vapours that o'ershade the sun, 
 Vanish, and it resumes its native bright- 
 ness. 
 
 And now I would not but this devil prince 
 Had done this act upon Caropia's white- 
 ness, 
 Since't yields you free access unto the 
 
 empire ; 
 The deprival of's sight does render him 
 
 incapable 
 Of future sovereignty. 
 
 Abr. Thou'rt in the right, 
 And hast put on manly considerations : 
 Caropia (since she's in her will untainted) 
 Has not foregone her honour; he despatch 'd 
 
 once, 
 As we will have him shortly, 't shall go 
 
 hard else, 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 REVENGE FOR HONOUR. 
 
 433 
 
 A tenant to his marble, thou again 
 
 Wedded in peace may'st be to her pure 
 virtues, 
 
 And live their happy owner. 
 Mu. I'll repair 
 
 To great Almanzor instantly, and if 
 
 His partial piety do descend to pity, 
 
 I will awake the executioner 
 
 Of justice, Death, although in sleep raore 
 heavy 
 
 Than he can borrow from his natural cold- 
 ness ; 
 
 On this good sword I'll wear my cause's 
 justice 
 
 Till he do fall its sacrifice. 
 Abr. But be sure 
 
 You do't with cunning secrecy ; perhaps, 
 
 Should he have notice of your just inten- 
 tions, 
 
 He would repair to th' army, from which 
 safeguard 
 
 Our best force could not pluck him without 
 danger 
 
 To the whole Empire. 
 Mu. Doubt not but I'll manage 
 
 With a discreet severity my vengeance, 
 
 Invoke Almanzor 's equity with sudden 
 
 And private haste. 
 Abr. Meantime 
 
 I will go put a new design in practice 
 
 That may be much conducing to our 
 purpose. 
 
 Like clocks, one wheel another on must 
 drive, 
 
 Affairs by diligent labour only thrive. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Enter Selinthus, Gaselles, Osman, 
 and Soldiers. 
 
 St. No quarrelling, good cousins, lest it 
 
 be 
 With the glass, 'cause 'tis not of size 
 
 sufficient 
 To give you a magnificent draught. You 
 
 will 
 Have fighting work enough when you're 
 
 i'th' wars ; 
 Do not fall out among yourselves. 
 
 Os. Not pledge 
 My peerless mistress' health ? Soldier, 
 
 thou'rt mortal, 
 If thou refuse it. 
 
 Ga. Come, come, he shall pledge it, 
 And 'twere a ton. Why, we are all as 
 
 dull 
 
 As dormice in our liquor : Here's a health 
 To the Piince Abilqualit. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 So. Let go round : 
 I'd drink't, were it an ocean of warm 
 
 blood 
 Flowing from th' enemy. Pray, good my 
 
 lord, 
 What news is stirring? 
 
 Se. It should seem, soldier, 
 Thou canst not read ; otherwise the learn'd 
 
 pamphlets 
 
 That fly about the streets, would satisfy 
 Thy curiosity with news ; they're true ones, 
 Full of discreet intelligence. 
 Os. Cousins, shall's have a song? here 
 
 is a soldier 
 In's time hath sung a dirge unto the 
 
 foe 
 Oft in the field. 
 
 So. Captain, I have a new one, 
 The "Soldier's Joy" 'tis call'd. 
 
 Se. That is an harlot ; 
 Prithee be musical, and let us taste 
 The sweetness of thy voice. [A song. 
 
 Ga. Whist ! give attention. 
 So. How does your lordship like it ? 
 Se. Very well. 
 And so here's to thee. There's no drum 
 
 beats yet, 
 
 And 'tis clear day ; some hour hence 
 'twill be 
 
 Enter Abrahen, Mesithes. 
 
 Time to break up the watch. Ha ! young 
 
 Lord Abrahen, 
 And trim Mesithes with him ! What the 
 
 devil 
 
 Does he make up so early ? He has been 
 A bat-fowling all night after those birds, 
 Those lady--birds term'd wagtails. What 
 
 strange business 
 Can he have here, trow ? 
 
 Abr. "Twas well done, Mesithes ! 
 And trust me, I shall find an apt reward, 
 Both for thy care and cunning. Prithee 
 
 haste 
 
 To Lord Simanthes, and deliver this 
 Note to him with best diligence, my dear 
 
 eunuch ; 
 Thou'rt half the soul of Abrahen. 
 
 Me. I was born 
 
 To be intituled your most humble vassal ; 
 I'll haste to the Lord Simanthes. [Exit. 
 
 Se. How he cringes ! 
 These youths that want the instruments of 
 
 manhood 
 Are very supple in the hams. 
 
 Abr. Good morrow 
 
 To noble Lord Selinthus. What com- 
 panions 
 Have you ,got here thus early ? 
 
434 
 
 REVENGE FOR HONOUR. 
 
 [ACT in. ' 
 
 Se. Blades of metal. 
 Tall men of war, and't please your grace, 
 
 of my 
 Own blood and family, men who have 
 
 gather'd 
 
 A salad on the enemy's ground, and eaten it 
 In bold defiance of him ; 
 And not a soldier here but's an Achilles, 
 Valiant as stoutest Mirmidon. 
 
 Abr. And they 
 Never had juster cause to show their 
 
 valour ; 
 The Prince, my dearest brother, their Lord 
 
 General's 
 
 Become a forfeit to the stern law's rigour ; 
 And 'tis imagined our impartial father 
 Will sentence him to lose his eyes. 
 
 Ga. Marry, heaven 
 Defend, for what, and 't like your grace? 
 
 Abr. For a fact 
 
 Which the severe law punishes with loss 
 Of nature's precious lights ; my tears will 
 
 scarce 
 
 Permit me utter't : for a rape committed 
 On the fair wife of Mura. 
 
 Os. Was it for nothing else, and please 
 
 your grace ? 
 
 Ere he shall lose an eye for such a trifle, 
 Or have a hair diminish'd, we will lose 
 Our heads ; what, hoodwink men like 
 
 sullen hawks 
 
 For doing deeds of nature ! I'm ashamed 
 The law is such an ass. 
 
 Se. Some eunuch Judge, 
 That could not be acquainted with the 
 
 sweets 
 
 Due to concupiscential parts, invented 
 This law, I'll be hang'd else. 'Slife, a 
 
 Prince, 
 
 And such a hopeful one, to lose his eyes 
 For satisfying the hunger of the stomach 
 Beneath the waist, is cruelty prodigious ; 
 Not to be suffer'd in a common-wealth 
 Of ought but geldings. 
 
 Abr. Tis vain to soothe 
 Our hopes with these delusions, he will 
 
 suffer, 
 Lest he be rescued. I would have you, 
 
 therefore, 
 
 If you owe any service to the Prince, 
 My much lamented brother, to attend 
 Without least tumult 'bout the Court, and 
 
 if 
 There be necessity of your aid, I'll give 
 
 you 
 Notice when to employ it. 
 
 Se. Sweet Prince, we'll swim 
 In blood to do thee or thy brother service : 
 Each man provide their weapons. 
 
 Abr. You will win 
 
 My brother's love for ever, nay, my father, 
 
 Though he'll seem angry to behold his 
 justice 
 
 Deluded, afterwards when his rage is past, 
 
 Will thank you for your loyalties. Pray 
 be there 
 
 With all speed possible ; by this my bro- 
 ther's 
 
 Commanded 'fore my father, I'll go learn 
 
 The truth, and give you notice ; pray be 
 secret 
 
 And firm to your resolves. \Exit. 
 
 Se. For him that flinches in such a 
 
 cause, I'll have no more mercy on him. 
 
 Here's Tarifa 
 
 Enter Tarifa and Mura. 
 
 The Prince's sometimes tutor, Mura with 
 
 him 
 
 A-walking towards the Court ; let's take no- 
 notice 
 
 Of them, lest they discover our intentions 
 By our grim looks. March fair and softly, 
 
 cousins, 
 
 We'll be at Court before them. 
 Ta. You will not do this, Mura ! 
 Mu. How, Tarifa? 
 Will you defend him in an act so 
 
 impious ? 
 Is't fit the drum should cease his surly 
 
 language 
 When the bold soldier marches, or 
 
 that I 
 Should pass o'er this affront in quiet 
 
 silence, 
 Which gods and men invoke to speedy 
 
 vengeance ? 
 Which I will have, or manhood shall be 
 
 tame 
 As cowardice. 
 
 Ta. It was a deed so barbarous, 
 That truth itself blushes as well as 
 
 justice 
 To hear it mention'd : but consider, 
 
 Mura, 
 He is our Prince, the Empire's hope, and 
 
 pillar 
 Of great Almanzor's -age. How far a 
 
 public 
 Regard should be preferr'd before your 
 
 private 
 Desire of vengeance ! which, if you do 
 
 purchase 
 
 From our impartial Emperor's equity, 
 His loss of sight, and so of the succession, 
 Will not restore Caropia to the honour 
 He ravish'd from her. But so foul the 
 
 cause is, 
 
SCENE II.J 
 
 REVENGE FOR HONOUR. 
 
 435 
 
 I rather should lament the Prince's folly 
 Than plead in his behalf. 
 
 AIu. 'Tis but vain ; 
 There is your warrant, as you are High 
 
 Marshal, 
 To summon him to make his speedy 
 
 appearance 
 
 'Fore the tribunal of Almanzor. 
 So pray you execute your office. [Exit. 
 
 Ta. How one vice 
 Can like a small cloud when 't breaks forth 
 
 in showers, 
 Black the whole heaven of virtues ! O my 
 
 Lord, 
 
 Enter Abilqualit ; Mutes, whispering, seem 
 to make protestations. Exeunt. 
 
 That face of yours which once with angel 
 
 brightness 
 
 Cheer'd my faint sight, like a grim appari- 
 tion 
 Frights it with ghastly terror : you have 
 
 done 
 
 A deed that startles virtue till it shakes 
 As it [had] got a palsy. I'm commanded 
 To summon you before your father, and 
 Hope you'll obey his mandate. 
 
 Abi. Willingly. 
 What's my offence, Tarifa ? 
 
 Ta. Would you knew not : 
 I did presage your too unruly passions 
 Would hurry you to some disastrous act, 
 But ne'er imagined you'd have been so lost 
 To masculine honour, to commit a rape 
 On that unhappy object of your love, 
 Whom now y'ave made the spoil of your 
 
 foul lust, 
 The much wrong'd wife of Mura. 
 
 Abi. Why, does Mura 
 Charge me with his Caropia's rape ? 
 
 Ta. This warrant, 
 Sent by your angry father, testifies 
 He means to appeach you of it. 
 
 Abi. Tis my fortune, 
 All natural motions when they approach 
 
 their end, 
 Haste to draw to't with unaccustom'd 
 
 swiftness. 
 Rivers with greedier speed run near their 
 
 out-falls 
 Than at their springs. But I'm resolved, 
 
 let what 
 
 Happen that will, I'll stand it, and defend 
 Caropia's honour, though mine own I ruin ; 
 Who dares not die to justify his love, 
 Deserves not to enjoy her. Come, Tarifa, 
 Whate'er befall, I'm resolute. He dies 
 Glorious, that falls love's innocent sacrifice. 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT THE FOURTH. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Enter Almanzor, Abilqualit, Tarifa, and 
 Mura. 
 
 A I. No more, Tarifa ; you'll provoke 
 
 our anger 
 
 If you appear in this cause so solicitous ; 
 The act is too apparent : nor shall you 
 Need, injured Mura, to implore our justice, 
 Which with impartial doom shall fall on 
 
 him 
 More rigorously than on a strange offender. 
 
 Abilqualit, (for the name of son, 
 When thou forsook'st thy native virtue, 
 
 left thee ;) 
 Were all thy blood, thy youth and fortune's 
 
 glories 
 
 Of no more value than to be exposed 
 To ruin for one vice ; at whose name only 
 The furies start, and bashful-fronted justice 
 Hides her amazed head? But it is now 
 
 bootless 
 
 To show a father's pity, in my grief 
 For thy amiss. As I'm to be thy judge, 
 Be resolute, I'll take as little notice 
 Thou art my offspring as the wandering 
 
 clouds 
 Do of the showers, which when they've 
 
 bred to ripeness, 
 They straight disperse through the vast 
 
 earth forgotten. 
 Abi. I'm sorry, sir, that my unhappy 
 
 chance 
 Should draw your anger on me ; my long 
 
 silence 
 
 Declares I have on that excelling sweetness, 
 That unexampled pattern of chaste good- 
 ness, 
 Caropia, acted violence. I confess 
 
 1 loved the lady, and when no persuasions 
 Served to prevail on her, too stubborn, 
 
 incensed, 
 By force I sought my purpose and obtain'd 
 
 it; 
 
 Nor do I yet (so much I prize the sweetness 
 Of that unvalued purchase) find repentance 
 In any abject thought ; whate'er falls on 
 
 me 
 From your stern rigour in a cause so 
 
 precious, 
 Will be a pleasing punishment. 
 
 A I. You are grown 
 
 A glorious malefactor, that dare brave thus 
 The awful rod of justice ! Lost young man, 
 For thou'rt no child of mine ; dost not 
 
 consider 
 
 F F 2 
 
43 6 
 
 REVENGE FOR HONOUR. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 To what a state of desperate destruction 
 Thy wild lust has betray 'd thee ! What 
 
 rich blessings 
 
 (That I may make thee sensible of thy sins 
 By showing thee thy suffering) hast thou 
 
 lost 
 
 By thy irregular folly ! First my love, 
 Which never more must meet thee, scarce 
 
 in pity ; 
 
 The glory flowing from thy former actions 
 Stopt up for ever ; and those lustful eyes, 
 By whose deprival thou'rt deprived of 
 
 being 
 
 Capable of this empire, to the law, 
 Which will exact them, forfeited. Call in 
 
 there 
 A surgeon, and our mutes to execute this 
 
 act 
 
 Enter Surgeon, Mutes. 
 
 Of justice on the unworthy traitor, upon 
 whom 
 
 My just waked wrath shall have no more 
 compassion 
 
 Than the incensed flames have on perishing 
 wretches 
 
 That wilfully leap into them. 
 Ta. O my Lord, 
 
 That which on others would be fitting 
 justice, 
 
 On him your hopeful though offending 
 son, 
 
 Will be exemplary cruelty ; his youth, sir, 
 
 That hath abounded with so many virtues, 
 
 Is an excuse sufficient for one vice : 
 
 He is not yours only, he's your empire's, 
 
 Destined by nature and succession's privi- 
 lege, 
 
 When you in peace are shrouded in your 
 marble, 
 
 To wield this sceptre after you. O do not, 
 
 By putting out his eyes deprive your sub- 
 jects 
 
 Of light, and leave them to dull mournful 
 
 darkness. 
 Al. Tis but in vain, I am inexorable. 
 
 If those on which his eyes hang, were my 
 heart-strings, 
 
 I'd cut them out rather than wound my 
 justice : 
 
 Nor does't befit thy virtue intercede 
 
 For him in this cause horrid and pro- 
 digious ; 
 
 The crime 'gainst me was acted ; 'twas a 
 rape 
 
 Upon my honour more than on her white- 
 ness ; 
 
 His was from mine derivative, as each 
 stream 
 
 Is from its spring ; so that he has polluted 
 
 By his foul fact, my fame, my truth, my 
 goodness, 
 
 Strucken through my dignity by his violence: 
 
 Nay, started in their peaceful urns, the 
 ashes 
 
 Of all my glorious ancestors ; defiled 
 
 The memory of their still descendent 
 virtues ; 
 
 Nay, with a killing frost, nipp'd the fair 
 blossoms 
 
 That did presage such goodly fruit arising 
 
 From his own hopeful youth. 
 Mu, I ask but justice ; 
 
 Those eyes that led him to unlawful 
 objects, 
 
 'Tis fit should suffer for't a lasting blindness ; 
 
 The Sun himself, when he darts rays lasci- 
 vious, 
 
 Such as engender by too piercing fervence 
 
 Intemperate and infectious heats, straight 
 wears 
 
 Obscurity from the clouds his own beams 
 raise. 
 
 I have been your soldier, sir, and fought 
 your battles ; 
 
 For all my services, I beg but justice, 
 
 Which is the subject's best prerogative, 
 
 The Prince's greatest attribute ; and for a 
 fact, 
 
 Than which none can be held more black 
 and hideous, 
 
 Which has betray'd to an eclipse the 
 brightest 
 
 Star in th' heaven of virtues ; the just law 
 
 Does for't ordain a punishment, which I 
 hope 
 
 You, the law's righteous guider, will ac- 
 cording 
 
 To equity see executed. 
 Ta. Why ! that law 
 
 Was only made for common malefactors, 
 
 But has no force to extend unto the 
 Prince, 
 
 To whom the law itself must become sub- 
 ject. 
 
 This hopeful Prince, look on him, great 
 Almanzor ; 
 
 And in his eyes, those volumes of all 
 graces, 
 
 Which you like erring meteors would ex- 
 tinguish : 
 
 Read your own lively figure, the best story 
 
 Of your youth's noblest vigour ; let not 
 wrath, sir, 
 
 O'ercome your piety, nay, your human 
 pity. 
 
 'Tis in your breast, my lord, yet to show 
 mercy ; 
 
r 
 
 SCENE I.J 
 
 REVENGE FOR HONOUR. 
 
 437 
 
 That precious attribute of heaven's true 
 goodness, 
 
 Even to yourself, your son ! methinks that 
 name 
 
 Should have a power to interdict your 
 justice 
 
 In its too rigorous progress. 
 Abi. Dear Tarifa, 
 
 I'm more afflicted at thy intercessions, 
 
 Than at the view of my approaching tor- 
 ments, 
 
 Which I will meet with fortitude and bold- 
 ness, 
 
 Too base to shake now at one personal 
 danger, 
 
 When I've encounter'd thousand perils 
 fearless ; 
 
 Nor do I blame my gracious father's justice, 
 
 Though it precede his nature. I'd not 
 have him 
 
 (For my sake) forfeit that for which he's 
 famous ; 
 
 His uncorrupted equity, nor repine 
 
 I at my destiny ; my eyes have had 
 
 Delights sufficient in Caropia's beauties, 
 
 To serve my thoughts for after contempla- 
 tions ; 
 
 Nor can I ever covet a new object, 
 
 Since they can ne'er hope to encounter 
 any 
 
 Of equal worth and sweetness. 
 
 Yet hark, Tarifa, to thy secrecy 
 
 I will impart my dearest, inmost counsels ; 
 
 If I should perish, as 'tis probable 
 
 I may, under the hands of these tormen- 
 tors ; 
 
 Thou mayst unto succession show my inno- 
 cence ; 
 
 Caropia yielded without least constraint, 
 
 And I enjoy'd her freely. 
 Ta. How, my lord ! 
 Abi. No words on't, 
 
 As you respect my honour ! I'd not lose 
 
 The glory I shall gain by these my suffer- 
 ings ; 
 
 Come, grim furies, and execute your office ; 
 I will stand you, 
 
 Unmoved as hills at whirlwinds, and 
 amidst 
 
 The torments you inflict, retain my 
 
 courage. 
 
 Al. Be speedy, villains. 
 Ta. O stay your cruel hands, 
 
 You dumb ministers of injured justice, 
 
 And let me speak his innocence ere you 
 further 
 
 Afflict his precious eye-sight. 
 
 Al. What does this mean, Tarifa? 
 Ta. O my lord, 
 
 The too much bravery of the Prince's 
 
 spirit 
 'Tis has undone his fame, and pull'd upon 
 
 him 
 
 This fatal punishment ; 'twas but to save 
 The lady's honour that he has assumed 
 Her rape upon him, when with her consent 
 The deed of shame was acted. 
 
 Mu. Tis his fears 
 Make him traduce her innocence ; he who 
 
 did not 
 
 Stick to commit a riot on her person 
 Can make no conscience to destroy her 
 
 fame 
 By his untrue suggestions. 
 
 A I. 'Tis a baseness 
 
 Beyond thy other villany (had she yielded) 
 Thus to betray for transitory torture, 
 Her honour, which thou wert engaged to 
 
 safeguard 
 Even with thy life. A son of mine could 
 
 never 
 
 Show this ignoble cowardice : Proceed 
 To execution, I'll not hear him speak, 
 He is made up of treacheries and false- 
 hoods. 
 
 Ta. Will you then 
 
 Be to the Prince so tyrannous ? Why, to me 
 Just now he did confess his only motive 
 To undergo this torment, was to save 
 Caropia's honour blameless. 
 
 Abi. I am 
 
 More troubled, sir, with his untimely frenzy, 
 Than with my punishment ; his too much 
 
 love 
 
 To me, has spoil'd his temperate reason. I 
 Confess Caropia yielded ! Not the light 
 Is half so innocent as her spotless virtue. 
 'Twas not well done, Tarifa, to betray 
 The secret of your friend thus ; though she 
 
 yielded, 
 The terror of ten-thousand deaths shall 
 
 never 
 Force me to confess it. 
 
 Ta. Again, my lord, even now 
 He does confess, she yielded, and pro- 
 tests 
 That death shall never make him say she's 
 
 guilty : 
 The breath scarce pass'd his lips yet. 
 
 Abi. Hapless man, 
 To nm into this lunacy ! Fie, Tarifa, 
 So treacherous to your friend ! 
 
 Ta. Again, again. 
 Will no man give me credit ? 
 
 Enter Abrahen. 
 
 A br. Where is our royal father ? where 
 our brother ? 
 
438 
 
 REVENGE FOR HONOUR. 
 
 [ACT IV. 
 
 As you respect your life and empire's 
 
 safety, 
 Dismiss these tyrannous instruments of 
 
 death 
 
 And cruelty unexemplified. O brother, 
 That I should ever live to enjoy my eye- 
 sight, 
 And see one half of your dear lights 
 
 endanger'd. 
 My lord, you've done an act, which my 
 
 just fears 
 Tells me, will shake your sceptre ! O for 
 
 heaven's sake, 
 Look to your future safety ; the rough 
 
 soldier 
 Hearing their much-loved general, my 
 
 good brother, 
 Was by the law betray'd to some sad 
 
 danger, 
 
 Have in their piety beset the palace. 
 Think on some means to appease them, 
 
 ere their fury 
 Grow to its full unbridled height ; they 
 
 threaten 
 Your life, great sir : pray send my brother 
 
 to them ; 
 His sight can only pacify them. 
 
 Al. Have you your champions ! 
 We will prevent their insolence, you shall 
 
 not 
 Boast, you have got the empire by our 
 
 ruin : 
 Mutes, strangle him immediately. 
 
 Abr. Avert 
 
 Such a prodigious mischief, heaven ! Hark, 
 
 hark, ' {Enter, Enter. 
 
 They're enter'd into th' Court ; desist ! you 
 
 monsters, 
 My life shall stand betwixt his and this 
 
 violence, 
 Or I with him will perish. Faithful 
 
 soldiers, 
 Haste to defend your Prince, curse on 
 
 your slowness. 
 He's dead ; my father's turn is next. O 
 
 horror, 
 
 Would I might sink into forgetfulness ! 
 What has your fury urged you to ? 
 
 Al. To that 
 Which whoso murmurs at, is a faithless 
 traitor 
 
 Enter Simanthes. 
 
 To our tranquillity. Now, sir, your busi- 
 ness? 
 
 Si. My lord, the city 
 Is up in arms, in rescue of the Prince ; 
 The whole Court throngs with soldiers. 
 
 AL. 'Twas high time 
 
 To cut this viper off, that would have eat 
 
 his passage 
 Through our very bowels to our empire. 
 SJay, we will stand their furies, and with 
 
 terror 
 Of majesty strike dead these insurrections. 
 
 Enter Soldiers. 
 
 Traitors, what means this violence ? 
 
 Abr. O, dear soldiers, 
 Your honest love's in vain ; my brother's 
 
 dead, 
 
 Strangled by great Ahnanzor's dire com- 
 mand 
 Ere your arrival. I do hope they'll kill 
 
 him 
 In their hot zeal. 
 
 Al. Why do you stare so, traitors? 
 Twas I your Emperor that have done this 
 
 act, 
 Which who repines at, treads the self-same 
 
 steps 
 Of death that he has done. Withdraw 
 
 and leave us, 
 We'd be alone. No motion ! Are you 
 
 statues ? 
 Stay you, Tarifa, here. For your part, 
 
 Mura, 
 You cannot now complain but you have 
 
 justice ; 
 So quit our presence. 
 
 Os. Faces about, gentlemen. [Exeunt. 
 Abr. It has happen'd 
 Above our wishes, we shall have no need 
 
 now 
 To employ your handkercher. Yet give 
 
 it me. 
 You're sure 'tis right, Simanthes. 
 
 Al. Tarifa, 
 I know the love thou bear'st Prince 
 
 Abilqualit 
 Makes thy big heart swell as 't had drunk 
 
 the foam 
 
 Of angry dragons. Speak thy free inten- 
 tions ; 
 Deserved he not this fate ? 
 
 Ta. No : you're a tyrant, 
 One that delights to feed on your own 
 
 bowels, 
 And were not worthy of a son so 
 
 virtuous. 
 Now you have ta'en his, add to your 
 
 injustice, 
 
 And take Tarifa's life, who in his death, 
 Should it come flying on the wings of 
 
 torments, 
 
 Would speak it out as an apparent truth : 
 The Prince to me declared his innocence, 
 And that Caropia yielded. 
 
SCENE I.J 
 
 REVENGE FOR HONOUR. 
 
 439 
 
 A I. Rise, Tarifa ; 
 We do command thee rise ; a sudden 
 
 chillness, 
 
 Such as the hand of winter casts on brooks, 
 Thrills our aged heart. I'll not have thee 
 
 ingross 
 
 Sorrow alone for Abilqualit's death ; 
 I loved the boy well, and though his ambi- 
 tion 
 
 And popularity did make him dangerous, 
 I do repent my fury, and will vie 
 With thee in sorrow. How he makes 
 
 death lovely ! 
 Shall we fix here, and weep till we be 
 
 statues ? 
 
 Ta. Till we grow stiff as the cold ala- 
 basters 
 
 Must be erected over us. Your rashness 
 Has robb'd the empire of the greatest hope 
 It ere shall boast again. Would I were 
 
 ashes ! 
 
 A I. He breathes, methinks ; the over- 
 hasty soul 
 
 Was too discourteous to forsake so fair 
 A lodging, without taking solemn leave 
 First of the owner. Ha, his handkercher ! 
 Thou'rt liberal to thy father even in death, 
 Leavest him a legacy to dry his tears, 
 Which are too slow ; they should create a 
 deluge. 
 
 my dear Abilqualit ! 
 Ta. You exceed now 
 
 As much in grief as you did then in rage : 
 One drop of this pious paternal softness 
 Had ransom'd him from ruin. Dear sir, 
 
 rise : 
 My griefs divided, and I know not 
 
 whether 
 
 1 should lament you living, or him dead. 
 Good sir, erect your looks. Not stir ! His 
 
 sorrow 
 Makes him insensible. Ha, there's no 
 
 motion 
 
 Left in his vital spirits ; the excess 
 Of grief has stifled up his powers, and 
 
 crack 'd, 
 I fear, his aged heart's cordage. Help, 
 
 the Emperor ! 
 The Emperor's dead ! Help, help ! 
 
 Abrahen, Simanthes, Mesithes, Mutes. 
 
 Abr. What dismal outcry's this ? 
 Our royal father dead ! the handkercher 
 
 has wrought, I see. 
 Ta. Yes, his big heart 
 Vanquish 'd with sorrow, that in's violent 
 
 rage 
 
 i He doom'd his much-loved son to timeless 
 death, 
 
 Could not endure longer on its weak 
 
 strings, 
 But crack'd with weight of sorrow. Their 
 
 two spirits 
 
 By this, are met in their delightful passage 
 To the blest shades ; we in our tears are 
 
 bound 
 To call you our dread Sovereign. 
 
 Omnes. Long live Abrahen ! 
 Great Caliph of Arabia. 
 
 Abr. Tis a title 
 
 We cannot covet, lords : it comes attended 
 With so great cares and troubles, that our 
 
 youth 
 Starts at the thought of them, even in our 
 
 sorrows 
 Which are so mighty on us ; our weak 
 
 spirits 
 
 Are ready to relinquish the possession 
 They've of mortality, and take swift 
 
 flight 
 
 After our royal friends. Simanthes, be it 
 Your charge to see all fitting preparation 
 Provided for the funerals. 
 
 Enter Selinthus. 
 
 Se. Where's great Almanzor? 
 Abr. O, Selinthus, this 
 
 Day is the hour of funeral's grief ; for his 
 
 Cruelty to my brother, has translated 
 
 Him to immortality. 
 Se. He'll have attendants 
 
 To wait on him to our great prophet's 
 paradise, 
 
 Ere he be ready for his grave. The sol- 
 diers, 
 
 All mad with rage for the Prince's slaughter, 
 
 Have vow'd by all oaths soldiers can in- 
 vent, 
 
 (And that's no small store) with death and 
 destruction 
 
 To pursue sullen Mura. 
 Abr. Tarifa, 
 
 Use your authority to keep their violence 
 
 In due obedience. We're so fraught with 
 grief, 
 
 We have no room for any other passion 
 
 In our distracted bosom. Take these royal 
 bodies 
 
 And place them on that couch ; here where 
 they fell, 
 
 They shall be embalm 'd. Yet put them 
 out of our sight, 
 
 Their views draw fresh drops from our 
 heart. Anon, 
 
 We'll show ourselves to cheer the afflicted 
 
 subject. [A shout. 
 
 Omnes. Long live Abrahen, great Caliph 
 
 of Arabia ! {Exeunt. 
 
440 
 
 REVENGE FOR HONOUR. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Abr. And who can say now, Abrahen 
 
 is a villain ? 
 
 I am saluted King with acclamations 
 That deaf the heavens to hear, with as 
 
 much joy 
 
 As if I had achieved this sceptre by 
 Means fair and virtuous. Twas this hand- 
 
 kercher 
 
 That did to death Almanzor ; so infected 
 Its least insensible vapour has full power, 
 Applied to th' eye or any other organ, 
 Can drink its poison in to vanquish nature, 
 Though ne'er so strong and youthful. 
 
 Twas Simanthes 
 
 Devised it for my brother, and my cunning 
 Transferr'd it to Almanzor ; 'tis no matter, 
 My worst impiety is held now religious. 
 'Twixt kings and their inferiors there's 
 
 this odds, 
 These are mere men, we men, yet earthly 
 
 gods. [Exit. 
 
 Abi. 'Twas well the mutes proved faith- 
 ful, otherwise 
 I'd lost my breath with as much speed and 
 
 silence 
 As those that do expire in dreams, their 
 
 health 
 
 Seeming no whit abated. But 'twas wisely 
 Consider'd of me, to prepare those sure 
 Instruments of destruction : the suspicion 
 I had by Abrahen of my father's fears 
 Of my unthought ambition, did instruct me 
 By making them mine, to secure my safety. 
 Would the inhumane surgeon had ta'en 
 
 these 
 Bless'd lights from me ; that I had lived 
 
 for ever 
 
 Doom'd to perpetual darkness, rather than 
 Tarifa's fears had so appeach'd her 
 
 honour. 
 
 Well, villain brother, I have found that by 
 My seeming death, which by my life's bes't 
 
 arts 
 I ne'er should have had knowledge of. 
 
 Dear father, 
 
 Though thou to me wert pitiless, my heart 
 Weeps tears of blood, to see thy age thus 
 
 like 
 
 A lofty pine fall, eaten through by th' gin 
 From its own stock descending : he has 
 
 agents 
 
 In his ungracious wickedness : Simanthes 
 He has discover 'd : were they multitudes 
 As numerous as collected sands, and 
 
 mighty 
 In force as mischief, they should from my 
 
 justice 
 Meet their due punishment. Abrahen by 
 
 this 
 
 Is proclaim'd Caliph, yet my undoubted 
 
 right 
 
 When't shall appear I'm living, will reduce 
 The people to my part ; the army's mine, 
 Whither I must withdraw unseen ; the 
 
 night 
 Will best secure me. What a strange 
 
 chimera 
 Of thought possesses my dull brain ! Caro- 
 
 pia, 
 Thou hast a share in them : Fate, to thy 
 
 mercy 
 
 I do commit myself ; who 'scapes the snare 
 Once, has a certain caution to beware. 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 Enter Caropia and Perilinda. 
 
 Ca. Your lord is not return'd yet ! 
 Pe. No, good madam : 
 Pray do not thus torment yourself, the 
 
 Prince 
 
 (T warrant you) will have no injury 
 By saving of your honour ; do you think 
 His father will be so extreme outrageous 
 For such a trifle as to force a woman 
 With her good liking ? 
 
 Ca. My ill-boding soul 
 Beats with presages ominous. Would 
 
 heaven 
 I'd stood the hazard of my incensed lord's 
 
 fury, 
 Rather than he had run this imminent 
 
 danger. 
 Could you ne'er learn, which of the slaves 
 
 it was 
 Betray 'd our close loves to loathed Mura's 
 
 notice ? 
 Pe. No, indeed could I not ; but here's 
 
 my lord, 
 Pray, madam, do not grieve so ! 
 
 Enter Mura. 
 
 Mu. My Caropia, 
 Dress up thy looks in their accustom 'd 
 
 beauties ; 
 Call back the constant spring into thy 
 
 cheeks, 
 
 That droop like lovely violets o'ercharged 
 With too much morning's dew ; shoot 
 
 from thy eyes 
 A thousand flames of joy. The lustful 
 
 prince, 
 That like a foul thief robb'd thee cf thy 
 
 honour 
 
 By his ungracious violence, has met 
 His royal father's justice. 
 Ca. Now my fears 
 
SCENE II. 
 
 REVENGE FOR HONOUR. 
 
 441 
 
 Carry too sure an augury ! you would fain 
 Soothe me, my lord, out of my flood of 
 
 sorrows ; 
 
 What reparation can that make my honour, 
 Though he have tasted punishment ? 
 
 Mu. His life 
 
 Is fall'n the offspring of thy chastity, 
 Which his hot lust polluted : nay, Caropia, 
 To save himself, when he but felt the tor- 
 ment 
 
 Applied to his lascivious eyes, although 
 At first he did with impudence acknowledge 
 Thy rape, he did invade thy spotless virtue, 
 Protested, only 'twas to save thy honour, 
 He took on him thy rape, when with con- 
 sent 
 And not constrain'd, thou yielded'st to the 
 
 looseness 
 Of his wild, vicious flames. 
 
 Ca. Could he be so unjust, my lord ? 
 
 Mu. He was, and he has paid for't : 
 
 The malicious soldier, while he was a-lesing 
 
 His eyes, made violent head to bring him 
 
 rescue, 
 Which pull'd his ruin on him. But no 
 
 more 
 
 Of such a prodigy ; may his black memory 
 Perish even with his ashes ! My Caropia, 
 The flourishing trees widow' d by winter's 
 
 violence 
 Of their fair ornaments, when 'tis expired 
 
 once, 
 
 Put forth again with new and virgin fresh- 
 ness, 
 Their bushy beauties ; it should be thy 
 
 emblem. 
 Display again those chaste, immaculate 
 
 glories, 
 Which the harsh winter of his lust had 
 
 wither'd ; 
 
 And I'll again be wedded to thy virtues, 
 With as much joy, as when thou first 
 
 enrich'd me 
 With their pure maiden beauties. Thou 
 
 art dull, 
 
 And dost not gratulate with happy welcomes 
 The triumphs of thy vengeance. 
 
 Ca. Are you sure, my lord, the Prince 
 
 is dead? 
 
 Mu. Pish, I beheld him breathless. 
 Take comfort, best Caropia, thy disgrace 
 Did with his loathed breath vanish. 
 
 Ca. I could wish though, 
 That he had fall'n by your particular ven- 
 geance, 
 : Rather than by th' law's rigour ; you're a 
 
 soldier 
 
 1 Of glory, great in war for brave perfor- 
 mance : 
 
 Methinks 't had been far nobler had you 
 
 call'd him 
 
 To personal satisfaction : had I been 
 Your husband, you my wife, and ravish'd: 
 
 by him, 
 My resolution would have arm'd my 
 
 courage 
 To 've stroke him thus : ' ' The dead prince 
 
 sends you that." [Stab him. 
 
 Mu. O, I am slain ! 
 Ca. Would it were possible 
 To kill even thy eternity ! Sweet prince, 
 How shall I satisfy thy unhappy ruins ! 
 Ha ! not yet breathless ! To increase thy 
 
 anguish 
 
 Even to despair, know, Abilqualit was 
 More dear to me than thy foul self was 
 
 odious, 
 And did enjoy me freely. 
 
 Mu. That I had 
 But breath enough to blast thee. 
 
 Ca. 'Twas his brother 
 (Curse on his art !) seduced me to accuse 
 Him of my rape. Do you groan, prodigy? 
 Take this as my last bounty. \Stab again. 
 
 Enter Perilinda. 
 
 Pe. O madam, madam, 
 
 What shall we do ? the house is round be- 
 set 
 
 With soldiers ; madam, they do swear 
 they'll tear 
 
 My lord, for the sweet Prince's death, in 
 
 pieces. 
 Ca. This hand has saved 
 
 Their fury that just labour : yet I'll make 
 
 Use of their malice. Help to convey him 
 
 Into his chamber. 
 
 Enter Osman, Gaselles, Soldiers. . 
 
 Ga. Where is this villain, this traitor 
 
 Mura? 
 
 Ca. Heaven knows what violence 
 Their fury may assault me with ; be't 
 
 death, 
 'T shall be as welcome as sound healthful 
 
 sleeps 
 To men oppress'd with sickness. What's 
 
 the matter? 
 What means this outrage ? 
 
 Os. Marry, lady gay, 
 We're come to cut your little throat ; pox 
 
 on you, 
 And all your sex ; you've caused the noble 
 
 Prince's 
 Death, wildfire take you for't, we'll talk 
 
 with you 
 
 At better leisure : you must needs be ra- 
 vish'd ! 
 
442 
 
 REVENGE FOR HONOUR. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 And could not, like an honest woman, take 
 The courtesy in friendly sort ! 
 
 Ga. We trifle : 
 Her husband may escape us. Say, where 
 
 is he? 
 Or you shall die, ere you can pray. 
 
 So. Here, here I have found the villain ! 
 What, do you sleep so soundly ? ne'er wake 
 
 more, 
 This for the Prince, you rogue : let's tear 
 
 him piecemeal. 
 
 Do you take your death in silence, dog ! 
 Ca. You appear endow'd with some 
 
 humanity, 
 You have ta'en his life ; let not your hate 
 
 last 
 
 After death : let me embalm his body with 
 My tears, or kill me with him. 
 
 Os. Now you've said the word, 
 We care not if we do. 
 
 Enter Tarifa. 
 
 Ta. Slaves, unhand 
 
 The lady; who dares offer her least violence, 
 From this hand meets his punishment. 
 
 Gaselles, 
 Osman, I thought you had been better 
 
 temper'd 
 Than thus to raise up mutinies. In the 
 
 name 
 Of Abrahen, our now Caliph, I command 
 
 you 
 
 Desist from these rebellious practices, 
 And quietly retire into the camp, 
 And there expect his pleasure. 
 
 Ga. Abrahen Caliph ! 
 There is some hopes, then, we shall gain 
 
 our pardons : 
 Long live great Abrahen ! Soldiers, slink 
 
 away ; 
 
 Our vow is consummate. 
 Ca. O my dear Lord ! 
 Ta. Be gone. 
 Os. Yes, as quietly 
 
 As if we were in flight before the foe ; 
 The general pardon at the coronation 
 Will bring us off, I'm sure. 
 Ta. Alas, good madam ! 
 I'm sorry that these miseries have fall'n 
 With so much rigour on you ; pray take 
 
 comfort : 
 Your husband prosecuted with too much 
 
 violence 
 Prince Abilqualit's ruin. 
 
 Ca. It appear 'd so ! 
 What worlds of woe have hapless I given 
 
 life to, 
 And yet survive them ! 
 
 Ta. Do not with such fury 
 
 Torment your innocent self . I'm sure the 
 
 Emperor 
 
 Abrahen will number 't 'mongst his great- 
 est sorrows 
 That he has lost your husband. I must 
 
 give him 
 Notice of these proceedings. Best peace 
 
 keep you, 
 And settle your distractions. 
 
 Ca. Not until 
 
 I'm settled in my peaceful urn. This is yet 
 Some comfort to me, 'midst the floods of 
 
 woes, 
 That do overwhelm me for the Prince's 
 
 death, 
 
 That I revenged it safely ; though I prize 
 My life at no more value than a foolish 
 Ignorant Indian does a diamond, 
 Which for a bead of jet or glass he 
 
 changes : 
 
 Nor would I keep it, were it not with fuller, 
 More noble bravery, to take revenge 
 For my Lord Abilqualit's timeless slaughter. 
 I must use craft and mystery. Dissembling 
 Is held the natural quality of our sex, 
 Nor will't be hard to practise. This same 
 
 Abrahen, 
 That by his brother's ruin wields the 
 
 sceptre, 
 
 Whether out of his innocence or malice, 
 'Twas that persuaded me to accuse him of 
 My rape. The die is cast, I am resolved : 
 To thee, my Abilqualit, I will come ; 
 A death for love 's no death, but martyr- 
 dom. \_Exit. 
 
 ACT THE FIFTH. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Enter Abilqualit, Selinthus, Gaselles, 
 Osman, Soldiers, and Mutes. 
 
 Abi. No more, good faithful soldiers : 
 
 thank the powers 
 
 Divine, has brought me back to you in safety. 
 The traitorous practices against our life, 
 And our dear father's, poison'd by our 
 
 brother, 
 We have discover 'd, and shall take just 
 
 vengeance 
 
 On the unnatural parricide. Retire 
 Into your tents, and peacefully expect 
 The event of things ; you, Osman, and 
 
 Gaselles, 
 Shall into the city with me. 
 
 Os. We will march 
 Thorough the world with thee, dear 
 
 Sovereign, 
 Great Abilqualit. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 REVENGE FOR HONOUR. 
 
 443 
 
 Abi. Selinthus, 
 
 Give you our dear Tarifa speedy notice 
 We are again among the living : pray him 
 To let our loyal subjects in the city 
 Have sure intelligence of our escape : 
 And, dearest friends and fellows, let not 
 
 your 
 
 Too loud expressions of your joy, for our 
 Unlook'd-for welfare, subject to discovery 
 Our unexpected safety. 
 
 Se. Never fear : 
 They're trusty myrmidons, and will stick 
 
 close 
 
 To you, their dear Achilles ; but, my lord, 
 The wisest may imagine it were safer 
 For you to rest here 'mong your armed 
 
 legions, 
 
 Than to intrust your person in the City, 
 Whereas it seems by the past story, you'll 
 Not know fyour] friends from enemies. 
 
 Abi, Selinthus, 
 
 Thy honest care declares the zealous duty 
 Thou owest thy sovereign : but what 
 
 danger can 
 
 Assault us there, where there is none sus- 
 pects 
 
 We are alive? we'll go survey the state 
 Of things, i' th' morning we will seize the 
 
 palace, 
 And then proclaim our right. Come, 
 
 valiant captains, 
 You shall be our companions. 
 
 Ga. And we'll guard you 
 Safe, as you were encompass'd with an 
 
 army. 
 Se. You guard your own fools' heads : 
 
 is't fit his safety, 
 On which our lives and fortunes have 
 
 dependence, 
 
 Should be exposed unto your single valour ? 
 Pray once let your friends rule you, that 
 
 you may 
 Rule them hereafter. Your good brother 
 
 Abrahen 
 Has a strong faction, it should seem, i' th' 
 
 . Court : 
 And though these bloodhounds follow'd the 
 
 scent hotly 
 
 Till they had worried Mura, he has other 
 Allies of no mean consequence ; your 
 
 eunuch, 
 
 Mesithes.his chief favourite, and Simanthes. 
 Abi. It was that villain that betray'd my 
 
 love 
 To him and slaughter'd Mura. 
 
 Se. Very likely. 
 
 An arranter, falser parasite never was 
 Cut like a colt. Pray, sir, be wise this 
 
 once 
 
 At my entreaties ; and for ever after 
 
 Use your discretion as you please : these 
 
 night-works 
 
 I do not like ; yet ere the morning I 
 Will bring Tarifa to you. 
 Abi. You shall o'errule us. Poor 
 
 Caropia, these 
 Thoughts are thy votaries ; love, thy active 
 
 fire, 
 
 Flames out when present, absent in desire. 
 \Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE II. 
 Enter Abrahen, Simanthes, and Mesithes. 
 
 Abr. What state and dignity's like that 
 
 of sceptres? 
 
 With what an awful majesty resembles it 
 The powers above? The inhabitants of 
 
 that 
 
 Superior world are not more subject 
 To them than these to us ; they can but 
 
 tremble 
 When they do speak in thunder ; at our 
 
 frowns 
 These shake like lambs at lightning. Can 
 
 it be 
 
 Impiety by any means to purchase 
 This earthly deity, sovereignty ? I did sleep 
 This night with as secure and calm a 
 
 peace 
 
 As in my former innocence. Conscience, 
 Thou'rt but a terror, first devised by th' 
 
 fears 
 
 Of cowardice, a sad and fond remem- 
 brance 
 Which men should shun, as elephants clear 
 
 springs, 
 Lest they beheld their own deformities, 
 
 Enter Mesithes. 
 
 And start at their grim shadows. Ha, 
 
 Mesithes ! 
 
 Me. My royal lord ! 
 Abr. Call me thy friend, Mesithes, 
 
 Thou equally dost share our heart, best 
 eunuch. 
 
 There is not in the stock of earthly bless- 
 ings 
 
 Another I could wish to make my state 
 
 Completely fortunate, but one ; and to 
 
 Achieve possession of that bliss, fhy dili- 
 gence 
 
 Must be the fortunate instrument. 
 Me. Be it dangerous 
 
 As the affrights seamen do feign in tem- 
 pests, 
 
 I'll undertake it for my gracious sovereign, 
 
 And perish, but effect it. 
 
444 
 
 REVENGE FOR HONOUR. 
 
 TACT v. 
 
 Abr. No, there is 
 Not the least show of peril in't ; 'tis the 
 
 want 
 
 Of fair Caropia's long-coveted beauties, 
 That doth afflict thy Abrahen. Love, 
 
 Mesithes, 
 
 Is a most stubborn malady, not cured 
 With that felicity that are other passions, 
 And creeps upon us by those ambushes, 
 That we perceive ourselves sooner in love 
 Than we can think upon the way of 
 
 loving. 
 The old flames break more brightly from 
 
 th' ashes 
 Where they have long lain hid, like the 
 
 young phoenix 
 That from her spicy pile revives more 
 
 glorious ; 
 
 Nor can I now extinguish't ; it has pass'd 
 The limits of my reason, and indeed 
 My will, where like a fixed star it settles, 
 Never to be removed thence. 
 
 Me. Cease your fears ; 
 I that could win her for your brother, who 
 Could not boast half your masculine per- 
 fections, 
 For you will vanquish her. 
 
 Enter Simanthes. 
 
 Si. My lord, the widow 
 Of slaughter'd Mura, fair Caropia, does 
 Humbly entreat access to your dread pre- 
 sence ; 
 Shall we permit her entrance ? 
 
 Abr. With all freedom 
 And best regard. Mesithes, this arrives 
 Beyond our wish. I'll try my eloquence 
 In my own cause ; and if I fail, thou then 
 Shalt be my advocate. 
 
 Me. Your humblest vassal. 
 
 Abr. Withdraw and leave us, 
 And give strict order none approach our 
 
 presence 
 Till we do call. It is not fit her sorrows 
 
 Enter Caropia. 
 
 Should be survey'd by common eye. 
 
 Caropia, welcome ; 
 And would we could as easily give thee 
 
 comfort 
 
 As we allow thee more than moderate pity. 
 In tears those eyes cast forth a greater 
 
 lustre 
 
 Than sparkling rocks of diamonds enclosed 
 In swelling seas of pearl. 
 
 Ca. Your majesty 
 
 Is pleased to wanton with my miseries, 
 ! Which truly you, if you have nature in 
 
 you, 
 I 
 
 Ought to bear equal part in : your dear 
 
 brother's 
 
 Untimely loss, occasion'd by my falsehood 
 And your improvident counsel 'tis that 
 
 calls 
 
 These hearty sorrows up ; I am his mur- 
 deress. 
 Abr. 'Twas his own destiny, not our bad 
 
 intentions 
 Took him away from earth ; he was too 
 
 heavenly, 
 
 Fit only for th' society of angels, 
 'Mongst whom he sings glad hymns to thy 
 
 perfections, 
 
 Celebrating witli such eloquence thy beau- 
 ties, 
 
 That those immortal essences forget 
 To love each other by intelligence, 
 And doat on the idea of thy sweetness. 
 Ca. These gentle blandishments, and 
 
 his innocent carriage 
 Had I as much of malice as a tigress 
 Robb'd of her young, would melt me into 
 
 meekness : 
 
 But I'll not be a woman. 
 Abr. Sing out, angel, 
 And charm the world, were it at mortal 
 
 difference, 
 To peace with thine enchantments. W T hat 
 
 soft murmurs 
 Are those that steal through those pure 
 
 rosy organs, 
 
 Like aromatic west-winds, when they fly 
 Through fruitful mists of fragrant morning's 
 
 dew, 
 To get the spring with child of flowers and 
 
 spices ? 
 Disperse these clouds, that like the veil of 
 
 night, 
 With unbecoming darkness shade thy 
 
 beauties, 
 And strike a new day from those orient 
 
 eyes, 
 To gild the world with brightness. 
 
 Ca. Sir, these flatteries 
 Neither befit the ears of my true sorrows, 
 Nor yet the utterance of that real sadness 
 Should dwell in you. Are these the funeral 
 
 rites 
 
 You pay the memory of your royal father, 
 And much lamented brother ? 
 
 Abr. They were mortal ; 
 And to lament them, were to show I 
 
 envied 
 
 Th' immortal joys of that true happiness 
 Their glorious souls (disfranchised from 
 
 their flesh) 
 
 Possess to perpetuity and fulness. 
 Besides, Caropia, I have other griefs 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 REVENGE FOR HONOUR 
 
 445 
 
 More near my heart, that circle't with a 
 sickness 
 
 Will shortly number me among their 
 fellowship, 
 
 If speedier remedy be not applied 
 
 To my most desperate malady. 
 Ca. I shall 
 
 (If my hand fail not my determined 
 courage) 
 
 Send you to their society far soonet 
 
 Than you expect or covet. Why, great sir, 
 
 What grief, unless your sorrow for their 
 loss, 
 
 Is't can afflict you, that command all 
 blessings 
 
 Men witty in ambition of excess 
 
 Can wish to please their fancies ? 
 Abr. The want only 
 
 Of that which I've so long desired ; thy 
 love, 
 
 Thy love, Caropia, without which my 
 empire, 
 
 And all the pleasures flowing from its 
 greatness, 
 
 Will be but burdens, soul-tormenting 
 troubles. 
 
 There's not a beam shot from those grief-' 
 drown'd comets 
 
 But (like the sun's, when they break forth 
 of showers) 
 
 Dart flames more hot and piercing. Had 
 I never 
 
 Doated before on thy divine perfections, 
 
 Viewing thy beauty thus adorn 'd by sad- 
 ness, 
 
 My heart, though marble, actuated to 
 softness, 
 
 Would burn like sacred incense, itself 
 being 
 
 The altar, priest, and sacrifice. 
 Ca. This is 
 
 As unexpected as unwelcome, sir. 
 
 Howe'er you're pleased to mock me and 
 my griefs 
 
 With these impertinent, unmeant dis- 
 courses, 
 
 I cannot have so prodigal a faith, 
 
 To give them the least credit, and it is 
 
 Unkindly done, thus to deride my sorrows. 
 
 The virgin turtles hate to join their pure- 
 ness 
 
 With widow'd mates : my lord, you are a 
 prince, 
 
 And such as much detest to utter false- 
 hoods, 
 
 As saints do perjuries ; why should you 
 strive then 
 
 To lay a bait to captivate my affections, 
 when your 
 
 ' Greatness conjoin'd with your youth's 
 
 masculine beauties, 
 
 Are to a woman's frailty, strong temp- 
 tations ? 
 
 You know the story too of my misfortunes, 
 That your dead brother did with vicious 
 
 looseness 
 Corrupt the chaste streams of my spotless 
 
 virtues, 
 And left me soiled like a long-pluck'd 
 
 rose, 
 Whose leaves dissever'd have foregone their 
 
 sweetness. 
 Abr. Thou hast not, my Caropia ; thou 
 
 to me 
 Art for thy scent still fragrant, and as 
 
 precious 
 As the prime virgins of the spring, the 
 
 violets, 
 When they do first display their early 
 
 beauties, 
 
 Till all the winds in love do grow con- 
 tentious 
 Which from their lips should ravish the 
 
 first kisses. 
 Caropia, think'st thou I should fear the 
 
 nuptials 
 Of this great empire, 'cause it was my 
 
 brother's ? 
 
 As I succeeded him in all his glories, 
 Tis fit I do succeed him in his love. 
 Tis true, I know thy fame fell by his 
 
 practice, 
 Which had he lived, he'd have restored by 
 
 marriage, 
 
 By it repair'd thy injured honour's ruins. 
 I'm bound to do it in religious conscience; 
 It is a debt his incensed ghost would 
 
 quarrel 
 Me living for, should I not pay't with 
 
 fulness. 
 Ca. Of what frail temper is a woman's 
 
 weakness ! 
 Words writ in waters have more lasting 
 
 essence 
 Than our determinations. 
 
 Abr. Come, I know, 
 
 Thou must be gentle, I perceive a combat 
 In thy soft heart, by th' intervening blushes 
 That strive to adorn thy cheek with purple 
 
 beauties, 
 
 And drive the lovely livery of thy sorrows, 
 The ivory paleness, out of them. Think, 
 
 Caropia, 
 
 With what a settled, unrevolting truth 
 I have affected thee ; with what heat, what 
 
 pureness ; 
 
 And when, upon mature considerations, 
 I found I was unworthy to enjoy 
 
446 
 
 REVENGE FOR HONOUR. 
 
 [ACT V. 
 
 A treasure of such excellent grace and 
 
 goodness, 
 
 I did desist, smothering my love in anguish; 
 Anguish, to which the soul of human 
 
 torments 
 Compared, were pains not easy, but 
 
 delicious ; 
 
 Yet still the secret flames of my affections, 
 Like hidden virtues in some bashful man, 
 Grew great and ferventer by those sup- 
 pressions. 
 
 Thou wert created only for an Empress ; 
 Despise not then thy destiny, now greatness, 
 Love, Empire, and whate'er may be held 
 
 glorious, 
 
 Court thy acceptance, like obedient vassals. 
 Co.. I have consider'd, and my serious 
 
 thoughts 
 
 Tell me, 'tis folly to refuse these proffers ; 
 To put off my mortality, the pleasures 
 Of life, which like full streams, do flow 
 
 from greatness, 
 
 To wander i'th" unpeopled air, to keep 
 Society with ghastly apparitions, 
 Where neither voice of friends, nor visiting 
 
 suitors 
 Breathes to delight our ears, and all this 
 
 for 
 The fame of a fell murderess. I have 
 
 blood 
 
 Enough already on my soul, more than 
 My tears can e'er wash off. My royal lord, 
 If you can be so merciful and gracious, 
 To take a woman laden with afflictions, 
 Big with true sorrow, and religious peni- 
 tence 
 
 For her amiss ; her life and after actions 
 Shall study to deserve your love. But 
 
 surely 
 This is not serious. 
 
 A dr. Not the vows which votaries 
 Make to the powers above, can be more 
 
 fraught 
 
 With binding sanctity. This holy kiss 
 Confirms our mutual vows ; never till now 
 Was I true Caliph of Arabia. 
 
 Enter, Enter, Enter. 
 
 Abr. Ha, what tumult's that? 
 Be you all furies, and thou the great 'st of 
 
 devils, 
 Abrahen will stand you all, unmoved as 
 
 mountains. 
 This good sword, 
 
 If you be air, shall disenchant you from 
 Your borrow' d figures. 
 
 Abi. No, ill-natured monster, 
 We're all corporeal, and survive to take 
 Revenge on thy inhuman acts, at name 
 
 Of which the bashful elements do shake 
 As if they teem'd with prodigies. Dost not 
 
 tremble 
 
 At thy inhuman villanies ? Dear Caropia, 
 Quit the infectious viper, lest his touch 
 Poison thee past recovery. 
 Abr. No, she shall not ; 
 Nor you, until this body be one wound, 
 Lay a rude hand upon me ! Abilqualit, 
 Howe'er thou scaped'st my practices with 
 
 life, 
 
 I am not now to question ; we were both 
 Sons to one father, whom, for love of 
 
 empire, 
 When I believed thee strangled by those 
 
 mutes, 
 
 I sent to his eternal rest ; nor do I 
 Repent the fact yet, I have been titled 
 
 Caliph 
 
 A day, which is to my ambitious thoughts 
 Honour enough to eternize my big name 
 To all posterity. I know thou art 
 Of valiant, noble soul ; let not thy brother 
 Fall by ignoble hands, oppress'd by num- 
 ber; 
 Draw thy bright weapon ; as thou art in 
 
 empire, 
 
 Thou art my rival in this lady's love, 
 Whom I esteem above all joys of life : 
 For her and for this monarchy, let's try 
 Our strengths and fortunes : the impartial 
 
 fates 
 
 To him who has the better cause, in justice 
 Must needs design the victory. 
 
 Abi. In this offer, 
 Though it proceed from desperateness, not 
 
 valour, 
 Thou show'st a masculine courage, and we 
 
 will not 
 
 Render our cause so abject as to doubt 
 But our just arm has strength [enough] 
 
 to punish 
 Thy most unheard-of treacheries. 
 
 Ta. But you shall not 
 Be so unjust to us and to your right, 
 To try your cause's most undoubted justice 
 'Gainst the despairing ruffian ; soldiers, 
 
 pull 
 The lady from him, and disarm him. 
 
 Abi. Stay! 
 
 Though he doth merit multitudes of death, 
 We would not murder his eternity 
 By sudden execution ; yield yourself, 
 And we'll allow you liberty of life, 
 Till by repentance you have purged your sin, 
 And so, if possible, redeem your soul 
 From future punishment. 
 
 Abr. Pish, tell fools of souls, 
 And those effeminate cowards that do dream 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 REVENGE FOR HONOUR. 
 
 447 
 
 Of those fantastic other worlds : there is 
 Net such a thing in nature, all the soul 
 Of men is resolution, which expires 
 Never from valiant men till their last 
 
 breath, 
 
 And then with it like to aflame extinguish'd 
 For want of matter/t does not die, but rather 
 Ceases to live. Enjoy in peace your empire, 
 And as a legacy of Abrahen's love, 
 Take this fair lady to your bride. [Stab her. 
 
 Abi. Inhuman butcher ! 
 Has slain the lady. Look up, best Caropia, 
 Run for our surgeons : I'll give half my 
 
 empire 
 
 To save her precious life. 
 Abr. She has enough, 
 Or mine aim fail'd me to procure her pas- 
 sage 
 
 To the eternal dwellings : nor is this 
 Cruelty in me ; I alone was worthy 
 To have enjoy 'd her beauties. Make good 
 
 haste, 
 
 Caropia, or my soul, if I have any, 
 Will hover for thee in the clouds. This 
 
 was 
 
 The fatal engine which betray 'd our father 
 To his untimely death, made by Siman- 
 
 thes 
 For your use, Abilqualit ; and who has 
 
 this 
 About him, and would be a slave to your 
 
 base mercy, 
 
 Deserved death more than by daily tor- 
 tures ; 
 
 And thus I kiss'd my last breath. Blast 
 you all ! [Dies. 
 
 Ta. Damn'd desperate villain ! 
 Abi. O my dear Caropia, 
 My empire now will be unpleasant to me 
 Since I must lose thy company. This 
 
 surgeon ; 
 
 Where's this surgeon ? 
 Se. Drunk perhaps. 
 Ca. Tis but needless, 
 No human help can save me : yet me- 
 
 thinks 
 
 I feel a kind of pleasing ease in your 
 Embraces. I should utter something, 
 And I have strength enough, I hope, left 
 
 yet 
 
 To effect my purpose. In revenge for your 
 Supposed dealh, my loved lord, I slew my 
 
 husband, 
 Abi. I'm sorry thou hast that sin to 
 
 charge thy soul with ; 
 'Twas rumour'd by the soldiers. 
 
 Se. Cousins mine, 
 Your necks are safe again now. 
 Ca. And came hither 
 
 With an intent to have for your sake slain 
 
 your brother Abrahen, 
 Had not his courtesy and winning car- 
 riage 
 
 Alter'd my resolution, with this poniard 
 I'd struck him here about the heart. 
 
 [Stabs Abilqualit. 
 Abi. O I am slain, Caropia, 
 And by thy hand. Heavens, you are just, 
 
 this is 
 Revenge for thy dear honour, which I 
 
 rrrurder'd, 
 Though thou wert consenting to it. 
 
 Ca. True, I was so, 
 
 And not repent it yet ; my sole ambition 
 Was to have lived an Empress, which since 
 
 fate 
 
 Would not allow, I was resolved no wo- 
 man 
 
 After myself should e'er enjoy that glory 
 With you, dear Abilqualit ; which since my 
 Weak strength has served me to perform, 
 
 I die 
 
 Willingly as an infant. O now I faint, 
 Life's death to those that keep it by con- 
 straint. 
 
 Ta. My dear lord, 
 Is ^there no hopes of life? must we be 
 
 wretched ? 
 
 Abi. Happier, my Tarifa, by my death : 
 But yesterday I play'd the part in jest 
 Which I now act in earnest. My Tarifa, 
 The Empire's thine, I'm sure thou'lt rule 
 
 with justice, 
 And make the subject happy. Thou hast 
 
 a son 
 
 Of hopeful growing virtues to succeed thee, 
 Commend me to him, and from me intreat 
 
 him 
 To shun the temptings of lascivious glances. 
 
 Se. 'Las, good Prince ! 
 He'll die indeed, I fear, he is so full 
 Of serious thoughts and counsels. 
 Abi. For this slaughter'd body, 
 Let it have decent burial with slain Mura's, 
 But let not Abrahen's corpse have so much 
 
 honour 
 
 To come i'th' royal monument : lay mine 
 By my dear father's : for that treacherous 
 
 eunuch, 
 
 And Lord Simanthes, use them as thy jus- 
 tice 
 Tells thee they have merited ; for Lord 
 
 Selinthus, 
 
 Advance him, my Tarifa, he's of faithful 
 And well-deserving virtues. 
 
 Se. So I am, 
 
 I thought 'twould come to me anon : 
 Poor Prince, I e'en could die with him. 
 
443 
 
 REVENGE FOR HONOUR. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Abi. And for those soldiers, and those 
 our most faithful 
 
 Mutes, that my life once saved, let them be 
 well 
 
 Rewarded ; death and I are almost now at 
 unity. Farewell. [Dies. 
 
 Ta. Sure I shall not 
 
 Survive these sorrows long. Mutes, take 
 those traitors 
 
 To prison ; we will shortly pass their sen- 
 tence, 
 
 Which shall be death inevitable. Take 
 up 
 
 That fatal instrument of poisonous mis- 
 chief, 
 
 And see it burn'd, Gaselles. Gentlemen, 
 Fate has made us your king against our 
 
 wishes. 
 
 Se. Long live Tarifa, Caliph of Arabia ! 
 Ta. We have no time now for your 
 
 acclamations ; 
 These are black sorrow's festival. Bear 
 
 off 
 
 In state that royal body ; for the other, 
 Since 'twas his will, let them have burial, 
 But in obscurity. By this it may, 
 As by an evident rule be understood, 
 They're only truly great who are truly 
 
 good. 
 [Recorders. Flourish. Exeunt omnes. 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 I'm much displeased the poet has made 
 
 me 
 
 The Epilogue to his sad tragedy. 
 Would I had died honestly amongst the 
 
 rest, 
 Rather than live to th' last, now to be 
 
 press 
 death 
 
 'd 
 
 To death by your hard censures. Pray 
 
 you say 
 
 What is it you dislike so in this play, 
 That none applauds ? Believe it, I should 
 
 faint, 
 
 Did not some smile, and keep me by con- 
 straint 
 
 From the sad qualm. What power is in 
 your breath, 
 
 That you can save alive, and doom to 
 death, 
 
 Even whom you please? Thus are your 
 judgments free, 
 
 Most of the rest are slain, you may save 
 me. 
 
 But if death be the word, I pray bestow it 
 
 Where it best fits : hang up the poet. 
 
PLAYS 
 
 WRITTEN IN CON'JUNCTION WITH 
 
 BEN JONSON, MARSTON, AND SHIRLEY. 
 
 VOL.1 QQ 
 
[OF the three following Plays Eastward Ho, The Ball, and Ckabot, Admiral of 
 France the first was written by Chapman in conjunction with Ben Jonson and 
 Marston. It is not included in any edition of Ben Jonson's Works, and is very 
 incorrectly printed in Mr. Halliwell's edition of Marston. The other two Plays 
 were written in conjunction with Shirley. The edition of Shirley's Plays published 
 in 1833 is now very rare ; and Chapman seems to have written nearly the whole 
 of Chabot. It has therefore been thought advisable, in order to make this edition 
 of his Dramatic Works quite complete, to include these three Plays in the present 
 Volume, ij 
 
Eastward Ho.* 
 
 PROLOGUS. 
 
 Not out of envy, for there's no effect 
 Where there's no cause ; nor out of imita- 
 tion, 
 
 For we have evermore been imitated ; 
 Nor out of our contention to do better 
 Than that which is opposed to ours in title, 
 For that was good ; and better cannot be. 
 And for the title, if it seem affected, 
 
 We might as well have call'd it, " God you 
 
 good even, " 
 
 Only that Eastward westwards still exceeds ; 
 Honour the sun's fair rising, not his setting. 
 Nor is our title utterly enforced, 
 As by the points we touch at you shall see. 
 Bear with our willing pains, if dull or witty, 
 We only dedicate it to the City. 
 
 ACT THE FIRST. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Enter Master Touchstone and Quicksilver 
 at several doors ; Quicksilver with his 
 hat, pumps, short sword and dagger, 
 and a racket trussed up tinder his 
 cloak. At the middle door, enter 
 Golding, discovering a goldsmith's 
 shop, and walking short turns before 
 it. 
 
 To. And whither with you now ? what 
 loose action are you bound for? Come, , 
 what comrades are you to meet withal ?j 
 Where's the supper? where's the rendezvous? , 
 
 Qu. Indeed, and in very good sober 
 truth, sir 
 
 To. Indeed, and in very good sober 
 truth, sir ! Behind my back thou wilt swear 
 faster than a French footboy, and talk : 
 morebawdily than a common midwife; and 
 now indeed and in very good sober truth, ' 
 sir ! but if a privy search should be made, 
 with what furniture are you rigged now ? 
 Sirrah, I tell thee, I am thy master, 
 William Touchstone, goldsmith ; and thou 
 my 'prentice, Francis Quicksilver, and I 
 
 * "Eastward Hoe. As it was playd in the 
 Black-friers, by the Children of her Maiesties 
 Reuels. MadebyGeo: Chapman, Ben: lonson, 
 loh: Marston. At London : Printed for William 
 Aspley. 1605." 
 
 will see whither you are running. Work 
 upon that now. 
 
 Qu. Why, sir, I hope a man may use 
 his recreation with his master's profit. 
 
 To. Prentices' recreations are seldom with 
 their masters' profit. Work upon that 
 now. You shall give up your cloak, though 
 you be no alderman. Heyday! ruffians'-hall 
 sword, pumps, here's a racket indeed ! 
 
 [Touchstone uncloaks Quicksilver. 
 
 Qu. Work upon that now. 
 
 To. Thou shameless varlet ! dost thou 
 jest at thy lawful master, contrary to thy 
 indentures? 
 
 (?//.Why 'sblood, sir! mymother'sagentle- 
 woman, and my father a justice of peace and 
 of Quorum ; and though I am a younger 
 brother and a prentice, yet I hope I am 
 my father's son ; and by God's lid, 'tis for 
 your worship and for your commodity that 
 I keep company. I am entertained among 
 gallants, true. They call me cousin Frank, 
 right ; I lend them moneys, good ; they 
 spend it, well. But when they are spent', 
 must not they strive to get more, must not 
 their land fly ? and to whom ? Shall not 
 your worship ha' the refusal? Well, lam 
 a good member of the city, if I were well 
 considered. How would merchants thrive, 
 if gentlemen would not be unthrifts ? How 
 could gentlemen be unthrifts if their 
 humours were not fed? How should their 
 humours be fed but by white meat, and 
 cunning secondings ? Well, the city migl t 
 G G 2 
 
452 
 
 EASTWARD HO. 
 
 [ACT 
 
 consider us. I am going to an ordinary 
 now : the gallants fall to play ; I carry light 
 gold with me ; the gallants call, " Cousin 
 Frank, some gold for silver ; " I change, 
 gain by it ; the gallants lose the gold, 
 and then call, "Cousin Frank, lend me 
 
 some silver." Why 
 
 To. Why? I cannot tell. Seven-score 
 pound art thou out in the cash ; but look to 
 it, I will not be gallanted out of my moneys. 
 And as for my rising by other men's fall, 
 God shield me ! did I gain my wealth by 
 ordinaries ? no : by exchanging of gold ? 
 no : by keeping of gallants' company ? no. 
 I hired me a little shop, fought low, took 
 small gain, kept no debt-book, garnished 
 my shop, for want of plate, with good 
 wholesome thrifty sentences ; as, "Touch- 
 stone, keep thy shop, and thy shop will keep 
 thee." " Light gains makes heavy purses." 
 "'Tis good to be merry and wise." And 
 when I was wived, having something to 
 stick to, I had the horn of suretyship ever 
 before my eyes. You all know the device of 
 the horn, where the young fellow slips in 
 at the butt-end, and comes squeezed out at 
 the buckall : and I grew up, and I praise 
 Providence, I bear my brows now as high 
 as the best of my neighbours : but thou 
 
 well, look to the accounts ; your 
 
 father's bond lies for you : seven-score 
 pound is yet in the rear. 
 
 Qu. Why 'slid, sir, I have as good, ns 
 proper gallants' words for it as any are in 
 London gentlemen of good phrase, perfect 
 language, passingly behaved ; gallants that 
 wear socks and clean linen, and call me 
 " kind cousin Frank, "" good cousin Frank, " 
 for they know my father : and, by God's lid 
 shall I not trust 'hem ? not trust ? 
 
 Enter a Page, as inquiring for Touch- 
 stone's shop. 
 
 Go. What do ye lack, sir? What is't 
 you'll buy, sir ? 
 
 To. Ay, marry sir ; there's a youth of 
 another piece. There's thy fellow-prentice, 
 as good a gentleman born as thou art : 
 nay, and better meaned. But does he 
 pump it, or racket it? Well, if he thrive 
 not, if he outlast not a hundred such crack- 
 ling bavins as thou art, God and men neg- 
 lect industry. 
 
 Go. It is his shop, and here my master 
 walks. [ To the page. 
 
 To. With me, boy ? 
 
 Pa. My master, Sir Petronel Flash, re- 
 commends his love to you, and will instantly 
 visit you. 
 
 To. To make up the match with my eld- 
 est daughter, my wife's dilling, whom she 
 longs to call mad'am. He shall find me un- 
 willingly ready, boy. [Exit Page.] There's 
 another affliction too. As I have two pren- 
 tices, the one of a boundless prodigality, 
 the other of a most hopeful industry so 
 have I only two daughters : the eldest, of 
 a proud ambition and nice wantonness ; 
 the other of a modest humility and comely 
 soberness. The one must be ladyfied, for- 
 sooth, and be attired just to the court-cut, 
 and long tail. So far is she ill natured to 
 the place and means of my preferment and 
 fortune, that she throws all the contempt 
 and despite hatred itself can cast upon 
 it. Well, a piece of land she has ; 'twas 
 her grandmother's gift ; let her, and her 
 Sir Petronel, flash out that ; but as for my 
 substance, she that scorns me, as I am a 
 citizen and tradesman, shall never pam- 
 per her pride with my industry ; shall never 
 use me as men do foxes, keep themselves 
 warm in the skin, and throw the body that 
 bare it to the dunghill. I must go enter- 
 tain this Sir Petronel. Golding, my utmost 
 care's for thee, and only trust in thee ; look 
 to the shop. As for you, Master Quick- 
 silver, think of husks, for thy course is 
 running directly to the prodigal's hog's- 
 trough ; husks, sirrah ! Work upon that 
 now. [/s.r/7 Touchstone. 
 
 Qu. Marry faugh, goodman flat-cap ; 
 'sfoot ! though I am a prentice I can give 
 arms ; and my father's a justice-a-peace by 
 descent, and'sblood 
 
 Go. Fie, how you swear ! 
 
 Qu. 'Sfoot, man, I am a gentleman, and 
 may swear by my pedigree. God's my life ! 
 Sirrah Golding, wilt be ruled by a* fool ? 
 Turn good fellow, turn swaggering gallant, 
 and let the welkin roar, and Erebus also. 
 Look not westward to the fall of Dan 
 Phoebus, but to the east Eastward-ho ! 
 
 1 ' Where radiant beams of lusty Sol appear, 
 And bright Eons makes the welkin clear." 
 
 We are both gentlemen, and therefore 
 should be no coxcombs : let's be no longer 
 fools to this flat-cap, Touchstone. East- 
 ward, bully, this satin belly, and canvas- 
 backed Touchstone : 'slife ! man, his father 
 was a malt-man, and his mother sold gin- 
 ger-bread in Christ- church. 
 
 Go. What would ye ha' me do ? 
 
 Qu. Why, do nothing, be like a gentle- 
 man, be idle ; the curse of man is labour. 
 Wipe thy bum with testones, and make 
 ducks and drakes with shillings. What, 
 
CENE I.j 
 
 EASTWARD HO. 
 
 Eastward-ho ! Wilt thou cry, " what is't 
 ye lack?" stand with a bare pate, and a 
 dropping nose, under a wooden pent- house, 
 and art a gentleman ? Wilt thou bear 
 tankards, and may'st bear arms? Be 
 ruled ; turn gallant; Eastward-ho ! ta, lirra, 
 lirra, ro, who calls Jeronimo? Speak, here 
 I am. God's so ! how like a sheep thou 
 look'st ; a my conscience, some cowherd 
 begot thee, thou Golding of Golding-hall ! 
 Ha, boy? 
 
 Go. Go, ye are a prodigal coxcomb ! I a 
 cowherd's son, because I turn not a drunken 
 whore-hunting rake-hell like thyself ! 
 
 Qu. Rake-hell ! rake-hell ! 
 [Offers to draw, and Golding trips up 
 his heels and holds him.] 
 
 Go. Pish, in soft terms, ye are a 
 cowardly bragging boy. I'll ha'you whipt. 
 
 Qu. Whipt? that's good, i'faith ! un- 
 truss me? 
 
 Go. No, thou wilt undo thyself. Alas ! 
 I behold thee with pity, not with anger : 
 thou common shot-clog, gull of all com- 
 panies ; methinks I see thee already walk- 
 ing in Moorfields without a cloak, with 
 half a hat, without a band, a doublet with 
 three buttons, without a girdle, a hose with 
 one point, and no garter, with a cudgel 
 under thine arm, borrowing and begging 
 three-pence. 
 
 Qu. Nay, 'slife ! take this and take all ; 
 as I am a gentleman born, I'll be drunk, 
 grow valiant, and beat thee. [Exit. 
 
 Go. Go, thou most madly vain, whom 
 nothing can recover but that which reclaims 
 atheists, and makes great persons some- 
 times religious calamity. As for my place 
 and life, thus I have read : 
 
 Whate'er some vainer youth may term 
 
 disgrace, 
 
 The gain of honest pains is never base ; 
 From trades, from arts, from valour, 
 
 honour springs, 
 These three are founts of gen try, yea t of 
 
 kings. 
 
 Enter Gertrude, Mildred, Bettrice, and 
 Poldavy a tailor; Poldavy with a 
 fair gown, Scotch farthingale and 
 French-fall in his arms; Gertrude 
 in a French head-attire, and citizen's 
 gown; Mildred sewing and Bettrice 
 leading a monkey ajtcr her. 
 
 Ge. For the passion of patience, look if 
 Sir Petronel approach that sweet, that 
 fine, that delicate, that for love's sake tell 
 me if he come. O sister Mill, though my 
 
 453 
 
 I 
 
 father be a low-capped tradesman, yet 
 I must be a lady ; and I praise God my 
 mother must call me madam. Does he 
 come ? Off with this gown, for shame's 
 sake, off with this gown : let not my 
 knight take me in the city-cut in any hand : 
 tear't, pax on't (does he come?) tear't off. 
 " Thus whilst she sleeps, I sorrow for her 
 sake," &c. 
 
 Mi. Lord, sister, with what an im- 
 modest impatiency and disgraceful scorn 
 do you put off your city 'tire ; I am sorry 
 to think you imagine to right yourself in 
 wronging that which hath made both you 
 and us. 
 
 Ge. I tell you I cannot endure it, I must 
 be a lady : do you wear your coif with a 
 London licket, your stammel petticoat with 
 two guards, the buffin gown with the tuff- 
 taffety cape, and the velvet lace. I must be 
 a lady, and I will be a lady. I like some 
 humours of the City-dames well : to eat 
 cherries only at an angel a pound, good ; 
 to dye rich scarlet, black, pretty ; to line a 
 grogram gown clean thorough with velvet, 
 tolerable ; their pure linen, their smocks of 
 three pounds a smock, are to be borne 
 withal. But your mincing niceries, taffata 
 pipkins, durance petticoats, and silver 
 bodkins God's my life, as I shall be a 
 lady, I cannot endure it ! Is he come yet? 
 Lord, what a long knight 'tis! "And 
 ever she cried, Shout home !" and yet I 
 knew one longer; "And ever she cried, 
 Shout home," fa, la, ly, re, lo, la ! 
 
 Mi. Well, sister, those that scorn their 
 nest, oft fly with a sick wing. 
 
 Ge. Bow-bell! 
 
 Mi. Where titles presume to thrust 
 before fit means to second them, wealth 
 and respect often grow sullen, and will not 
 follow. For sure in this, I would for your 
 sake I spake not truth : Where ambition 
 of place goes before fitness of 'birth, contempt 
 and disgrace follow. I heard a scholar once 
 say, that Ulysses, when he counterfeited 
 himself mad, yoked cats and foxes and dogs 
 together to draw his plough, whiles he 
 followed and sowed salt ; but sure I judge 
 them truly mad, that yoke citizens and 
 courtiers, tradesmen and soldiers, a gold- 
 smith's daughter and a knight. Well, 
 sister, pray God my father sow not salt 
 too. 
 
 Ge. Abs ! poor Mildred, when I am a 
 lady, I'll pray for thee yet, i'faith : nay, and 
 I'll vouchsafe to call thee sister Mill still ; 
 for though thou art not like to be a lady as 
 I am, yet sure thou art a creature of God's 
 
454 
 
 EASTWARD HO. 
 
 [ACT I. 
 
 making ; and mayest peradventure to be 
 saved as soon as I (does he come ?). "And 
 ever and anon she doubled in her song." 
 Now, lady's my comfort, what profane ape's 
 here ? Tailor, Poldavy, prithee, fit it, fit it : 
 is this a right Scot ? Does it clip close, 
 and bear up round ? 
 
 Po. Fine and stiffly, i'faith ; 'twill keep 
 your thighs so cool, and make your waist 
 so small ; here was a fault in your body, 
 but I have supplied the defect, with the 
 effect of my steel instrument, which, though 
 it have but one eye, can see to rectify the 
 imperfection of the proportion. 
 
 Ge. Most edifying tailor ! I protest you 
 tailors are most sanctified members, and 
 make many crooked things go upright. 
 How must I bear my hands ? Light ? 
 light? 
 
 Po. O ay, now you are in the lady- 
 fashion, you must do all things light. 
 Tread light, light. Ay, and fall so : that's 
 the Court -amble. \She trips about the stage. 
 
 Ge. Has the Court ne'er a trot ? 
 
 Po. No, but a false gallop, lady. 
 
 Ge. ' ' And if she will not go to bed " 
 \Cantat. 
 
 Be. The knight's come, forsooth. 
 
 Enter Sir Petronel, Master Touchstone, 
 and Mistress Touchstone. 
 
 Ge. Is my knight come? O the Lord, 
 my band ! Sister, do my cheeks look 
 well ? Give me a little box a the ear, that 
 I may seem to blush ; now, now ! So, there, 
 there, there ! here he is : O my dearest 
 delight ! Lord, Lord ! and how does my 
 knight ? 
 
 To. Fie ! with more modesty. 
 
 Ge. Modesty ! why, I am no citizen now 
 modesty ! Aaa I not to be married ? 
 y'are best to keep me modest, now I am to 
 be a lady. 
 
 1 Sir Pe. Boldness is good fashion and 
 courtlike. 
 
 Ge. Ay, in a country lady I hope it is, 
 as I shall be. And how chance ye came: 
 no sooner, knight ? 
 
 Sir Pe. 'Faith, I was so entertained in 
 the progress with one Count Epernoum, a 
 Welsh knight ; we had a match at balloon 
 too with my Lord Whachum, for four 
 crowns. 
 
 Ge. At baboon ? Jesu ! you and I will 
 play at baboon in the country, knight. 
 
 Sir Pe. O, sweet lady ! 'tis a strong play 
 with the arm. 
 
 Ge. With arm or leg, or any other mem- 
 
 ber, if it be a Court-sport. And when shall's 
 be married, my knight ? 
 
 Sir Pe. I come now to consummate it, 
 and your father may call a poor knight 
 son-in-law. 
 
 M. To. Sir, ye are come ; what is not 
 mine to keep I must not be sorry to forego. 
 A 100 li. land her grandmother left her, 
 'tis yours ; herself (as her mother's gift) is 
 yours. But if you expect aught from me, 
 know, my hand and mine eyes open to- 
 gether ; I do not give blindly. Work upon 
 that now. 
 
 Sir Pe. Sir, you mistrust not my means ? 
 I am a knight. 
 
 To. Sir, sir, what I know not, you 
 will give me leave to say I am igno- 
 rant of. 
 
 Mist. To. Yes, that he is a knight ; I 
 know where he had money to pay the gen- 
 tlemen-ushers and heralds their fees. Ay, 
 that he is a knight, and so might you have 
 been too, if you had been aught else than 
 an ass, as well as some of your neighbours. 
 And I thought you would not ha' been 
 knighted, as I am an honest woman, I 
 would ha' dubbed you myself. I praise 
 God I have wherewithal. But as for your 
 daughter 
 
 Ge. Ay, mother, I must be a lady to- 
 morrow ; and by your leave, mother (I 
 speak it not without my duty, but only in 
 the right of my husband), I must take place 
 of you, mother. 
 
 Mist. To. That you shall, lady-daughter, 
 and have a coach as well as I too. 
 
 Ge. Yes, mother. But by your leave, 
 mother (I speak it not without my duty, 
 but only in my husband's right), my coach- 
 horses must take the wall of your coach- 
 horses. 
 
 To. Come, come, the day grows low ; 
 'tis supper-time ; use my house ; the wed- 
 ding solemnity is at my wife's cost ; thank 
 me for nothing but my willing blessing ; 
 for I cannot feign, my hopes are faint. 
 And, sir, respect my daughter ; she has 
 refused for you wealthy and honest matches, 
 known good men, well-moneyed, better 
 traded, best reputed. 
 
 Ge. Body-a-truth ! chittizens, chittizens ! 
 Sweet knight, as soon as ever we are 
 married, take me to thy mercy out of this 
 miserable chitty ; presently carry me out of 
 the scent of Newcastle coal, and the hear- 
 ing of Bow-bell ; I beseech thee down with 
 me, for God sake ! 
 
 To. Well, daughter, I have read that 
 old wit sings : 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 EASTWARD HO. 
 
 455 
 
 The greatest rivers flow from little 
 
 springs. 
 Though thou art full, scorn not thy 
 
 means at first, 
 He that's most drunk may soonest be a- 
 
 thirst. 
 
 Work upon that now. 
 
 [All but Touchstone, Mildred, and 
 
 Golding depart. 
 
 No, no! yond' stand my hopes Mildred, 
 come hither, daughter. And how approve 
 you your sister's fashion? how do you 
 fancy her choice ? what dost thou 
 think? 
 
 Mi. I hope as a sister, well. 
 
 To. Nay but, nay but, how dost thou 
 like her behaviour and humour? Speak 
 freely. 
 
 Mi. I am loth to speak ill ; and yet I 
 am sorry of this, I cannot speak well. 
 
 To. Well ; very good, as I would wish ; 
 a modest answer. Golding, come hither ; 
 hither, Golding. How dost thou like the 
 knight, Sir Flash? does he not look big? 
 how likest thou the elephant? he says he 
 has a castle in the country. 
 
 Go. Pray heaven, the elephant carry not 
 his castle on his back. 
 
 To. 'Fore heaven, very well ! but seri- 
 ously, how dost repute him ? 
 
 Go. The best I can say of him is, I know 
 him not. 
 
 To. Ha, Golding ! I commend thee, I 
 approve thee, and will make it appear my 
 affection is strong to thee. My wife has 
 her humour, and I will ha' mine. Dost 
 thou see my daughter here? She is not 
 fair, well-favoured or so indifferent, which 
 modest measure of beauty shall not make 
 it thy only work to watch her, nor sufficient 
 mischance to suspect her. Thou art to- 
 wardly, she is modest ; thou art provident, 
 she is careful. She's now mine ; give me 
 thy hand, she's now thine. Work upon 
 that now. 
 
 Go. Sir, as your son, I honour you ; and 
 as your servant, obey you. 
 
 To. Sayest thou so? Come hither, 
 Mildred. Do you see yond' fellow ? he is a 
 gentleman, though my prentice, and has 
 somewhat to take too ; a youth of good 
 hope ; well friended, well parted. Are you 
 mine? you are his. Work you upon that now. 
 
 Mi. Sir, I am all yours ; your body gave 
 me life ; your care and love, happiness of 
 life ; let your virtue still direct it, for to 
 your uisdom I wholly dispose myself. 
 
 To. Say'st thou so ? Be you two better 
 
 ' acquainted. Lip her, lip her, knave. So, 
 
 shut up shop: in. We must make holiday. 
 
 [Exeunt Golding and Mildred. 
 
 This match shall on, for I intend to prove 
 
 Which thrives the best, the mean or lofty 
 
 love. 
 Whether fit wedlock vow'd 'twixt like and 
 
 like, 
 
 Or prouder hopes, which daringly o'erstrike 
 Their place and means. 'Tis honest time's 
 
 expense, 
 
 When seeming lightness bears a moral sense. 
 Work upon that now. [Exit. 
 
 ACT THE SECOND. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Touchstone, Quicksilver, Golding, and 
 Mildred, sitting on cither side of the 
 stall. 
 
 To. Quicksilver, Master Francis Quick- 
 silver, Master Quicksilver ! 
 
 Enter Quicksilver. 
 
 Qu. Here, sir (ump). 
 
 To. So, sir; nothing but flat Master 
 Quicksilver (without any familiar addition) 
 will fetch you ; will you truss my points, 
 sir? 
 
 Qu. Ay, forsooth (ump). 
 
 To. How now, sir? the drunken hiccup 
 so soon this morning? 
 
 Qu. 'Tis but the coldness of my sto- 
 mach, forsooth. 
 
 To. What ? have you the cause natural 
 for it ? y' are a very learned drunkard : I 
 believe I shall miss some of my silver 
 spoons with your learning. The nuptial 
 night will not moisten your throat suffi- 
 ciently, but the morning likewise must 
 rain her dews into your gluttonous wea- 
 sand. 
 
 Qu. An't please you, sir, we did but 
 drink (ump) to the coming off of the 
 knightly bridegroom. 
 
 To. To the coming off an' him ? 
 
 Qu. Ay, forsooth, we drunk to his coming 
 on (ump) when we went to bed ; and now 
 we are up, we must drink to his coming 
 off : for that's the chief honour of a soldier, 
 sir ; and therefore we must drink so much 
 the more to it, forsooth (ump). 
 
 To. A very capital reason ! So that you 
 go to bed late, and rise early to commit 
 drunkenness ; you fulfil the scripture very 
 sufficient wickedly, forsooth. 
 
 Qu. The knight's men, forsooth, be still 
 
45 6 
 
 EASTWARD HO. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 a their knees at it (ump), and because 'tis 
 for your credit, sir, I would be loth to flinch. 
 
 To. I pray, sir, e'en to 'hem again then ; 
 y' are one of the separated crew, one of 
 my wife's faction, and my young lady's, 
 with whom, and with their great match, I 
 will have nothing to do. 
 
 Qu. So, sir, now I will go keep my 
 (ump) credit with 'hem, an't please you, sir. 
 
 To. In any case, sir, lay one cup of sack 
 more a' your cold stomach, I beseech you. 
 
 Qu. Yes, forsooth. [Exit Quicksilver. 
 
 To. This is for my credit ; servants ever 
 maintain drunkenness in their master's 
 house for their master's credit ; a good idle 
 serving-man's reason. I thank time the 
 night is past ; I ne'er waked to such cost ; 
 I think we have stowed more sorts of flesh 
 in our bellies than ever Noah's ark re- 
 ceived ; and for wine, why my house turns 
 giddy with it, and more noise in it than at 
 a conduit. Ay me ! even beasts condemn 
 our gluttony. Well, 'tis our city's fault, 
 which, because we commit seldom, we 
 commit the more sinfully ; we lose no time 
 in our sensuality, but we make amends for 
 it. O that we would do so in virtue, and 
 religious negligences ! But see here are all 
 the sober parcels my house can show ; I'll 
 eavesdrop, hear what thoughts they utter 
 this morning. 
 
 Enter Golding. 
 
 Go. But is it possible that you, seeing 
 your sister preferred to the bed of a knight, 
 should contain your affections in the 
 arms of a prentice ? 
 
 Mi. I had rather make up the garment 
 of my affections in some of the same piece, 
 than, like a fool, wear gowns of two colours, 
 or mix sackcloth with satin. 
 
 Go. And do the costly garments the 
 title and fame of a lady, the fashion, obser- 
 vation, and reverence proper to such pre- 
 fermentno more inflame you than such 
 convenience as my poor means and indus- 
 try can offer to your virtues ? 
 
 Mi. I have observed that the bridle given 
 to those violent flatteries of fortune is 
 seldom recovered ; they bear one headlong 
 in desire from one novelty to another, and 
 where those ranging appetites reign, there 
 is ever more passion than reason : no stay, 
 and so no happiness. These hasty ad- 
 vancements are not natural. Nature hath 
 given us legs to go to our objects ; not 
 wings to fly to them. 
 
 Go. How dear an object you are to my 
 desires I cannot express ; whose fruition 
 
 would my master's absolute consent and 
 yours vouchsafe me, 1 should be absolutely 
 happy. And though it were a grace so far 
 beyond my merit, that I should blush with 
 unworthiness to receive it, yet thus far both 
 my love and my means shall assure your 
 requital : you shall want nothing fit for 
 your birth and education ; what increase of 
 wealth and advancement the honest and 
 orderly industry and skill of our trade will 
 afford in any, I doubt not will be aspired 
 by me ; I will ever make your contentment 
 the end of my endeavours ; I will love you 
 above all ; and only your grief shall be my 
 misery, and your delight my felicity. 
 
 To. Work upon that now. By my 
 hopes, he wooes honestly and orderly ; he 
 shall be anchor of my hopes ! Look, see 
 the ill-yoked monster, his fellow ! 
 
 Enter Quicksilver unlaced, a towel about 
 his neck, in his flat-cap, drunk. 
 
 Qu. Eastward ho ! Holla, ye pampered 
 jades of Asia ! 
 
 To. Drunk now downright, a my fidelity ! 
 
 Qu. (Ump) pull do, pull do ; show's, 
 quoth the caliver. 
 
 Go. Fie, fellow Quicksilver, what a 
 pickle are you in ! 
 
 Qu. Pickle? pickle in thy throat ; zounds, 
 pickle ! Wa, ha, ho ! good-morrow, knight 
 Petronel: morrow, lady goldsmith; come 
 off, knight, with a counterbuff, for the 
 honour of knighthood. 
 
 Go. Why, how now, sir? do ye know 
 where you are ? 
 
 Qu. Where 1 am ? why, 'sblood ! you 
 jolthead, where I am ! 
 
 Go. Go to, go to, for shame ; go to bed 
 and sleep out this immodesty : thou shamest 
 both my master and his house. 
 
 Qu. Shame? what shame? I thought 
 thou would'st show thy bringing-up ; and 
 thou wert a gentleman as I am, thou 
 would'st think it no shame to be drunk. 
 Lend me some money, save my credit ; I , 
 must dine with the serving-men and their 
 wives and their wives, sirrah ! 
 
 Go. E'en who you will ; I'll not lend thee 
 threepence. 
 
 Qu. 'Sfoot ; lend me some money ; hast 
 thou not Hyren here ? 
 
 To. Why, how now, sirrah ? what vein's 
 this, ha? 
 
 Qu. Who cries on murther ? Lady was it 
 you ? how does our master? pray thee cry 
 Eastward-ho ! 
 
 To. Sirrah, sirrah, y'are past your hiccup 
 now ; I see y'are drunk. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 EASTWARD H(X 
 
 457 
 
 Qu. Tis for your credit, master. 
 
 To, And hear you keep a whore in town. 
 
 ?it 'Tis for your credit, master. 
 'o. And what you are out in cash, I 
 know. 
 
 Qu. So do I ; my father's a gentleman. 
 Work upon that now. Eastward-ho ! 
 
 To. Sir, Eastvvard-ho will make you go 
 \Vestward-ho ; I will no longer dishonest 
 my house, nor endanger my stock with your 
 licence. There, sir, theie's your inden- 
 ture ; all your apparel (that I must know) 
 is on your back, and from this time my 
 door is shut to you : from me be free ; but 
 for other freedom, and the moneys you 
 have wasted, Eastward-ho shall not serve 
 you. 
 
 Qu. Am I free a my fetters ? Rent, fly 
 with a duck in thy mouth, and now I tell 
 
 thee, Touchstone 
 
 To. Good sir 
 
 Qu. When this eternal substance of my 
 soul 
 
 To. Well said ; change your gold-ends 
 I for your play-ends. 
 
 Qu. Did live imprison d in my -wanton 
 1 flesh 
 I To. What then, sir? 
 
 Qu. I was a courtier in the Spanish 
 Court, and Don Andrea was my name. 
 
 To. Good master Don Andrea, will you 
 march ? 
 
 Qu. Sweet Touchstone, will you lend 
 me two shillings? 
 To. Not a penny. 
 
 Qu. Not a penny ? I have friends, and 
 I have acquaintance ; I will piss at thy 
 shop-posts, and throw rotten eggs at thy 
 sign. Work upon that now. 
 
 \Exit staggering. 
 
 To. Now, sirrah, you! hear you? you 
 shall serve me no more neither not an hour 
 longer. 
 
 Go. What mean you, sir ? 
 J"o. I mean to give thee thy freedom, and 
 with thy freedom my daughter, and with 
 my daughter a father's love. And with all 
 these such a portion as shall make Knight 
 Petronel himself envy thee ! Y'are both 
 agreed, are ye not? 
 
 Am. With all submission, both of thanks 
 and duty. 
 
 To. Well then, the great Power o 
 heaven bless and confirm you. And, (/old- 
 ing, that my love to thee may not show less 
 than my wife's love to my eldest daughter, 
 thy marriage-feast shall equal the knight's 
 and hers. 
 
 Go. Let me beseech you, no, sir ; the 
 
 superfluity and cold meat left at their nup- 
 ia!s will with bounty furnish ours. The 
 grossest prodigality is superfluous cost of 
 he belly ; nor would I wish any invitement 
 of states or friends, only your reverent 
 presence and witness shall sufficiently grace 
 and confirm us. 
 
 To. Son to my own bosom, take her and 
 my blessing. The nice fondling, my lady, 
 sir-reverence, that I must not now presume 
 to call daughter, is so ravished with desire 
 to hansell her new coach, and see her 
 knight's Eastward Castle, that the next 
 morning will sweat with her busy setting 
 forth. Away will she and her mother, and 
 while their preparation is making, our- 
 selves, with some two or three other friends, 
 will consummate the humble match we 
 have in God's name concluded. 
 
 'Tis to my wish ; for I have often read, 
 
 Fit birth, fit age, keeps long a quiet bed. 
 
 'Tis to my wish ; for tradesmen, well 'tis 
 known, 
 
 Get with more ease than gentry keeps 
 his own. {Exit. 
 
 Security solus. 
 
 Sec. My privy guest, lusty Quicksilver, 
 has drunk too deep of the bride-bowl ; but 
 with a little sleep, he is much recovered ; 
 and, I think, is making himself ready to be 
 drunk in a gallanter likeness. My house 
 is as 'twere the cave where the young out- 
 law hoards the stolen vails of his occupa- 
 tion ; and here, when he will revel it in his 
 prodigal similitude, he retires to his trunks, 
 and (I may say softly) his punks : he dares 
 trust me with the keeping of both ; for I 
 am Security itself; my name is Security, 
 the famous usurer. 
 
 Enter Quicksilver in his prentice's coat and 
 cap, his gallant breeches and stockings, 
 gartering himself, Security following. 
 
 Qu. Come, old Security, thou father of 
 destruction ! th' indented sheepskin is 
 burned wherein I was wrapt ; and I am , 
 now loose, to get more children of perdition 
 into thy usurous bonds. Thou feed'st my 
 lechery, and I thy covetousness ; thou art 
 pander to me for my wench, and I to thee 
 for thy cozenages. Kaa me, kaa thee, 
 runs through court and country. 
 
 Sec. Well said, my subtle Quicksilver! 
 These kaa's ope the doors to all this world's , 
 felicity : the dullest forehead sees it. Let < 
 not master courtier think he carries all the I 
 knavery on his shoulders: I have known 
 poor Hob, in the country, that has worn j 
 
 I 
 
EASTWARD HO. 
 
 [ACT n. 
 
 hob-nails on's shoes, have as much villany 
 in 's head as he that wears gold buttons in 's 
 cap. 
 
 Qu. Why, man, 'tis the London high- 
 way to thrift ; if virtue be used, 'tis but as 
 a scape to the net of villany. They that 
 use it simply, thrive simply, I warrant. 
 " Weight and fashion makes goldsmiths 
 cuckolds." 
 
 Enter Syndefie, with Quicksilver's doublet, 
 cloak, rapier, and dagger. 
 
 Sy. Here, sir, put off the other half of 
 
 your prenticeship. 
 Qit. Well said, sweet Syn ! Bring forth 
 
 my bravery. 
 Now let my trunks shoot forth their silks 
 
 conceal'd. 
 
 I now am free, and now will justify 
 My trunks and punks. Avaunt, dull flat- 
 cap, then ! 
 
 Via the curtain that shadow'd Borgia ! 
 There lie, thouhusk of my envassail'd state, 
 I, Sampson, now have burst the Philistines' 
 
 bands, 
 
 And in thy lap, my lovely Dalila, 
 I'll lie, and snore out my enfranchised state. 
 
 When Sampson was a tallyoiing man. 
 His power and strength increased 
 
 than ; 
 
 He sold no more nor cup nor can. ; 
 But did them all despise. 
 Old Touchstone, now write to thy 
 
 friends 
 
 For one io sell thy base gold-ends ; 
 Quicksilver now no more attends 
 Thee, Touchstone. 
 
 But, dad, hast thou seen my running geld- 
 ing dressed to-day ? 
 
 Sec. That I have, Frank. The ostler 
 a'th 1 Cock dressed him for a breakfast. 
 
 Qu. What ! did he eat him ? 
 
 Sec. No, but he eat his breakfast for 
 dressing him ; and so dressed him for 
 breakfast. 
 
 Qu. O witty age ! where age is yoting in 
 
 wit, 
 
 And all youths' words have gray-beards 
 full of it! 
 
 Sec. But alas, Frank ! how will all this 
 be maintained now? Your place main- 
 tained it before. 
 
 Qu. Why, and I maintained my place. 
 I'll to the court : another manner of place 
 for maintenance, I hope, than the silly 
 City ! I heard my father say, I heard my 
 mother sing an old song and a true : Thou 
 art a she-fool, and know' st not what belongs to 
 
 our male wisdom. I shall be a merchant, 
 forsooth : trust my estate in a wooden 
 trough as he does ! What are these ships 
 but tennis-balls for the winds to play withal ? 
 tossed from one wave to another; now un- 
 derline, now over the house ; sometimes 
 brick-walled against a rock, so that the 
 guts fly out again ; sometimes strook under 
 the wide hazard, and farewell, master 
 merchant ! 
 
 Sy. Well, Frank, well : the seas you 
 say, are uncertain : but he that sails in 
 your Court seas shall find 'hem ten times 
 fuller of hazard ; wherein to see what is to 
 be seen is torment more than a free spirit 
 can endure ; but when you come to suffer, 
 how many injuries swallow you ! What 
 care and devotion must you use to humour 
 an imperious lord, proportion your looks 
 to his looks, smiles to his smiles ; fit your 
 sails to the wind of his breath ! 
 
 Qu. Tush ! he's no journeyman in his 
 craft that cannot do that. 
 
 Sy. But he's worse than a prentice that I 
 does it ; not only humouring the lord, but 
 every trencher-bearer, every groom, that 
 by indulgence and intelligence crept into 
 his favour, and by panderism into his 
 chamber ; he rules the roast ; and when 
 my honourable lord says it shall be thus, 
 my worshipful rascal, the groom of his 
 close stool, says it shall not be thus, claps 
 the door after him, and who dares enter? 
 A prentice, quoth you ? 'Tis but to learn 
 to live ; and does that disgrace a man ? 
 He that rises hardly stands firmly ; but he 
 that rises with ease, alas ! falls as easily. 
 
 Qu. A pox on you ! who taught you this 
 morality ? 
 
 Sec. "Tis 'long of this witty age, Master 
 Francis. But, indeed, Mistress Syndefie, 
 all trades complain of inconvenience, and 
 therefore 'tis best to have none. The mer- 
 chant, he complains and says, traffic is 
 subject to much uncertainty and loss : let 
 'hem keep their goods on dry land, with a 
 vengeance, and not expose other men's 
 substances to the mercy of the winds, under 
 protection of a wooden wall (as Master 
 Francis says) ; and all for greedy desire to 
 enrich themselves with unconscionable 
 gain, two for one, or so ; where I, and 
 such other honest men as live by lending 
 money, are content with moderate profit ; 
 thirty or forty i'th'hundred, so we may 
 have it with quietness, and out of peril of 
 wind and weather, rather than run those 
 dangerous courses of trading, as they do. 
 
 Qu. Ay, dad, thou mayst well be 
 
SCKXK I.] 
 
 EASTWARD HO. 
 
 459 
 
 called Security, for thou takest the safest 
 course. 
 
 Sec. 'Faith, the quieter, and the more 
 contented, and, out of doubt, the more 
 godly ; for merchants, in their courses, are 
 never pleased, but ever repining against 
 heaven : one prays for a westerly wind, to 
 carry his ship forth ; another for an easterly, 
 to bring his ship home, and at every 
 shaking of a leaf he falls into an agony, to 
 think what danger his ship is in on such a 
 coast, and so forth. The farmer, he is ever 
 at odds with the weather : sometimes the 
 clouds have been too barren ; sometimes 
 the heavens forget themselves ; their har- 
 vests answer not their hopes ; sometimes 
 the season falls out too fruitful, corn will 
 bear no price, and so forth. The artificer, 
 he's all for a stirring world : if his trade be 
 too full, and fall short of his expectation, 
 then falls he out of joint. Where we that 
 tr.ide nothing but money are free from all 
 this ; we are pleased with all weathers, let 
 it rain or hold-up, be calm or windy ; let 
 the season be whatsoever, let trade go how 
 it will, we take all in good part, e'en what 
 please the heavens to send us, so the sun 
 stand not still, and the rnoon keep her 
 usual returns, and make up days, months, 
 and years. 
 
 Qu. And you have good security ? 
 
 Sec. Ay, marry, Frank, that's the special 
 point. 
 
 Qu. And yet, forsooth, we must have 
 1 trades to live withal ; for we cannot stand 
 1 without legs, nor fly without wings, and a 
 number of such scurvy phrases. No, I 
 : say still, he that has wit, let him live by his 
 ! wit ; he that has none, let him be a trades- 
 man. 
 
 Sec. Witty Master Francis ! 'tis pity any 
 trade should dull that quick brain of yours. 
 Do but bring Knight Petronel into my 
 parchment toils once, and you shall never 
 need to toil in any trade, a'my credit. You 
 know his wife's land ? 
 
 Qu. Even to a foot, sir ; I have been 
 often there ; a pretty fine seat, good land, 
 all entire within itself. 
 
 Sec. Well wooded? 
 
 Qu. Two hundred pounds' worth of 
 wood ready to fell, and a fine sweet house, 
 that stands just in the midst on't, like a 
 prick in the midst of a circle ; would I 
 were your farmer, for a hundred pound a 
 year! 
 
 Sec. Excellent Master Francis ! how I do 
 long to do thee good ! How I do hunger 
 and thirst to have the honour to enrich 
 
 thee ! ay, even to die, that thou mightest 
 inherit my living ! even hunger and thirst ! 
 ) for a my religion, Master Francis, and so 
 1 tell Knight Petronel, I do it to do him a 
 I pleasure. 
 
 Qu. Marry, dad ! his horses are now com- 
 ing up to bear down his lady ; wilt thou 
 lend him thy stable to set 'hem in? 
 
 Sec. 'Faith, Master Francis, I would be 
 loth to lend my stable out of doors ; in a 
 greater matter I will pleasure him, but 
 not in this. 
 
 Qu. A pox of your hunger and thirst ! 
 Well, dad, let him have money ; all he 
 could any way get is bestowed on a ship 
 now bound for Virginia ; the frame of 
 which voyage is so closely conveyed that 
 his new lady nor any of her friends know 
 it. Notwithstanding, as soon as his lady's 
 hand is gotten to the sale of her inheri- 
 tance, and you have furnished him with I 
 money, he will instantly hoist sail and ! 
 away. 
 
 Sec. Now, a frank gale of wind go with / 
 him, Master Frank ! we have too few such j 
 knight adventurers ; who would not sell j 
 away competent certainties to purchase, I 
 with any danger, excellent uncertainties? ! 
 your true knight venturer ever does. Let 
 his wife seal to-day ; he shall have his [ 
 money to-day. 
 
 Qu. To-morrow she shall, dad, before j 
 she goes into the country ; to work her to | 
 which action with the more engines, I pur- 
 pose presently to prefer my sweet Syn here ' 
 to the place of her gentlewoman ; whom I 
 you (for the more credit) shall present as 
 your friend's daughter, a gentlewoman of 
 the country, new come up with a will for 
 awhile to learn fashions forsooth, and be | 
 toward some lady ; and she shall buzz j 
 pretty devices into her lady's ear ; feeding i 
 her humours so serviceably (as the manner 
 of such as she is, you know). 
 
 Sec. True, good Master Francis. 
 
 Enter Syndefie. 
 
 Qu. That she shall keep her port open 
 to anything she commends to her. 
 
 Sec. A" my religion, a most fashionable 
 project ; as good she spoil the lady, as the 
 lady spoil her ; for 'tis three to one of one 
 side. Sweet Mistress Syn, how are you 
 bound to Master Francis ! I do not doubt 
 to see you shortly wed one of the head men 
 of our city. 
 
 Sy. But, sweet Frank, when shall my 
 father Security present me ? 
 
 Qu. With all festination ; I have broken 
 
4 6o 
 
 EASTWARD HO. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 the ice to it already ; and will presently to 
 the knight's house, whither, my good old 
 dad, let me pray thee, with all formality 
 to man her. 
 
 Sec. Command me, Master Francis, I 
 do hunger and thirst to do thee service. 
 Come, sweet Mistress Syn, take leave of 
 my Winnifrid, and we will instantly meet 
 Frank, Master Francis, at your lady's. 
 
 Enter Winnifrid above. 
 
 Wi. Where is my Cu there ? Cu ? 
 
 Sec. Ay, Winnie. 
 
 Wi. Wilt thou come in, sweet Cu ? 
 
 Sec. Ay, Winnie, presently. [Exeunt. 
 
 Qu. Ay, Winnie, quoth he, that's all 
 he can do, poor man, he may well cut off 
 her name at Winnie. O, 'tis an egregious 
 pander ! What will not an usurous knave 
 be, so he may be rich ? O, 'tis a notable 
 Jew's trump ! I hope to live to see dogs' 
 meat made of the old usurer's flesh, dice 
 of his bones, and indentures of his skin ; 
 and yet his skin is too thick to make 
 parchment, 'twould make good boots for a 
 peeter man to catch salmon in. Your only 
 smooth skin to make fine vellum, is your 
 Puritan's skin ; they be the smoothest and 
 slickest knaves in a country. 
 
 Enter Sir Petronel in boots, with a riding 
 wan. 
 
 Pe. I'll out of this wicked town as fast as 
 my horse can trot ! Here's now no good 
 action for a man to spend his time in. 
 Taverns grow dead ; ordinaries are blown 
 tip ; plays are at a stand ; houses of hospi- 
 tality at a fall ; not a feather waving, nor 
 a spur jingling anywhere. I'll away in- 
 stantly. 
 
 Qu. Y' ad best take some crowns in 
 your purse, knight, or else your Eastward 
 Castle will smoke but miserably. 
 
 Pe. O, Frank ! my castle ? Alas ! all the 
 castles I have are built with air, thou 
 Jcnow'st. 
 
 Qu. I know it, knight, and therefore 
 wonder whither your lady is going. 
 
 Pe. 'Faith, to seek her fortune, I think. 
 I said I had a castle and land eastward, 
 and eastward she will, without contradic- 
 tion ; her coach and the coach of the sun 
 must meet full butt. And the sun being 
 out-shined with her ladyship's glory, she 
 fears he goes westward to hang himself. 
 
 Qu. And I fear, when her enchanted 
 castle becomes invisible, her ladyship will 
 return and follow his example. 
 
 PC. O, that she would have the grnce ! 
 
 L 
 
 or I shall never be able to pacify her, 
 when she sees herself deceived so. 
 
 Qu. As easily as can be. Tell her she 
 mistook your directions, and that shortly 
 yourself will down with her to approve it ; 
 and then clothe but her crouper in a new 
 jown, and you may drive her any way you 
 1st. For these women, sir, are like Essex 
 calves, you must wriggle 'hem on by the 
 tail still, or they will never drive orderly. 
 
 Pe. But, alas ! sweet Frank, thou 
 knowest my ability will not furnish her 
 blood with those costly humours. 
 
 Qu. Cast that cost on me, sir. I have 
 spoken to my old pander, Security, for 
 money or commodity ; and commodity (if 
 you will) I know he will procure you. 
 
 Pe. Commodity ! Alas ! what coiru 
 modity ? 
 
 Qu. Why, sir ! what say you to figs and 
 raisins? 
 
 Pe. A plague of figs and raisins, and all 
 such frail commodities ! We shall make 
 nothing of 'hem. 
 
 Qu. Why then, sir, what say you to 
 forty pound in roasted beef? 
 
 Pe. Out upon 't, I have less stomach to 
 that than to the figs and raisins ; I'll out 
 of town, though I sojourn with a friend of 
 mine, for stay here I must not ; my 
 creditors have laid to arrest me, and I 
 have no friend under heaven but my sword 
 to bail me. 
 
 Qu. God's me, knight, put "hem in 
 sufficient sureties, rather than let your 
 sword bail you ! Let 'hem take their 
 choice, either the King's Bench or the 
 Fleet, or which of the two Counters they 
 like best, for, by the Lord, I like none of 
 'hem. 
 
 Pe. Well, Frank, there is no jesting 
 with my earnest necessity ; thou know'st if 
 I make not present money to further my 
 voyage begun, all's lost, and all I have 
 laid out about it. 
 
 Qu. Why, then, sir, in earnest, if you 
 can get your wise lady to set her hand to 
 the sale of her inheritance, the blood- 
 hound, Security, will smell out ready 
 j money for you instantly. 
 
 Pe. There spake an angel : to bring her 
 to which conformity, I must feign myself 
 extremely amorous ; und alleging urgent 
 excuses for my stay behind, part with her 
 as passionately as she would from her 
 foisting hound. 
 
 Qu. You have the sow by the right ear, 
 sir. I warrant there was never child 
 longed more to ride a ccck-horse or weai 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 EASTWARD HO. 
 
 461 
 
 liis new coat, than she longs to ride in her j 
 new coach. She would long for every- 
 thing when she was a maid, and now she 
 will run mad for 'hem. I lay my life, she 
 will have every year four children ; and 
 what charge and change of humour you 
 must endure while she is with child, and 
 how she will tie you to your tackling till 
 she be with child, a dog would not endure. 
 Nay, there is no turnspit dog bound to his 
 wheel more servilely than you shall be to 
 her wheel ; for, as that dog can never 
 climb the top of his wheel but when the 
 top comes under him, so shall you never 
 climb the top of her contentment but when 
 she is under you. 
 
 Pe. "Slight, how thou terrifiest me ! 
 
 Qu. Nay, hark you, sir ; what nurses, 
 what midwives, what fools, what physicians, 
 what cunning women must be sought for 
 (fearing sometimes she is bewitched, some- 
 times in a consumption), to tell her tales, 
 to talk bawdy to her, to make her laugh, 
 to give her glisters, to let her blood under 
 the tongue and betwixt the toes ; how she 
 will revile and kiss you, spit in your face, 
 and lick it off again ; how she will vaunt 
 you are her creature ; she made you of 
 nothing ; how she could have had thousand 
 mark jointures ; she could have been 
 made a lady by a Scotch knight, and never 
 ha' married him ; she could have had 
 poynados in her bed every morning ; how 
 she set you up, and how she will pull you 
 down : you'll never be able to stand of 
 your legs to endure it. 
 
 Pe. Out of my fortune, what a death is 
 my life bound face to face to ! The best is, 
 a large time-fitted conscience is bound to 
 nothing : marriage is but a form in the 
 school of policy, to which scholars sit 
 fastened only with painted chains. Old 
 Security's young wife is ne'er the further 
 off with me. 
 
 Qu. Thereby lies a tale, sir. The old 
 usurer will be here instantly, with my 
 punk Syndefie, whom,, you know your lady 
 has promised me to entertain for her 
 gentlewoman ; and he (with a purpose to 
 feed on you) invites you most solemnly by 
 me to supper. 
 
 Pe. It falls out excellently fitly : I see 
 desire of gain makes jealousy venturous. 
 
 Enter Gertrude. 
 
 See, Frank, here comes my lady. Lord ! 
 how she views thee ! she knows thee not, 
 I think, in this bravery. 
 
 Ge. How now ? who be you, I pray ? 
 
 Qu. One Master Francis Quicksilver, 
 an't please your ladyship. 
 
 Ge. God's my dignity ! as I am a lady, 
 if he did not make me blush so that mine 
 eyes stood a-water. Would I were un- 
 married again ! 
 
 Enter Security and Syndefie. 
 
 Where's my woman, I pray ? 
 
 Qu. See, madam, she now comes to 
 attend you. 
 
 Sec. God save my honourable knight and 
 his worshipful lady ! 
 
 Ge. Y'are very welcome ; you must not 
 put on your hat yet. 
 
 Sec. No, madam ; till I know your lady- 
 ship's further pleasure, I will not presume. 
 
 Ge. And is this a gentleman's daughter 
 new come out of the country ? 
 
 Sec. She is, madam ; and one that her 
 father hath a special care to bestow in 
 some honourable lady's service, to put her 
 out of her honest humours, forsooth ; for 
 she had a great desire to be a nun, an't 
 please you. 
 
 Ge. A nun ? what nun ? a nun substan- 
 tive? or a nun adjective? 
 
 Sec. A nun substantive, madam, I hope, 
 if a nun be a noun. But I mean, lady, a 
 vowed maid of that order. 
 
 Ge. I'll teach her to be a maid of the 
 order, I warrant you. And can you do any 
 work belongs to a lady's chamber? 
 
 Sy. What I cannot do, madam, I would 
 be glad to learn. 
 
 Ge. Well said ; hold up, then ; hold up 
 your head, I say ; come hither a little. 
 
 Sy. I thank your ladyship. 
 
 Ge. And hark you, good man, you may 
 put on your hat now ; I do not look on 
 you. I must have you of my faction now ; 
 not of my knight's, maid. 
 
 Sy. No, forsooth, madam, of yours. 
 
 Ge. And draw all my servants in my 
 bow, and keep my counsel, and tell me 
 tales, and put me riddles, and read on a 
 book sometimes when I am busy, and 
 laugh at country gentlewomen, and com- 
 mand anything in the house for my re- 
 tainers ; and care not what you spend, for 
 it is all mine ; and in any case be still 
 a maid, whatsoever you do, or whatsoever 
 any man can do unto you. 
 
 Sec. I warrant your ladyship for that. 
 
 Ge. Very well ; you shall ride in my 
 coach with me into the country, to-morrow 
 morning. Come, knight, I pray thee let's 
 make a short supper, and to bed pre- 
 sently. 
 
EASTWARD HO. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Sec, Nay, good madam, this night I 
 have a short supper at home waits on his 
 worship's acceptation. 
 
 Ge. By my faith, but he shall not go, 
 sir ; I shall swoon and he sup from me. 
 
 Pe. Pray thee, forbear ; shall he lose his 
 provision ? 
 
 Ge. Ay, by'r lady, sir, rather than I lose 
 my longing. Come in, I say ; as I am a 
 lady, you shall not go. 
 
 Qu. I told him what a burr he had 
 gotten. 
 
 Sec. If you will not sup from your knight, 
 madam, let me entreat your ladyship to 
 sup at my house with him. 
 
 Ge. No, by my faith, sir ; then we 
 cannot be abed soon enough after supper. 
 
 Pe. What a medicine is this ! Well, 
 Master Security, you are new married as 
 well as I ; I hope you are bound as well. 
 We must honour our young wives, you 
 know. 
 
 Qu. In policy, dad, till to-morrow she 
 has sealed. 
 
 Sec. I hope in the morning yet your 
 knighthood will breakfast with me? 
 
 Pe. As early as you will, sir. 
 
 Sec. I thank your good worship ; I do 
 .hunger and thirst to do you good, sir. 
 
 Ge. Come, sweet knight, come ; I do 
 hunger and thirst to be abed with thee. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT THE THIRD. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Enter Petronel, Quicksilver, Security, 
 Bramble, and Winnifrid. 
 
 Pe. Thanks for your feast-like breakfast, 
 good Master Security ; I am sorry (by 
 reason of my instant haste to so long a 
 voyage as Virginia) I am without means 
 by any kind amends to show how affec- 
 tionately I take your kindness, and to con- 
 firm by some worthy ceremony a perpetual 
 league of friendship betwixt us. 
 
 Sec. Excellent knight ! let this be a token 
 betwixt us of inviolable friendship. I am 
 new married to this fair gentlewoman, you 
 know ; and by my hope to make her fruit- 
 ful, though I be something in years, I vow 
 faithfully unto you to make you godfather, 
 though in your absence, to the first child I 
 am blest withal ; and henceforth call me 
 gossip, I beseech you, if you please to 
 accept it. 
 
 Pe. In the highest degree of gratitude, 
 my most worthy gossip ; for confirmation 
 of which friendly title, let me entreat my 
 fair gossip, your wife here, to accept this 
 diamond, and keep it as my gift to her first 
 child, wheresoever my fortune, in event of 
 my voyage, shall bestow me. 
 
 Sec. How now, my coy wedlock ; make 
 you strange of noble a favour ? Take it, 
 I charge you, with all affection, and, by 
 way of taking your leave, present boldly 
 your lips to our honourable gossip. 
 
 Qu. How venturous he is to him, and 
 how jealous to others ! 
 
 Pe. Long may this kind touch of our 
 lips print in our hearts all the forms of 
 affection. And now, my good gossip, if 
 the writings be ready to which my wife 
 should seal, let them be brought this 
 morning before she takes coach into the 
 country, and my kindness shall work her 
 to despatch it. 
 
 Sec. The writings are ready, sir. My 
 learned counsel here, Master Bramble the 
 lawyer, hath perused them ; and within 
 this hour I will bring the scrivener with 
 them to your worshipful lady. 
 
 Pe. Good Master Bramble, I will here 
 take my leave of you then. God send you 
 fortunate pleas, sir, and contentious clients ! 
 
 Br. And you foreright winds, sir, and a 
 fortunate voyage ! [Exit. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Me. S!r Petronel, here are three or four 
 gentlemen desire to speak with you. 
 
 Pe. What are they? 
 
 Qu. They are your followers in this 
 voyage, knight : Captain Seagull and his 
 associates ; I met them this morning, and 
 told them you would be here. 
 
 Pe. Let them enter, I pray you ; I know j 
 they long to be gone, for their stay is dan- j 
 gerous. 
 
 Enter Seagull, Scapethrift, and Spendall. 
 
 Sea. God save my honourable colonel ! 
 
 Pe. Welcome, good Captain Seagull, and 
 worthy gentlemen. If you will meet my 
 friend Frank here, and me, at the Blue 
 Anchor Tavern by Billingsgate this evening, 
 we will there drink to our happy voyage, 
 be merry, and take boat to our ship with all j 
 expedition. 
 
 Sp. Defer it no longer, I beseech you, 
 sir ; but as your voyage is hitherto carried 
 closely, and in another knight's name, so j 
 for your own safety and ours, let it be con- j 
 tinued : our meeting and speedy purpose 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 EASTWARD HO. 
 
 463 
 
 of departing known to as few as is possible, 
 lest your ship and goods be attached. 
 
 Qit. Well advised, captain ; our colonel 
 shall have money this morning to despatch 
 all our departures ; bring those gentlemen 
 at night to the place appointed, and, with 
 our skins full of vintage, we'll take occasion 
 by the vantage, and away. 
 
 Sp. We will not fail but be there, sir. 
 
 Pe. Good morrow, good captain, and my 
 worthy associates. Health and all sove- 
 reignty to my beautiful gossip ; for you, sir, 
 we shall see you presently with the writings. 
 
 Sec. With writings and crowns to my 
 honourable gossip^ I do hunger and thirst 
 to do you good, sir. {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Enter a Coachman in haste, in his frock, 
 
 feeding. 
 
 Co. Here's a stir when citizens ride out 
 of town, indeed as if all the house were a- 
 fire ! 'Slight ! they will not give a man 
 leave to cat's breakfast afore he rises. 
 
 Enter Hamlet, a footman, in haste. 
 
 Ha. What, coachman my lady's coach ! 
 for shame ! her ladyship's ready to come 
 down. 
 
 Enter Potkin, a tankard-bearer. 
 
 Po. 'Sfoot ! Hamlet, are you mad? 
 Whither run you now ? you should brush 
 up my old mistress ! 
 
 Enter Syndefie. 
 
 Sy. What, Potkin? you must put off 
 your tankard and put on your blue coat, 
 and wait upon Mistress Touchstone into 
 the country. [Exit. 
 
 Po. I will, forsooth, presently. [Exit.. 
 
 Enter Mistress Fond and Mistress Gazer. 
 
 Fo. Come, sweet Mistress Gazer, let's 
 v/atch here, and see my Lady Flash take 
 coach. 
 
 Ga. A my word here's a most fine place 
 to stand in ; did you see the new ship 
 launched last day, Mistress Fond ? 
 
 Fo. O God ! and we citizens should lose 
 such a sight ! 
 
 Ga. 1 warrant here will be double as 
 many people to see her take coach as there 
 were to see it take water. 
 
 /i>. O she's married to a most fine castle 
 i'th" country, they say. 
 
 Gu. But there are no giants in the castle, 
 are there ? 
 
 Fo. O no : they say her knight killed 
 'hem all, and therefore he was knighted. 
 
 Ga. Would to God her ladyship would 
 come away ! 
 
 Enter Gertrude, Mistress Touchstone, 
 
 Syndefie, Hamlet, Potkin. 
 Fo. She comes, she comes, she comes ! 
 p' \ Pray heaven bless your ladyship ! 
 
 Ge. Thank you, good people. My coach, 
 for the love of heaven, my coach ! In 
 good truth I shall swoon else. 
 
 Ha. Coach, coach, my lady's coach ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Ge. As I am a lady, I think I am with 
 child already, I long for a coach so. May 
 one be with child afore they are married, 
 mother ? 
 
 Mist. T. Ay, by'r lady, madam ; a little 
 thing does that ; I have seen a little prick 
 no bigger than a pin's head swell bigger 
 and bigger, till it has come to an ancome ; 
 and e'en so 'tis in these cases. 
 
 Enter Hamlet. 
 
 Ha. Your coach is coming, madam. 
 Ge. That's well said. Now, heaven ! 
 methinks I am e'en up to the knees in 
 preferment. 
 ' ' But a little higher, but a little higher, 
 
 but a. little higher, 
 There, there, there lies Cupid's fire!" 
 
 Mist. T. But must this young man, an't 
 please you, madam, run by your coach all 
 the way a-foot ? 
 
 Ge. Ay, by my faith, I warrant him ; he 
 gives no other milk, as I have another 
 servant does. 
 
 Mist. T. Alas ! 'tis e'en pity, methinks ; 
 for God's sake, madam, buy him but a 
 hobby-horse ; let the poor youth have 
 something betwixt his legs to ease 'hem. 
 Alas ! we must do as we would be done to. 
 
 Ge. Go to, hold your peace, dame ; you 
 talk like an old fool, I tell you ! 
 
 Enter Petronel and Quicksilver. 
 
 Pe. W r ilt thou be gone, sweet honey- 
 suckle, before I can go with thee? 
 
 Ge. I pray thee, sweet knight, let me ; I 
 do so long to dress up thy castle afore thou 
 comest. But I marie how my modest 
 sister occupies herself this morning, that 
 she cannot wait on me to my coach, as well 
 as her mother. 
 
 Qu. Marry, madam, she's married by 
 this time to prentice Golding. Your father, 
 and some one more, stole to church with 
 
4 6 4 
 
 EASTWARD HO. 
 
 TACT in. 
 
 hem in all the haste, that the cold meat 
 left at your wedding might serve to furnish 
 their nuptial table. 
 
 Ge. There's no base fellow, my father, 
 now ; but he's e'en fit to father such a 
 daughter : he must call me daughter no 
 more now: but "madam," and "please 
 you, madam ;" and " please your worship, 
 madam," indeed. Out upon him ! marry 
 his daughter to a base prentice ! 
 
 Mist. T. What should one do ? Is there 
 no law for one that marries a woman's 
 daughter against her will ? How shall we 
 punish him, madam ? 
 
 Ge. As I am a lady, an't would snow, 
 we'd so pebble 'hem with snow-balls as 
 they come from church ; but, sirrah Frank 
 Quicksilver. 
 
 Qu. Ay, madam. 
 
 Ge. Dost remember since thou and I 
 clapt what-d'ye-call'ts in the garret ? 
 
 Qu. I know not what you mean, 
 madam. 
 
 Ge. " His head as white as milk, all 
 flaxen zvas his hair ; 
 
 But now he is dead, and laid in his 
 bed, 
 
 And never will come again'' 
 God be at your labour ! 
 
 Enter Touchstone, Golding, Mildred, -with 
 rosemary. 
 
 Pe. Was there ever such a lady ? 
 
 Qu. See, madam, the bride and bride- 
 groom ! 
 
 Ge. God's my precious ! God give you 
 joy, mistress ! What lack you ? Now out 
 upon thee, baggage ! My sister married 
 in a taffeta hat ! Marry, hang you ! West- 
 ward with a wanion t'ye ! Nay, I have 
 done wi' ye, minion, then, i'faith ; never 
 look to have my countenance any more, 
 nor anything I can do for thee. Thou ride 
 in my coach, or come down to my castle ! 
 fie upon thee ! I charge thee in my lady- 
 ship's name, call me sister no more. 
 
 To. An't please your worship, this is 
 not your sister : this is my daughter, and 
 she calls me father, and so does not 
 your ladyship, an't please your worship, 
 madam. 
 
 Mist. T. No, nor she must not call thee 
 father by heraldry, because thou makest 
 thy prentice thy son as well as she. Ah ! 
 thou misproud prentice, darest thou pre- 
 sume to marry a lady's sister ? 
 
 Go. It pleased my master, forsooth, to 
 embolden me with his favour ; and though 
 I confess myself far unworthy so worthy a 
 
 wife (being in part her servant, as 1 am 
 your prentice) yet (since I may say it with- 
 out boasting) I am born a gentleman, and 
 by the trade I have learned of my master 
 (which 1 trust taints not my blood), able, 
 with mine own industry and portion, to 
 maintain your daughter, my hope is, 
 heaven will so bless our humble beginning, 
 that in the end I shall be no disgrace to 
 the grace with which my master hath 
 bound me his double prentice. 
 
 To. Master me no more, son, if thou 
 think'st me worthy to be thy father. 
 
 Ge. Son ! Now, good Lord, how he 
 shines ! and you mark him, he's a gentle- 
 man ! 
 
 Go. Ay, indeed, madam, a gentleman 
 born. 
 
 Pe. Never stand a' your gentry, Master 
 Bridegroom ; if your legs be no better than 
 your arms, you'll be able to stand upright 
 on neither shortly. 
 
 To. An't please your good worship, sir, 
 there are two sorts of gentlemen. 
 
 Pe. What mean you, sir? 
 
 To. Bold to put off my hat to your wor- 
 ship 
 
 Pe. Nay, pray forbear, sir, and then 
 forth with your two sorts of gentlemen. 
 
 To. If your worship will have it so, I say 
 there are two sorts of gentlemen. There 
 is a gentleman artificial, and a gentleman 
 natural. Now though your worship be a 
 gentleman natural : work upon that now. 
 
 Qu. Well said, old Touchstone ; I am 
 proud to hear thee enter a set speech, 
 i'faith ; forth, I beseech thee. 
 
 To. Cry your mercy, sir, your worship's 
 a gentleman I do not know. If you be one 
 of my acquaintance, y'are very much dis- 
 guised, sir. 
 
 Qu. Go to, old quipper ; forth with thy 
 speech, I say. 
 
 To. What, sir, my speeches were ever in 
 vain to your gracious worship ; and there- 
 fore, till I speak to you gallantry indeed, I 
 will save my breath for my broth anon. 
 Come, my poor son and daughter, let 
 us hide ourselves in our poor humility, 
 and live safe. Ambition consumes itself 
 with the very show. Work upon that now. 
 
 Ge. Let him go, let him go, for God's 
 sake ! let him make his prentice his son, 
 for God's sake ! give away his daughter, 
 for God's sake ! and when they come a- 
 begging to us for God's sake, let's laugh at 
 their good husbandry for God's sake. Fare- 
 well, sweet knight, pray thee make haste 
 after. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 EASTWARD HO. 
 
 465 
 
 Pe, What shall I say? I would not 
 have thee go. 
 
 Qu. " Now, O now, I must depart, 
 " Part-ing though it absence move." 
 This ditty, knight, do I see in thy looks in 
 capital letters. 
 
 "What a grief 'tis to depart, and leave 
 the flower that has my heart ! 
 
 My sweet lady, and alack for wo, why, 
 
 should we part so ?" 
 
 Tell truth, knight, and shame all dissem- 
 bling lovers ; does not your pain lie on 
 that side? 
 
 Pe. If it do, canst thou tell me how I 
 may cure it ? 
 
 Qu. Excellent easily. Divide yourself in 
 two halves, just by the girdlestead ; send 
 one half with your lady, and keep the 
 t'other yourself ; or else do as all true 
 lovers do part with your heart, and leave 
 your body behind. I have seen't done a 
 hundred times : 'tis as easy a matter for a 
 lover to part without a heart from his 
 sweetheart, and he ne'er the worse, as for a 
 mouse to get from a trap and leave her tail 
 behind him. See, here comes the writings. 
 
 Enter Security ivith a Scrivener. 
 
 Sec. Good morrow to my worshipful lady. 
 I present your ladyship with this writing, 
 to which if you please to set your hand with 
 your knight's, a velvet gown shall attend 
 your journey, a' my credit. 
 
 Ge. What writing is it, knight ? 
 
 Pe. The sale, sweetheart, of the poor 
 tenement I told thee of, only to make a 
 little money to send thee down furniture 
 for my castle, to which my har.d shall lead 
 thee. 
 
 Ge. Very well. Now give me your pen, 
 I pray. 
 
 Qu. It goes down without chewing, 
 i'faith. 
 
 Scr. Your worships deliver this as your 
 deed? 
 
 Ambo. We do. 
 
 Gc. So now, knight, farewell till I sec 
 thee. 
 
 Pe. All farewell to my sweetheart ! 
 
 Mist. T. God-b'w'y', son knight. 
 
 Pe. Farewell, my good mother. 
 
 Ge. Farewell, Frank ; I would fain take 
 thee down if I could. 
 
 Qu. I thank your good ladyship ; fare- 
 well, Mistress Syndefie. \_Exennt. 
 
 Pe. O tedious voyage, whereoi there is 
 
 no end ! 
 What will they think of me? 
 
 Qu. Think what they list. They longed 
 vor.. r. 
 
 for a vagary into the country, and now 
 they are fitted. So a woman marry to ride 
 in a coach, she cares not if she ride to her 
 ruin. 'Tis the great end of many of their 
 marriages. This is not the first time a lady 
 has rid a false journey in her coach, I hope. 
 Pe. Nay, 'tis no matter, I care little 
 what they think ; he that weighs men's 
 thoughts has his hands full of nothing. 
 A man, in the course of this world, should 
 be like a surgeon's instrument work in 
 the wounds of others, and feel nothing 
 himself. The sharper and subtler, the 
 better. 
 
 Qu. As it falls out now, knight, you 
 shall not need to devise excuses, or endure 
 her outcries, when she returns ; we shall 
 now begone before, where they cannot 
 reach us. 
 
 Pe. Well, my kind compeer, you have 
 now the assurance we both can make you ; 
 let me now intreat you, the money we 
 agreed on may be brought to the 'Blue 
 Anchor, near to Billingsgate, by six 
 o'clock ; where I and my chief friends, 
 bound for this voyage, will with feasts 
 attend you. 
 
 Sec. The money, my most honourable 
 compeer, shall without fail observe your 
 appointed hour. 
 Pe. Thanks, my dear gossip. I must 
 
 now impart 
 
 To your approved love, a loving secret ; 
 As one on whom my life doth more rely 
 In friendly trust than any man alive. 
 Nor shall you be the chosen secretary 
 Of my affections for affection only : 
 For I protest (if God bless my return) 
 To make you partner in my actions' gain 
 As deeply as if you had ventured with 
 
 me 
 Half my expcnces. Know then, honest 
 
 gossip, 
 
 I have enjoy'd with such divine content- 
 ment 
 A gentlewoman's bsd whom you well 
 
 know, 
 That I shall ne'er enjoy this tedious 
 
 voyage, 
 
 Nor live the least part of the time it asketh, 
 Without her presence ; so I thirst and 
 
 hunger 
 
 To taste the dear feast of her company. 
 And if the hunger and the thirst you vow 
 As my sworn gossip, to my wished good 
 Be, as I know it is, unfeig'n'd and firm, 
 Do me an easy favour in your power 
 Sec. Be sure, brave gossip, all that I can 
 
 do, 
 
 II H 
 
4 66 
 
 EASTWARD HO. 
 
 [ACT nr. 
 
 To my best nerve, is wholly at your service : 
 
 Who is the woman, first, that is your friend ? 
 Pe. The woman is your learned coun- 
 sel's wife, 
 
 The lawyer, Master Bramble ; whom would 
 you 
 
 Bring out this even in honest neighbour- 
 hood, 
 
 To take his leave with you, of me your 
 gossip, 
 
 I, in the meantime, will send this my 
 friend 
 
 Home to his house, to bring his wife dis- 
 guised, 
 
 Before his face, into our company ; 
 
 For love hath made her look for such a 
 wile, 
 
 To free her from his tyrannous jealousy. 
 
 And I would take this course before 
 another, 
 
 In stealing her away to make us sport, 
 
 And gull his circumspection th more 
 grossly ; 
 
 And I am sure that no man like yourself 
 
 Hath credit with him to entice his jealousy 
 
 To so long stay abroad as may give time 
 
 To her enlargement, in such safe disguise. 
 Sec. A pretty, pithy, and most pleasant 
 project ! 
 
 Who would not strain a point of neigh- 
 bourhood 
 
 For such a point device ? that as the ship 
 
 Of famous Draco went about the world, 
 
 Will wind about the lawyer, compassing 
 
 The world himself ; he hath it in his 
 arms, 
 
 And that's enough for him, without his 
 wife. 
 
 A lawyer is ambitious, and his head 
 
 Cannot be praised nor raised too high, 
 
 With any fork of highest knavery. 
 
 I'll go fetch her straight. [Exit Security. 
 Pe, So, so. Now, Frank, go thouhome 
 to his house, 
 
 'Stead of his lawyer's, and bring his wife 
 hither, 
 
 Who, just like to the lawyer's wife, is 
 prison'd 
 
 With his stern usurous jealousy, which 
 could never 
 
 Be over-reach'd thus but with over-reaching. 
 
 Enter Security. 
 
 Sec. And, Master Francis, watch you 
 
 th" instant time 
 
 To enter with his exit : 'twill be rare, 
 Two fine horn'd beasts! a camel and 
 
 a lawyer ! 
 Qu. How the old villain joys in villany ! 
 
 Sec. And hark you, gossip, when you 
 
 have her here, 
 Have your boat ready, ship her to your 
 
 ship 
 With utmost haste, lest Master Bramble 
 
 stay you. 
 Too'er-reach that head that out-reacheth 
 
 all heads? 
 
 'Tis a trick rampant ! 'tis a very quiblyn \ 
 I hope this harvest to pitch cart' with law- 
 yers, 
 Their heads will be so forked. This sly 
 
 touch 
 Will get apes to invent a number such. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Qu. Was ever rascal honey' d so with 
 poison ? 
 
 " He that delights in slavish avarice, 
 Is apt to joy in every sort of vice." 
 Well, I'll go fetch his wife, whilst he the 
 lawyer's. 
 
 Pe. But stay, Frank, let's think how we' 
 may disguise her upon this sudden. 
 
 Qu. God's me i there's the mischief ! 
 But hark you, here's an excellent device : 
 'fore God, a rare one ! I will carry her a 
 sailor's gown and cap, and cover her, and 
 a player's beard. 
 Pe. And what upon her head ? 
 Qu. I tell you, a sailor's cap ! 'Slight, 
 God forgive me ! what kind of figent 
 memory have you? 
 
 Pe. Nay, then, what kind of figent wit 
 hast thou? 
 
 A sailor's cap? how shall she put it off 
 When thou 'present' st her to our com- 
 pany? 
 
 Qu. Tush, man, for that, make her a 
 saucy sailor. 
 
 Pe. Tush, tush ! 'tis no fit sauce for 
 such sweet mutton. I know not what t" 
 advise. 
 
 Enter Security, with his wife's gown. 
 
 Sec. Knight, knight, a rare device ! 
 
 Pe. 'Swounds, yet again ! 
 
 Qu. What stratagem have you now? 
 
 Sec. The best that ever. You talk of dis- 
 guising ? 
 
 Pe. Ay, marry, gossip, that's our present 
 care. 
 
 Sec. Cast care away then ; here's the best 
 
 device 
 
 For plain Security (for I am no better) 
 I think, that ever lived : here's my wife's 
 
 gown, 
 
 Which you may put upon the lawyer's wife, 
 And which I brought you, sir, for two 
 great reasons ; 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 EASTWARD HO. 
 
 467 
 
 One is, that Master Bramble may take hold 
 Of some suspicion that it is my wife, 
 And gird me so perhaps with his law-wit ; 
 The other (which is policy indeed) 
 Is, that my wife may now b? tied at home, 
 Having no more but her old gown abroad, 
 And not show me a quirk, while I firk 
 
 others. 
 Is not this rare? 
 
 Ambo. The best that ever was. 
 
 Sec. Am I not born to furnish gentlemen? 
 
 Pe. O my dear gossip ! 
 
 Sec. Well hold, Master Francis ; watch 
 when the lawyer's out, and put it in. And 
 now I will go fetch him. [Exit. 
 
 Qu. O my dad ! he goes as 'twere the 
 devil to fetch the lawyer ; and devil shall 
 he be, if horns will make him. 
 
 Pe. Why, how now, gossip ? why stay 
 you there musing? 
 
 Sec. A toy, a toy runs in my head, i'faith. 
 
 Qu. A pox of that head ! is there more 
 toys yet ? 
 
 Pe. What is it, pray thee, gossip? 
 
 Sec. Why, sir, what if you should slip 
 away now with my wife's best gown, I 
 having no security for it ? 
 
 Qu. For that I hope, dad, you will take 
 our words. 
 
 Sec. Ay, by th' mass, your word that's 
 
 a proper staff 
 
 For wise Security to lean upon ! 
 But 'tis no matter, once I'll trust my name 
 On your crack'd credits ; let it take no 
 
 shame. 
 Fetch the wench, Frank. [Exit. 
 
 Qu. I'll wait upon you, sir, 
 And fetch you over, you were ne'er so 
 
 fetch'd. 
 
 Go to the tavern, knight ; your followers 
 Dare not be drunk, I think, before their 
 captain. \_Exit. 
 
 Pe. Would I might lead them to no 
 
 hotter service 
 
 Till our Virginian gold were in our purses ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Enter Seagull, Spendall, and Scapethrift, 
 in the Tavern, -with a Drawer. 
 
 Sea. Come, drawer, pierce your neatest 
 hogsheads, and let's have cheer not fit 
 for your Billingsgate tavern, but for our 
 Virginian colonel ; he will be here in- 
 stantly. 
 
 Dr. You shall have all things fit, sir ; 
 please you have any more wine ? 
 
 Sp. More wine, slave ! whether we drink 
 it or no, spill it, and draw more. 
 
 Sea. Fill all the pots in your house with 
 
 all sorts of liquor, and let 'hem wait on us 
 here like soldiers in their pewter coats; and 
 though we do not employ them now,' yet 
 we will maintain 'hem till we do. 
 
 Dr. Said like an honourable captain ; 
 you shall have all you can command, sir. 
 [Exit Drawer. 
 
 Sea. Come, boys, Virginia longs till we 
 share the rest of her maidenhead. 
 
 Sp. Why, is she inhabited already with 
 any English ? 
 
 Sea. A whole country of English is there 
 man, bred of those that were left there in 
 '79 ; they have married with the Indians, 
 and make 'hem bring forth as beautiful 
 faces as any we have in England ; and 
 therefore the Indians are so in love with 
 'hem, that all the treasure they have they 
 lay at their feet. 
 
 Sea. But is there such treasure there, 
 captain, as I have heard ? 
 
 Sea. I tell thee, gold is more plentiful 
 there than copper is with us ; and for as much 
 red copper as I can bring, I'll have thrice 
 the weight in gold. Why, man, all their 
 dripping-pans and their chamber-pots are 
 pure gold ; and all the chains with which 
 they chain up their streets are massy gold ; 
 all the prisoners they take are fettered in 
 gold ; and for rubies and diamonds, they 
 go forth on holidays and gather 'hem by 
 the sea-shore, to hang on their children's 
 coats, and stick in their caps, as com- 
 monly as our children wear saffron-gilt 
 brooches and groats with holes in 'hem. 
 
 Sea. And is it a pleasant country withal? 
 
 Sea. As ever the sun shined on ; tem- 
 perate and full of all sorts of excellent 
 viands : wild boar is as common there as 
 our tamest bacon is here ; venison as 
 mutton. And then you shall live freely 
 there, without sargeants, or courtiers, or 
 lawyers, or intelligencers [only a few 
 industrious Scots perhaps, who indeed are 
 dispersed over the face of the whole earth. 
 But as for them, there are no greater friends 
 to Englishmen and England, when they 
 are out on't, in the world, than they are. 
 And for my own part, I would a hundred 
 thousand of them were there, for we are all 
 one countrymen now, ye know, and we 
 should find ten times more comfort of 
 them there than we do here.]* Then for 
 
 * This is the iamous passage that gave ofience 
 to James the First, and caused the imprisonment 
 of the authors. The leaves containing it were 
 cancelled and reprinted, and it only occurs in u 
 few of the original copies. ED. 
 
 H H 2 
 
468 
 
 EASTWARD HO. 
 
 [ACT m. 
 
 your means to advancement, there it is 
 simple, and not preposterously mixed. 
 You may be an alderman there, and never 
 be scavenger : you may be a nobleman, 
 and never be a slave. You may come 
 to preferment enough, and never be a 
 pander ; to riches and fortune enough, 
 and have never the more villany nor the 
 less wit. Besides, there we shall have no 
 more law than conscience, and not too 
 much of either ; serve God enough, eat 
 and drink enough, and "enough is as good 
 as a feast." 
 
 Sp. God's me ! and how far is it thither? 
 
 Sea. Some six weeks' sail, no more, with 
 any indifferent good wind. And if I get 
 to any part of the coast of Africa, I'll sail 
 thither with any wind ; or when I come to 
 Cape Finisterre, there's a foreright wind 
 continually wafts us till we come at Virginia. 
 See, our colonel's come. 
 
 Enter Sir Petronel, with hisfollmuers. 
 
 Pe. Well met, good Captain Seagull, 
 and my noble gentlemen ! Now the sweet 
 hour of our freedom is at hand. Come, 
 drawer, fill us some carouses, and prepare 
 us for the mirth that will be occasioned 
 presently. Here will be a pretty wench, 
 gentlemen that will bear us company all 
 our voyage. 
 
 Sea. Whatsoever she be, here's to her 
 health, noble colonel, both with cap and 
 knee. 
 
 PC. Thanks, kind Captain Seagull, she's 
 one I love dearly, and must not he known 
 till we be free from all that know us. And 
 so, gentlemen, here's to her health. 
 
 Ambo. Let it come, worthy colonel; 
 "We do hunger and thirst for it." 
 
 Pe. Afore heaven ! you have hit the 
 phrase of one that her presence will touch 
 from the foot to the forehead, if ye knew it. 
 
 Sp. Why, then, we will join his fore- 
 head with her health, sir ; and Captain 
 Scapethrift, here's to 'hem both. 
 
 Enter Security and Bramble. 
 
 Sec. See, see, Master Bramble, 'fore 
 heaven ! their voyage cannot but prosper ; 
 they are o' their knees for success to it ! 
 
 Br. And they pray to god Bacchus. 
 
 Sec. God save my brave colonel, with 
 all his tall captains and corporals. See, 
 sir, my worshipful learned counsel, Master 
 Bramble, is come to take his leave of you. 
 
 Pe. Worshipful Master Bramble, how 
 far do you draw us into the sweet-brier of 
 your kindness ! Come, Captain Seagull, 
 
 another health to this rare Bramble, that 
 hath never a prick about him. 
 
 Sea. I pledge his most smooth disposi- 
 tion, sir. Come, Master Security, bend 
 your supporters, and pledge this notorious 
 health here. 
 
 Sec. Bend you yours likewise, Master 
 Bramble ; for it is you shall pledge me. 
 
 Sea. Not so, Master Security"; he must 
 not pledge his own health. 
 
 Sec. No, Master Captain? 
 
 Enter Quicksilver, -with Winny 
 disguised. 
 
 Why, then, here's one is fitly come to 
 do him that honour. 
 
 Qu. Here's the gentlewoman your 
 cousin, sir, whom, with much entreaty, I 
 have brought to take her leave of you in a 
 tavern ; ashamed whereof, you must par- 
 don her if she put not off her mask. 
 
 Pe. Pardon me, sweet cousin ; my kind 
 desire to see you before I went, made me 
 so importunate to entreat your presence 
 here. 
 
 Sec. How now, Master Francis? have 
 you honoured this presence with a fair 
 gentlewoman ? 
 
 Qu. Pray, sir, take you no notice of her, 
 for she will not be known to you. 
 
 Sec. But my learned counsel, Master 
 Bramble here, I hope may know her. 
 
 Qu. No more than you, sir, at this time ; 
 his learning must pardon her. 
 
 Sec. Well, God pardon her for my part, 
 and I do, I'll be sworn ; and so, Master 
 Francis, here's to all that are going east- 
 ward to-night towards Cuckold's Haven ; 
 and so to the health of Master Bramble. 
 
 Qu. I pledge it, sir. Hath it gone round, 
 captain ? 
 
 Sea. It has, sweet Frank; and the round 
 closes with thee. 
 
 Qu. Well, sir, here's to all eastward 
 and toward cuckolds, and so to famous 
 Cuckold's Haven, so fatally remembered. 
 
 [Stergit. 
 
 Pe. Nay, pray thee, coz, weep not ; 
 gossip Security. 
 
 Sec. Ay, my brave gossip. 
 
 Pe. A word, I beseech you, sir. Our 
 friend, Mistress Bramble here, is so dis- 
 solved in tears, that she drowns the whole 
 mirth of our meeting. Sweet gossip, take 
 her aside and comfort her. 
 
 Sec. Pity of all true love, Mistress 
 Bramble ; what, weep you to enjoy your 
 love? What's the cause, lady? Is't 
 because your husband is so near, and your 
 
SCENE IT.] 
 
 EASTWARD HO. 
 
 469 
 
 heart yearns to have a little abused him ? 
 Alas, alas ! the offence is too common to 
 be respected. So great a grace hath sel- 
 dom chanced to so unthankful a woman, 
 to be rid of an old jealous dotard, to enjoy 
 the arms of a loving young knight, that 
 when your prick-less Bramble is withered 
 with grief of your loss, will make you 
 flourish afresh in the bed of a lady. 
 
 Enter Drawer. 
 
 Dr. Sir Petronel, here's one of your 
 watermen come to tell you it will be flood 
 these three hours ; and that 'twill be 
 dangerous going against the tide, for the 
 sky is overcast, and there was a porpoise 
 even now seen at London-bridge, which 
 is always the messenger of tempests, he 
 says. 
 
 Pe. A porpoise ! what's that to th' 
 purpose? Charge him, if he love his life, 
 to attend us ; can we not reach Blackwall 
 (where my ship lies) against the tide, and 
 in spite of tempests ? Captains and gentle- 
 men, we'll begin a new ceremony at the 
 beginning of our voyage, which I believe 
 will be followed of all future adventurers. 
 
 Sea. What's that, good colonel? 
 
 Pe. This, Captain Seagull. We'll have 
 
 our provided supper brought aboard Sir 
 
 Francis Drake's ship, that hath compassed 
 
 the world ; where, with full cups and ban- 
 
 1 quets, we will do sacrifice for a prosperous 
 
 ; voyage. My mind gives me that some 
 
 good spirits of the waters should haunt 
 
 the desert ribs of her, and be auspicious to 
 
 all that honour her memory, and will with 
 
 like orgies enter their voyages. 
 
 Sea. Rarely conceited ! One health more 
 to this motion, and aboard to perform it. 
 5 He that will not this night be drunk, may 
 he never be sober. 
 
 [They compass in Winnifrid, dance 
 the drunken round, and drink 
 carouses. 
 
 Br. Sir Petronel and his honourable 
 captains, in these young services we old 
 servitors may be spared. We only came 
 to take our leaves, and with one health to 
 you all, I'll be bold to do so. Here, neigh- 
 bour Security, to the health of Sir Petronel 
 and all his captains. 
 
 Sec. You must bend then, Master 
 Bramble ; so now I am for you. I have 
 one corner of my brain, I hope, fit to bear 
 one carouse more. Here, lady, to you 
 that are encompassed there, and 'are 
 ashamed of our company. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 by my troth, my learned counsel, Master 
 
 Bramble, my mind runs so of Cuckold's 
 Haven to-night, that my head runs over 
 with admiration. 
 
 Br. But is not that your wife, neigh- 
 bour? 
 
 Sec. No, by my troth, Master Bramble. 
 Ha, ha, ha ! A pox of all Cuckold's 
 havens, I say ! 
 
 Br. A my faith, her garments are ex- 
 ceeding like your wife's. 
 
 Sec. Cucullus non facit monachum, my 
 learned counsel ; all are not cuckolds that 
 seem so, nor all seem not that are so. 
 Give me your hand, my learned counsel ; 
 you and I will sup somewhere else than at 
 Sir Francis Drake's ship to-night. Adieu, 
 my noble gossip. 
 
 Br. Good fortune, brave captains ; fair 
 skies God send ye ! 
 
 Omnes. Farewell, my hearts, farewell ! 
 
 Pe. Gossip, laugh no more at Cuckold's- 
 haven, gossip. 
 
 Sec. I have done, I have done, sir ; will 
 you lead Master Bramble? Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Pe. Captain Seagull, charge a boat. 
 
 Omnes. A boat, a boat, a boat ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Dr. Y'are in a proper taking indeed, to 
 take a boat, especially at this time of night, 
 and against tide and tempest. They say 
 yet, "drunken men never take harm." 
 This night will try the truth of that pro- 
 verb. [Exit. 
 Enter Security. 
 
 Sec. What, Winny ! wife, I say ! out 
 of doors at this time ! where should I seek 
 the gad-fly? Billingsgate, Billingsgate, 
 Billingsgate ! She's gone with the knight, 
 she's gone with the knight ; woe be to thee, 
 Billingsgate ! A boat, a boat, a boat ! a 
 full hundred marks for a boat ! [Exit. 
 
 ACT THE FOURTH. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Enter Slitgut, with a pair of ox-horns, 
 discovering Cuckold's Haven above. 
 
 SI. All hail, fair haven of married men 
 only ! for there are none but married men 
 cuckolds. For my part, I presume not to 
 arrive here, but in my master's behalf (a 
 poor butcher of East-cheap), who sends me 
 to set up (in honour of Saint Luke) these 
 necessary ensigns of his homage. And up 
 I got this morning, thus early, to get up to 
 
4/o 
 
 EASTWARD HO. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 the top of this famous tree, that is all fruit 
 and no leaves, to advance this crest of my 
 master's occupation. Up then ; heaven and 
 Saint Luke bless me, that I be not blown 
 into the Thames as I climb, with this 
 furious tempest. 'Slight ! I think the 
 devil be abroad, in likeness of a storm, to 
 rob me of my horns ! Hark how he roars ! 
 Lord ! what a coil the Thames keeps ! 
 she bears some unjust burthen, I believe, 
 that she kicks and curvets thus to cast it. 
 Heaven bless all honest passengers that are 
 upon her back now ; for the bit is out of 
 her. mouth, I see, and she will run away 
 with 'hem ! So, so, I think I have made 
 it look the right way ; it runs against 
 London Bridge, as it were, even full butt. 
 And now let me discover from this lofty 
 prospect, what pranks the rude Thames 
 plays in her desperate lunacy. O me ! 
 here's a boat has been cast away hard by. 
 Alas, alas ! see one of her passengers 
 labouring for his life to land at this haven 
 here ! pray heaven he may recover it ! 
 His next land is even just under me ; hold 
 out yet a little, whatsoever thou art ; pray, 
 and take a good heart to thee. 'Tis a man ; 
 take a man's heart to thee ; yet a little 
 further, get up a' thy legs, man ; now 'tis 
 shallow enough. So, so, so ! Alas ! he's 
 down again. Hold thy wind, father : 'tis 
 a man in a night-cap. So ! now he's got 
 up again ; now he's past the worst : yet, 
 thanks be to heaven, he comes toward me 
 pretty and strongly. 
 
 Enter Security without his hat, in a 
 night-cap, wet band, &c. 
 
 Sec. Heaven, I beseech thee, how have I 
 offended thee ! where am I cast ashore now, 
 that I may go a righter way home by land ? 
 Let me see ; O I am scarce able to look 
 about me : where is there any sea-mark 
 that I am acquainted withal ? 
 
 SI. Look up, father; are you acquainted 
 with this mark ? 
 
 Sec. What ! landed at Cuckold's Haven ! 
 Hell and damnation ! I will run back and 
 drown myself. [He falls down. 
 
 SI. Poor man, how weak he is ! the weak 
 water has washed away his strength. 
 
 Sec. Landed at Cuckold's Haven ! If it 
 had not been to die twenty times alive, I 
 should never have 'scaped death ! I will 
 never arise more ; I will grovel here and 
 eat dirt till I be choked ; I will make the 
 gentle earth do that, which the cruel 
 water has denied me ! 
 
 SI. Alas ! good father, be not so des- 
 
 perate ! Rise man ; if you will I'll come 
 presently and lead you home. 
 
 Sec. Home ! shall I make any know my 
 home, that has known me thus abroad? 
 How low shall I crouch away, that no eye 
 may see me? I will creep on the earth 
 while I live, and never look heaven in the 
 face more. [Exit creeping. 
 
 SI. What young planet reigns now, trow, 
 that old men are so foolish? What 
 desperate young swaggerer would have 
 been abroad such a weather as this, upon 
 the water? Ay me ! see another remnant of 
 this unfortunate shipwrack, or some other. 
 A woman, i'faith, a woman ; though it be 
 almost at St. Katherine's, I discern it to be 
 a woman, for all her body is above the 
 water, and her clothes swim about her 
 most handsomely. O, they bear her up 
 most bravely ! has not a woman reason to 
 love the taking up of her clothes the better 
 while she lives, for this ? Alas ! how busy 
 the rude Thames is about her ! A pox 
 a that wave.! it will drown her, i'faith, 
 'twill drown her ! Cry God mercy, she 
 has 'scaped it I thank heaven she has 
 'scaped it ! O how she swims like a mer- 
 maid ! some vigilant body look out and 
 save her. That's well said ; just where the 
 priest fell in, there's one sets down a 
 ladder, and goes to take her up. God's 
 blessing a thy heart, boy ! Now take her , 
 up in thy arms and to bed with her ; she's 
 up, she's up ! She's a beautiful woman, 
 I warrant her ; the billows durst not devour 
 her. 
 
 Enter the Drawer in the Tavern before, 
 with Winnifrid. 
 
 Dr. How fare you now, lady ? 
 
 Wi. Much better, my good friend, than 
 I wish ; as one desperate of her fame, now 
 my life is preserved. 
 
 Dr. Comfort yourself : that Power that 
 preserved you from death can likewise de- 
 fend you from infamy, howsoever you 
 deserve it. Were not you one that took 
 boat late this night, with a knight and 
 other gentlemen at Billingsgate? 
 
 Wi. Unhappy that I am, I was. 
 
 Dr. I am glad it was my good hap to come 
 down thus far after you, to a house of my 
 friend's here in St. Katherine's, since I am 
 now happily made a mean to your rescue 
 from the ruthless tempest, which (when 
 you took boat) was so extreme, and the 
 gentleman that brought you forth so despe- 
 rate and unsober, that I feared long ere 
 this I should hear of your shipwrack, and 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 EASTWARD HO. 
 
 therefore (with little other reason) made 
 thus far this way. And this I must tell you, 
 since perhaps you may make use of it, there 
 was left behind you at our tavern, brought 
 by a porter (hired by the young gentleman 
 that brought you), a gentlewoman's gown, 
 hat, stockings, and shoes ; which if they 
 be yours, and you please to shift you, 
 taking a hard bed here in this house of my 
 friend, I will presently go fetch you. 
 
 Wi. Thanks, my good friend, for your 
 more than good news. The gown with all 
 things bound with it are mine ; which if 
 you please to fetch as you have promised, 
 I will boldly receive the kind favour you 
 have offered till your return ; entreating 
 you, by all the good you have done in 
 preserving me hitherto, to let none take 
 knowledge of what favour you do me, or 
 where such a one as I am bestowed, lest 
 you incur me much more damage in my 
 fame than you have done me pleasure in 
 preserving my life. 
 
 Dr. Come in, lady, and shift yourself; 
 resolve that nothing but your own pleasure 
 shall be used in your discovery. 
 
 Wi. Thank you, good friend ; the time 
 may come, I shall requite you. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 SI. See, see, see ! I hold my life, there's 
 some other a taking up at Wapping now ! 
 Look, what a sort of people cluster about 
 the gallows there ! in good troth it is so. 
 
 me ! a fine young gentleman ! What, 
 and taken up at the gallows ! Heaven 
 grant he be not one day taken down there ! 
 A my life, it is ominous ! Well, he is 
 delivered for the time. I see the people 
 have all left him ; yet will I keep my pros- 
 pect awhile, to see if any more have been 
 shipwracked. 
 
 Enter Quicksilver, bare head. 
 
 Qu. Accursed that ever I was saved or 
 
 born ! 
 
 How fatal is my sad arrival here ! 
 As if the stars and providence spake to me, 
 And said, "The drift of all unlawful courses 
 (Whatever end they dare propose them- 
 selves, 
 
 In frame of their licentious policies), 
 In the firm order of just destiny, 
 They are the ready highways to our ruins."* 
 
 1 know not what to do ; my wicked hopes 
 Are, with this tempest, torn up by the roots. 
 
 * Here is a touch of Chapman's hand dis- 
 ' cernible, if nowhere else. ED. 
 
 ! which way shall I bend my desperate 
 
 steps, 
 
 In which unsufferable shame and misery 
 Will not attend them ? I will walk this 
 
 bank, 
 
 And see if I can meet the other relics 
 Of our poor shipwrack'd crew, or hear ot 
 
 them. 
 
 The knight, alas ! was so far gone with wine, 
 And th' other three, that I refused their 
 
 boat, 
 
 And took the hapless woman in another, 
 Who cannot but be sunk, whatever fortune 
 Hath wrought upon the others' desperate 
 
 lives. 
 
 Enter Petronel, and Seagull, bareheaded. 
 
 Pe. Zounds ! captain, I tell thee, we are 
 cast up o'the coast of France. 'Sfoot ! I 
 am not drunk still, I hope. Dost remem- 
 ber where we were last night? 
 
 Sea. No. by my troth, knight, not I ; but 
 methinks we' have been a horrible while 
 upon the water and in the water. 
 
 Pe. Ay me ! we are undone for ever ! 
 Hast any money about thee ? 
 
 Sea. Not a penny, by Heaven ! 
 
 Pe. Not a penny betwixt us, and cast 
 ashore in France ! 
 
 Sea. 'Faith, I cannot tell that ; my brains 
 nor mine eyes are not mine own yet. 
 
 Ente: two Gentlemen. 
 
 Pe. 'Sfoot ! wilt not believe me? I know't 
 by th' elevation of the pole, and by the 
 altitude and latitude of the climate. See, 
 here comes a couple of French gentlemen ; 
 
 1 knew we were in France ; dost thou think 
 our Englishmen are so Frenchified, that a 
 man knows not whether he be in France or 
 in England, when he sees 'hem? What shall 
 we do ? We must e'en to 'hem, and entreat 
 some relief of 'hem. Life is sweet, and we 
 have no other means to relieve our lives 
 now but their charities. 
 
 Sea. Pray you, do you beg on 'hem then ; 
 you can speak French. 
 
 Pe. Monsieur, plaist il d'avoir pitie de 
 nostre grande infortune. Je suis tin pouvre 
 chevalier d'Angleterre qui a souffri 1'infor- 
 tune de naufrage. 
 
 ist Gent. Un pouvre chevalier d'Angle- 
 terre ? 
 
 Pe. Oui, monsieur, il est trop vray ; 
 mais vous scaves bien nous sommes toutes 
 subject a fortune. 
 
 2nd Gent. A poor knight of England ? a 
 poor knight of Windsor, are you not ? 
 Why speak you this broken French, when 
 
472 
 
 EASTWARD HO. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 y'are a whole Englishman? On what coast 
 are you, think you ? 
 
 Pet. On the coast of France, sir. 
 
 ist Gent. On the coast of Dogs, sir ; y'are 
 i'th' Isle a Dogs, I tell you, I see y'ave been 
 washed in the Thames here, and I believe 
 ye were drowned in a tavern before, or 
 else you would never have took boat in 
 such a dawning as this was. Farewell, 
 farewell ; we will not know you for shaming 
 of you. I ken the man weel ; he's one of 
 my thirty-pound knights. 
 
 znd Gent. No, no, this is he that stole his 
 knighthood o'the grand day for four pound 
 giving to a page ; all the money in's purse, 
 I wot well. \Excnnt. 
 
 Sea. Death ! colonel, I knew you were 
 over-shot. 
 
 Pe. Sure I think now, indeed, Captain 
 Seagull, we were something over-shot. 
 
 Enter Quicksilver. 
 
 What ! my sweet Frank Quicksilver ! dost 
 thou survive to rejoice me ? But what ! 
 nobody at thy heels, Frank? Ay me ! 
 what is become of poor Mistress Security ? 
 
 Qu. 'Faith, gone quite from her name, as 
 she is from her fame, I think ; I left her to 
 the mercy of the water. 
 
 Sea. Let her go, let her go ! Let us go 
 to our ship at Blackwall, and shift us. 
 
 Pe. Nay, by my troth, let our clothes rot 
 upon us, and let us rot in them ; twenty to 
 one our ship is attached by this time ! If 
 we set her not under sail this last tide, I 
 never looked for any other. Woe, woe is 
 me ! what shall become of us ? The last 
 money we could make, the greedy Thames 
 has devoured ; and if our ship be attached, 
 there is no hope can relieve us. 
 
 Qu. 'Sfoot ! knight, what an unknightly 
 faintness transports thee ! Let our ship 
 sink, and all the world that's without us 
 be taken from us, I hope I have some 
 tricks in this brain of mine shall not let us 
 perish. 
 
 Sea. Well said, Frank, i'faith. O, my 
 nimble-spirited Quicksilver ! 'Fore God ! 
 would thou hadst been our colonel ! 
 
 Pe. I like his spirit rarely ; but I see no 
 means he has to support that spirit. 
 
 Qu. Go to, knight ! I have more means 
 than thou art aware of. I have not lived 
 amongst goldsmiths and goldmakers all 
 this while, but I have learned something 
 worthy of my time with 'hem. And not to 
 let thee stink where thou stand'st, knight, 
 I '11 let thee know some of my skill presently. 
 
 Sea. Do, good Frank, Tbeseech thee. 
 
 Qu. I will blanch copper so cunningly 
 that it shall endure all proofs but the test : 
 it shall endure malleation, it shall have the 
 ponderosity of Luna, and the tenacity of 
 Luna by no means friable. 
 
 Pe. 'Slight ! where learn 'st thou these 
 terms, trow? 
 
 Qu. Tush, knight ! the terms of this art 
 every ignorant quack-salver is perfect in ; 
 but I'll tell you how yourself shall blanch 
 copper thus cunningly. Takearsenic, other- 
 wise called realga (which indeed is plain rats- 
 bane) ; sublime 'hem three or four times, 
 then take the sublimate of this realga, and 
 put 'hem into a glass, into chymia, arid let 
 them have a convenient decoction natural, 
 four-and-tvventy hours, and he will become 
 perfectly fixed ; then take this fixed powder, 
 and project him upon well-purged copper, 
 et habebis magisteriiini. 
 
 Ambo. Excellent Frank, let us hug thee ! 
 
 Qn. Nay, this I will do besides. I'll 
 take you off twelvepence from every angel, 
 with a kind of aqua-fortis, and never deface 
 any part of the image. 
 
 Pe. But then it will want weight ? 
 
 Qu. You shall restore that thus : Take 
 your sal achime prepared, and your dis- 
 tilled urine, and let your angels lie in it 
 but four-and-twenty hours, and they shall 
 have their perfect weight again. Come 
 on, now ; I hold this is enough to put 
 some spirit into the livers of you ; I'll in- 
 fuse more another time. We have saluted 
 the proud air long enough with our bare 
 sconces. Now will I have you to a wench's 
 house of mine at London, there make shift 
 to shift us, and after, take such fortunes as 
 the stars shall assign us. 
 
 Ambo. Notable Frank, we will ever 
 adore thee ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Drawer, with Winnifrid 
 new-attired. 
 
 Wi. Now, sweet friend, you have 
 brought me near enough your tavern, 
 which I desired I might with some colour 
 he seen near, inquiring for my husband, 
 who, I must tell you, stole thither the last 
 night with my wet gown we have left at 
 your friend's, which, to continue your 
 former honest kindness, let me pray you 
 to keep close from the knowledge of any : 
 and so, with all vow of ycur requital, let 
 me now entreat you to leave me to my 
 woman's wit and fortune. 
 
 Dr. All shall be done you desire ; and so 
 
 all the fortune you can wish for attend you. 
 
 \Exit Drawer. 
 
SCENE I. 
 
 EASTWARD HO. 
 
 473 
 
 Enter Security. 
 
 Sec. I will once more to this unhappy 
 tavern before I shift one rag of me more ; 
 that I may there know what is left behind, 
 and what news of their passengers. I have 
 bought me a hat and band with the little 
 money I had about me, and made the 
 streets a little leave staring at my night-cap. 
 
 1 1 7. O, my dear husband ! where have 
 you been to-night? All night abroad at 
 taverns ! Rob me of my garments ! and 
 fare as one run away from me ! Alas ! is 
 this seemly for a man of your credit, of 
 your age, and affection to your wife? 
 
 Sec. What should I say ? how miracu- 
 lously sorts this ! was not I at home, and 
 called thee last night? 
 
 Wi. Yes, sir, the harmless sleep you 
 broke ; and my answer to you would have 
 witnessed it, if you had had the patience to 
 have stayed and answered me ; but your 
 so sudden retreat made me imagine you 
 were gone to Master Bramble's, and so 
 rested patient and hopeful of your coming 
 again, till this your imbelieved absence 
 brought me abroad with no less than won- 
 der, to seek you where the false knight had 
 carried you. 
 
 Sec. Villain and monster that I was ! 
 how have I abused thee ! I was suddenly 
 gone indeed ; for my sudden jealousy 
 transferred me. I will say no more but 
 this : Dear wife, I suspected thee. 
 
 Wi. Did you suspect me ? 
 
 Sec. Talk not of it, I beseech thee ; I 
 am ashamed to imagine it. I will home, 
 1 will home ; and every morning on my 
 knees ask thee heartily forgiveness. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 Slit. Now will I descend my honourable 
 prospect; the farthest seeing' sea-mark of 
 the world ; no marvel, then, if I could see 
 two miles about me. I hope the red tem- 
 pest's anger be now over-blown, which 
 sure, I think, Heaven sent as 'a punish- 
 ment for profaning holy Saint Luke's 
 memory with so ridiculous a custom. 
 Thou dishonest satire ! farewell to honest 
 married men, farewell to all sorts and 
 degrees of thee ! Farewell thou horn 
 of hunger, that call'st th' inns a court to 
 their manger ! Farewell, thou horn of 
 abundance, that adornest the headsmen of 
 the common-wealth ! Farewell, thou horn 
 of direction, that is the city lanthorn ! 
 Farewell, thou horn of pleasure, the ensign 
 of the huntsman ! Farewell, thou horn of 
 destiny, th' ensign of the married man ! 
 
 Farewell, thou horn tree, that bearest no- 
 thing but stone-fruit ! \_Exit. 
 
 Enter Touchstone. ( 
 
 To. Ha, sirrah ! thinks my knight ad- 
 venturer we can no point of our compass? 
 Do we not know north-north-east, north- 
 east-and-by-east, east-and-by-north ? nor 
 plain eastward ? Ha ! have we never heard 
 of Virginia ? nor the Cavallaria ? nor the 
 Colonoria? Can we discover no dis- 
 coveries? Well, mine errant Sir Flash, 
 and my runagate Quicksilver, you may 
 drink drunk, crack cans, hurl away a 
 brown dozen of Monmouth caps or so, in 
 sea ceremony to your ban voyage ; but for 
 reaching any coast, save the coast of Kent 
 or Essex, with this tide, or with this fleet, 
 I'll be your warrant for a Gravesend toast. 
 There's that gone afore will stay your 
 admiral and vice-admiral and rear-admiral, 
 were they all (as they are) but one pinnace, 
 and under sail, as well as a Remora, doubt 
 it not ; and from this sconce, without 
 either powder or shot. Work upon that 
 now. Nay, and you'll show tricks, we'll 
 vie with you a little. My daughter, his 
 lady, was sent eastward by land, to a castle 
 of his, i' the air (in what region I know not), 
 and, as I hear, was glad to take up her 
 lodging in her coach, she and her two 
 waiting-women, her maid, and her mother, 
 like three snails in a shell, and the coach- 
 man a-top on 'hem, I think. Since they 
 have all found the way back again by 
 Weeping Cross ; but I'll not see 'hem. 
 And for two on 'hem, madam and her 
 malkin, they are like to bite o' the bridle 
 for William, as the poor horses have done 
 all this while that hurried 'hem, or else go 
 graze o' the common. So should my 
 Dame Touchstone too ; but she has been 
 my cross these thirty years, and I'll now 
 keep her to fright away sprites, i'faith. I 
 wonder I hear no news of my son Golding. 
 He was sent for to the Guildhall this morn- 
 ing betimes, and I marvel at the matter ; 
 if I had not laid up comfort and hope in 
 him, I .should grow desperate of all. See ! 
 he is come i' my thought. How now, son ? 
 What news at the Court of Aldermen ? 
 
 Enter Golding. 
 
 Go. Troth, sir, an accident somewha 
 strange, else it hath little in it worth 
 the reporting. 
 
 To. What? it is not borrowing of money, 
 then ? 
 
 Co. No, sir ; it hath pleased the worship- 
 
474 
 
 EASTWARD HO. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 ful commoners of the city to take me 
 one i' their number at presentation of the 
 inquest 
 
 To. Ha ! 
 
 Go. And the alderman of the ward 
 wherein I dwell to appoint me his 
 deputy 
 
 To. How? 
 
 Go. In which place I have had an oath 
 ministered me, since I went. 
 
 To. Now, my dear and happy son, let 
 me kiss thy new worship, and a little boast 
 mine own happiness in thee. What a 
 fortune was it (or rather my judgment, 
 indeed) for me, first to see that in his 
 disposition which a whole city so conspires 
 to second ! Ta'en into the livery of his 
 company the fust day of his freedom ! 
 Now (not a week married) chosen com- 
 moner and alderman's deputy in a day ! 
 Note but the reward of a thrifty course. 
 The wonder of his time ! Weil, I will 
 honour Master Alderman for this act (as 
 becomes me), and shall think the better 
 of the Common Council's wisdom and 
 worship while I live, for thus meeting, 
 or but coming after me, in the opinion 
 of his desert. Forward, my sufficient son ! 
 and as this is the first, so esteem it the 
 least step to that high and prime honour 
 that expects thee. 
 
 Go. Sir, as I was not ambitious of this, 
 so I covet no higher place ; it hath dignity 
 enough, if it will but save me from con- 
 tempt ; and I had rather my bearing in this 
 or any other office should add worth to it, 
 than the place give the least opinion to me. 
 
 To. Excellently spoken ! This modest 
 answer of thine blushes, as if it said, I will 
 wear scarlet shortly. Worshipful son ! I 
 cannot contain myself, I must tell thee ; 
 I hope to see thee one o 1 the monuments 
 of our city, and reckoned among her 
 worthies to be remembered the same day 
 with the Lady Ramsey and grave Gresham, 
 when the famous fable cf Whittington and 
 his puss shall be forgotten, and thou and 
 thy acts become the posies for hospitals ; 
 when thy name shall be written upon 
 conduits, and thy deeds played i' thy life- 
 time by the best companies of actors', and 
 be called their get-penny. This I divine. 
 This I prophesy. 
 
 Go. Sir, engage not your expectation 
 farther than my abilities will answer ; I, that 
 know mine own strengths, fear 'hem ; and 
 there is so seldom a loss in promising the 
 least, that commonly it brings with it awel- 1 
 come deceit. I have other news for you, sir. j 
 
 To. None more welcome, I am sure? 
 
 Go. They have their degree of welcome, 
 I dare affirm. The colonel and all his 
 company, this morning putting forth 
 drunk from Billingsgate, had like to have 
 been cast away o' this side Greenwich ; and 
 (as I have intelligence by a false brother) 
 are come dropping to town like so many 
 masterless men, i' their doublets and hose, 
 without hat, or cloak, or any other 
 
 To. A miracle ! the justice of Heaven ! 
 Where are they? let's go presently and 
 lay for "hem. 
 
 Go. I have done that already, sir, both 
 by constables and other officers, who shall 
 take 'hem at their old Anchor, and with less 
 tumult or suspicion than if yourself were 
 seen in't and under colour of a great press 
 that is now abroad, and they shall here be 
 brought afore me. 
 
 To. Prudent and politic son ! Disgrace 
 'hem all that ever thou canst ; their ship I 
 have already arrested. How to my wish it 
 falls out, that thou hast the place of a ius- 
 ticer upon 'hem ! I am partly glad of the 
 injury done to me, that thou mayst punish 
 it. Be severe i' thy place, like a new 
 officer o' the first quarter, unreflected. You 
 hear how our lady is come back with her 
 train, from the invisible castle ? 
 
 Go. No ; where is she ? 
 
 To. Within ; but I ha" not seen her 
 yet, nor her mother, who now begins to 
 wish her daughter undubbetl, they say, 
 and that she had walked a foot-pace with 
 her sister. Here they come ; stand back. 
 
 Touchstone, Mistress Touchstone, Ger- 
 trude, Golding, Mildred, Syndefie. 
 
 God save your ladyship save your good 
 ladyship ! Your ladyship is welcome from 
 your inchanted castle, so are your beaute- 
 ous retinue. I hear your knight errant is 
 travelled on strange adventures. Surely, 
 in my mind, your ladyship hath ' ' fished 
 fair, and caught a frog," as the saying is. 
 
 Mist. T. Speak to your father, madam, 
 and kneel down. 
 
 Go. Kneel? I hope I am not brought so 
 low yet ; though my knight be run away, 
 and has sold my land, I am a lady still. 
 
 To. Your ladyship says true, madam ; 
 and it is fitter and a greater decorum, that 
 I should curtsey to you that are a knight's 
 wife, and a lady, than you be brought a 
 your knees to me, who am a poor cullion 
 and your father. 
 
 Ge. Law ! my father knows his duty. 
 
 Mist. T. O child ! 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 EASTWARD MO. 
 
 475 
 
 To. And therefore I do desire your lady- 
 ship, my good Lady Flash, in all humility, 
 to depart my obscure cottage, and return 
 in quest of your bright and most transpa- 
 rent castle, however presently concealed to 
 mortal eyes. And as for one poor woman 
 of your train here, I will take that order, 
 she shall no longer be a charge unto you, 
 nor help to spend your ladyship ; she shall 
 stay at home with me, and not go abroad, 
 nor put you to the pawning of an odd 
 coach-horse or three wheels, but take part 
 with the Touchstone. If we lack, we will 
 not complain to your ladyship. And so, 
 good madam, with your dampsel here, 
 please you to let us see your straight backs 
 in equipage ; for truly here is no roost for 
 such chickens as you are, or birds o' your 
 feather, if it like your ladyship. 
 
 Ge. Marry, fist o' your kindness ! I 
 thought as much. Come away, Syn, we 
 shall as soon get a fart from a dead man, 
 as a farthing of courtesy here. 
 
 Mi, O, good sister ! 
 
 Ge, Sister, sir reverence ! Come away, 
 I say, hunger drops out at his nose. 
 
 Go. O, madam, " Fair words never hurt 
 the tongue." 
 
 Ge, How say you by that ? You come 
 out with your gold ends now ! 
 
 Mist. T. Stay, lady-daughter; good 
 husband ! 
 
 To. Wife, no man loves his fetters, be 
 they made of gold. I list not ha' my head 
 fastened under my child's girdle ; as she 
 has brewed, so let her drink, a God's 
 name. She went witless to wedding, now 
 she may go wisely a-begging. It's but 
 honeymoon yet with her ladyship ; she has 
 coach-horses, apparel, jewels, yet left ; she 
 needs care for no friends, nor take know- 
 ledge of father, mother, brother, sister, or 
 anybody. When those are pawned or 
 spent, perhaps we shall return into the list 
 of her acquaintance. 
 
 Ge. I scorn it, i'faith. Come, Syn. 
 
 \Exit Gertrude. 
 
 Mist. T. O madam, why do you provoke 
 your father thus ? 
 
 To. Nay, nay ; e'en let pride go afore, 
 shame will follow after, I warrant you. 
 Come, why dost thou weep now? Thou art 
 not the first good cow hast had an ill calf, 
 I trust. What's the news with that fellow ? 
 
 Enter Constable. 
 
 Go. Sir, the knight and your man Quick- 
 silver are without ; will you ha' 'hem 
 brought in ? 
 
 To. O, by any means. And, son, here's 
 a chair ; appear terrible unto 'hem on the 
 first enterview. Let them behold the 
 melancholy of a magistrate, and taste the 
 fury of a citizen in office. 
 
 Go. Why, sir, I can do nothing to 'hem, 
 except you charge 'hem with somewhat. 
 
 To. I will charge 'hem and recharge 
 'hem, rather than authority should want 
 foil to set it off. 
 
 Go. No, good sir, I will not. 
 
 To. Son, it is your place ; by any 
 means 
 
 Go. Believe it, I will not, sir. 
 
 Enter Knight, Petronel, Quicksilver, 
 Constable, Officers. 
 
 Pe. How misfortune pursues us still in 
 our misery ! 
 
 Qu. Would it had been my fortune to 
 have been trussed up at Wapping, rather 
 than ever ha' come here ! 
 
 Pe. Or mine, to have famished in the 
 island ! 
 
 gu. Must Golding sit upon us ? 
 9. You might carry an M. under your 
 girdle to Master Deputy's worship. 
 
 Go. What are those, Master Constable ? 
 
 Co. And't please your worship, a couple 
 of masterless men I pressed for the Low 
 Countries, sir. 
 
 Go. Why do you not carry 'hem to 
 Bridewell, according to your order, they 
 may be shipped away ? 
 
 Co. An't please your worship, one of 
 'hem says he is a knight ; and we thought 
 good to show him to your worship, for our 
 discharge. 
 
 Go. Which is he? 
 
 Co. This, sir. 
 
 Go. And what's the other ? 
 
 Co. A knight's fellow, sir, an't please you. 
 
 Go. What ! a knight and his fellow thus 
 accoutred ? Where are their hats and 
 feathers, their rapiers and their cloaks ? 
 
 gtt. O, they mock us. 
 7. Nay, truly, sir, they had cast both 
 their feathers and hats too, before we 
 see 'hem. Here's all their furniture, an't 
 please you, that we found. They say 
 knights are now to be known without 
 feathers, like cockerels by their spurs, sir. 
 
 Go. What are their names, say they ? 
 
 To. Very well this. He should not take 
 knowledge of 'hem in his place, indeed. 
 
 Co. This is Sir Petronel Flash. 
 
 To. How! 
 
 Co. And this, Francis Quicksilver. 
 
 To. Is't possible? I thought your 
 
47 6 
 
 EASTWARD HO. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 worship had been gone for Virginia, sir ; 
 you are welcome home, sir. Your worship 
 has made a quick return, it seems, and no 
 doubt a good voyage. Nay, pray you be 
 covered, sir. How did your biscuit hold 
 out, sir? Methought I had seen this 
 gentleman afore good Master Quicksilver ! 
 How a degree to the southward has 
 changed you ! 
 
 Go. Do you know 'hem, father ? Forbear 
 your offers a little, you shall be heard anon. 
 To. Yes, Master Deputy ; I had a small 
 venture with them in the voyage a thing 
 called a son-in-law, or so. Officers, you 
 may let 'hem stand alone, they will not run 
 away ; I'll give my word for them. A 
 couple of very honest gentlemen. One of 
 'hem was my prentice, Master Quicksilver 
 here ; and when he had two year to serve, 
 kept his whore and his hunting nag, would 
 play his hundred pound at gresco, or 
 prifnero, as familiarly (and all a' my purse) 
 as any bright piece of crimson on 'hem all; 
 had his changeable trunks of apparel 
 standing at livery with his mare, his chest 
 of perfumed linen, and his bathing-tubs, 
 \\ hich when I told him of, why he ! he 
 was a gentleman, and I a poor Cheapside 
 groom. The remedy was, we must part. 
 Since when, he hath had the gift of gather- 
 ing up some small parcels of mine, to the 
 value of five-hundred pound, dispersed 
 among my customers, to furnish this his 
 Virginian venture ; wherein this knighl 
 was the chief, Sir Flash one that married 
 a daughter of mine, ladyfied her, turned 
 txvo-thousand pounds' worth of good land 
 of hers into cash within the first week, 
 bought her a new gown and a coach ; sen 
 her to seek her fortune by land, whilst 
 himself prepared for his fortune by sea 
 took in fresh flesh at Billingsgate, for his 
 own diet, to serve him the whole voyage 
 the wife of a certain usurer called Security, 
 who hath been the broker for 'hem in al 
 this business. Please, Master Deputy, 
 work upon that now. 
 
 Go. If my worshipful father have ended, 
 To. I have, it shall please Master Deputy, 
 
 Go. Well then, under correction 
 
 To. Now, son, come over 'hem with 
 some fine gird, as thus, ' ' Knight, you shal 
 be encountered," that is, had to the Coun- 
 ter ; or, " Quicksilver, I will put you into a 
 crucible," or so. 
 
 Go. Sir Petronel Flash, I am sorry to 
 see such flashes as these proceed from a 
 gentleman of your quality and rank ; for 
 mine own part, I could wish I could say 
 
 [ could not see them ; but such is the 
 misery of magistrates and men in place, 
 that they must not wink at offenders. 
 Take him aside ; I will hear you anon, sir. 
 To. I like this well, yet ; there's some 
 grace i' the knight left he cries. 
 
 Go. Francis Quicksilver, would God thou 
 hadst turned quacksalver, rather than run 
 into these dissolute and lewd courses ! It 
 is great pity ; thou art a proper young 
 man, of an honest and clean face, some- 
 what near a good one ; God hath done his 
 part in thee ; but thou hast made too 
 much, and been too proud of that face, 
 with the rest of thy body ; for maintenance 
 of which in neat and garish attire, only to 
 be looked upon by some light housewives, 
 thou hast prodigally consumed much of 
 thy master's estate ; and being by him 
 gently admonished at several times, hast 
 returned thyself haughty and rebellious in 
 thine answers, thundering out uncivil com- 
 parisons, requiting all his kindness with a 
 coarse and harsh behaviour ; never return- 
 ing thanks for any one benefit, but receiv- 
 ing all as if they had been debts to thee, 
 and no courtesies. I must tell thee, 
 Francis, these are manifest signs of an ill- 
 nature ; and God doth often punish such 
 pride and outrecuidance with scorn and 
 infamy, which is the worst of misfortune. 
 My worshipful father, what do you please 
 to charge them withal ? From the press I 
 will free 'hem, Master Constable. 
 
 Co. Then I'll leave your worship, sir. 
 
 Go. No, you may stay ; there will be 
 other matters against 'hem. 
 
 To. Sir, I do charge this gallant, 
 Master Quicksilver, on suspicion of felony ; 
 and the knight as being accessary in the 
 receipt of my goods. 
 
 Qu. O God, sir ! 
 
 To. Hold thy peace, impudent varlet, 
 hold thy peace ! With what forehead or 
 face dost thou offer to chop logic with me, 
 having run such a race of riot as thou hast 
 done ? Does not the sight of this worship- 
 ful man's fortune and temper confound 
 thee, that was thy younger fellow in house- 
 hold, and now come to have the place of a 
 judge upon thee ? Dost not observe this ? 
 Which of all thy gallants and gamesters, thy 
 swearers and thy swaggerers, will come 
 now to moan thy misfortune, or pity thy 
 penury? They'll look out at a window, as 
 thou ridest in triumph to Tyburn, and cry, 
 "Yonder goes honest Frank, mad Quick- 
 silver !" " He was a free boon companion, 
 when he had money," says one ; "Hang 
 
ACT V.I 
 
 EASTWARD HO. 
 
 477 
 
 him, fool !" says another ; " lie could not 
 keep it when he had it !" " A pox o'th' 
 cullion, his master," says a third, " he has 
 brought him to this ;" when their pox of 
 pleasure, and their piles of perdition, would 
 have been better bestowed upon thee, 
 that hast ventured for 'hem with the best, 
 and by the clue of thy knavery brought 
 thyself weeping to the cart of calamity. 
 
 QH. Worshipful master ! 
 
 To. Offer not to speak, crocodile ; I 
 will not hear a sound come from thee. 
 Thou 1 ast learnt to whine at the play yon- 
 der. Master Deputy, pray you commit 
 'hem both to safe custody, till I be able 
 farther to charge 'hem. 
 
 Qu. O me! what an unfortunate thing 
 am I ! 
 
 Pe. Will you not take security, sir? 
 
 To. Yes, marry, will I, Sir Flash, if I 
 can find him, and charge him as deep as 
 the best on you. He has been the plotter 
 of all this ; he is your enginer, 1 hear. 
 Master Deputy, you'll dispose of these. 
 In the meantime, I'll to my lord mayor, 
 and get his warrant to seize that serpent 
 Security into my hands, and seal up both 
 house and goods to the king's use or my 
 satisfaction. 
 
 Go. Officers, take 'hem to the Counter. 
 
 g'J-OGod! 
 
 To. Nay, on, on ! you see the issue of 
 your sloth. Of sloth cometh pleasure, of 
 pleasure cometh riot, of riot comes whor- 
 ing, of whoring comes spending, of spend- 
 ing comes want, of want comes theft, of 
 theft comes hanging ; and there is my 
 Quicksilver fixed. {Exeunt. 
 
 ACT THE FIFTH. 
 
 Etifer Gertrude and Syndefie. 
 
 Ge. Ah, Syn ! hast thou ever read i'the 
 chronicle of any lady, and her waiting- 
 woman driven to that extremity that we 
 are, Syn? 
 
 Sy. Not I, truly, madam ; and if I had, 
 it were but cold comfort should come out 
 of books now. 
 
 Gc. Why, good faith, Syn, I could dine 
 with a lamentable story, now. O hone, 
 hone, o no nera! &c. Canst thou tell 
 ne'er a one, Syn? 
 
 Sy. None but mine own, madam, which 
 is lamentable enough : first to be stolen 
 
 from my friends, which were worshipful 
 and of good accompt, by a prentice, in the 
 habit and disguise of a gentleman, and 
 here brought up to London, and promised 
 marriage, and now likely to be forsaken, 
 for he is in possibility to be hanged ! 
 
 Ge. Nay, weep not, good Syn ; my 
 Petronel is in as good possibility as he. 
 Thy miseries are nothing to mine, Syn ; I 
 was more than promised marriage, Syn ; I 
 had it, Syn ; and was made a lady ; and 
 by a knight, Syn ; which is now as good 
 as no knight, Syn. And I was born in 
 London, which is more than brought up, 
 Syn ; and already forsaken, which is past 
 likelihood, Syn ; and instead of land i' the 
 country, all my knight's living lies i' the 
 counter, Syn ; there's his castle now ! 
 
 Sy. Which he cannot be forced out of, 
 madam. 
 
 Ge. Yes, if he would live hungry a week 
 or two. "Hunger," they say, "breaks 
 stone walls." But he is e'en well enough 
 served, Syn, that so soon as ever he had 
 got my hand to the sale of my inheritance, 
 run away from me, and I had been his 
 punk, God bless us ! Would the knight 
 o' the sun, or Palmerin of England, have 
 used their ladies so, Syn ? or Sir Lancelot ? 
 or Sir Tristram ? 
 
 Sy. I do not know, madam. 
 
 Ge. Then thou knowest nothing, Syn. 
 Thou art a fool, Syn. The knighthood 
 nowadays are nothing like the knight- 
 hood of old time. They rid a-horseback ; 
 ours go a-foot. They were attended by 
 their squires ; ours by their lackeys. They 
 went buckled in their armour ; ours muffled 
 in their cloaks. They travelled wildernesses 
 and deserts ; ours dare scarce walk the 
 streets. They were still pressed to engage 
 their honour ; ours still ready to pawn 
 their clothes. They would gallop on at 
 sight of a monster ; ours run away at 
 sight of a sergeant. They would help 
 poor ladies ; ours make poor ladies. 
 
 Sy. Ay, madam, they were knights of 
 the Round Table at Winchester, tl.at | 
 sought adventures ; but these of the Square 
 Table at ordinaries, that sit at hazard. 
 
 Ge. Try, Syn, let him vanish. And tell 
 me, what shall we pawn next? 
 
 Sy. Ay, marry, madam, a timely con- 
 sideration ; for our hostess (profane wo- 
 man !) has sworn by bread and salt, she 
 will not trust us another meal. 
 
 Ge. I>et it stink in her hand then. I'll 
 not be beholding to her. Let me see, my 
 jewels be gone, and my gowns, and my 
 
47 8 
 
 EASTWARD HO. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 red velvet petticoat that I was married in, 
 and my wedding silk stockings, and all 
 thy best apparel, poor Syn ! Good faith, 
 rather than thou shouldest pasvn a rag 
 more, I'd lay my ladyship in lavender if I 
 knew where. 
 
 Sy. Alas, madam, your ladyship ! 
 
 Ge. Ay, why ? you do not scorn my 
 ladyship, though it is in a waistcoat? 
 God's my life ! you are a peat indeed ! 
 Do I offer to mortgage my ladyship for 
 you and for your avail, and do you turn 
 the lip and the alas to my ladyship ? 
 
 Sy. No, madam ; but I make question 
 who will lend anything upon it ? 
 
 Ge. Who? marry, enow, I warrant you, 
 if you'll seek 'hem out. I'm sure I re- 
 member the time when I would ha' given 
 one thousand pounds (if I had had it) to 
 have been a lady ; and I hope I was not 
 bred and born with that appetite alone : 
 some other gentle-born o' the city have 
 the same longing, I trust. And for my 
 part, I would afford 'hem a penn'orth ; my 
 ladyship is little the worse for the wearing, 
 and yet I would bate a good deal of the 
 sum. I would lend it (let me see) for forty 
 pound in hand, Syn, that would apparel us ; 
 and ten pound a year, that would keep me 
 and you, Syn (with our needles) ; and we 
 should never need to be beholding to our 
 scurvy parents. Good Lord ! that there 
 are no fairies nowadays, Syn ! 
 
 Sy. Why, madam? 
 
 Ge To do miracles, and bring ladies 
 money. Sure, if we lay in a cleanly house, 
 they would haunt it, Syn, I'll try. I'll 
 sweep the chamber soon at night, and set a 
 dish of water o' the hearth. A fairy may 
 come, and bring a pearl or a diamond. 
 We do not know, Syn. Or, there may be 
 a pot of gold hid o' the backside, if we had 
 tools to dig for't ? Why may not we two 
 rise early i' the morning, Syn, afore any- 
 body is up, and find a jewel i' the streets 
 worth a hundred pound ? May not some 
 great court-lady, as she comes from revels 
 at midnight, look out of her coach as 'tis 
 running, and lose such a jewel, and we 
 find it? Ha? 
 
 Sy. They are pretty waking dreams, these. 
 
 Ge. Or may not some old usurer be 
 drunk overnight, with a bag of money, and 
 leave it behind him on a stall ? For God's 
 sake, Syn, let's rise to-morrow by break of 
 day, and see. I protest, law, if I had as 
 much money as an alderman, I would 
 scatter some on't i'th 1 streets for poor ladies 
 to find, when their knights were laid up. 
 
 And, now I remember my song o' the 
 Golden Shower, why may not I have such 
 a fortune? I'll sing it, and try what luck 
 I shall have after it. 
 
 " Fond fables tell of old, 
 
 How Jove in Danae's lap 
 Fell in a shower of gold, 
 
 By which she caught a clap ; 
 
 O had it been my hap 
 (How ere the blow doth threaten), 
 
 So well I like the play, 
 
 That I could wish all day 
 And night to be so beaten." : 
 
 Enter Mistress Touchstone. 
 
 O here's my mother ! good luck, I hope. 
 Ha' you brought any money, mother? 
 Pray you, mother, your blessing. Nay, 
 sweet mother, do not weep. 
 
 Mist. T. God bless you ! I would I were 
 in my grave ! 
 
 Ge. Nay, dear mother, can you steal no 
 more money from my father? Dry your 
 eyes, and comfort me. Alas ! it is my 
 knight's fault, and not mine, that I am in 
 a waistcoat, and attired thus simply. 
 
 'Mist. T. Simply, 'tis better than thou 
 deservest. Never whimper for the matter. 
 ' ' Thou shouldst have looked before thou 
 hadst leapt." Thou wert afire to be a 
 lady, and now your ladyship and you may 
 both blow at the coal, for aught I know. 
 " Self do, self have." "The hasty person 
 never wants woe, " they say. 
 
 Ge. Nay, then, mother, you should ha' 
 looked to it. A body would think you 
 were the older; I did but my kind, I. 
 He was a knight, and I was fit to be a 
 lady. 'Tis not lack of liking, but lack of 
 living, that severs us. And you talk like 
 yourself and a cittiner in this, i'faith. You 
 show what husband you come on, I wis. 
 You smell the Touchstone he that w r ill do 
 more for his daughter that he has married 
 a scurvy gold-end man and his prentice, 
 than he will for his t'other daughter, that 
 has wedded a knight and his customer. 
 By this light, I think he is not my legiti- 
 mate father. 
 
 Sy. O, good madam, do not take up 
 your mother so ! 
 
 Mist. T. Nay, nay, let her e'en alone. 
 Let her ladyship grieve me still, with her 
 bitter taunts and terms. I have not dole 
 enough to see her in this miserable case, 
 I without her velvet gowns, without 
 ribands, without jewels, without French- 
 wires, or cheat-bread, or quails, or a little 
 
SCENC I.] 
 
 EASTWARD HO. 
 
 479 
 
 dog-, or a gentleman-usher, or anything, 
 ; ndecd, that's fit for a lady 
 
 Sy. Except her tongue. 
 
 Mist. T. And I not able to relieve her, 
 neither, being kept so shoit by my husband. 
 Well, God knows my heart ; I did little 
 think that ever she should have had need 
 of her sister Golding. 
 
 Ge. Why, mother, I ha' not yet. Alas ! 
 good mother, be not intoxicate for me ; I 
 am well enough ; I would not change 
 husbands with my sister, I. "The leg of 
 a lark is better than the body of a kite." 
 
 Mist. T. I know that : but 
 
 Ge. What, sweet mother, what ? 
 
 Mist. T. It's but ill food when nothing's 
 left but the claw. 
 
 Ge. That's true, mother. Ay me ! 
 
 Misf. T. Nay, sweet lady-bird, sigh 
 not. Child, madam why do you weep 
 thus ? Be of good cheer ; I shall die if you 
 cry, and mar your complexion thus. 
 
 Ge. Alas, mother, what should I do? 
 
 Mist. T. Go to thy sister's, child ; she'll 
 be proud thy ladyship will come under her 
 roof. She'll win thy father to release thy 
 knight, and redeem thy gowns, and thy 
 coach and thy horses, and set thee up 
 again. 
 
 Ge. But will she get him to set my 
 knight up too? 
 
 Mist. T. That she will, or anything else 
 thou'lt ask her. 
 
 Ge. I will begin to love her if I thought 
 she would do this. 
 
 Mist. T. Try her, good chuck, I war- 
 rant thee. 
 
 Gc. Dost thou think she'll do't ? 
 
 Sy. Ay, madam, and be glad you will 
 receive it. 
 
 Mist. T. That's a good maiden ; she 
 tells you true. Come, I'll take order for 
 your debts i' the ale-house. 
 
 Ge. Go, Syn, and pray for thy Frank, 
 as I will for my Pet. 
 
 Enter Touchstone, Golding, Wolf. 
 
 To. I will receive no letters, Master 
 Wolf ; you shall pardon me. 
 
 Go. Good father, let me entreat you. 
 
 To. Son Golding, I will not be tempted ; 
 I find mine own easy nature, and I know 
 not what a well-penned subtle letter may 
 work upon it ; there may be tricks, pack- 
 ing, do you see? Return with your packet, 
 sir. 
 
 Wo. Believe it, sir, you need fear no 
 packing here ; these are but letters of 
 submission all. 
 
 Tt>. Sir, I do look for no submission. I 
 will bear myself in this like blind justice. 
 Work upon that now. When the sessions 
 come they shall hear from me. 
 
 Go. From whom come your letters, 
 Master Wolf? 
 
 Wo. And't please you, sir, one from 
 Sir Petronel, another from Francis Quick- 
 silver, and a third from old Security, who 
 is almost mad in prison. There are two 
 to your worship ; one from Master Francis, 
 sir, another from the knight. 
 
 To. I do wonder, Master Wolf, why 
 you should travail thus, in a business so 
 contrary to kind, or the nature o' your 
 place : that you, being the keeper of a pri- 
 son, should labour the release of your 
 prisoners ; whereas, methinks, it were far 
 more natural and kindly in you to be 
 ranging about for more, and not let these 
 'scape you have already under the tooth. 
 But they say you Wolves, when you ha' 
 sucked the blood, once that they are dry, 
 you ha' done. 
 
 Wo. Sir, your worship may descant as 
 you please o' my name ; but I protest I 
 was never so mortified with any men's 
 discourse or behaviour in prison ; yet I 
 have had of all sorts of men i' the kingdom 
 under my keys ; and almost of all religions 
 i' the land, as Papist, Protestant, Puritan, 
 Brownist, Anabaptist, Millenary, Family- 
 o'-Love, Jew, Turk, Infidel, Atheist, 
 Good-Fellow, &c. 
 
 Go. And which of all these, thinks Master 
 Wolf, was the best religion? 
 
 Wo. Troth, Master Deputy, they that 
 pay fees best : we never examine their 
 consciences farther. 
 
 Go. I believe you, Master Wolf. Good 
 faith, sir, here's a great deal of humility 
 i' these letters. 
 
 Wo. Humility, sir? Ay, were your 
 worship an eye-witness of it you would say 
 so. The knight will i' the Knight's Ward, 
 do what we can, sir ; and Master Quick- 
 silver would be i' the hole if we would let 
 him. I never knew or saw prisoners more 
 penitent, or more devout. They will sit 
 you up all night singing of psalms and 
 edifying the whole prison ; only Security 
 sings a note too high sometimes, because 
 he lies i' the twopenny ward, far off, and 
 cannot take his tune. The neighbours 
 cannot rest for him, but come every morn- 
 ing to ask what godly prisoners we have. 
 
 To. Which on 'hem is't is so devout 
 the knight or the t'other? 
 
 Wo. Both, sir ; but the young man 
 
480 
 
 EASTWARD HO. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 especially. I never heard his like. He 
 lias cut his hair too. He is so well given, 
 and lias such good gifts, he can tell you 
 almost all the stories of the Book of 
 Martyrs, and speak you all the Sick Man's 
 Salve without book. 
 
 To. Ay, if he had had grace he was 
 brought up where it grew, I wis. On, 
 Master Wolf. 
 
 Wo. And he has converted one Fangs, a 
 sergeant, a fellow could neither write nor 
 read ; he was called the Bandog o' the 
 Counter ; and he has brought him already 
 to pare his nails and say his prayers ; and 
 'tis hoped he will sell his place shortly, and 
 become an intelligencer. 
 
 To. No more ; I am coming already. 
 If I should give any farther care I were 
 taken. Adieu, good Master Wolf. Son, 
 I do feel mine own weaknesses ; do not 
 importune me. Pity is a rheum that I am 
 subject to ; but I will resist it. Master 
 Wolf, ' ' Fish is cast away that is cast in 
 dry pools." Tell hypocrisy it will not do ; 
 I have touched and tried too often ; I am 
 yet proof, and I will remain so ; when the 
 sessions come they shall hear from me. 
 In the meantime, to all suits, to all en- 
 treaties, to all letters, to all tricks, I will 
 be deaf as an adder, and blind as a beetle, 
 lay mine ear to the ground, and lock mine 
 eyes i 1 my hand, against all temptations. 
 
 \Exit. 
 
 Go. You see, Master Wolf, how inexor- 
 able he is. There is no hope to recover 
 him. Pray you commend me to my 
 brother knight, and to my fellow Francis ; 
 present "hem with this small token of my 
 love ; tell 'hem, I wish I could do 'hem 
 any worthier office ; but in this, 'tis despe- 
 rate : yet I will not fail to try the utter- 
 most of my power for 'hem. And, sir, as 
 far as I have any credit with you, pray you 
 let 'hem want nothing ; though I am not 
 ambitious they should know so much. 
 
 Wo. Sir, both your actions and words 
 speak you to be a true gentleman. They 
 shall know only what is fit, and no more. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 Holdfast, Bramble, Security. 
 
 Ho. Who would you speak with, sir? 
 
 Br. I would speak with one Security, 
 that is prisoner here. 
 
 Ho. Y' are welcome, sir. Stay there, I'll 
 call him to you. Master Security ! 
 
 Sfc. Who calls? 
 
 Ho. Here's a gentleman would speak 
 with you. 
 
 Sec. What is he? Is't one that grafts 
 
 my forehead now I am in prison, and 
 comes to see how the horns shoot up and 
 prosper ? 
 
 Ho. You must pardon him, sir; the old 
 man is a little crazed with his imprison- 
 ment. 
 
 Sec. What say you to me, sir? Look 
 you here, my learned counsel, Master 
 Bramble ! cry you mercy, sir ! When saw 
 you my wife ? 
 
 Dr. She is now at my house, sir ; and 
 desired me that I would come to visit you, 
 and inquire of you your case, that we 
 might work some means to get you forth. 
 
 Sec. My case, Master Bramble, is stone 
 walls and iron grates ; you see it, this is 
 the weakest part on 't. And for getting 
 me forth, no means but hang myself, and 
 so to be carried forth, from which they have 
 here bound me in intolerable bands. 
 
 Br. Why, but what is 't you are in for, sir ? 
 
 Sec. For my sins, for my sins, sir, 
 whereof marriage is the greatest. O, had 
 I never married, I had never known this 
 purgatory, to which hell is a kind of cool 
 bath in respect ; my wife's confederacy, 
 sir, with old Touchstone, that she might 
 keep her jubilee and the feast of her new 
 moon. Do you understand me, sir? 
 
 Enter Quicksilver. 
 
 Qu. Good sir, go in and talk with him. 
 The light does him harm, and his example 
 will be hurtful to the weak prisoners. Fie ! 
 father Security, that you'll be still so pro- 
 fane ! Will nothing humble you ? 
 
 Enter two Prisoners, with a friend. 
 
 Fr. What 'she? 
 
 ist Pr. O, he is a rare young man ! Do 
 you not know him ? 
 
 Fr. Not I. I never saw him, I can re- 
 member. 
 
 zndPr. Why, it is he that was the 
 gallant prentice of London Master 
 Touchstone's man. 
 
 Fr. Who ? Quicksilver ? 
 
 isl Pr. Ay, this is he. 
 
 Fr. Is this he? They say he has been a 
 gallant indeed. 
 
 ist Pr. O, the royallest fellow that ever 
 was bred up i' the city ! He would play 
 you his thousand pound a-night at dice ; 
 keep knights' and lords' company; go with 
 them to bawdy-houses ; had his six men in 
 a livery ; kept a stable of hunting-horses, 
 and his wench in her velvet gown and her 
 cloth of silver. Here's one knight with 
 him here in prison. 
 
SCENK I.] 
 
 EASTWARD HO. 
 
 481 
 
 Fr. And how miserably he is changed ! 
 
 ist Pr. O, that's voluntary in him : he 
 gave away all his rich clothes as soon as 
 ever he came in here among the prisoners ; 
 and will eat o' the basket, for humility. 
 
 Fr. Why will he do so ? 
 
 \st Pr. Alas, he has no hope of life ! 
 He mortifies himself. He does but linger 
 on till the sessions. 
 
 znd Pr. O, he has penned the best thing, 
 that he calls his Repentance or his Last 
 Fa nice 'II, that ever you heard. He is a 
 pretty poet ; and for prose you would 
 wonder how many prisoners he has helped 
 out, with penning petitions for 'hem, and 
 not take a penny. Look ! this is the 
 knight in the rug gown. Stand by. 
 
 Enter Petronel, Bramble, Quicksilver, 
 
 Wolf. 
 
 Br. Sir, for Security's case, I have told 
 him. Say he should be condemned to be 
 carted or whipt for a bawd, or so, why, 
 I'll lay an execution on him o' two hundred 
 pound ; let him acknowledge a judgment, 
 he shall do it in half an hour ; they shall 
 not all fetch him out without paying the 
 execution, o' my word. 
 
 Pe. But can we not be bailed, Master 
 Bramble ? 
 
 Br. Hardly ; there are none of the judges 
 in town, else you should remove yourself 
 (in spite of him) with a habeas corpus. But 
 if you have a friend to deliver your tale 
 sensibly to some justice o' the town, that 
 he may have feeling of it (do you see), you 
 may be bailed ; for as I understand the 
 case, 'tis only done in terrorem; and you 
 shall have an action of false imprisonment 
 against him when you come out, and per- 
 haps a thousand pound costs. 
 
 Enter Master Wolf. 
 
 Qu. How now, Master Wolf? what 
 news ? what return ? 
 
 Wo. 'Faith, bad all : yonder will be no 
 letters received. He says the sessions shall 
 determine it. Only, Master Deputy Gold- 
 ing commends him to you, and with this 
 token wishes he could do you other good. 
 
 Qu. I thank him. Good Master Bramble, 
 trouble our quiet no more ; do not molest 
 us in prison thus, with your winding 
 devices ; pray you depart. For my part, 
 I commit my cause to Him that can suc- 
 cour me ; let God work His will. Master 
 Wolf, I pray you let this be distributed 
 among the prisoners, and desire 'hem to 
 pray for us. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 Wo. It shall be done, Master Francis. 
 ist Pr. An excellent temper ! 
 2nd Pr. Now God send him good luck ! 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Pe. But what said my father-in-law, 
 Master Wolf? 
 
 Enter Holdfast. 
 
 Ho. Here's one would speak with you, 
 sir. 
 
 Wo. I'll tell you anon, Sir Petronel ; who 
 is't? 
 
 Ho. A gentleman, sir, that will not be 
 seen. 
 
 Enter Golding. 
 
 Wo. Where is he? Master Deputy! 
 your worship is welcome 
 
 Go. Peace! 
 
 Wo. Away, sirrah ! 
 
 Go. Good faith, Master Wolf, the estate 
 of these gentlemen, for whom you were so 
 late and willing a suitor, doth much affect 
 me ; and because I am desirous to do them 
 some fair office, and find there is no means 
 to make my father relent so likely as to 
 bring him to be a spectator of their miseries, 
 I have ventured on a device, which is, to 
 make myself your prisoner : entreating you 
 will presently go report it to my father, and 
 (feigning an action at suit of som^ thi-r 1 
 person) pray him by this token, th;r he will 
 presently, and with all secrecy, con: hither 
 for my bail ; which train, if any, know 
 will bring him abroad ; and ther. having 
 him here, I doubt not but we sha i be all 
 fortunate in the event. 
 
 Wo. Sir, I will put on my I est speed to 
 effect it. Please you come in. 
 
 Go. Yes ; and let me rest concealed, I 
 pray you. 
 
 Wo. See here a benefit truly -one, when 
 it is done timely, freely, and to no ambi- 
 tion. [_./:. i-//. 
 
 Enter Touchstone, Wife, Daughters, 
 Syndefie, Winnifrid. 
 
 To. I will sail by you, and not hear you, 
 like the wise Ulysses. 
 
 Mi. Dear father ! 
 
 Mist. 7. Husband! 
 
 Ge. Father ! 
 
 Wi. and Sy. Master Touchstone ! 
 
 To. Away, sirens, I will immure myself 
 against your cries, and lock myself up to 
 your lamentations. 
 
 Mist. T. Gentle husband, hear me ! 
 
 Ge. Father, it is 1, father; my Ladv 
 Flash. My sister and I am friends. 
 
 Mi. Good father ! 
 
EASTWARD HO. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Wi. Be not hardened, good Master 
 Touchstone ! 
 
 Sy. I pray you, sir, be merciful ! 
 
 To. I am deaf ; I do not hear you ; I 
 have stopped mine ears with .shoemakers' 
 wax, and drunk Lethe and mandragora to 
 forget you. All you speak to me I commit 
 to the air. 
 
 Enter Wolf. 
 
 Ml. How now, Master Wolf? 
 
 Wo. Where's Master Touchstone? I 
 must speak with him presently ; I have 
 lost my breath for haste. 
 
 Mi. What's the matter, sir? Pray all 
 be well ! 
 
 Wo. Master Deputy Golding is arrested 
 upon an execution, and desires him pre- 
 sently to come to him, forthwith. 
 
 Mi. Ay me ! do you hear, father? 
 
 To. Tricks, tricks, confederacy, tricks ! 
 I have 'hem in my nose I scent 'hem ! 
 
 Wo. Who's that ? Master Touchstone ? 
 
 Mist. T. W T hy,it is Master Wolf himself, 
 husband. 
 
 ML Father ! 
 
 To. I am deaf still, I say. I will neither 
 yield to the song of the siren nor the voice 
 of the hyena, the tears of the crocodile nor 
 the howling o' the Wolf. Avoid my habita- 
 tion, monsters ! 
 
 Wo t Why, you are not mad, sir? I 
 pray you look forth, and see the token I 
 have brought you, sir. 
 
 To. Ha ! what token is it ? 
 
 Wo. Do you know it, sir ? 
 
 To. My son Golding's ring ! Are you 
 n earnest, Master Wolf? 
 
 Wo. Ay, by my faith, sir. He is in 
 prison, and required me to use all speed 
 and secrecy to you. 
 
 To. My cloak, there (pray you be 
 patient). I am plagued for my austerity. 
 My cloak ! At whose suit, Master Wolf? 
 
 Wo. I'll tell you as we go, sir. \Excunt 
 
 Enter Friend, Prisoners. 
 
 Fr. Why, but is his offence such as he 
 cannot hope of life ? 
 
 ist Pr. Troth, it should seem so ; and 
 'tis great pity, for he is exceeding peni- 
 tent. 
 
 Fr. They say he is charged but on sus- 
 picion of felony yet. 
 
 "2nd Pr. Ay, but his master is a shrewd 
 fellow ; he'll prove great matter against 
 him. 
 
 Fr. I'd as lieve as anything I could see 
 his Farewell. 
 
 ist Pr. O, 'tis rarely written ; why, 
 Toby may get him to sing it to you ; he's 
 not curious to anybody. 
 
 2nd Pr. O no ! He would that all the 
 world should take knowledge of his re- 
 pentance, and thinks he merits in't the 
 more shame he suffers. 
 
 ist Pr. Pray thee, try what thou canst 
 do. 
 
 2nd Pr. I warrant you he will not deny 
 it, if he be not hoarse with the often 
 repeating of it. [Exit. 
 
 ist Pr. You never saw a more courteous 
 creature than he is, and the knight too : 
 the poorest prisoner of the house may 
 command 'hem. You shall hear a thing 
 admirably penned. 
 
 Fr. Is the knight any scholar too ? 
 
 ist Pr. No, but he will speak very 
 well, and discourse admirably of running 
 horses and White-Friars, and against 
 bawds ; and of cocks ; and talk as loud as 
 a hunter, but is none. 
 
 Enter Wolf and Touchstone. 
 
 Wo. Please you, stay here ; I'll call his 
 worship down to you. 
 
 ist Pr. See, he has brought him, and 
 the knight too ; salute him, I pray. Sir, 
 this gentleman, upon our report, is very 
 desirous to hear some piece of your Re- 
 pentance. 
 
 Enter Quicksilver, Petronel, &c. 
 
 Qu. Sir, with all my heart ; and, as I 
 told Master Toby, I shall be glad to have 
 any man a witness of it. And the more 
 openly I profess it, I hope it will ap- 
 pear the heartier, and the more un- 
 feigned. 
 
 To. Who is this? my man Francis, 
 and my son-in-law ? 
 
 Qu. Sir, it is all the testimony I shall 
 leave behind me to the world, and my 
 master that I have so offended. 
 
 Fr. Good, sir ! 
 
 Qu. I writ it when my spirits were op- 
 pressed. 
 
 Pe. Ay, I'll be sworn for you, Francis. 
 
 Qu. It is in imitation of Mannington's, 
 he that was hanged at Cambridge, that 
 cut off the horse's head at a blow. 
 
 Fr. So, sir ! 
 
 Qu. To the tune of " I wail in woe, I 
 plunge in pain." 
 
 Pe. An excellent ditty it is, and worthy 
 of a new tune. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 EASTWARD HO. 
 
 483 
 
 Qu. In Cheapside, famous for gold and 
 
 plate, 
 
 Quicksilver I did dwell of late ; 
 I had a master good and kind, 
 That would have wrought me to his 
 
 mind. 
 
 He bade me still, Work upon that, 
 But, alas ! I wrought I knew not 
 
 what. 
 He was a Touchstone black, but 
 
 true, 
 
 And told me still what would en- 
 sue ; 
 
 Yet woe is me ! I would not learn ; 
 I saw, alas ! but could not discern ! 
 Fr. Excellent, excellent well ! 
 Go. O let him alone : he is taken al- 
 ready. 
 
 Qu. I cast my coat and cap away, 
 I went in silks and satins gay ; 
 False metal of good manners I 
 Did daily coin unlawfully. 
 I scorn'd my master, being drunk ; 
 I kept my gelding and my punk ; 
 And with a knight, Sir Flash by 
 
 name, 
 
 Who now is sorry for the same. 
 Pe. I thank you, Francis. 
 Qu. I thought by sea to run away, 
 
 But Thames and tempest did me 
 
 stay. 
 
 To. This cannot be feigned, sure. Hea- 
 ven pardon my severity ! ' ' The ragged 
 colt may prove a good horse." 
 
 Go. How he listens, and is transported ! 
 He has forgot me. 
 
 Qu. Still "Eastward-ho" was all my 
 
 word : 
 
 But westward I had no regard, 
 Nor never thought what would come 
 
 after, 
 
 As did, alas ! his youngest daughter. 
 At last the black ox trod o' my 
 
 foot, 
 
 And I saw then what 'long'd unto 't; 
 Now cry I, "Touchstone, touch me 
 
 still, 
 
 And make me current by thy skill. 
 To. And I will do it, Francis. 
 Wo. Stay him, Master Deputy ; now is 
 the time : we shall lose the song else. 
 
 Fr. I protest it is the best that ever 1 
 beard. 
 
 Qu. How like you it, gentlemen ? 
 
 All. O admirable, sir! 
 
 Qu. This stanze now following, alludes 
 
 to the story of Mannington, from whence 
 
 I took my project for my invention. 
 
 Fr. Pray you go on, sir. 
 
 Qu. O Mannington, thy stories show, 
 Thou cut'st a horse-head off at a 
 
 blow ! 
 
 But I confess, I have not the force 
 For to cut off the head of a horse ; 
 Yet I desire this grace to win, 
 That I may cut off the horse-head of 
 
 Sin, 
 
 And leave his body in the dust 
 Of sin's highway and bogs of lust, 
 Whereby I may take Virtue's purse, 
 And live with her for better, for 
 
 worse. 
 
 Fr. Admirable, sir, and excellently con- 
 ceited ! 
 
 Ju. Alas, sir ! 
 
 To. Son Golding and Master Wolf, I 
 :hank you: the deceit is welcome, especially 
 "rom thee, whose charitable soul in this 
 hath shown a high point of wisdom and 
 honesty. Listen, I am ravished with his 
 repentance, and could stand here a whole 
 prenticeship to hear him. 
 Fr. Forth, good sir. 
 Qu. This is the last, and the Farewell. 
 Farewell, Cheapside, farewell, sweet 
 
 trade 
 Of Goldsmiths all, that never shall 
 
 fade; 
 
 Farewell, dear fellow prentices all, 
 And be you warned by my fall : 
 Shun usurers, bawds, and dice, and 
 
 drabs, 
 Avoid them as you would French 
 
 scabs. 
 
 Seek not to go beyond your tether, 
 But cut your thongs unto your 
 
 leather ; 
 So shall you thrive by little and 
 
 little, 
 'Scape Tyburn Counters, and the 
 
 Spital ! 
 
 To. And 'scape them shalt thou, my 
 penitent and dear Francis ! 
 Qu. Master ! 
 Pe. Father ! 
 
 To. I can no longer forbear to do your 
 humility right. Arise, and let me honour 
 your repentance with the hearty and joy- 
 ful embraces of a father and friend's love. 
 Quicksilver, thou hast eat into my breast, 
 Quicksilver, with the drops of thy sorrow, 
 and killed the desperate opinion I had of 
 thy reclaim. 
 
 Qu. O, sir, I am not worthy to see your 
 worshipful face ! 
 Pe. Forgive me, father. 
 To. Speak no more ; all former passages 
 are forgotten ; and here my word shall 
 
484 
 
 EASTWARD HO. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 release you. Thank this worthy brother, 
 and kind friend, Francis. Master Wolf, 
 I am their bail. [A shout in the prison. 
 
 Sec. Master Touchstone ! Master Touch- 
 stone ! 
 
 To. Who's that ? 
 
 Wo. Security, sir. 
 
 Sec. Pray you, sir, if you'll be won with 
 a song, hear my lamentable tune too : 
 
 SONG. 
 
 O Master Touchstone, 
 
 My heart is full of woe ; 
 Alas, I am a cuckold ! 
 
 And why should it be so ? 
 Because I was a usurer 
 
 And bawd, as all you know, 
 For which, again I tell you, 
 
 My heart is full of woe. 
 
 To. Bring him forth, Master Wolf, and 
 release his bands. This day shall be sacred 
 to mercy and the mirth of this encounter 
 in the Counter. See, we are encountered 
 with more suitors ! 
 
 Enter Mistress Touchstone, Gertrude, 
 Mildred, Syndefie, Winnifred, &><:. 
 
 Save your breath, save your breath ! All 
 things have succeeded to your wishes ; and 
 we are heartily satisfied in their events. 
 
 Ge. Ah, runaway, runaway ! have I 
 caught you? And how has my poor 
 knight done all this while ? 
 
 Pe. Dear lady-wife, forgive me ! 
 
 Ge. As heartily as I would be forgiven, 
 knight. Dear father, give me your bless- 
 ing, and forgive me too ; I ha' been 
 proud and lascivious, father ; and a fool, 
 father ; and being raised to the state of a 
 wanton coy thing, called a lady, father ; 
 have scorned you, father, and my sister, 
 and my sister's velvet cap too ; and would 
 make a mouth at the city as I rid through 
 it ; and stop mine ears at Bow-bell. I 
 have said your beard was a base one, 
 father ; and that you looked like Twierpipe 
 the taberer ; and that my mother was but 
 my midwife. 
 
 Mist. T. Now, God forgi' you, child 
 madam ! 
 
 To. No more repetitions. What else is 
 wanting to make our harmony full ? 
 
 Go. Only this, sir, that my fellow Francis 
 make amends to Mistress Syndefie with 
 marriage. 
 
 Qu. With all my heart. 
 
 Go. And Security give her a dower, 
 which shall be all the restitution he shall 
 make of that huge mass he hath so unlaw- 
 fully gotten. 
 
 To. Excellently devised ! a good motion ! 
 What says Master Security ? 
 
 Sec. I say anything, sir, what you'll ha* 
 me say. Would I were no cuckold ! 
 
 Wi. Cuckold, husband ? Why, I think 
 this wearing of yellow has infected you. 
 
 To. Why, Master Security, that should 
 rather be a comfort to you than a corasive. 
 If you be a cuckold, it's an argument you 
 have a beautiful woman to your wife ; then 
 you shall be much made of ; you shall 
 have store of friends, never want money ; 
 you shall be eased of much o' your wed- 
 lock pain ; others will take it for you. Be- 
 sides, you being a usurer (and likely to go 
 to hell), the devils will never torment you : 
 they'll take you for one o' their own race. 
 Again, if you be a cuckold, and know it 
 not, you are an innocent ; if you know it 
 and endure it, a true martyr. 
 
 Sec. I am resolved, sir. Come hither, 
 Winny. 
 
 To. Well, then, all are pleased, or shall 
 be anon. Master Wolf, you look hungry, 
 methinks ; have you no apparel to lend 
 Francis to shift him ? 
 
 Qu. No, sir, nor I desire none ; but here 
 make it my suit, that I may go home 
 through the streets in these, as a spectacle, 
 or rather an example to the children of 
 Cheapside. 
 
 To. Thou hast thy wish. Now, London, 
 
 look about, 
 
 And in this moral see thy glass run out : 
 Behold the careful father, thrifty son, 
 The solemn deeds which each of us have 
 
 done ; 
 The usurer punish'd, and from fall so 
 
 steep 
 
 The prodigal child reclaim'd, and the lost 
 sheep. {Exeunt, 
 
EPILOGUE.] 
 
 EASTWARD HO. 
 
 485 
 
 EPILOGUS. 
 
 Stay, sir, I perceive the multitude are 
 gathered together to view our coming out 
 at the Counter. See, if the streets and the 
 fronts of the houses be not stuck with 
 people, and the windows filled with ladies, 
 as on the solemn day of the pageant ! 
 
 O may you find in this our Pageant, here, 
 The same contentment which you came 
 
 to seek ; 
 And as that Show but draws you once a 
 
 year, 
 May this attract you hither once a week. 
 
The Ball.* 
 
 THE BALL.] This Comedy, which was licensed in November, 1632, and first 
 printed in 1639, is the joint production of Chapman and Shirley ; the largest portion of 
 it seems to be from the pen of the former. Jonson's Puntarvolo, in Every Man out 
 of his Humour, probably furnished the hint for Jack Freshwater, and his notable scheme 
 of foreign travel. 
 
 From some incidental notices which occur in our old dramas, it should seem that 
 there really was about this time a party of ladies and gentlemen who met in private, 
 at stated periods, for the purpose of amusing themselves with masques, dances, &c. 
 Scandalous reports of improper conduct at these assemblies were in circulation, and 
 evidently called forth this comedy, the object of which is to repel them. The gilded or 
 golden Ball, from which the piece takes its name, was probably worn as an ornament 
 and mark of authority, by the presiding beauty of the entertainment. 
 
 We have here the first rude specimen of what are now termed Subscription 
 Balls. GIFFQRD. 
 
 THE PERSONS OF THE COMEDY. 
 
 Lord Rainbow. 
 
 Sir Ambrose Lamount. 
 
 Sir Marmaduke- Travers* 
 
 Colonel Winfield. 
 
 Mr. Bostock. 
 
 Mr. Freshwater. 
 
 Mr. Barker. 
 
 Monsieur Le Frisk. 
 
 Gudgeon. 
 
 Solomon. 
 
 Confectioner. 
 Servants. 
 
 Lady Lucina. 
 Lady Rosamond. 
 Lady Honoria. 
 Mistress Scutilla. 
 Venus. 
 Diana. 
 
 ACT THE FIRST. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Enter Sir Marmaduke Travers and 
 Mr. Bostock. 
 
 Bo. Whither so fast, Sir Marmaduke? 
 
 a word. 
 Tr. My honourable blood, would I 
 
 could stay 
 
 To give thee twenty ! I am now engaged 
 To meet a noble gentleman. 
 
 * " The Ball. A Comedy, As it was presented 
 by her Majesties Servants, at the private House 
 in Drury Lane. Written by George Chapman, 
 and James Shirly. London, Printed by Tho. 
 Cotes, for Andrew Crooke, and William Cooke. 
 1639." 
 
 Bo. Or rather 
 
 A gentlewoman ; let her alone, and go 
 With me. 
 
 Tr. Whither? 
 
 Bo. I'll show thee a lady of fire. 
 
 Tr. A Lady of the Lake were not so 
 dangerous. 
 
 Bo. I mean a spirit ; in few words, be- 
 cause 
 
 I love thee, I'll be open ; I am going 
 To see my mistress. 
 
 Tr. I'll dispense with my 
 Occasion, to see a handsome lady ; 
 I know you'll choose a rare one. 
 
 Bo. She is a creature 
 Worth admiration, such a beauty, wit, 
 And an estate besides ; thou canst not 
 
 choose 
 But know her name, the Lady Lucina. 
 
ACT f.] 
 
 THE BALL. 
 
 487 
 
 7V. Is she your mistress ? 
 /A 1 . Mine! whose but mine? 
 Am I not nobly born? does not my 
 
 blood 
 Deserve her ? 
 
 TV. To tell you truth, I was now going 
 
 thither, 
 
 Though I pretended an excuse, and with 
 A compliment from one that is your rival. 
 Bo. Does she love anybody else ? 
 7V. I know not, 
 
 But she has half-a-score, upon my know- 
 ledge, 
 Are suitors for her favour. 
 
 Bo. Name but one, 
 
 And if he cannot show as many coats 
 Tr. He thinks he has good cards for 
 
 her, and likes 
 His game well. 
 
 Bo. Be an understanding knight, 
 And take my meaning ; if he cannot show 
 As much in heraldry 
 
 TV. I do- not know how rich he is in 
 
 fields ; 
 But he is a gentleman. 
 
 Bo. Is he a branch of the nobility ? 
 How many lords can he call cousin ? Else 
 He must be taught to know he has pre- 
 sumed 
 
 To stand in competition with me. 
 Tr. You will not kill him ? 
 Bo. You shall pardon me, 
 I have that within me must not be pro- 
 voked ; 
 There be some living now, that ha" been 
 
 kill'd 
 For lesser matters. 
 
 Tr. Some living that ha' been kill'd ! 
 Bo. I mean, some living that ha' been 
 
 examples, 
 
 Xot to confront nobility ; and I 
 Am sensible of my honour. 
 
 Tr. His name is 
 Sir Ambrose 
 
 Bo. Lamount, a knight of yesterday ! 
 And he shall die to-morrow ; name 
 
 another. 
 Tr. Not so fast, sir, you must take some 
 
 breath. 
 Bo. I care no more for killing half a 
 
 dozen 
 Knights of the lower house, I mean that 
 
 are not 
 
 Descended from nobility, than I do 
 To kick my footman : and Sir Ambrose 
 
 were 
 Knight of the sun, King Oberon should 
 
 nor save him, 
 Nor his Queen Mab. 
 
 Enter Sir Ambrose Lamount. 
 
 Tr. Unluckily, he's here, sir. 
 Bo. Sir Ambrose, 
 How does thy knighthood, ha ? 
 La. My imp of honour ! well ; I joy to 
 
 see thee. 
 Bo. Sir Marmaduke tells me thou art 
 
 suitor to Lady Lucina. 
 La. I have ambition 
 To be her servant. 
 
 Bo. Hast? 
 Thou'rt a brave knight, and I commend 
 
 thy judgment. 
 La. Sir Marmaduke himself leans that 
 
 way too. 
 Bo. Why did'st conceal it ? come, the 
 
 more the merrier ; 
 But I could never see you there. 
 
 Tr. I hope, 
 Sir, we may live? 
 
 Bo. I'll tell you, gentlemen, 
 Cupid has given us all one livery ; 
 I serve that lady too, you understand me, 
 But who shall carry her, the Fates deter- 
 mine ; 
 
 I could be knighted too. 
 La. That would be no addition to vour 
 
 blood. 
 Bo. \ think it would not ; so my lord 
 
 told me. 
 Thou know'st, my lord, not the earl, my 
 
 t'other 
 
 Cousin ? there's a spark ! his predecessors 
 Have match'd into the blood ; you under- 
 stand : 
 
 He put me upon this lady, I proclaim 
 No hopes ; pray let's together, gentle- 
 men ; 
 If she be wise I say no more ; she shall 
 
 not 
 Cost me a sigh, nor shall her love engage 
 
 me 
 To draw a sword ; I ha' vow'd that. 
 
 Tr. You did 
 But jest before. 
 
 La. 'Twere pity that one drop 
 Of your heroic blood should fall to th' 
 
 ground: 
 Who knows but all your cousin-lords may 
 
 die? 
 Bo. As I believe them not immortal, 
 
 sir. 
 
 La. Then you are gulf of honour, swal- 
 low all ; 
 May marry some queen yourself, and get 
 
 princes, 
 
 To furnish the barren parts of Christen- 
 dom. 
 
4 83 
 
 THE BALL. 
 
 [ACT I. 
 
 Enter a servant, Solomon. 
 
 So. Sir Marmaduke, in private. 
 My lady would speak with you. 
 La. 'Tis her servant, what's the matter? 
 Bo. I hope he is not sent for. 
 So. But come alone ; I shall be troubled 
 with their inquiries ; but I'll answer 
 'em. 
 
 La. Solomon ! 
 
 So. My lady would speak with you, sir. 
 La. Me? 
 So. Not too loud ; I was troubled with 
 
 Sir Marmaduke. 
 La. This is good news. 
 Bo. I do not like this whispering. 
 So. Forget not the time, and to come 
 
 alone. 
 
 La. This is excellent. 
 Bo. Solomon, dost not know me ? 
 So. My business is to you, sir ; 
 These kept me off ; my Lady Lucina 
 Has a great mind to speak with you ; 
 Little do these imagine how she honours 
 
 you. 
 
 Bo. If I fail, may the surgeon, when he 
 opens the next vein, let out all my honour- 
 able blood ! 
 There's for thy pains what thou shalt be 
 
 hereafter 
 
 Time shall declare ; but this must be con- 
 ceal'd. [Exit. 
 
 La. You look pleasant. 
 Tr. No, no ; I have no cause ; you 
 smile, Sir Ambrose. 
 
 La. Who, I? The Colonel! 
 
 Enter the Colonel. 
 
 Tr. But of our file, another of her 
 
 suitors. 
 
 La. Noble colonel. 
 Wi. My honour' d knights, and men of 
 
 lusty kindred. 
 Bo. Good morrow. 
 Wi. Morrow to all. Gentlemen, I'll 
 
 tell you who is returned. 
 La. From whence ? 
 Wi' A friend of ours, that went to 
 
 travel. 
 
 Tr. Who, who? 
 
 Wi. I saw him within these three 
 minutes, and know not how I lost him 
 again ; he's not far off : d'ye keep a 
 catalogue of your debts ? 
 Bo. What debts? 
 Wi. Such dulness in your memory ! 
 
 there was, 
 
 About six months ago, a gentleman 
 That was persuaded to sell all his land, 
 
 And then to put the money out most 
 
 wisely, 
 To have five for one, at his return from 
 
 Venice. 
 The shotten herring is hard by. 
 
 La. Jack Freshwater 
 I'll not see him yet. 
 Bo. Must we pay him ? 
 Wi. It will be for your honour ; marry, 
 
 we, 
 
 Without much stain, may happily com- 
 pound, 
 And pay him nothing. 
 
 Enter Freshwater and Monsieur Le Frisk. 
 Here comes the thing. 
 With what formality he treads, and talks, 
 And manageth a toothpick like a states- 
 man ! 
 
 La. How he's transform 'd ! 
 Tr. Is not his soul Italian ? 
 Bo. I'll not bid him welcome home. 
 La. Nor I. 
 Tr. What's the t'other rat that's with 
 
 him ? 
 Wi. D'ye not know him ? 'tis the court 
 
 dancing weasel. 
 Tr. A dancer, and so gay ? 
 Wi. A mere French footman, sir ; does 
 he not look like a thing come off o' the 
 salt-cellar? 
 
 Tr. A dancer ! 
 
 I would allow him gay about the legs ; 
 But why his body should exceed decorum, 
 Is a sin o' the state. 
 
 Fr. That's all 
 
 I can inform you of their dance in Italy. 
 Marry, that very morning I left Venice, 
 I had intelligence of a new device. 
 Le Fr. For the dance, monsieur ? 
 Fr. Si, signer. I know not 
 What countryman invented 'em, but they 
 
 say 
 There be chopinos made with such rare 
 
 art, 
 That, worn by a lady when she means to 
 
 dance, 
 Shall, with their very motion, sound forth 
 
 music, 
 
 And by a secret sympathy, with their tread 
 Strike any tune that, without other instru- 
 ment, 
 Their feet both dance and play. 
 
 Le Fr. Your lodging, monsieur, 
 That, when I have leisure, I may dare 
 
 present 
 An humble servitor? 
 
 Fr. I do lie at the sign of Donna Mar- 
 garelta de Pia, in the Strand. 
 
ACT I.J 
 
 THE BALL. 
 
 489 
 
 Git. At the Maggot-a-Pie in the Strand, 
 sir. 
 
 Le Fr. At de Magdepie ; bon! adieu, 
 serviteur. [Exit. 
 
 La. He will not know us. 
 
 Gu. D'ye see those gentlemen ? 
 
 Fr. Thou pantaloon, be silent. 
 
 Wi. I'll speak to him. 
 You are welcome home, sir. 
 
 Le Fr. Signior. [Exit. 
 
 Wi. He will not know me ; this is ex- 
 cellent ; 
 
 He shall be acquainted better ere I part 
 With any sums. 
 
 La. Next time we'll not know him. 
 
 Bo. Would all my creditors had this 
 blessed ignorance ! 
 
 Tr. Now, colonel, I'll take my leave. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Bo. I am engaged too. 
 
 Wi. W T ell. 
 
 Bo. I shall meet you anon ; 
 I am to wait upon a cousin of mine. 
 
 Wi. A countess ? 
 
 Bo. My lord! 
 
 Enter Lord Rainbow, and Barker. 
 
 Lord Ra. Cousin. 
 
 Bo. Your lordship honours me in this 
 
 acknowledgment. 
 Lord Ra. Colonel. 
 Bo. Do you not know me, sir? 
 Ba. Y' are not a proclamation, that 
 every man is bound to take notice on you, 
 and I cannot tell who you are by instinct. 
 Lord Ra. A kinsman of mine, Frank. 
 Wi. Good morrow to your lordship. 
 Lord Ra. Colonel, your humble ser- 
 vant. Hark you, Frank. 
 Bo. You are acquainted with my lord, 
 then ? Is he not a complete gentleman ? 
 his family came in with the conqueror. 
 Wi. You had not else been kin to him. 
 Bo. A poor slip, 
 A scion from that honourable tree. 
 
 Wi. He. is the ladies' idol ; they ha' 
 not leisure to say their prayers for him ; a 
 great advancer of the new Ball. 
 Bo. Nay, he's right, right as my leg, 
 
 colonel. 
 Wi. But t'other gentleman, you do not 
 
 know his inside ? 
 
 Bo. I ha' seen him ; he looks philo- 
 sophical. 
 Wi. Who ? he's the wit, whom your 
 
 nobility 
 
 Are much obliged to for his company ; 
 Ho has a railing genius, and they cherish 
 it 
 
 Flings dirt in every face when he's i' th" 
 humour, 
 
 And they must laugh, and thank him ; 
 
 he is dead else. 
 
 Bo. Will the lords suffer him ? 
 Wi. Or lose their mirth ; he's known 
 in every science, 
 
 And can abuse 'em all ; some ha' sup- 
 posed 
 
 He has a worm in's brain, which at some 
 time 
 
 O' the moon doth ravish him into perfect 
 madness, 
 
 And then he prophesies, and will depose 
 
 The Emperor, and set up Bethlem 
 
 Gabor. 
 
 Bo. He's dead ; I hope he will not con- 
 jure for him. 
 
 Wi. His father shall not 'scape him, nor 
 his ghost, 
 
 Nor heaven, nor hell ; his jest must ha" 
 free passage : 
 
 He's gone, and I lose time to talk on 
 him ; 
 
 Farewell, your countess may expect too 
 
 long. 
 Lord Ra. Farewell, colonel. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter\jody Rosamond and Lady Honoria. 
 
 Ro. Why do you so commend him ? 
 Ho. Does he not 
 
 Deserve it ? name a gentleman in the king- 
 dom 
 
 So affable, so moving in his language, 
 
 So pleasant, witty, indeed everything 
 
 A lady can desire. 
 Ro. Sure thou dost love him ; 
 
 I'll tell his lordship, when I see him 
 again, 
 
 How zealous you are in his commenda- 
 tion. 
 Ho. If I be not mistaken, I have heard 
 
 Your tongue reach higher in his praises, 
 madam, 
 
 Howe'er you now seem cold ; but, if you 
 tell him 
 
 My opinion, as you shall do him no plea- 
 sure, 
 
 You can do me no injury : I know 
 
 His lordship has the constitution 
 
 Of other courtiers ; they can endure 
 
 To be commended. 
 
 Ro. But, I prithee, tell me, 
 
 Is [it] not love whence this proceeds ? I 
 have, 
 
 I must confess, discoursed of his good 
 parts, 
 
 Desired his company 
 Ho. And had it? 
 
 ..J 
 
490 
 
 THE BALL. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 Ro. Yes, and had it. 
 Ho. All night? 
 
 Ro. You are not, I hope, jealous ? 
 If I should say all night, I need not blush. 
 It was but at a Ball ; but what of this? 
 Ho. E'en what you will. 
 Ro. I hope you ha 1 no patent 
 To dance alone with him? if he ha' privi- 
 lege 
 
 To kiss another lady, she may say 
 He does salute her, and return a curtsey, 
 To show her breeding, but I'll now be 
 
 plainer, 
 Although you love this lord, it may [be] 
 
 possible 
 
 He may dispose his thoughts another way. 
 Ho. He may so. 
 
 Ro. Who can help it ? he has eyes 
 To look on more than one, and under- 
 
 stand[ing], 
 
 Perhaps, to guide, and place his love upon 
 The most deserving object. 
 
 Ho. Most deserving ! 
 This language is not level with that friend- 
 ship 
 
 You have profess'd ; this touches a compa- 
 rison. 
 ' Ro. Why, do you think all excellence is 
 
 throng'd 
 Within your beauty ? 
 
 Ho. You are angry, lady ; 
 How much does this concern you, to be 
 
 thus 
 
 Officious in his cause ! if you be not 
 Engaged by more than ordinary affection, 
 I must interpret this no kind respect 
 To me. 
 
 Ro. Angry ! ha, ha ! 
 Ho. You then transgress against civi- 
 lity. 
 
 i Ro. Good madam, why ? because 
 I think, and tell you, that another lady 
 May be as handsome in some man's opi- 
 nion. 
 
 Admit I loved him too, may not I hold 
 Proportion with you, on some entreaty. 
 
 Enter Lord. 
 
 Lord Ra. They're loud, I'll not be seen 
 yet. 
 
 Ro. What is it that exalts you above all 
 Comparison ? my father was as good 
 A gentleman, and my mother has as great 
 A spirit. 
 
 Ho. Then you love him too ? 
 
 Ro. 'Twill appear 
 No greater miracle in me, I take it, 
 Yet difference will be ; perhaps I may 
 Affect him with a better consequence. 
 
 Ho. Your consequence, perhaps, may 
 
 be denied too. 
 Why, there are no such wonders in your 
 
 eye, 
 Which other compositions do not boast 
 
 of; 
 My lord, no doubt, hath in his travels 
 
 clapp'd 
 As modest cheeks, and kiss'd as melting 
 
 lips. 
 
 Ro. And yet mine are not pale. 
 Ho. It may be they 
 Blush for the teeth behind them. 
 
 Ro. I have read 
 No sonnets on the sweetness of your 
 
 breath. 
 
 Ho. Tis not perfumed. 
 Ro. But I have heard your tongue ex- 
 alted much, 
 Highly commended. 
 
 Ho. Not above your forehead. 
 When you have brush'd away the hairy 
 
 penthouse,* 
 And made it visible. 
 
 Lord Ra. I'll now interrupt 'em, 
 They'll fall by the ears else presently. 
 Ho. My lord! 
 
 Lord Ra. W r hat, in contention, ladies ? 
 Ro. Oh, my lord, you're welcome. 
 Lord Ra. Express it in discovery of 
 
 that 
 
 Made you so earnest ; I am confident 
 You were not practising a dialogue 
 To entertain me. 
 
 Ho. Yet it did concern you. 
 
 Ro. Do not you blush ? fie, madam ! 
 
 Lord Ra. Nay, an you come to bhisk 
 
 once, and^tf, madam, 
 111 know the secret, by this kiss I will, 
 And this. [Kisses them. 
 
 Ho. You were kiss'd first, discover now, 
 At your discretion. 
 
 Ro. My lord, we were in jest. 
 Ho. It might have turned to earnest, if 
 your lordship had not interposed. 
 Lord Ra. Come, out with it. 
 Ro. We had a difference 
 Lord Ra. Well said. 
 Ro. About a man i' the world you 
 are best name him. 
 
 * the hairy penthouse.] The old copy has 
 pentebrush, by a mistake of the printer in re- 
 peating the word just before it. The splenetic 
 allusion is to the profusion of hair with which 
 Rosamond contrived to conceal a part of her 
 forehead. A small or low forehead, it should be 
 remembered, was at this period reckoned a 
 beauty. GIFFORD. 
 
ACT I.J 
 
 THE BALL. 
 
 491 
 
 Ho. You have the better gift at telling 
 
 secrets. 
 Lord Ra. Yet again ! come, I'll help it 
 
 out : there is 
 A gentleman i' the world, some call a 
 
 lord 
 
 Ro. Did your lordship overhear us ? 
 Lord Ra. Nay, nay, you must stand 
 
 to't one whom you love. 
 // will appear no greater miracle 
 In you, I take it ; one, no doubt, that hath 
 Travell'd, and clapp'd as modest checks, 
 
 and kiss'd 
 As melting lips : thus far I'm right ; but 
 
 what 
 
 Name this most happy man doth answer to, 
 Is not within my circle. 
 Ho. Yet you know him. 
 Ro. Not to retain your lordship i' the 
 
 dark, 
 
 Confident you'll not accuse my modesty 
 For giving you a truth, you shall not travel 
 Beyoud yourself to find his name ; but do 
 
 not 
 Triumph, my lord. 
 
 Lord Ra. Am I so fortunate ? 
 Then, love, I do forgive thee, and will 
 
 cherish 
 
 The flime I did suspect would ruin me. 
 You two divide my love, only you two ; 
 Be gentle in your empire, heavenly ladies. 
 No enemy abroad can threaten you ; 
 Be careful, then, that you maintain at home 
 No civil wars. 
 
 Ho. How do you mean, my lord? 
 Lord Ra. You are pleased to smile upon 
 
 me, gentle lady, 
 
 And I have took [into] my heart more than 
 Imaginary blessings : with what pleasure 
 Could I behold this beauty, and consume 
 My understanding, to know nothing else ! 
 My memory, to preserve no other figure ! 
 Ro. My lord, I am not worth your flattery. 
 LordRa. I flatter you ! Venus herself be 
 
 judge, 
 
 To whom you are so like in all that's fair, 
 Twere sin but to be modest 
 Ro. How, my lord ? 
 Lord Ra. Do not mistake me, 'twere 
 A sin but to be modest in your praises ; 
 Here's a hand ! Nature, show me such 
 
 another, 
 
 A brow, a cheek, a lip, and everything ; 
 Happv am I that Cupid's blind ! 
 
 Ro. Why happy ? 
 
 Lord Ra. If he could see, he would for- 
 sake his mistress 
 
 To be my rival, and for your embraces 
 Be banish'd heaven. 
 
 Ho. My lord, I'll take my leave. 
 
 Lord Ra. If you did know how great a 
 
 part of me 
 Will wither in your absence, you would 
 
 have 
 
 More charity; one accent of unkind 
 Language from you doth wound me more 
 
 than all 
 The malice of my destinies. Oh, dear 
 
 madam,. 
 You say you'll take your leave of your poor 
 
 servant ; 
 
 Say rather, you will dwell for ever here, 
 And let me stay and gaze 
 Upon your heavenly iorm. 
 
 Ho. I can be patient 
 To hear your lordship mock me ; these are 
 
 but 
 A coarse reward for my good thoughts. 
 
 Lord Ra. This 'tis 
 
 To use plain dealing, and betray the inside 
 Of our hearts to women ! did you think 
 
 well of me 
 
 So late, and am I forfeited already ? 
 Am I a Christian ? 
 Ho. Yes, I hope, my lord. 
 Lord Ra. Make me not miserable, then, 
 
 dear madam, 
 
 With your suspicion, I dissemble with you ; 
 But you know too well what 
 Command your beauty has upon me. 
 
 Ho. Give 
 Me leave, my lord, to wonder you can love 
 
 me, 
 With such a flame you have express 'd, yet 
 
 she 
 
 Your mistress. 
 
 Lord Ra. You are both my mistresses. 
 Ro. I like not this so well. 
 LordRa.. There is no way but one to 
 make me happy. 
 
 Ho. I wish, my lord, I had the art to 
 
 effect 
 
 What you desire. 
 Ro. Or I. 
 
 Lord Ra. It is within 
 Your powers. 
 
 Ho. Speak it, my lord. 
 Lord Ra. Since it is so, 
 That I'm not able to determine which 
 My heart, so equal unto both, would 
 
 choose, 
 
 My suit is to your virtues, to agree 
 Between yourselves, whose creature I shall 
 
 be; 
 
 You can judge better of your worths than I. 
 My allegiance shall be ready if you can 
 Conclude which shall ha' the supremacy; 
 Take pity on your servant, gentle ladies, 
 
492 
 
 THE BALL. 
 
 [ACT II. 
 
 And reconcile a heart too much divided : 
 
 So with the promise of my obedience 
 
 To her that shall be fairest, wisest, 
 
 sweetest, 
 
 Of you two, when I next present a lover, 
 I take distracted leave. [Exit. 
 
 Ho. Why, this is worse than all the 
 rest. 
 
 Ro. He's gone, 
 And has referr'd himself to us. 
 
 Ho. This will 
 Ask counsel. 
 
 Ro. And some time I would be loth 
 To yield. 
 
 Ho. And I. Cupid instruct us both. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT THE SECOND. 
 
 Enter Barker, Freshwater, and Gudgeon. 
 
 Ba. And what made you to undertake 
 
 this voyage, 
 Sweet Signior Freshwater ? 
 
 Fr. An affection 
 
 I had to be acquainted with some countries. 
 Gu. Give him good words. 
 Ba. And you return home fraught with 
 
 rich devices, 
 
 Fashions of steeples, and the situations 
 Of gallowses, and wit, no doubt, a bushel. 
 What price are oats in Venice ? 
 Fr. Signior, 
 
 I kept no horses there ; my man and I 
 
 Ba. Were asses. 
 
 Fr. How, signior? 
 
 Gu, Give him good words ; a pox take 
 
 him ! 
 
 Ba. Had not you land once ? 
 Fr. I had some dirty acres. 
 Gu. I am his witness. 
 Fr. Which I reduced into a narrow 
 
 compass, 
 Some call it selling. 
 
 Gu. He would sell bargains of a child. 
 
 Fr. And 'twas a thriving policy. 
 
 Ba. As how ? 
 
 Fr. 'Twas but two hundred pound per 
 
 annum, sir, 
 A lean revenue. 
 
 Ba. And did you sell it all ? 
 
 Fr. I did not leave an acre, rod, or 
 
 perch ; 
 That had been no discretion ; when I was 
 
 selling, 
 I would sell to purpose : do you see this 
 
 roll? 
 I have good security for my money, sir ; 
 
 Not an egg here but has five chickens in't. 
 I did most politicly disburse my sums, 
 To have five for one at my return from 
 
 Venice ; 
 And now, I thank my stars, I am at 
 
 home. 
 
 Ba. And so, 
 By consequence, in three months your 
 
 estate 
 Will be five times as much, or quintupled ! 
 
 Fr. Yes, signior, quintupled. 
 I will not purchase yet, I me'an to use 
 This trick seven years together ; first, 
 I'll still put out, and quintuple, as you call 
 
 it, 
 
 And when I can, in my exchequer, tell 
 Two or three millions, I will fall a- 
 
 purchasing. 
 
 Ba. Kingdoms, I warrant. 
 Fr. I have a mind to buy 
 Constantinople from the Turk, and give it 
 The Emperor. 
 
 Ba. What think you of Jerusalem? 
 If you would purchase that, and bring it 
 
 nearer, 
 The Christian pilgrims would be much 
 
 obliged to ye. 
 
 When did you wash your socks ? 
 Fr. I wear none, signior. 
 Ba. Then 'tis your breath ; to your 
 
 lodging, and perfume it ; 
 You'll tell the sweeter lies to them that 
 
 will 
 Lose so much time to ask about your 
 
 travel. 
 
 You will not sell your debts ? 
 Fr. Sell 'em ? no, signior. 
 Ba. Have you as much left, in ready 
 
 cash, as will 
 Keep you and this old troul a fortnight 
 
 longer? 
 Die, and forgive the world ; thou mayst be 
 
 buried, 
 And have the church-cloth, if you can put 
 
 in 
 
 Security, the parish shall be put 
 To no more charge. Dost thou hope to 
 
 have a penny 
 
 Of thy own money back ? is this an age 
 Of five for one ? Die, ere the town takes 
 
 notice. 
 
 Fhere is a hideous wo, "nan carries ballets, 
 And has a singing in her head, take heed, 
 And hang thyself, thou mayst not hear the 
 
 tune ; 
 
 You remember Coriat ? 
 Fr. Honest Tom Odcomb. 
 Ba. We'll ha' more verses of thy travels, 
 
 coxcomb ; 
 
ACT II.] 
 
 THE BALL. 
 
 493 
 
 Books shall be sold in bushels in Cheap- 
 side, 
 And come in like the peascods, wain-loads 
 
 full, 
 Of thee, and thy man Apple-John, that 
 
 looks 
 
 As he had been a se'nnight in the straw, 
 A ripening for the market. Farewell, 
 
 russeting, 
 Thou art not worth my spleen : do not 
 
 forget 
 My counsel ; hang thyself, and thou goest 
 
 off 
 Without a sessions. [Exit. 
 
 Fr. Fine ! I'm glad he's gone. 
 Gudgeon, what dost thou think? 
 
 Gu. I think you are well rid of [a] railing 
 
 madcap. 
 
 Fr. Nay, nay, he'll not spare a lord ; 
 But were not I best call in my moneys, 
 
 Gudgeon ? 
 My estate will not hold out ; I must be 
 
 more 
 Familiar with my gentlemen. 
 
 Enter Lord. 
 
 Lord Ra. Jack Freshwater, welcome 
 
 from Venice. 
 
 Fr. I thank your honour. 
 Lord Ra. Was it not Frank Barker 
 That parted from you ? 
 Fr. Yes, my lord. 
 LordRa. What's the matter? 
 Fr. There is a sum, my lord. 
 Lord Ra. Where is it, signior ? 
 Fr. There was a sum, my lord, delivered 
 from your poor servant, Freshwater. 
 
 Lord Ra. I remember, 
 But I have business now ; come home 
 
 to me, 
 The money's safe ; you were to give me 
 
 five 
 
 For one, at your return. 
 Fr. I five ? your lordship has forgot the 
 
 cinquepace. 
 Lord Ra. Something it is ; but when I 
 
 am at leisure 
 We will discourse of that, and of your 
 
 travel. 
 
 Farewell, signior. {Exit. 
 
 Fr. Is't come to this ? if lords play fast- 
 
 and-loose, 
 
 What shall poor knights and gentlemen ? 
 hum 1 'Tis he. 
 
 Enter Colonel. 
 
 Wi. A pox upon him ! what makes he 
 
 in my way ? 
 Fr. Noble colonel. 
 
 Wi. Que dites-vous, monsieur f 
 
 Fr. Que dites-vous ? 
 
 Wi. Ah! oui -je ne puts parler Anglois. 
 
 Fr. There were five English pieces. 
 
 Wi. jfe tie parle Anglois. Me speak 
 no word English ; votre seruiteur. [Exit. 
 
 Fr. Adieu, five pieces ! Gudgeon, gape; 
 is't not he ? they will not use me o' this 
 fashion. Did he not speak to me in the 
 morning? 
 
 Gu. Yes, sir. 
 
 Fr. I think so. 
 
 Gu. But then you would not know him in 
 Italian, and now he will not know you in 
 French. 
 
 Fr. Call you this selling of land, and 
 putting out money to multiply estate? 
 
 Gu. To quintuple five for one ! large 
 interest. 
 
 Fr. Five for one ! 'tis ten to one, if I 
 get my principal. 
 
 Gu. Your roll is not at the bottom yet ; 
 try the rest. 
 
 Fr. I have, signior, farewell. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Scutilla and Solomon. 
 
 Sc. Didst speak with the colonel? 
 
 So. I met him opportunely after all the 
 rest, and told him how much it would 
 concern his livelihood to make haste. 
 
 Sc. He must not be seen yet ; you 
 know where to attend for him ; give him 
 access by the garden to my chamber, and 
 bring me nimbly knowledge when he 
 is there. 
 
 So. I shall, forsooth. [Exit. 
 
 Enter the Dancer, Lady Rosamond, Lady 
 Lucina, and Lady Honoria. 
 
 Le Fr. Very well! ah ! dat be skirvy ; 
 you run, trot, trot, trot; pshaw ! follow me, 
 font re, madame ! can you not tell, so often 
 learning. Madam, you foot it now, 
 plait-ill [Another lady dances.] Excel- 
 lent ! better den excellent ; pshaw ! you 
 be laughed when you come to de Ball ; 
 I teach tree hundred never forgot so 
 much, me sweat taking pain, and fiddling, 
 ladies. 
 
 Lu. Fiddling ladies, you molecatcher ! 
 [Strikes him. 
 
 Le Fr. Pourquoy f for telling you dance 
 not well? you commit fat, and beat me 
 for my diligence : begar, you dance your 
 pleasure. 
 
 Ho. No, Monsieur Le Frisk, put not up 
 your pipe ; my lady was but in jest, and 
 you must take it for a favour. 
 
 Le Fr. I vear no favours in dat place ; 
 
494 
 
 THE BALL. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 should any gentleman of England give 
 me blow, diable ! me teach him French 
 passage. 
 
 Ro, Nay, you shall not be so angry, I 
 must have a coranto. Pray, madam, be 
 reconciled. 
 
 Lu. Come, monsieur, I am sorry. 
 Le Fr. Sorry ! tat is too much, par ma 
 foy; I kiss tat white hand, give me one, two, 
 tree buffets. Allez, allez ; look up your 
 countenance, your English man spoil you, 
 he no teach you look up ; pshaw ! carry 
 your body in the swimming fashion, and 
 Dieu / allez, mademoiselle, ha, ha, ha ! So, 
 fortbon! excellent, begar! {Dance. 
 
 Lu. Nay, a country dance. Scutilla, 
 you are idle. You know we must be at 
 the Ball anon ; come. 
 Le Fr. Where is the ball this night ? 
 Lu. At my Lord Rainbow's. 
 Le Fr. Oh, he dance finely, begar, he 
 deserve the Ball of de world ; fine, fine, 
 gentleman ! youroder man dance lop, lop, 
 with de lame leg as they want crushes, 
 begar, and look for argent in the ground, 
 pshaw ! {They dance a new country dance .] 
 Ha, ha, fort bon ! 
 
 Ro. Now, madam, we take our leave. 
 Lu. I'll recompense this kind visit : does 
 
 your coach stay ? 
 Ho. Yes, madam ; 
 
 Your ladyship will be too much troubled. 
 Lu. I owe more service. 
 Sc. Monsieur, you'll be gone too ? 
 Le Fr. I have more lady, my scholars. 
 
 [Hiding his kit under his coat. 
 Sc. Is that the way of your instrument ? 
 Le Fr. A la mode de France ; vite ! vite ! 
 adieu, madame ! votre serviteur. 
 Lu. Adieu, demy monsieur. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Solomon and Colonel. 
 
 Sc. Sir, you are welcome. 
 
 Wi. I thank you, lady. {Exit Solomon. 
 
 Sc. The time's too narrow to discourse 
 
 at large, 
 But I intend you a service ; you have 
 
 deserved it, 
 In your own nobleness to one I call a 
 
 kinsman. 
 Whose life, without your charity, had 
 
 been 
 
 Forfeit to his general's anger, it was not 
 Without his cause you after quit your regi- 
 ment. 
 
 Wi. He was my friend ; forget it. 
 Sc. You were sent for 
 By the Lady Lucina. 
 
 Wi. Whose command I wait. 
 Sc. 'Twas my desire to prepare you for 
 The entertainment ; be but pleased to ob- 
 scure 
 Yourself behind these hangings a few 
 
 minutes : 
 I hear her, you may trust me. 
 
 Wi. Without dispute, I obey you, lady. 
 
 Enter Lady Lucina. 
 
 Lu. Now, Scutilla, we are ripe, and ready 
 To entertain my gamesters ; my man said 
 They promised all to come. I was afraid 
 These ladies, in their kind departure, would 
 
 not 
 
 Bequeathe me opportunity, and the mirth 
 Doth in the imagination so tickle me, 
 I would not willingly have lost it for 
 A jewel of some value. 
 
 Sc. Then your purchase holds. 
 
 Lu. If they hold their affections, and 
 
 keep touch, 
 We'll ha' some sport. 
 
 Enter Solomon. 
 
 So. Sir Marmaduke Travers. 
 Lu. Away, Scutilla, 
 And laugh not loud between our acts ; 
 
 we'll meet 
 Again like music, and make ourselves 
 
 merry. 
 Sc. I wait near you. 
 
 Enter Sir Marmaduke. 
 
 Lit. Sir Marmaduke, I thought I should 
 
 have had 
 Your visit without a summons. 
 
 Tr. I^ady, you gave 
 One feather to the wings I had before ; 
 Can there be at last a service to employ 
 Your creature? 
 
 Lu. Something hath pleaded for you in 
 
 your absence. 
 Tr. Oh, let me dwell upon your hand ! 
 
 my stars 
 Have then remember'd me again. 
 
 Lu. How do the fens ? 
 Goes the draining forward, and your iron 
 
 mills ? 
 Tr. Draining, and iron mills ? I 
 
 know not, madam. 
 Lu. Come, you conceal your industry and 
 
 care 
 
 To thrive ; you need not be so close to me. 
 Tr. By this hand, lady, have I any iron 
 
 mills ? 
 
 Lu. I am abused else ; nay, I do love 
 One that has windmills in his head. 
 
ACT II.] 
 
 THE BALL. 
 
 495 
 
 Tr. How, madam ? 
 
 /,//. Projects and proclamations ; did 
 
 not you 
 
 Travel to Yarmouth, to learn how to cast 
 Brass buttons ? nay, I like it, 'tis an age 
 For men to look about 'em ; shall I 
 
 trust 
 My estate to one that has no thrift? a 
 
 fellow 
 But with one face? my husband shall be a 
 
 Janus. 
 
 He cannot look too many ways. And is 
 Your patent for making vinegar con- 
 
 firm'd ? 
 What a face you put upon't ! nay, ne'er 
 
 dissemble ; 
 Come, I know all, you'll thank that friend 
 
 of yours, 
 
 That satisfied my inquiry of your worth 
 With such a welcome character ; but why 
 Do I betray myself so fast ? beshrew 
 His commendations ! 
 
 Tr. How is this? somebody, 
 That meant me well, and knew her ap- 
 petite 
 To wealth, hath told this of me. I'll make 
 
 use on't. 
 Well, madam, I desired these things more 
 
 private, 
 Till something worth a mine, which I am 
 
 now 
 Promoving, had been perfect to salute 
 
 you : 
 
 But I perceive you hold intelligence 
 In my affairs, which I interpret love, 
 And I'll require it ; will you be content 
 Be a countess for the present ? 
 
 Lu. I shall want 
 No honour in your love. 
 
 Tr. When shall we many ? 
 Lu. Something must be prepared. 
 Tr. A licence, and say no more. 
 How blest am I ! do not blush, 
 I will not kiss your lip till I ha' brought it. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Lu. Ha, ha ! Scutilla. 
 Sc. Be secret stilL 
 Lu. Canst thou not laugh ? 
 Sc. Yes, madam. 
 You have kept your word ; the knight's 
 
 transported, gone 
 To prepare things for the wedding. 
 
 Lu. How didst thou like the iron 
 
 mills ? 
 Sc. And the brass buttons, rarely ; have 
 
 you devices 
 To jeer the rest ? 
 
 Lu. All the regiment of them, or I'll 
 break my bowstrings. 
 
 So. Sir Ambrose Lamount. 
 
 Lu. Away, and let the swallow enter. 
 
 Enter Sir Ambrose and Solomon. 
 
 Lu. Why, sirrah, 
 
 Did I command you give access to none 
 But Sir Ambrose Lamount, whom you 
 
 know I sent for ? 
 Audacious groom ! 
 
 So. It is Sir [Ambrose], madam. 
 
 Lu. It is Sir Ambrose Coxcomb, is it 
 
 not? 
 Cry mercy, noble sir, I took yon 
 
 muffled, 
 
 For one that every day solicits me 
 To bestow my little dog upon him ; but 
 
 you're welcome : 
 I think I sent for you. 
 
 La. It is my happiness 
 To wait your service, lady. 
 
 Lu. You have vow'd to die a bachelor, 
 
 I hope 
 
 It is not true, sir? 
 La. I die a bachelor ! 
 Lu. And that you'll turn religious 
 
 knight. 
 La. I turn religious knight ? who has 
 
 abused me? 
 Lu. I would only know the truth ; it 
 
 were great pity : 
 For my own part, I ever wish'd you 
 
 well, 
 Although, in modesty, I have been 
 
 silent. 
 
 Pray what's o'clock ? 
 La. How's this ? 
 Lu. I had a dream last night, methought 
 
 I saw you 
 
 Dance so exceeding rarely, that I fell 
 In love. 
 
 La. In love with me ! 
 Lu. With your legs, sir. 
 La. My leg is at your service, to come 
 
 over. 
 Lu. I wonder'd at myself, but I con- 
 
 sider'd, 
 
 That many have been caught with hand- 
 some faces ; 
 So my love grew 
 La. Upwards.^ 
 
 Lu. What follow'd in my dream 
 I ha" forgot. 
 
 La. Leave that to finish waking. 
 Lu, Since the morning 
 I find some alteration ; you know 
 I have told you twenty times, I would 'not 
 
 love you, 
 
 But whether 'twere your wisdom or your 
 fate, 
 
496 
 
 THE BALL. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 You would not be satisfied ; now I know 
 
 not, 
 If something were procured, what I should 
 
 answer. 
 
 La. A licence ! say no more. 
 Lu. Would my estate were doubled ! 
 Z,. For my sake ? 
 Lu. You have not purchased since you 
 
 fell in love ? 
 La. Not much land. 
 Lu. Revels have been some charge to 
 
 you, you were ever 
 A friend to ladies ! pity but he should 
 
 rise 
 By one, has fallen with so many ! Had 
 
 you not 
 A head once ? 
 
 La. A head ? I have one still. 
 Lu. Of hair, I mean ; 
 Favours ha' glean'd too much : pray 
 
 pardon me, 
 If it were mine, they should go look their 
 
 bracelets, 
 
 Or stay till the next crop ; but I blush, sir, 
 To hold you in this discourse : you will, 
 
 perhaps, 
 Construe me in a wrong sense ; but you 
 
 may use 
 i Your own discretion till you know me 
 
 better, 
 
 ; Which is my soul's ambition. 
 La. I am blest. 
 Wi. Cunning gipsy, she'll use me thus, 
 
 too, 
 When I come to't. 
 
 La. Lady, I know your mind : when I 
 
 see you next [Exit. 
 
 Lu. You will see me again. Ha, ha, 
 
 ha ! Scutilla. 
 
 Sc. Here, madam, almost dead with 
 stifling my laughter. Why, he's gone 
 for a licence ; you did enjoin him no 
 silence. 
 
 Ln. I would have 'em all meet, and 
 brag o" their several hopes, they will not 
 else be sensible, and quit me of their 
 tedious visitation. Who's next? I would 
 the colonel were come, I long to have a 
 bout with him. 
 
 So. Mr. Bostock, madam. 
 
 Lu. Retire, and give the jay admittance. 
 
 Enter Bostock. 
 
 Bo. Madam, I kiss your fair hand. 
 Lu. Oh, Mr. Bostock ! 
 Bo. The humblest of your servants. 
 Lu. 'Twill not become your birth and 
 
 blood to stoop 
 To such a title. 
 
 Bo. I must confess, dear lady, 
 I carry in my veins more precious honour 
 Than other men, blood of a deeper crim- 
 son ; 
 But you shall call me anything. 
 
 Lu. Not I, sir ; 
 It would not become me to change your 
 
 title, 
 
 Although I must confess I could desire 
 You were less honourable. 
 
 Bo. Why, I prithee, 
 Is it a fault to spring from the nobility? 
 There be some men have sold well-favour'd 
 
 lordships, 
 
 To be ill-favour'd noblemen, and though 
 I wear no title of the state, I can 
 Adorn a lady. 
 
 Lu. That is my misfortune ; 
 I would you could not, sir. 
 
 Bo. Are you the worse 
 For that ? consider, lady. 
 Lu. I have consider'd, 
 And I could wish, with all my heart, you 
 
 were 
 
 Not half so noble, nay, indeed, no gentle- 
 man. 
 
 Bo. How, lady? 
 Lu. Nay, if you give me leave to speak 
 
 my thoughts, 
 
 I would you were a fellow of two degrees 
 Beneath a footman ; one that had no kin- 
 dred, 
 
 But knights o' the post ; nay, worse, par- 
 don me, sir, 
 In the humour I am in, I wish, and 
 
 heartily, 
 You were a son o' the people, rather 
 
 than 
 
 Bo. Good madam, give me your reason. 
 Lu. Because I love you. 
 Bo. Few women wish so ill to whom 
 
 they love. 
 
 L^l. They do not love like me then. 
 Bo. Say you so ? 
 Lu. My wealth's a beggar ; nay, the 
 
 title of 
 A lady, which my husband left, is a 
 
 shadow 
 Compared to what you bring to ennoble 
 
 me, 
 
 And all the children you will get ; but I, 
 Out of my love, desire you such a one 
 That I might add to you, that you 
 
 might be 
 Created by my wealth, made great by 
 
 me ; 
 Then should my love appear ; but, as you 
 
 are, 
 I must receive addition from you. 
 
ACT II.] 
 
 THE BALL. 
 
 497 
 
 Bo. Nobody hears. Why, hark you, 
 
 lady, could 
 
 You love me, if I were less honourable ? 
 Lu. Honourable? why, you cannot be 
 
 so base 
 As I would have you, that the world might 
 
 say 
 My marriage gave you somewhat. 
 
 Bo. Say you so ? 
 
 Under the rose, if that will do you a plea- 
 sure, 
 
 The lords do call me cousin, but I am 
 Lu. What? 
 Bo. Suspected. 
 Lu. How? 
 Bo. Not to be lawful ; I came in at the 
 
 wicket, 
 
 Some call it the window. 
 Lu. Can you prove it ? 
 Bo. Say no more. 
 Lu. Then I prefer you before all my 
 
 suitors : 
 Sir Ambrose Lamount and Sir Marmaduke 
 
 Travers 
 
 Are all mountebanks. 
 Bo. What say to the colonel ? 
 Lu. A lancepresado ! How my joy 
 
 transports me ! 
 But shall I trust to this ? do not you 
 
 flatter? 
 
 Will not you fly from that, and be legiti- 
 mate 
 When we are married ? You men are too 
 
 cunning 
 With simple ladies. 
 
 Bo. Do but marry me, 
 I'll bring the midwife. 
 
 Lu. Say no more ; provide 
 What you think necessary, and all shall 
 
 be 
 
 Despatch'd. 
 Bo. I guess your meaning, and thus 
 
 seal 
 
 My best devotion. [Exit. 
 
 Sc. Away now, and present yourself. 
 Lu. Oh, Scutilla ! 
 Hold me, I shall fall in pieces else. Ha, 
 
 ha, ha ! 
 Sc. Beshrew me, madam, but I wonder 
 
 at you ; 
 You wound him rarely up ! 
 
 Lu. Have not I choice of precious hus- 
 bands? now, 
 And the colonel were here, the task were 
 
 over. 
 Sc. Then you might go play. 
 
 Enter Colonel. 
 
 Madam, the colonel. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 Lu. Is he come once more ? withdraw ; 
 
 bid him march hither. 
 Wi. Now is my turn. Madam. 
 Lu. Y' are welcome, sir ; I thought 
 
 you would have gone, 
 And not graced me so much as with a 
 
 poor 
 Salute at parting. 
 Wi. Gone whither? 
 Lu. To the wars. 
 Wi. She jeers me already. No, lady, 
 
 I'm already 
 Engaged to a siege at home, and till that 
 
 service 
 
 Be over, I enquire no new employments. 
 Lu. For honour's sake, what siege ? 
 Wi. A citadel, 
 
 That several forces are set down before, 
 And all is entrench'd. 
 Lu. What citadel? 
 Wi. A woman. 
 
 Lu. She cannot hold out long. 
 Wi. Ostend was sooner taken than her 
 
 fort 
 
 Is like to be, for anything I perceive. 
 Lu. Is she so well provided ? 
 Wi. Her provision 
 
 May fail her, but she is devilish obstinate; 
 She fears nor fire, nor famine. 
 Lu. What's her name? 
 Wi. Lucina. 
 
 Lu. Ha, ha, ha ! alas, poor colonel ! 
 If you'll take my advice, remove your 
 
 siege, 
 
 A province will be sooner won in the 
 Low Countries ; ha, ha, ha ! 
 Wi. Lady, you sent for me. 
 Lu. 'Twas but 
 
 To tell you my opinion in this business. 
 You'll sooner circumcise the Turk's do- 
 minions, 
 Than take this toy you talk of, I do know 
 
 it; 
 Farewell, good soldier ! ha, ha, ha ! and 
 
 yet 'tis pitv. 
 
 Is there no stratagem, no trick, no under- 
 mine? 
 
 If she be given so desperate, your body 
 Had need to be well victuall'd ; there's a 
 
 city 
 
 And suburbs in your belly, and you must 
 Lay in betimes, to prevent mutiny 
 Among the small guts, which, with wind of 
 
 venge else, 
 Will break your guard of buttons ; ha, ha, 
 
 ha! 
 
 Come .we'll laugh, and lie down in the next 
 room, Scutilla. [Exit. 
 
 Wi. So, so ! I did expect no good. 
 K K 
 
4Q3 
 
 THE BALL. 
 
 [ACT HI. 
 
 Why did not I strike her? but I'll do 
 
 something, 
 And be with you to bring before you think 
 
 on't. 
 Malice and Mercury assist me ! [Exit. 
 
 ACT THE THIRD. 
 
 Enter Lord and Barker. 
 
 Ba. So, so ; you have a precious time 
 
 on't. 
 Lord Ra. Who can help it, Frank ? if 
 
 ladies will 
 Be wild, repentance tame 'em! for my 
 
 part 
 I court not them, till they provoke me to 
 
 it. 
 
 Ba. And do they both affect you ? 
 Lord Ra. So they say, and 
 Did justify it to my face. 
 
 Ba. And you 
 Did praise their modesty? 
 
 Lord Ra. I confess I praised 'em 
 Both, when I saw no remedy. 
 Ba. You did ! and they believed? 
 Lord Ra. Religiously. 
 Ba. Do not, 
 Do not believe it, my young lord ; they'll 
 
 make 
 j Fools of a thousand such ; they do not love 
 
 you. 
 
 Lord Ra. Why, an't shall please your 
 | wisdom ? 
 
 Ba. They are women ; 
 That is a reason, and may satisfy you ; 
 They cannot love a man. 
 UrdRa. What then? 
 Ba. Themselves, 
 
 ' And all little enough ; they have a trick 
 "To conjure with their eyes, and perhaps 
 
 raise 
 A masculine spirit, but lay none. 
 
 Lord Ra. Good Cato, 
 Be not over-wise now : what is the reason 
 That women are not sainted in your calen- 
 dar? 
 
 You have no frosty constitution ? 
 Ba. Would you were half so honest I 
 Lord Ra. Why, a woman 
 May love thee one'day. 
 
 Ba. Yes, when I make legs 
 And faces, like such fellows as you are. 
 
 Enter Monsieur Le Frisk. 
 Lord Ra. Monsieur Le Frisk. 
 Le Fr. Serviteur. 
 Lord Ra. Nay, Frank, thou shalt not go. 
 
 Ba. I'll come again, when you ha' done 
 your jig. 
 
 Le Fr. Ah, monsieur. 
 
 Lord Ra. Come, you shall sit down ; 
 this fellow will make thee laugh. 
 
 Ba. I shall laugh at you both, and I 
 stay. 
 
 Lord Ra. Hark you, monsieur, this gen- 
 tleman has a great mind to learn to dance. 
 
 Le Fr. He command my service ; please 
 your lordship begin, tat he may see your 
 profit allez Hah ! 
 
 Lord Ra. Plow like you this, Frank ? 
 
 Ba. Well enough for the dog-days ; but 
 have you no other dancing for the 'vinter ? 
 a man may freeze, and walk thus. 
 
 Le Fr. It be all your grace, monsieur ; 
 your dance be horse-play, begar, for de 
 stable, not de chamber ; your ground pas- 
 sage, hah ! never hurt de back, monsieur, nor 
 trouble de leg mush ; hah, plait-il you 
 learn, monsieur? 
 
 Lord R a. For mirth's sake, and thou 
 lovest me. 
 
 LeFr. Begar, I teach you presently dance 
 with all de grace of de body for your good, 
 and my profit. 
 
 Ba. Pardon me, my lord. 
 
 LeFr. Oh, \\opardonnez moi. 
 
 Lord Ra. Do but observe his method. 
 
 Ba. I shall never endure it ; pox upon 
 him ! 
 
 LeFr. 'Tisbut dis in de beginning, one, 
 two, tree, four, five, the cinquepace ; allez, 
 monsieur! stand upright, ah ! begar. 
 
 Lord Ra. Let him set you into the 
 posture. 
 
 Fr. My broder, my lord, know well for 
 de litle kit, de fiddle, and me for de posture 
 of de body ; begar, de king has no two sush 
 subjects ; hah ! dere be one foot, two foot 
 have you tree foot ? begar, you have more 
 den I have den. 
 
 Ba. I shall break his fiddle. 
 
 Lord Ra. Thou art so humorous. 
 
 Le Fr. One, bien / two ; ha, you go 
 too fast ! you be at Dover, begar, and me 
 be at Greemvish ; tree toder leg ; pshaw ! 
 
 Ba. A pox upon your legs! I'll no 
 more. 
 
 Le Fr. Pourquoi ? 
 
 Lord Ra. Ha, ha, ha ! I would some 
 ladies were here to laugh at thee now. You 
 will not be so rude to meddle with the 
 monsieur in my lodging ? 
 
 Ba. I'll kick him to death, and bury 
 him in a bass-viol, jack-a-leat ! 
 
 Le Fr. Jack-a-lent ! begar, you be a 
 jackanape ; if I had my weapon you durst 
 
ACT III.] 
 
 THE BALL. 
 
 499 
 
 no affront me ; I be as good gentleman, 
 an for all my fiddle, as you : call me a 
 Jack-a-de-lent ! 
 
 Lord Ra. Rail upon him, monsieur ; I'll 
 secure thee ; ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Le Fr. Because your leg have de pock, 
 or something dat make 'em no veil, and 
 frisk, you make a fool of a monsieur. 
 My lord, use me like gentleman, and I 
 care no rush for you ; be desperate, kill 
 me, and me complain to de king, and 
 teach new dance, galliard to de gibbet ; 
 you be hanged in English fashion. 
 
 Ba. Go, you're an impertinent lord, and 
 I will be revenged. {Exit. 
 
 Lord Ra. Ha, ha ! good Diogenes. 
 Come, monsieur, you and I will not part 
 yet. 
 
 Le Fr. My lord, if you had not been 
 here, me wod have broken his head with 
 my fiddle. 
 
 Lord Ra. You might sooner have broke 
 your fiddle ; but strike up. 
 
 LeFr. Allez, ha! bon I 
 
 {They dance in. 
 Enter Bostock. 
 
 Bo. I spy Sir Marmaduke coming after 
 
 me. 
 This way I'll take to avoid his tedious 
 
 questions, 
 
 He'll interrupt me, and I ha" not finish'd 
 Things fit for my design. 
 
 Enter Sir Ambrose. 
 
 La. 'Tis Master Bostock ; little does he 
 
 think 
 What I am going upon; I fear I shall 
 
 not 
 
 Contain my joys. 
 
 Bo. Good fortune to Sir Ambrose ! 
 La. Sir, you must pardon [me], I can- 
 not wait 
 Upon you now, I ha' business of much 
 
 consequence. 
 Bo. I thought to have made the same 
 
 excuse to you, 
 
 For, at this present, I am so engaged 
 La. We shall meet shortly. 
 Both. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Bo. Poor gentleman, how is he beguiled ! 
 La. Your nose is wiped. Hum, 'tis Sir 
 Marmaduke ; 
 
 Enter Sir Marmaduke. 
 
 I must salute him. 
 
 Bo. The colonel? there's no going 
 back, 
 
 [Enter Colonel.] 
 
 Tr. What misfortune's this ? but 'tis no 
 
 matter. 
 
 Noble sir, how is't ? 
 La. As you see, sir. 
 Wi. As I could wish ; noble Master 
 
 Bostock. 
 
 Bo. Your humble servant, colonel. 
 Wi. Nay, nay, a word. 
 Tr. I shall not forbear jeering these 
 
 poor things. 
 They shall be mirth. 
 
 Wi. What, all met so happily 1 
 And how, my sparks of honour ? 
 
 La. Things so tickle me, 
 [ shall break out. 
 
 Wi. When saw you our mistress, Lady 
 
 Lucina ? 
 
 La. My suit is cold there ; Master Bos- 
 tock carries 
 
 The lady clean before him. 
 Bo. No, no, not I ; it is Sir Marmaduke. 
 Tr. I glean by smiles after Sir Am- 
 brose. 
 
 Wi. None of you see her to-day ? 
 I may as soon marry the moon, and get 
 children on her ; I see her not this three 
 days ; 'tis very strange, I was to present 
 my service this morning. 
 
 Tr. You'll march away with all. 
 
 Wi. I cannot tell, but there's small sign 
 
 of victory ; 
 
 And yet methinks you should not be ne- 
 glected, 
 
 If the fens go f 01 ward, and your iron mills. 
 Tr. Has she betrayed me ? 
 Wi. Some are industrious, 
 And have the excellent skill to cast brass 
 
 buttons. 
 
 Tr. Colonel, softly. 
 Wi. How will you sell your vinegar a 
 
 pint? 
 
 The patent's] something saucy. 
 La. The colonel jeers him. 
 Bo. Excellent, ha, ha ! 
 Wi. Had not you a head once f 
 Of hair, I mean favours ha glean d too 
 
 much ; 
 
 If ladies will have bracelets, let 'em stay 
 Till the next crop. 
 
 La. Hum ! the very language 
 She used to me. 
 Bo. Does he jeer him too? nay, nay, 
 
 prithee spare him ; ha, ha ! 
 Wi. You may do much, and yet I could 
 
 desire 
 
 You -were less honourable, for though you 
 have 
 
 K K 3 
 
THE BALL. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Blood of a deeper crimson, the good lady, 
 Out of her love, could wish you were a 
 
 thing 
 Beneath a footman, and that you had no 
 
 kindred 
 
 But knights o tK fost. 
 Bo. Good colonel 
 Wi. Nay, pardon me ; 
 In the humour I am in, I "wish, and 
 
 heartily, 
 You were a son d th people. 
 
 Bo. Colonel ; 
 How the devil came he by this ? 
 
 Wi. Under the rose, there was a gentle- 
 man 
 Came in at the wicket ; these are tales of 
 
 which 
 
 The Greeks have store. Fair hopes, gentle- 
 men ! 
 
 Tr. How came you by this intelligence? 
 Wi. Nay, I'll no whispering, what I 
 
 say to one 
 Will concern every man ; she has made 
 
 you coxcombs. 
 La. It does appear. 
 Wi. And more than does appear yet ; 
 I had my share. 
 
 Bo. That's some comfort : I was afraid 
 Wi. But you shall pardon me, I'll con- 
 ceal the particulars of her bountiful abuses 
 to me ; 
 
 Let it suffice, I know we are all 
 Jeer'd most abominably : I stood behind 
 The hangings, when she sign'd your 
 
 several passes, 
 And had my own at last, worse than the 
 
 constable's : 
 That this is true, you shall have more than 
 
 oath, 
 I'll join wi' ye in revenge, and if you will 
 
 not, 
 
 I will do 't alone. 
 Tr. She is a devil. 
 La. Damn her then ! till we think on 
 
 something else, 
 
 Let's all go back, and rail upon her ! 
 Bo. Agreed ; a pox upon her ! 
 Tr. We cannot be too bitter, she's a 
 
 hell-cat. 
 La. D'ye hear ? listen to me : our 
 
 shames are equal, 
 
 Yet if we all discharge at once upon her, 
 We shall but make confusion, and perhaps 
 Give her more cause to laugh ; let us choose 
 
 one 
 To curse her for us all. 
 
 Wi. "Tis the best way. 
 And if you love me, gentlemen, engage 
 me : 
 
 I deserve this favour for my discovery ; 
 I'll swear her into hell. 
 
 Tr. Troth, I have no good vein, I am 
 
 content. 
 Bo. Gentlemen, noble colonel, as you 
 
 respect 
 
 A wounded branch of the nobility, 
 Make it my office, she abused me most ; 
 And if the 'devil do not furnish me 
 With language, I will say he has no 
 
 malice. 
 Wi. If they consent. 
 
 With all our hearts. 
 
 Bo. I thank you, gentlemen. 
 Wi. But let us all together ; I'll not be 
 Barr'd, now and then, to interpose an 
 
 oath, 
 
 As I shall find occasion. 
 Bo. You'll relieve me : 
 When I take breath, then you may help, 
 
 or you, 
 
 Or any, to confound her. 
 Wi. Let's away. 
 Bo. Never was witch so tortured. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Freshwater, Gudgeon, and 
 Solomon. 
 
 So. Noble Master Freshwater, welcome 
 from travel. 
 
 Fr. Where be the ladies ? 
 
 So. In the next room, sir. 
 My Lady Rosamond is sitting for her pic- , 
 
 ture ; 
 I presume you will be welcome. 
 
 Fr. An English painter ? 
 
 So. Yes, sir. 
 
 Fr. Prithee let me see him. 
 
 [He gives Freshwater access to the 
 chamber, and returns. 
 
 So. This way, honest Gudgeon : 
 How are matters abroad?* a touch of 
 thy travel : what news ? 
 
 Gu. First, let me understand the state 
 of things at home. 
 
 So. We have little alteration since thott 
 went'st, the same news are in fashion, only 
 gentlemen are fain to ramble, and stumble 
 for their flesh, since the breach o' th' 
 Bank-side. 
 
 Gu. Is my aunt defunct ? 
 
 So. Yet the viragoes ha' not lost their 
 spirit ; some of them have challenged the 
 
 * How are matters abroad ?] The 410 reads, 
 and points, "How, and the matters abroad, a 
 touch, &c." Perhaps something is lost after 
 Hmv. GIFFORD. 
 
r 
 
 ACT III.] 
 
 THE BALL 
 
 field, every day, where gentlemen have 
 met 'em ; oh, the dog-days bit shrewdly, 
 'twas a villanous dead vacation. 
 
 On. Is Paul's alive still ? 
 
 So. Yes, yes ; a little sick o* th" stone ; 
 she voids some every day, but she is now 
 in physic, and may in time recover. 
 
 Gu. The Exchange stands ? 
 
 So. Longer than a church : there is no 
 fear, while the merchants have faith. A 
 little of thy travels, for the time is pre- 
 cious ; what things have you seen or done, 
 since you left England ? 
 
 Gu. I have not leisure to discourse of 
 particulars ; but, first, my master and I 
 have run France through and through. 
 
 So. Through and through ! how is that, 
 man? 
 
 Gu. Why, once forward, and once back- 
 ward, that's through and through. 
 
 So. 'Twas but a cowardly part to run a 
 kingdom through, backward. 
 
 Gu. Not with our horses, Solomon, not 
 with our horses. 
 
 Enter Freshwater, and Lady Rosamond. 
 
 Fr. Madam, I did not think your lady- 
 ship had so little judgment. 
 
 Ro. As how, signior ? 
 
 Fr. As to let an Englishman draw 
 your picture, and such rare monsieurs in 
 town. 
 
 Ro. Why not English? 
 
 Fr. Oh, by no means, madam, they ha' 
 not active pencils. 
 
 Ro. Think you so? 
 
 Fr. You must encourage strangers, 
 while you live ; it is the character of our 
 nation, we are famous for dejecting our 
 own countrymen. 
 
 Ro. Is that a principle ? 
 
 Fr. Who teaches you to dance? 
 
 Ro. A Frenchman, signior. 
 
 Fr. Why so, 'tis necessary ; trust, while 
 you live, the Frenchman with your legs, 
 your face with the Dutch. If you mislike 
 your face, I mean if it be not sufficiently 
 painted, let me commend, upon my credit, 
 a precious workman to your ladyship. 
 
 Ro. What is he? 
 
 Fr. Not an Englishman, I warrant you. 
 One that can please the ladies every way; 
 You shall not sit with him all day for 
 
 shadows. 
 He has regalios, and can present you 
 
 with 
 
 Sucketsof fourteen-pence a pound, Canary, 
 Prunellas, Venice glasses, Parmesan 
 
 Sugars, Bologna sausages, all from 
 
 Antwerp ; 
 
 But he will make ollapodridas most incom- 
 parably. 
 
 Ro. I have heard of him by a noble lady 
 Told me the t'other day, that sitting for 
 Her picture, she was stifled with a strange 
 Perfume of horns. 
 Fr. A butcher told me of 'em ; very 
 
 likely. 
 
 Ro. When I have need 
 Of this rare artist, I will trouble you 
 For your directions. Leaving this discourse, 
 How thrives your catalogue of debtors, 
 
 signior? 
 
 Fr. All have paid me, but 
 Ro. You shall not name me in the list cf 
 
 any 
 
 That are behind : beside my debt, a purse 
 For clearing the account. 
 
 Fr. You are just, madam, 
 And bountiful, though I came hither with 
 Simple intention to present my service. 
 It shall be crossed. Gudgeon, remember 
 
 to cross 
 
 Her ladyship's name. 
 Ro. My cousin has the same provision 
 for you. 
 
 Enter Barker and Lady Honoria. 
 
 Gu. Sir, Master Barker. 
 Fr. Madam, I'll take my leave. I'll find 
 another time to attend my lady : there's no 
 light. I cannot abide this fellow. 
 
 \Exit "with Gudgeon. 
 Ho. Madam, Master Barker hath some 
 
 design, 
 Which he pretends concerns us both. 
 
 Ro. He's welcome. 
 What is't ? 
 
 Ba. My lord commends him to ye. 
 
 Ro. Which lord, sir? 
 
 Ba. The lord, the fine, the wanton, 
 
 dancing lord ; 
 The lord that plays upon the gittern, and 
 
 sings, 
 
 Leaps upon tables, and does pretty things, 
 Would have himself commended. 
 Ro. So, sir. 
 
 Br. He loves you both, he told me so, 
 And laughs behind a vizard at your frailty ; 
 He cannot love that way you imagine, 
 And ladies of the game are now no 
 
 miracles. 
 Hv. Although he use to rail thus, yet we 
 
 have 
 Some argument to suspect his lordship's 
 
 tongue 
 Has been too liberal. 
 
5 02 
 
 THE BALL. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Ro. I find it too, and blush within to 
 
 think 
 How much we are deceived. I may be 
 
 even 
 With this May-lord. [Exit. 
 
 Ho. But does his lordship think 
 We were so taken with his person ? 
 . Ba. You would not, and you knew as 
 
 much as I. 
 Ho. How, sir? 
 Ba. I have been acquainted with his 
 
 body, 
 
 Ha' known his baths and physic. 
 Ho. Is't possible ? I am sorry now at 
 
 heart 
 I had a good thought on him ; he shall 
 
 see't, 
 
 For I will love some other in revenge, 
 And presently, if any gentleman 
 Ha' but the grace to smile, and court me 
 
 up to't. 
 Ba. Hum ! 
 
 Ho. A bubble of nobility ! a giddy, 
 Fantastic lord ! I want none of his titles. 
 Now, in my imaginations he appears 
 Ill-favour 'd, and not any part about him 
 Worth half a commendation ; would he 
 
 were here ! 
 
 Ba. You'd make more on him. 
 Ho. That I might examine, 
 And do my judgment right between you two 
 
 now, 
 How much he would come short ; you 
 
 have an eye 
 
 Worth forty of his, nose of another making: 
 I saw your teeth e'en now, compared to 
 
 which, 
 
 His are of the complexion of his comb, 
 I mean his box, and will in time be 
 
 yellower, 
 And ask more making clean ; you have a 
 
 show 
 Of something on your upper lip, a 
 
 witch 
 Has a philosopher's beard to him ; his 
 
 chin 
 Has just as many hounds as hairs, that 
 
 ever 
 My eyes distinguish'd yet : you have a 
 
 body 
 
 And unpromising in his slashes, one 
 May see through him ; and for his legs, they 
 both 
 
 1 A line or more has dropped out here. As 
 there is but one edition of this comedy, the loss 
 is irretrievable. GIFFORD. 
 
 Would but make stuffing for one handsome 
 
 stocking ; 
 They're a lord's, I will be sworn. I doat 
 
 upon him ! 
 I could wish somewhat, but I'm soriy, 
 
 sir, 
 To trouble you so much ; all happy 
 
 thoughts 
 Possess you ! [Exit. 
 
 Ba. How is this ? if I have wit 
 To apprehend, this lady does not hate 
 
 me. 
 
 I have profess'd a cynic openly : 
 This language melts, I'll visit her again. 
 
 Enter Honoria. 
 
 Ho. Sir, I have a small request to you. 
 Ba. Lady, command. 
 Ho. If you think I have power 
 Or will to deserve from you any courtesy, 
 Pray learn to dance. 
 Ba. To dance ? 
 
 Ho. At my entreaty, sir to dance, 
 It was the first thing took me with his lord- 
 ship, 
 
 You know not what may follow ; fare you 
 
 well. [Exit. 
 
 Ba. What pretends this ? to dance I 
 
 there's something in't. 
 I've revenged myself already upon my 
 
 lord; 
 
 Yet deeper with my lady is the sweeter : 
 Something must be resolved. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Lady Lucina and Scutilla. 
 
 Lu. Enough, enough of conscience ! let's 
 
 reserve 
 
 Part of the mirth to another time ; I shall 
 Meet some o' their hot worships at the 
 
 Ball, 
 Unless their apprehension prompt 'em 
 
 earlier 
 To know their folly in pursuing me. 
 
 Enter Solomon. 
 
 So. Madam, the gentlemen that were 
 
 here this morning 
 
 In single visits, are come all together, 
 And pray to speak with you. 
 
 Lu. They've met already. 
 Give 'em access. [Exit Solomon. 
 
 Sc. I wonder what they '11 say. 
 
 Enter Bostock, Lamount, Colonel, 
 and Travers. 
 
 Wi. Be confident, she shall endure it 
 Lu. So, so ; 
 
 How d'ye, gentlemen? you're very wel- 
 come. 
 
ACT III.] 
 
 THE BALI.. 
 
 503 
 
 La. 'Tis no matter for that ; we do not 
 come to be welcome, neither will we be 
 welcome. 
 
 Speak, Master Bostock. 
 Bo. We come to mortify you. 
 Lu. You will use no violence? 
 Bo. But of our tongues ; and in the 
 
 names of these 
 
 Abused gentlemen, and myself, I spit 
 Defiance : stand further off, and be atten- 
 tive, 
 Weep, or do worse ; repentance wet thy 
 
 linen, 
 
 And leave no vein for the doctor ! 
 Lu. They are mad. 
 Sc. There is no danger, madam ; let 
 
 us hear 'em ; 
 If they scold, we two shall be hard enough 
 
 for 'em, 
 
 And they were twenty. 
 Bo. Thou basilisk ! 
 Lu. At first sight ? 
 
 Bo. Whose eyes shoot fire and poison ! 
 Malicious as a witch, and much more cun- 
 ning ; 
 
 Thou that dost ride men 
 Lu. I ride men ? 
 Bo. Worse than the nightmare ! let thy 
 
 tongue be silent, 
 And take our scourges patiently ; thou 
 
 hast, 
 
 In thy own self, all the ingredients 
 Of wickedness in thy sex ; able to furnish 
 Hell, if t were insufficiently provided, 
 With falsehood and she-fiends of thy own 
 
 making ! 
 Circe, that charm 'd men into swine, was 
 
 not 
 So much a Jew as thou art ; thou hast 
 
 made 
 
 Us asses, dost thou hear ? 
 La. He speaks for us all. 
 Bo. But it is better we be all made 
 
 such, 
 
 Than any one of us be monster'd worse, 
 To be an ox, thy husband. 
 
 S T C ' I Ha, ha, ha ! 
 Lu. j 
 
 Bo. Dost thou laugh, crocodile? 
 
 Wi. That was well said. 
 
 Bo. Spirit of flesh and blood, I'll conjure 
 
 thee, 
 
 And let the devil lay thee on thy back. 
 I care not. 
 
 Tr. Admirable Bostock ! 
 
 Wi. That spirit of flesh and blood was 
 well enforced. 
 
 Bo. You thought us animals, insensible 
 Of all your jugglings, did you, Proserpine? 
 
 La. Ay, come to that. 
 
 Bo. And that we loved loved, with a 
 
 pox, your physnomy ! 
 Know, we but tried thee, beldam, and thou 
 
 art 
 
 Thyself a son o' the earth. 
 La, How ! she a son ? 
 Bo. 'Twas a mistake ; but she knows 
 
 my meaning. 
 
 I begin to be aweary, gentlemen, 
 I'll breathe awhile. 
 
 Wi. 'Tis time ; and that you may 
 Not want encouragement, take that. 
 Bo. Gentlemen, colonel, what do you 
 
 mean? 
 Wi. You shall know presently ; dare but 
 
 lift thy voice 
 To fright this lady, or but ask thy 
 
 pardon, 
 My sword shall rip thy body 'for thy 
 
 heart,* 
 
 And nail it on her threshold : or if you, 
 The proudest, offer but in looks to justify 
 The baseness of this wretch, your souls 
 
 shall answer it. 
 Tr. How's this? 
 Wi. Oh, impudence unheard [of] ! 
 
 Pardon, madam, 
 
 My tedious silence ; the affront grew up 
 So fast, I durst not trust my understanding 
 That any gentleman could attempt so 
 
 much 
 
 Dishonour to a lady of your goodness. 
 Was this your project, to make me appear 
 Guilty of that I hate beyond all sacrilege ? 
 Was it for this you pray'd my company, 
 You tadpoles? 'Tis. your presence charms 
 
 my sword, 
 Or they should quickly pay their forfeit 
 
 lives ; 
 
 No altar could protect 'em. 
 La. We are betray'd. 
 Tr. Was it not his plot to have us 
 
 rail? 
 
 Wi. Say, shall I yet be active? 
 Lu. By no means ; 
 This is no place for blood, nor shall my 
 
 cause 
 Engage to such a danger. 
 
 Wi. Live to be 
 Your own vexations, then, till you be 
 
 mad, 
 And then remove yourself with your own 
 
 garters. 
 
 You shall not go, 
 
 Before I know from whose brain this pro- 
 ceeded, 
 
 "Part" in the original quarto. ED. 
 
S4 
 
 THE BALL. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Of [which] you are the mouth.* 
 Was ever civil lady so abused 
 In her own house by ingrateful horse- 
 leeches? 
 Could your corrupted natures find no 
 
 way 
 
 But this to recompense her noble favours, 
 Her courteous entertainments ? would any 
 
 heathens 
 [Have e'er] done like to you? Admit she 
 
 was 
 So just to say she could see nothing in 
 
 you 
 Worthy her dearer thoughts (as, to say 
 
 truth, 
 
 How could a creature of her wit and judg- 
 ment 
 
 Not see how poor and miserable things 
 You are at best?) must you, impu- 
 dent, 
 
 In such a loud, and peremptory manner, 
 Disturb the quiet of her thoughts and 
 
 dwelling? 
 Gentlemen ! rather hinds, scarce fit to 
 
 mix, 
 Unless you mend your manners, with her 
 
 drudges. 
 Lu. This shows a nobleness, does it not, 
 
 Scutilla? 
 
 Bo. Why, sir, did not you tell us ? 
 Wi. What did I tell you ? 
 Bo. Nothing. 
 
 Wi. Begone, lest I forget myself. 
 Bo. I have a token to remember you : 
 A palsy upon your fingers, noble colonel ! 
 Tr. Was this his stratagem ! we must 
 be gone. {Exit. 
 
 Lu. Sir, I must thank ye, and desire 
 
 your pardon 
 
 For what has pass'd to your particular. 
 Wi. You've more than satisfied my 
 
 service in 
 Th' acknowledgment ; disdain cannot 
 
 provoke me 
 To be so insolent. 
 Lu. Again I thank you. 
 Wi. I can forget your last neglect, if 
 
 you 
 
 Think me not too unworthy to expect 
 Some favour from you. 
 Lu. How do you mean ? 
 
 Wi. Why, as 
 : A servant should, that is ambitious 
 
 * [Of which] you are the mouth.] The old 
 copy reads 
 
 ^ " from whose 
 Brain this proceeded, you are the mirth" 
 
 GIFFORD. 
 
 To call you mistress, till the happier title 
 Of wife crown his desires. 
 
 Lu. I must confess, 
 This has won much upon me ; but two 
 
 words 
 
 To such a bargain ; you're a gentleman, 
 I'm confident, would adventure for me. 
 Wi. As far as a poor life could speak 
 
 my service. 
 Lu. That's fair, and far enough : I make 
 
 not any 
 Exception to your person. 
 
 Wi. Body enough, 
 I hope, to please a lady. 
 Lu. But 
 Wi. To my fortune ? 
 Lu. To that the least ; I have estate for 
 
 both. 
 Wi. Though it hold no comparison 
 
 with yours, 
 
 It keeps me like a gentleman. 
 Lu. I have a scruple. 
 Wi. You honour me in this ; 
 There's hope, if I can take away that care, 
 You may be mine. 
 
 L^(. Sir, can you put me in security 
 That you have been honest ? 
 
 Wi. Honest ! how do you mean ? 
 
 Lu. Been honest of your body ; you are 
 
 gentlemen, 
 
 Out of the wars live lazy, and feed high, 
 Drink the rich grape, and in Canary may 
 Do strange things, when the wine has 
 
 wash'd away 
 Discretion. 
 
 Wi. What is your meaning, lady? 
 Lu. I do not urge you for the time to 
 
 come : ' 
 Pray understand, have you been honest 
 
 hitherto ? 
 And yet, because you shall not trouble 
 
 friends 
 
 To be compurgators, I'll be satisfied, 
 If you will take your own oath that you 
 
 are. 
 
 Wi. Honest of my body ? 
 Lu. Yes, sir ; it will become me to be 
 
 careful 
 
 Of my health ; I'll take your own assur- 
 ance ; 
 
 If you can clear your body by an oath, 
 I'll marry none but you, before this gentle- 
 woman. 
 
 Wi. Your reason why you use me thus ? 
 Lu. I wonder you will ask ; do not I 
 
 hear 
 How desperate some ha' been, what pain, 
 
 what physic ! 
 Wi. This is a tale of a tub, lady. 
 
I ACT IV.] 
 
 THE BALL. 
 
 SOS 
 
 Lit. You rid no match without a shirt, 
 
 to show 
 The complexion of your body : I have 
 
 done, sir. 
 When you resolve to swear y' are 
 
 honest, I 
 Vow to be yours, your wife : I am not 
 
 hasty, 
 Think on't, and tell me, when we meet 
 
 again, 
 Anon, to-night, to-morrow, when you 
 
 please ; 
 So farewell, noble colonel. Come, Scu- 
 
 tilla. [Exeunt. 
 
 WL Is't come to this? I am jeer'd 
 
 again. 
 
 Is't possible to be honest at these years? 
 A man of my complexion, and acquain- 
 tance ! 
 Was ever a gentleman put to this oath 
 
 before, 
 
 A this fashion? 
 
 If I ha' the grace now to forswear myself, 
 Something may be done, and yet 'tis doubt- 
 ful 
 She'll have more tricks ; if widows be thus 
 
 coltish, 
 The devil will have a task that goes a- 
 
 wooing. \_Exit. 
 
 ACT THE FOURTH. 
 Enter Lord and Bostock. 
 
 Bo. Such an affront, my lord, I was 
 
 ashamed on't ! 
 
 A mere conspiracy to betray our fames ; 
 But had you seen how poorly they behaved 
 Themselves, such craven* knights ! a pair 
 
 of dromrbees ! 
 
 I' the midst of my vexation, if I could 
 Forbear to laugh, I ha' no blood in me : 
 They were so far from striking, that they 
 
 stood 
 
 Like images, things without life and motion, 
 Fear could not make so much as their 
 
 tongue tremble ; 
 Left all to me. 
 
 Lord Ra. So, so ; what then did you? 
 Bo. The lady laugh 'd too, and the colonel 
 Increased his noise, to see how she derided 
 The poor knights. 
 Lord Ra. Leave their character, and 
 
 proceed 
 To what you did. 
 
 * " Carven " in the quarto. ED. 
 
 Bo. You shall pardon me, my lord, 
 I am not willing to report myself ; 
 They, and the lady, and the colonel, 
 Can witness I came on. 
 
 LordRa. But how came you off, cousin? 
 
 that must commend you. 
 Bo. I ha 1 my limbs, my lord, no sign 
 
 of loss 
 Of blood, you see ; but this was fortune : 
 
 how 
 
 The colonel came off' s uncertain. 
 Lord Ra. Do not you know ? 
 Bo. No, I left him ; I think 'twas time. 
 Lord Ra. You did not kill him ? 
 Bo. Upon my faith, my lord, I meant it 
 
 not ; 
 But wounds fall out sometime when the 
 
 sword's in. 
 These are poor things to brag on, I have 
 
 saved 
 
 Myself, you see. 
 
 Lord Ra. If it be so, I'll call you cousin 
 still ! my satirist ! 
 
 Enter Barker. 
 
 Hark, you shall beat this fellow. 
 Bo. Shall I, my lord? without cause? 
 Lord Ra. He shall give you 
 
 Cause presently. Plow now, gumm'd taf- 
 feta? 
 Ba. I pay for what I wear, my satin lord ; 
 
 Your wardrobe does not keep me warm ; I 
 do not 
 
 Run o' the ticket with the mercer's wife, 
 
 And lecher out my debts at country-houses. 
 Lord Ra. There's something else you do 
 
 not. 
 Ba. I do not use to flatter such as you are, 
 
 Whose bodies are so rotten they'll scarce 
 keep 
 
 Their souls from -breaking out ; I write no 
 odes 
 
 Upon your mistress, to commend her pos- 
 tures, 
 
 And tumbling in a coach towards Pad- 
 dington ; 
 
 Whither you hurry her to see the pheasants, 
 
 And try what operation the eggs have 
 
 At your return. I am not taken with 
 
 Your mighty nonsense, glean'd from 
 heathenish plays, 
 
 Which leave a curse upon the author for 
 'em ; 
 
 Though I have studied to redeem you 
 from 
 
 The infection of such books which martyr 
 sense 
 
 Worse than an almanack. 
 Lord Ra. Excellent satire ! 
 
506 
 
 THE BALL. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 But lash not on ; stop here, or I shall kick 
 Your learned worship. 
 Ba. But do not, I advise you, do not. 
 Lord Ra. Why do not ? 
 Ba. It will fall heavy o' somebody ; ii 
 
 your lordship 
 Kick me, I shall not spare your cousin 
 
 there. 
 Lord Ra. On that condition, what do 
 
 you think o' that ? 
 Ba. What do you think? 
 Bo. Excellently well followed, by my 
 
 troth, la ! 
 He'll pitch the bar well, I warrant, he does 
 
 so 
 
 Follow his kick. 
 Ba. Let it go round. 
 Bo. Good ! right as my leg again. 
 Lord Ra. Your leg ! 'twas he that kick'd 
 
 you. 
 
 Bo. D'ye think I do not feel it ? 
 Lord Ra. Why d'ye not use your toes, 
 
 then? 
 
 Bo. What, for a merry touch, 
 A trick, a turn upon the toe ? Do you 
 
 hear, sir, 
 You are good company, but if thou lovest 
 
 me 
 
 Ba. Love you? why, d'ye hear, sir? 
 Bo. Ay, ay. 
 Ba. What a pox should any man see in 
 
 you, 
 
 Once to think on you ? love a squirt ! 
 Shall I tell thee what thou art good for ? 
 Bo. Ay. 
 
 Ba. For nothing. 
 Bo. Good again ! my lord, observe him, 
 
 for nothing ! 
 Ba. Yes, thou wilt stop a breach in a 
 
 mud wall, 
 
 Or serve for a Priapus in the garden, 
 To fright away crows, and keep the corn 
 
 binshatter, 
 Thou wilt. 
 
 Bo. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Ba. Or thou wilt serve at Shrovetide to 
 
 ha' thy legs 
 Broken with penny truncheons in the 
 
 street : 
 
 ''Tis pity any cock should stand the pelting, 
 And such a capon unpreferr'd. 
 Bo. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 Ba. Cry mercy, you are a kinsman to 
 
 the lord, 
 
 A gentleman of high and mighty blood. 
 Lord Ra. But cold enough ; will not all 
 
 this provoke him ? 
 
 Ba. Dost hear? for all this, I will 
 undertake 
 
 To thrash a better man out of a wench 
 That travels with her buttermilk to market 
 Between two dorsers, any day o' th" 
 
 week, 
 My twice-sod tail of green fish ; I will 
 
 do't, 
 Or lose my inheritance ; tell me, and do 
 
 not stammer, 
 When wert thou cudgell'd last ? what 
 
 woman beat thee ? 
 Bo. Excellent Barker ! 
 Ba. Thou art the town-top ; 
 A boy will set thee up, and make thee 
 
 spin 
 Home with an eel-skin : do not marry, do 
 
 not ; 
 Thy wife will coddle thee, and serve thee 
 
 up 
 
 In plates with sugar and rose-water 
 To him that had the grace to cuckold thee : 
 And if Pythagoras' transmigration 
 Of souls were true, thy spirit should be 
 
 tenant 
 To a horse. 
 Bo. Why to a horse? 
 Ba. A switch and spur would do some 
 
 good upon you ; 
 Why dost thou interfere? get the crin- 
 
 comes, go, 
 
 And straddle, like a gentleman that would 
 Not shame his kindred : but what do I 
 Lose time with such a puppy ? 
 
 Bo. Well, go thy ways, I'll justify thy wit 
 At my own peril. 
 
 Ba. I would speak with you : 
 Be not too busy with your lordship's legs, 
 I'll tell you somewhat. 
 Lord Ra. Speak to the purpose, then. 
 Ba. I bestow 'd 
 
 A visit on the ladies which you wot on ; 
 They have their wits still, and resolve to 
 
 keep them, 
 They will not hang themselves for a young 
 
 lord, 
 
 Nor grow into consumption ; other men 
 Have eyes, and nose, and lips, and hand- 
 some legs too ; 
 So fare you well, my lord : I left your 
 
 kick 
 With your cousin. Bye, bye, otter, 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 LordRa. Very well. 
 But hark you, cousin Bostock ; you have a 
 
 mild 
 
 And modest constitution ; I expected 
 You would have lifted up your leg. 
 
 Bo. To kick him ! 
 
 Why, and you would ha' given a thousand 
 pound, 
 
ACT IV.J 
 
 THE BALL. 
 
 5<>7 
 
 " could not do't for laughing ; beside, 
 He was your friend, my lord. 
 
 Lord Ra. Did you spare him 
 For that consideration ? 
 
 Bo. Howsoever, 
 What honour had it been for me to 
 
 quarrel, 
 
 Or wit, indeed ? if every man should take 
 All the abuses that are meant, great men 
 Would be laugh'd at ; some fools must 
 
 ha' their jests. 
 Had he been any man of blood or 
 
 valour, 
 One that profess'd the sword, such as the 
 
 colonel, 
 Less provocation would ha* made me 
 
 active. 
 
 Enter Sir Ambrose and Sir Marmaduke. 
 
 Lord Ra, The eagle takes no flies ; is 
 
 that it ? How now, 
 Sir Ambrose, and my honour 'd friend, Sir 
 
 Marmaduke ! 
 You are strangers. 
 
 Tr. Your lordship's pardon. Master 
 
 Bostock. 
 
 Bo. Now shall I be put to't ; 
 This taking will undo me. 
 
 Lord Ra. Prithee tell me ? 
 Is the colonel alive still ? 
 La. Alive, my lord ! yes, yes, he's alive. 
 Bo. Did your lordship think absolutely 
 
 he was dead ? 
 
 Lord Ra. But he is shrewdly wounded. 
 La. No, my lord, 
 He is very well ; but 'twas your kinsman's 
 
 fortune 
 
 Bo. Prithee, ne'er speak on't. 
 Lord Ra. What? 
 
 Tr. To have a blow, a box o' the ear. 
 Lord R a. How? 
 Tr. With his fist, and an indifferent 
 
 round one. 
 Bo. Yes, yes, he did strike me, I could 
 
 ha' told you that ; 
 But wherefore did he strike? ask 'em 
 
 that. 
 Tr. If you would know, my lord, he was 
 
 our orator, 
 
 To rail upon the lady for abusing us, 
 Which, I confess, he did with lungs and 
 
 spirit ; 
 
 [For] which, in the conclusion, the colonel 
 Struck him to the ground. 
 Bo. He did so, 'tis a truth. 
 Lord Ra. And did you take it ? 
 Bo. Take it? 
 
 He gave it me, my lord, I ask'd not for it ; 
 But 'tis not yet revenged. 
 
 La. Tis truth, we suffer'cl 
 A little, but the place protected him. 
 Bo. It was no place indeed. 
 Tr. Now, since you had 
 The greatest burden in the affront 
 Bo. The blow ? 
 Tr. Right, we would know whether your 
 
 resolution 
 Be first, to question him ; for our cause 
 
 appears 
 
 Subordinate, and may take breath, till you 
 Have call'd him to account. 
 
 Bo. I proclaim nothing, 
 And make no doubt the colonel will give 
 
 me 
 Satisfaction, like a gentleman. 
 
 La. We are answer'd, 
 And take our leave, my lord. 
 LordRa. We shall meet at the Ball anon, 
 
 gentlemen. 
 
 Tr. Your lordship's servants. Now to 
 our design. [Exeunt. 
 
 Bo. My lord, I take my leave too. 
 Lord Ra. Not yet, cousin ; you and I 
 
 have not done. 
 
 Bo. What you please, cousin. 
 Lord Ra. You have cozen 'd me too 
 
 much. 
 
 Bo. I, my good lord? 
 LordRa. Thou most unheard-of coward! 
 How dare you boast relation to me ? 
 Be so impudent as to name, or think upon 
 
 me ? 
 Thou stain to honour ! honour ? thou'rt 
 
 beneath 
 All the degrees of baseness : quit thy 
 
 father, 
 Thy supposed one, and with sufficient 
 
 testimony, 
 Some serving-man leap'd thy mother, or 
 
 some juggler 
 
 That conjures with old bones ; some wo- 
 man's tailor, 
 When he brought home her petticoat, and 
 
 took measure 
 
 Of her loose body, or I'll cullice thee 
 With a battoon. 
 Bo. Good my lord. 
 LordRa. Be so baffled, 
 In presence of your mistress ! 'tis enough 
 To make the blood of all thou know'st sus- 
 pected ; 
 
 And I'll ha' satisfaction 
 Bo. My lord 
 
 Lord Ra. For using of my name in or- 
 dinaries, 
 In the list of others whom you make your 
 
 privilege 
 To domineer, and win applause sometimes 
 
THE BALL. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 With tapsters, and threadbare tobacco- 
 merchants, 
 
 That worship your gold-lace, and igno- 
 rance, 
 
 Stand bare, and bend their hams, when you 
 belch out 
 
 My lord, and t' other cousin, in a bawdy- 
 house, 
 
 Whom, with a noise, you curse by Jack and 
 Tom, 
 
 For failing you at Fish-street, or the Still- 
 yard. 
 
 Bo. My very good lord ! 
 Lord Ra. Will you not draw? 
 Bo. Not against your honour ; but you 
 
 shall see 
 
 Lord Ra. And vex my eyes, to look on 
 such a land-rat. 
 
 Were all these shames forgotten, how 
 shall I 
 
 Be safe in honour with that noble lady, 
 
 To whom I sinfully commended thee, 
 
 Though 'twere not much, enough to make 
 her think 
 
 I am as base as thou art ; and the colonel, 
 
 And all that have but heard thee call me 
 cousin ? 
 
 What cure for this, you malt-worm? oh, 
 my soul, 
 
 How it does blush to know thee ! bragging 
 puppy ! 
 
 Do ye hear me, thunder and lightning ! 
 what 
 
 Nobility my predecessors boasted, 
 
 Or any man from honour's stock de- 
 scended ; 
 
 How many marquises and earls are 
 number'd 
 
 In their great family : what coats they 
 quarter, 
 
 How many battles our forefathers fought ! 
 
 'Tis poor, and not becoming perfect 
 gentry 
 
 To build their glories at their fathers' 
 cost, 
 
 But at their own expense of blood or 
 virtue, 
 
 To raise them living monuments : our 
 birth 
 
 Is not our own act ; honour upon trust 
 
 Our ill deeds forfeit ; and the wealthy 
 sums 
 
 Purchased by others' fame or sweat, will be 
 
 Our stain, for we inherit nothing truly 
 
 But what our actions make us worthy of. 
 
 And are you not a precious gentleman ? 
 
 Thou art not worth my steel ; redeem this 
 love 
 
 Some generous way of undertaking, or 
 
 Thou shalt be given up to boys ard 
 
 ballets, 
 The scorn of footmen, a disgrace more 
 
 black 
 
 Than bastard. Go to the colonel 
 Bo. I will, my lord. 
 Lord Ra. But, now I think on't, 'twill 
 
 be necessary 
 That first you right my honour with the 
 
 lady. 
 
 You shall carry a letter ; you will do't? 
 Bo. I'll carry anything. 
 Lord Ra. Expect it presently. [Exit. 
 Bo. Such another conjuring will make 
 
 me 
 
 Believe I am illegitimate indeed. 
 This came first o' keeping company with 
 
 the blades, 
 From whom I learnt to roar and run 
 
 away ; 
 
 I know 'tis a base thing to be a coward, 
 But every man's not born to be a 
 
 Hercules ; 
 Some must be beat, that others may be 
 
 valiant. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Rosamond and Honoria whispering; 
 Sir Marmaduke and Sir Ambrose 
 following. 
 
 Ro. Let it be so, they will else be 
 
 troublesome. 
 Tr. This cannot, I hope, displease you, 
 
 lady, 'tis 
 
 No new affection, I protest, although 
 This be the first occasion I took 
 To express it. 
 
 Ro. You did ill in the impression ; 
 Although your bashfulness would not 
 
 permit you 
 To speak in your own cause, you might 
 
 have sent 
 
 Your meaning ; I can make a shift to read 
 A scurvy hand ; but I shall tell you, sir 
 Tr. Prithee do. 
 Ho. Is't possible 
 Your heart hath been tormented in love's 
 
 flame, 
 And I the cause ? 
 
 La. Your beauty hath the power 
 To melt a Scythian's bosom, those divine 
 Beams would make soft the earth, when 
 
 rugged winter 
 Hath seal'd the crannies up with frost ; your 
 
 eye 
 
 Will make the frigid region temperate, 
 Should you but smile upon't : account it 
 
 then 
 No wonder if it turn my breast to ashes. 
 
ACT I V.I 
 
 THE BALL. 
 
 509 
 
 Ro. I see you are in love, by your in- 
 vention, 
 And 'cause I pity a gentleman should 
 
 lose 
 His passion, I'll acquaint you with a 
 
 secret. 
 
 Tr. The Lady Honoria ! 
 Ko . What misfortune 'twas 
 You did not first apply yourself to her, 
 That can icward your love, and hath a 
 
 heart 
 Spacious to entertain you ! she does love 
 
 you, 
 
 Upon my knowledge, strangely, and so 
 Commends you in your absence ! 
 
 Tr. Say you so, lady ? 
 Pardon, I beseech you, the affection 
 I profcss'd to your ladyship, 'twas but 
 A compliment ; I am sorry, I protest. 
 Ro. Oh, 'tis excused, sir ; but I must 
 
 tell you, 
 
 Perhaps you will not find her now so tract- 
 able, 
 
 Upon the apprehension she was slighted : 
 But, to prescribe you confidence, were to 
 Suspect your art and bold discretion. 
 
 Ho. 'Tis as I tell you, sir ; no lady in 
 The world can speak more praises of your 
 
 body ; 
 
 She knows not yet your mind. 
 La. Js't possible? 
 
 Ho. And yet, because she saw your com- 
 pliments 
 
 Directed so unhappily to me, 
 I know not how you'll find her on the sud- 
 den ; 
 
 But 'tis not half an hour since you pos- 
 sess 'd 
 The first place in her thoughts. 
 
 La. Shall I presume, 
 You will excuse the love I did present 
 Your ladyship? it was not from my 
 
 heart, 
 
 I hope you will conceive so. 
 Ho. A slight error. 
 La. I am ashamed on't. 
 Ho. 'Tis sufficient 
 That you recant, no more neglect. 
 JRo. You are pleasant. 
 La. Be you so too ; I'll justify thou shall 
 have cause. 
 
 Ro. To wonder at you ; what's your 
 meaning, sir ? 
 
 La. Sweet lady, 
 What thoughts make sad your brow? I 
 
 have observed 
 Your eyes shoot clearer light. 
 
 Ro. You are deceived, 
 I am not melancholy. 
 
 La. Be for ever banish'd 
 The imagination of what can happen 
 To cloud so rare a beauty ; you're in 
 
 love. 
 
 Ro. In love? who told you so? 
 La. But that's no wonder, 
 We all may love, but you have only 
 
 power 
 
 To conquer where you place affection, 
 And triumph o'er your wishes. 
 
 Ho. I love you ? 
 
 You are strangely, sir, mistaken ; 
 Put your devices on some other lady ; 
 I have been so far from any affection to 
 
 you, 
 
 That I have labour'd, I confess, to unsettle 
 The opinion of my Lady Rosamond, 
 Who, I confess, loves you, and that ex- 
 tremely. 
 Tr. How ! she love me ? then I ha' 
 
 made fine work. 
 Ho. What cunning she is mistress of, to 
 
 hide 
 Her strange affections, or what power she 
 
 has, 
 She does [not] fly into your arms, I know 
 
 not. 
 
 Ro. Are you so dull ? 
 Why, this was but to try your constancy ; 
 I have heard her swear you are the pro- 
 
 perest knight, 
 The very Adonis ! why, she has got your 
 
 picture, 
 And made it the only saint within her 
 
 closet ; 
 I blush at your credulity. 
 
 La. Is it e'en so ? 
 
 I have undone myself with her already. 
 Pardon me, gentle madam, I must leave 
 
 you. 
 Ro. With all my heart. 
 
 Enter Monsieur. 
 
 Ho. We are relieved. \ 
 
 Monsieur Le Frisk. 
 
 Left'. Tres humble serviteur, madame ; I 
 me sweat with de hast to wait upon your 
 ladyships ; I pray give me de leve, dispatch | 
 presently, for I mush figaries to be done. 
 
 Ro. Gentlemen, let your passions breathe 
 
 awhile, 
 
 A little music may correct the error, 
 And you may find yourselves. 
 
 LeFr. Allcz. 
 
 La. With all my heart. Sir Marmaduke, 
 
 let's help 
 To exercise the ladies. 
 
 Tr. A good motion ! 
 
 Le Fr. And begar noting in de world 
 
THE BALL. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 more profet your body den de motion a la 
 mode de France. 
 
 Tr. I am for any frisk. 
 
 Fr, Ha ! de frisk ! you jump upon my 
 name, and, begar, you have my nature to 
 de right, hey ! and all de world is but 
 frisk. 
 
 Ho. A country dance, then. 
 
 Le Fr. Ha, monsieur, madame, allez. 
 {they dance.} Fort bon ! Jres excellent! 
 begar, so I crave your patience, madam, 
 gentlemen, you be at de Ball ; ma foi ! 
 you see dat was never in dis world. 
 
 Ro. What, monsieur? 
 
 Le Fr. What do you think dat is ? me tell 
 you ; begar, you see me play de part of de 
 Cupid. 
 
 Ho. A French Cupid? 
 
 Le Fr. Begar, French Cupid, why ? dere 
 is no love like de French love, dat is 
 Cupid ; love is hot, and de French is hot. 
 
 Ro. How comes it to pass that you are 
 to play Cupid, monsieur ? 
 
 Le Fr. My lord give me command, me 
 have device, and de masque for de ladies, 
 and me no trust little jackanape to play 
 young Cupid, but myself. 
 
 Ho. Cupid is a child, you have a beard, 
 monsieur. 
 
 Le Fr. Me care not de hair for dat ; begar, 
 de little god may have de little beard : 
 Venus his moder have de mole, and Cupid 
 her shild may have the black mussel. 
 
 Ho. But, monsieur, we read Cupid was 
 fair, and you are black ; how will that 
 agree ? 
 
 Le Fr. Cupid is fair, and monsieur is 
 black ; why, monsieur is black den, and 
 Cupid is fair, what is dat ? a fair lady love 
 de servant of the black complexion de 
 bonne heure! the colour is not de mush; 
 Vulcan was de blacksmith, and Cupid may 
 be de black gentleman, his son legitimate. 
 
 La. Tis the way to make Cupid the boy 
 no bastard. 
 
 Le Fr. But do you no publish this inven- 
 tion ; me meet yon at de Ball armed with 
 quiver and de bow. 
 
 Ho. You will not shoot us, I hope ; 
 you'll spare our hearts. 
 
 Le Fr. Begar, me shit you, if me can, and 
 your 'arts shall bleed one, two, three, 
 gallown ; adieu, madame! sennteur, 
 gentlemen, ires-humble. 
 
 La. Adieu, monsieur. Now, madam, 
 
 with your favour 
 I must renew my suit. 
 
 Ho. You had better buy a new one ; 
 Nay, then, we shall be troubled. [Exit. 
 
 La. You'll withdraw, 
 I'll follow you. 
 
 Tr. Come, come, I know you love me. 
 Ro. You may enlarge your folly, my dear 
 
 knight ; 
 
 But I have pardon'd you for love already. 
 Tr. This shall not serve your turn ; 
 
 I came hither 
 
 Not to be jeer'd, and one of you shall love 
 me. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Bostock, Lady Lucina, and Scutilla.. 
 
 Lu. Oh, impudence ! dares he return ? 
 
 Sc. It seems so. 
 
 Bo. Most gracious madam, my cousin, 
 
 your Lord Rainbow,* 
 Commends himself in black and white. 
 
 Lu. To me? 
 
 Bo. D'ye think 'tis from myself? 
 
 Sc. You might ha' done't in black and 
 blue. 
 
 Bo. Scutilla, how dost thou, poor soul ? 
 thou hast no husband nor children to 
 commend me to. 
 
 Sc. The poor soul's well ; I hope your 
 body is recovered ; does not your left cheek 
 burn still ? 
 We ha' so talked of you. 
 
 Lu. / am sorry any gentleman that 
 has relation to me should be so forgetful 
 of your honour and his own; but though 
 he have forfeited opinion, let me continue 
 innocent in your thoughts : / have sent you 
 a sm fll jewel to expiate my offence for corn- 
 menu . ng him. / expect your ladyship at 
 the Ball, where you shall make many 
 happy to kiss your hand ; and in their 
 number the true admirer of your virtue. 
 RAINBOW. 
 My lord is honourable. 
 
 Bo. A slight jewel, madam. 
 
 Lu. 1 am his servant. 
 
 Bo. Nay, 'faith, my lord is right ; I ha' 
 
 not met 
 The colonel since you know when. 
 
 Sc. You ha' more reason to remember. 
 
 * tny cousin, the Lord Rainbow.] 
 Here the old copy perversely reads, "youi 
 Lord Loveall ;" and the letter below is signed 
 Loveall. What is no less extraordinary, in the 
 very last scene of the play we have "Enter Sir 
 Stephen and Sir Lionel:" names which have 
 never appeared before, and which are evidently 
 meant for Sir Ambrose and Sir Marmaduke. 
 If it were not a mere loss of time to strive to 
 account for the errors of a piece so "cursedly 
 printed," we might conjecture that Chapman 
 and Shirley had not compared their list of cha- 
 racters. GIFFORD. 
 
ACT IV.] 
 
 THE BALL. 
 
 2Ji>. I would be so bold to ask you a 
 
 question. 
 Lit. In the meantime give me leave 
 
 we are none but friends, 
 I know y' are valiant 
 Bo. No, no, you do not know't, but I 
 
 know myself. 
 Sc. That's' more. 
 /,//. But will you answer me? why did 
 
 not you 
 Strike him again ? 
 
 Sc. That might ha' caused blood. 
 
 Do. You're i' th' right. 
 
 Lu. You did not fear him ? 
 
 Bo. But bloods are not alike, terms we. c 
 
 not even, 
 
 If I had kill'd him there had been an end. 
 Lu. Of him. 
 Bo. Right, madam ; but if he had 
 
 wounded me, 
 He might ha' kill'd heaven knows how 
 
 many. 
 
 Sc. Strange ! 
 Bo. Do you not conceive it ? so many 
 
 drops of mine, 
 So many gentlemen ; nay, more, who 
 
 knows 
 Which of these might have been a knight, 
 
 a lord 
 
 Lu. Perhaps a prince ? 
 Bo. Princes came from the blood, 
 And should I hazard such a severation* 
 Against a single life? 'tis not, I fear 
 To fight with him, by these hilts ! but what 
 
 wise gamester 
 Will venture a hundred pound to a flaw'd 
 
 sixpence ? 
 
 Sc. Madam, the colonel. 
 Bo. And he were ten colonels, 
 I'll not endure his company. Sweet lady, 
 You and I'll retire. 
 Sc. And [you] were less honourable. 
 Bo. He should not seek me then. 
 Sc. He should rather hardly find you ; 
 I'm your servant. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Colonel. 
 
 Lu. I was wishing for you, sir ; 
 Your judgment of these diamonds ? 
 I f 7. The stones are pretty. 
 Lu. They were a lord's, sent me for a 
 
 token, 
 
 You cannot choose but know him, the Lord 
 Rainbow. 
 
 * And should I hazard such a severation.] 
 Gifford suggests " generation " as the true 
 reading. ED. 
 
 Wi. So, so, so ! I am like to speed. 
 Lu. Is not he a pretty gentleman ? 
 Wi. And you are sure he's honest ? 
 Lu. As lords go now-a-days, that are in 
 
 fashion ; 
 But cry you mercy, you have put me in 
 
 mind, 
 
 I did propound a business to you, sir. 
 Wi. And I came prepared to answer 
 
 you. 
 Lu. 'Tis very well, I'll call one to be a 
 
 witness. 
 Wi. That was not, I remember, in our 
 
 covenant, 
 
 You shall not need. 
 Lu. I'll fetch you a book to swear by. 
 Wi. Let it be Venus and Adonis, 
 
 then, 
 
 Or Ovid's wanton Elegies, Aristotle's 
 Problems, Guy of Warwick, or Sir Bevis ; 
 Or if there be a play-book you love 
 
 better, 
 
 I'll take my oath upon the Epilogue. 
 Lu. You're very merry ; well, swear how 
 
 you please. 
 Wi. In good time ; 
 You do expect now I should swear I'm 
 
 honest ? 
 
 Lu. Yes, sir, and 'tis no hard condition, 
 If you reflect upon my promise. 
 Wi. What? 
 Lu. To marry you, which act must make 
 
 you lord 
 
 Of me and my estate, a round posses- 
 sion ; 
 Some men have gone to hell for a less 
 
 matter. 
 Wi. But I will not be damn'd for twenty 
 
 thousand 
 
 Such as you are, had every one a million, 
 And I the authority of a parliament 
 To marry with you all ; I would not, by 
 This flesh ! [taking her hand.] Now, I 
 
 have sworn. 
 
 Lu. I think so, colonel ; 
 Bless me ! twenty thousand wives? 'twould 
 
 ne'er 
 Come to my turn ; and you'd not live to 
 
 give 
 The tithe benevolence. 
 
 Wi. They would. find pages, fools, 
 Or gentlemen-ushers. 
 
 Lu. Then, upon the matter, 
 You being not willing, sir, to take your 
 
 oath, 
 
 I may be confident you are not honest. 
 Wi. Why, look upon me, lady, and 
 
 consider, 
 With some discretion, what part about me 
 
THE BALL. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Does look so tame you should suspect me j 
 honest ? 
 
 How old do you think I am ? 
 Lu. I guess at thirty. 
 Wi. Some i' th' world doubted me not 
 so much ; 
 
 At thirteen I was ever plump and for- 
 ward ; 
 
 My dry-nurse swore at seven I kiss'd like 
 one 
 
 Of five-and-twenty ; setting that aside, 
 
 What's my profession ? 
 Lu. A soldier. 
 Wi. So ; 
 
 Examine a whole army, and find one 
 
 That hates a handsome woman : we can- 
 not march 
 
 Without our bag and baggages : and is it 
 possible, 
 
 When we come home, where women's 
 pride, and all 
 
 Temptation to wantonness abounds, 
 
 We should lose our activity ? 
 
 Lu. You soldiers are brave fellows. 
 Wi. When we have our pay. 
 
 We vow no chastity till we marry, lady ; 
 
 'Tis out of fashion, indeed, with gentle- 
 men 
 
 To be honest, and of age together, 'tis 
 sufficient 
 
 We can provide to take our pleasures 
 too, 
 
 Without infection : a sound body is 
 
 A treasure, I can tell you ; yet if that 
 
 Would satisfy you, I should make no 
 scruple 
 
 To swear, but otherwise you must pardon 
 us, 
 
 As we must pardon you. 
 Lu. Us, sir ! 
 Wi. Ves.you; 
 
 As if you ladies had not your fagaries, 
 
 -And martial discipline, as well as we, 
 
 Your outworks and redoubts, your court of 
 guard. 
 
 Your sentries, and perdus, sallies, retreats, 
 
 Parleys, and stratagems ; women are all j 
 honest, 
 
 Yes, yes, exceeding honest ! let me ask 
 you 
 
 One question I'll not put you to your 
 oath. 
 
 I do allow you Hyde-Park and Spring- 
 Garden 
 
 You have a recreation call'd THE BALL, 
 
 A device transported hither by some ' 
 ladies 
 
 Th vt affect tennis ; what, do you play a 
 set? 
 
 There's a foul racket kept under the line, 
 
 Strange words are bandied, and strange 
 revels, madam. 
 
 * Lu. The world imagines so. 
 Wi. Nay, y' are all talk'd of. 
 Lu. But if men had more wit and 
 honesty, 
 
 They would let fall their stings on some- 
 thing else ; 
 
 This is discoursed but when corantos fail, 
 
 Or news at ordinaries ; when the phleg- 
 matic Dutch 
 
 Ha" ta'en no fisher-boats, or our coal- 
 ships land 
 
 Safe at Newcastle: y* are fine gentle- 
 men ! 
 
 But to conclude of that we met for, your 
 honesty 
 
 Not justified by an oath, as I expected, 
 
 Is now suspended : will you swear yet ? 
 Wi. Why, I thought you had been a 
 Christian, widow : 
 
 Have I not told you enough ? you may- 
 meet one 
 
 Will forfeit his conscience, and please you 
 better, 
 
 Some silkworm o f the city, or the court, 
 
 There be enough will swear away their 
 soul 
 
 For your estate, but I have no such 
 purpose ; 
 
 The wars will last, I hope. 
 Lu. So, so. Scutilla. 
 
 Enter Scutilla. 
 
 You were present when I promised the 
 
 colonel 
 
 To be his wife, upon condition 
 He could secure my opinion by his oath, 
 That he was honest ; I am bound in 
 
 honour 
 Not to go back : You've done it, I am 
 
 yours, sir. 
 Be you a witness to this solemn contract. 
 
 Wi. Are you in earnest, lady ? 
 I ha' not sworn. 
 
 Lu. You have given better troth ; 
 He that can make this conscience of an oath, 
 Assures his honesty. 
 Wi. In mind. 
 Lu. What's past 
 
 I question not ; if, for the time to come, 
 Your love be virtuous to me. 
 
 Wi. Most religious, 
 Or let me live the soldier's dishonour, 
 And die the scorn of gentlemen. I ha* 
 
 not 
 
 Space enough in my heart to entertain 
 thee. 
 
ACT V.j 
 
 THE BALL. 
 
 513 
 
 i 1. 11. Is not this better than swearing? 
 
 Wi. I confess it. 
 
 ^ Lit. Now I may call you husband ? 
 - I Vi. No title can more honour me. 
 
 Lit, If['t] please you, 
 'I'll show you then my children. 
 Wi. How! your children ? 
 Lu. I ha' six that call me mother. 
 Wi. Hast, 'faith? 
 Ljt. The elder may want softness to 
 
 acknowledge you, 
 But some are young enough, and may be 
 
 counsell'd 
 To ask your blessing ; does this trouble 
 
 you ? 
 Wi. Trouble me ? no ; but it is the 
 
 first news, lady, 
 Of any children. 
 
 Lu. Nay, they are not like 
 To be a burden to us ; they must trust 
 To their own portions, left 'em by their 
 
 father. 
 
 Wi. Where? 
 
 Lu. But of my estate ; I cannot keep 
 Anything from 'em, and I know you are 
 So honest, you'd not wish me wrong the 
 
 orphans. 
 'Tis but six thousand pound in money, 
 
 colonel, 
 Among them all, beside some trifling 
 
 plate 
 
 And jewels, worth a thousand more. 
 Wi. No more ? 
 Lu. My jointure will be firm to us ; two 
 
 hundred 
 Per annum. 
 
 Wi. Is it so ? and that will keep 
 A country house, some half-a-dozen cows, 
 We shall ha' cheese and butter-milk ; one 
 
 horse 
 Will serve me, and your man to ride to 
 
 markets. 
 Lu. Canst be content to live i' the 
 
 country, colonel? 
 Wi. And watch the peas, look to the 
 
 hay, and talk 
 Of oats and stubble ; I ha' been brought 
 
 up to't, 
 
 And, for a need, can thrash. 
 Lu. That will save somewhat. 
 Wi. I' th' year; beside my skill in 
 
 farrowing pigs : 
 Oh, 'tis a wholesome thing to hold the 
 
 plough, 
 And wade up to the calf i' th 1 dirty 
 
 furrows, 
 [Not] worse than sleeping in a trench or 
 
 quagmire : 
 
 You ha' not heard me whistle yet ? 
 VOL. i. 
 
 Lu. No, indeed ! 
 
 Wi. Why, there's it ! She does counter- 
 feit. Well, lady, 
 Be you in jest or earnest, 
 This is my resolution, 
 I'll marry you, and you had forty children, 
 And not a foot of land to your jointure ; 
 
 Heaven 
 
 Will provide for us, and we do our endea- 
 vours. 
 Where be the children ? come, how many 
 
 boys? 
 
 Lu. As many as you can get, sir. 
 Wi. How? 
 Lu. No more. 
 Since you're so noble, know I tried your 
 
 patience ; 
 And now I am confirmed : my estate is 
 
 yours, 
 Without the weight of children or of 
 
 debts ; 
 Love me, and I repent not. 
 
 Wi. Say'st thoti so ? 
 I would we had a priest here ! 
 
 Lu. There remains, 
 To take away one scruple. 
 Wi. Another gimcrack? 
 Lu. I have none, 'tis your doubt, sir ; 
 And, ere we marry, you shall be convinced 
 Some malice has corrupted your opinion 
 Of that we call the Ball. 
 
 Wi. Your dancing business ? 
 Lu. I will entreat your company to- 
 night, 
 Where your own eyes shall lead you to 
 
 accuse, 
 
 Or vindicate our fames. 
 Wi. With all my heart. 
 Sc. Madam, Master Bostock 
 Expects within. 
 
 Lu. You shall be reconciled to him. 
 Wi. With Bostock? willingly, then to 
 
 the Ball, 
 
 Which, for your sake, I dare not now sus- 
 pect, 
 Where union of hearts such empire 
 
 brings, 
 
 Subjects, methinks, are crown 'd as well as 
 kings. {Exeunt. 
 
 ACT THE FIFTH. 
 
 Enter Monsieur and Servants with 
 perfumes. 
 
 Le Fr. Bon ! fort bon ! here a little, 
 dere a little more ; my lord hire dis house 
 of the city merchant, begar it smell musty, 
 L L 
 
THE BALL. 
 
 [ACT V. " | 
 
 and he will have all sweet for de ladies ; 
 perfume, perfume every corner presently, 
 for dere is purpose to make all smoke 
 anon, begar 
 
 Enter Lady Rosamond and Honoria. 
 
 Tres humble setvitetir, mesdames. 
 Ho. Where is my lord ? 
 Le Fr. He wait on you presently. 
 Monsieur de Freshwater ! 
 
 Fr. Monsieur le Frisk, these ladies 
 were pleased to command my attendance 
 hither. 
 
 Le Fr. Welcome to de Ball, par mafoi. 
 You pardon, monsieur, I have much 
 trouble in my little head, I can no stay to 
 compliment ; a votre setvice. [Exit. 
 
 Fr. In all my travels, I have not seen a 
 more convenient structure. 
 
 Ro. Now you talk of your travels, 
 
 signior, till my lord come, you shall do us 
 
 a special favour to discourse what passages 
 
 you have seen abroad. 
 
 Ho. Were you ever abroad before, 
 
 signior? 
 Fr. I hardly ever was at home, and 
 
 yet 
 All countries to a wise man are his 
 
 own. 
 
 Did you ne'er travel, ladies ? 
 Ro. We are no ladies errant, 'tis 
 
 enough 
 
 For such as you, that look for state em- 
 ployment. 
 
 Fr. Yet there be ladies have your lan- 
 guages, 
 And, married to great men, prove the 
 
 better statesmen. 
 
 Ro. We have heard talk of many coun- 
 tries. 
 
 Fr. And you may hear talk ; but give 
 me the man that has measured 'em ; talk's 
 
 but talk 
 
 Ho. Have you seen a fairer city than 
 
 London ? 
 
 Fr. London is nothing. 
 Ro. How ! nothing ? 
 Fr. To what it will be a hundred years 
 
 hence. 
 
 Ro. I have heard much talk of Paris. 
 Ho. You have been there, I'm sure. 
 
 .Enter Lord. 
 
 Fr. I tell you, madam ; I took shipping 
 at Gravesend, and had no sooner passed 
 the Cantons and Grisons, making some 
 stay in the Valtoline, but I came to Paris, 
 a pretty hamlet, and much in the situation 
 like Dunstable ; 'tis in the province of 
 
 Alcantara, some three leagues distant from 
 Seville, from whence we have our oranges./* 
 
 Lord Ra. Is the fellow mad ? 
 
 Ro. I have heard Seville is in Spain. 
 
 Fr. You may hear many things. The 
 people are civil that live in Spain, or there 
 may be one town like another ; but if 
 Seville be not in France, 1 was never at 
 Seville in my life. 
 
 Ho. Proceed, sir. 
 
 Fr. Do not I know Paris ? it was built 
 by the youngest son of King Priam, and 
 was called by his name ; yet some call it 
 Lutetia, because the gentlewomen there 
 play so well upon the lute. 
 
 Lord Ra. What a rascal is this ! 
 - Fr. Here I observed many remarkable 
 buildings, as the university, which some 
 call the Louvre ; where the 'students made 
 very much of me, and carried me to the 
 Bear-garden, where I saw a play on the 
 Bank-side, a very pretty comedy, called 
 Bartheme, in London. 
 
 Ro. Is't possible ? 
 
 Fr. But there be no such comedians as; 
 we have here ; yet the women are the best 
 actors, they play their own parts, a thing 
 much desired in England by some ladies, 
 inns-a-court gentlemen, and others ; but 
 that by the way 
 
 Ho. See, sir. 
 
 Fr. I had stayed longer there, but I was 
 offended with a villanous scent of onions, i 
 which the wind brought from St. Omer's. 
 
 Ro. Onions would make you sleep i 
 well. 
 
 Fr. But the scent, 'tis not to be endured, i 
 I smelt on 'em when I came to Rome ; and | 
 hardly 'scaped the Inquisition for't. 
 
 Ho. Were you at Rome, too, signior ? 
 
 Fr. 'Tis in my way to Venice. I'll tell 
 you, madam, I was very loth to leave their 
 country. 
 
 Ro. Which country ? 
 
 Fr. Where was I last ? 
 
 Ho. In France. 
 
 Fr. Right, for I had a very good inn, 
 where mine host was a notable good fel- 
 low, and a cardinal. 
 
 Ro. How ! a cardinal ? oh, impudence ! 
 
 Fr. Oh, the catches we sang ! and his 
 wife, a pretty woman, and one that warms 
 a bed one o' the best in Europe. 
 
 Ho. Did you ever hear the like ? 
 
 Ro. I did before suspect him. 
 
 Fr. But mine host 
 
 Ho. The cardinal. 
 
 Fr. Right, had a shrewd pate, and his 
 ears were something o' th' longest ; for 
 
ACT V.] 
 
 THE BALL. 
 
 \ ne, upon the oath of a w Walloon 
 
 iat* from Spain to the Low-Countries, 
 nd the other from Lapland into Germany. 
 
 Ro. Say you so ? 
 
 Fr. A parlous head, and yet loving to 
 his guests, as mine host Banks, as red in 
 
 the gills, and as merry a ; but anger 
 
 him, and he sets all Christendom together 
 by the ears. Well, shortly after I left 
 France, and sailing along the Alps, I came 
 to Lombardy, where I left my cloak, for 
 it was very hot travelling, and went a pil- 
 grim to Rome, where I saw the tombs, and 
 a play in Pompey's theatre ; here I was 
 kindly entertained by an anchorite, in 
 whose chamber I lay, and drank cider. 
 
 Lord Ra. Nay, now is he desperate. 
 
 Ho. Do not interrupt him. 
 
 Fr. What should I trouble you with 
 many stories ? From hence I went to 
 Naples, a soft kind of people, and clothed 
 in silk ; from thence I went to Florence, 
 from whence we have the art of working 
 custards, which we call Florentines ; 
 Milan, f a rich state of haberdashers ; 
 Piemont, where I had excellent venison ; 
 and Padua, famous for the pads, or easy 
 saddles, which our physicians ride upon, 
 and first brought from thence, when they 
 commenced doctor. 
 
 Ro. Very good. 
 
 Fr. I see little in Mantua, beside 
 dancing upon the ropes ; only their strong 
 beer, better than any I ever drunk at the 
 Trumpet ; but Venice of all the cham- 
 pion countries do not mistake, they are 
 the valiantest gentlemen, under the sun 
 
 Ro. Is that it ? 
 
 Fr. O the Catazaners we turned there ! 
 
 Ho. Who was with you ? 
 
 Fr. Two or three magnificos, grandees 
 of the state, we tickled 'em in the very 
 Rialto ; by the same token, two or three 
 English spies told us they had lain leger 
 three months, to steal away the Piazza, 
 and ship it for Covent Garden, a pretty 
 
 fabric and building upon the ; but I 
 
 was compelled to make short stay here, by 
 reason [one] of the duke's concubines fell 
 in love with me, gave me a ring of his, 
 
 * Upon, the oath of a w Walloun that- 
 
 from Spain to Hie Low, &c.] These breaks 
 are in the original ; but whether intended as 
 marks of sagacity in the speaker, or caution in 
 the printer, must be left to the reader's decision. 
 
 GlFFORD. 
 
 t An allusion to milaners (milliners], as 
 haberdashers were then called. GIFFORD. 
 
 cut of a solid diamond, which afterwards I 
 lost, washing my hands in the salt water. 
 
 Ho. You should ha' fished for't, and as 
 good luck as she that found her wedding- 
 ring in the haddock's belly. 
 
 Fr. No, there was no staying : I took 
 post-horse presently for Genoa, and from 
 thence to Madrid, and so to the Nether- 
 lands. 
 
 Ro. And how sped you among the 
 Dutch ? 
 
 Fr. Why, we were drunk every day 
 together ; they get their living by it. 
 
 Ho. By drinking ? 
 
 Fr. And making bargains in their tip- 
 pling ; the Jews are innocent, nay, the 
 devil himself is but a dunce to 'em, of 
 whose trade they are. 
 
 Ho. What's that? 
 
 Fr. They fish, they fish still ; who can 
 help it? They have nets enough, and 
 may catch the province in time ; then let 
 the kingdoms look about 'em : they can't 
 be idle, and they have one advantage of all 
 the world, they'll ha" no conscience to 
 trouble 'em. I heard it whispered they 
 want butter ; they have a design to churn 
 the Indies, and remove their dairy ; but 
 that, as a secret, shall go no further. I 
 caught a surfeit of boar in Holland : upon 
 my recovery I went to Flushing, where I 
 met with a handsome froe, with whom I 
 
 went to Middleborough. by the , and 
 
 left her drunk at Rotterdam ; there I took 
 shipping again for France, from thence to 
 Dover, from Dover to Gravesend, from 
 Gravesend to Queenhithe, and from thence 
 to what I am come to. 
 
 Lord Ra. And, noble signior, you are 
 very welcome. 
 
 Fr. I hope he did not overhear me. 
 
 Lord R a. I am much honour'd, ladies, 
 in your presence. 
 
 Fr. Absence had been a sin, my lord, 
 
 where you 
 Were pleased to invite. 
 
 Enter Monsieur. 
 
 Le Fr. Fie, fie ! My lord, give me one 
 ear. [He whispers with my lord. 
 
 Lord Ra. Interrupt me no more, good 
 monsieur. 
 
 Fr. Monsieur Le Frisk, a word, a word, 
 I beseech you : no exc-usez moi. 
 
 [Exit Freshwater and Monsieur. 
 Lord Ra. Have you thought, ladies, of 
 
 your absent servant, 
 
 Within whose heart the civil war of 
 love 
 
 L L 2 
 
THE BALL. 
 
 [ACT v 
 
 n 
 
 Ro. May end in a soft peace. 
 
 Lord Ra. Excellent, lady ! 
 
 Ho. We had armies too, my lord, of 
 
 wounded thoughts. 
 Lord Ra. And are you agreed to which 
 
 I must devote 
 My loving service? and which is wisest, 
 
 fairest, 
 Is it concluded yet ? 
 
 Ho. You did propound a hard province, 
 and we could not determine as you ex- 
 pected ; but if your flame be not extinct, 
 we have devised another way. 
 ! Lord Ra. You make my ambition 
 happy ; and, indeed, I was thinking 'twas 
 impossible that two such beauties should 
 give place to either, and I am still that 
 humble votary to both your loves. 
 
 Ro. Then this : we have made lots, 
 That what we cannot, fate may soon de- 
 cide, 
 
 And we are fix'd to obey our destiny ; 
 There is but two. One, and your wishes 
 
 guide you ! 
 Lord Ra. And will you satisfy my 
 
 chance ? 
 Ho. We should 
 Be else unjust. 
 
 Lord Ra. What method shall we use ? 
 Ro. Your hat, my lord, if you vouchsafe 
 
 the favour ? 
 Ho. Dare you expose your head to the 
 
 air so long ? 
 
 Lord Ra. Most willingly ; put in. 
 Ro. There is fortune. 
 Ho. That draw which quickly tell how 
 
 much I love you. 
 Lord Ra. So, so ! 
 
 Now let me see ; I commend your device, 
 Since I am uncapable of both ; 
 This is a way indeed ; but your favour. 
 Ro. Let's have fair play, my lord. 
 Lord Ra. What fool is he, 
 That, having the choice of mistresses, 
 
 will be 
 Confined to one, and rob himself ? I am 
 
 yet 
 The favourite of both : this is no 
 
 policy. 
 
 I could make shift with both abed. 
 Ro. You are merry. 
 Lord Ra. In troth, and so I am, and in 
 
 the mind 
 I am in will give myself no cause to th 
 
 contrary. 
 
 D'ye see ? I'll draw you both. 
 Ho. How? both ! 
 
 Lord Ra. You cannot otherwise be re 
 conciled ; 
 
 '11 be content to marry one, and do ^ 
 Service to th' other's petticoat ; I must te. - 
 
 you, 
 
 I am not without precedent. 
 Ho. There you triumph. 
 Lord Ra. Within the name of Venus. 
 Ha! a blank? 
 By this light, nothing, neither name nor 
 
 mark. 
 
 Both. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 Lord Ra. This is a riddle yet. 
 Ro. 'Tis quickly solved : your lordship 
 
 was too confident ; 
 
 We never were at such a loss, my lord, 
 As with the hazard of our wit or honour 
 To court you with so desperate affection. 
 Ho. By our example know, some ladies 
 
 may 
 Commend, nay, love a gentleman, and 
 
 yet 
 Be safe in their own thoughts : and see $ 
 
 as far 
 
 As modesty and honour will allow us, 
 We are still servants to your lordship. 
 
 Lord Ra. Say so? 
 Why, look you, ladies, that you may 
 
 perceive 
 How I can be temperate too ; first, I thank 
 
 you 
 
 Heartily, and to recompense your wit, 
 Present another lottery ; you shall not 
 Suspect I have a thought that will betray 
 Your innocence to scandal : let me en- 
 treat 
 You take your chance too ; this for you, 
 
 madam, 
 And this is left your fortune : do me 
 
 honour 
 To wear these pair of jewels for my 
 
 sake ; 
 So, with a confidence of your happy 
 
 pardon 
 
 For what is past, hereafter I shall pay 
 To your true virtues better service than 
 So unnecessary trials. 
 
 Ro. And to show 
 We are not coy, my lord, we'll wear your 
 
 jewels. 
 Lord Ra. And be their ornament. 
 
 Enter Lady Lucina, Colonel, Bostock. 
 
 Wi. All happiness to your lordship. 
 Your revels* are not full yet, noble 
 ladies. 
 
 * Your revels are not full yet, &c.] The 4to 
 reads, Your cruells are not full set. It would 
 not be easy to name a play more full of ridicu- 
 lous misprints than this. GIFFORD. 
 
ACT V.I 
 
 THE BALL. 
 
 5*7 
 
 Lord JRa. Your presence will soon make 
 
 us active. Madam, 
 I was bold 
 
 Bo. She has your diamond, my lord. 
 Lord Ra. And can you pardon ? 
 Bo. Nay, nay, we are friends ; 
 Are we not, madam ? 
 
 Lu. I were else unmerciful. 
 Bo. The colonel, too, has given me satis- 
 faction. 
 
 Wi. I think you had enough. 
 Bo. As much as I desired, and here's my 
 
 hand, 
 While I can draw a sword command 
 
 me. 
 
 Wi. What? 
 Bo. To put it up again. All friends, all 
 
 friends ; 
 A pox a quarrelling ! 
 
 Wi. I kiss your hand, sir. 
 Bo. Kiss my hand ! kiss my noble 
 ladies, here. 
 
 Wi. Why is the music silent all this 
 
 while ? 
 
 Has it no voice to bid these ladies wel- 
 come? 
 
 A golden Ball descends, enter Venus and 
 Cupid. 
 
 Vc. Come, boy, now draw thy powerful 
 
 bow, 
 
 Here are ladies hearts enow 
 To be transfix d ; this meeting is 
 To ruffle ladies, and to kiss. 
 These are my orgies : from each 
 
 eye 
 
 A thousand wanton glances fly ; 
 Lords and ladies of the game, 
 Each breast be full of my own flame / 
 Why shoots not Cupid ? these are 
 
 all 
 
 Met in honour of my Ball, 
 Which Paris gave on Ida hill ; 
 I'll maintain these revels still. 
 Why stays Cupid all this while f 
 Diana. Venus doth herself beguile. 
 Ve. Diana here ! go back again. 
 Di. These are none of Venus' train. 
 No spark of this lascivious fire 
 Dwells in their bosoms ; no desire 
 But what doth fill Diana's breast, 
 In their modest thoughts do rest. 
 Venus, this new festival 
 Shall be still Dianas Ball; 
 A chaste meeting ever here ; 
 Seek thy votaries otherwhere. 
 V r e. You're chaste indeed ! do not we 
 
 know, 
 You to your sweetheart nightly go f \ 
 
 Endymion is not kiss'd! no, you 
 On his face but let fall dew / 
 Some may wonder what doth ail 
 Your lips, but kisses made them 
 
 pale; 
 Methinks the Moon should blush. 
 
 Di. I do 
 
 Sometimes, but 'tis for such as 
 
 you ; 
 
 Then hide myself within a mist, 
 For shame to see thee clipp'd and 
 kiss'd. 
 
 Ve. Draw, Cupid; shall thy mother be 
 Brand by a huntress f let me see, 
 I want one shaft. 
 
 Cu. Mother, not so, 
 
 You may quickly break my bow ; 
 Here Diana doth command, 
 My bow is frozen to my hand ; 
 Beside, the ladies' breasts are here, 
 Such proofs against my shafts, I 
 
 fear, 
 
 Each arrow would, to our disgrace. 
 Break, or rebound in my own face; 
 Mother, fly hence, or you will be, 
 If you'll stay, made as chaste as 
 she. 
 
 Ve. Can her magic charm them so ? 
 Then 'tis time that Venus go, 
 To seek her own more choice delight ' 
 Against my will, enjoy this night. 
 
 Di. Cupid, if you mean to stay, 
 
 Throw your licentious shafts away. 
 Then you are Love, then be em braced. 
 Love is welcome while he's chaste. 
 Now, some other strain to show 
 What pleasures to this night we owe. 
 \A Dance. 
 
 Enter Barker, like a Satyr dancing. 
 
 Fr. My lord, my ladies, will you see a 
 
 monster ? 
 I have not met such another in all my 
 
 travels. 
 
 Lu. What have we here ? a satyr ! 
 Bo. No, 'tis a dancing-bear. 
 Lord Ra. What is the device ? 
 Ba. Wonder that a satyr can 
 
 Put offwildness and turn man. 
 Love such miracles can do; 
 But this owes itself to you, 
 Bright lady. 
 Ho. Keep the goblin from me, gentle- 
 
 men. 
 
 Ba. You'll know me. 
 Omnes. Barker ! 
 
 Ba. No more the cynic ; I protest 
 You have converted me. 
 Ho. Your meaning, sir ? 
 
THE BALL. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Ba. I am the man you did encourage, 
 
 madam, 
 To learn to dance ; I shall do better 
 
 shortly ; 
 Your love will perfect me, and make me 
 
 soft 
 And smooth as any reveller. 
 
 Ho. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 My love I I am not mad to love a satyr, 
 For that's thy best condition. Judgment 
 
 all, 
 
 How scurvily this civility shows in him. 
 'Faith, rail, and keep your humour still ; it 
 
 shows excellent. 
 Does he not become the beast ? 
 The lords allow you pension ? 
 Omnes. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 Ba. You are a witch, I'll justify it ; and 
 
 there is not 
 One honest thought among the whole sex 
 
 of you. 
 D'ye laugh, loose- witted ladies? there are 
 
 not 
 
 In hell such furies : that's a comfort yet 
 To him that shall go thither ; he shall 
 
 have 
 Less torment after d^ath, than he finds 
 
 here. 
 
 Lord R a. "Why, Barker? 
 Ba. Your wit has got the squirt too ; I'll 
 
 traduce 
 
 Your Ball for this, and if there be a post 
 That dares write mischief, look to be 
 
 worse 
 
 Than executed. \Exit. 
 
 Lord Ra. He will come to himself again 
 
 when he hath purged. 
 Freshwater ! 
 
 Enter Sir Marmaduke and Sir Ambrose.* 
 
 Tr. Madam, your servants beg this 
 
 favour from you. 
 Ro. What is't ? 
 Tr. That since your resolutions will 
 
 admit 
 No change of hearts, you will not publish 
 
 how 
 We ha' been jeer'd. 
 
 Ro. Not jeer'd ; but you came on so 
 desperate. 
 
 * In the original quarto : "En 
 Stephen and Sir Lionel." Vide antea. 
 
 Enter Sir 
 
 Ho. We love our own, when we preserve 
 gentlemen's honour. 
 
 Wi. Then let's toss the Ball. 
 
 Lord Ra. Signior Freshwater. 
 
 Fr. Mercy and silence, as you are 
 honourable. 
 
 Lord Ra. Nay, it concerns these gentle- 
 men.* 
 
 Fr. Why, if I must ; gentlemen, you 
 imagine I ha' been at Venice ; but I 
 stayed at Gravesend all this summer, 
 expecting a wind, and finding it so un- 
 certain, will defer the voyage till the 
 spring. I am not the first whom the , 
 winds and seas have crossed. 
 
 Tr. Then you have crossed no sea? 
 
 Fr. If you please, I'll require but my 
 principal ; and for your good company, 
 I'll stay at home for good and all, to be 
 merry. 
 
 Lord Ra. Nay, nay ; you shall go your 
 voyage ; we would not have you lose the 
 benefit of travel ; when you come home, ; 
 you may summon your debtors by a j 
 drum, and showing your bag of certifi- 
 cates 
 
 Bo. Receive your money when you can 
 get it, and be knighted, 
 
 Fr. I thank you, gentlemen : I am in j 
 a way, now I have sold my land and put 
 out my money, to live, I see ! My heart 
 will not dance to-night ; I may to Graves- 
 end in the morning : I can be but pickled 
 in salt-water, and I'll venture one drown- 
 ing to be revenged. 
 
 Lord Ra. Again, again ; set, set ! 
 
 A Dance. 
 
 Lu. What think you of all this ? 
 Wi. To my wishes ; an innocent and 
 generous recreation. 
 
 Lord Ra. Ladies and gentlemen, now a 
 
 banquet waits you ; 
 Be pleased to accept, 'twill give you breath, 
 
 and then 
 
 Renew our revels, and to the Ball again. 
 \_Exeunt. 
 
 * Lord Ra. Nay, it concerns these gentlemen^ 
 The old copy reads, " May it concerne, &c." 
 The Ball mentioned in the preceding line was 
 probably "tossed" to Honoria, who seems to 
 be intended for the lady president of the enter- 
 tainment. GIFFORD. 
 
The Tragedy of Philip Chabot, 
 Admiral of France.* 
 
 SPEAKERS. 
 
 Asall. 
 
 Allegre. 
 
 King. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 Treasurer. 
 
 Chancellor. 
 
 Admiral. 
 
 Father. 
 
 General. 
 
 ACT THE FIRST. 
 
 Enter Asall and Allegre. 
 
 Chabot, admiral 
 
 of 
 
 As. Now Philip 
 
 France, 
 
 The great, and only famous favourite 
 To Francis, first of that imperial name, 
 Hath found a fresh competitor in glory 
 (Duke Montmorency, constable of France), 
 
 Chabot. 
 
 Judges. 
 
 Officers. 
 
 Secretary. 
 
 Ushers. 
 
 Constable. 
 
 Courtiers. 
 
 Porter. 
 
 Guard, 
 
 A I. I wonder you 
 
 { Will question it ; ask a ground or reason 
 Of men bred in this vile, degenerate age ! 
 The most men are not good, and it agrees 
 
 not 
 With impious natures to allow what's 
 
 honest ; 
 
 Tis an offence enough to be exalted 
 To regal favours. Great men are not 
 
 safe 
 
 Who drinks as deep as he of the stream j In their own vice, where good men, by the 
 
 royal, 
 
 And may in little time convert the strength j Of 
 To raise his spring, and blow the other's 
 
 fall. 
 A I. The world would wish it so, that 
 
 will not patiently 
 
 Endure the due rise of a virtuous man. 
 As. If he be 
 
 reason 
 
 That men affect him not ? Why is he lost 
 To the general opinion, and become 
 Rather their hate, than love? 
 
 hand 
 kings, 
 
 are planted to survey their 
 
 workings. 
 What man was ever fix'd i' th' sphere of 
 
 honour, 
 And precious to his sovereign, whose 
 
 actions, 
 
 virtuous, what is the j Nay, very soul, was not exposed to every 
 | Common and base dissection? and not 
 
 only 
 
 That which in nature hath excuse, and hi 
 Themselves is privileged by name of 
 
 frailty, 
 
 But even virtues are made crimes, and 
 * " The Tragcdie of Chabot Admirall of \ doom'd 
 
 France: As it was presented by her Majesties ! T>. f i f ,. t ~ _f * rMC r>n 
 Servants, at the private House fn Drury Lane. I Io , th ^ f trea f on ' 
 Written by George Chapman and James Shirly. ! _ -** A bad *S* the whlle ; 
 London, Printed by Tho. Cotes, for Andrew I ask your pardon, sir ; but thinks your 
 Crooke, and William Cooke. 1639." judgment, 
 
5 20 
 
 THE ADMIRAL OF FRANCE. 
 
 [ACT 
 
 His love to justice, and corruption's hate, 
 Are true and hearty? 
 
 Al. Judge yourself by this 
 One argument, his hearty truth to all ; 
 For in the heart hath anger his wisest 
 
 seat ; 
 And 'gainst unjust suits such brave anger 
 
 fires him, 
 That when they seek to pass his place and 
 
 power, 
 Though moved and urged by the other 
 
 minion, 
 Or by his greatest friends, and even the 
 
 king 
 
 Lead them to his allowance with his hand, 
 First given in bill, assign'd, even then his 
 
 spirit 
 
 (In nature calm as any summer's evening), 
 Puts up his whole powers like a winter's 
 
 sea, 
 His blood boils over, and his heart even 
 
 cracks 
 
 At the injustice, and he tears the bill, 
 And would do, were he for't to be torn in 
 
 pieces. 
 
 As. 'Tis brave, I swear. 
 Al. Nay, it is worth your wonder, 
 That I must tell you further, there's no 
 
 needle 
 
 In a sun-dial, placed upon his steel 
 In such a tender posture, that doth tremble, 
 The timely dial being held amiss, 
 And will shake ever till you hold it right, 
 More tender than himself in anything 
 That he concludes in justice for the state : 
 For, as a fever held him, he will shake 
 When he is signing anything of weight, 
 Lest human frailty should misguide his 
 
 justice. 
 As. You have declared him a most noble 
 
 justicer. 
 A I. He truly weighs and feels, sir, what 
 
 a charge 
 The subjects' livings are (being even their 
 
 lives 
 
 Laid on the hand of power), which abused, 
 Though seen blood flow not from the 
 
 justice-seat, 
 
 'Tis in true sense as grievous and as horrid. 
 As. It argues nothing less ; but since 
 
 your lord 
 
 Is diversely reported for his parts, 
 What's your true censure of his general 
 
 worth, 
 Virtue, and judgment ? 
 
 A I. As of a picture wrought to optic 
 
 reason, 
 
 That to all passers-by seems, as they move, 
 Now woman, now a monster, now a devil, J 
 
 And, till you stand, and in a right line 
 
 view it, 
 You cannot well judge what the main 
 
 form is ; 
 So men, that view him but in vulgar 
 
 passes, 
 
 Casting but lateral, or partial glances 
 At what he is, suppose him weak, unjust, 
 Bloody, and monstrous ; but stand free 
 
 and fast, 
 And judge him by no more than what you 
 
 know 
 
 Ingenuously, and by the right laid line 
 Of truth, he truly will all styles deserve 
 Of wise, just, good ; a man, both soul and 
 
 nerve. 
 As. Sir, I must join in just belief with 
 
 you ; 
 
 But what's his rival, the lord high con- 
 stable ? 
 A I. As just, and well inclined, when he's 
 
 himself 
 (Not wrought on with the counsels and 
 
 opinions 
 
 Of other men), and the main difference is, 
 The admiral is not flexible, nor won 
 To move one scruple, when he compre- 
 hends 
 
 The honest tract and justness of a cause : 
 The constable explores not so sincerely 
 The course he runs, but takes the mind of 
 
 others 
 
 (By name judicial), for what his own 
 Judgment and knowledge should conclude. 
 
 As. A fault, 
 
 In my apprehension : another's know- 
 ledge, 
 
 Applied to my instruction, cannot equal 
 My own soul's knowledge, how to inform 
 
 acts; 
 The sun's rich radiance, shot through 
 
 waves most fair, 
 
 Is but a shadow to his beams i 1 th' air ; 
 His beams, that in the air we so admire, 
 Is but a darkness to his flame in fire ; 
 In fire his fervour but as vapour flies, 
 To what his own pure bosom rarefies : 
 And the Almighty wisdom, having given 
 Each man within himself an apter light 
 To guide his acts, than any light without 
 
 him 
 
 (Creating nothing not in all things equal), 
 It seems a fault in any that depend 
 On others' knowledge, and exile their own. 
 A I. 'Tis nobly argued and exemplified ; 
 But now I hear my lord and his young 
 
 rival 
 
 Are to be reconciled, and then one light 
 May serve to guide them both. 
 
ACT I.J 
 
 THE ADMIRAL OF FRANCE. 
 
 521 
 
 As. I wish it may ; the king being made 
 
 first mover 
 
 To form their reconcilement, and inflame it 
 With all the sweetness of his praise and 
 
 honour. 
 Al. See, 'tis despatch'd, I hope; the 
 
 king doth grace it. 
 
 Loud Music, and enter Ushers before 
 Secretary, Treasurer, Chancellor, 
 Admiral, Constable, hand in hand, 
 the YJingfollcnving, others attend. 
 
 Ki. This doth express the noblest fruit 
 
 of peace. 
 Chan. Which, when the great begin, 
 
 the humble end 
 
 In joyful imitation, all combining 
 A Gordian beyond the Phrygian knot, 
 Past wit to loose it, or the sword ; be 
 
 still so. 
 Tr. 'Tis certain, sir ; by concord least 
 
 things grow 
 Most great, and flourishing like trees, that 
 
 wrap 
 Their forehead in the skies ; may these 
 
 do so! 
 Ki. You hear, my lord, all that is spoke 
 
 contends 
 
 To celebrate, with pious vote, the atone- 
 ment 
 So lately, and so nobly made between 
 
 you. 
 Chad. Which, for itself, sir, [I] resolve 
 
 to keep 
 
 Pure and inviolable, needing none 
 To encourage or confirm it, but my own 
 Love and allegiance to your sacred counsel. 
 Ki. 'Tis good, and pleases, like my 
 
 dearest health. 
 
 Stand you firm on that sweet simplicity ? 
 Mo. Past all earth policy that would 
 
 infringe it. 
 Ki. 'Tis well, and answers all the doubts 
 
 suspected. 
 Enter one that whispers with the Admiral. 
 
 /And what moves this close message, 
 
 Philip? 
 
 \ Chad. My wife's father, sir, is closely 
 \ come to court. 
 \Ki. Is he come to the court, whose 
 
 \ aversation 
 SoXmuch affects him, that he shuns and 
 
 Vflies it ? 
 WhVt's the strange reason that he will not 
 
 rise 
 
 Above the middle region he was born in ? 
 Chab. He saith, sir, 'tis because the 
 extreme of height 
 
 Makes a man less seem to the imperfect 
 eye 
 
 Than he is truly, his acts envied more ; 
 
 And though he nothing cares for seem- 
 ing, so 
 
 His being just stand firm 'twixt heaven and 
 him, 
 
 Yet, since in his soul's jealousy, he fears 
 
 That he himself advanced, would under- 
 value 
 
 Men placed beneath him, and their busi- 
 ness with him, 
 
 Since height of place oft dazzles height of 
 judgment, 
 
 He takes his top-sail down in such rough 
 storms, 
 
 And apts his sails to airs more tem- 
 perate. 
 
 Ki. A most wise soul he has. How 
 long shall kings 
 
 Raise men that are not wise till they be 
 high? 
 
 You have our leave ; but tell him, 
 Philip, we 
 
 Would have him nearer. 
 
 Mo. Your desires attend you. 
 
 Enter another. 
 
 Ki. We know from whence you come ; 
 
 say to the queen,. 
 We were coming to her. 'Tis a day of 
 
 love, 
 And she seals all perfection. [Exit. 
 
 Tr. My lord, 
 
 We must beseech your stay. 
 Mo. My stay ? 
 Chan. Our counsels 
 
 Have led you thus far to your reconcile- 
 ment, 
 And must remember you to observe the 
 
 end 
 At which, in plain, I told you then we 
 
 aim'd at : 
 You know we all urged the atonement, 
 
 rather 
 To enforce the broader difference between 
 
 you, 
 Than to conclude your friendship, which 
 
 wise men 
 Know to be fashionable, and privileged 
 
 policy, 
 And will succeed betwixt you and the 
 
 admiral, 
 As sure as fate, if you please to get 
 
 sign'd 
 A suit now to the king, with all our 
 
 hands, 
 Which will so much incense his precise 
 
 justice, 
 
 I 
 
5 22 
 
 THE ADMIRAL OF FRANCE. 
 
 [ACT I. 
 
 That, weighing not circumstances of poli- 
 tic state, 
 
 He will instantly oppose it, and complain, 
 And urge in passion, what the king will 
 
 sooner 
 
 Punish than yield to, and so render you, 
 In the king's frown on him, the only dar- 
 ling 
 And 'mediate power of France. 
 
 Mo. My good lord chancellor, 
 Shall I, so late atoned, and by the king's 
 Hearty and earnest motion, fall in pieces ? 
 Chan. 'Tis he, not you, that break. 
 7V. Ha' not you patience 
 To let him burn himself in the king's 
 
 flame? 
 Chan. Come, be not, sir, infected with a 
 
 spice 
 
 Of that too servile equity, that renders 
 Men free-born slaves, and rid with bits 
 
 like horses, 
 When you must know, my lord, that even 
 
 in nature 
 
 A man is animal politicum, 
 So that when he informs his actions simply, 
 He does it both 'gainst policy and nature : 
 And therefore our soul motion is affirm'd 
 To be, like heavenly nature circular, 
 And circles being call'd ambitious lines, 
 We must, like them, become ambitious 
 
 ever, 
 
 And endless in our circumventions ; 
 No tough hides limiting our cheveril minds. 
 Tr. 'Tis learnedly, and past all answer, 
 
 argued ; 
 Y'are great, and must grow greater still, 
 
 and greater, 
 
 And not be like a dull and standing lake, 
 That settles, putrefies, and chokes with 
 
 mud ; 
 
 But, like a river gushing from the head, 
 That winds through the under-vales, what 
 
 checks o'erflowing, 
 Gets strength still of his course, 
 
 My faith to him that break it for 
 
 another? 
 He has engaged our peace, and my 
 
 revenge 
 Forfeits my trust with him, whose narrow 
 
 sight 
 Will penetrate through all our mists, could 
 
 we 
 Veil our design with clouds blacker than 
 
 night. 
 
 But grant this danger over, with what jus- 
 tice, 
 
 Or satisfaction to the inward judge, 
 Shall I be guilty of this good man's ruin ? 
 Though I may still the murmuring tongues 
 
 without me, 
 Loud concience has a voice to shudder 
 
 greatness. 
 Se. A name to fright, and terrify young 
 
 statists. 
 
 There is necessity, my lord, that you 
 Must lose your light, if you eclipse not 
 
 him; 
 
 Two stars so lucid cannot shine at once 
 In such a firmament, and better you 
 Extinguish his fires, than be made his 
 
 fuel, 
 
 And in your ashes give his flame a trophy. 
 Chan. My lord, the league that you have 
 
 vow'd of friendship, 
 
 In a true understanding not confines you, 
 But makes you boundless ; turn not edge 
 
 at such 
 
 A liberty, but look to your own fortune ; 
 Secure your honour : a precisian 
 In state is a ridiculous miracle ; 
 Friendship is but a visor, beneath which 
 A wise man laughs to see whole families 
 Ruin'd, upon whose miserable pile 
 He mounts to glory. Sir, you must re- 
 solve 
 To use any advantage. 
 
 Mo. Misery 
 Of rising statesmen ! I must on ; I see 
 
 Till with the ocean meeting, even with ! That, 'gainst the politic and privileged 
 
 him fashion, 
 
 In sway and title, his brave billows move. I All justice tastes but affectation. 
 
 Mo. You speak a rare affection, and 
 high souls ; 
 
 But give me leave, great lords, still my 
 just thanks 
 
 Remember 'd to your counsels and direc- 
 tion, 
 
 I, seeking this way to confirm myself, 
 
 I undermine the columns that support 
 
 Chan. Why so? we shall do good on 
 him i" th' end. \_Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Father and the Admiral. 
 
 Chab. You are most welcome. 
 Fa. I wish your lordship's safety : 
 Which, whilst I pray for, I must not 
 forget 
 
 My hopeful, glorious fortune, and at once To urge again the ways to fix you where 
 Provoke the tempest, though did drown No danger has access to tl 
 
 my envy. 
 With what assurance shall the king expect 
 
 access to threaten you. 
 Chab. Still your old argument ; I owe 
 your love for't. 
 
ACT I.] 
 
 THE ADMIRAL OF FRANCE. 
 
 523 
 
 Fa. But, fortified with new aud pregnant 
 
 reasons, 
 
 That you should leave the court. 
 Chab. I dare not, sir. 
 Fa. You dare be undone, then. 
 Chab. I should be ingrateful 
 To such a master, as no subject boasted, 
 To leave his service when they exact 
 My chiefest duty and attendance, sir. 
 Fa. Would thou wert less degraded 
 
 from thy titles 
 
 And swelling offices ! that will, i' th' end, 
 Ingulf thee past a rescue : I had not come 
 So far to trouble you at this time, but that 
 I do not like the loud tongues o' the 
 
 world, 
 That say the king has ta'en another 
 
 favourite, 
 
 The constable, a gay man, and a great, 
 With a huge train of faction too, the 
 
 queen, 
 
 Chancellor, Treasurer, Secretary, and 
 An army of state warriors, whose dis- 
 cipline 
 
 Is sure, and subtile to confusion. 
 I hope the rumour's false, thou art so 
 
 calm. 
 
 Chab. Report has not abused you, sir. 
 Fa. It has not ! 
 And you are pleased : then you do mean 
 
 to mix 
 
 With unjust courses, the great constable 
 And you combining, that no suit may pass 
 One of the grapples of your cither's rape. 
 I, that abhorr'd, must I now entertain 
 A thought, that your so straight and simple 
 
 custom 
 
 To render justice, and the common good, 
 Should now be patch'd with policy, and 
 
 wrested 
 From the ingenious step you took, and 
 
 hang 
 
 Upon the shoulders of your enemy, 
 To bear you out in what you shame to act ? 
 Chab. Sir, we both are reconciled. 
 Fa. It follows, then, that both the acts 
 
 must bear 
 
 Like reconcilement ; and if he will now 
 Malign and malice you for crossing him, 
 Or any of his faction in their suits, 
 Being now atoned, you must be one in all, 
 One in corruption ; and 'twixt you two 
 
 millstones, 
 Ne\y pick'd, and put together, must the 
 
 grain 
 Of good men's needful means to live, be 
 
 ground 
 
 Into your choking superfluities ; 
 You both too rich, they ruin'd. 
 
 Chab. I conceive, sir, 
 We both may be enrich 'd, and raise our 
 
 fortunes 
 Even with our places in our sovereign's 
 
 favour : 
 Though past the height* of others, yet 
 
 within 
 
 The rules of law and justice, and approve 
 Our actions white and innocent. 
 
 Fa. I doubt it ; 
 White in forced show, perhaps, which will, 
 
 I fear, 
 Prove in true substance but a miller's 
 
 whiteness, 
 
 More sticking in your clothes than con- 
 science. 
 Chab. Your censure herein tastes some 
 
 passion, sir ; 
 
 And I beseech you nourish better thoughts, 
 Than to imagine that the king's mere grace 
 Sustains such prejudice by those it honours ; 
 That of necessity we .must pervert it 
 With passionate enemies, and ambitious, 
 
 boundless 
 
 Avarice, and every licence incident 
 To fortunate greatness, and that all abuse it 
 For the most impious avarice of some. 
 Fa. As if the total sum of favourites' 
 
 frailties 
 
 Affected not the full rule of their kings 
 In their own partially disposed ambitions, 
 And that kings do no hazard infinitely 
 In their free realties of rights and honours, 
 Where they leave much for favourites' 
 
 powers to order. 
 Chab. But we have such a master of our 
 
 king, 
 
 In the imperial art, that no power flies 
 Out of his favour, but his policy ties 
 A criance to it, to contain it still ; 
 And for the reconcilement of us, sir, 
 Never were two in favour that were more 
 One in all love of justice and true honour, 
 Though in the act and prosecution 
 Perhaps we differ. Howsoever, yet 
 One beam us both creating, what should let 
 That both our souls should both one 
 
 mettle bear, 
 
 And that one stamp, one word, one cha- 
 racter ? 
 Fa. I could almost be won to be a 
 
 courtier ; 
 
 There's something more in's composition 
 Than ever yet was favourite's. 
 
 Enter a Courtier. 
 What's he? 
 
 Cou. I bring your lordship a sign'd bill, 
 to have 
 
524 
 
 THE ADMIRAL OF FRANCE. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 The addition of your honour'd hand ; the 
 council 
 
 Have all before subscribed, and full pre- 
 pared it. 
 
 Chab. It seems then they have weigh'd 
 the importance of it, 
 
 And know the grant is just. 
 Cou. No doubt, my lord : 
 
 Or else they take therein the constable's 
 word, 
 
 It being his suit, and his power having 
 wrought 
 
 The king already to appose his hand. 
 Chab. I do not like his working of the 
 king ; 
 
 For if it be a suit made known to him, 
 
 And fit to pass, he wrought himself to it ; 
 
 However, my hand goes to no such grant, 
 
 But first I'll know, and censure it myself. 
 Cou. Ate", if thou beest goddess of con- 
 tention, 
 
 That Jove took by the hair, and hurl'd 
 from heaven, 
 
 Assume in earth thy empire, and this bill 
 
 Thy firebrand, make to turn his love, thus 
 tempted, 
 
 Into a hate as horrid as thy furies. 
 
 Chab. Does this bear title of his lord- 
 ship's suit ? 
 
 Cou. It does, my lord, and therefore he 
 beseech'd 
 
 The rather your despatch. 
 
 Chab. No, thought the rather ; 
 
 But now the rather all power's against it, 
 
 The suit being most unjust, and he pre- 
 tending 
 
 In all his actions justice, on the sudden, 
 
 After his so late vow not to violate it, 
 
 Is strange and vile ; and if the king him- 
 self 
 
 Should own and urge it, I would stay and 
 cross it, 
 
 For 'tis within the free power of my office, 
 
 And I should strain his kingdom if I pass'd 
 it. 
 
 I see their poor attempts and giddy malice. 
 
 Is this the reconcilement that so lately 
 
 He vow'd in sacred witness of the king? 
 
 Assuring me he never more would offer 
 
 To pass a suit unjust, which I well know 
 
 This is, above all, and have often been 
 urged 
 
 To give it passage. Be you, sir, the judge. 
 Fa. I will not meddle 
 
 With anything of state, you knew long 
 
 since. 
 
 Chab. Yet you may hear it, sir. 
 Fa. You will not urge 
 
 My opinion, then ? Go to. 
 
 Chab. An honest merchant, 
 Presuming on our league of France with 
 
 Spain, 
 
 Brought into Spain a wealthy ship, to vent 
 Her fit commodities to serve the country, 
 Which, in the place of suffering their 
 
 sale, 
 Were seized, to recompense a Spanish 
 
 ship, 
 Prized by a Frenchman ere the league was 
 
 made: 
 
 No suits, no letters of our king's could gain 
 Our merchant's first right in it ; but his 
 
 letters, 
 Unreverently received, the king's self 
 
 scandal, 
 Beside the league's breach, and the foul 
 
 injustice 
 Done to our honest merchant, who endured 
 
 all, 
 Till some small time since, authorized by 
 
 our council, 
 Though not in open court, he made a ship 
 
 out, 
 And took a Spaniard ; brings all home, 
 
 and sues 
 
 To gain his full-proved loss, full recompense 
 Of his just prize : his prize is stay'd and 
 
 seized, 
 Yet for the king's disposure ; and the 
 
 Spaniard 
 Makes suit to be restored her, which this 
 
 bill 
 Would fain get granted, feigning, as they 
 
 hoped, 
 With my allowance, and way given to 
 
 make 
 Our countryman's in Spain their absolute 
 
 prize. 
 
 Fa. Twere absolute injustice. 
 Chab. Should I pass it ? 
 Fa. Pass life and state before. 
 Chab. If this would seem 
 His lordship's suit, his love to .me, and 
 
 justice, 
 
 Including plots upon me, while my simple- 
 ness 
 
 Is seriously vow'd to reconcilement ; 
 Love him, good vulgars, and abhor me 
 
 still, 
 
 For if I court your flattery with my crimes, 
 Heaven's love before me fly. till in my tomb 
 I stick, pursuing it ; and for this bill, 
 Thus say 'twas shiver'd ; bless us, equal 
 
 heaven ! [Exit. 
 
 Fa. This could I cherish now, above his 
 
 loss. 
 
 You may report as much, the bill dis- 
 charged, sir. [Exeunt. 
 
ACT II. J 
 
 THE ADMIRAL OF FRANCE. 
 
 525 
 
 ACT THE SECOND. 
 
 Enter King and Queen, Secretary, with 
 the torn bill. 
 
 Ki. Is it e'en so ? 
 
 Qu. Good heaven, how tame you are ! 
 Do kings of France reward foul traitors 
 
 thus? 
 Ki. No traitor ; you're too loud : Chabot's 
 
 no traitor ; 
 
 He has the passions of a man about him, 
 And multiplicity of cares may make 
 Wise men forget themselves. Come, be 
 
 you patient. 
 Qu. Can you be so, and see yourself 
 
 thus torn ? 
 Ki. Ourself? 
 
 Qu. There is some left, if you dare own 
 Your royal character; is not this your 
 
 name? 
 
 Ki. 'Tis Francis, I confess. 
 Qu. Be but a name, 
 If this stain live upon't, affronted by 
 Your subject. Shall the sacred name of 
 
 king, 
 A word to make your nation bow and 
 
 tremble, 
 
 Be thus profaned ? Are laws established 
 To punish the defacers of your image, 
 But dully set by the rude hand of others 
 Upon your coin, and shall the character 
 That doth include the blessing of all 
 
 France, 
 Your name, thus written by your royal 
 
 hand, 
 Design'd for justice, and your kingdom's 
 
 honour, 
 
 Not call up equal anger to reward it ? 
 Your counsellors of state contemn'd and 
 
 slighted, 
 As in his brain were circumscribed all 
 
 wisdom, 
 
 And policy of empire, and your power 
 Subordinate and subject to his passion. 
 Ki. Come, it concerns you not. 
 Qu. Is this the consequence 
 Of an atonement made so late between 
 The hopeful Montmorency and his lord- 
 ship 
 Urge[d] by yourself with such a precious 
 
 sanction ? 
 Come, he that dares do this, wants not a 
 
 heart, 
 
 But opportunity 
 Ki. To do what ? 
 Qu. To tear your crown off. 
 Ki. Come, your language doth taste 
 more 
 
 Of rage and womanish flame, than solid 
 
 reason, 
 Against the admiral. What commands of 
 
 yours, 
 
 Not to your expectation obey'd 
 By him, is ground of your so keen dis- 
 pleasure ? 
 Qu. Commands of mine? he is too 
 
 great and powerful 
 
 To stoop to my employment, a Colossus, 
 And can stride from one province to- 
 
 another 
 
 By the assistance of those offices 
 You have most confidently imposed upon 
 
 him. 
 Tis he, not you, take up the people's 
 
 eyes 
 
 And admiration, while his princely wife 
 Ki. Nay, then I reach the spring of 
 
 your distaste ; 
 He has a wife 
 
 Enter Chancellor, Treasurer, and whisper 
 with the King. 
 
 Qu. Whom for her pride I love not, 
 And I but in her husband's ruin 
 Can triumph o'er her greatness. 
 
 Ki. Well, well ; I'll think on't. [Exit. 
 Chan. He begins to incline. 
 Madam, you are the soul of our great i 
 
 work. 
 Qu. I'll follow, and employ my powers ' 
 
 upon him. 
 Tr. We are confident you will prevail at 
 
 last, 
 And for the pious work oblige the king to 
 
 you. 
 Chan. And us your humblest creatures. 
 
 gu. Press no further. {Exit Queen. 
 han. Let's seek out my lord Con- 
 stable. 
 
 Tr. And inflame him 
 Chan. To expostulate with Chabot ; 
 
 something may 
 
 Arise from thence, to pull more weight 
 upon him. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Father and Allegre. 
 
 Fa. How sorts the business ? how took 
 
 the king 
 
 The tearing of his bill ? 
 A I. Exceeding well, 
 And seem'd to smile at all their grim 
 
 complaints 
 'Gainst all that outrage to his highness* 
 
 hand, 
 
 And said, in plain, he sign'd it but to try 
 My lord's firm justice. 
 
526 
 
 THE ADMIRAL OF FRANCE. 
 
 [ACT II. 
 
 N Fa. What a sweet king 'tis ! 
 
 A I. But how his rival, the lord constable, 
 
 Is labour 'd by the chancellor, and others, 
 to retort 
 
 His wrong with ten parts more upon my 
 lord, 
 
 Is monstrous. 
 
 Fa. Need he their spurs ? 
 Al. Ay, sir, for he's afraid 
 
 To bear himself too boldly in his braves 
 
 Upon the king, being newly enter' d 
 minion, 
 
 Since 'tis but patience sometime they 
 think; 
 
 Because the favour spending in two 
 streams, 
 
 One must run low at length, till when he 
 dare 
 
 Take fire in such flame as his faction 
 wishes, 
 
 But with wise fear contains himself, 
 and so, 
 
 Like a green faggot, in his kindling 
 smokes ; 
 
 And where the chancellor, his chief Cy- 
 clops, finds 
 
 The fire within him apt to take, he 
 blows, 
 
 And then the faggot flames, as never 
 more 
 
 The bellows needed, till the too soft green- 
 ness 
 
 Of his state habit shows his sap stil! flows 
 
 Above the solid timber, with which, then 
 
 His blaze shrinks head, he cools, and 
 
 smokes again. 
 Fa. Good man he would be, would the 
 
 bad not spoil him. 
 
 A I. True, sir ; but they still ply him with 
 their arts ; 
 
 And, as I heard, have wrought him per- 
 sonally 
 
 To question my lord with all the bitter- 
 ness 
 
 The galls of all their faction can pour in ; 
 
 And such an expectation hangs upon't, 
 
 Though all the court, as 'twere with 
 child, and long'd 
 
 To make a mirror of my lord's clear 
 blood, 
 
 And therein see the full ebb of his flood, 
 
 And therefore, if you please to counsel 
 him, 
 
 You shall perform a father's part. 
 Fa. Nay, since 
 
 He's gone so far, I would not have him 
 fear, 
 
 But dare them ; and yet I'll not meddle 
 in't. 
 
 Enter Admiral. 
 
 He's here ; if he have wit to like his 
 
 cause, 
 His spirit will not be ashamed to die in't. 
 
 [Exit. 
 A I. My lord, retire, y'are waylaid in 
 
 your walks ; 
 Your friends are all fall'n from you; all 
 
 your servants, 
 
 Suborn'd by all advantage, to report 
 Each word you whisper out, and to serve 
 
 you 
 With hat and knee, while others have their 
 
 hearts. 
 Chab. Much profit may my foes make of 
 
 such servants ! 
 
 I love no enemy I have so well, 
 To take so ill a bargain from his hands. 
 AL Their other odds yet shun, all being 
 
 combined, 
 And lodged in ambush, arrived to do you 
 
 mischief 
 
 By any means, past fear of law or sovereign. 
 Chab. I walk no desert, yet go arm'd 
 
 with that 
 That would give wildest beasts instincts to 
 
 rescue, 
 
 Rather than offer any force to hurt me. 
 My innocence which is a conquering 
 
 justice, 
 As wears a shield, that both defends and 
 
 fights. 
 
 A I. One against all the world. 
 Chab. The more the odds, 
 The less the conquest ; or, if all the world 
 Be thought an army fit to employ 'gainst 
 
 one, 
 
 That one is argued fit to fight 'gainst all : 
 If I fall under them, this breast shall 
 
 bear 
 
 Their heap digested in my sepulchre. 
 Death is the life of good men : let 'em 
 
 come. 
 
 Enter Constable, Chancellor, Treasurer, 
 Secretary. 
 
 Mo. I thought, my lord, our recon- 
 cilement perfect. 
 You have express'd what sea of gall flow'd 
 
 in you, 
 
 In tearing of the bill I sent to allow. 
 Chab. Dare you confess the sending of 
 
 that bill ? 
 
 Mo. Dare ? why not ? 
 Chab. Because it breaks your oath 
 Made in our reconcilement, and betrays 
 The honour and the chief life of the king, 
 Which is his justice. 
 
ACT n.] 
 
 THE ADMIRAL OF FRANCE. 
 
 5 2 7 
 
 Mo. Betrays? 
 
 Chab. Xo less, and that I'll prove to 
 
 him. 
 
 Omnes. You cannot. 
 Tr. I would not wish you offer at an 
 
 action 
 
 So most impossibly, and much against 
 The judgment and the favour of the 
 
 king. 
 Chab. His judgment, nor his favour, I 
 
 respect, 
 
 :So I preserve his justice. 
 l." ha ii. 'Tis not justice, 
 'Which I'll prove by law, and absolute 
 
 learning. 
 Chab. All your great law and learning 
 
 are but words, 
 When I plead plainly naked truth and 
 
 deeds, 
 Which, though you seek to fray with state 
 
 and glory, 
 I'll shoot a shaft at all your globe of 
 
 light ; 
 
 If lightning split it, yet 'twas high and 
 
 right. [Exit. 
 
 Mo. Brave resolution, so his acts be 
 
 just ! 
 He cares for gain, not honour. 
 
 Chan. How came he then 
 By all his infinite honour and his gain ? 
 Tr. Well said, my lord. 
 Se. Answer but only that. 
 Mo. By doing justice still in all his 
 
 actions. 
 Se. But if this action prove unjust, will 
 
 you 
 
 Say all his other may be so as well, 
 And think your own course fitter far than 
 
 his? 
 
 Mo. I will. [Exit. 
 
 Chan. He cools, we must not leave 
 
 him ; we have no 
 Such engine to remove the admiral. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter King and the Admiral. 
 
 Ki. I prithee, Philip, be not so severe 
 To him I favour ; 'tis an argument 
 That may serve one day to avail your- 
 self ; 
 Nor does it square with your so gentle 
 
 nature, 
 
 To give such fires of envy to your blood ; 
 For howsoever, out of love to justice, 
 Your jealousy of that doth so incense 
 
 you, 
 
 Yet they that censure it will say 'tis envy. 
 Chab. I serve not you for them, but for 
 yourself ; 
 
 And that good in your rule, that justice 
 
 does you, 
 And care not this what others say, so 
 
 you 
 Please but to do me right for what you 
 
 know. 
 Ki. You will not do yourself right. 
 
 W r hy should I 
 Exceed you to yourself? 
 
 Chab. Myself am nothing, 
 Compared to what I seek ; 'tis justice 
 
 only, 
 The fount and flood both of your strength 
 
 and kingdoms. 
 Ki. But who knows not, that extreme 
 
 justice is 
 
 (By all ruled laws) the extreme of injury, 
 And must to you be so ; the persons that 
 Your passionate heat calls into question 
 Are great and many, and may wrong in 
 
 you 
 Your rights of kind, and dignities of 
 
 fortune ; 
 
 And I advanced you not to heap on you 
 Honours and fortunes, that, by strong 
 
 hand now 
 Held up, and over you, when hea\cn 
 
 takes off 
 That powerful hand, should thunder on 
 
 your head, 
 
 And after you crush your surviving seeds. 
 Chab. Sir, your regards to both are great 
 
 and sacred ; 
 But, if the innocence and right that raised 
 
 me 
 And means for mine, can find no friend 
 
 hereafter 
 
 Of him that ever lives, and ever seconds 
 All kings' just bounties with defence, and 
 
 refuge 
 
 In just men's races, let my fabric ruin, 
 My stock want sap, my branches by the 
 
 root 
 
 Be torn to death, and swept with whirl- 
 winds out. 
 
 Ki. For my love, no relenting ? 
 Chab. No, my liege, 
 'Tis for your love and right that I stand 
 
 out. 
 
 Ki. Be better yet advised. 
 Chab. I cannot, sir ; 
 Should any oracle become my counsel, 
 For that I stand not out, thus of set will, 
 Or pride of any singular conceit, 
 My enemies, and the world may clearly 
 
 know 
 
 I taste no sweets to drown in others' gall ; 
 And to affect in that which makes me 
 
 loathed 
 
THE ADMIRAL OF FRANCE. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 To leave myself and mine exposed to all 
 The dangers you proposed, my purchased 
 
 honours, 
 
 And all my fortunes in an instant lost, 
 That money, cares, and pains, and years 
 
 have gather 'd, 
 How mad were I to rave thus in my 
 
 wounds ! 
 Unless my known health felt in these forced 
 
 issues 
 Were sound and fit, and that I did not 
 
 know 
 By most true proofs, that to become 
 
 sincere 
 With all men's hates, doth far exceed their 
 
 loves, 
 
 To be, as they are, mixtures of corruption? 
 And that those envies that I see pursue me 
 Of all true actions are the natural conse- 
 quents, 
 Which being my object, and my resolute 
 
 choice, 
 Not for my good, but yours, I will have 
 
 justice. 
 Ki. You will have justice ? Is your will 
 
 so strong 
 Now against mine, your power being so 
 
 weak, 
 Before my favour gave them both their 
 
 forces ? 
 
 Of all that ever shared in my free graces, 
 You, Philip Chabot, a mean gentleman, 
 Have not I raised you to a supremest lord, 
 And given you greater dignities than any ? 
 Chab. You have so. 
 
 Ki. Well said ; and to spur your dulness 
 With the particulars to which I raised you, 
 Have not I made you first a knight of the 
 
 Order, 
 Then Admiral of France, then Count 
 
 Byzanges, 
 
 Lord, and lieutenant-general of all 
 My country, and command of Burgundy ; 
 Lieutenant-general likewise of my son, 
 Dauphin and heir, and of all Normandy, 
 And of my chiefly honour'd privy-council, 
 And cannot all these powers weigh down 
 
 your will ? 
 Chab. No, sir ; they were not given me 
 
 to that end ; 
 
 But to uphold my will, my will being just. 
 Ki. And who shall judge that justice, 
 
 you or I ? 
 Chab. I, sir, in this case ; your royal 
 
 thoughts are fitly 
 
 Exempt from every curious search of one, 
 You have the general charge with care of all. 
 Ki. And do not generals include parti- 
 culars ? 
 
 May not I judge of anything comprised 
 In your particular, as well as you ? 
 
 Chab. Far be the misery from you, that 
 
 you may ! 
 My cares, pains, broken sleep, therein made 
 
 more 
 Than yours, should make me see more, 
 
 and my forces 
 Render of better judgment. 
 
 Ki. Well, sir, grant 
 Your force in this, my odds in benefits, 
 Paid for your pains, put in the other scale, 
 And any equal holder of the balance 
 Will show my merits hoist up yours to air, 
 In rule of any doubt or deed betwixt us. 
 
 Chab. You merit not of me for benefits, 
 More than myself of you for services. 
 Ki. Is't possible ? 
 Chab. 'Tis true. 
 Ki. Stand you on that ? 
 Chab. Ay, to the death, and will approve 
 
 to all men. 
 Ki. I am deceived but I shall find 
 
 good judges 
 That will find difference. 
 
 Chab. Find them, being good. 
 Ki. Still so? What, if conferring 
 My bounties, and your services to sound 
 
 them, 
 
 We fall foul on some licences of yours ? 
 Nay, give me therein some ad vantage of you. 
 Chab. They cannot. 
 
 Ki. Not in sifting their severe discharges 
 Of all your offices ? 
 
 Chab. The more you sift, 
 The more you shall refine me. 
 
 Ki. What if I 
 
 Grant out against you a commission, 
 Join'd with an extraordinary process, 
 To arrest, and put you in law's hands for 
 
 trial ? 
 
 Chab. Not with law's uttermost. 
 Ki. I'll throw the dice. 
 Chab. And I'll endure the chance, the 
 
 dice being square. 
 
 Reposed in dreadless confidence and con- 
 science, 
 
 That all your most extremesshallneverreach, 
 Or to my life, my goods, or honour's 
 
 breach . 
 
 Ki. Was ever heard so fine a confi- 
 dence ? 
 Must it not prove presumption ? and can 
 
 that 
 'Scape bracks and errors in your search of 
 
 law? 
 I prithee weigh yet, with more soul the 
 
 danger, 
 And some less passion. 
 
ACT II.] 
 
 THE ADMIRAL OF FRANCE. 
 
 5 2 9 
 
 Chab. Witness, heaven, I cannot, 
 Were I dissolved, and nothing else but 
 
 soul. 
 Ki. Beshrew my blood, but his resolves 
 
 amaze me. [Aside. 
 
 Was ever such a justice in a subject, 
 Of so much office left to his own swinge, 
 That left to law thus, arid his sovereign's 
 
 wrath, 
 Could stand clear, 'spite of both? Let 
 
 reason rule it, 
 
 Before it come at law : a man so rare 
 In one thing, cannot in the rest be vulgar ; 
 And who sees you not in the broad high- 
 way, 
 The common dust up in your own eyes 
 
 beating, 
 
 In quest of riches, honours, offices, 
 As heartily in show as most believe, 
 And he that can use actions with the vulgar, 
 Must needs embrace the same effects, and 
 
 cannot inform him 
 Whatsoever he pretends, use them with 
 
 such 
 
 Free equity, as fits one just and real, 
 Even in the eyes of men, nor stand at all 
 
 parts 
 
 So truly circular, so sound, and solid, 
 But have his swellings out, his cracks and 
 
 crannies, 
 
 And therefore in this reason, before law 
 Take you to her, lest you affect and flatter 
 Yourself with mad opinions. 
 
 Chab. I were mad 
 Directly, sir, if I were yet to know 
 Not the sure danger, but the certain ruin 
 Of men shot into law from kings' bent brow. 
 There being no dream from the most 
 
 muddy brain 
 
 Upon the foulest fancy, that can forge 
 More horror in the shadows of mere fame, 
 Than can some lawyer in a man exposed 
 To his interpretation by the king. 
 But these grave toys I shall despise in 
 
 death ; 
 
 And while I live, will lay them open so 
 (My innocence laid by them), that, like 
 
 foils, 
 They shall stick of my merits ten times 
 
 more, 
 And make your bounties nothing ; for who 
 
 gives 
 And hits i 1 th' teeth, himself pays with the 
 
 glory 
 For which he gave, as being his end of 
 
 giving, 
 
 Not to crown merits, or do any good, 
 And so no thanks is due but to his glory. 
 Ki. Tis brave, I swear. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 Chab. No, sir, 'tis plain and rude, 
 But true and spotless ; and where you 
 
 object 
 
 My hearty and gross vulgar love of riches, 
 Titles, and honours, I did never seek them 
 For any love to them, but to that justice 
 You ought to use in their due gift to 
 
 merits, 
 
 To show you royal, and most open-handed, 
 Not using for hands, talons, pincers, grap- 
 ples ; 
 In whose gripes, and upon whose gored 
 
 point, 
 Deserts hang sprawling out their virtuous 
 
 limbs. 
 
 Ki. Better and better ! 
 Chab. This your glory is ; 
 My deserts wrought upon no wretched 
 
 matter, 
 But show'd your royal palms as free and 
 
 moist 
 
 As Ida, all enchased with silver springs, 
 And yet my merit still their equal sings. 
 Ki. Sing till thou sigh thy soul out ; 
 
 hence, and leave us. 
 Chab. My person shall, my love and 
 
 faith shall never. 
 
 Ki. Perish thy love and faith, and thee 
 for ever ! [Exit Chab. 
 
 Who's there ? 
 
 Enter Asall. 
 
 Let one go for the chancellor. 
 
 As. He's here in court, sir. 
 
 Ki. Haste, and send him hither. 
 
 [Exit Asall. 
 
 This is an insolence I never met with. 
 Can one so high as his degrees ascend, 
 Climb all so free, and without stain? 
 
 Enter Chancellor. 
 My lord 
 
 Chancellor, I send for you about a service 
 Of equal price to me, as if again 
 My ransom came to me from Pavian 
 
 thraldom, 
 And more, as if from forth a subject's 
 
 fetters, 
 The worst of servitudes, my life were 
 
 rescued. 
 Chan. You fright me with a prologue of 
 
 much trouble. 
 Ki. Methinks it might be. Tell me, 
 
 out of all 
 
 Your famous learning, was there ever sub- 
 ject 
 Raised by his sovereign's free hand from 
 
 the dust, 
 Up to a height above air's upper region, 
 
 M M 
 
530 
 
 THE ADMIRAL OF FRANCE. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 That might compare with him in any 
 
 merit 
 That so advanced him, and not show in 
 
 that 
 
 Gross over-weening worthy cause to think 
 There might be other over -sights ex- 
 cept ed, 
 
 Of capital nature, in his sifted greatness ? 
 Chan. And past question, sir, for one 
 
 absurd thing granted, 
 A thousand follow. 
 
 Ki. You must then employ 
 Your most exact and curious art, to ex- 
 plore 
 A man in place of greatest trust and 
 
 charge, 
 
 Whom I suspect to have abused them all, 
 And in whom you may give such proud 
 
 veins vent, 
 
 As will bewray their boiling blood, cor- 
 rupted 
 
 Both 'gainst my crown and life. 
 Chan. And may my life be cursed in every 
 
 act, 
 
 If I explore him not to every fibre. 
 Ki. It is my admiral. 
 Chan. Oh, my good liege, 
 You tempt, not charge me, with such 
 
 search of him. 
 Ki. Doubt not my heartiest meaning : 
 
 all the troubles 
 
 That ever moved in a distracted king, 
 Put in just fear of his assaulted life, 
 Are not above my sufferings for Chabot. 
 Chan. Then I am glad, and proud that 
 
 I can cure you, 
 
 For he's a man that I am studied in, 
 And all his offices, and if you please 
 To give authority 
 Ki. You shall not want it. 
 Chan. If I discharge you not of that 
 
 disease 
 About your neck grown, by your strange 
 
 trust in him, 
 
 With full discovery of the foulest trea- 
 sons 
 Ki. But I must have all proved with that 
 
 free justice. 
 ' Chan. Beseech your majesty, do not 
 
 question it. 
 Ki. About it instantly, and take me 
 
 wholly 
 
 Upon yourself. 
 
 Chan. How much you grace your ser- 
 vant ! 
 
 Ki. Let it be fiery quick. 
 Chan. It shall have wings, 
 And every feather show the flight of kings. 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT THE THIRD. 
 
 Enter Chancellor attended, the Proctor- 
 general whispering in his car, two 
 Judges following ; they past, enter 
 Chabot, in his goivn, a guard aboiit 
 him, his Father and his Wife on each 
 side, Allegre. 
 
 Chab. And have they put my faithful 
 
 servant to the rack ? 
 Heaven arm the honest man ! 
 Fa. Allegre feels the malice of the Chan- ! 
 
 cellor. 
 Chab. Many upon the torture have con- , 
 
 fess'd 
 Things against truth, and yet his pain sits 
 
 nearer 
 Than all my. other fears. Come, do not 
 
 weep. 
 Wi. My lord, I do not grieve out of a 
 
 thought, 
 Or poor suspicion, they with all their 
 
 malice 
 Can stain your honour ; but it troubles 
 
 me, 
 The king should grant this licence to your 
 
 enemies, 
 
 As he were willing to hear Chabot guilty. 
 Chab. No more ; the king is just ; and 
 
 by exposing me 
 
 To this trial, means to render me 
 More happy to his subjects and himself j 
 His sacred will be obey'd ; take thy own 
 
 spirit, 
 And let no thought infringe thy peace for 
 
 me ; 
 
 I go to have my honours all confirm 'd. 
 Farewell ; thy lip : my cause has so much 
 
 innocence, 
 It shall not need thy prayer. I leave her 
 
 yours 
 
 Till my return. Oh, let me be a son 
 Still in your thoughts. Now, gentlemen, 
 
 set forward. [Exit. 
 
 {Manente Father and Wife. 
 
 Fa. See, you that trust in greatness, 
 
 what sustains you ; 
 These hazards you must look for, you that 
 
 thrust 
 Your heads into a cloud, where lie in 
 
 ambush 
 
 The soldiers of state, in privy arms 
 Of yellow fire, jealous, and mad at all 
 That shoot their foreheads up into their 
 
 forges, 
 
 And pry into their gloomy cabinets ; 
 You, like vain citizens, that must go see 
 Those ever-burning furnaces, wherein 
 
ACT III.J 
 
 THE ADMIRAL OF FRANCE. 
 
 Your brittle glasses of estate are blown, 
 Who knows not you are all but puff, and 
 
 bubble 
 Of breath, and fume forged, your vile 
 
 brittle natures 
 Cause of your dear ness? were you tough 
 
 and lasting, 
 You would be cheap, and not worth half 
 
 your face. 
 Now, daughter ; planet-struck ? 
 
 Wi. I am considering 
 What form I shall put on, as best agree- 
 ing 
 With my lord's fortune. 
 
 Fa. Habit do you mean, 
 Of mind, or body ? 
 
 Wi. Both would be apparell'd. 
 
 Fa. In neither you have reason yet to 
 
 mourn. 
 Wi. I'll not accuse my heart of so much 
 
 weakness ; 
 
 'Twere a confession 'gairxst my lord. The 
 queen ! 
 
 Enter Queen, Montmorency, Treasurer, 
 and Secretary. 
 
 She has express'd against me some dis- 
 pleasure. 
 
 Fa. Let's this way through the gallery. 
 Qu. Tisshe. 
 Do you, my lord, say I would speak with 
 
 her. 
 And has Allegre, one of the chiefest trust 
 
 with him, 
 Suffer'd the rack ? The chancellor is 
 
 violent : 
 And what's confess'd ? 
 
 Tr. Nothing ; he contemn'd all 
 That could with any cruellest pain explore 
 
 him, 
 As if his mind had robb'd his nerves of 
 
 sense, 
 And through them diffused fiery spirits 
 
 above 
 All flesh and blood ; for, as his limbs were 
 
 stretch'd, 
 
 His contempt's too extended. 
 Qu. A strange fortitude ! 
 Tr. But we shall lose the arraignment. 
 Qu. The success 
 Will soon arrive. 
 
 Tr. You'll not appear, my lord, then ? 
 Mo. I desire 
 
 Your lordship would excuse me. 
 Tr. We are your servants. 
 
 \Exeunt Treasurer and Secretary. 
 Mo. She attends you, madam. 
 Qu. This humbleness proceeds not from 
 your heart. 
 
 Why, you are a queen yourself in your 
 own thoughts, 
 
 The Admiral's wife of France cannot be 
 less. 
 
 You have not state enough ; you should 
 not move 
 
 Without a train of friends and servants. 
 Wi. There is some mystery 
 
 Within your language, madam. I would 
 hope 
 
 You have more charity than to imagine 
 
 My present condition worth your triumph, 
 
 In which I am not so lost, but I have 
 
 Some friends and servants with pro- 
 portion 
 
 To my lord's fortune ; but none, within the 
 list 
 
 Of those that obey me, can be more ready 
 
 To express their duties than my heart to 
 serve 
 
 Your just commands. 
 
 Qu. Then pride will ebb, I see ; 
 
 There is no constant flood of state and 
 greatness ; 
 
 The prodigy is ceasing when your lord 
 
 Comes to the balance. He whose blazing 
 fires 
 
 Shot wonders through the kingdom, will 
 discover 
 
 What flying and corrupted matter fed 
 
 him. 
 
 Wi. My lord? 
 Qu. Your high and mighty justicer, 
 
 The man of conscience, the oracle 
 
 Of state, whose honourable titles 
 
 Would crack an elephant's back, is now 
 turn'd mortal, 
 
 Must pass examination and the test 
 
 Of law ; have all his offices ripp'd up, 
 
 And his corrupt soul laid open to the sub- 
 jects : 
 
 His brides, . oppressions, and close sins, 
 that made 
 
 So many groan and curse him, now shall 
 find 
 
 Their just reward, and all that love their 
 country, 
 
 Bless heaven and the king's justice, for re- 
 moving 
 
 Such a devouring monster. 
 Fn. Sir, your pardon. 
 
 Madam, you are the queen, she is my 
 daughter, 
 
 And he that you have character'd so mon- 
 strous, 
 
 My son-in-law, now gone to be arraign'd. 
 
 The king is just, and a good man ; but 't 
 does not 
 
 Add to the graces of your royal person, 
 M M 2 
 
532 
 
 THE ADMIRAL OF FRANCE. 
 
 [ACT III. 
 
 To tread upon a lady thus dejected 
 
 By her own grief. Her lord's not yet 
 
 found guilty, 
 Much less condemn'd, though you have 
 
 pleased to execute him. 
 Qu. What saucy fellow's this ? 
 Fa. I must confess 
 I am a man out of this element, 
 No courtier ; yet I arn a gentleman, 
 That dare speak honest truth to the queen's 
 
 ear 
 
 (A duty every subject will not pay you), 
 And justify it to all the world. There's 
 
 nothing 
 
 Doth more eclipse the honours of our soul 
 Than an ill-grounded and ill-follow'd 
 
 passion, 
 
 Let fly with noise and licence against those 
 Whose hearts before are bleeding. 
 Mo. Brave old man ! 
 Fa. 'Cause you are a queen, to trample 
 
 o'er a woman, 
 Whose tongue and faculties are all tied 
 
 up! 
 Strike out a lion's teeth, and pare his 
 
 claws, 
 And then a dwarf may pluck him by the 
 
 beard, 
 "Tis a gay victory ! 
 
 Qu. Did you hear, my lord ? 
 Fa. I ha' done. 
 
 \Vi. And it concerns me to begin. 
 I have not made this pause through ser- 
 vile fear, 
 
 Or guilty apprehension of your rage, 
 But with just wonder of the heats and 
 
 wildness 
 Has prepossess 'd your nature 'gainst our 
 
 innocence. 
 
 You are my queen ; unto that title bows 
 The humblest knee in France ; my heart, 
 
 made lower 
 
 With my obedience, and prostrate duty ; 
 Nor have I powers created for my use, 
 When just commands of you expect their 
 
 service ; 
 But were you queen of all the world, or 
 
 something 
 To be thought greater, betwixt heaven and 
 
 us, 
 That I could reach you with my eyes and 
 
 voice, 
 
 I would shoot both up in defence of my 
 Abused honour, and stand all your light- 
 ning. 
 
 Qu. So brave ! 
 
 Wi. So just, and boldly innocent, 
 I cannot fear, arm'd with a noble con- 
 science, 
 
 The tempest of your frown, were it more 
 
 frightful 
 
 Than ever fury made a woman's anger, 
 Prepared to kill with death's most horrid 
 
 ceremony ; 
 
 Yet with what freedom of my soul I can 
 Forgive your accusation of my pride. 
 Qn. Forgive! What insolence is like 
 
 this language ? 
 
 Can any action of ours be capable 
 Of thy forgiveness ? Dust, how I despise 
 
 thee! 
 
 Can we sin to be object of thy mercy? 
 Wi. Yes, and have done't already, and 
 
 no stain 
 
 To your greatness, madam ; 'tis my charity 
 I can remit. When sovereign princes 
 
 dare 
 
 Do injury to those that live beneath them, 
 They turn worth pity and their prayers. 
 
 and 'tis 
 In the free power of those whom they 
 
 oppress 
 
 To pardon them ; each soul has a prero- 
 gative, 
 And privilege royal, that was sign'd by 
 
 heaven. 
 
 But though i' th' knowledge of nay dis- 
 position, 
 Stranger to pride, and what you charge 
 
 me with, 
 
 I can forgive the injustice done to me, 
 And striking at my person ; I have no 
 Commission from my lord to clear you for 
 The wrongs you have done him, and till 
 
 he pardon 
 The wounding of his lovalty, with which 
 
 life 
 Can hold no balance, I must take just 
 
 boldness 
 To say 
 Fa. No more. Now I must tell you, 
 
 daughter, 
 
 Lest you forget yourself, she is the queen, 
 And it becomes not you to vie with her 
 Passion for passion : if your lord stand 
 
 fast 
 
 To the full search of law, heaven will re- 
 venge him, 
 And give him up precious to good men's 
 
 loves. 
 
 If you attempt by these unruly ways 
 To vindicate his justice, I'm against you, 
 Dear as I wish your husband's life and 
 
 fame : 
 
 Subjects are bound to suffer, not contest 
 With princes, since their will and acts 
 
 must be 
 Accounted one day to a Judge supreme. 
 
ACT III.] 
 
 THE ADMIRAL OF FRANCE. 
 
 533 
 
 Wi. I ha' done. If the devotion to 
 
 my lord, 
 
 Or piety to his innocence, have led me 
 Beyond the awful limits to be observed 
 By one so much beneath your sacred 
 
 person, 
 I thus low crave your royal pardon, 
 
 madam. 
 
 I know you will remember in your good- 
 ness, 
 My life-blood is concern'd while his least 
 
 vein 
 Shall run black and polluted, my heart 
 
 fed 
 With what keeps him alive, nor can there 
 
 be 
 A greater wound than that which strikes 
 
 the life 
 Of our good name, so much above the 
 
 bleeding 
 
 Of this rude pile we carry, as the soul 
 Hath excellence above this earth-born 
 
 frailty. 
 
 My lord, by the king's will, is led already 
 To a severe arraignment, and to judges 
 Will make no tender search into his tract 
 Of life and state. Stay but a little while, 
 And France shall echo to his shame or in- 
 nocence. 
 This suit I beg with tears ; I shall have 
 
 sorrow 
 Enough to hear him censured foul and 
 
 monstrous, 
 
 Should you forbear to antedate my suffer- 
 ings. 
 Qu. Your conscience comes about, and 
 
 you incline 
 
 To fear he may be worth the law's con- 
 demning. 
 Wi. I sooner will suspect the stars may 
 
 lose 
 Their way, and crystal heaven return to 
 
 chaos ; 
 Truth sits not on her square more firm 
 
 than he : 
 
 Yet, let me tell you, madam, were his life 
 And action so foul as you have character'd 
 And the bad world expects, though as a 
 
 wife, 
 
 'Twere duty I should weep myself to death, 
 To know him fall'n from virtue, yet so 
 
 much 
 
 I, a frail woman, love my king and country, 
 I should condemn him too, and think all 
 
 honours, 
 The price of his lost faith, more fatal to 
 
 me 
 
 Than Cleopatra's asps warm in my bosom, 
 And as much boast their killing. 
 
 Qu. This declares 
 Another soul than was deliver'd me. 
 My anger melts, and I begin to pity her. 
 How much a prince's ear may be 
 
 abused ! 
 Enjoy your happy confidence ; at more 
 
 leisure 
 You may hear from us. 
 
 Wi. Heaven preserve the queen, 
 And may her heart be charitable ! 
 Fa. You bless and honour your un- 
 worthy servant. 
 
 Qu. My lord, did you observe this ? 
 Mo. Yes, great madam, 
 And read a noble spirit, which becomes 
 The wife of Chabot ! Their great tie of 
 
 marriage 
 Is not more strong upon them than their 
 
 virtues. 
 Qu. That your opinion? I thought 
 
 your judgment 
 Against the admiral. Do you think him 
 
 honest ? 
 Mo. Religiously ; a true, most zealous 
 
 patriot, 
 And worth all royal favour. 
 
 Qu. You amaze me. 
 
 Can you be just yourself then, and advance 
 Your powers against him ? 
 
 Mo. Such a will be far 
 From Montmorency. Pioners of state 
 Have left no art to gain me to their faction, 
 And 'tis my misery to be placed in such 
 A sphere, where I am whirl'd by violence 
 Of a fierce raging motion, and not what 
 My own will would incline me. I shall make 
 This appear, madam, if you please to 
 
 second 
 My free speech with the king. 
 
 Qu. Good heaven protect all ! 
 Haste to the king ; Justice her swift wing 
 
 needs ; 
 
 Tis high time to be good, when virtue 
 bleeds. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Officers, before the Chancellor, 
 Judges, the Proctor-general, -whisper- 
 ing wit h the Chancellor ; they take 
 their places : to them enter Treasurer 
 and Secretary, who take their places 
 prepared on one side of the Court. 
 To them the Captain of the Guard, 
 the Admiral following, who is placed 
 at the bar. 
 
 Chan. Good Master Proctor-general, 
 begin. 
 
 Pr. It is not unknown to you, my very 
 good lords the judges, and indeed to all 
 the world, for I will make short work, since 
 
534 
 
 THE ADMIRAL OF FRANCE. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 your honourable ears need not to be en- 
 larged, I speak by a figure, with prolix 
 enumeration, how infinitely the king hath 
 favoured this ill-favoured traitor ; and yet 
 I may worthily too insist and prove, that 
 no grace hath been so large and voluminous 
 as this, that he hath appointed such upright 
 judges at this time, and the chief of this 
 triumvirie, our chancellor, by name Poyet, 
 which deriveth from the Greek his etymo- 
 logy from Poyein, which is, to make, to 
 create, to invent matter that was never 
 extant in nature ; from whence also is the 
 name and dignity of Poeta, which I will 
 not insist upon in this place, although 
 I am confident his lordship wanteth 
 no faculty in making of verses. But 
 what addition, I say, is it to the honour 
 of this delinquent, that he hath such a 
 judge ? a man so learned, so full of equity, 
 so noble, so notable in the progress of his 
 life, so innocent, in the manage of his office 
 so incorrupt, in the passages of state so 
 wise, in affection to his country so religious, 
 in all his services to the king so fortunate 
 and exploring, as envy itself cannot accuse, 
 or malice vitiate, whom all lips will open to 
 commend, but those of Philip ; and in 
 their hearts will erect altars, and statues, 
 columns, and obelisks, pillars and pyra- 
 mids, to the perpetuity of his name and 
 memory ? What shall I say ? but conclude 
 for his so great and sacred service, both to 
 our king and kingdom, and for their ever- 
 lasting benefit, there may everlastingly 
 be left here one of his loins, one of his 
 loins ever remain, I say, and stay upon 
 this bench, to be the example of all justice, 
 even while the north and south star shall 
 continue. 
 
 Chan. You express your oratory, Master 
 Proctor ; I pray come presently to the 
 matter. 
 
 Pr. Thus, with your lordship's pardon, 
 I proceed ; and the first thing I shall 
 glance at will be worth your lordship's 
 reflection, his ingratitude ; and to whom ? 
 to no less person than a king ; and to what 
 king ? his own, and our general sovereign, 
 pro Deum atque hominum fidem ; a king 
 and such a king, the health, life, and soul 
 of us all, whose very mention draws this 
 salt water from my eyes ; for he, indeed, is 
 our eye, who wakes and watches for us 
 when we sleep, and who will not sleep for 
 him ? I mean not sleep, which the philo- 
 sophers call a natural cessation of the 
 common, and, consequently, of all the ex- 
 terior senses, caused first and immediately 
 
 by a detension of spirits, which can have 
 no communication, since the way is ob- 
 structed by which these spirits should com- 
 merce, by vapours ascending from the 
 stomach to the head, by which evaporation 
 the roots of the nerves are filled, through 
 which the animal spirits to be poured into 
 the dwellings of the external senses ; but 
 sleep, I take for death, which all know to be 
 ultima linea; who will not sle'.p eternally 
 for such a king as we enjoy ? If, therefore, 
 in general, as he is king of us all, all sharing 
 and dividing the benefits of this our sove- 
 reign, none should be so ingrateful as once 
 to murmur against him, what shall be said 
 of the ingratitude more monstrous in this 
 Chabot? for our Francis hath loved, not in 
 general, and in the crowd with other sub- 
 jects, but particularly, this Philip; advanced 
 him to the supreme dignity of a statesman, 
 lodged him in his very heart, yet monstrum 
 horrendum, even to this Francis hath Philip 
 been ungrateful. Brutus, the loved son, 
 hath stabbed Caesar with a bodkin. Oh, 
 what brute may be compared to him ! and 
 in what particulars may this crime be ex- 
 emplified ? he hath, as we say, chopped 
 logic with the king ; .nay, to the very teeth 
 of his sovereign, advanced his own gnat- 
 like merits, and justified with luciferous 
 pride, that his services have deserved more 
 than all the bounty of our munificent king 
 hath paid him. 
 
 .Chan. Observe that, my lords. 
 
 Pr. Nay, he hath gone further, and 
 most traitorously hath committed outrage 
 and impiety to the king's own hand and 
 royal character, which, presented to him 
 in a bill from the whole council, he most 
 violently did tear in pieces, and will do the 
 very body and person of our king, if your 
 justice make no timely prevention, and 
 strike out the serpentine teeth of this high 
 and more than horrible monster. 
 
 Tr. This was enforced home. 
 
 Pr. In the next place, I will relate to 
 your honours his most cruel exactions 
 upon the subject, the old 'vantcouriers of 
 rebellions. In the year 1536 and 37, this 
 oppressor, and this extortioner, under 
 pretext of his due taxation, being admiral, 
 imposed upon certain fishermen (observe, 
 I beseech you, the circumstance of their 
 persons, fishermen], who, poor Johns, were 
 embarked upon the coast of Normandy, 
 and fishing there for herrings (which some 
 say is the king of fishes), he imposed, I 
 say, twenty sous, and upon every boat six 
 livres. O intolerable exaction ! enough, 
 
ACT III.] 
 
 THE ADMIRAL OF FRANCE. 
 
 535 
 
 not only to alienate the hearts of these 
 miserable people from their king, which, 
 ipso facto, is high treason, but an occasion 
 of a greater inconvenience, for want of due 
 provision of fish among the subjects ; for 
 by this might ensue a necessity of mortal 
 sins, by breaking the religious fast upon 
 vigils, embers, and other days commanded 
 by sacred authority, besides the miserable 
 rut that would follow, and perhaps con- 
 tagion, when feasting and flesh should be 
 licensed for every carnal appetite. I could 
 urgemany more particularsof his dangerous, 
 insatiate, and boundless avarice ; but the 
 improvement of his estate in so few years, 
 from a private gentleman's fortune to a 
 great duke's revenues, might save our 
 sovereign therein an orator, to enforce and 
 prove faulty, even to giantism, against 
 heaven. 
 
 Ju. This is but a noise of words. 
 
 Fr. To the foul outrages so violent, let 
 us add his commissions granted out of his 
 own presumed authority, his majesty 
 neither informed or respected ; his dis- 
 loyalties, infidelities, contempts, oppres- 
 sions, extortions, with innumerable abuses, 
 offences and forfeits, both to his majesty's 
 most royal person, crown, and dignity ; 
 yet, notwithstanding all these injustices, 
 this unmatchable, unjust delinquent af- 
 fecteth to be thought inculpable, and 
 incomparable just; but alas! my most 
 learned lords, none know better than 
 yourselves how easy the sincerity of justice 
 is pretended, how hard it is to be per- 
 formed, and how common it is for him 
 that hath least colour of title to it, to be 
 thought the very substance and soul of it ; 
 he that was never true scholar in the least 
 degree, longs as a woman with child, to 
 be great with scholar ; she that was never 
 with child longs, omnibus viis et modis, to 
 be got with child, and will wear a cushion 
 to seem with child ; and he that was never 
 just, will fly in the king's face to be counted 
 just, though for all he be nothing, but just 
 a traitor. 
 
 Se. The admiral smiles. 
 
 Ju. Answer yourself, my lord. 
 
 Chab. I shall, and briefly : 
 The furious eloquence of my accuser 
 
 hath 
 
 Branch'd my offences heinous to the king, 
 And then his subject, a most vast indict- 
 ment, 
 
 That to the king I have justified my merit 
 And services ; which conscience of that 
 truth, 
 
 That gave my actions life, when they are 
 
 question'd, 
 
 I ought to urge again, and do without 
 The least part of injustice. For the bill, 
 A foul, and most unjust one, and prefcrr'd 
 'Gainst the king's honour, and his subjects' 
 
 privilege, 
 
 And with a policy to betray my office 
 And faith to both, I do confess I tore it, 
 It being press'd immodestly, but without 
 A thought of disobedience to his name, 
 To whose mention I bow, with humble 
 
 reverence, 
 And dare appeal to the king's knowledge of 
 
 me, 
 
 How far I am in soul from such a rebel. 
 For the rest, my lord, and you, my 
 
 honour'd judges, 
 Since all this mountain, all this time in 
 
 labour, 
 With more than mortal fury 'gainst my 
 
 life, 
 Hath brought forth nought but some 
 
 ridiculous vermin, 
 
 I will not wrong my right and innocence 
 With any serious plea in my reply, 
 To frustrate breath, and fight with terrible 
 
 shadows, 
 That have been forged and forced against 
 
 my state, 
 But leave all, with my life, to your free 
 
 censures, 
 
 Only beseeching all your learned judgments 
 Equal and pious conscience to weigh. 
 
 Pr. And how this great and mighty 
 fortune has exalted him to pride is ap- 
 parent, not only in his braves and bearings 
 to the king, the fountain of all this in- 
 crease, but in his contempt and scorn of 
 the subject, his vast expenses in buildings, 
 his private bounties, above royal, to sol- 
 diers and scholars, that he may be the 
 general and patron, and protector of arms 
 and arts ; the number of domestic atten- 
 dants, an army of grasshoppers and gay 
 butterflies, able to devour the spring ; his 
 glorious wardrobes, his stable of horses, 
 that are pricked with provender, and will 
 enforce us to weed up our vineyards, to 
 sow oats for supply of their provision ; his 
 caroches shining with gold, and more 
 bright than the chariot of the sun, wearing 
 out the pavements ; nay, he is of late so 
 transcendently proud, that men must be 
 his mules, and carry him up and down as 
 it were in a procession for men to gaze at 
 him, till their chines crack with the weight 
 of insupportable pride ; and who knows 
 but this may prove a fashion ? But who 
 
536 
 
 THE ADMIRAL OF FRANCE. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 groans for this? the subject, who mur- 
 mur, and are ready to begm a rebellion, 
 but the tumultuous sailor', and water-rats, 
 who run up and down the city, like an 
 overbearing tempest, cursing the admiral, 
 who in duty ought tc- undo himself for the 
 general satisfaction of his countrymen ? 
 Chab. The variety, and wonder now pre- 
 sented 
 
 To your most noble notice, and the world's, 
 That all my fife and actions, and offices, 
 Explored A'ith all the hundred eyes of law, 
 Lighted <vith lightning, shot out of the wrath j 
 Of an incensed and commanding king, 
 An-i blown with foes, with far more bitter i 
 
 winds 
 
 Than winter from his eastern cave exhales, 
 Yet nothing found, but what you all have 
 
 heard, 
 
 And then consider, if a peer of state 
 Should be exposed to such a wild arraign- 
 ment 
 For poor complaints, his fame, faith, life, 
 
 and honours, 
 Rack'd for no more. 
 
 Chan. No more ? Good heaven, what say 
 
 My learn'd assistants? 
 
 i5/ Ju. My lord, the crimes urged here 
 
 for us to censure 
 
 As capital, and worth this high arraignment, 
 To me seem strange, because they do not fall 
 In force of law, to arraign a peer of state ; 
 For all that law can take into her power 
 To sentence, is the exaction of the fishermen. 
 znd Ju. Here is no majesty violated : I 
 
 consent 
 To what my brother has express'd. 
 
 Chan. Break then in wonder, 
 My frighted words out of their forming 
 
 powers, 
 That you no more collect, from all these 
 
 forfeits 
 
 That master proctor-general hath open'd, 
 With so apparent and impulsive learning, 
 Against the rage and madness of the of- 
 fender, 
 
 And violate majesty, my learn'd assistants, 
 When majesty's affronted and defied, 
 Itbeing compared with! and in such an onset 
 As leap'd into his throat, his life affrighting ! 
 Be justified in all insolence all subjects, 
 If this be so consider'd, and insult 
 Upon your privileged malice! Is not majesty 
 Poison'd in this wonder ! and no felony set 
 Where royalty is robb'd, and* 
 Fie, how it fights with law, and grates upon 
 
 * Something has dropped out here : Giflbrcl 
 suggests " violate." ED. 
 
 Her brain and soul, and all the powers of 
 
 reason ! 
 
 Reporter of the process, show the schedule. 
 No. Here, my good lord. 
 ist Ju. No altering it in us. 
 2nd Ju. Far be it from us, sir. 
 Chan. Here's silken justice ! 
 It might be alter'd ; mend your sentences. 
 Doth. Not we, my lord. 
 Chan. Not you ? The king shall know 
 You slight a duty to his will and safety. 
 Give me your pen ; it must be capital. 
 ist Ju. Make what you please, my lord ; 
 
 our doom shall stand. 
 Chan. Thus I subscribe : now, at your 
 
 perils, follow. 
 Both. Perils, my lord ? threats in- the 
 
 king's free justice ? 
 
 Tr. I ant amazed they can be so remiss. 
 Se. Merciful men, pitiful judges, certain. 
 ist jfu. Subscribe ; it matters nothing, 
 
 being constrain'd. 
 
 On this side, and on this side, this capital /, 
 Both which together put, import plain Vi ; 
 And witness we are forced. 
 
 znd Ju. Enough ; 
 
 It will acquit us, when we make it known, 
 Our names are forced. 
 
 Chan. If traitorous pride 
 Upon the royal person of a king 
 Were sentenced unfeloniously before, 
 I'll burn my books, and be a judge no 
 
 more. 
 
 Both. Here are our hands subscribed. 
 Chan. Why so? it joys me, 
 You have reform'd your justice and your 
 
 judgment. 
 Now have you done like judges and learn'd 
 
 lawyers ; 
 The king shall thank and honour you for 
 
 this. 
 Notary, read. 
 
 No. We, by his sacred Majesty appointed 
 Judges, upon dzie trial and examination 
 Of Philip Chabot, admiral of France, 
 Declare him guilty of high treasons, &c. 
 Chan. Now, Captain of the guard, secure 
 
 his person, 
 Till the king signify 
 His pleasure for his death. This day is 
 
 happy 
 
 To France, thus rescued from the vile de- 
 
 vourer. [A shout -within. 
 
 Hark ! how the votes applaud their blest 
 
 deliverance ! 
 You that so late did right and conscience 
 
 boast, 
 
 Heaven's mercy now implore, the king's is 
 lost. [Exeunt. 
 
ACT IV.] 
 
 THE ADMIRAL OF FRANCE. 
 
 537 
 
 ACT THE FOURTH. 
 
 Enter King, Queen, and Constable. 
 
 Ki. You raise my thoughts to wonder, 
 
 that you, madam, 
 And you, my lord, unite your force to 
 
 plead 
 
 I' the admiral's behalf : this is not that 
 Language you did express, when the torn 
 
 bill 
 
 Was late pretended to us ; it was then 
 Defiance to our high prerogative, 
 The act of him whose proud heart would 
 
 rebel, 
 
 And, arm'd with faction, too soon attempt 
 To tear my crown off. 
 Qu. I was ignorant 
 Then of his worth, and heard but the 
 
 report 
 
 Of his accusers and his enemies, 
 Who never mention in his character 
 Shadows of any virtue in those men 
 They would depress : like crows and carrion 
 
 birds, 
 They fly o'er flowery meads, clear springs, 
 
 fair gardens, 
 And stoop at carcases. For your own 
 
 honour, 
 Pity poor Chabot. 
 
 Ki. Poor, and a Colossus, 
 What could so lately straddle o'er a pro- 
 vince ! 
 
 Can he be fall'n so low and miserable, 
 To want my pity, who breaks forth like 
 
 day, 
 
 Takes up all people's eyes and admira- 
 tion ? 
 It cannot be. He hath a princely wife, 
 
 too. 
 Qu. I interpose not often, sir, or press 
 
 you 
 
 With unbecoming importunity, 
 To serve the profitable ends of others. 
 Conscience, and duty to yourself, enforce 
 My present mediation ; you have given 
 The health of your own state away, unless 
 Wisdom in time recover him. 
 
 Ki. If he prove 
 No adulterate gold, trial confirms his 
 
 value. 
 Qu. Although it hold in metal, gracious 
 
 sir, 
 
 Such fiery examination, and the furnace 
 May waste a heart that's faithful, and 
 
 together 
 With that you call the feces, something 
 
 of 
 The precious substance may be hazarded. 
 
 Ki. Why, you are the chief engine 
 
 raised against him, 
 
 ] And in the world's creed, labour most to 
 sink him, 
 
 That in his fall and absence, every beam 
 
 May shine on you, and only gild your for- 
 tune. 
 
 Your difference is the ground of his arraign- 
 ment ; 
 
 Nor were we unsolicited by you, 
 
 To have your bill confirm 'd ; from that, 
 that spring, 
 
 Came all these mighty and impetuous- 
 waves, 
 
 With which he now must wrestle ; if the 
 strength 
 
 Of his own innocence can break the storm, 
 
 Truth will not lose her servant, her wings- 
 cover him. 
 
 He must obey his fate. 
 Mo. I would not have 
 
 It lie upon my fame, that I should be 
 
 Mention'd in story his unjust supplanter, 
 
 For your whole kingdom. I have been 
 abused, 
 
 And made believe my suit was just and 
 necessary. 
 
 My walks have not been safe, my closet 
 prayers, 
 
 But some plot has pursued me, by some 
 great ones 
 
 Against your noble Admiral : they have 
 frighted 
 
 My fancy in my dreams with their close 
 whispers, 
 
 How to uncement your affections, 
 
 And render him the fable, and the scorn 
 
 Of France. 
 
 Qu. Brave Montmorency ! 
 Ki. Are you serious ? 
 Mo. Have I a soul, or gratitude, to 
 acknowledge 
 
 Myself your creature, dignified and 
 honour'd 
 
 By your high favours ? with an equal 
 truth 
 
 I must declare the justice of your Admiral 
 
 (In what my thoughts are conscious), and 
 will rather 
 
 Give up my claim to birth, title, and 
 offices, 
 
 Be thrown from your warm smile, the top 
 and crown 
 
 Of subjects' happiness, than be bribed with 
 all 
 
 Their glories to the guilt of Chabot's ruin. 
 Ki. Come, come ; you overact this 
 passion, 
 
 And if it be not policy, it tastes 
 
538 
 
 THE ADMIRAL OF FRANCE. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Too green, and wants some counsel to 
 
 mature it ; 
 His fall prepares your triumph. 
 
 Mo. It confirms 
 
 My shame alive, and, buried, will corrupt 
 My very dust, make our house-genius 
 
 groan, 
 And fright the honest marble from my 
 
 ashes. 
 His fall prepare my triumph! turn me 
 
 first 
 A naked exile to the world. 
 
 Ki. No more ; 
 Take heed you banish not yourself; be 
 
 wise, 
 And let not too much zeal devour your 
 
 reason. 
 
 Enter Asall. 
 
 As. Your admiral is condemn'd, sir. 
 
 Ki. Ha ! strange ! No matter ; 
 Leave us. A great man, I see, may be 
 As soon despatched as a common subject. 
 
 Qu. No mercy then for Chabot. 
 
 Enter Wife and Father. 
 
 Wi. From whence came 
 That sound of Chabot ? Then we are all 
 
 undone. 
 Oh, do not hear the queen, she is no 
 
 friend 
 To my poor lord, but made against his 
 
 m- 
 .ife, 
 
 IL 
 
 "Which hath too many enemies already ! 
 Mo. Poor soul ! she thinks the queen is 
 
 still against him, 
 Who employeth all her powers to preserve 
 
 him. 
 Fa. Say you so, my lord? Daughter, 
 
 the queen's our friend. 
 Wi. Why do you mock my sorrow? 
 
 can you flatter 
 Your own grief so ? Be just, and hear me, 
 
 sir, 
 
 And do not sacrifice a subject's blood 
 To appease a wrathful queen. Let mercy 
 
 shine 
 Upon your brow, and heaven will pay it 
 
 back 
 Upon your soul : be deaf to all her 
 
 prayers. 
 Ki. Poor heart, she knows not what she 
 
 has desired. 
 Wi. I beg my Chabot 's life ; my sorrows 
 
 yet 
 
 Have not destroy'd my reason. 
 Ki. He is in the power of my laws, not 
 
 mine. 
 Wi, Then you have no power, 
 
 And are but the empty shadow of a king. 
 To whom is it resign 'd ? Where shall I beg 
 The forfeit life of one condemn'd by law's 
 Too partial doom ? 
 
 Ki. You hear he is condemn'd, then ? 
 
 Fa. My son is condemn'd, sir. 
 
 Ki. You know for what too ? 
 
 Fa. What the judges please to call it ; 
 But they have given't a name, treason, they 
 say. 
 
 Qu. I must not be denied. 
 
 Ki. I must deny you. 
 
 Wi. Be blest for ever for't. 
 
 Qu. Grant then to her. 
 
 Ki. Chabot, condemn'd by law? 
 
 Fa. But you have power 
 To change the rigour ; in your breast there 
 
 is 
 
 A chancellor above it. I ne'er had 
 A suit before ; but my knees join with hers 
 To implore your royal mercy to her lord, 
 And take his cause to your examination ; 
 It cannot wrong your judges, if they have 
 Been steer'd by conscience. 
 
 Mo. It will fame your justice. 
 
 Ki. I cannot be prescribed ; you kneel 
 
 in vain. 
 
 You labour to betray me with your tears 
 To a treason above his, 'gainst my own 
 
 laws. 
 Look to the lady. 
 
 Enter Asall. 
 
 As. Sir, the chancellor. 
 
 Ki. Admit him. Leave us all. 
 
 {Exeunt all but King. 
 
 Enter Chancellor. 
 
 How now, my lord ? 
 
 You have lost no time ; and how thrive the 
 
 proceedings ? 
 Chan. 'Twas fit, my gracious sovereign, 
 
 time should leave 
 
 His motion, made* in all affairs beside, 
 And spend his wings only in speed of this. 
 Ki. You have show'd diligence ; and 
 
 what's become 
 
 Of our most curious justicer, the Admiral? 
 Chan. Condemn'd, sir, utterly, and all 
 
 hands set 
 To his conviction. 
 Ki. And for faults most foul ? 
 Chan. More than most impious : but the 
 
 applausive issue, 
 Struck by the concourse of your ravish 'd 
 
 subjects 
 
 For joy of your free justice, if there were 
 No other cause to assure the sentence just, 
 Were proof convincing. 
 
ACT IV.] 
 
 THE ADMIRAL OF FRANCE. 
 
 539 
 
 Ki. Now then he sees clearly 
 That men perceive how vain his justice was, 
 And scorn him for the foolish net he wore 
 To hide his nakedness. Is't not a wonder, 
 That men's ambitions should so blind their 
 
 reason, 
 
 To affect shapes of honesty, and take pride 
 Rather in seeming, than in being just ? 
 Chan. Seeming has better fortune to at- 
 tend it, 
 
 Than being sound at heart, and virtuous. 
 Ki. Profess all ! nothing do, like those 
 
 that live 
 
 By looking to the lamps of holy temples, 
 Who still are busy taking off their snuffs, 
 But for their profit sake will add no oil ! 
 So these will check and sentence every 
 
 fame, 
 The blaze of riotous blood doth cast in 
 
 others, 
 And in themselves leave the fume most 
 
 offensive. 
 
 But he to do this, more deceives my judg- 
 ment 
 Than all the rest, whose nature I have 
 
 sounded. 
 
 Chan. I know, sir, and have proved it. 
 Ki. Well, my lord, 
 
 To omit circumstance, I highly thank you 
 For this late service you have done me hi 
 Which is so great and meritorious, 
 That with my ablest power I scarce can 
 
 quit you. 
 Chan. Your sole acceptance, my dread 
 
 sovereign, 
 
 I more rejoice in than in all the fortunes 
 That ever chanced me. But when may it 
 
 please 
 
 Your highness to order the execution? 
 The haste thus far has spared no pinions. 
 
 Ki. No, my lord, your care 
 Hath therein much deserved. 
 
 Chan. But where proportion 
 Is kept to th' end in things, at start so 
 
 happy, 
 
 That end set on the crown. 
 Ki. I'll speed it therefore. 
 Chan. Your thoughts direct it ; they are 
 wing'd. [Exit. 
 
 Ki. I joy 
 This boldness is condemn'd, that I may 
 
 pardon, 
 And therein get some ground in his 
 
 opinion, 
 
 By so much bounty as saves his life ; 
 And, methinks, that weigh'd more, should 
 
 sway the balance 
 
 'Twixt me and him, held by his own free 
 justice ; 
 
 iere, 
 
 For I could never find him obstinate 
 In any mind he held, when once he saw 
 Th 1 error with which he labour'd ; and 
 
 since now 
 
 He needs must feel it, I admit no doubt 
 But that his alteration will beget 
 Another sense of things 'twixt him and 
 
 me. ,__ 
 
 Who's there ? 
 
 Enter Asall. 
 
 Go to the captain of my guard, and will 
 
 him 
 To attend his condemn'd prisoner to me 
 
 instantly. 
 As. I shall, sir. 
 
 Enter Treasurer and Secretary. 
 
 Ki. My lords, you were spectators of 
 
 our Admiral. 
 Tr. And hearers too of his most just 
 
 conviction, 
 
 In which we witness'd over-weight enough 
 In your great bounties, and, as they there 
 
 were weigh'd, 
 
 With all the feathers of his boasted merits. 
 Ki. Has felt a scorching trial ; and the 
 
 test 
 (That holds fire's utmost force) we must 
 
 give metals 
 That will not with the hammer, and the 
 
 melting, 
 Confess their truth ; and this same sense of 
 
 feeling 
 (Being ground to all the senses), hath one 
 
 key 
 More than the rest to let in through them 
 
 all 
 The mind's true apprehension, that thence 
 
 takes 
 
 Her first convey'd intelligence. I long 
 To see this man of confidence again. 
 How think you, lords, will Chabot look on 
 
 me, 
 
 Now spoil'd of the integrity he boasted ? 
 Se. It were too much honour to vouch- 
 safe your sight. 
 Tr. No doubt, my liege, but he that 
 
 hath offended 
 In such a height against your crown and 
 
 person, 
 Will want no impudence to look upon you. 
 
 Enter Asall, Captain, Admiral. 
 
 Ca. Sir, I had charge given me by this 
 
 gentleman 
 
 To bring your condemn'd prisoner to your 
 presence. 
 
S4Q 
 
 THE ADMIRAL OF FRANCE. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Ki. You have done well ; and tell the 
 
 queen and our 
 
 Lord constable we desire their presence ; bid 
 Our admiral's lady, and her father too, 
 Attend us here : they are but new with- 
 drawn. 
 
 As. I shall, sir. 
 
 Tr. Do you observe this confidence ? 
 He stands as all his trial were a dream. 
 Se. He'll find the horror waking. The 
 
 king's troubled : 
 
 Now for a thunder-clap. The queen and 
 constable. 
 
 Enter Queen, Constable, Wife, 
 and Father. 
 
 Tr. I do not like their mixture. 
 Ki. My lord admiral, 
 You made it your desire to have this trial 
 That late hath pass'd upon you ; 
 And now you feel how vain is too much 
 
 faith , 
 
 And flattery of yourself, as if your breast 
 Were proof 'gainst all invasion ; 'tis so 
 
 slight 
 You see it lets in death ; what's past hath 
 
 been 
 
 To satisfy your insolence ; there remains 
 That now we serve our own free pleasure ; 
 
 therefore, 
 By that most absolute power, with which 
 
 all right 
 Puts in my hands, these issues, turns, and 
 
 changes, 
 
 I here, in ear of all these, pardon all 
 Your faults and forfeits, whatsoever 
 
 censured, 
 
 Again advancing, and establishing 
 Your person in all fulness of that state 
 That ever you enjoy'd before th' attainder. 
 Tr. Wonderful ! pardon'd ! 
 IVi. Heaven preserve the king ! 
 Qu. Who for this will deserve all time 
 
 to honour him. 
 
 Mo. And live kings' best example. 
 Fa. Son, you're pardon'd ; 
 Be sure you look hereafter well about you. 
 Chab. Vouchsafe, great sir, to assure me 
 
 what you said ; 
 You named my pardon. 
 
 Ki. And again declare it, 
 For all crimes past, of what nature soever. 
 Chab. You cannot pardon me, sir. 
 Ki. How's that, Philip ? 
 Chab. It is a word carries too much 
 
 relation 
 
 To an offence, of which I am not guilty ! 
 And I must still be bold, where truth still 
 arms, 
 
 In spite of all those frov;ns that would 
 
 deject me, 
 
 To say, I need no pardon. 
 Ki. Ha ! how's this ? 
 Fa. He's mad with overjoy, and answers 
 
 nonsense. 
 Ki. Why, tell me, Chabot, are not you 
 
 condemn'd ? 
 Chab. Yes, and that justifies me much 
 
 the more ; 
 For whatsoever false report hath brought 
 
 you, 
 I was condemn'd for nothing that could 
 
 reach 
 
 To prejudice my life, my goods, or honour, 
 As first, in firmness of my conscience, 
 I confidently told you ; not, alas ! 
 Presuming on your slender thread of 
 
 favour, 
 
 Or pride of fortunate and courtly boldness, 
 But what my faith and justice bade me 
 
 trust to, 
 For none of all your learn'd assistant 
 
 judges, 
 ith all th 
 
 With all the malice of my crimes could 
 
 urge, 
 
 Or felony or hurt of sacred power. 
 Ki. Do any hear this but myself? My 
 
 lords , 
 
 This man still justifies his innocence. 
 What prodigies are these ? Have not our 
 
 laws 
 Pass'd on his actions? have not equal 
 
 judges 
 
 Certified his arraignment, and him guilty 
 Of capital treason ? and yet do I hear 
 Chabot accuse all these, and quit himself? 
 Tr. It does app ear distraction, sir. 
 Ki. Did we 
 
 Seem so indulgent to propose our free 
 And royal pardon, without suit or prayer, 
 To meet with his contempt ? 
 Se. Unheard-of impudence ! 
 Chab. I were malicious to myself, and 
 
 desperate, 
 To force untruths upon my soul, and 
 
 when 
 
 Tis clear, to confess a shame to exercise 
 Your pardon, sir. Were I so foul and 
 
 monstrous 
 
 As I am given to you, you would commit 
 A sin next time, by wronging your own 
 
 mercy, 
 To let me draw out impious breath : it 
 
 will 
 
 Release your wonder, if you give command 
 To see your process ; and if it prove other 
 Than I presume to inform, tear me in 
 
 pieces. 
 
ACT IV.] 
 
 THE ADMIRAL OF FRANCE. 
 
 Ki. Go for the process, and the chan- 
 cellor, 
 
 With the assistant judges. [Exit Asall.] 
 I thank heaven, 
 
 That with all these enforcements of dis- 
 traction, 
 
 My reason stays so clear to hear, and 
 answer, 
 
 And to direct a message. This inversion 
 
 Of all the loyalties, and true deserts 
 
 That I believed I govern'd with till now 
 
 In my choice lawyers and chief coun- 
 sellors, 
 
 Is able to shake all my frame of reason. 
 Ckab. I am much grieved. 
 Ki. No more ; I do incline 
 
 To think I am abused, my laws betray 'd 
 
 And wrested to the purpose of my judges. 
 
 This confidence in Chabot turns my judg- 
 ment : 
 
 This was too wild a way to make his 
 merits 
 
 Stoop, and acknowledge my superior 
 bounties, 
 
 That it doth raise, and fix them past my 
 art, 
 
 To shadow all the shame and forfeit's 
 mine 
 
 Enter Asall, Chancellor, 
 Judges. 
 
 As. The chancellor and judges, sir. 
 Tr. I like not 
 This passion in the king : the queen and 
 
 constable 
 Are of that side. 
 
 Ki. My lord, you dare appear, ihen? 
 Chan. Dare, sir ? I hope 
 Ki. Well done; hope still, and tell 
 
 me, 
 Is not this man condemn'd ? 
 
 Chan. Strange question, sir ! 
 The process will declare it, sign'd with all 
 These my assistant brothers' reverend 
 
 hands, 
 
 To his conviction in a public trial. 
 Ki. You said for foul and monstrous 
 
 facts proved by him ? 
 Chan. The very words are there, sir. 
 Ki. But the deeds 
 I look for, sir ; name me but one that's 
 
 monstrous. 
 
 'Chan. His foul comparisons, and af- 
 fronts of you, 
 To me seem'd monstrous. 
 
 Ki. I told you them, sir ; 
 Nor were they any that your so vast 
 
 knowledge, 
 Being a man studied in him, could produce 
 
 And prove as clear as heaven ; you war- 
 ranted 
 
 To make appear such treasons in the ad- 
 miral, 
 
 As never all law's volumes yet had sen- 
 tenced, 
 And France shoiild look on having 'scaped 
 
 with wonder. 
 What in this nature hath been clearly 
 
 proved 
 In his arraignment ? 
 
 ist Ju. Nothing that we heard 
 In slenderest touch urged by your advocate. 
 Ki. Dare you affirm this too? 
 2nd Ju. Most confidently. 
 Ki. No base corruptions charged upon 
 
 him ? 
 
 ist Ju. None, sir. 
 Tr. This argues Chabot has corrupted 
 
 him. 
 
 Se. I do not like this. 
 ist Ju. The sum of all 
 Was urged to prove your admiral corrupt, 
 Was an exaction of his officers 
 Of twenty sous taken from the fishermen 
 For every boat that fish'd the Norman 
 
 coast. 
 
 Ki. And was this all 
 The mountains and the marvels promised 
 
 me, 
 
 To be in clear proof made against the life 
 Of our so hated admiral? 
 
 Judges. All, sir, 
 Upon our lives and consciences. 
 Chan. I am blasted. 
 Ki. How durst you then subscribe to his 
 
 conviction? 
 
 ist Ju. For threats by my lord chancel- 
 lor on the bench, 
 
 Affirming that your majesty would have it 
 Made capital treason, or account us trai- 
 tors. 
 znd Ju. Yet, sir, we did put to our names 
 
 with this 
 
 Interposition of a note in secret 
 In these two letters, Fand /, to show 
 We were enforced to what we did, which 
 
 then in law is nothing. 
 Fa. How do you feel, your lordship ? 
 Did you not find some stuffing in your 
 
 head ? 
 Your brain should have been purged. 
 
 Chan. I fall to pieces 
 Would they had rotted on the bench ! 
 Ki. And so you saved the peace of that 
 
 high court, 
 Which otherwise his impious rage had 
 
 broken ; 
 I But thus am I by his malicious arts 
 
542 
 
 THE ADMIRAL OF FRANCE. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 A party render'd, and most tyrannous 
 
 spur 
 
 To all the open course of his base envies, 
 A forcer of my judges, and a thirst 
 Of my nobility's blood, and all by one 
 I trusted, to make clear my love of jus- 
 tice. 
 Chan. I beseech your majesty, let all my 
 
 zeal 
 
 To serve your virtues, with a sacred value 
 Made of your royal state, to which each 
 
 least 
 
 But shade of violence in any subject, 
 Doth provoke certain death 
 
 Ki, Death on thy name 
 And memory for ever ! One command 
 Our advocate attend us presently. 
 As. He waits here. 
 Ki. But single death shall not excuse ; 
 
 thy skin, 
 Torn o'er thine ears, and what else can be 
 
 inflicted, 
 
 If thy life, with the same severity 
 Dissected, cannot stand so many fires. 
 
 ' r [ Be merciful, great sir. 
 
 Ki. Yet more amaze ! 
 Is there a knee in all the world beside, 
 That any human conscience can let bow 
 For him ? You're traitors all that pity him. 
 Tr. This is no time to move. 
 Ki. Yet 'twas my fault 
 To trust this wretch, whom I knew fierce 
 
 and proud, 
 With forms of tongue and learning. What 
 
 a prisoner 
 
 Is pride of the whole flood of man ! for as 
 A human seed is said to be a mixture 
 And fair con temperature extracted from 
 All our best faculties, so the seed of all 
 Man's sensual frailty may be said to abide, 
 And have their confluence in only pride ; 
 It stupefies man's reason so, and dulls 
 True sense of anything, but what may 
 
 fall 
 
 In his own glory, quenches all the spirits 
 That light a man to honour and true good- 
 ness. 
 As. Your advocate. 
 
 Enter Advocate. 
 
 Ki. Come hither. 
 
 Ad. My most gracious sovereign. 
 
 Chad. Madam, you infinitely oblige our 
 
 duty. 
 Qu. I was too long ignorant of your 
 
 worth, my lord, 
 And this sweet lady's virtue. 
 Wi. Both your servants. 
 
 Chab. I never had a fear of the king's 
 
 justice, 
 And yet I know not what creeps o'er my 
 
 heart, 
 And leaves an ice beneath it. My lord 
 
 chancellor, 
 You have my forgiveness ; but implore 
 
 heaven's pardon 
 For wrongs to equal justice ; you shall 
 
 want 
 
 No charity of mine to mediate 
 To the king for you. 
 
 Chan. Horror of my soul 
 Confounds my gratitude. 
 Mo. To me now most welcome. 
 Ad. It was my allegiance, sir, I did 
 
 enforce, 
 
 But by directions of your Chancellor ; 
 It was my office to advance your cause 
 Gainst all the world, which, when I leave 
 
 to execute, 
 Flay me, and turn me out a most raw 
 
 advocate. 
 
 Ki. You see my Chancellor. 
 Ad. He has an ill look with him. 
 Ki. It shall be your province now, on 
 
 our behalf, 
 To urge what can in justice be against 
 
 him ; 
 
 His riot on our laws, and corrupt actions 
 Will give you scope and field enough. 
 
 Ad. And I 
 
 Will play my law prize ; never fear it, sir. 
 He shall be guilty of what you please. I 
 
 am studied 
 
 In him, sir ; I will squeeze his villanies, 
 And urge his acts so home into his bowels, 
 The force of it shall make him hang him- 
 self, 
 And save the laws a labour. 
 
 Ki. Judges, for all 
 
 The poisonous outrage that this viper spilt 
 On all my royal freedom and my empire, 
 As making all but servants to his malice, 
 I will have you revise the late arraignment; 
 And for those worthy reasons that already 
 Affect you for my admiral's acquittal, 
 Employ your justice on this chancellor. 
 
 Away with him ! 
 Arrest him, captain of the guard, to 
 
 answer 
 
 All that due course of law against him can 
 Charge both his acts and life. 
 
 Ca. I do arrest thee, 
 Poyet, lord chancellor, in his highness* 
 
 name, 
 
 To answer all that equal course of law 
 Can charge thy acts and life with. 
 Chan. I obey. 
 
ACT V.] 
 
 THE ADMIRAL OF FRANCE. 
 
 543 
 
 Ki. How false a heart corruption has 
 
 how base, 
 Without true worth, are all these eartl 
 
 bred glories ! 
 O, blessed justice ! by which all thing 
 
 stand, 
 That stills the thunder, and makes lightnin 
 
 sink 
 Twixt earth and heaven amazed, an 
 
 cannot strike, 
 Being proved so now in wonder of thi 
 
 man, 
 The object of men's hate, and heaven' 
 
 bright love ; 
 
 And as in cloudy days we see the sun 
 Glide over turrets, temples, richest fields 
 All those left dark, and slighted in hi: 
 
 way, 
 And on the wretched plight of some poo: 
 
 shed, 
 
 Pours all the glories of his golden head : 
 So heavenly virtue, on this envied lord 
 Points all his graces, that I may distinguish 
 Him better from the world. 
 Tr. You do him right. 
 Ki. But away, judges ! and pursue the 
 
 arraignment 
 Of this polluted Chancellor with tha 
 
 swiftness 
 
 His fury wing'd against my admiral ; 
 And be you all, that sate on him, compur- 
 
 gators 
 
 Of me against this false judge. 
 Ju. We are so. 
 
 Ki. Be you two join'd in the commission, 
 And nothing urged but justly, of me learn- 
 
 . ing 
 
 This one more lesson out of the events 
 Of these affairs now past : that whatsoever 
 Charge or commission judges have from us, 
 They ever make their aim ingenuous 
 
 justice, 
 
 Not partial for reward, or swelling favour, 
 To which, if your king steer you, spare to 
 
 obey ; 
 For when his troubled blood is clear and 
 
 calm, 
 
 He will repent that he pursued his rage, 
 Before his pious law, and hold that judge 
 Unworthy of his place that lets his cen- 
 sure 
 
 Float in the waves of an imagined favour ; 
 This shipwracks in the haven, and but 
 
 wounds 
 Their consciences that soothe the soon- 
 
 ebb'd humours 
 Of their incensed king. 
 
 Tr. } Ro y a l and sacred I 
 
 Ki. Come, Philip, shine thy honour now 
 
 for ever, 
 
 For this short temporal eclipse it suffer'd 
 By th' interposed desire I had to trv 
 
 thee, 
 Nor let the thought of what is past afflict 
 
 thee 
 For my unkindness ; live still circled 
 
 hero, 
 The bright intelligence of our royal 
 
 s P h ere. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT THE FIFTH. 
 Enter Queen, Constable, Father. 
 
 ?. The admiral sick ? 
 Fa. With danger at the heart ; 
 I came to tell the king. 
 
 Mo. He never had 
 More reason in his soul, to entertain 
 All the delights of health. 
 
 Fa. I fear, my lord, 
 
 Some apprehension of the king's unkind- 
 ness, 
 
 By giving up his person and his offices 
 To the law's gripe and search, is ground 
 
 of his 
 Sad change ; the greatest souls are thus 
 
 oft wounded ; 
 [f he vouchsafe his presence, it may 
 
 quicken 
 
 His fast decaying spirits, and prevent 
 The hasty ebb of life. 
 
 Qu. The king is now 
 
 Fraught with the joy of his fresh preser- 
 vation ; 
 
 ~he news so violent let into his ear, 
 tfay have some dangerous effect in him ; 
 would not counsel, sir, to that. 
 Fa. With greater reason 
 may suspect they'll spread, my lord, 
 
 and, as 
 \ river, lift his curl'd and impetuous 
 
 waves 
 
 Over the banks, by confluence of streams 
 'hat fill and swell their channel ; for by 
 
 this time 
 
 ie has the addition of Allegre's suffering, 
 His honest servant, whom I met, though 
 
 feeble 
 
 nd worn with torture, going to congra- 
 tulate 
 
 iis master's safety. 
 Qu. It seems he much 
 ffected that Allegre. 
 Mo. There will be 
 ut a sad interview and dialogue. 
 
S44 
 
 THE ADMIRAL OF FRANCE. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Qu. Does he keep his bed ? 
 Fa. In that alone 
 He shows a fortitude ; he will move and 
 
 walk, 
 He says, while his own strength or others' 
 
 can 
 Support him, wishing he might stand and 
 
 His destiny in the face at the last summons, 
 , Not sluggishly exhale his soul in bed 
 i With indulgence, and nice flattery of his 
 
 limbs. 
 Qu. Can he in this show spirit, and want 
 
 force 
 To wrestle with a thought ? 
 
 Fa. Oh, madam, madam ! 
 We may have proof against the sword, 
 
 and tyranny 
 Of boisterous war that threatens us ; but 
 
 when 
 Kings frown, a cannon mounted in each 
 
 eye, 
 
 Shoot death to apprehension ere their fire 
 And force approach us. 
 
 Enter King. 
 
 Mo. Here's the king. 
 Qu. No words 
 To interrupt his quiet. 
 Fa. I'll begone, then. 
 Ki. Our admiral's father ! call him back. 
 Qu. I will not stay to hear 'em. [Exit. 
 Mo. Sir, be prudent, 
 
 And do not, for your son, fright the king's 
 
 health. [Exit. 
 
 Ki. What have they left us? How does 
 
 my admiral ? 
 
 Fa. I am forbid to tell you, sir. 
 Ki. By whom ? 
 
 Fa. The queen and my lord constable. 
 Ki. Are there 
 Remaining seeds of faction? Have they 
 
 souls 
 Not yet convinced i' th' truth of Chabot's 
 
 honour, 
 Clear as the crystal heaven, and 'bove the 
 
 reach 
 Of imitation? 
 
 Fa. "Tis their care of you, 
 And no thought prejudicial to my son. 
 
 Ki. Their care of me ? 
 How can the knowledge of my admiral's 
 
 state 
 
 Concern their fears of me ? I see their envy 
 Of Chabot's happiness : whose joy to be 
 Render'd so pure and genuine to the 
 
 world, 
 
 Doth grate upon their conscience, and 
 affright 'em. 
 
 But let 'em vex, and bid my Chabot still 
 Exalt his heart, and triumph ; he shall 
 
 have 
 The access of ours ; the kingdom shall put 
 
 on 
 Such joys for him, as she would boast to 
 
 celebrate 
 Her own escape from ruin. 
 
 Fa. He is not 
 
 In state to hear my sad news, I perceive. 
 Ki. That countenance is not right, it 
 
 does not answer 
 
 What I expect ; say, how is my admiral ? 
 The truth, upon thy life. 
 Fa. To secure his, I would you had. 
 Ki. Ha ? who durst oppose him ? 
 Fa. One that hath power enough hath 
 
 practised on him, 
 And made his great heart stoop. 
 
 Ki. I will revenge it 
 With crushing that rebellious power to 
 
 nothing. 
 Name him. 
 
 Fa. He was his friend. 
 Ki. A friend to malice ; his own black 
 
 imposthume 
 Burn his blood up ! What mischief hath 
 
 engender'd 
 New storms ? 
 Fa. 'Tis the old tempest. 
 Ki. Did not we 
 Appease all horrors that look'd wild upon 
 
 him? 
 Fa. You dress'd his wounds, I must 
 
 confess, but made 
 No cure ; they bleed afresh. Pardon me, 
 
 sir ; 
 Although your conscience have closed too 
 
 soon, 
 He is in danger, and doth want new 
 
 surgery ; 
 Though he be right in fame, and your 
 
 opinion, 
 He thinks you were unkind. 
 
 Ki. Alas, poor Chabot ! 
 Doth that afflict him ? 
 
 Fa. So much, though he strive 
 With most resolved and adamantine 
 
 nerves, 
 
 As ever human fire in flesh and blood, 
 Forged for example, to bear all ; so 
 
 killing 
 The arrows that you shot were (still your 
 
 pardon), 
 No Centaur's blood could rankle so. 
 
 Ki. If this 
 
 Be all, I'll cure him ; kings retain 
 More balsam in their soul than hurt in 
 anger. 
 
ACT V.] 
 
 THE ADMIRAL OF FRANCE. 
 
 545 
 
 Fa. Far short, sir ; with one breath they 
 
 uncreate ; 
 And kings, with only words, more wounds 
 
 can make 
 Than all their kingdom made in balm can 
 
 heal ; 
 
 Tis dangerous to play too wild a descant 
 On numerous virtue, though it become 
 
 princes 
 
 To assure their adventures made in every- 
 thing : 
 Goodness, confined within poor flesh and 
 
 blood, 
 
 Hath but a queasy and still sickly state ; 
 A musical hand should only play on her, 
 Fluent as air, yet every touch command. 
 
 Ki. No more. 
 
 Commend us to the admiral, and say, 
 The king will visit him, and bring [him] 
 
 health. 
 Fa. I will not doubt that blessing, and 
 
 shall move 
 Nimbly with this command. \JExeunt. 
 
 Enter Officers before, Treasurer, Secretary, 
 and Judges, at tended by Petitioners, the 
 Advocate also, -with many papers in 
 his hand; they take their places : the 
 Chancellor, with a guard, and placed 
 at the bar. 
 
 Tr. Did you believe the chancellor had 
 
 been 
 So foul ? 
 
 Se. He's lost to the people ; what con- 
 tempts 
 They throw upon him ! But we must be 
 
 wise. 
 ist Ju. Were there no other guilt, his 
 
 malice show'd 
 
 Upon the admiral, in o'erbearing justice, 
 Would well deserve a sentence. 
 Tr. And a deep one. 
 2nd Ju. If t please your lordships to 
 
 remember, that 
 
 Was specially commended by the king, 
 As being most blemish to his royal person 
 And the free justice of his state. 
 
 Tr. Already 
 
 He has confess'd upon his examinations 
 Enough for censure ; yet, to obey form 
 Master advocate, if you please 
 
 Ad. I am ready for your lordships. It 
 hath been said, and will be said again, and 
 may truly be justified, omnia ex lite fieri. 
 It was the position of philosophers, and 
 now proved by a more philosophical sect, 
 the lawyers, that, omnia ex lite fiant, we 
 are all made by law made, I say, and 
 VOL. I. 
 
 worthily, if we be just ; if we be unjust, 
 marred ; though in marring some, there is 
 necessity of making others, for if one fall 
 by the law, ten to one but another is 
 exalted by the execution of the law, since 
 the corruption of one must conclude the 
 generation of another, though not always 
 in the same profession ; the corruption of 
 an apothecary may be the generation of a 
 doctor of physic ; the corruption of a 
 citizen may beget a courtier, and a courtier 
 may very well beget an alderman ; the 
 corruption of an alderman may be the 
 generation of a country justice, whose 
 corrupt ignorance easily may beget a 
 tumult ; a tumult may beget a captain, 
 and the corruption of a captain may beget 
 a gentleman-usher, and a gentleman-usher 
 may beget a lord, whose wit may beget a 
 poet, and a poet may get a thousand 
 pound a year ; but nothing without cor- 
 ruption. 
 
 Tr. Good master advocate, be pleased 
 to leave all digressions, and speak of the 
 chancellor. 
 
 Ad. Your lordship doth very seasonably 
 premonish ; and I shall not need to leave 
 my subject, corruption, while I discourse of 
 him, who is the very fenand stygian abyss of 
 it : five thousand and odd hundred foul 
 and impious corruptions, for I will be 
 brief, have been found by several examina- 
 tions, and by oaths, proved against this 
 odious and polluted chancellor ; a man of 
 so tainted and contagious a life, that it is 
 a miracle any man enjoyeth his nostrils 
 that hath lived within the scent of his 
 offices. He was born with teeth in his 
 head, by an affidavit of his midwife, to 
 note his devouring, and hath one toe on 
 his left foot crooked, and in the form of an 
 eagle's talon, to fortel his rapacity. What 
 shall I say? Branded, marked, and de- 
 signed in his birth for shame and obloquy, 
 which appeareth further, by a mole under 
 his right ear, with only three witch's hairs 
 in't ; strange and ominous predictions of 
 nature ! 
 
 Tr. You have acquainted yourself but 
 very lately with this intelligence, for as I 
 remember, your tongue was guilty of no 
 such character when he sat judge upon the 
 admiral : a pious, incorrupt man, a faith- 
 ful and fortunate servant to his king ; and 
 one of the greatest honours that ever the 
 admiral received was, that he had so noble 
 and just a judge : this must imply a strange 
 volubility in your tongue or conscience. I 
 speak not to discountenance any evidence 
 N N 
 
546 
 
 THE ADMIRAL OF FRANCE. 
 
 TACT v. 
 
 , for the king, but to put you in mind, mas- 
 ter advocate, that you had then a better 
 opinion of my lord chancellor. 
 
 Ad. Your lordship hath most aptly 
 interposed, and with a word I shall easily 
 satisfy all your judgments. He was then 
 a judge, and in cathedra, in which he could 
 not err ; it may be your lordships' cases : 
 out of the chair and seat of justice he hath 
 his frailties, is loosed, and exposed to the 
 conditions of other human natures ; so 
 every judge, your lordships are not igno- 
 rant, hath a kind of privilege while he is in 
 his state, office, and being ; and although he 
 may, quoad se, internally and privately be 
 guilty of bribery of justice, yet, quoad nos, 
 and in public, he is an upright and inno- 
 cent judge. We are to take no notice, 
 nay, we deserved to suffer, if we should 
 detect or stain him : for in that we dis- 
 parage the office, which is the king's, and 
 may be our own ; but once removed from 
 his place by just dishonour of the king, he 
 is no more a judge, but a common person, 
 whom the law takes hold on, and we are 
 then to forget what he hath been, and 
 without partiality to strip and lay him open 
 to the world, a counterfeit and corrupt 
 judge : as, for example, he may, and ought 
 to flourish in his greatness, and break any 
 man's neck with as much facility as a jest ; 
 but the case being altered, and he down, 
 every subject shall be heard ; a wolf may 
 be apparelled in a lamb's skin ; and if 
 every man should be afraid to speak truth, 
 nay, and more than truth, if the good of 
 the subject, which are clients, sometime 
 require it, there would be no remove of 
 officers ; if no remove, no motions ; if no 
 motion in court, no heat, and, by conse- 
 quence, but cold terms. Take away this 
 moving, this removing of judges, the law 
 may bury itself in buckram, and the king- 
 dom suffer for want of a due execution ; 
 and, now, I hope, your lordships are satis- 
 fied. 
 
 Tr. Most learnedly concluded to acquit 
 yourself. 
 
 1st Ju. Master advocate, please you to 
 urge, for satisfaction of the world, and 
 clearing the king's honour, how in- 
 justly he proceeded against the ad- 
 miral. 
 
 Ad. I shall obey your lordship. So 
 vast, so infinite hath been the impudence 
 of this chancellor, not only toward the 
 subject, but even the sacred person of the 
 king, that I tremble, as with a palsy, to 
 remember it. This man, or rather this 
 
 monster, having power and commission 
 trusted for the examination of the lord 
 admiral, a man perfect in all honour and 
 justice, indeed, the very ornament and 
 second flower of France ; for the flower-de- 
 lis is sacred, and above all flowers, and 
 indeed the best flower in our garden ; 
 having used all ways to circumvent his 
 innocence, by suborning and promising 
 rewards to his betrayers, by compelling 
 others by the cruelty of tortures, as namely: 
 Monsieur Allegre, a most honest and 
 faithful servant to his lord, tearing and 
 extending his sinews upon the rack, to 
 force a confession to his purpose ; and 
 finding nothing prevail upon the invin- 
 cible virtue of the admiral 
 
 Se. How he would flatter him ! 
 
 Ad. Yet most maliciously proceeded to 
 arraign him : to be short ; against all 
 colour of justice, condemned him of high 
 treasons. Oh, think what the life of man 
 is, that can never be recompensed ! but 
 the life of a just man, a man that is the 
 vigour and glory of our life and nation, to 
 be torn to death, and sacrificed beyond the 
 malice of common persecution ! What 
 tiger of Hyrcanian breed could have been 
 so cruel ? But this is not all : he was not 
 guilty only of murder guilty, I may say, 
 in foro conscientia, though our good ad- 
 miral was miraculously preserved, but unto 
 this he added a most prodigious and fear- 
 ful rape, a rape even upon justice itself, 
 the very soul of our state ; for the rest 
 of the judges upon the bench, venerable 
 images of Astraea, he most tyrannously 
 compelled to set their hands to his most 
 unjust sentence. Did ever story remember 
 the like outrage and injustice ? what forfeit, 
 what penalty can be enough to satisfy this 
 transcendent offence? and yet, my good 
 lords, this is but venial to the sacrilege 
 which now follows, and by him committed: 
 not content with this sentence, not satis- 
 fied with horrid violence upon the sacred 
 tribunal, but he proceeds and blasphemes 
 the very name and honour of the king him- 
 self, observe that, makinghim the author 
 and impulsive cause of all these rapines, 
 justifying that he moved only by his special 
 command to the death, nay, the murder of 
 his most faithful subject, translating all his 
 own black and damnable guilt upon the 
 king. Here's a traitor to his country ! 
 first, he conspires the death of one whom 
 the king loves, and whom every subject 
 ought to honour, and then makes it no 
 conscience to proclaim it the king's act, 
 
ACT V.] 
 
 THE ADMIRAL OF FRANCE. 
 
 547 
 
 and by consequence, declares him a mur- 
 derer of his own and of his best subjects. 
 [ Within.'] An advocate ! an advocate ! 
 Tear him in pieces ! 
 
 Tear the chancellor in pieces ! 
 
 Tr. The people have deep sense of the 
 
 chancellor's injustice. 
 Se. We must be careful to prevent their 
 
 mutiny. 
 
 ist Ju. It will become our wisdoms to 
 secure 
 
 The court, and prisoner. 
 Tr. Captain of the guard. 
 znd y. What can you say for yourself, 
 
 lord chancellor ? 
 
 Chan. Again, I confess all, and humbly 
 fly to 
 
 The royal mercy of the king. 
 
 Tr. And this submission is the way to 
 
 purchase it. 
 
 Chan. Hear me, great judges : if you 
 have not lost 
 
 For my sake, all your charities, I beseech 
 you, 
 
 Let the king know my heart is full of 
 penitence ; 
 
 Calm his high-going sea, or in that tem- 
 pest 
 
 I ruin to eternity. Oh, my lords, 
 
 Consider your own places, and the helms 
 
 You sit at ; while with all your provi- 
 dence 
 
 You steer, look forth, and see devouring 
 quicksands ! 
 
 My ambition now is punish'd, and my 
 pride 
 
 Of state and greatness falling into nothing. 
 
 I, that had never time, through vast em- 
 ployments 
 
 To think of heaven, feel his revengeful 
 wrath 
 
 Boiling my blood, and scorching up my 
 entrails. 
 
 There's doomsday in my conscience, black 
 and horrid, 
 
 For my abuse of justice ; but no stings 
 
 Prick'd with that terror as the wounds I 
 made 
 
 Upon the pious admiral. Some good 
 man 
 
 Bear my repentance thither ; he is merci- 
 ful, 
 
 And may incline the king to stay his light- 
 ning, 
 
 Which threatens my confusion. That my 
 free 
 
 Resign of title, office, and what else 
 
 My pride look'd at, would buy my poor 
 life's safety ! 
 
 For ever banish me the court, and let 
 Me waste my life far off, in some village. 
 
 Ad. How ! Did your lordships note his 
 request to you ? he would direct your sen- 
 tence, to punish him with confining him to 
 live in the country ; like the mouse in the 
 fable, that having offended to deserve death, 
 begg'd he might be banished into a Par- 
 mesan. I hope your lordships will be more 
 just to the nature of his offences. 
 
 Se. I could have wish'd him fall on softer 
 
 ground, 
 For his good parts. 
 
 Tr. My lord, this is your sentence : 
 For your high misdemeanours against his 
 majesty's judges, for your unjust sentence 
 of the most equal lord admiral, for many 
 and foul corruptions and abuse of n u 
 office, and that infinite stain of the king's 
 person and honour, we, in his majesty's 
 name, deprive you of your estate of chan- 
 cellor, and declare you uncapable of any 
 jtidicial office ; and besides, condemn you 
 in the sum of two hundred thousand 
 crowns : whereof, one hundred thousand to 
 the king, and one hundred thousand to the 
 lord admiral ; and what remaineth of 
 your estate, to go to the restitution of those 
 you have injured ; and to suffer perpetual 
 imprisonment in the castle. So, take him 
 to your custody. Your lordships have 
 been merciful in his sentence. [Exit. 
 
 [Chan.'] They have spared my life then, 
 
 that some cure may bring ; 
 I ['11] spend it in my prayers for the king. 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Admiral in his gown and cap, 
 his Wife. 
 
 Chab. Allegre ! I am glad he hath so 
 
 much strength ; 
 I prithee let me see him. 
 
 Wi. It will but 
 
 Enlarge a passion. My lord, he'll come 
 Another time, and tender you his service. 
 
 Chab. Nay, then 
 
 Wi. Although I like it not, I must obey. 
 [Exit. 
 Enter Allegre, supported. 
 
 Chab. Welcome, my injured servant 
 
 what a misery 
 Have they made on thee ! 
 
 Al. Though some change appear 
 Upon my body, whose severe affliction 
 Hath brought it thus to be sustain'd by 
 
 others, 
 
 My heart is still the same in faith to you 
 Not broken with their rage. 
 
 N N 2 
 
543 
 
 THE ADMIRAL OF FRANCE. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Chab. Alas, poor man ! 
 Were all my joys essential, and so mighty 
 As the affected world believes I taste, 
 This object were enough to unsweeten 
 
 all.- 
 
 Though in thy absence I had suffering, 
 And felt within me a strong sympathy, 
 While for my sake their cruelty did vex 
 And fright thy nerves with horror of thy 
 
 sense, 
 
 Yet in this spectacle I apprehend 
 More grief, than all my imagination 
 Could let before into me. Did'st not 
 
 curse me 
 Upon the torture ? 
 
 Al. Good my lord, let not 
 The thought of what I suffer'd dwell 
 
 upon 
 Your memory ; they could not punish 
 
 more 
 
 Than what my duty did oblige to bear 
 For you and justice : but there's some- 
 thing in 
 Your looks, presents more fear than all the 
 
 malice 
 Of my tormentors could affect my soul 
 
 with: 
 That paleness, and the other forms you 
 
 wear 
 Would well become a guilty admiral, and 
 
 one 
 Lost to his hopes and honour, not the 
 
 man 
 
 Upon whose life the fury of injustice, 
 Arm'd with fierce lightning, and the power 
 
 of thunder, 
 Can make no breach. I was not rack'd 
 
 till now : 
 There's more death in that falling eye 
 
 than all 
 Rage ever yet brought forth. What 
 
 accident, sir, 
 
 Can be so black and fatal, to distract 
 The calm, the triumph, that should sit 
 
 upon 
 Your noble brow ? Misfortune could have 
 
 no 
 Time to conspire with fate, since you were 
 
 rescued 
 
 By the great arm of Providence ; nor can 
 Those garlands that now grow about your 
 
 forehead, 
 With all the poison of the world be 
 
 blasted. 
 Chab. Allegre, thou dost bear thy wounds 
 
 upon thee 
 
 In wide and spacious characters ; but in 
 The volume of my sadness, thou dost 
 
 want 
 
 An eye to read ; an open force hath 
 
 torn 
 Thy manly sinews, which some time may 
 
 cure ; 
 The engine is not seen that wounds thy 
 
 master 
 
 Past all the remedy of art or time, 
 The flatteries of court, of fame, or 
 
 honours : 
 Thus in the summer a tall flourishing 
 
 tree, 
 Transplanted by strong hand, with all her 
 
 leaves 
 And blooming pride upon her, makes a 
 
 show 
 Of spring, tempting the eye with wanton 
 
 blossom ; 
 But not the sun, with all her amorous 
 
 smiles, 
 The dews of morning, or the tears of 
 
 night, 
 
 Can root her fibres in the earth again, 
 Or make her bosom kind, to growth and 
 
 bearing ; 
 But the tree withers; and those very 
 
 beams 
 That once were natural warmth to her soft 
 
 verdure, 
 Dry up her sap, and shoot a fever 
 
 . through 
 The bark and rind, till she becomes a 
 
 burthen 
 To that which gave her life ; so Chabot, 
 
 Chabot. 
 
 AL Wonder in apprehension ! I must 
 I Suspect your health indeed. 
 
 Chab. No, no, thou shalt not 
 Be troubled ; I but stirr'd thee with a 
 
 moral, 
 That's empty, contains nothing. I am 
 
 well ; 
 See, I can walk ; poor man ! thou hast 
 
 not strength yet. [Exit. 
 
 A I. What accident is ground of this 
 
 distraction ? 
 
 Enter Admiral. 
 
 Chab. Thou hast not heard yet what's 
 
 become o' the chancellor? 
 Al. Not yet, my lord. 
 Chab. Poor gentleman ! when I think 
 Upon the king, I've balm enough to cure 
 A thousand wounds ; have I not, Allegre? 
 Was ever bounteous mercy read in story 
 Like his upon my life, condemn'd for 
 
 sacrifice 
 By law, and snatch'd out of the flame ttn- 
 
 look'd-for, 
 1 And unpetition'd ? But his justice then, 
 
ACT V.] 
 
 THE ADMIRAL OF FRANCE. 
 
 549 
 
 That would not spare whom his own love 
 
 made great, 
 
 But give me up to the most cruel test 
 Of judges, for some boldness in defence 
 Of my own merits, and my honest faith to 
 
 him, 
 Was rare, past example. 
 
 Enter Father. 
 
 Fa. Sir, the king 
 Is coming hither. 
 
 Al. It will 
 Become my duty, sir, to leave you now. 
 
 Chad. Stay, by all means, Allegre, 't 
 
 shall concern you ; 
 I'm infinitely honour 'd in his presence. 
 
 Enter King, Queen, Constable, and Wife. 
 Ki. Madam, be comforted ; I'll be his 
 
 physician. 
 Wi. 
 
 Pray heaven you may ! 
 Ki. No ceremonial knees ; 
 Give me thy heart, my dear, my honest 
 
 Chabot ; 
 
 And yet in vain I challenge that ; 'tis here 
 Already in my own, and shall be cherish'd 
 With care of my best life ; [no] violence 
 Shall ravish it from my possession ; 
 Not those distempers that infirm my blood 
 And spirits shall betray it to a fear. 
 When time and nature join to dispossess 
 My body of a cold and languishing breath, 
 No stroke in all my arteries, but. silence 
 In every faculty, yet dissect me then, 
 And in my heart the world shall read thee 
 
 living, 
 
 And by the virtue of thy name writ there, 
 That part of me shall never putrefy, 
 When I am lost in all my other dust. 
 Chab. You too much honour your poor 
 
 servant, sir ; 
 
 My heart despairs so rich a monument ; 
 But when it dies 
 
 Ki. I will not hear a sound 
 Of anything that trencheth upon death ; 
 He speaks the funeral of my crown that 
 
 prophecies 
 
 So unkind a fate. We'll live and die to- 
 gether ; 
 And by that duty which hath taught you 
 
 hitherto 
 
 All loyal and just services, I charge thee 
 Preserve thy heart for me and thy reward, 
 Which now shall crown thy merits. 
 
 Chab. I have found 
 A glorious harvest in your favour, sir ; 
 And by this overflow of royal grace, 
 All my d'serts are shadows, and fly from 
 
 I have not in the wealth of my desires 
 Enough to pay you now ; yet you encou- 
 rage me 
 
 To make one suit. 
 Ki. So soon as named, possess it. 
 Chab. You would be pleased take notice 
 
 of this gentleman, 
 A secretary of mine. 
 
 Mo. Monsieur Allegre ; 
 He that was rack'd, sir, for your admiral. 
 Chab. His limbs want strength to tender 
 
 their full duty ; 
 
 An honest man, that suffers for my sake. 
 Ki. He shall be dear to us. For what 
 
 has pass'd, sir, 
 
 By the injustice of our chancellor's power, 
 We'll study to recompense ; i' the mean 
 
 time, that office 
 
 You exercised for Chabot, we translate 
 To ourself ; you shall be our secretary. 
 
 Al. This is 
 
 An honour above my weak desert, and shall 
 Oblige the service of my life to satisfy it. 
 Chab. You are gracious, and in this act 
 
 have put 
 
 All our complaints to silence. You, Al- 
 legre, 
 
 Enter Treasurer and Secretary. 
 
 Cherish your health and feeble limbs, which 
 
 cannot, 
 
 Without much prejudice, be thus employ'd : 
 All my best wishes with thee. 
 
 A I. All my prayers 
 Are duties to your lordship. [Exit. 
 
 Ki. Tis too little. 
 
 Can forfeit of his place, wealth, and a lasting 
 Imprisonment, purge his offences to 
 Our honest admiral ? had our person been 
 Exempted from his malice, he did persecute 
 The life of Chabot with an equal wrath ; 
 You should have pour'd death on his trea- 
 cherous head. 
 
 I revoke all your sentences, and make 
 Him that was wrong'd full master of his 
 
 destiny. 
 Be thou his judge. 
 
 Chab. Oh, far be such injustice ! 
 I know his doom is heavy ; and I beg, 
 Where mercy may be let into his sentence, 
 For my sake, you would soften it. I have 
 Glory enough to be set right in your's 
 And my dear country's thought, and by an 
 
 act 
 With such apparent notice to the world. 
 
 Ki. Express it in some joy then. 
 
 Chab. I will strive 
 To show that pious gratitude to you, but 
 
 Ki. But what ? 
 
550 
 
 THE ADMIRAL OF FRANCE. 
 
 [ACT V. 
 
 Chab. My frame hath lately, sir, been 
 
 ta'en a-pieces, 
 
 And but now put together ; the least force 
 Of mirth will shake, and unjoint all my 
 
 reason. 
 Your patience, royal sir. 
 
 Ki. I'll have no patience, 
 If thou forget the courage of a man. 
 Chab. My strength would natter me. 
 Ki. Physicians ! 
 
 Now I begin to fear his apprehension. 
 Why, how is Chabot's spirit fall'n ! 
 
 Qu. 'Twere best 
 He were convey'd to his bed. 
 Wi. How soon turn'd widow ! 
 Chab. Who would not wish to live to 
 
 serve your goodness ? 
 Stand from me, you betray me with your 
 
 fears ; 
 The plummets may fall off that hang 
 
 upon 
 My heart ; they were but thoughts at first : 
 
 or if 
 They weigh me down to death, let not 
 
 my eyes 
 
 Close with another object than the king ; 
 Let him be last I look on. 
 Ki. I would not have him lost for my 
 
 whole kingdom. 
 Mo. He may recover, sir. 
 Ki. I see it fall ; 
 
 For justice being the prop of every kingdom 
 And mine broke, violating him that was 
 The knot and contract of it all in him ; 
 It [is] already falling in my ear. 
 Pompey could hear it thunder, when the 
 
 Senate 
 And Capitol were deaf ; so heaven's loud 
 
 chiding. 
 
 I'll have another sentence for my chancellor 
 Unless my Chabot live. In a prince 
 What a swift executioner is a frown ! 
 JEspecially of great and noble souls. 
 How is it with my Philip ? 
 
 Chab. I must beg 
 One other boon. 
 
 Ki. Upon condition 
 
 My Chabot will collect his scatter'd spirits, 
 And be himself again ; he shall divide 
 My kingdom with me. 
 Fa. Sweet king ! 
 Chab. I observe 
 A fierce and killing wrath engender'd in 
 
 you. 
 For my sake, as you wish me strength to 
 
 serve you, 
 
 Forgive your chancellor ; let not the story 
 Of Philip Chabot, read hereafter, draw 
 
 A tear from any family. I beseech 
 Vour royal mercy on his life, and free 
 Remission of all seizure upon his state ; 
 have no comfort else. 
 Ki. Endeavour 
 
 But thine own health, and pronounce gene- 
 ral pardon 
 To all through France. 
 
 Chab. Sir, I must kneel to thank you, 
 It is not seal'd else ; your blest hand ; live 
 
 happy. 
 May all you trust have no less faith than 
 
 Chabot ! 
 
 Oh ! [Dies. 
 
 Wi. His heart is broken. 
 Fa. And kneeling, sir, 
 As his ambition were, in death to show 
 The truth of his obedience. 
 Mo. I fear'd this issue. 
 TV. He's past hope. 
 Ki. He has a victory in's death ; this 
 
 world 
 
 Deserved him not. How soon he was trans- 
 lated 
 
 To glorious eternity ! Tis too late 
 To fright the air with words, my tears em- 
 balm him. 
 
 Wi. What can become of me ? 
 Ki. I'll be your husband, madam, and 
 
 with care 
 
 Supply your children's father ; to your fa- 
 ther 
 
 I'll be a son ; in what our love or power 
 Can serve his friends, Chabot shall ne'er be 
 
 wanting. 
 The greatest loss is mine, past scale or re- 
 
 compence. 
 We will proceed no further 'gainst the 
 
 chancellor. 
 
 To the charity of our admiral he owes 
 His life, which, ever banish'd to a prison, 
 Shall not beget in us, or in the subject 
 New fears of his injustice ; for his fortunes, 
 Great and acquired corruptly, 'tis our will 
 They make just restitution for all wrongs, 
 That shall within a year be proved against 
 
 him. 
 Oh, Chabot, that shall boast as many 
 
 monuments 
 As there be hearts in France, which, as 
 
 they grow, 
 Shall with more love enshrine thee: 
 
 Kings, they say, 
 
 Die not, or starve succession : Oh, why 
 Should that stand firm, and kings them- 
 selves despair 
 
 To find their subject still in the next heir. 
 * Exeunt. 
 
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 Old Blazer's Hero. 
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 Whlteladies | The Primrose Path. 
 
 The Greatest Heiress in England. 
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 Held In Bondage. 
 Ktrathmore. 
 Chandos. | Idalla. 
 Under Two Flags. 
 Cecil Castlemaine. 
 Tricotrin. | Puck. 
 Folle Farine. 
 A Do? of Flanders. 
 Two Wooden Shoes 
 
 Pascarel. | Slgna. 
 
 In a Winter City. 
 
 Ariadne. Moths. 
 
 Friendship Pipistrello. 
 
 A Village Commune. 
 In Mar 
 Frescoes. 
 
 Bimbi. 
 Wanda. . 
 
 Princess Napraxine. 
 Othmar. 
 Wisdom, Wit, and Pathos. 
 
 By JAMES PAYN. 
 
 Lost Sir Massingberd. Like Father.Like Son. 
 A Perfect Treasure. 
 
 Bentinck's Tutor. 
 Murphy's Master. 
 A County Family. 
 At Her Merc 
 
 s Ver 
 
 A Woman's Vengeance. 
 Cecil's Tryst. 
 The Clyfiards of Clyfle. 
 Family Scapegrace. 
 Foster Brothers. 
 Found Dead. | Halves. 
 The Best of Husbands. 
 Walter's Word. 
 Fallen Fortunes. 
 What He Cost Her. 
 Humorous Stories. 
 Gwendoline's Harvest. 
 The Talk of the Town 
 
 A Marine Residence. 
 
 Married Beneath Him 
 
 Mirk Abbey. 
 
 Not Wooed, but Won. 
 
 200 Reward. 
 
 Less Black than We're 
 
 Painted. 
 By Proxy. 
 Under One Roof. 
 High Spirits. 
 Carlyon's Year. 
 
 A Confidential Agent. 
 Some Private Views. 
 From Exile. 
 A Grape from a Thorn 
 For Cash Only. | Kit. 
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 Holiday Tasks. 
 
 Glow-worm Tales. 
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 Valentina. I The Foreigner!. 
 
 Mrs. Lancaster's Rival. | Gerald. 
 
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 Hard Cash. ! Antobiog. of a Thief. 
 
 Peg Woffinffton. 
 
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 Griffith Gaunt. 
 Put Y'rself in His Place. 
 The Double Marriage. 
 Love Little, Love Long. 
 Foul Play. 
 
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 ATerribleTemptation 
 The Wandering Heir. 
 A Woman-Hater. 
 A Simpleton. 
 Bingleheart & Double- 
 face. 
 Good Stories. 
 
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 Her Mother's Darling. 
 Uninhabited House. 
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 Fairy Water. 
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 John Caldigato. 
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 Fran Frohmann. 
 Marion Fay. 
 Kept in the Dark. 
 
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 Pandurang Hari. 
 
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