University of California Berkeley PHILIP WHALEN COLLECTION THE PETER AND ROSELL HARVEY MEMORIAL FUND 140 P*--'.-. 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 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/ 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