THE FATAL DOWRY

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PHILIP MASSINGER AND NATHANIEL FIELD

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CHARLES LACY LOCKERT, JR.

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THE FATAL DOWRY

BY

PHILIP MASSINGER AND NATHANIEL FIELD

EDITED, FROM THE ORIGINAL QUARTO, WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES

A DISSERTATION

PRESENTED TO THE FACULTY OF PRINCETON UNIVERSITY IN CANDIDACY FOR THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

BY

CHARLES LACY LOCKERT, JR.

ASSISTANT PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH, KENYON COLLEGE

PRESS OF

THE NEW ERA PRINTING COMPANY LANCASTER, PA.

1918

F5

Accepted by the Department of English, June, 1916

$29063

PREFACE

THIS critical edition of The Fatal Dowry was undertaken as a Thesis in partial fulfilment of the requirements for the de gree of Ph.D. at Princeton University. It was compiled under the guidance and direction of Professor T. M. Parrott of that institution, and every page of it is indebted to him for suggestion, advice, and criticism. I can but inadequately indicate the scope of his painstaking and scholarly supervision, and can even less adequately express my appreciation of hie ever-patient aid, which alone made this work possible.

I desire also to acknowledge my debt to Professor J. Duncan Spaeth of Princeton University, for his valuable suggestions in regard to the presentation of my material, notably in the Intro duction ; also to Professor T. W. Baldwin of Muskingum College and Mr. Henry Bowman, both of them then fellow graduate students of mine at Princeton, for assistance on several occasions in matters of special inquiry; and to Dr. M. W. Tyler of the Princeton Department of History for directing me in clearing up a lego-historical point; and finally to the libraries of Yale and Columbia Universities for their kind loan of needed books.

INTRODUCTION

IN the Stationer's Register the following entry is recorded under the date of "30° Martij 1632:"

CONSTABLE Entred for his copy vnder the hands of Sir HENRY HERBERT and master SMITHWICKE war den a Tragedy called the ffatall Dowry. Vj d.

In the year 1632 was published a quarto volume whose title- page was inscribed: The Fatall Dowry: a Tragedy: As it hath been often Acted at the Private House in Blackfriars, by his Majesties Servants. Written by P. M. and N. F. London, Printed by John Norton, for Francis Constable, and are to be sold at his shop at the Crane, in Pauls Churchyard. 1632.

That the initials by which the authors are designated stand for Philip Massinger and Nathaniel Field is undoubted.

LATER TEXTS

There is no other seventeenth century edition of The Fatal Dowry. It was included in various subsequent collections, as follows :

I. The Works of Philip Massinger — edited by Thomas Coxeter,

1759 — re-issued in 1761, with an introduction by T. Davies.

II. The Dramatic Works of Philip Massinger — edited by John

Monck Mason, 1779.

III. The Plays of Philip Massinger — edited by William Gifford,

1805. There was a revised second edition in 1813, which is still regarded as the Standard Massinger Text, and was followed in subsequent editions of Gilford.

IV. Modern British Drama — edited by Sir Walter Scott, 1811.

The text of this reprint of The Fatal Dowry is Gifford's.

V. Dramatic Works of Massinger and Ford — edited by Hartley

Coleridge, 1840 (et seq.). This follows the text of Gifford.

VI. The Plays of Philip Massinger. From the Text of William

Gifford. With the Addition of the Tragedy Believe as You List. Edited by Francis Cunningham, 1867 (et seq.).

2 THE FATAL DOWRY

The Fatal Dowry in this edition, as in the preceding, is a mere reprint of the Second Edition of Gifford. VII. Philip Massinger. Selected Plays. (Mermaid Series.) Edited by Arthur Symons, 1887-9 (et seq.).

In addition to the above, The Fatal Dowry appeared in The Plays of Philip Massing er, adapted for family reading and the use of young persons, by the omission of objectionable passages, —edited by Harness, 1830-1 ; and another expurgated version was printed in the Mirror of Taste and Dramatic Censor, 1810. Both of these are based on the text of Gifford.

The edition of Coxeter is closest of all to the Quarto, follow ing even many of its most palpable mistakes, and adding some blunders on its own account. Mason accepts practically all of Coxeter's corrections, and supplies a great many more variants himself, not all of which are very happy. Both these eighteenth century editors continually contract for the sake of securing a perfectly regular metre (e. g. : You're for You are, I, i, 139; th' honours for the honours, I, ii, 35; etc.), while Gifford's tend ency is to give the full form for even the contractions of the Quarto, changing its 'em's to them's, etc. Gifford can scarce find words sharp enough to express his scorn for his predecessors in their lack of observance of the text of the Quarto, yet he him self frequently repeats their gratuitous emendations when the original was a perfectly sure guide, and he has almost a mania for tampering with the Quarto on his own account. Symons' Mermaid text, while based essentially on that of Gifford, in a n\imber of instances departs from it, sometimes to make further emendations, but more often to go back from those of Gifford to the version of the original, so that on the whole this is the best text yet published.

There has been a German translation by the Graf von Baudis- son, under the title of Die Unselige Mitgift, in his Ben Jonson und seine Schule, Leipsig, 1836; and a French translation, in prose, under the title of La. dot fatale by E. Lafond in Contem- porains de Shakespeare, Paris, 1864.

DATE

The date of the composition or original production of The Fatal Dowry is not known. The Quarto speaks of it as having

INTRODUCTION 3

been "often acted," so there is nothing to prevent our supposing that it came into existence many years before its publication. It does not seem to have been entered in Sir Henry Herbert's Office Book.1 This would indicate its appearance to have been prior to Herbert's assumption of the duties of his office in August, 1623. In seeking a more precise date we can deal only in probabilities.2

1 Fleay (Chron. Eng. Dra., I, 208) thinks that the otherwise lost Mas- singer play, The Judge, licensed by Herbert in 1627, and included in the list of Warburton's collection, may have been The Fatal Dowry. He declares, moreover, that "the decree in favor of creditors in I, ii a was a statute made in 1623," and suggests that Massinger after this date made over an independent play of Field's, now lost. But I think that any one who surveys in The Fatal Dowry the respective hands of its authors will incline strongly to the conviction that this drama is the offspring of joint effort rather than the re-handling of one man's work by another. The decree to which Fleay has reference appears to be that to be found in Statutes of the Realm, IV, ii, 1227-9, recorded as 21° Jac I, 19. This is an act passed by the parliament of 1623-4; it somewhat increases the stringency of the already-existing severe laws in regard to bankrupts, but contains nothing which even faintly suggests the decree in our play, by which the creditors are empowered to withhold the corpse of their debtor from burial ; and, indeed, it is obviously impossible that a statute per mitting any such practice could have been passed in Christian England of the seventeenth century. The fact is that this feature of the plot is taken direct from a classical author (see under SOURCES), and it would be gratuitous to assume in it a reference to contemporaneous legislation. As for the hypothesis that The Fatal Dowry and The Judge are the same play, in the utter absence of any supporting evidence it must be thrown out of court. This sort of identification is a confirmed vice with Fleay. The Judge is, moreover, listed as a comedy (see reprint of Warburton's list in Fleay's The Life and Work of Shakespeare, p. 358).

2 Two other arguments — both fallacious — have been advanced for a more assured dating.

Formal prologues and epilogues came into fashion about 1620, and the absence of such appendages in the case of The Fatal Dowry has been generally taken as evidence for its appearance before that year; but for a Massinger production no such inference can be drawn — there is no formal prologue or epilogue in any of his extant plays before The Emperor of the East and Believe as You List, which were licensed for acting in 1631.

The suggestion (Fleay: Chron. Eng. Dra., I, p. 208) that Field took the part of Florimel, and that the mention of her age as thirty-two years (II, ii, 17) has reference to his own age at the time the play was pro duced (thus fixing the date: 1619), is an idea so far-fetched and fantastic that it is amazing to find it quoted with perfect gravity by Ward (Hist.

THE FATAL DOWRY

The play having been produced by the King's Men, a company in which Field acted, it was most probably written during his association therewith. This was formed in 1616; the precise date of his retirement from the stage is not known. His name appears in the patent of March 27, 1619, just after the death of Burbage, and again and for the last time in a livery list for his Majesty's Servants, dated May 19, 1619. It is absent from the next grant for livery (1621) and from the actors' lists for various plays which are assigned to 1619 or 1620. We may therefore assume safely that his connection with the stage ended before the close of 1619. On the basis of probability, then, the field is nar rowed to i6i6-i9.8

More or less presumptive evidence may be adduced for a yet more specific dating. During these years that Field acted with the King's Men, two plays appeared which bear strong internal evidence of being products of his collaboration with Massinger and Fletcher : The Knight of Malta and The Queen of Corinth. While several parallels of phraseology are afforded for The Fatal Dowry by these (as, indeed, by every one of the works of Mas- singer) they are not nearly so numerous or so striking as simi larities discoverable between it and certain other dramas of the Massinger corpus. With none does the connection seem so in timate as with The Unnatural Combat. Both plays open with a scene in which a young suppliant for a father's cause is counseled, in passages irresistibly reminiscent of each other, to lay aside pride and modesty for the parent's sake, because not otherwise can justice be gained, and it is the custom of the age to sue for it shamelessly. Moreover, the offer by Beaufort and his associates

Eng. Dra. Lit., Ill, 39). That Field, second only to Burbage among the actors of his time, should have played the petty role of Florimei is a ridiculous supposition. It is strange that anyone who considered refer ences of this sort a legitimate clue did not build rather upon the statement (II, i, 13) that Charalois was twenty-eight. But such grounds for theorizing are utterly unsubstantial; there is no earthly warrant for identifying the age of an author's creation with the age of the author himself.

3 I would not, however, think it very improbable that Field might have engaged in the composition of The Fatal Dowry immediately after his retirement, when the ties with his old profession were, perhaps not yet altogether broken.

INTRODUCTION 5

to Malefort of any boon he may desire as a recompense for his service, and his acceptance of it, correspond strikingly in both conduct and language with the conferring of a like favor upon Rochfort by the Court (I, ii, 258 ff.) ; while the request which Malefort prefers, that his daughter be married to Beaufort Junior, and the language with which that young man acknowledges this meets his own dearest wish, bear a no less patent resemblance to the bestowal of Beaumelle upon Charalois (II, ii, 284-297). Now this last parallel is significant, because The Unnatural Combat is an unaided production of Massinger, while the analogue in The Fatal Dowry occurs in a scene that is by the hand of Field. The similarity may, of course, be only an accident, but presumably it is not. Then did Field borrow from Massinger, or did Mas- singer from Field? The most plausible theory is that The Un natural Combat was written immediately after The Fatal Dowry, when Massinger's mind was so saturated with the contents of the tragedy just laid aside that he was liable to echo in the new drama the expressions and import of lines in the old, whether by himself or his collaborator. That at any rate the chronological relation ship of the two plays is one of juxtaposition is further attested by the fact that in minor parallelisms,4 too, to The Fatal Dowry, The Unnatural Combat is richer than any other work of Massinger. Unfortunately The Unnatural Combat is itself another play of whose date no more can be said with assurance than that it pre- ceeds the entry of Sir Henry Herbert into office in 1623, though its crude horrors, its ghost, etc., suggest moreover that it is its author's initial independent venture in the field of tragedy, his Titus Andronicus, an ill-advised attempt to produce something after the "grand manner" of half a generation back. Next in closeness to The Fatal Dowry among the works of Massinger as regards the number of its reminiscences of phraseology stands his share of The Virgin Martyr; next in closeness as regards the

4 On a careful inspection of the entire dramatic output of Massinger, both unaided work and plays done in collaboration, I have found worthy of record parallels to passages in The Fatal Dowry to the number of : 24, in The Unnatural Combat, 14 in the Massinger share (about %) of The Virgin Martyr, 18 in The Renegado, ii in The Duke of Milan, 10 in The Guardian* and in none of the rest as many as 8. — But Massinger's undoubted share (%) of The Little French Lawyer yields 6; % of The Double Marriage, 6; % of The Spanish Curate, 6; % of Sir John van Olden Barnavelt, 4

6 THE FATAL DOWRY

strikingness of these parallels stands his share of The Little French Lawyer. These two plays can be dated circa 1620.

To sum up :

The Fatal Doivry appears to antedate the installation of Sir Henry Herbert in 1623.

It was probably written while Field was with the King's Men ; with whom he became associated in 1616, and whom he probably quitted in 1619.

The indications point to its composition during the latter part of this three-year period (1616-19), for it yields more and closer parallels to The Virgin Martyr and The Little French Lawyer, dated about 1620, than to The Knight of Malta and The Queen of Corinth, dated 1617-8, — closer, indeed, than to any work of Massinger save one, The Unnatural Combat, itself an undated but evidently early play, with which its relationship is clearly of the most intimate variety.

The following (at best hazardously conjectural) scheme of sequence may be advanced:

Fletcher and Massinger and Field together wrote The Knight of Malta and The Queen of Corinth — according to received theory, in 1617 or 1618. Thereafter, the last two collaborators (desirous, perhaps, of trying what they could do unaided and unshackled by the dominating association of the chief dramatist of the day) joined hands in the production of the tragedy which is the subject of our study. Then, upon Field's retirement, Mas- singer struck off, with The Unnatural Combat, into unassisted composition ; but we next find him, whether because he recognized the short-comings of this turgid play or for other reasons, again in double harness, at work upon The Virgin Martyr and The Little French Lawyer. On this hypothesis, The Fatal Dowry would be dated 1618-9.

SOURCES

No source is known for the main plot of The Fatal Dowry. A Spanish original has been suspected, but it has never come to light. The stress laid throughout the action on that peculiarly Spanish conception of "the point of honor" (see under CRITICAL

INTRODUCTION 7

ESTIMATE, in consideration of the character of Charalois) is un questionably suggestive of the land south of the Pyrenees, and we have an echo of Don Quixote in the exclamation of Charalois (III, i, 441) : "Away, thou curious impertinent." The identifica tion, however, of the situation at Aymer's house in IV, ii with a scene in Cervantes' El vie jo celoso (Obras Completas De Cer vantes, Tomo XII, p. 277) is extremely fanciful. The only simi larity consists in the circumstance that in both, while the husband is on the stage, the wife, who, unknown to him, entertains a lover in the next room, is heard speaking within. But this is a spon taneous outcry on the part of Beaumelle, who does not suspect the proximity of her husband, and her discovery follows, and from this the denouement of the play; whereas in Cervantes' entr ernes the wife deliberately calls in bravado to her niece, who is also on-stage, and boasts of her lover, — and the husband thinks this is in jest, and nothing comes of it but comedy.

The theme of the son's redemption of his father's corpse by his own captivity is from the classical story of Cimon and Miltiades, as narrated by Valerius Maximus, De dictis factisque memorabil- ibus, etc. Lib. V, cap. III. De ingratis externorum : Bene egissent Athenienses cum Miltiade, si eum post trecento, millia Persarum Marathone devicta, in exilium protinus misissent, ac non in car- cere et mnculis mori coegissent; sed, ut puto, hactenus saevire adversus optime meritum abunde duxerunt: wimo ne corpus qui- dem eius, sic expirare coacti sepulturae primus mandari passi sunt, quam filius eius Cimon eisdem mnculis se constrigendum traderet. Hanc hereditatem paternam maximi ducis filius, et fu- turus ipse aetatis suae dux maximus, solam se crevisse, catenas et carcerem, gloriari potuit.

In the version of Cornelius Nepos (Vitae, Cimon I) Cimon is incarcerated against his will.

The action of the play is given the historical setting of the later fifteenth century wars of Louis XI of France and Charles the Bold of Burgundy, although this background is extremely hazy. The hero's name is the title which Charles bore while heir-ap parent to the Duchy of Burgundy ; mention is made of Charles himself ("The warlike Charloyes," I, ii, 171), to Louis ("the subtill Fox of France, The politique Lewis," I, ii, 123-4), and to "the more desperate Swisse " (I, ii, 124), against whom Charles

8

THE FATAL DOWRY

lost his life and the power of Burgundy was broken; while the three great defeats he suffered at their hands, Granson, Morat, Nancy, are named in I, ii, 170. Shortly after these disasters the events which the play sets forth must be supposed to occur ; the parliament by which in our drama Dijon is governed was estab lished by Louis XI when he annexed Burgundy in 1477 and thereby abolished her ducal independence.

COLLABORATION

It is doubtful if Massinger ever collaborated with any author whose manner harmonized as well with his own as did Field's. In his partnership with Decker in The Virgin* Martyr, the alternate hands of the two dramatists afford a weird contrast.5 His union with Fletcher was less incongruous, but Fletcher was too much inclined to take the bit between his teeth to be a com fortable companion in double harness,6 and at all times his vola tile, prodigal genius paired ill with the earnest, painstaking, not over-poetic moralist. But in Field Massinger found an associate whose connection with himself was not only congenial, but even beneficial, to the end that together they could achieve certain re sults of which either was individually incapable ; just as it has been established was the case in the Middleton-Rowley collabora tion. To a formal element of verse different, indeed, from Mas- singer's, but not obtrusively so, a certain moral fibre of his own (perhaps derived from his clerical antecedents), and a like famili arity with stage technique, Field added qualities which Massinger notably lacked, and thereby complemented him : a light and vig orous (if sometimes coarse) comic touch as opposed to Mas- singer's cumbrous humor; a freshness and first-hand acquaint ance with life as opposed to Massinger's bookishness ; a capacity

5 E. g., I, i (Massinger) with its grave rhetoric uniformly sustained, and, in immediate succession, II, i (Decker), a medley of coarse buf foonery and tender and beautiful verse.

6 As witness The False One. Here Massinger seems to have projected a stately historical drama of war and factional intrigue, with a concep tion of Cleopatra as the Great Queen, more a Semiramis or a Zenobia than "the serpent of old Nile," and so treats his subject in the first and

Acts; while Fletcher "assists" him by filling the middle section of e play with scenes theatrically effective but leading nowhere, and in them makes the heroine the traditional "gipsy" Cleopatra.

INTRODUCTION 9

to visualize and individualize character as opposed to Massinger's weakness for drawing types rather than people. The fruit of their joint endeavors testifies to a harmonious, conscientious, and mutually respecting partnership.

In consideration of the above, it is surprising how substantially in accord are most of the opinions that have been expressed con cerning the share of the play written by each author.

"A critical reader," says Monck Mason, "will perceive that Rochfort and Charalois speak a different language in the Second and Third Acts, from that which they speak in the first and last, which are undoubtedly Massinger's ; as is also Part of the Fourth Act, but not the whole of it."

Dr. Ireland, in a postscript to the text of The Fatal Dowry in Gifford's edition, agrees with Mason in assigning the* Second Act to Field and also the First Scene of the Fourth Act; the Third Act, however, he claims for Massinger, as well as that share of the play with which Mason credits him. Fleay and Boyle, the chief modern commentators who have taken up the question of the division of authorship with the aid of metrical tests and other criteria, agree fairly well with the speculations of their less scien tific predecessors, and adopt an intermediate, reconciling position on the disputed Third Act, dividing it between the two dramatists.7

Boyle (Englische Studien, V, 94) assigns to Massinger Act I ; Act III as far as line 316; Act IV, Scenes ii, Hi, and iv; and the whole of Act V, with the exception of Scene ii, lines 80-120, which he considers an interpolation of Field, whom he also be lieves to have revised the latter part of I, ii (from Exeunt Officers with Romont to end).

Fleay (Chron. Eng. Dra., I, 208) exactly agrees with this division save that the latter part of I, ii, which Boyle believes emended by Field, he assigns to that author outright ; and that he places the division in Act III twenty-seven lines later (Field after Manent Char. Rom.).

7 The only other modern attempt to apportion the play is that of C. Beck (The Fatal Dowry, Friedrich- Alexander Univ. thesis, 1906, pp. 89- 94). He assigns Massinger everything except the prose passages of II, ii and IV, i, and perhaps II, i, 93-109. His a priori theory of distribution seems to be that all portions of the play which he deems of worth must be Massinger's. It is difficult to speak of Beck's monograph with suffi ciently scant respect.

10 THE FATAL DOWRY

In my own investigation I have used for each Scene the fol lowing tests to distinguish the hands of the two authors :

(a) Broad aesthetic considerations: the comparison of style and method of treatment with the known work of either dramatist.

(b) The test of parallel phrases. Massinger's habit of repeat ing himself is notorious. I have gone through the entire body of his work, both that which appears under his name, and that which has been assigned to him by modern research in the Beaumont & Fletcher plays, and noted all expressions I found analogous to any which occur in The Fatal Dowry. I have done the same for Field's work, examining his two comedies, Woman is a Weather cock and Amends for Ladies, and Acts I and V of The Knight of Malta and III and IV of The Queen of Corinth, which the con sensus of critical opinion recognizes (in my judgment, correctly) as his. He is generally believed to have collaborated also in The Honest Man's Fortune, but the exact extent of his work therein is so uncertain that I have not deemed it a proper field from which to adduce evidence. His hand has been asserted by one authority or another to appear in various other plays of the period, he having served, as it were, the role of a literary scape goat on whom it was convenient to father any Scene not identified as belonging to Beaumont, Fletcher, or Massinger ; but there is no convincing evidence for his participation in the composition of any extant dramas save the above named.

(c) Metrical tests. I have computed the figures for The Fatal Dowry in regard to double or feminine endings and run-on lines. Massinger's verse displays high percentages (normally 30 per cent, to 45 per cent.) in the case of either. Field's verse varies considerably in the matter of run-on lines at various periods of his life, but the proportion of them is always smaller than Mas- singer's. His double endings average about 18 per cent. I have also counted in each Scene the number of speeches that end within the line, and that end with the line, respectively. (Speeches end ing with fragmentary lines are considered to have mid-line end ings.) This is declared by Oliphant (Eng. Studien, XIV, 72) the surest test for the work of Massinger. " His percentage of speeches," he^says, " that end where the verses end is ordinarily as low as 15." This is a tremendous exaggeration, but it is true

INTRODUCTION 11

that the ratio of mid-line endings is much higher in Massinger than in any of his contemporaries — commonly 2: i, or higher.

We find the First Scene of Act I one of those skillful introduc tions to the action which the " stage-poet " knew so well how to handle, for which reason, probably, he was generally intrusted with the initial Scene of the plays in which he collaborated. Thoroughly Massingerian are its satire upon the degenerate age and its grave, measured style, rhetorical where it strives to be passionate, and replete with characteristic expressions. Especially striking examples of the dramatist's well-known an*d never-failing penchant for the recurrent use of certain ideas and phrases are: As I could run the hazard of a check for't. (1. 10) — cf. 8C-G. 87 b, 156 b, 327 b; D. V, 328; XI, 28;— You shall overcome. (1. 101)— cf. C-G. 230 b, 248 b, 392 a;— and 11. 183-7— cf. C-G. 206 a, 63 a, 91 a, 134 b. The correspondence between 11. 81-99 and the opening of The Unnatural Combat has already been remarked on, while further reminiscences of the same passage are to be found elsewhere in Massinger (C-G. 104 a, 195 b). Metrical tests show for the Scene 33 per cent, double endings and 29 per cent, run-on lines, figures which substantiate the conclusions derivable from a scrutiny of its style and content.9

In I, ii Massinger appears in his element, an episode permitting opportunities for the forensic fervor which was his especial forte. Such Scenes occur again and again in his plays : the conversion of the daughters of Theophilus by the Virgin Martyr, the plea of the Duke of Milan to the Emperor, of old Malefort to his judges in The Unnatural Combat, of Antiochus to the Carthagenian senate in Believe as You List. From the speech with which Du

8 References to the plays of Massinger are either by page and column of the Cunningham- Gi fiord edition of his works (designated C-G.), or, in the case of plays in the Beaumont & Fletcher corpus in which he or Field collaborated, by volume and page of the Dyce edition (designated D.). Field's two independent comedies are referred to by page of the Mermaid Series volume which contains them: Nero and Other Plays (desig nated M.).

9 The figures for the speech-ending test for each scene will be found in the table at the end of this section, and are not given in the course of the detailed examination of the play, save in the case of one passage, where the ambiguity of their testimony is noted. In all other Scenes they merely corroborate the evidence of the other tests.

12 THE FATAL DOWRY

Croy opens court (I, ii, 1-3) — cf. the inauguration of the senate- house scene in The Roman Actor, C-G. 197 b,

Fathers conscript, may this our meeting be Happy to Caesar an.d the commonwealth I

— to the very end, it abounds with Massingerisms : Knowing judgment; Speak to the cause; I foresaw this (an especial favorite of the poet's) ; Strange boldness! ; the construction, // that curses, etc; — also cf. 1. 117 ff. with

To undervalue him whose least fam'd service Scornes to be put in ballance with the best Of all your Counsailes.

(Sir John van Olden B., Bullen's Old Plays, II, 232.)

We have seen that the hand of Field has been asserted to appear in the last half of this Scene. This is probably due to the presence here of several rhymed couplets, which are uncommon in Massinger save as tags at the end of Scenes or of impressive speeches, but not absolutely unknown in his work ; whereas Field employs them frequently — in particular to set off a gnomic utter ance. If Field's indeed, they can scarcely represent more than his revising touch here and there ; everything else in this part of the Scene bespeaks Massinger no less clearly than does the por tion which preceeds it. There continues the same stately decla mation, punctuated at intervals by brief comments or replies, the same periodic sentence-structure, the same or even greater fre quency of characteristic diction. Massinger again and again refers in his plays to the successive hardships of the summer's heat and winter's frost (1. 184 — cf. C-G. 168 b, 205 a, 392 b, 488 b) ; stand bound occurs literally scores of times upon his pages (three times on C-G. 77 a alone) ; — typical also are in their dreadful ruins buried quick (1. 178 — cf. C-G. 603 a, 625 a, Sir John van Olden B., Bullin's Old Plays, II, 209), Be constant in it (1. 196 — cf. C-G. 2 a, 137 a, 237 a, 329 a), Strange rashness!, It is my wonder (1. 293— cf. C-G. 26 b, 195 b ; D. VIII, 438 ; XI, 34). Cf. also 1. 156,

To quit the burthen of a hopeless life, with C-G. 615 b,

To ease the burthen of a wretched life.

INTRODUCTION 13

And 11. 284-6,

But would you had Made trial of my love in anything But this,

with C-G. 286 a,

I could wish you had Made trial of my love some other way.

And again, 11. 301-3,

and his goodness

Rising above his fortune, seems to me, Princelike, to will, not ask, a courtesy.

with D. XI, 37,

in his face appears

A kind of majesty which should command, Not sue for favour.

and the general likeness of 1. 258 if. with C-G. 44 b~45 a, as above noted. Nor do the verse tests reveal any break in the continuity of the Scene; the figures for the first part are: double endings, 45 per cent.; run-on lines, 33 per cent. — for the second part: double endings, 36 per cent. ; run-on lines, 36 per cent.

Passing to the Second Act, we discover at once a new manner of expression, in which the sentence has a looser structure, the verse a quicker tempo, the poetry a striving now and again for a note of lyric beauty which, although satisfactorily achieved in but few lines, is by Massinger's verse not even attempted. A liberal sprinkling of rhymes appears. The Scene is a trifle more vividly conceived; the emotions have a somewhat more genuine ring. Simultaneously, resemblances to the phraseology of Massinger's other plays become infrequent; and, to increase the wonder, is almost the only reminder of him in the whole of Scene i. On the other hand we must not expect to find in the work of Field the same large number of recognizable expressions as mark that of Massinger; for he was not nearly so given to repeating himself, nor are there many of his plays extant from which to garner par allels. The figure of speech with which Charalois opens his funeral address [Field shows a great predilection for "aqueous" similes and metaphors], the liberal use of oaths ('Slid, 'Slight),

14 THE FATAL DOWRY

a reference (1. 137) to the Bermudas (also mentioned in Amends for Ladies: M. 427), and the comparison to the oak and pine (11. 119-121 — cf. a Field Scene of The Queen of Corinth: D. V, 436-7) are the only specific minutia to which a finger can be pointed. The verse analysis testifies similarly to a different author from that of Act I, double endings being 20 per cent., run-on lines 15 per cent. — figures which are quite normal to Field.

To the actor-dramatist may be set down the prose of II, ii without question. Massinger practically never uses prose, which is liberally employed by Field, as is the almost indistinguishable prose-or-verse by which a transition is made from one medium to the other. The dialogue between Beaumelle and her maids is strikingly like that between two " gentlewomen " in The Knight of Malta, I, ii — a Scene generally recognized as by his hand ; the visit of Novall Junior which follows is like a page out of his earlier comedies. Notable resemblances are 11. 177—8, Uds- light! my lord, one of the purls of your band is, without all dis cipline, fallen out of his rank, with / have seen him sit discon tented a whole play because one of the purls of his band was fallen out of his reach to order again. (Amends for Ladies, M. 455) ; and 1. 104, they skip into my lord's cast skins some twice a year, with and then my lord (like a snake) casts a suite every quarter, which I slip into: (Woman is a Weathercock, M. 374). The song, after 1. 131, recalls that in Amends for Ladies, M. 465.

Of the verse which follows, most of the observations made in regard to the preceeding Scene are applicable. The comic touch in the midst of Romont's tirade (11. 174-206) against old Novall, when the vehemence of his indignation leads him to seek at every breath the epithet of a different beast for his foe, is surely Field's, not Massinger's. A Field scene of The Queen of Corinth, D. V, 438, parallels with its Thou a gentleman! thou an ass, the construction of 1. 276, while there too is duplicated the true-love knots of 1. 314, though in a rather grotesque connection. The verse tests are confirmative of Field: 21 per cent, double end ings; 19 per cent, run-on lines. While a few resemblances to phrases occurring somewhere in the works of Massinger can be marked here and there in the 355 lines of the Scene, they are not such as would demand consideration, nor are more numerous than sheer chance would yield in the case of a writer so prolific as

INTRODUCTION 15

the " stage-poet." The parallel between 11. 284-297 and a passage from The Unnatural Combat is pointed out under the head of DATE, and one of several possible explanations for this coinci dence is there offered. These lines in The Fatal Dowry are as unmistakably Field's as any verse in the entire play; their short, abruptly broken periods and their rapid flow are as characteristic of him as the style of their analogue in The Unnatural Combat is patently Massingerian.

Act III presents a more difficult problem. It will be noted that Fleay and Boyle alike declare that its single long Scene is divided between the two authors, but are unable to agree as to the point of division. The first 316 lines are beyond question the work of Massinger. The tilt between Romont and Beaumelle is conducted with that flood of rhetorical vituperation by which he customarily attempts to delineate passion; in no portion of the play is his diction and sentence-structure more marked ; and the parallels to passages elsewhere in his works reappear with re doubled profusion. Indeed, they become too numerous for com plete citation ; let it suffice to refer 11. 43-4 to D. Ill, 477 ; 11. 53-4 to C-G. 173 a; 11. 80-3 to D. Ill, 481; 1. 104 to C-G. 532 a;

I. 116 to C-G. 146 b; 11. 117-8 to D. VI, 294 and D. VI, 410;

II. 232-5 to C-G. 307 a, also to -475 b, and to D. VIII, 406; while the phrase, Meet with an ill construction (1. 238) is a common one with Massinger (cf. C-G. 76 a, 141 b, 193 b, 225 b, 339 b), as are such ironic observations as the Why, 'tis exceeding well of 1. 293 (cf., e. g., 175 b). This part of the Scene contains 45 per cent, double endings and 36 per cent, run-on lines.

The last 161 lines of the Act with scarcely less certainty can be established as Field's, though on a first reading one might imagine, from the wordiness of the vehement dialogue and the rather high ratio (19:11) of speeches ending in mid-line, that the hand of Massinger continues throughout. But the closest examination no longer will reveal traces of that playwright's distinctive handi work, while a ratio of 17 per cent, for double endings and 28 per cent, for run-on lines, the introduction of rhyme, the oaths, and the change from the previous full-flowing declamation to shorter, more abrupt periods are vouchers that this part of the Scene is from the pen of the actor-dramatist. We can scarcely imagine

16 THE FATAL DOWRY

the ponderous-styled Massinger writing anything so easy and rapid as

/'// die first.

Farewell; continue merry, and high heaven

Keep your wife chaste.

Such phrases as So I not heard them (1. 352) and Like George a-horseback (1. 433) in the loose structure of the one and the slangy scurrility of the other, exhibit no kinship to his manner; 1- 373> They are fools that judge me by my outward seeming recalls a Field passage in The Queen of Corinth (D. V, 444) They are fools that hold them dignified by blood. There is here and there, moreover, a certain violence of expression, a com pressed over-trenchancy of phrase, that brings to mind the rant of the early Elizabethans, and is found among the Jacobeans only in the work of Rowley, Beaumont, and Field. For the last named, this is notably exemplified in the opening soliloquy of The Knight of Malta; we cannot but recognize the same touch here in 11. 386-8:

Thou dost strike

A deathful coldness to my hearts high heat,

And shrink'st my liver like the calenture.

The Something I must do, which concludes the Act, is re peatedly paralleled in Massinger's plays, but a similar indefinite resolve is expressed in Woman is a Weathercock (M. 363), and it •consequently cannot be adduced as evidence of his hand. Imme diately above, however (11. 494-6), we encounter, in the allusion to the Italian and Dutch temperaments, a thought twice echoed by the " stage-poet " in plays of not greatly later date, The Duke of Milan and The Little French Lawyer (C-G. 90 a; D. Ill, 505). It may represent an interpolation by Massinger ; it may be merely that this rather striking conclusion to the climatic speech of his collaborator's scene so fixed itself on his mind as to crop out afterwards in his own productions.

In the short disputed passage (11. 317-343) which separates what is undoubtedly Massinger's from what is undoubtedly Field's, it would appear that both playwrights had a hand. The 'S death and Gads me I, the play upon the word currier, and the

INTRODUCTION 17

phrase, / shall be with you suddenly (cf. Q. of Cor. D. V, 467) speak for Field ; while Massinger, on the other hand, parallels

His back

Appears to me as it would tire a beadle; with

A man of resolution, whose shoulders

Are of themselves armour of proof, against

A bastinado, and will tire ten beadles. — C-G. 186 b;

and the phrase " to sit down with a disgrace " occurs something like a dozen times on his pages, especially frequently in the col laborated plays — that is to say, in the earlier period of his work, to which The Fatal Dowry belongs. It is probable, and not un natural, that the labors of the partners in composition overlapped on this bit of the Scene, but metrical analysis claims with as much certainty as can attach to this test in the case of so short a passage that it is substantially Massinger's, and should go rather with what preceeds than with what comes after it, the verse being all one piece with that of the former section. It has 37 per cent, double endings and 41 per cent, run-on lines.

IV, i, opens with a prose passage for all the world like that of Woman is a Weathercock, I, ii, with its picture of the dandy, his parasites, and the pert page who forms a sort of chorus with his caustic asides; and writes itself down indisputably as by the same author. Novall Junior and his coterie appear here as in their former presentation in II, ii. We have again the same racy comedy, the same faltering of the vehicle between verse and prose (see 11. 61-8; 137-153). After the clearing of the stage of all save Romont and young Novall, uninterrupted verse ensues, which, despite a rather notable parallel in The Beggars' Bush, D. IX, 9 to 1. 174, is evidently Field's also. An analogue of 11. 180-1 is discoverable in Amends for Ladies (M. 421), as is of the reference (1. 197) to "fairies' treasure" in Woman is a Weathercock (M. 344). Novall's exclamation (1. 182), Pox of this gun! and his retort (1. 201), Good devil to your rogueship! are Fieldian, and the entire passage possesses a vigor and an easy naturalness which declare his authorship. It is not improbable, however, that his contribution ends with the fragmentary 1. 207, and that the remaining four lines of the Scene are a Massinger

18 THE FATAL DOWRY

tag. The Maid of Honour (C-G. 28 a) furnishes a striking parallel for 11. 208-9, while for 210-1 cf. C-G. 192 a. The metrical tests for IV, i, confirm Field: 22 per cent, double end ings ; 22 per cent, run-on lines.

With the next Scene the hand of Massinger is once more in evidence with all its accustomed manifestations. One interested in his duplication of characteristic phrasing may refer for com parison 11. 13-4 to C-G. 299 b; 1. 17 to C-G. 241 a; 11. 24-6 to C-G. 547 b ; 11. 29-30 to C-G. 425 b ; 1. 57 to C-G. 41 b, 70 b ; 1. 94 to C-G. 182 b. The Scene contains 32 per cent, double endings and 37 per cent, run-on lines. The authorship of its two songs is less certain. Field was more given to song-writing than was Massinger, and the second of this pair is reminiscent in its con ception of the Grace Seldom episode in Amends for Ladies (II, i).

The short IV, iii is by Massinger. In evidence of him are its 36 per cent, of double endings and 55 per cent, of run-on lines, its involved sentence structure, and the familiar phrasing which makes itself manifest even in so brief a passage (e. g. : To play the parasite, 1. 7 — cf. V, iii, 78 and C-G. 334 b. Cf. also 11. 9-10 with D. Ill, 476; and 1. 22 with C-G. 40 b, 153 a, 262 b.).

The same dramatist's work continues through the last Scene of the Act. This, the emotional climax of the play, representing a quasi-judicial procedure, affords him abundant opportunity for fervid moralizing and speech-making, of which he takes advantage most typically. Massinger commonplaces are 1. 29, Made ship wreck of your faith (cf. C-G. 55 b, 235 a, 414 b) ; 1. 56, In the for bidden labyrinth of lust (cf. C-G. 298 b) ; 1. 89, Angels guard me! (cf. C-G. 59 b, 475 b) ; 1. 118-9, and yield myself Most miserably guilty (cf. C-G. 61 b, 66 b, 130 a ; D. VI, 354) ; etc. ; while within a year or so of the time when he wrote referring to " those famed matrons" (1. 7°)> he expatiated upon them in detail (see The Virgin Martyr, C-G. 33 a). Yet more specific parallels may be found: for 1. 63 cf. C-G. 179 a; 11. 76-7, cf. C-G. 28 a ; 1. 78, cf. C-G. 32 b; 11. 162-3, cf. C-G. 3 b, in a passage wherein there is a certain similarity of situation; 1. 177, cf. D. IX, 7. Were any further confirmation needed for Massinger's authorship, the metrical tests would supply it, with their 36 per cent, double end ings and 34 per cent, run-on lines.

The most cursory reading of V, i is sufficient to establish the

INTRODUCTION 19

conviction that its author is not identical with that of the earlier comic passages — is not Field, but Massinger. The humor, such as it is, is of a graver, more restrained sort — satiric rather than burlesque; it has lost lightness and verve, and approaches to high-comedy and even to moralizing. One feels that the con fession of the tailor-gallant is no mere fun-making devise, but a caustic attack upon social conditions against which the writer nurtured a grudge. Massingerian are such expressions as And now I think on't better (1. 77— cf. C-G. 57 b, 468 a, 615 a; D. XI, 28), and use a conscience (1. 90 — cf. C-G. 444 a, 453 a), while the metrical evidence of 36 per cent, double endings and 29 per cent, run-on lines fortifies a case concerning which all commentators are in agreement. But despite the unanimity of critical opinion hitherto, I am not sure that Field did not contribute a minor touch here and there to the Scene. Such contribution, if a fact, must have been small, for the Massinger flavor is unmistakable throughout; yet in the Plague on't! and the 'Slid!, in the play upon words (11. 13-4, 20-1, 44), which is rare with Massinger and common with Field, in the line, / only know [thee] now to hate thee deadly: (cf. Amends for Ladies, M. 421 : / never more Will hear or see thee, but will hate thee deadly.*), we may, per haps, detect a hint of his hand.

Scene ii (which in the Quarto ends with the reconciliation of Charalois and Romont, the entry of Du Croy, Charmi, etc. being marked as the beginning of a third Scene, though the place is unchanged and the action continuous, wherefore modern editors disregard the Quarto's division and count Scene ii as including all the remainder of the Act) presents the usual distinctive ear marks of a Massinger passage. The last third of it, however (11. 80-121), has, on account of the presence of several rhymes, been commonly assigned to Field. No doubt his hand is here discernable; 1. 118, mark'd me out the way how to defend it, is scarcely a Massinger construction either; but I cannot think Field's presence here more than that of a reviser, just as in the latter half of I, ii. The language remains more Massinger's than Field's; and while the passage is over-short for metrical tests to be decisive, the 39 per cent, of double endings and 35 per cent, of run-on lines which it yields (for the earlier part of the Scene the figures are respectively 28 per cent, and 35 per

20

THE FATAL DOWRY

cent.) are corroborative of Massinger's authorship. Cf. also 11. 96-8 with this from The Renegado (C-G. 157 a) :

This applause

Confirm'd in your allowance, joys me more Than if a thousand full-cramm'd theatres Should clap their eager hands.

Of the final Scene, V, iii, little need be said. It brings before us again a court-room, with another trial, and continues the manner of its predecessor, I, ii, as only Massinger can. His customary formulae, stand bound, play the parasite, etc., are here; characteristic too are his opposition of wanton heat and lawful fires (11. 141-2 — cf. C-G. 37 b; D. V. 476), while fur ther material for comparison may be found in 11. 95-6 with Respect, wealth, favour, the whole world for a dower of The Virgin Martyr (C-G. 6 b), and in 11. 165-7:

Char. You must find other proofs to strengthen these But mere presumptions.

Du Croy Or we shall hardly

Allow your innocence.

with C-G. 39 a and b:

You must produce

Reasons of more validity and weight To plead in your defence, or we shall hardly Conclude you innocent.

The last passage cited for comparison also exhibits another feature normal to the work of this dramatist: the splitting of an observation, frequently a single sentence, between two speakers ; so 11. 38-9, and again, 1. 59. The Scene and play are rounded off with the pointing of a moral, so indispensable to Massinger's satisfaction.

To sum up, therefore, disregarding for practical purposes the slight touches of Field in I, ii, 11. 146-end; III, i, 11. 317-343; V, ii, 11. So-end; and perhaps in V, i ; — and the apparent Mas- singer touches in IV, i, and possibly at one or two other points in the Field Scenes, we may divide the play as follows :

MASSINGER: I; III, 11. 1-343; IV, ii, iii, iv; V.

FIELD : II ; III, 11. y^-end; IV, i.

INTRODUCTION

21

A metrical analysis of the play is appended in tabular form, in which I have computed separately the figures for each portion of any Scene on which there has been a question. It will be noted that the single simple test of the mid-line speech-ending would,

Scene	11	El >3	1 Double Endings	i CJ &	1 Run-on Lines	Per Cent.	& 8« |3	la I-	Speeches Ending in Mid-line	JS !'£« IP *l	Author
I, i		196	64	33	56	29	i	2	42	22	Massinger
I, ii (a) . .	—	i45	64	45	48	33	i	2	25	14	Massinger
I, ii (b) . .	—	158	57	36	57	36	o	12	30	16	Massinger (Field
											revision)
II, i	—	145	29	20	22	IS	4	16	19	17	Field
II, ii	82	273	57	21	52	19	9	12	47	50	Field
III, i (a) .	—	3i6	142	45	114	36	I	2	67	29	Massinger
Ill, i (b).	—	27	10	37	II	41	3	0	13	6	Massinger (with
											Field ?)
Ill, i (c) .	—	161	28	17	45	28	0	10	19	ii	Field
IV, i ....	88	124	27	22	27	22	4	6	26	24	Field
IV, ii	—	104	33	32	38	37	2	2	24	IO	Massinger
IV, iii	—	22	8	36	12	55	O	0	3	I	Massinger
IV, iv . . .	—	195	7i	36	67	34	0	6	32	8	Massinger
V i		IO7	38	36	31	29	I	2	16	5	Massinger
V, ii (a) . .		80	22	28	27	34	O	2	17	2	Massinger
V, ii (b). .	—	4i	IS	37	14	35	o	8	3	3	Massinger (Field
											revision)
V, iii , . . .	—	22Q	Q8	43	50	22	o	4	34	19	Massinger

with but two exceptions — one (III, i, c) doubtful, and the other (V, ii, b) too short a passage to afford a fair test— have made a clean-cut and correct determination of authorship in every case.

CRITICAL ESTIMATE

No less an authority than Swinburne has pronounced The Fatal Dowry the finest tragedy in the Massinger corpus. Cer tainly it would be the most formidable rival of The Duke of Milan for that distinction. It occupies an anomalous position among the works of the "stage poet." His dramas are, as a rule, strongest in construction ; he went at play-making like a skillful architect, and put together and moulded his material with steady hand. They are likely to be weakest in characterization. Massinger could not get inside his figures and endow them with the breath of life ; they remain stony shapes chiseled in severely angular and conventional lines, like some old Egyptian bas-

22 THE FATAL DOWRY

relief. But The Fatal Dowry is strong in characterization and defective in construction.

The structural fault is less surprising when it is ascertained to be fundamental — inevitable in the theme. The play breaks in the middle: it is really composed of two stories; the first two Acts present and resolve one action, while another, hitherto barely presaged, occupies the last three, and is the proper story of the Fatal Dowry. Charalois' self-immolation for the corpse of his heroic father, and his rescue and reward by the great hearted Rochfort, form a little play in themselves — a brief but stately tragi-comedy, which is followed by a tense drama of intrigue and retribution, of adultery and avenged honor — itself complete in itself, for which we are prepared in the first two Acts only by one figure, whose potentialities for disaster are ominous if not obvious : — Beaumelle, of whom more later. This plot-building by enjambment precludes the slow, steady mounting of suspense from the initial moment and inexorable gathering of doom which are manifested in a well-conceived tragedy ; yet crude, amorphous, inorganic as it may seem — defying, as it does, unity of action — like as it is to the earliest Elizabethan plays, which were concerned with a single career rather than a single theme, it would appear inevitably necessary, if a maximum effect is to be gained from the given plot-material. Just as Wagner found it impossible to do justice to the story of Siegfried with out first presenting that of Siegmund and Sieglinde, so the ex periment of Rowe (who in re-working the story for The Fair Penitent relegated to expository dialogue the narration of what corresponds to the first two Acts of The Fatal Dowry) sadly demonstrated that unless the reader or audience actually sees, and not merely hears about, Charalois' previous devotion, Roch- fort's generosity, and Romont's loyalty, these characters do not attract to themselves a full measure of sympathy, and the story of their later vicissitudes is somewhow unconvincing and falls flat.

Massinger and Field accepted frankly the structural awkward ness of their plot as they had fashioned or found it. Making, apparently, no attempt to obviate its essential duality, they went to work in the most straightforward manner, and achieved, thanks in no small measure to that same resolute directness of approach, a drama of so naturalistic a tone as half to redeem its

INTRODUCTION 23

want of unity. The Fatal Dowry is not an Aristotelian tragedy with a definite beginning, middle, and end— it is rather a cross- section of life. The unconventionality and vitality of such a production are startling, and obtain a high degree of verisimili tude.

Both authors seem to have been themselves inspired by their virile theme to give to it their best work. The stately, somewhat monotonous verse of Massinger, which never loses dignity and is so incapable of expressing climaxes of passion, is once or twice almost forgotten, or else rises to a majesty which trans figures it. Though forensic declamation was always the especial forte of this dramatist, he literally out-did himself in his man agement of the suit for the dead Marshal's body. The elaborate rhetoric of Charmi, checked by the stern harshness of Novall Senior, the indignant outburst of Romont, and the sad, yet noble calmness of Charalois' speech in which he presses the forlorn alternative, succeed one another with striking contrast; the very flow of the verse changes with the speaker in a manner which recalls the wonderful employment of this device by Shakespeare, as, for example, in the First Act of Othello. In the final Scene of Act IV, Massinger achieves a climax worthy of Fletcher him self; — save, perhaps, the denouement of A New Way to Pay Old Debts, and the great scene in The Duke of Milan in which Sforza's faith in his Duchess is broken down by aspersion after aspersion, until he slays her, only to learn the terrible truth one instant later, it is the most dramatic situation he ever worked up. Field, too, seems to have been on his mettle: his verse is more trenchant, his care greater than in his two earlier comedies ; the lines (II, i, 126-7)

My root is earthed, and I a desolate branch Left scattered in the highway of the world,

touch the high-water mark of his poetic endeavor.

Blemishes, indeed, are not unapparent. The episodic first Scene of Act V is a rather stupid piece of pseudo-comedy by Massinger, which serves no function adequate to justify its existence, while it interrupts the thread of the main story at a point where its culminating intensity does not, of right, permit such a diversion. Gifford in commenting upon this Scene makes

24 THE FATAL DOWRY

the amazing pronouncement that it serves " to prove how differ ently the comic part of this drama would have appeared, if the whole had fortunately fallen into the hands of Massinger." Surely never was criticism more fatuous.

But the most serious — indeed, the outstanding — defect of the play is the easy readiness of Charalois to break with Romont. The calm, unregretful placidity with which he untwists the long web of friendship with a man who has stood by him through weal and woe, who has courted a prison's chains for his sake, shocks us, and repels us with its flinty self-sufficiency. It is not that we know him to be wrong and Romont to be right ; suppose the high faith of Charalois in Beaumelle to be entirely justified and the charge of Romont to be as groundless as it is wildly delivered and unconvincing, yet there is no excuse for the imme diacy with which, on the first revelation of what he himself has demanded to know, the hero rejects, along with the report of his friend, the friend himself, whose aim could have been only his best interest. For the fault lies not in the situation, which is sound, but in its over-hasty development. A little more length to the scene, a few more speeches to either participant in the dialogue, a little longer and more vituperative insistence on the part of Romont in the face of Charalois' warnings that he has gone far enough, and the quarrel would have been thoroughly realized and developed. As it is, it comes on insufficient provo cation; the hero, at the moment when he should excite regret and sympathy because of his blind, mistaken trust in his unworthy wife, excites rather indignation ; the later words of Romont with which he justifies his unshaken loyalty to his comrade turn back the mind perforce to that comrade's lack of loyalty to him, and unwittingly ring out as a judgment upon Charalois :

That friendship's raised on sand, Which every sudden gust of discontent, Or flowing of our passions can change, As if it ne'er had been: —

The faulty passage, it will be noted upon reference to the analysis of shares in collaboration, is by the hand of Field. Unconvincing precipitancy in the conduct of situations marks his work else where, notably in the Amends for Ladies.

INTRODUCTION 25

As it has already been said, the strongest feature of the play is its characterization. Almost every figure is. if not an indi vidual, at least a type so vitalized as to appear to take on life. One or two touches, to be sure, of conventional Massingerian habits of thought still cling about them; even the noblest cannot entirely forget to consider how their conduct will pose them before the eyes of the world and posterity. But apart from such slight occasional lapses, they may truthfully be said to speak and move quite in the manner of real men and women.

The hero, Charalois, is drawn as of a gentle, meditative, tem perate, and self-possessed disposition, in strong and effective contrast to his friend. Though his military exploits are spoken of with admiration, and Romont testifies that he can "pursue a foe like lightning," he betrays a certain readiness to yield to dis couragement scarce to be expected in the son of the great gen eral. In consequence of these facts, he has been described by some (notably Cunningham, in his Edition of Gifford, Introduc tion, p. xiii ; — cf. also Phelan, p. 61 ; and Beck, pp. 22-3) as " a Hamlet whose mind has not yet been sicklied o'er by the pale cast of thought," and his long silence at the opening of Act I is compared to that of the Danish Prince on his first appearance. ' But, in reality, excess of pride is the chief reason of Charalois' backwardness on this occasion, and thereafter he acts promptly and efficiently always. The same over-sensitive pride continues to manifest itself throughout the play — when he is confronted with Rochfort's generosity; when he finds (III, i, 365 ff.) that it is he who is the object of the jests of Novall Junior and his satellites (though scarce a breath earlier he has chided Romont for noticing the yapping of such petty curs) ; and in the viscissi- tudes of the catastrophe and its consequences. A harmonious twin-birth with his pride, at once proceeding from it, bound up with it, and on occasion over-weighing its scruples, is an extreme punctiliousness at every turn to the dictates of that peculiarly Spanish imperative, "the point of honor," — a consideration so prominent throughout the play as to have convinced many critics that the source of the story, although still undiscovered, must have been Spanish. These two traits — pride and an adherence to "the point of honor," are almost invariably the mainsprings of Charalois' conduct. His pride holds him back from suppli-

26 THE FATAL DOWRY

eating in behalf of his father the clemency of the unworthy ministers of the law, till he is persuaded by Romont that honor not only permits but requires that he do so; he feels that honor demands that he sacrifice himself to secure his father's burial, and he does it; that honor demands that he put away his friend in loyalty to his wife, and he does it; that honor demands that he slay the adulteress — and he does it ; he even consents to lay bare the details of his ignominious wrong before the eyes of men, because he is brought to believe that " the point of honor " calls for a justification of his course and the holding of it up as an example to the world. It is a striking and consistent portrait — how unlike the usual conventionally noble hero of romantic drama !

Romont, however, is the finest figure of the play. He draws to himself rather more than his share of interest and sympathy, to the detriment of the protagonist. Of a type common enough on the stage of that day — the bluff, loyal soldier-friend of the hero — he is yet so thoroughly individualized that we can discuss him and calculate what he will do in given situations, even as with a character of Shakespeare's. The portrait suffers from no jarring inconsistencies ; almost his every utterance is abso lutely in part, and adds its touch to round out our conception of him. His negligence of his personal appearance, his quick tem per, his impulsiveness, his violence, his lack of restraint, his fierce, uncompromising honesty, his devotion to the "grave Gen eral dead " and his unshaken fidelity to the living son, his flashes of unexpected tenderness, his homage for the reverend virtue of Rochfort — a sort of child-like awe for what he knows is finer if not of truer metal than his own rough spirit, his ill-disguised scorn for Novall Junior and his creatures, "those dogs in doublets," his lack of tact which unfits him for effective service in the delicate task of preserving Beaumelle's honor, and dooms his story to Charalois to disbelief and resentment, his prompt, fearless decisiveness of action, the tumultuous flood of nervous and at times eloquent speech which pours from his lips when he is aroused, yet dies in his throat when he is lashed by a woman's tongue — a flood of speech which is most torrential when the situation is most doubtful or hopeless of good issue, but which gives place to a self-possessed terseness when he is quite sure of

INTRODUCTION 27

his ground: — all go to give detail and reality to a character at once amazingly alive and irresistibly attractive. " Romont is one of the noblest of all Massinger's men," says Swinburne, "and Shakespeare has hardly drawn noble men more nobly than Mas- singer." To find a parallel creation who can over-match him in vigor of presentation and theatrical efficiency, we must go back to the Melantius of Beaumont and Fletcher. These two charac ters represent the ultimate elaborations of the stock figure of the faithful friend and blunt soldier; Melantius is the supreme romantic, Romont the supreme realistic, development of the type.

Yet though Romont is the most compelling of the dramatis personae, into none does Massinger enter more thoroughly than the noble figure of Rochfort. Utter devotion to virtue, to which he had paid a life-long fidelity, is the key-note of the nature of the aged Premier President, and accordingly in him the deep- seated ethical seriousness of the "stage-poet" found a congenial expression. A statelier dignity is wont to echo in his lines than in the utterance of any other character; they breathe an exalted calm, a graciousness, a grave courtesy, as though the very spirit of their speaker had entered them.

An inability to judge the character of others was his great weakness — a weakness which he himself realized, for he called upon Beaumont to confirm the one strikingly sure, true appraise ment which he exhibited, his admiration for Charalois. Charac teristically, this weakness seems to have taken the form of a too-generous estimate of his fellows. This caused him to bestow his vacated office upon the harsh and unjust Novall, and to be blind to the disposition of his daughter, and the danger that lay in her intimacy with Novall Junior. But if his kindly nature saw the better side of even that contemptible young man, he at least understood him well enough not to take him at all seriously as a suitor for Beaumelle's hand.

Of the Novalls, father and son, there is a much briefer presen tation. Yet even so, in the case of old Novall we have as mas terly a sketch as in Romont a detailed study. His every word is eloquent of his stern, not to say mean, nature — curt and severe towards others, all prejudice where he himself is concerned, in exorably malevolent against those who incur his animosity. Yet it never enters his head to seek the satisfaction of his hate in

28 THE FATAL DOWRY

any way save through the law; for example, he does not seize upon, or even think seriously of, Pontalier's proffer of private vengeance ; the law is his sphere — he will abuse it to his ad vantage, if he can, but he will not go outside of it. He is, in other words, the Official Bureaucrat par excellence, and his enmity against the martial house of the Charaloises and the rigor with which he is said to "cross every deserved soldier and scholar," and, on the other hand, the detestation in which Ro- mont holds him, are manifestations of the feud of type against type. It has been suggested that the especial fervor with which he is devoted to execration argues a prototype in actual life, and that in him is to be recognized Sir Edward Coke, notorious for the savage vindictiveness of his conduct towards Sir Walter Raleigh.

Novall Junior, the cowardly, foppish, and unscrupulous gal lant, though a flimsy personality, affords once or twice, in the Fieldian prose, rather good humor : e. g. —

Nay, o' my soul, 'tis so; what fouler object in the world, than to see a young, fair, handsome beauty unhandsomely dighted, and incongruently accoutred? or a hopeful chevalier unmethod ically appointed in the external ornaments of nature? For, even as the index tells us the contents of stories, and directs to the particular chapters, even so does the outward habit and super ficial order of garments (in man or woman) give us a taste of the spirit, and demonstratively point (as it were a manual note, from the margin) all the internal quality and habiliment of the soul; and there cannot be a more evident, palpable, gross mani festation of poor, degenerate, dunghilly blood and breeding, than a rude, unpolished, disordered, and slovenly outside. (IV, i, 48-60.)

Of the remaining characters, only two call for especial notice. The three Creditors are a blemish upon the otherwise striking verisimilitude of the play ; they are impossible, inhuman monsters of greed and relentlessness, who serve as vehicles for a kind of grotesque comedy. A personal rancour on the part of the authors may have been responsible for this presentation, as it is probable that they themselves had had none-too-pleasant experiences with money-lenders. Pontalier, however, is very well conceived and skillfully executed. Occupying a relation to Novall Junior quite

INTRODUCTION 29

similar to that of Romont to Charalois, he is yet differentiated from his parallel, while at the same time he is kept free from any taint of the despicable'ness and fawning servility which are chiefly prominent in the parasites of the vicious and feather brained young lord. There is something really pathetic about this brave, honorable soldier, committed to the defense of an unworthy benefactor, ranged on the side of wrong against right, by his very best qualities : his noble sense of gratitude, his loyalty, his devotion to what he conceives to be his duty. It will be ob served that he never joins with the rest of the group about Novall Junior in their jibes against Charalois and Romont.

The last figure for consideration, and not the least important, is Beaumelle. So general has been the misconception of her character that it calls for a more detailed analysis than has been accorded to the other personages of the drama, or than the place she occupies might appear to warrant. That place, indeed, is not a striking one ; she is scarce more than a character of second rank, appearing in but few scenes and speaking not many lines. Yet her part in the story is one of such potentialities that in Rowe's version of the same theme her analogue becomes the central figure, and even in The Fatal Dowry a failure to under stand her has probably been at the bottom of most of the less favorable judgments that have been passed upon the play, while those critics who appraise it higher yet acknowledge her to be its one outstanding defect. " The Fatal Dowry," says Saintsbury (Hist. Eng. Lit., vol. ii, p. 400) "... is ... injured by the un attractive character of the light-of-love Beaumelle before her repentance (Massinger never could draw a woman)." She is declared by Swinburne to be "too thinly and feebly drawn to attract even the conventional and theatrical sympathy which Fletcher might have excited for a frail and penitent heroine : and the almost farcical insignificance and baseness of her paramour would suffice to degrade his not involuntary victim beneath the level of any serious interest or pity." If these and similar pro nouncements were well founded, the play as a cross-section of life would have the great weakness of being unconvincing at a very vital point. A study of the text, however, will discover Beau melle to be portrayed, in the brief compass of her appearance, in no wise inadequately, but rather, if anything, somewhat beyond

30 THE FATAL DOWRY

the requirements of her dramatic function — will reveal her, not, indeed, a personage of heroic proportions and qualities, but a young woman of considerable naturalness, plausibility, and real istic convincingness.

The trouble has probably been that the critics of Beaumelle have passed hastily over the very scurrilous prose scene in which she first appears. They have looked on this passage as merely a piece of Fieldian low-comedy, a coarse bit of buffoonery which pretends to no function save that of humor, and can sustain not even this pretense. Nothing can be further from the truth. The passage is a piece of coarse comedy such as Field had an over- fondness for writing; but it is something more; in reality, a proper understanding of the heroine is conditioned upon it.

Beaumelle is a young girl whose mother, we may infer, has long been dead. The cares of the bench have been too great to allow her father time for much personal supervision of her; she has had for associates her two maids, and of these she not un naturally finds the gay and witty, but thoroughly depraved, Bel- lapert the more congenial, and adopts her as her mentor and con fidant. She is in love, after a fashion — caught, like the impres sionable, uncritical girl she is, by the fair exterior of a young magnificent, whose elegant dress and courtly show of devotion quite blind her to his real worthlessness — and there is scant likeli hood of her getting the man who has charmed her fancy. Her disposition is high-spirited and wayward, but not deliberately vicious; she has certain hazily defined ideals, mingled with the same romantic mist through which the superfine dandy, Novall, appears in her eyes a very Prince Charming : she " would meet love and marriage both at once"; she desires to preserve her honor. She has ideals, but she doubts their tangibility ; she is in an unsettled state of mind, questioning the fundamentals of con duct and social relationships, in much need of good counsel. In that perilous mood she talks with Bellapert— Bellapert, the dearest cabinet of her secrets— Bellapert, the bribed instrument of Novall — and is told by that worldly-wise wench that marriage almost never unites with love, but must be used as a cloak for it; that honor is a foolish fancy; that a husband is a master to be out witted and despised. The shaft sinks home all too surely; a

INTRODUCTION 31

visit at that very moment by Beaumelle's lover completes the conquest, when her father interrupts their tete-a-tete— her father, who comes with the anouncement that she must marry a man whom she does not even know ! In the scene where the destined bride and groom are brought face to face, she stands throughout in stony silence quite as eloquent as the more famous speechless- ness of Charalois at the 'beginning of the play. She has ever been " handmaid " to her father's will ; she realizes all her hopes and fortunes "have reference to his liking;" and now she obeys, with the bitter thought in her heart that Fate, in denying her her will, has wronged Love itself (II, ii, 154) ; only when Charalois turns to her with a direct question, " Fair Beaumelle, can you love me ? " does she utter a word — then from her lips a brief, desperate, "Yes, my lord" — and a moment later (II, ii, 315) she is weep ing silently. (Her answer was honest in as far as she really did mean to give to the man chosen for her husband her duty with her hand.) Then the voice 'of the tempter whispers in her ear, she feels its tug at her heart, and with a cry, "Oh, servant! — Virtue strengthen me ! " she hurries from the room. That is the situation at the end of the Second Act and first part of the play ; an appreciation of its significance makes the connection with what follows less arbitrary and inorganic.

When Beaumelle next appears, in the Third Act, there has been a change. We may imagine that she has had time to ponder those cynical maxims of Bellapert on the natural course of romance. Her union has been unwilling; she does not care for her husband; Novall appeals to her as much as ever: with her eyes open, she deliberately chooses the path of sin — because the enforced marriage which shattered her hopes must needs appear to her the final demonstration of the correctness of her maid's contention (towards which she was already inclining) that she has been foolishly impractical to dream of the satisfaction of her heart's wish through wedlock, but that it is by secret amour that love must be, and is wont to be, enjoyed.

It may not be unreasonable to regard the resourcefulness and effrontery which characterize her throughout the Third Act as the result of a sort of mental intoxication, into which she has been lifted by her reckless resolve and the consciousness of danger ; at any rate she now shows herself altogether too much

32 THE FATAL DOWRY

for Romont ; she finds a shrewdness and an eloquence that carry her triumphant to the consummation of her desire. When dis covery ensues, her paramour is slain, and she herself is haled to die, she is overcome — abruptly and, one might say, strangely — with remorse and penitence. But it is not at all by one of those theatrically convenient but psychologically absurd changes of heart so frequent in the drama of that period ; nothing, indeed, could be more true to life. Novall Junior, coward and fop that he was, has hitherto always borne himself in lordly fashion before her, even when they were surprised by Romont ; but now at last she beholds him stripped to the shivering abjectness of his con temptible soul, that she may observe his baseness. She sees him cowed and beaten and slain, while Charalois (whom she never knew before their marriage nor has tried to understand in the brief period of their wedlock) with his outraged honor and irre sistible prowess assumes to her eyes the* proportions of a hero ; and with her girl's romanticism10 of nature, she bows down and worships him. It is somewhat the same note that is struck by Thackeray in the similar situation where Rawdon Crawley, re turning home unexpectedly, finds his wife with Lord Steyne and knocks the man down.

It was all done before Rebecca could interpose. She stood there trembling before him. She admired her husband, strong, brave, victorious.

So it was with Beaumelle. Except for one brief cry of " Un done for ever ! " she utters no word from the moment of the sur prise to the end of the Scene. She hangs back, shrinking, for a moment, when ordered into the coach with the dead body of her partner in guilt. "Come," says Charalois, in terrible jest, "you have taught me to say, you must and shall. . . . You are but to keep him company you love — " and she obeys mutely.

Thus, all contriteness, Beaumelle goes to her fate. It should be observed how, even at the last, her tendency to romantic ideal ization vehemently asserts itself; she looks fondly back (IV, iv,

10 This is all the more rampant in that it is suddenly called back into activity after its period of obscuration while she yielded herself to a cyn ical, immoral opportunism, and is now brought, by a fearful shock, to confront higher ethical values and real manhood. For this time she is given not a Novall but a Charalois to idealize.

INTRODUCTION 33

53) to an imagined time, which never really existed, when she was "good" and "a part of" Charalois, made one with him through the virtuous harmony of their minds ! — no voice is more unfaltering than her own to pronounce her doom as both righteous and necessary, and she conceives herself to climb, by her ecstatic welcoming of death, into the company of the ancient heroines and martyrs. In its realism of the commonplace and its slightly ironic conception, it is the outline drawing of a character that might have received elaborate portraiture at the hands of Flaubert.

Whether we are to regard this consistent " study in little " as a deliberate piece of work on the part of the authors, must remain a matter of opinion. There is no similar figure elsewhere in the dramatic output of Massinger, nor any quite so minutely con ceived within the same number of speech-lines in that of Field, and one could scarce be blamed for believing that a number of hap-hazard, sketchy strokes with which the collaborators dashed off a character whom they deemed of no great importance, all so fell upon the canvas that, by a miracle of chance, they went to form the lineaments of a real woman. The discussion of the probability or possibility of such a hypothesis would carry us very far afield, and would involve the question of the extent to which all genius is unconscious and intuitive. But however that may be, the result of their labors remains the same, there to behold in black and white, and Beaumelle, so far from being a poorly conceived and unsatisfactory wanton who is- the chief defect of the play, is a figure of no mean verisimilitude who suc ceeds after a fashion in linking together the loose-knit dual struc ture of the drama; to whose main catastrophe she adds her own tragedy, a tragedy neither impressive nor deeply stirring, it is true, for she is a petty spirit from whom great tragedy does not proceed — but tragedy still — the eternal, inevitable tragedy of false romanticism, that has found its culmination in the person of Emma Bovary.

In this study of Beaumelle, The Fatal Dowry has been sub jected to a much more intensive examination than it is the custom to bestow upon the dramas of the successors of Shakespeare. The truth is that the plays of the Jacobean period do not, as a rule, admit of such analysis. In most of them, and especially in the plays of Massinger, he who searches and probes them comes

34 THE FATAL DOWRY

presently to a point beyond which critical inquiry is stopped short with a desperate finality ; be they ever so strikingly splendid and glittering fair in their poetry and their characterization, these dazzling qualities lie upon the surface, and a few careful perusals exhaust their possibilities and tell us all there is to know of them. But The Fatal Dowry, though less imposing than a number of others, stands almost alone among its contemporaries in sharing with the great creations of Shakespeare the power to open new vistas, to present new aspects, to offer new suggestions, the longer it is studied. Perhaps this is due to the fact that, as has already been said, it is not so much a tragedy of the accepted type as a cross-section of life.

How does it come about, we may well ask, that this play pos sesses qualities so rare and so strangely at variance with those which are normal to the work of Massinger — its masterly por trait-gallery of dramatis personae and its inexhaustible field for interpretation. We can suspect an answer only in the comple mentary nature of the two minds that went to fashion it — in the union in this one production of the talents of Massinger and of Field.

A reference to the analysis of collaboration discloses that, so far as the actual writing of the play goes, the figure of Novall Senior is altogether the work of Massinger. His son, on the other hand, is almost entirely the work of Field; in Massinger's share he appears only in the first part of III, i, and in the scene of his surprisal and death. Indeed, both the young gallant him self and all his satellites can safely be put down as creations of the actor-dramatist. They have their parallels in his comedy of Woman is a Weathercock, down to the page whose pert asides of satiric comment are anticipated in the earlier work by those of a youngster of identical kidney. The long scene in which we are introduced to Beaumelle and given insight into her character and mental attitude is Field's throughout; thereafter she has only to act out her already-revealed nature — first as the impudent adul teress and later as the repentent sinner, in both of which roles she affords Massinger excellent opportunities to display his favorite powers of speech-making. Charalois, Romont, and Rochfort are treated at length by both dramatists.

But in a harmonious collaboration, such as The Fatal Dowry

INTRODUCTION 35

plainly was, the contributions of the two authors cannot be iden tified with the passages from their respective pens. Each must inevitably have planned, suggested, criticised. The question re mains whether we can in any measure determine what part of the conception was due to each. Beyond the Novall Junior group we cannot establish distinct lines of cleavage. What we can do is to suggest the features of the finished product which Field and Massinger brought severally to its making — to point out the quali ties of the two men which were joined to produce the play they have given us.

The outstanding excellences of Massinger were a thorough grasp of the architectonics of play-making in the building both of separate Act and entire drama ; an adherence to an essential unity of design and treatment ; a conscientious regard to the details of stage-craft ; a vehicle of dignified and at times noble verse, with out violent conceits or lapses into triviality, sustained, lucid, reg ular; and a genuine eloquence in forensic passages. His chief weaknesses were a certain stiffness of execution which made his plays appear always as structures rather than organisms, a pon derous monotony of fancy, and an inability to create or repro duce or understand human nature. His characters are normally types, their qualities — honor, virtue, bravery, etc. — mere prop erties which they can assume or lay aside at pleasure like gar ments, their conduct governed more by the exigencies of plot than by any conceivable psychology.

The weaknesses of Field — as revealed in his two independent comedies — were of a nature more evasive, less capable of defini tion. A tendency to weave too many threads into the action, an occasional hasty and skimping treatment of his scenes which leaves them unconvincing for lack of sufficient elaboration, and a general thinness of design and workmanship are discoverable. Defects such as these could be readily corrected by association with the single-minded, painstaking, thorough Massinger. On the other hand he possessed a lightness of touch, a blithe vigor, and a racy, though often obscene, humor foreign to his colleague. What is more important, he possessed a considerable first-hand knowledge of men and women, and an ability to put them in his plays and endow them with something of life — not to conceive great figures, such as dominate the imagination, but to reproduce

36 THE FATAL DOWRY

with vitality and freshness the sort of people he saw about him — in other words, not to create but to depict ; and furthermore Field seems to have had a special gift for sketching them rather clearly in a very brief compass.11 Mr. Saintsbury was right in declar ing that Massinger never could draw a woman. But Field could, and the critic was rather unfortunate in applying his broadly correct observation to the one woman of Massinger's in the delineation of whom he had Field to help him!

With these facts in mind, the distinctive virtues of The Fatal Dowry can be accounted for. Massinger here possessed a colleague who had just those talents of insight and verve and grasp of life that were denied his own plodding, bookishly learned mind. Not only young Novall and his satellites, but Beaumelle certainly, and probably Pontalier (whom Massinger would have been more likely to degrade to the baseness of No vak's other dependents) may be put down as essentially Field's creations, while in the case of the others he was ever at Mas- singer's elbow to guard him against blunders, if, indeed, their preliminary mapping out of the rather obvious lines along which the action and characters must develop were not of itself a suffi ciently sure guide. To Massinger, on the other hand, may safely be ascribed the basic conception of such stately figures as Chara- lois and Rochfort, however much Field may have been respon sible for preserving them as fresh and living portraits.

As to share in plot structure, in the absence of any known source, we may conjecture that the germ from which the play evolved was the conception of that situation by which Charalois, burdened as he is with an immense debt of thankfulness to Roch fort, finds himself suddenly called by the imperative demands of

11 See the figure of Captain Pouts in Woman is a Weathercock. He might easily have been made a mere miles gloriosus; instead he is a real man, — coarse, revengeful, dissolute, quarrelsome,, hectoring — no doubt at heart a coward, but not more absurdly so in the face of his pretensions than many of his type in actual life. For characters clearly visualized in a few simple strokes, may be noted in the same play Lady Ninny, Lucida, and, apart from one speech (M. 356-7) out of character obviously for comic effect, Kate; in Amends for Ladies, Ingen. Examples of Field's power in more idealistic work may be found in The Knight of Malta in the delineation of Montferrat's passion (I, i) and in the scene between Miranda and Oriana (V, i).

INTRODUCTION 37

honor to do that which will strike his benefactor to the heart. The grounding of the hero's debt of gratitude in the story of Mil- tiades and Cimon was probably the work of Massinger, of whose veneration for things classic we have abundant evidence, while to him also, we may believe, was due the shaping of the story in such fashion that he had opportunity to exploit his greatest gift in no less than two formal trials, one informal trial, and a long Act besides given over almost exclusively to verbose disputes and exhortations. The circumstances of the discovery of the amour of Beaumelle and Novall, while penned by Massinger, are more likely an invention of Field's, not only as faintly reminis cent of his Amends for Ladies, but as according better with the general spirit of his work.

Several plays of the Massinger corpus are more striking on first acquaintance than The Fatal Dowry, and yet others surpass it in regard to this feature or that. It has not the gigantic pro tagonist of A New Way to Pay Old Debts, or the admirable structure of that fine play, which works with ever-cumulating intensity to one final, tremendous climax. It has not the im- pressiveness of The Duke of Milan, or its sheer sweep of tragic passion and breathless intensity, or anything so compelling as its great scene of gathering jealousy that breaks forth at last in murder. Its verse is less poetic than that of The Maid of Honor; it lacks the charm of The Great Duke of Florence, and the ethical fervor of The Roman Actor. But in utter reality, in convincing simulation of life, which holds good under the most exhaustive study and makes that study forever continue to yield new sug gestions and new appreciations, and in abundance and inherent truthfulness of detailed characterization, it stands alone, and these sterling qualities must so outweigh its defects as to insure for it a high place, not only among the productions of its authors, but among the plays of the Jacobean Period as a whole.

STAGE HISTORY — ADAPTATIONS — DERIVATIVES

Beyond the statement on the title-page of the 1632 Quarto, that The Fatal Dowry had been " often acted at the Private House in Blackfriars by his Majesties Servants," nothing is known of its early stage history. It was not revived after the Restoration,

38 THE FATAL DOWRY

and until the publication of the Coxeter edition of Massinger seems to have been almost unknown. At last, in 1825, an emended version was placed upon the boards by no less an actor than the great Macready. January 5 of that year was the date, and Drury Lane the place, of its initial performance, Macready himself taking the part of Romont, Wallack — Charalois, Terry — Rochfort, and Mrs. W. West — Beaumelle. "The play was well acted and enthusiastically applauded," says Macready in his Reminiscences (p. 228) ; " its repetition for the following Tues day was hailed most rapturously ; but Friday12 came, and with it a crowded house, to find me laboring under such indisposition that it was with difficulty I could keep erect without support." Macready's serious illness cut short the run of the play, and when he was at length (April n) able to take it up again, the interest of the public had abated, and it in consequence was repeated only a few times — seven being the total number of its performances. The variant of The Fatal Dowry in which Macready acted was the work of Sheil, and involved substantial divergences. Ro- mont's release from prison follows immediately upon Novall Senior's consent to his pardon, and in consequence, together with his conversation with Rochfort, is transferred from Act II to the close of Act I, while the redemption of Charalois takes place at the funeral of his father, which concludes Act II. For the scene between Beaumelle and her maids is substituted another coloquy of similar import but chastened tone. A brief scene of no especial significance is inserted at the beginning of Act III, in the interval between which and the preceding Act three weeks are supposed to have elapsed ; the rest of Act III follows much the same course as the original, save that the application of Romont to Rochfort and his foiling by the stratagem of Beaumelle and Bellapert are omitted. A really notable departure is found in the discovery of the amour by Charalois. According to Sheil, Novall Junior and his mistress attempt to elope, but the note which appoints their rendezvous falls into Charalois' hands, and he waits for the lovers and surprises them, killing Novall off-stage. The Fifth Act opens with a scene of a few lines only, in which Beaumont bears to Rochfort a request from Charalois to meet him in the church yard. Then follows a lugubrious scene in the dead of

12 Apparently The Fatal Dowry was not performed every day.

INTRODUCTION 39

night beside the tomb of the hero's father, to which place are transferred the reconciliation between Charalois and Romont, and the judgment of Rochfort! Beaumelle, however, does not appear during the trial, and upon the paternal sentence of doom, Charalois reveals her body, slain already by his hand. To the father he vindicates his action in much the same words as in Massinger's last court-room scene, and then, on the appearance of Novall Senior clamoring for vengeance and accompanied by the minions of the law, stabs himself.

The version of Sheil follows with but occasional exceptions the language of the original -wherever possible. It makes some slight changes in the minor characters.

Shell's redaction was also presented at Bath on February 18 and 21, Romont being acted by Hamblin, Charalois by Warde, Beaumelle by Miss E. Tree. " Hamblin never appeared to so much advantage — in the scene with Novall he reminded one strongly of John Kemble," says Genest (Hist. Dra. and Stage in Eng.t IX, 322).

At Sadler's Wells, Samuel Phelps, who at that time was reviv ing a number of the old dramas, took the stage in The Fatal Dowry on August 27, 1845. This, however, was Sheil's version, and not the original play of Massinger and Field, as has been sometimes supposed. It ranked as one of his four chief pro ductions of that year. He, too, chose for himself the part of Romont, which was considered by many his greatest quasi-tragic role. Marston appeared as Charalois, G. Bennett as Rochfort, and Miss Cooper as Beaumelle.

The Fatal Dowry in substantially its own proper form does not appear ever to have been acted after Jacobean times.

If the stage career of The Fatal Dowry has been meagre, not so the extent of its influence. Its literary parenthood begins be fore " the closing of the theatres " and continues even to our own day. As early as 1638 it was echoed in The Lady's Trial of Ford. Here the figures of Auria, Adurni, Aurelio, and Spinella correspond roughly with Charalois, young Novall, Romont, and Beaumelle respectively. Auria has gone to the wars, and in his absence his wife is pursued by Adurni, who sits at table with her in private, when Aurelio breaks in upon them, bursting open the

40 THE FATAL DOWRY

doors. Spinella bitterly resents the intrusion and the aspersions of the intruder, and when, on the return home of Auria, Aurelio accuses her to him, it is without shaking his faith in her loyalty. Here the analogy ends : spite of Auria's incredulousness there is no rupture between the friends; Spinella establishes her inno cence ; and Adurni, while guilty enough in his intent against her, shows himself thereafter to be an essentially noble youth, who will defend to any length the lady's honor which has become subject to question through fault of his, and for this gallant reparation, is not only forgiven, but even cherished ever after by the husband he had sought to wrong.

The more steadily one regards the man John Ford and his work, the more probable does it appear that the relationship be tween The Fatal Dowry and The Lady's Trial is not one of mere reminiscence or influence, but of direct parentage. That strange and baleful figure, who seems almost a modern Decadent born out of his time, had a profound interest in moral problems, to the study of which he brought morbid ethical sensibilities scarce matched before the latter nineteenth century. (Witness his con ception, in The Broken Heart, of a loveless marriage as tanta mount to adultery.) Ford's talent for invention was deficient to the extent that he was hard put to it for plots. It is not at all unlikely that he surveyed the Massingerian tragedy, and, repelled by the conduct of its figures, exclaimed to himself : " I will write a play to centre around a situation as incriminating as that of Act III of The Fatal Dowry; but my personages will be worthier characters; I will show a lady who, spite of appearances, is of stainless innocence and vindicates her husband's trust in the face of evidence ; I will show a friendship strong enough to endure an honestly mistaken aspersion put upon the chastity of a wife, though the charge is not for one moment credited; I will show that even the would-be seducer may be a fine fellow at bottom, and set forth a generous emulation in magnanimity between him and the husband. See how finely everything would work out with the right sort of people ! " It is at least a plausible hy pothesis.

Nicholas Rowe, who was the first modern editor of Shake speare, contemplated also an edition of Massinger, but gave up the project that he might more safely plunder one of his plays.

INTRODUCTION 41

Rowe's famous tragedy, The Fair Penitent, was deliberately stolen from The Fatal Doivry. It appeared in 1703, and spite of a ludicrous accident13 which cut short its first run, took rank as one of the most celebrated dramas of the English stage. Rowe lived during the vogue of the " She-tragedy," while the canons of literary criticism of his day demanded a "regular," pseudo- classical form and a sententious tone. Accordingly, in his hands the chief figure in the play, as is evidenced by the change in title, becomes the guilty wife, here called Calista, who is "now the evil queen of the heroic plays ; now the lachrymose moralizer ;" the theme is indeed her story, not Altamont's (Charalois) — her seduction (prior to the nuptuals and before the opening of the play), her grief, her plight, her exposure, her death;— she holds the centre of the stage to the very end. The number of the dramatis personae is cut down to eight; all touches of comedy are excised; and the double plot of the original is unified by the bold stroke of throwing back to a time before the opening of the play the entire episode of the unburied corpse and the origin of the hero's friendship with the father of the heroine.

Discussions of the relative merits of The Fair Penitent and its source have been almost invariably acrimonious. Nor is this to be wondered at, for after reading the old tragedy with its severe dignity and noble restraint, one can scarce peruse without irri tation the cloyingly melifluous, emasculated verse of Rowe — by

13 During the run of this play one Warren, who was Powell's dresser, claimed a right of lying for his master and performing the dead part of Lothario — about the middle of the scene Powell called for Warren; who as loudly replied from the stage, " Here Sir " — Powell (who was ignorant of the part his man was doing) repeated without loss of time, " Come here this moment you Son of a Whore or I'll break all the bones in your skin" — Warren knew his hasty temper, and therefore without any reply jumped up with all his sables about him, which unfortunately were tied to the handles of the bier and dragged after him— but this was not all— the laugh and roar began in the audience and frightened poor Warren so much that with the bier at his tail he threw down Calista and overwhelmed her, with the table, lamp, books, bones, &c— he tugged till he broke off his trammels and made his escape, and the play at once ended with immod erate fits of laughter— Betterton would not suffer The Fair Penitent to be played again, till poor Warren's misconduct was somewhat forgotten— this story was told to Chetwood by Bowman [Sciolto] — (GENEST, II, 281-2).

42 THE FATAL DOWRY

turns grandiloquent and sentimental. The characterization of The Fair Penitent is, in the main, insipid, and while Rowe's heroine holds a commanding place in her drama to which Beau- melle does not pretend, the latter is a great deal more natural, and indeed, for that matter, far more truly a " penitent." An ex ception to the general insipidity is Lothario, who is the analogue of the insignificant Novall Junior — " the gay Lothario " — whose very name has been ever since a synonym for the graceful, grace less, devil-may-care libertine — whose figure has been the proto type of a long line of similar characters in English literature, beginning with Richardson's Lovelace and not yet closed with Anthony Hope's Rupert of Hentzau. Beside this striking crea tion, the seducer of Beaumelle shows poorly indeed; but it is doubtful if the old dramatists would have consented to paint such an attractive rogue, had they been able; they wanted their Novall to be just the cowardly, dandyfied thing they made him. Beyond the portrait of Lothario, small ground for praise can be found in The Fair Penitent. That part of the action of The Fatal Dowry which under Rowe's treatment antedates the rise of the curtain is narrated in the most stiffly mechanical sort of exposition; the action is developed by such threadbare theatrical devices as a lost letter and an overheard conversation ; the voluble speeches of the several characters are, throughout, declamatory effusions almost unbelievably divorced from the apposite utter ance of any rational human being under the circumstances. An Altamont who has been assured and reassured from his bride's own lips of her aversion for him can fling himself from a quarrel with his life-long friend in hysterical defence of her, to seek solace in her arms —

There if in any pause of love I rest Breathless with bliss upon her panting breast, In broken, melting accents I will swear, Henceforth to trust my heart with none save her;

a Sciolto who has given his daughter a dagger with which to end her shame, and then has arrested her willing arm with the prayer that she will not dispatch herself until he is gone from the sight of her, can thereupon take leave of her with the statement :

There is I know not what of sad presage That tells me I shall never see thee more.

INTRODUCTION 43

The play, which enjoyed an immense fame, high contemporary appreciation, and a long career on the stage, remains a curious memorial of the taste of a bygone day.

It is noteworthy that in The Fair Penitent Horatio, as Romont in all modern reproductions of The Fatal Dowry, is the great acting part — not the husband.

In 1758 was produced at the Haymarket a drama entitled The Insolvent or Filial Piety, from the pen of Aaron Hill. In the preface it is said— according to Genest (IV, 538)— " Wilks about 30 years before gave an old manuscript play, called the Guiltless Adulteress, to Theo. Gibber who was manager of what then was the Summer Company— after an interval of several years this play was judged to want a revisal to fit it for representation- Aaron Hill at the request of Theo. Gibber almost new wrote the whole, and the last act was entirely his in conduct, sentiment and diction." In reality, The Insolvent is The Fatal Dowry over again, altered to tragicomedy, and with the names of the char acters changed. The first two Acts of Hill's play proceed much after the manner of its prototype, with close parallels in language. From thenceforward, however, the action diverges. The bride, Amelia, resists the further attentions of her former sweetheart. They are none .the less observed and suspected by her husband's friend, who speaks of the matter to both her father and her lord. The former promises to observe her with watchful eye ; Chalons, the husband, is at first resentful of the imputation, but presently yields to his friend's advice, that he pretend a two-days' journey, from which he will return unexpectedly. During his absence, his wife's maid introduces the lover into her mistress' chamber while Amelia sleeps. There Chalons surprises him kneeling be side the bed, and kills him. Amelia stabs herself, but the con fession of her maid reveals her innocence, and her wound is pronounced not mortal.

It has been suggested (Biographia Dramatica, II, 228 — quoted by Phelan, p. 59, and Schwarz, p. 74) that in Hill's Zara (adap tation of the Zaire of Voltaire), also, Nerestan's voluntary return to captivity in order to end that of his friends, whom he lacked the means to ransom with gold, was suggested by the behavior of Charalois; but this can be no more than a coincidence, as it here but reproduces what is in the French original.

44 THE FATAL DOWRY

A long interval, and finally, in the dawn of the twentieth cen tury, there appeared the next and latest recrudescence of The Fatal Dowry. This was Der Graf von Charolais, ein Trauerspiel, by Richard Beer-Hofmann, disciple of the Neo-Romantic School or Vienna Decadents, a coterie built about the leadership of Hugo von Hofmannsthal. Beer-Hofmann's play — a five-Act tragedy in blank verse — was produced for the first time at the Neue Theatre, Berlin, on December 24, 1904, and was received with considerable acclaim. Unlike Rowe, he gives full credit to his source, from which he has drawn no less extensively than the author of The Fair Penitent. Unlike Rowe, he goes back to the old dramatists in the matter of construction, placing upon the stage once more the episode of the unburied corpse and the noble son ; he even outdoes The Fatal Dowry in this respect, by allow ing the first half of his plot three Acts instead of two, with only two Acts for the amour and its tragic consequences. In his hands the hero again becomes the central figure ; in fact, the three prin cipal versions of this donnee suggest by their titles their respective viewpoints : The Fatal Dowry; The Fair Penitent; Der Graf von Charolais. DER GRAF VON CHAROLAIS, be it observed; — this new redaction is no longer the tale of a " fatal dowry ;" no longer is the first part of the dual theme merely introductory and accessory — it is coordinate with the second. Beer-Hofmann has sought to achieve a kind of unity from his double plot by making his fundamental theme not the adulterous intrigue, but the destiny of Charolais, thus converting the play into a Tragedy of Fate, which pursues the hero inexorably through all his life. This strictly classical motif animating the donnee of a Jacobean play reproduced in the twentieth century presents, as might be ex pected, the aspect of an exotic growth, which is not lessened by the extreme sensuousness of treatment throughout, such as has always been one of the cardinal and distinctive qualities of the Decadent School the world over. But as a contrast in the dra matic technique and verse of Jacobean and modern times, Der Graf von Charolais is extremely interesting. The difference is striking between the severe simplicity of three centuries ago, and the elaborate stagecraft of to-day, its insistence on detail, and studied care in the portraiture of minor characters. Yet minutia do not make tragedy, and while their superficial realism and the

INTRODUCTION 45

congeniality of the contemporary point of view undeniably lend to Beer-Hofmann's redaction a palatability and a power to in terest and appeal which its original does not possess to the modern reader, yet a discriminating critic will turn back to the old play with a feeling that, for all its stiffness and conventions, he breathes there a more vital air. To the enrichment of his theme Beer-Hofmann contributes every ingenious effect possible to symbolism, delicate suggestion, and scenic device ; this exterior decoration is gorgeous in its color and seductive warmth, but no amount of such stuff can compensate for the fundamental flaw in the crucial episode of his tragedy. In spite of the care which he has lavished on the scene between his heroine and her seducer, the surrender of the wife — three years married, a mother, and loving both husband and child — remains insufficiently motivated and sheerly inexplicable, and by this vital, inherent defect the play must fall. Moreover, it lacks a hero. Romont can no longer play the main part he did in former versions; he is re duced to a mere shadow. In a tragedy of Fate, which blights a man's career, phase by phase, with persistent, relentless hand, that man must necessarily be the central figure, and, of right, should be an imposing figure — a protagonist at once gigantic and appealing, who will draw all hearts to him in pity and terror at the helpless, hopeless struggle of over-matched greatness and worth; whereas Charolais —

The case of Charolais is peculiar. A priori we should expect him to be just such a personage, yet his conduct throughout is best explainable as that of a man dominated, not by noble im pulses, but by an extreme egoism — a man acutely responsive alike to his sense-impressions and his feverish imagination, and possessed of an exaggerated squeamishness towards the ugly and the unpleasant. When, in the First Act, he bursts into tears, he confesses it is not for his father that he weeps, but for his own hard lot; he suffers from his repugnance to the idea of his father's corpse rotting above ground — a repugnance so intoler able to him that he will yield his liberty to escape it. He pur poses to cashier the innkeeper because the sight of the lecherous patrons of his hostelry has disgusted him, and he alters his re solve and forgives the fellow, not from any considerations of mercy, but because the mental picture of the man's distress tor-

46 THE FATAL DOWRY

tures him. And by similar personal repugnances reacting on egoism is his behavior in the denouement to be accounted for, and in this light becomes logically credible and clearly understood. Few practices are more hazardous or unjust than judging an artist by his objective creations; but an ignoble protagonist, as Charolais is represented, is in such ill accord with any conceivable purpose on the part of Beer-Hofmann, and so unlikely to have been intended by him, that one cannot help strongly suspecting that the author unconsciously projected himself into the char acter and thus revealed his own nature and point of view. In any case he has presented for his hero a whimperer who can com mand neither our sympathy nor our respect when he cries above the bodies of his benefactor and her who is that benefactor's daughter, his own wife, and the mother of his child :

1st dies Stilck denn aus,

Weil jene starbf Und ich? An mich denkt keinerf

We have come a long way from Massinger and Field and the early seventeenth century. The shadow of the old dramatists reaches far, even to our own time; we have seen their play re developed, but never improved upon, by pseudo-classicist, and popularizer, and Decadent hyper-aesthete. That which was the vulnerable point in the original production — its two-fold plot — has been still for every imitator a stone of stumbling. Rowe tried to escape it by the suppression of the antecedent half, and the fraction which remained in his hand was an artificial thing with out the breath of life, that had to be attenuated and padded out with speechifying to fill the compass of its five Acts. Beer-Hof mann tried to escape it by superimposing an idea not proper to the story, and beneath the weight of this his tragedy collapsed in the middle, for its addition over-packed the drama, and left him not room enough to make convincing the conduct of his characters. The first essayers, who attacked in straightforward fashion their unwieldy theme, succeeded best ; all attempts to obviate its essen tial defect have marred rather than mended. Perhaps the theme is by its nature unsuited to dramatic treatment, and yet there is much that is dramatic about that theme, as is evinced by the fact that playwrights have been unable to let it lie.

EDITOR'S NOTE ON TEXT

THE present text aims to reproduce exactly the Quarto edition of 1632, retaining its punctuation, spelling, capitals, italics, and stage directions — amending only the metrical alignment,1 Mere mistakes of printing — inverted and broken letters — are restored, tut are duly cata logued in the foot notes. The division into scenes, as made by Gilford,, and his affixment of the locus of each, are inserted into the text, inclosed in brackets. In the foot notes are recorded all variants of all subse quent editions. Differences of punctuation are given, if they could possibly alter the meaning, but not otherwise — nor mere differences in wording of stage directions, nor differences in spelling, nor elision for metre. In the Quarto the elder Novall is sometimes designated before his lines as Novall Senior, sometimes merely as Novall — no con fusion is possible, since he and his son are never on the stage at the same time. Gifford and Symons always write Novall Senior, while Coxeter and Mason write Novall alone in I, i, and Novall Senior there after. I have not thought it worth while to note the variants of the several texts on this point.

1 This, of course, may require the substitution of a capital for a small letter, as when a mid-line word of the Quarto becomes in the re-alignment the first word of the verse.

47

Q.— The Quarto— 1632

C. — Coxeter's edition, 1759

M. — Monck Mason's edition, 1779

G. — Gifford's [2nd.] edition, 1813

S. — Symons' (Mermaid) edition, 1893

f. — and all later editions

s. d. — stage direction

THE

F A T A L L

DOWRY:

A

TRAGEDY:

As it hath beene often Acted at the Pri-

uate Houfe in Blackefryers^ by his

Maiefties Seruants.

Written by P. M. and N. F.

LONDON,

Printed by IOHN NORTON, for FRANCIS CONSTABLE, and are to be fold at his fhop at the Crane, in Pauls Church yard. 1632.

Charalois

Romont.

Charmi.

Nouall Sen.

Liladam.

DuCroy.

Rochfort.

Baumont,

Pontalier.

Malotin.

Beaumelle.

[Page.;

Florimel. "|

Bellapert. J

Aymer.

Nouall lun.

Aduocates.

Creditors 5.

Officers.

Prieft.

Taylor.

Barber.

Perfumer.

[Presidents, Captains, Soldiers, Mourners, Gaoler, Bailiffs, Servants.]

G. and S. omit Officers, and add those roles which are enclosed in brackets.

They add explanations of each character,' also changing the order. For Gaoler, S. reads Gaolers.

Baumont — M., f spell Beaumont.

C. & M. add after the list of Dramatis Personae: The Scene, Dijon in Bur gundy.

50

The Fatall Dowry:

A Tragedy :

Act. primus. Scaena

[A Street before the Court of Justice]

Enter Charaloyes with a paper, Romont, Charmi.

•

Charmi

SIR, I may moue the Court to ferue your will, But therein fhall both wrong you and my felfe. Rom. Why thinke you fo fir? Charmi. 'Caufe I am familiar

With what will be their anfwere : they will fay,

Tis againft law, and argue me of Ignorance 5

For offering them the motion.

Rom. You know not, Sir,

How in this caufe they may difpence with Law, And therefore frame not you their anfwere for them, But doe your parts.

Charmi. I loue the caufe fo well,

As I could runne, the hazard of a checke for 't. 10

Rom. From whom?

Charmi. Some of the bench, that watch to give it,

More then to doe the office that they fit for :

10 As— That (C, M.

12, 16, etc. then — modernized to than throughout by all later eds.

51

52 THE FATAL DOWRY

But giue me (fir) my fee.

Rom. Now you are Noble.

Charmi. I mall deferue this better yet, in giuing My Lord fome counfell, (if he pleafe to heare it) 15

Then I fhall doe with pleading.

Rom. What may it be, fir?

Charmi. That it would pleafe his Lordfhip, as the prefidents, And Counfaylors of Court come by, to ftand Heere, and but shew your felfe, and to fome one

Or two, make his requeft : there is a minute 20

When a^ mans prefence fpeakes in his owne caufe, More then the tongues of twenty aduocates.

Rom. I haue vrg'd that. Enter Rochf ort : DuCroye.

Charmi. Their Lordfhips here are coming,

I muft goe get me a place, you'l finde me in Court, And at your feruice Exit Charmi.

Rom. Now put on your Spirits. 25

Du Croy. The eafe that you prepare your felfe, my Lord, In giuing vp the place you hold in Court, Will proue (I feare) a trouble in the State, And that no flight one.

Roch. Pray you fir, no more.

Rom. Now fir, lofe not this offerd means : their lookes 30

Fixt on you, with a pittying earneftneffe, Inuite you to demand their furtherance To your good purpofe. — This fuch a dulneffe So foolifh and vntimely as —

Du Croy. You know him.

Roch. I doe, and much lament the fudden fall 35

Of his braue houfe. It is young Charloyes. Sonne to the Marfhall, from whom he inherits His fame and vertues onely.

13, end s. d. : Gives him his purse (G., S. 19 your — him (G., S.

33 This fuch — This is such (S.

34 . _? (C, f.

THE FATAL DOWRY 53

Rom. Ha, they name you.

Du Croye. His father died in prifon two daies fince.

Roch. Yes, to the fhame of this vngrateful State ; 40

That fuch a Mafter in the art of warre, So noble, and fo highly meriting, From this forgetfull Country, fhould, for want Of meanes to fatisfie his creditors,

The fummes he tooke vp for the generall good, 45

Meet with an end fo infamous.

Rom. Dare you euer

Hope for like opportunity?

Du Croye. My good Lord !

Roch. My wifh bring comfort to you.

Du Croye. The time calls vs.

Roch. Good morrow Colonell.

Exeunt Roch. Du Croye.

Rom. This obftinate fpleene,

You thinke becomes your forrow, and forts wel 50

With your blacke fuits : but grant me wit, or iudgement, And by the freedome of an honeft man, And a true friend to boote, I sweare 'tis fhamefull. And therefore flatter not your felfe with hope,

Your fable habit, with the hat and cloake, 55

No though the ribons helpe, haue power to worke 'em To what you would : for thofe that had no eyes, To fee the great acts of your father, will not, From any fafhion forrow can put on, Bee taught to know their duties.

Char. If they will not, 60

They are too old to learne, and I too young To giue them counfell, fince if they partake The vnderftanding, and the hearts of men, They will preuent my words and teares : if not,

What can perfwafion, though made eloquent 65

With griefe, worke vpon fuch as haue chang'd natures

45 fummes — sum (C., M.

46 and 47 Dare . . . oportunityf — printed as one line in Q. 47, end s. d. : They salute him as they pass by (G., S.

56, after No — (C., f. 56 'em — them (G., S.

54

THE FATAL DOWRY

With the moft fauage beaft ? Bleft, bleft be euer The memory of that happy age, when iuftice Had no gards to keepe off wrongd innocence, From flying to her fuccours, and in that Affurance of redreffe: where now (Romont) The damnd, with more eafe may afcend from Hell, Then we ariue at her. One Cerberus there Forbids the paffage, in our Courts a thoufand, As lowd, and fertyle headed, and the Client That wants the fops, to fill their rauenous throats, Muft hope for no acceffe : why fhould I then Attempt impoffibilities : you friend, being Too well acquainted with my dearth of meanes, To make my entrance that way?

Rom. Would I were not.

But Sir, you haue a caufe, a caufe fo iust, Of fuch neceffitie, not to be deferd, As would compell a mayde, whose foot was neuer Set ore her fathers threfhold, nor within The houfe where fhe was borne, euer fpake word, Which was not vfhered with pure virgin blufhes, To drowne the tempeft of a pleaders tongue, And force corruption to giue backe the hire It tooke againft her : let examples moue you. You fee great men in birth, efteeme and fortune, Rather then lofe a fcruple of their right, Fawne bafely vpon fuch, whofe gownes put off, They would difdaine for Seruants.

Char. And to thefe

Can I become a fuytor?

Rom. Without loffe,

Would you confider, that to gaine their fauors, Our chafteft dames put off their modefties, Soldiers forget their honors, vfurers

70 and in that — and, in that, (C, f.

71 where — whereas (C, M.

90 great men — men great (C, f.

92 and 93 And . . . fuytor? — printed as one line in Q.

90

95

THE FATAL DOWRY 55

Make facrifice of Gold, poets of wit,

And men religious, part with fame, and goodneffe?

Be therefore wonne to vfe the meanes, that may 100

Aduance your pious ends.

Char. You fhall orecome.

Rom. And you receiue the glory, pray you now practife. Tis well. Enter Old Nouall, Liladam,

Char. Not looke on me! & 5 Creditors.

Rom. You muft haue patience

Offer't againe.

Char. And be againe contemn'd?

Nou. I know whats to be done.

1 Cred. And that your Lordfhip 105 Will pleafe to do your knowledge, we offer, firft

Our thankef ull hearts heere, as a bounteous earneft To what we will adde.

Nou. One word more of this

I am your enemie. Am I a man Your bribes can worke on? ha?

Lilad. Friends, you miftake . no

The way to winne my Lord, he muft not heare this, But I, as one in fauour, in his fight, May harken to you for my profit. Sir, I pray heare em.

Nou. Tis well.

Lilad. Obferue him now.

Nou. Your caufe being good, and your proceedings fo, 115

Without corruption ; I am your friend, Speake your defires.

2 Cred. Oh, they are charitable, The Marfhall ftood ingag'd vnto vs three,

Two hundred thoufand crownes, which by his death

103 'Tis well. — G. & S. assign to Char, and follow with s. d. : Tenders his petition. The change is uncalled for. 103 s. d., after Nouall — G. & S. insert Advocates.

103 and 104 You . . . againe. — printed as one line in Q.

104 Offer't— Offer it (M., f.

no, end s. d. : Aside to Cred. (G., S.

114 I pray heare em.— Pray hear them. (G.—I pray hear them. (S.

114 Tis— It is (G.

116 ; — M., f. omit.

56

THE FATAL DOWRY

We are defeated of. For which great loffe 120

We ayme at nothing but his rotten flefh, Nor is that cruelty.

i Cred. I haue a fonne,

That talkes of nothing but of Gunnes and Armors, And fweares hee'll be a foldier, tis an humor

I would diuert him from, and I am told 125

That if I minifter to him in his drinke Powder, made of this banquerout Marfhalls bones, Prouided that the carcafe rot aboue ground 'Twill cure his foolifh frenfie.

Nou. You fhew in it

A fathers care. I haue a fonne my felfe, 130

A fafhionable Gentleman and a peacefull: And but I am affur'd he's not fo giuen, He fhould take of it too, Sir what are you?

Char. A Gentleman.

Nou. So are many that rake dunghills.

If you haue any fuit, moue it in Court. 135

I take no papers in corners.

Rom. Yes As the matter may be carried, and hereby To mannage the conuayance Follow him.

Lil. You are rude. I fay, he fhall not paffe. Exit Nouall.

Rom. You fay fo. Char: and Aduocates

On what affurance ? 140

For the well cutting of his Lordfhips cornes, Picking his toes, or any office elfe Neerer to bafeneffe !

Lil. Looke vpon mee better,

Are thefe the enfignes of fo coorfe a fellow ? Be well aduis'd.

123 Armors — Armour (C., M., G.

127 banquerout — here and elsewhere by later eds. always bankrupt.

133 Sir — assigned to Char, by G., who adds s. d. : Tenders his petition.

136 and 137 Yes . . . hereby — printed as one line in Q.

137 hereby — whereby (M., G. 139 You are— You're (C., M.

139, after fo . — ? (C, M.— ! (G., S.

139 s. d. — The exit of Novall is placed earlier, at 1. 136, by G. & S.

THE FATAL DOWRY 57

Rom. Out, rogue, do not I know, (Kicks him) 145

Thefe glorious weedes fpring from the fordid dunghill Of thy officious bafeneffe? wert thou worthy Of anything from me, but my contempt, I would do more then this, more, you Court-fpider.

Lil. But that this man is lawleffe ; he fhould find 150

that I am valiant.

1 Cred. If your eares are faft,

Tis nothing. Whats a blow or two ? As much —

2 Cred. Thefe chaftifements, as vfefull are as frequent To fuch as would grow rich.

Rom. Are they fo Rafcals?

I will be-friend you then.

i Cred. Beare witneffe, Sirs. 155

Lil. Trueth, I haue borne my part already, friends. In the Court you fhall haue more. Exit.

Rom. I know you for

The worft of fpirits, that striue to rob the tombes Of what is their inheritance, from the dead.

For vfurers, bred by a riotous peace : 160

That hold the Charter of your wealth & freedome, By being Knaues and Cuckolds that ne're prayd, But when you feare the rich heires will grow wife, To keepe their Lands out of your parchment toyles : And then, the Diuell your father's cald vpon, 165

To inuent fome ways of Luxury ne're thought on. Be gone, and quickly, or He leaue no roome Vpon your forhead for your homes to fprowt on, Without a murmure, or I will vndoe you ; For I will beate you honeft.

145 G. & S. omit s. d.

149, after this, — s. d. ; Beats him (G.— Kicks him (S.

154 and 155 Are . . . then — printed as one line in Q.

155, after then. — s. d. : Kicks them (C, f.

157 haue — hear (M.

159 from — omitted by C., f.

162, after Cuckolds —, (C., M.— ; (G., S.

162 ne'er — never (M.

162 prayd — pray (G.

!66 To—T (M.

1 68 forhead — foreheads (G.

58 THE FATAL DOWRY

I Cred. Thrift forbid. 170

We will beare this, rather then hazard that. Ex: Creditor.

Enter Charloyes.

Rom. I am fome-what eas'd in this yet.

Char. (Onely friend)

To what vaine purpofe do I make my forrow, Wayte on the triumph of their cruelty ? Or teach their pride from my humilitie, 175

To thinke it has orecome ? They are determin'd What they will do : and it may well become me, To robbe them of the glory they expect From my fubmiffe intreaties.

Rom. Thinke not fo, Sir,

The difficulties that you incounter with, 180

Will crowne the vndertaking — Heauen ! you weepe : And I could do fo too, but that I know, Theres more expected from the fonne and friend Of him, whofe fatall loffe now f hakes our natures, Then fighs, or teares, (in which a village nurfe 185

Or cunning ftrumpet, when her knaue is hangd, May ouercome vs.) We are men (young Lord) Let vs not do like women. To the Court, And there fpeake like your birth : wake fleeping iustice, Or dare the Axe. This is a way will fort 190

With what you are. I call you not to that I will fhrinke from my felfe, I will deferue Your thankes, or fuffer with you — O how brauely That fudden fire of anger fhewes in you !

Giue fuell to it, fince you are on a fhelfe, 195

Of extreme danger fuffer like your felfe. Exeunt.

171 then — this form retained in C. 171 s. d. Creditor — Creditors (G., S. 195 you are — you're (C., M.

THE FATAL DOWRY 59

[SCENE II]

[The Court of Justice]

Enter Rochfort, Nouall Se. Charnii. Du Croye, Advocates, Baumont, and Officers, and 3. Presidents.

Du Croye. Your Lordfhip's feated. May this meeting proue profperous to vs, and to the generall good Of Burgundy.

Nou. Se. Speake to the poynt.

Du Croy. Which is,

With honour to difpofe the place and power

Of primier President, which this reuerent man 5

Graue Rochfort, (whom for honours fake I name) Is purpof'd to refigne a place, my Lords, In which he hath with fuch integrity, Perform'd the firft and beft parts of a ludge,

That as his life tranfcends all faire examples 10

Of fuch as were before him in Dijon, So it remaines to thofe that fhall fucceed him, A Prefident they may imitate, but not equall.

Roch. I may not fit to heare this.

Du Croy. Let the loue

And thankfulnes we are bound to pay to goodneffe, 15

In this o'recome your modeftie.

Roch. My thankes

For this great fauour fhall preuent your trouble. The honourable truft that was impos'd Vpon my weakneffe, fince you witneffe for me,

It was not ill difcharg'd, I will not mention, 20

Nor now, if age had not depriu'd me of The little ftrength I had to gouerne well,

first s. d., 3 Presidents — Presidents, . . . three Creditors (G., S.

1 Lordfhip's feated. May — lordships seated, may (G., S.

2 and 3 profperous . . . Burgundy. — printed as a line in Q. 7, after resigne — ; (M., f.

13 Prefident — precedent (C., f.

13 Prefident they — precedent that they (C., M.

15 we are — we're (C., M.

60 THE FATAL DOWRY

The Prouince that I vndertooke, forfake it.

Nou. That we could lend you of our yeeres.

Du Croy. Or ftrength.

Nou. Or as you are, perfwade you to continue The noble exercife of your knowing Judgement.

Rock. That may not be, nor can your Lordfhips goodnes, Since your imployments haue confer'd vpon me Sufficient wealth, deny the vse of it,

And though old age, when one foot's in .the graue, 30

In many, when all humors elfe are fpent Feeds no affection in them, but defire To adde height to the mountaine of their riches : In me it is not fo, I reft content

With the honours, and eftate I now poffeffe, 35

And that I may haue liberty to vse, What Heauen ftill bleffing my poore induftry, Hath made me Mafter of : I pray the Court To eafe me of my burthen, that I may

Employ the fmall remainder of my life, 40

In liuing well, and learning how to dye fo.

Enter Romont, and CHaralois.

Rom. See fir, our Aduocate.

Du Croy. The Court intreats,

Your Lordfhip will be pleafd to name the man, Which you would haue your fucceffor, and in me, All promife to confirme it.

Roch. I embrace it, 45

As an affurance of their fauour to me, And name my Lord Nouall.

Du Croy. The Court allows it.

Roch. But there are futers waite heere, and their caufes May be of more neceffity to be heard,

And therefore wifh that mine may be defer'd, 50

And theirs haue hearing.

Du Croy. It your Lordfhip pleafe

To take the place, we will proceed.

35 the—th' (C, M.

50 And— I (G., S.

51, end — s. d. : To Nov. sen. (G., S.

THE FATAL DOWRY 61

Charm. The caufe

We come to offer to your Lordfhips cenfure, Is in it felfe fo noble, that it needs not

Or Rhetorique in me that plead, or fauour re

From your graue Lordfhips, to determine of it. Since to the prayfe of your impartiall iuftice (Which guilty, nay condemn'd men, dare not fcandall) It will erect a trophy of your mercy With married to that Iuftice.

Nou. Se. Speaks to the caufe. 60

Charm. I will, my Lord : to fay, the late dead Marfhall The father of this young Lord heer, my Clyent, Hath done his Country great and faithfull feruice, Might taske me of impertinence to repeate,

What your graue Lordfhips cannot but remember, 65

He in his life, become indebted to Thefe thriftie men, I will not wrong their credits, By giuing them the attributes they now merit, And fayling by the fortune of the warres,

Of meanes to free himfelfe, from his ingagements, 70

He was arrefted, and for want of bayle Imprifond at their fuite: and not long after With loffe of liberty ended his life. And though it be a Maxime in our Lawes,

All fuites dye with the perfon, thefe mens malice 75

In death find matter for their hate to worke on, Denying him the decent Rytes of buriall, Which the fworne enemies of the Chriftian faith Grant freely to their flaues ; may it therefore pleafe Your Lordfhips, fo to fafhion your decree, . 80

That what their crueltie doth forbid, your pittie May giue allowance to.

Nou. Se. How long haue you Sir

Practis'd in Court?

Charmi. Some twenty yeeres, my Lord.

60 With— Which (C, M., G.

64 taske — tax (M.

66 become — became (M., f.

76 find— finds (G., S.

82 and 83 How . . . Court?— printed as one line in Q.

62 THE FATAL DOWRY

Nou. Se. By your groffe ignorance it fhould appeare, Not twentie dayes.

Charmi. I hope I haue giuen no caufe 85

In this, my Lord —

Nou. Se. How dare you moue the Court,

To the difpenfing with an Act confirmd By Parlament, to the terror of all banquerouts ? Go home, and with more care perufe the Statutes : Or the next motion fauoring of this boldneffe, 90

May force you to leape (againft your will) Ouer the place you plead at.

Charmi. I forefaw this.

Rom. Why does your Lordfhip thinke, the mouing of A caufe more honeft then this Court had euer

The honor to determine, can deferue 95

A checke like this?

Nou. Se. Strange 'boldnes !

Rom. Tis fit freedome:

Or do you conclude, an aduocate cannot hold His credit with the Judge, vnleffe he ftudy His face more then the caufe for which he pleades ?

Charmi. Forbeare.

Rom. Or cannot you, that haue the power 100

To qualifie the rigour of the Lawes, When you are pleafed, take a little from The ftrictneffe of your fowre decrees, enacted In fauor of the greedy creditors Againft the orethrowne debter?

Nou. Se. Sirra, you that prate 105

Thus fawcily, what are yQU ?

Rom. Why He tell you,

Thou purple-colour'd man, I am one to whom Thou oweft the meanes thou haft of fitting there A corrupt Elder.

Charmi. Forbeare.

85 and 86 / hope . . . Lord — — printed as one line in Q. 91, after you — G. & S. insert , sir, 93, after Why — , (C, f.

1 06 tell you— tell thee (G.

107 I am — I'm (C., M.

THE FATAL DOWRY 63

Rom. The nofe thou wear.st, is my gift, and thofe eyes no

That meete no obiect fo bafe as their Mafter, Had bin, long fince, torne from that guiltie head, And thou thy felfe flaue to fome needy Swiff e, Had I not worne a fword, and vs'd it better Then in thy prayers thou ere didft thy tongue. 115

Nou. Se. Shall fuch an Infolence paffe vnpunifht?

Charmi. Heere mee.

Rom. Yet I, that in my feruice done my Country, Difdaine to bee put in the fcale with thee, Confeffe my felfe vnworthy to bee valued

With the leaft part, nay haire of the dead Marfhall, 120

Of whofe so many glorious vnder takings, Make choice of any one, and that the meaneft Performd againft the fubtill Fox of France, The politique Lewis, or the more defperate Swiffe, And 'twyll outwaygh all the good purpofe, 125

Though put in act, that euer Gowneman practizd.

Nou. Se. Away with him to prifon.

Rom. If that curfes,

Vrg'd iuftly, and breath'd forth fo, euer fell On thofe that did deferue them ; let not mine

Be fpent in vaine now, that thou from this inftant 130

Mayeft in thy feare that they will fall vpon thee, Be fenfible of the plagues they fhall bring with them. And for denying of a little earth, To couer what remaynes of our great foldyer :

May all your wiues proue whores, your factors theeues, 135

And while you Hue, your riotous heires vndoe you, And thou, the patron of their cruelty. Of all thy Lordfhips Hue not to be owner Of fo much dung as will conceale a Dog,

Or what is worfe, thy felfe in. And thy yeeres, 140

To th' end thou mayft be wretched, I wifh many, And as thou haft denied the dead a graue, May mifery in thy life make thee defire one, Which men and all the Elements keepe from thee :

115 ere — ever (C, M., G.

125 purpofe — purposes (G., S.

64

THE FATAL DOWRY

I haue begun well, imitate, exceed. 145

Roch. Good counfayle were it, a prayfe worthy deed. Ex.

Du Croye. Remember what we are. Officers with Rom.

Char a. Thus low my duty

Anfweres your Lordfhips counfaile. I will vse In the few words (with which I am to trouble

Your Lordfhips eares) the temper that you wifh mee. 150

Not that I f eare to fpeake my thoughts as lowd, And with a liberty beyond Romont: But that I know, for me that am made vp Of all that's wretched, fo to hafte my end,

Would feeme to moft, rather a willingneffe 155

To quit the burthen of a hopeleffe life, Then fcorne of death, or duty to the dead. I therefore bring the tribute of my prayfe To your feueritie, and commend the luftice,

That will not for the many feruices 160

That any man hath done the Common wealth Winke at his leaft of ills : what though my father Writ man before he was fo, and confirmd it, By numbring that day, no part of his life,

In which he did not feruice to his Country ; 165

Was he to be free therefore from the Lawes, And ceremonious forme in your decrees? Or elfe becaufe he did as much as man In thofe three memorable ouerthrowes

At Granfon, Morat, Nancy, where his Mafter, 170

The warlike Charloyes (with whofe mif fortunes I beare his name) loft treafure, men and life, To be excuf d, from payment of thofe fummes Which (his owne patri mony fpent) his zeale, To ferue his Countrey, forc'd him to take vp? 175

Nou. Se. The prefident were ill.

Chara. And yet, my Lord, this much

I know youll grant ; After thofe great defeatures, Which in their dreadfull ruines buried quick, Enter officers. Courage and hope, in all men but himfelfe,

145, end — s. d. : Aside to Charalois (G., S.

146 C, f. insert , after counfayle and omit , after it.

THE FATAL DOWRY 55

He forft the proud foe, in his height of conqueft, 180

To yield vnto an honourable peace.

And in it faued an hundred thoufand Hues,

To end his owne, that was fure proofe againft

The fcalding Summers heate, and Winters froft,

Illayres, the Cannon, and the enemies fword, ^

In a moft loathfome prifon.

Du Croy. Twas his fault

To be fo prodigall.

Nou. Se. He had fro the ftate

Sufficent entertainment for the Army.

Char. Sufficient? My Lord, you fit at home,

And though your fees are boundleffe at the barre : 190

Are thriftie in the charges of the warre, But your wills be dbeyd. To thefe I turne, To thefe f oft-hearted men, that wifely know They are onely good men, that pay what they owe.

2 Cred. And fo they are.

i Cred. 'Tis the City Doctrine, 195

We ftand bound to maintaine it.

Char. Be conftant in it,

And fince you are as mercileffe in your natures, As bafe, and mercenary in your meanes By which you get your wealth, I will not vrge

The Court to take away one fcruple from 200

The right of their lawes, or one good thought In you to mend your difpofition with. I know there is no mufique in your eares So pleafing as the groanes of men in prifon, And that the teares of widows, and the cries 205

180 proud — S. omits. 185 enemies — enemy's (C., f.

186— '8 Lines in Q. are : In . . . prifon. \ Twas . . . prodigall. \ He . . . Army.

187 fro— from (C., f.

189 Sufficent? My Lord— Sufficient, my Lord? (C., f. G. & S. have lords.

194 They are — They're (M., f.

195 'Tis— It is (G., S.

201 right — See Notes ; after or — G. inserts wish in brackets, which S. accepts in text.

66 THE FATAL DOWRY

Of famifh'd Orphants, are the feafts that take you.

That to be in your danger, with more care

Should be auoyded, then infectious ay re,

The loath'd embraces of difeafed women,

A flatterers poyfon, or the loffe of honour. 210

Yet rather then my fathers reuerent duft

Shall want a place in that faire monument,

In which our noble Anceftors lye intomb'd,

Before the Court I offer vp my felfe

A prifoner for it : loade me with thofe yrons 215

That haue worne out his life, in my beft ftrength

He run to th' incounter of cold hunger,

And choose my dwelling where no Sun dares enter,

So he may be releas'd.

1 Cred. What meane you fir?

2 Aduo. Onely your fee againe : ther's fo much fayd 220 Already in this caufe, and fayd fo well,

That fhould I onely offer to fpeake in it, I fhould not bee heard, or laught at for it.

i Cred. 'Tis the firft mony aduocate ere gaue backe, Though hee fayd nothing.

Roch. Be aduis'd, young Lord, 225

And well confiderate, you throw away Your liberty, and ioyes of life together : Your bounty is imployd vpon a fubiect That is not fenfible of it, with which, wife man

Neuer abus'd his goodneffe ; the great vertues 230

Of your dead father vindicate themfelues, From thefe mens malice, and breake ope the prifon, Though it containe his body.

Nou. Se. Let him alone,

If he loue Lords, a Gods name let him weare 'em, Prouided thefe confent.

217 th' incounter — the incounter (C., f.

217, after cold — , (G., S. — a plausible but unnecessary emendation.

223 not be — be or not (G. — or not be (S.

234 Lords — cords (C, f.

234 o— in (G., S.

234 'em— them (G., S.

THE FATAL DOWRY 67

Char- I hope they are not 235

So ignorant in any way of profit, As to neglect a poffibility To get their owne, by feeking it from that Which can returne them nothing, but ill fame, And curfes for their barbarous cruelties. 240

3 Cred. What thinke you of the offer?

2 Cred- Very well.

1 Cred. Accept it by all meanes : let's fhut him vp, He is well-fhaped and has a villanous tongue,

And fhould he ftudy that way of reuenge,

As I dare almoft fweare he loues a wench, 245

We haue no wiues, nor neuer fhall get daughters

That will hold out againft him.

Du Croy. What's your anfwer?

2 Cred. Speake you for all.

i Cred. Why let our executions

That lye vpon the father, bee return'd Vpon the fonne, and we releafe the body. 250

Nou. Se. The Court muft grant you that.

Char. I thanke your Lordfhips,

They haue in it confirm'd on me fuch glory, As no time can take from me : I am ready, Come lead me where, you pleafe: captiuity

That comes with honour, is true liberty. 255

Exit Charmi, Cred. & Officers.

Nou. Se. Strange rafhneffe.

Roch. A braue refolution rather,

Worthy a better fortune, but howeuer It is not now to be difputed, therefore To my owne caufe. Already I haue found

Your Lordfhips bountifull in your fauours to me; 260

And that fhould teach my modefty to end heere And preffe your loues no further.

243 n in tongue inverted in Q.

244 M in reuenge inverted in Q.

246 never — ever (C., M.

247 n in anfwer inverted in Q.

After 255, s. d. : C. & M. substitute Charalois for Charmi; G. & S. insert Charalois before Charmi.

68 THE FATAL DOWRY

Du Cray. There is nothing

The Court can grant, but with affurance you May aske it and obtaine it.

Rock. You incourage

A bold Petitioner, and 'tis not fit 265

Your fauours fhould be loft. Befides, 'tas beene A cuftome many yeeres, at the furrendring The place I now giue vp, to grant the Prefident One boone, that parted with it. And to confirme Your grace towards me, againft all fuch as may 270

Detract my actions, and life hereafter, I now preferre it to you.

Du Croy. Speake it freely.

Roch. I then defire the liberty of Romont, And that my Lord Nouall, whofe priuate wrong

Was equall to the iniurie that was done 275

To the dignity of the Court, will pardon it, And now figne his enlargement.

Nou. Se. Pray you demand

The moyety of my eftate, or any thing Within my power, but this.

Roch. Am I denyed then —

My first and laft requeft?

Du Croy. It muft not be. 280

2 Pre. I haue a voyce to giue in it.

3 Pre. And I. And if perfwafion will not worke him to it, We will make knowne our power.

Nou. Se. You are too violent,

You ihall haue my confent — But would you had

Made tryall of my loue in any thing 285

But this, you fhould haue found then — But it skills not. You haue what you defire.

Roch. I thanke your Lordfhips.

Du Croy. The court is vp, make way. Ex. omnes, praeter

264 and 265 You . . . fit — printed as one line in Q.

266 'tas—'t has (C, M., S.; 'fas (G.

279 and 280 Am . . . requeft?— printed as one line in Q.

THE FATAL DOWRY 69

Roch. I follow you— Rock. & Beaumont.

Baumont.

Baum. My Lord.

Roch. You are a fcholler, Baumont,

And can fearch deeper into th' intents of men, 290

Then thofe that are leffe knowing — How appear'd The piety and braue behauior of Young Charloyes to you ?

Baum. It is my wonder,

Since I want language to expreffe it fully ; And fure the Collonell —

Roch. Fie/ he was faulty— 295

What prefent mony haue I ?

Baum. There is no want

Of any fumme a priuate man has ufe for.

Roch. Tis well :

I am ftrangely taken with this Charaloyes; Me thinkes, from his example, the whole age

Should learne to be good, and continue fo. 300

Vertue workes ftrangely with vs: and his goodneffe Rifing aboue his fortune, feemes to me Princelike, to will, not afke a courtefie. Exeunt.

288 and 289 / follow you — Baumont — printed as one line in Q. 290 th'— the (G., S.

295 and 296 Fie . . . I? — printed as one line in Q.

296 There is— There's (G., S.

Act. fecundus. Sc&na prima:

[A Street before the Prison] Enter Pontalier, Malotin, Baumont.

Mai. HP IS ftrange.

1 Baum. Me thinkes fo.

Pont. In a man, but young,

Yet old in iudgement, theorique, and practicke In all humanity (and to increafe the wonder) Religious, yet a Souldier, that he fhould

Yeeld his free liuing youth a captiue, for 5

The freedome of his aged fathers Corpes, And rather choofe to want lifes necef fanes, Liberty, hope of fortune, then it fhould In death be kept from Chriftian ceremony.

Malo. Come, Tis a golden prefident in a Sonne, 10

To let ftrong nature haue the better hand, (In fuch a cafe) of all affected reafon. What yeeres fits on this Charolois ?

Baum. Twenty eight,

For fince the clocke did strike him 17 old

Vnder his fathers wing, this Sonne hath fought, 15

Seru'd and commanded, and fo aptly both, That fometimes he appear'd his fathers father, And neuer leffe then's fonne ; the old man's vertues So recent in him, as the world may fweare, Nought but a f aire tree, could fuch f ayre fruit beare. 20

Pont. But wherefore lets he fuch a barbarous law, And men more barbarous to execute it,

2 m in iudgement inverted in Q.

13 fits— fit (C, f.

13 and 14 Twenty eight . . . old — printed as one line in Q.

1 8 then's— than his (M.

70

THE FATAL DOWRY 71

Preuaile on his foft difpofition,

That he had rather dye aliue for debt

Of the old man in prifon, then he fhould 2-

Rob him of Sepulture, confidering

Thefe monies borrowed bought the lenders peace,

And all their meanes they inioy, nor was diffused

In any impious or licencious path?

Bau. True : for my part, were it my fathers trunke, 30

The tyrannous Ram-heads, with their homes fhould gore it, Or, caft it to their curres (than they) leffe currifh, Ere prey on me fo, with their Lion-law, Being in my free will (as in his) to fhun it.

Pont. Alaffe! he knowes him felfe (in pouerty) loft: 35

For in this parciall auaricious age What price beares Honor? Vertue? Long agoe It was but prays'd, and f reez'd, but now a dayes 'Tis colder far, and has, nor loue, nor praife,

Very prayfe now f reezeth too : for nature 40

Did make the heathen, far more Chriftian then, Then knowledge vs (leffe heathenifh) Chriftian.

Malo. This morning is the funerall.

Pont. Certainely !

And from this prifon 'twas the fonnes requeft

That his deare father might interment haue. Recorders 45

See, the young fonne interd a liuely graue. Mufique,

Baum. They come, obferue their order. Enter Funerall. Body borne by 4. Captaines. and Souldiers,

25 he— they (C, M., G.

28 their— the (G., S.

28 was — were (G., S.

40 G. & S. insert The at beginning of line.

43, after funerall . — f (G., S.

44 and 45 G. & S. punctuate with . at end of 44 and , at end of 45. The emendation is plausible, even probable, but not warranted by necessity.

45 and 46 G. & S. omit s. d., Recorders Mufique,

46 interd — interred (M. — enter' d (G., S. See Notes.

After 47, s. d. — G. & S. render : Solemn music. Enter the Funeral Pro cession. The Coffin borne by four, preceeded by a Priest. Captains, Lieu tenants, Ensigns, and Soldiers ; Mourners, Scutcheons &c., and very good order. Romont and Charalois, followed by the Gaolers and Officers, with Creditors, meet it.

72 THE FATAL DOWRY

Mourners, Scutchions, and very good order. Charolois, and Romont meet it. Char. / peaks. Rom. weeping,

-folemne Mufique, 5 Creditors. Char. How like a filent ftreame fhaded with night, And gliding foftly with our windy fighes ;

Moues the whole frame of this folemnity ! 50

Teares, fighs, and blackes, filling the fimilv, Whilft I the onely murmur in this groue Of death, thus hollowly break forth ! Vouchfafe To ftay a while, reft, reft in peace, deare earth,

Thou that brought'ft reft to their vnthankfull lyues, 55

Whofe cruelty deny'd thee reft in death : Heere ftands thy poore Executor thy fonne, That makes his life prifoner, to bale thy death ; Who gladlier puts on this captiuity,

Then Virgins long in loue, their wedding weeds : 60

Of all that euer thou haft done good to, Thefe onely haue good memories, for they Remember beft, forget not gratitude. I thanke you for this laft and friendly loue.

And tho this Country, like a viperous mother, 65

Not onely hath eate vp vngrate fully All meanes of thee her fonne, but laft thy felfe, Leauing thy heire fo bare and indigent, He cannot rayfe thee a poore Monument,

Such as a flatterer, or a vfurer hath. 70

Thy worth, in euery honeft breft buyldes one, Making their friendly hearts thy funerall ftone.

Pont. Sir.

Char. Peace, O peace, this fceane is wholy mine.

What weepe ye, fouldiers? Blanch not, Romont weepes. 75

Ha, let me fee, my miracle is eaf'd, The iaylors and the creditors do weepe ; Euen they that make vs weepe, do weepe themfelues. Be thefe thy bodies balme : thefe and thy vertue Keepe thy fame euer odoriferous, 80

After 53 G. & S. insert s. d. : To the Bearers, who set down the Coffin. After 64 G. & S. insert s. d. : To the Soldiers. 75, after What — / (C, f.

THE FATAL DOWRY 73

Whilft the great, proud, rich, vndeferuing man,

Aliue ftinkes in his vices, and being vanifh'd,

The golden calfe that was an Idoll dect

With marble pillars let, and Porphyrie,

Shall quickly both in bone and name confume, 85

Though wrapt in lead, fpice, Searecloth and perfume

i Cred. Sir.

Char. What ! Away for fhame : you prophane rogues Muft not be mingled with thefe holy reliques :

This is a Sacrifice, our fhowre fhall crowne 90

His fepulcher with Oliue, Myrrh and Bayes The plants of peace, of forrow, victorie, Your teares would fpring but weedes.

1 Cred. Would they not fo? Wee'll keepe them to ftop bottles then :

Rom. No ; keepe 'em

For your owne fins, you Rogues, till you repent : 95

You'll dye elfe and be damn'd.

2 Cred. Damn'd, ha ! ha, ha. Rom. Laugh yee?

3 Cred. Yes faith, Sir, weel'd be very glad To pleafe you eyther way.

1 Cred. Y'are ne're content, Crying nor laughing.

Rom. Both with a birth fhee rogues.

2 Cred. Our wiues, Sir, taught vs. 100 Rom. Looke, looke, you flaues, your thankleffe cruelty

And fauage manners, of vnkind Dijon, Exhauft thefe flouds, and not his fathers death.

i Cred. Slid, Sir, what would yee, ye'are fo cholericke ?

93 Would they not f of— Would they so? (C, M., G.— Would they? Not so. (S. See Notes.

94, 95, and 96 Lines in Q. : Wee'll . . . then : \ No . . . Rogues, \ Till . . . damn'd. \ Damn'd . . . ha.

94 'em — them (G., S.

95 Rogues — rogue (S.

97 weel'd — we would (M., f.

98 Y'are— Ye' re (C, M.— You are (G., S.

i do fhee— ye (M., f. The emendation is probably correct.

100, after rogues . — ? (G., S.

104 yee, ye'are — you, you're (C., M., G.

74 THE FATAL DOWRY

2 Cred. Moft foldiers are fo yfaith, let him alone : They haue little elfe to Hue on, we haue not had

A penny of him, haue we?

3 Cred. 'Slight, wo'd you haue our hearts ? I Cred. We haue nothing but his body heere in durance

For all our mony.

Prieft. On.

Char. One moment more,

But to beftow a few poore legacyes, no

All I haue left in my dead fathers rights, And I haue done. Captaine, weare thou thefe fpurs That yet ne're made his horfe runne from a foe. Lieutenant, thou, this Scarfe, and may it tye

Thy valor, and thy honeftie together : 115

For fo it did in him. Enfigne, this Curace Your Generalls necklace once. You gentle Bearers, Deuide this purfe of gold, this other, ftrow Among the poore : t is all I haue. Romont,

(Weare thou this medall of himfelfe) that like 120

A hearty Oake, grew'ft clofe to this tall Pine, Euen in the wildeft wildernefe of war, Whereon foes broke their fwords, and tyr'd themfelues ; Wounded and hack'd yee were, but neuer fell'd.

For me my portion prouide in Heauen : 125

My roote is earth'd, and I a defolate branch Left fcattered in the high way of the world, Trod vnder foot, that might haue bin a Columne, Mainly fupporting our demolifh'd houfe,

This would I weare as my inheritance. 130

And what hope can arife to me from it, When I and it are both heere prifoners ? Onely may this, if euer we be free, Keepe, or redeeme me from all infamie. Song. Muficke.

105 2 Cred. — i Cred. (M., probably misprint.

106 They have — They've (C., M. 106 We have— We've (C., f.

108 We haue — we've (M. in rights — right (M. 132 both heere — here both (M.

134 s d : Song. Muficke. — i. e. the First Song, on page 145. — intro duced here in text by all editors save Gifford and Coleridge.

THE FATAL DOWRY 75

1 Cred. No farther, looke to 'em at your owne perill. 135

2 Cred. No, as they pleafe : their Matter's a good, man. I would they were the Burmudas.

Saylor. You muft no further.

The prifon limits you, and the Creditors Exact the ftrictneffe.

Rom. Out you wooluish mungrells !

Whofe braynes fhould be knockt out, like dogs in luly, 140

Lefte your infection poyfon a whole towne.

Char. They grudge our forrow : your ill wills perforce Turnes now to Charity : they would not haue vs Walke too farre mourning, vfurers reliefe Grieues, if the Debtors haue too much of griefe. Exeunt. 145

[SCENE II]

[A Room in Rochforfs House.} Enter Beaumelle: Florimell: Bellapert.

Beau. I prithee tell me, Florimell, why do women marry?

Flor. Why truly Madam, I thinke, to lye with their hus bands.

Bella. You are a f oole : She lyes, Madam, women marry husbands, To lye with other men. 5

Flor. Faith eene fuch a woman wilt thou make. By this light, Madam, this wagtaile will fpoyle you, if you take delight in her licence.

Beau. Tis true, Florimell: and thou wilt make me too good for a yong Lady. What an electuary found my father out for 10

his daughter, when hee compounded you two my women? for thou, Florimell, art eene a graine to heauy, fimply for a wayting Gentlewoman.

Flor. And thou Bellapert, a graine too light.

135 'em — them (G., S.

137, after were — at inserted by C, f.

137 Saylor — misprint for laylor, — emended by C., f.

143 Turnes— Turn (M., f.

6 eene — even (G., S. 12 eene — even (G., S.

76 THE FATAL DOWRY

Bella. Well, go thy wayes goodly wifdom, whom no body regards. I wonder, whether be elder thou or thy hood : you thinke, becaufe you ferue my Laydes mother, are 32 yeeres old which is a peepe out, you know.

Flor. Well fayd, wherligig.

Bella. You are deceyu'd : I want a peg ith' middle. 20

Out of thefe Prerogatiues ! you thinke to be mother of the maydes heere, & mortifie em with prouerbs : goe, goe, gouern the fweet meates, and waigh the Suger, that the wenches fteale none : fay your prayers twice a day, and as I take it, you haue performd your function. 25

Flor. I may bee euen with you.

Bell. Harke, the Court's broke vp. Goe helpe my old Lord out of his Caroch, and fcratch his head till dinner time.

Flor. Well. Exit.

Bell. Fy Madam, how you walke ! By my may den-head 30

you looke 7 yeeres older then you did this morning : why, there can be nothing vnder the Sunne vanuable, to make you thus a minute.

Beau. Ah my fweete Bellapert thou Cabinet

To all my counfels, thou doft know the caufe 35

That makes thy Lady wither thus in youth.

Bel. Vd'd-light, enioy your wifhes : whilft I Hue, One way or other you fhall crowne your will. Would you haue him your husband that you loue,

And can't not bee ? he is your feruant though, 40

And may performe the office of a husband.

Beau. But there is honor, wench.

Bell. Such a difeafe

There is in deed, for which ere I would dy. —

Beau. Prethee, diftinguifh me a mayd & wife.

Bell. Faith, Madam, one may beare any mans children, 45

Tother muft beare no mans.

17 ferue — served (G., S. See Notes.

1 8 Peepe— pip (M., f. 20 ith'— in the (G., S. 22 em— them G., S.

37 Vd'd—Uds—(M.., f. 40 can't — can it (M., f.

THE FATAL DOWRY 77

Beau- What is a husband?

Bell. Physicke, that tumbling in your belly, will make you ficke ith' ftomacke : the onely diftinction betwixt a husband and a feruant is : the firft will lye with you, when he pleafe ; the laft shall lye with you when you pleafe. Pray tell me,' 50

Lady, do you loue, to marry after, or would you marry, to loue after.

Beau. I would meete loue and marriage both at once.

Bell. Why then you are out of the fafhion, and wilbe con-, temn'd; for (He affure you) there are few women i'th world, 55

but either they haue married firft, and loue after, or loue firft, and marryed after : you muft do as you may, not as you would : your fathers will is the Goale you muft fly to : if a husband approach you, you would haue further off, is he your loue ? the leffe neere you. A husband in thefe days is but a 60

cloake to bee oftner layde vpon your bed, then in your bed.

Baum. Humpe.

Bell. Sometimes you may weare him on your fhoulder, now and then vnder your arme : but feldome or neuer let him 65

couer you : for 'tis not the fafhion.

Enter y. Nouall, Pontalier, Malotin, Lilladam, Aymer.

Nou. Beft day to natures curiofity, Starre of Dijum, the luftre of all France, Perpetuall fpring dwell on thy rofy cheekes,

Whofe breath is perfume to our Continent, 70

See Flora turn'd in her varieties.

Bell. Oh diuine Lord!

Nou. No autumne, nor no age euer approach This heauenly piece, which nature hauing wrought,

48 ith'— in the (G., S.

49 pleafe — pleases (C, M., G. 55 He— I will (G., S.

55 i'th— in the (M., f.

59 your — you (M. (in corrigenda at end of vol. 4), f. A correct emen dation.

60 loue? the leffe neare you.— love the less near you? (M., f. 63 Humpe— Hum (C, M. ; Humph (G., S.

64, after fhoulder, — C. & M. insert and. «

67 Nou.— C., f. affix Junior throughout.

71 turn'd— trimm'd (G., S. Emend, sug. by M.

78

THE FATAL DOWRY

80

She loft her needle and did then defpaire, Euer to work fo liuely and fo faire.

Lilad. Yds light, my Lord one of the purles of your band is (without all difcipline falne) out of his ranke.

Nou. How? I would not for a 1000 crownes she had feen't. Deare Liladam, reforme it.

Bell O Lord : Per fe, Lord, quinteffence of honour, fhee walkes not vnder a weede that could deny thee any thing.

Baum. Prethy peace, wench, thou doft but blow the fire, that flames too much already. Lilad. Aym. trim Nouall,

Aym. By gad, my Lord, you haue the diui- whilft Bell her neft Taylor of Chriftendome ; he hath made Lady.

you looke like an Angell in your cloth of Tiffue doublet.

Pont. This is a three-leg'd Lord, ther's a frefh affault, oh that men fhould fpend time thus ! 90

See fee, how her blood driues to her heart, and ftraight vaults to her cheekes againe.

Malo. What are thefe?

Pont. One of 'em there the lower is a good, foolifh, kna- uifh fociable gallimaufry of a man, and has much taught 95

my Lord with finging, hee is mafter of a muficke houfe : the other is his dreffing blocke, vpon whom my Lord layes all his cloathes, and fafhions, ere he vouchfafes 'em his owne perfon ; you fhall fee him i'th morning in the Gally-foyft, at noone in the Bullion, i'th euening in Quirpo, and all night 100

in —

Malo. A Bawdy houfe.

Pont. If my Lord deny, they deny, if hee affirme, they af- firme : they fkip into my Lords caft skins fome twice a yeere, and thus they Hue to eate, eate to Hue, and Hue to prayfe my 105

Lord.

78 discipline falne} out — discipline, fallen out (C., f.

81 Lord: Per fe, Lord— lord per se, lord! (G., S.

94 'em — them (G., S.

95 taught — caught (M., f.

98 'em— them (G., S.

99 i'th— in the (G., S.

100 Quirpo— thus C. & G. ; M. & S. read Querpo.

104 /&*>— See Notes.

105 Hue to eate — for Hue, G. reads flatters; S reads lie, which is prob ably right.

THE FATAL DOWRY 79

Malo. Good fir, tell me one thing.

Pont. What's that?

Malo. Dare thefe men euer fight, on any caufe ?

Pont. Oh no, 't would fpoyle their cloathes, and put their no

bands out of order.

Nou. Mrs, you heare the news : your father has refign'd his Prefidentfhip to my Lord my father.

Malo. And Lord Charolois vndone foreuer.

Pont. Troth, 'tis pity, fir.

A brauer hope of fo affur'd a father 115

Did neuer comfort France.

Lilad. A good dumbe mourner.

Aym. A filent blacke. As if he had come this Chriftmas from St. Omers,

Nou. Oh fie vpon him, how he weares his cloathes ! To fee his friends, and return'd after Twelfetyde. 120

Lilad. His Colonell lookes fienely like a drouer.

Nou. That had a winter ly'n perdieu i'th rayne.

Aym. What, he that weares a clout about his necke, His cuffes in's pocket, and his heart in's mouth?

Nou. Now out vpon him !

Beau. Seruant, tye my hand. 125

How your lips blufh, in fcorne that they fhould pay Tribute to hands, when lips are in the way !

Nou. I thus recant, yet now your hand looks white Becaufe your lips robd it of fuch a right.

Mounfieur Aymour, I prethy fing the fong 130

Deuoted to my Mrs. Cant. Muficke.

After the Song, Enter Rochfort, & Baumont.

Baum. Romont will come, fir, ftraight.

Roch. Tis well.

Beau. My Father.

Nouall. My honorable Lord.

Roch. My Lord Nouall this is a vertue in you,

112 Mrs.— Must (C, M. 122 i'th — in the (G., S.

125, end — s. d. : Nov. jun. kisses her hand. (G., S. 128, after recant, — s. d. : Kisses her (G,. S.

131 Cant.— i. e. the Second Song, on page 145. —introduced here in text by all editors save Gifford and Coleridge.

80 THE FATAL DOWRY

So early vp and ready before noone, 135

That are the map of dreffing through all France.

Nou. I rife to fay my prayers, fir, heere's my Saint.

Rock. Tis well and courtly ; you muft giue me leaue, I haue fome priuate conference with my daughter, Pray vfe my garden, you fhall dine with me. 140

Lilad. Wee'l waite on you.

Nou. Good morne vnto your Lordfhip,

Remember what you haue vow'd — — to his Mrs. Exeunt

Beau. Performe I muft. omnes praeter Roch. Daug.

Roch. Why how now Beaumelle, thou look'ft not well. Th' art fad of late, come cheere thee, I haue found A wholefome remedy for thefe may den fits, 145

A goodly Oake whereon to twift my vine, Till her faire branches grow vp to the ftarres. Be neere at hand, fucceffe crowne my intent, My bufineffe fills my little time fo full,

I cannot f tand to talke : I know, thy duty 1 50

Is handmayd to my will, efpecially When it prefents nothing but good and fit.

Beau. Sir, I am yours. Oh if my teares proue true, Exit Fate hath wrong'd loue, and will deftroy me too. Daug

Enter Romont keeper

Rom. Sent you for me, fir?

Roch. Yes.

Rom. Your Lordfhips pleafure ? 155

Roch. Keeper, this prifoner I will fee forth comming Vpon my word — Sit downe good Colonell. Exit keeper. Why I did wifh you hither, noble fir, Is to aduife you from this yron carriage,

Which, fo affected, Romont, you weare, 160

To pity and to counfell yee fubmit With expedition to the great Nouall:

144 Th' art — Thou art (G., S.

153 teares— thus C. & M. ;— G. & S. read fears, which seems a fitter

word here.

153 s. d. — G. & S. read, Aside and exit.

159 affected — affectedly (S. 159, after you — C., M., & G. insert will.

161 yee — you (C., f.

THE FATAL DOWRY gj

Recant your fterne contempt, and flight neglect

Of the whole Court, and him, and opportunity,

Or you will vndergoe a heauy cenfure X65

In publique very fhortly.

Rom. Hum hum : reuerend fir,

I haue obferu'd you, and doe know you well, And am now more affraid you know not me, By wifhing my fubmiffion to Nouall,

Then I can be of all the bellowing mouthes 170

That waite vpon him to pronounce the cenfure, Could it determine me torments, and fhame. Submit, and craue forgiueneffe of a beaft? Tis true, this bile of ftate weares purple Tiffue.

Is high fed, proud: fo is his Lordfhips horfe, 175

And beares as rich Caparifons. I know, This Elephant carries on his back not onely Towres, Caftles, but the ponderous republique, And neuer ftoops for't, with his ftrong breath trunk Snuffes others titles, Lordfhips, Offices, 180

Wealth, bribes, and lyues, vnder his rauenous iawes. Whats this vnto my freedome? I dare dye; And therefore afke this Cammell, if thefe bleffings (For fo they would be vnderftood by a man)

But mollifie one rudeneffe in his nature, 185

Sweeten the eager relifh of the law, At whofe great helme he fits : helps he the poore In a iuft buf ineffe ? nay, does he not croff e Euery deferued fouldier and fcholler,

As if when nature made him, fhe had made 19°

The generall Antipathy of all vertue? How fauagely, and blafphemoufly hee fpake Touching the Generall, the graue Generall dead,

164 opportunity— opportunely (M., f. The emendation is probably cor rect.

165 Hum hum — omitted by C, M., & G. 172, after me — C. & M. insert to.

174 bile— boil (C., f. See Notes. 179 breath — breath' d (M., f. 193 graue — brave (M., f.

THE FATAL DOWRY

I muft weepe when I thinke on't. Roch. Sir

Rom. My Lord,

I am not ftubborne, I can melt, you fee, IOc

And prize a vertue better then my life: For though I be not learnd, I euer lou'd That holy Mother of all iffues, good, Whofe white hand (for a Scepter) holds a File

To pollifh rougheft cuftomes, and in you 200

She has her right : fee, I am calme as fleepe, But when I thinke of the groffe injuries The godleffe wrong done, to my Generall dead, I raue indeed, and could eate this Nouall A Ifoule-effe Dromodary.

Roch. Oh bee temperate, 205

Sir, though I would perfwade, I'le not conftraine : Each mans opinion freely is his owne, Concerning any thing or any body, Be it right or wrong, tis at the Judges perill.

Enter Baumond,

Ban. Thefe men, Sir, waite without, my Lord is come too. 210 Roch. Pay 'em thofe fummes vpon the table, take Their full releafes : ftay, I want a witneffe : Let mee intreat you Colonell, to walke in, And ftand but by, to fee this money pay'd,

It does concerne you and your friends, it was 215

The better caufe you were fent for, though fayd otherwife. The deed fhall make this my requeft more plaine.

Rom. I fhall obey your pleafure Sir, though ignorant To what is tends? Exit Seruant: Romont.

Roch. Worthieft Sir, Enter Charolois. 220

You are moft welcome : fye, no more of this : You haue out- wept a woman, noble Charolois.

194 and 195 My Lord . . . fee, — printed as one line in Q.

198, after iffues — M., f. omit ,. A correct emendation.

205 Ifoule-effe — misprint for soul-less — corrected by C, f.

211 'em— them (G., S.

215 friends— friend (M., f.

219 is— it (C., f.

219 s. d., Seruant— Beaumont (G., S.

THE FATAL DOWRY

83

No man but has, or muft bury a father.

Char. Graue Sir, I buried forrow, for his death,

In the graue with him. I did neuer thinke 225

Hee was immortall, though I vow I grieue, And fee no reafon why the vicious, Vertuous, valiant and vnworthy man Should dye alike.

Roch. They do not.

Char. In the manner

Of dying, Sir, they do not, but all dye, 230

And therein differ not : but I haue done. I fpy'd the liuely picture of my father, Faffing your gallery, and that caft this water Into mine eyes : fee, f oolifh that I am, To let it doe fo.

Roch. Sweete and gentle nature, 235

How filken is this well comparatiuely To other men ! I haue a fuite to you Sir.

Char. Take it, tis granted.

Roch. What?

Char. Nothing, my Lord.

Roch. Nothing is quickly granted.

Char. Faith, my Lord,

That nothing granted, is euen all I haue, 240

For (all know) I haue nothing left to grant.

Roch. Sir, ha' you any fuite to me ? Ill grant You fomething, any thing.

Char. Nay furely, I that can

Giue nothing, will but fue for that againe. 245

No man will grant mee any thing I fue for. But begging nothing, euery man will giue't.

Roch. Sir, the loue I bore your father, and the worth I fee in you, fo much refembling his,

Made me thus fend for you. And tender heere Drawes a 250 What euer you will take, gold, lewels, both, Curtayne.

228 man — Men (G, M. 242 ha' — have (G, f.

250 s. d. : Drawes a Curtayne. — G. & S. add, and discovers a table with money and jewels upon it.

84 THE FATAL DOWRY

All, to fupply your wants, and free your felfe.

Where heauenly vertue in high blouded veines

Is lodg'd, and can agree, men fhould'kneele downe,

Adore, and facrifice all that they haue; 255

And well they may, it is fo feldome feene.

Put off your wonder, and heere freely take

Or fend your feruants. Nor, Sir, fhall you vfe

In ought of this, a poore mans fee, or bribe,

Vniuftly taken of the rich, but what's 260

Directly gotten, and yet by the Law.

Char. How ill, Sir, it becomes thofe haires to mocke?

Rock. Mocke? thunder ftrike mee then.

Char. You doe amaze mee:

But you fhall wonder too, I will not take

One fingle piece of this great heape : why fhould I 265

Borrow, that haue not meanes to pay, nay am A very bankerupt, euen in flattering hope Of euer rayfing any. All my begging, Is Romonts libertie. Enter Romont, Creditors loaden with

Roch. Heere is your friend, mony. Baumont.

Enfranchift ere you fpake. I giue him you, 270

And Charolois. I giue you to your friend As free a man as hee ; your fathers debts Are taken off.

Char. How ?

Rom. Sir, it is moft true.

I am the witnes.

1 Cred. Yes faith, wee are pay'd.

2 Cred. Heauen bleffe his Lordfhip, I did thinke him wifer. 275 j Cred. He a ftates-man, he an affe Pay other mens debts ?

i Cred. That he was neuer bound for. Rom. One more fuch

Would faue the reft of pleaders.

Char. Honord Rochfort.

266 not — no (G.

269 s. d. — G. & S. omit loaden with mony.

270 Enfranchift — Enfranchise ( C. 270, after him — G. & S. insert to.

277 and 278 Lines in Q. : That . . . for. One . . . pleaders. Honord Rochfort.

THE FATAL DOWRY 85

Lye ftill my toung and bufhes, cal'd my cheekes,

That offter thankes in words, for fuch great deeds. 280

Roch. Call in my daughter : ftill I haue a fuit to you. Baum. Would you requite mee. Exit.

Rom. With his life, affure you.

Roch. Nay, would you make me now your debter, Sir. This is my onely child: what fhee appeares, Enter Baum Your Lordfhip well may fee her education, Beau. 285

Followes not any : for her mind, I know it To be far fayrer then her fhape, and hope It will continue fo : if now her birth Be not too meane for Charolois, take her

This virgin by the hand, and call her wife, 290

Indowd with all my fortunes : bleffe me fo, Requite mee thus, and make mee happier, In ioyning my poore empty name to yours, Then if my ftate were multiplied ten fold.

Char. Is this the payment, Sir, that you expect? 295

Why, you participate me more in debt, That nothing but my life can euer pay, This beautie being your daughter, in which yours I muft conceiue neceffitie of her vertue

Without all dowry is a Princes ayme, 300

Then, as fhee is, for poore and worthleffe I, How much too worthy ! Waken me, Romont, That I may know I dream't and find this vanifht Rom. Sure, I fleepe not.

Roch. Your fentence life or death.

Char. Faire Beaumelle, can you loue me?

279 bufhes, cal'd— blushes, scald (C, G., S.— blushes scald (M.

281, end . — , (G., S.

282, before affure — C, M., & G. insert /.

284 s. d. placed by G. & S. before instead of after line. 285, after fee —: (M., f.

285 her education— her education, Beaumelle (C.; & for educati Beaumelle (M., these editors taking Beau, in Q. s. d. to be in text!

286 First / in Followes almost invisible in Q. 289 take her — take her, take (G.

296 participate — precipitate (C., f.

301 / — me (C., f.

303 know — its n is broken in the Q.

THE FATAL DOWRY

Beau. Yes, my Lord. Enter Nouall, Ponta. 305

Char. You need not queftion me, if I can you. Malotine, You are the fayreft virgin in Digum, Lilad. Aymer. All

And Rochfort is your father. falute.

Nou. What's this change?

Roch. You met my wifhes, Gentlemen.

Rom. What make

Thefe dogs in doublets heere?

Beau. A Vifitation, Sir. 310

Char. Then thus, Faire Beaumelle, I write my faith Thus feale it in the fight of Heauen and men. Your fingers tye my heart-ftrings with this touch In true-loue knots, which nought but death fhall loofe. And yet thefe eares (an Embleme of our loues) 315

Like Criftall riuers indiuidually Flow into one another, make one fource, Which neuer man diftinguifh, leffe deuide : Breath, marry, breath, and kiffes, mingle foules

Two hearts, and bodies, heere incorporate : 320

And though with little wooing I haue wonne My future life fhall be a wooing tyme. And euery day, new as the bridall one. Oh Sir I groane vnder your courtefies,

More then my fathers bones vnder his wrongs, 325

You Cur tins-like, haue throwne into the gulfe, Of this his Countries foule ingratitude, Your life and fortunes, to redeeme their fhames.

Roch. No more, my glory, come, let's in and haften This celebration.

Rom. Mai. Pont. Bau.

All faire bliffe vpon it. 330

Exeunt Roch. Char. Rom. Bau. Mai.

308, end — G. & S. s. d. : Aside.

309 met — meet (G., S.

310. Beau. This might be either Beaumelle or Beaumont. The Q. generally spells the latter Baumont, but the present speech, none the less, probably belongs to him, and is so assigned by C., f.

315 yet thefe eares — yet these tears (C. — let these tears (M., f. The latter emendation is correct.

319 — M., f. punctuate : Breath marry breath, and kisses mingle souls.

THE FATAL DOWRY 87

Nou. Miftreffe.

Beau. Oh feruant, vertue ftrengthen me.

Thy prefence blowes round my affections vane: You will vndoe me, if you fpeake againe. Exit Beaum.

Lilad. Aym. Heere will be (port for you. This workes.

Exeunt Lilad. Aym.

Nou. Peace, peace,

Pont. One word, my Lord Nouall.

Nou. What, thou wouldft mony; there. 335

Pont. No, He none, He not be bought a flaue, A Pander, or a Parafite, for all Your fathers worth, though you haue fau'd my life, Refcued me often from my wants, I muft not

Winke at your f ollyes : that will ruine you. 340

You know my blunt way, and my loue to truth : Forfake the purfuit of this Ladies honour, Now you doe fee her made another mans, And fuch a mans, fo good, fo popular,

Or you will plucke a thoufand mifchiefes on you. 345

The benefits you haue done me, are not loft, Nor caft away, they are purs'd heere in my heart, But let me pay you, fir, a fayrer way Then to defend your vices, or to footh 'em.

Nou. Ha, ha, ha, what are -my courfes vnto thee? 350

Good Coufin Pontalier, meddle with that That fhall concerne thyfelfe. Exit Nouall.

Pont. No more but fcorne?

Moue on then, ftarres, worke your pernicious will. Onely the wife rule, and preuent your ill. Exit.

Hoboyes.

Here a paffage ouer the Stage, while the Act is playing

for the Marriage of Charalois with

Beaumelle, & c.

330 Miftreffe— G. & S. insert s. d. : As Beaumelle is going out. 336 ist. He— I will (G., S. 346 you haue — you've (C, M.

349 'em — them (G., S.

350 G. & S. omit the third ha. After 354 G. omits s. d., Hoboyes.

Actus tertius. Scaena prima.

[A Room in Charalois' House] Enter Nouall Junior, Bellapert.

Nou. lu. p Lie not to thefe excufes : thou haft bin

1 Falfe in thy promife, and when I haue faid Vngratefull, all is fpoke.

Bell. Good my Lord,

But heare me onely.

Nou. To what purpofe, trifler?

Can anything that thou canft fay, make voyd The marriage? or thofe pleafures but a dreame, Which Charaloyes (oh Venus) hath enioyd?

Bell. I yet could fay that you receiue aduantage, In what you thinke a loffe, would you vouchfafe me That you were neuer in the way till now With fafety to arriue at your defires, That pleafure makes loue to you vnattended By danger or repentance?

Nou. That I could.

But apprehend one reafon how this might be, Hope would not then forfake me.

Bell The enioying

Of what you moft defire, I fay th' enioying Shall, in the full poffeffion of your wifhes, Corifirme that I am faithfull.

Nou. Giue fome rellifh

How this may appeare poffible.

Bell I will

3 fpoke — spoken (G., S.

3 and 4 Good . . . onely. — printed as one line in Q.

9, end — ; (C, f.

13, end . —omitted by M., f.

I9) end — . (C., M.— , (G., S. The latter emendation seems preferable.

88

10

15

THE FATAL DOWRY 89

Rellifh, and tafte, and make the banquet eafie : 20

You fay my Ladie's married. I confeffe it,

That Charalois hath inioyed her, 'tis moft true

That with her, hee's already Mafter of

The beft part of my old Lords ftate. Still better,

But that the firft, or laft, fhould be your hindrance, 25

I vtterly deny : for but obferue me :

While fhe went for, and was, I fweare, a Virgin,

What courtefie could fhe with her honour giue

Or you receiue with fafety — take me with you,

When I fay courtefie, doe not think I meane

A kiffe, the tying of her fhoo or garter,

An houre of priuate conference : thofe are trifles.

In this word courtefy, we that are gamefters point at

The fport direct, where not alone the louer

Brings his Artillery, but vfes it. 35

Which word expounded to you, fuch a courtefie

Doe you expect, and fudden.

Nou. But he tafted

The firft fweetes, Bellapert.

Bell. He wrong'd you fhrewdly,

He toyl'd to climbe vp to the Phoenix neft,

And in his prints leaues your afcent more eafie. 40

I doe not know, you that are perfect Crittiques In womens bookes, may talke of maydenheads.

Nou. But for her marriage.

Bell 'Tis a faire protection

'Gainft all arrefts of feare, or fhame for euer.

Such as are faire, and yet not foolifh, ftudy 45

To haue one at thirteene ; but they are mad That ftay till twenty. Then fir, for the pleafure, To fay Adulterie's fweeter, that is ftale. This onely is not the contentment more,

To fay, This is my Cuckold, then my Riuall. 5°

More I could fay — but briefly, fhe doates on you,

22, end — : (C, f.

24 old — M. omits.

37 and 38 But . . . Bellapert. — printed as one line in Q.

49, after onely (C, f.

90 THE FATAL DOWRY

If it proue otherwife, fpare not, poyfon me

With the next gold you giue me. Enter Beaumely

Beau. Hows this feruant,

Courting my woman ?

Bell. As an entrance to

The fauour of the miftris : you are together 55

And I am perfect in my qu.

Beau. Stay Bellapert.

Bell. In this I muft not with your leaue obey you. Your Taylor and your Tire-woman waite without And ftay my counfayle, and direction for

Your next dayes dreffing. I haue much to doe, 60

Nor will your Ladifhip know, time is precious, Continue idle : this choife Lord will finde So fit imployment for you. Exit Bellap.

Beau. I fhall grow angry.

Nou. Not fo, you haue a iewell in her, Madam.

Bell. I had forgot to tell your Ladifhip Enter 65

The clofet is priuate and your couch ready: againe.

And if you pleafe that I fhall loofe the key, But fay fo, and tis done. Exit Bellap.

Baum. You come to chide me, feruant, and bring with you Sufficient warrant, you will fay and truely, 7°

My father found too much obedience in me, By being won too foone : yet if you pleafe But to remember, all my hopes and fortunes Had reuerence to this likening : you will grant

That though I did not well towards you, I yet 75

Did wifely for my felfe.

Nou. With too much feruor

I haue fo long lou'd and ftill loue you, Miftreffe, To efteeme that an iniury to me Which was to you conuenient : that is paft

53 and 54 Hows . . . woman? — printed as one line in Q. 56, after qu — C., f . insert s. d. : Going. 61 know — now (C., f. A correct emendation.

66, after couch — G. suggests to insert there in brackets, — accepted by S. 74 reuerence to this likening — reference to his liking (M., f. The emendation appears necessary.

THE FATAL DOWRY 91

My helpe, is paft my cure. You yet may, Lady, go

In recompence of all my dutious feruice, (Prouided that your will anfwere your power) Become my Creditreffe.

Beau. I vnderftand you,

And for affurance, the requeft you make

Shall not be long vnanfwered. Pray you fit, gc

And by what you fhall heare, you'l eafily finde, My paffions are much fitter to defire, Then to be fued to. Enter Romont and Florimell.

Flor. Sir, tis not enuy

At the ftart my fellow has got of me in

My Ladies good opinion, thats the motiue 90

Of this difcouery ; but due payment Of what I owe her Honour.

Rom. So I conceiue it.

Flo. I haue obferued too much, nor fhall my filence Preuent the remedy — yonder they are,

I dare not bee feene with you. You may doe 95

What you thinke fit, which wil be, I prefume, The office of a faithfull and tryed friend To my young Lord. Exit Flori.

Rom. This is no vifion : ha !

Nou. With the next opportunity.

Beau. By this kiffe,

And this, and this.

Nou. That you would euer fweare thus. 100

Rom. If I feeme rude, your pardon, Lady; yours I do not afke : come, do not dare to fhew mee A face of anger, or the leaft diflike. Put on, and suddaily a milder looke, I fhall grow rough elfe.

88, after to — G. inserts s. d. : They court.

88 Enter Romont and Florimell— Enter Romont and Florimell behind (G., S

88 tis— it is (G., S.

91 but due — but the due (G., S.

99, after opportunity . — ? (G., S.

99 and 100 The three speeches composing these two lines are printed in Q. severally in three lines.

101, after Rom. — G. & S. insert s. d. : Comes forward.

92 THE FATAL DOWRY

Nou. What haue I done, Sir, 105

To draw this harfh vnfauory language from you ?

Rom. Done, Popinjay ? why, doft thou thinke that if I ere had dreamt that thou hadft done me wrong, Thou fhouldeft outliue it?

Beau. This is fomething more

Then my Lords friendfhip giues commiffion for. no

Nou. Your prefence and the place, makes him prefume Vpon my patience.

Rom. As if thou ere wer't angry

But with thy Taylor, and yet that poore fhred Can bring more to the making vp of a man,

Then can be hop'd from thee: thou art his creature, 115

And did hee not each morning new create [thee] Thou wouldft ftinke and be forgotten. He not change On fyllable more with thee, vntill thou bring Some teftimony vnder good mens hands,

Thou art a Chriftian. I fuspect thee ftrongly, 120

And wilbe fatisfied : till which time, keepe from me. The entertaiment of your vifitation Has made what I intended on a bufineffe.

Nou. So wee fhall meete — Madam.

Rom. Vfe that legge again,

And He cut off the other.

Nou. Very good. Exit Nouall. 125

Rom. What a perfume the Mufke-cat leaues behind him! Do you admit him for a property, To faue you charges, Lady.

Beau. Tis not vfeleffe,

Now you are to fucceed him.

Rom. So I refpect you,

in makes — make (G., S.

116 [thee] — so all later editors. The word in the Q. is illegible, — pos sibly yee.

117 Thou wouldft— Thou' dst (C., f.

123 on— i. e., one; c. f. line 118. But C. keeps on.

124 and 125 Vfe . . . other.— printed as one line in Q.

127 for— as (M. in Corrigenda, vol. 4, p. 379, where are supplied 11. 126-130, which are omitted in his text.

THE FATAL DOWRY

93

Not for your felfe, but in remembrance of, I3o

Who is your father, and whofe wife you now are, That I choofe rather not to vnderftand Your nafty fcoffe then, —

Beau' What, you will not beate mee,

If I expound it to you. Heer's a Tyrant Spares neyther man nor woman.

Rom- My intents

Madam, deferue not this ; nor do I ftay To be the whetftone of your wit : preferue it To fpend on fuch, as know how to admire Such coloured ftuffe. In me there is now fpeaks to you As true a friend and feruant to your Honour, 140

And one that will with as much hazzard guard it, As euer man did goodneffe. — But then Lady, You muft endeauour not alone to bee, But to appeare worthy fuch loue and feruice.

Beau. To what tends this?

Rom. Why, to this purpofe, Lady, 145

I do defire you fhould proue fuch a wife To Charaloys (and fuch a one hee merits) As Caefar, did hee Hue, could not except at, Not onely innocent from crime, but free From all taynt and fufpition.

Beau. They are bafe 150-

That iudge me otherwife.

Rom. But yet bee carefull.

Detraction's a bold monfter, and feares not To wound the fame of Princes, if it find But any blemifh in their Hues to worke on.

But He bee plainer with you: had the people 155

Bin learnd to fpeake, but what euen now I saw, Their malice out of that would raife an engine To ouerthrow your honor. In my fight (With yonder pointed foole I frighted from you)

139 is — G. & S. omit. See Notes.

150 and 151 They . . . otherwife. — printed as one line in Q.

159 pointed — painted (C, f. See Notes.

94 THE FATAL DOWRY

You vs'd familiarity beyond 160

A modeft entertaynment : you embrac'd him

With too much ardor for a ftranger, and

Met him with kiffes neyther chafte nor comely :

But learne you to forget him, as I will

Your bounties to him, you will find it fafer 165

Rather to be vncourtly, then immodeft.

Beau. This prety rag about your necke fhews well, And being coorfe and little worth, it fpeakes you, As terrible as thrifty.

Rom. Madam.

Beau. Yes.

And this ftrong belt in which you hang your honor 170

Will out-laft twenty fcarfs.

Rom. What meane you, Lady?

Beau. And all elfe about you Cap a pe So vni forme in fpite of handfomneffe, Shews fuch a bold contempt of comelineffe,

That tis not ftrange your Laundreffe in the League, 175

Grew mad with loue of you.

Rom. Is my free counfayle

Anfwerd with this ridiculous fcorne ?

Beau. Thefe obiects

Stole very much of my attention from me, Yet fomething I remember, to fpeake truth,

Deceyued grauely, but to little purpofe, 180

That almoft would haue made me fweare, fome Curate Had ftolne into the perfon of Romont, And in the praife of goodwife honefty, Had read an homely.

Rom. By thy hand.

Beau. And fword,

I will make vp your oath, twill want weight elfe. 185

You are angry with me, and poore I laugh at it.

172, after And — G. suggests to insert then in brackets ; accepted by S. 175 League — Leaguer (M., f. 180 Deceyued— Delivered (C., f.

184 thy— this (C., f. See Notes.

185 twill— it will (G., S.

186 You are— You're (C., M.

THE FATAL DOWRY 95

Do you come from the Campe, which affords onely

The conuerfation of caft fuburbe whores,

To fet downe to a Lady of my ranke,

Lymits of entertainment? 190

Rom. Sure a Legion has poffeft this woman.

Beau. One ftampe more would do well : yet I defire not You fhould grow horne-mad, till you haue a wife. You are come to warme meate, and perhaps cleane linnen : Feed, weare it, and bee thankefull. For me, know, 195

That though a thoufand watches were fet on mee, And you the Mafter-fpy, I yet would vfe, The liberty that beft likes mee. I will reuell, Feaft, kiffe, imbreace, perhaps grant larger f auours : Yet fuch as Hue vpon my meanes, fhall know 200

They muft not murmur at it. If my Lord Bee now growne yellow, and has chofe out you To ferue his lealouzy that way, tell him this, You haue fomething to informe him: Exit Beau.

Rom. And I will.

Beleeue it wicked one I will. Heare, Heauen, 205

But hearing pardon mee : if thefe f ruts grow Vpon the tree of marriage, let me fhun it, As a forbidden fweete. An heyre and rich, Young, beautifull, yet adde to this a wife,

And I will rather choofe a Spittle f inner 210

Carted an age before, though three parts rotten, And take it for a bleffing, rather then Be fettered to the hellifh flauery Of fuch an impudence.

Enter Baumont with writings.

Bau. Collonell, good fortune

To meet you thus : you looke fad, but He tell you 215

Something that fhall remoue it. Oh how happy Is my Lord Charaloys in his f aire bride !

Rom. A happy man indeede ! — pray you in what ?

Bau. I dare fweare, you would thinke fo good a Lady, A dower fufficient.

203 that — this (G., S.

204 You haue — You've (C, M.

96 THE FATAL DOWRY

Rom. No doubt. But on. 220

Ban. So f aire, fo chafte, fo vertuous : fo indeed All that is excellent.

Rom. Women haue no cunning

To gull the world.

Bau. Yet to all thefe, my Lord

Her father giues the full addition of

All he does now poffeffe in Burgundy: 225

Thefe writings to confirme it, are new feal'd And I moft fortunate to prefent him with them, I muft goe feeke him out, can you direct mee ?

Rom. You'l finde him breaking a young horfe.

Bau. I thanke you. Exit Baumont.

Rom. I muft do fomething worthy Charaloys friendfhip. 230

If fhe were well inclin'd to keepe her fo, Deferu'd not thankes : and yet to ftay a woman Spur'd headlong by hot luft, to her owne ruine, Is harder then to prop a falling towre With a deceiuing reed. Enter Rochfort.

Roch. Some one feeke for me, 235

As foone as he returnes.

Rom. Her father/ ha?

How if I breake this to him? fure it cannot Meete with an ill conftruction. His wifedome Made powerfull by the authority of a father,

Will warrant and giue priuiledge to his counfailes. 240

It fhall be fo — my Lord.

Roch. Your friend Romont:

Would you ought with me ?

Rom. I ftand fo engag'd

To your fo many fauours, that I hold it A breach in thankfulneffe, fhould I not difcouer,

221 fo indeed — C. & M. omit so; so— indeed, (G., S. — The Q. reading is preferable.

222 and 223 Women . . . world. — printed as one line in Q. 223, after world. — G. & S. s. d. : Aside.

231, after inclin'd —, (C., f.

235 s. d. — in G. & S. : Enter Rochfort, speaking to a servant within.

241 and 242 Your . . . me? — printed as one line in Q.

THE FATAL DOWRY 97

Though with fome imputation to my felfe, 245

All doubts that may concerne you.

Roch. The performance

Will make this proteftation worth my thanks.

Rom. Then with your patience lend me your attention For what I muft deliuer, whifpered onely You will with too much griefe receiue. Enter Beaumelle, Bellapert.

Beau. See wench! 250

Vpon my life as I forefpake, hee's now Preferring his complaint : but be thou perfect, And we will fit him.

Bell. Feare not mee, pox on him :

A Captaine turne Informer against kiffing?

Would he were hang'd vp in his rufty Armour : 255

But if our frefh wits cannot turne the plots Of fuch a mouldy murrion on it felfe ; Rich cloathes, choyfe faire, and a true friend at a call, With all the pleafures the night yeelds, f orfake vs.

Roch. This in my daughter? doe not wrong her.

Bell. Now. 260

Begin. The games afoot, and wee in diftance.

Beau. Tis thy fault, foolifh girle, pinne on my vaile, I will not weare thofe iewels. Am I not Already matcht beyond my hopes? yet ftill

You prune and fet me forth, as if I were 265

Againe to pleafe a fuyter.

Bell. Tis the courfe

That our great Ladies take.

Rom. A weake excufe.

Beau. Thofe that are better feene, in what concernes A Ladies honour and faire fame, condemne it.

250 s. d. — in G. & S. : Enter Beaumelle and Bellapert, behind.

254 turne — turn'd (M.

259, end . — '•? (S., probably misprint for /

260 This in my daughter?— S. reads : This is my daughter!

260 and 261. Lines in Q. : This . . . her. \ Now begin. \ The . . . diftance.

262 Before Beaumelle's speech G. & S. insert s. d. : Comes forward.

267 Rom. A weak excufe.— G. & S. assign to Beau, with the lines which follow. The change is without warrant and makes no improvement on Q reading.

98 THE FATAL DOWRY

You waite well, in your abfence, my Lords friend 270

The vnderftanding, graue and wife Romont.

Rom. Muft I be ftill her fport?

Beau. Reproue me for it.

And he has traueld to bring home a iudgement Not to be contradicted. You will fay

My father, that owes more to yeeres then he, 275

Has brought me vp to mufique, language, Courtfhip, And I muft vfe them. True, but not t'offend, Or render me fufpected.

Roch. Does your fine ftory

Begin from this?

Beau. I thought a parting kiffe

From young Nouall, would haue difpleafd no more 280

Then heretofore it hath done ; but I finde I muft reftrayne fuch fauours now ; looke therefore As you are carefull to continue mine, That I no more be vifited. He endure

The ftricteft courfe of life that iealoufie . 285

Can thinke fecure enough, ere my behauiour Shall call my fame in queftion.

Rom. Ten diffemblers

Are in this fubtile deuill. You beleeue this ?

Roch. So farre that if you trouble me againe

With a report like this, I fhall not onely 290

ludge you malicious in your difpofition, But ftudy to repent what I haue done To fuch a nature.

Rom. Why, 'tis exceeding well.

Roch. And for you, daughter, off with this,' off with it : I haue that confidence in your goodneffe, I, 295

That I will not confent to haue you Hue Like to a Reclufe in a cloyfter : goe Call in the gallants, let them make you merry, Vfe all fit liberty.

Bell. Bleffing on you.

272, after fport — C. & M. insert s. d. : Aside.

272 Reproue — Reproved (M., f.

278 and 279 Does . . . this? — printed as one line in Q.

THE FATAL DOWRY 99

If this new preacher with the fword and feather 300

Could proue his doctrine for Canonicall,

We fhould haue a fine world. Exit Bellapert.

Roch. Sir, if you pleafe

To beare your felfe as fits a Gentleman, The houfe is at your feruice : but if not,

Though you feeke company elfe where, your abfence 305

Will not be much lamented — Exit Rochfort.

Rom. If this be

The recompence of ftriuing to preferue A wanton gigglet honeft, very fhortly 'Twill make all mankinde Panders — Do you fmile, Good Lady Loofenes? your whole fex is like you, 310

And that man's mad that feekes to better any : What new change haue you next?

Beau. Oh, feare not you, fir,

He fhift into a thoufand, but I will Conuert your herefie.

Rom. What herefie? Speake.

Beau. Of keeping a Lady that is married, 315

From entertayning feruants. — Enter Nouall lu. Mala-

O, you are welcome, tine, Liladam, Aymer, Vfe any meanes to vexe him, Pontalier.

And then with welcome follow me. Exit Beau

Nou. You are tyr'd

With your graue exhortations, Collonell.

Lilad. How is it ? Fayth, your Lordfhip may doe well, 320

To helpe him to fome Church-preferment : 'tis Now the fafhion, for men of all conditions, How euer they haue liu'd ; to end that way.

Aym. That face would doe well in a furpleffe.

Rom. Rogues,

Be filent — or —

300 the— his (S.

316 you are — you're (G, M.

318 s. d. — G. & S. read : Aside to them, and exit.

322 Now the fashion — The fashion now (G., S.

324 Rogues in Q. begins the succeeding line.

328 f hall— should (G., S.

100 THE FATAL DOWRY

Pont. S'death will you fuffer this? 325

Rom. And you, the matter Rogue, the coward rafcall, I fhall be with you fuddenly.

Nou. Pontallier,

If I fhould ftrike him, I know I fhall kill him : And therefore I would haue thee beate him, for Hee's good for nothing elfe.

Ltiad. His backe 330

Appeares to me, as it would tire a Beadle, And then he has a knotted brow, would bruife A courtlike hand to touch it.

Aym. Hee lookes like

A Curryer when his hides grown deare.

Pont. Take heede

He curry not fome of you.

Nou. Gods me, hee's angry. 335

Rom. I breake no lefts, but I can breake my fword About your pates. Enter Charaloyes and

Lilad. Heeres more. Baumont.

Aym. Come let's bee gone,

Wee are beleaguerd.

Nou. Looke they bring vp their troups.

Pont. Will you fit downe

With this difgrace? You are abus'd moft grofely. 340

Lilad. I grant you, Sir, we are, and you would haue vs Stay and be more abus'd.

Nou. My Lord, I am forry,

Your houfe is fo inhofpitable, we muft quit it. Exeunt.

Cha. Prethee Romont, what caus'd this vprore? Manent

Rom. Nothing. Char. Rom.

They laugh'd and vf'd their fcuruy wits vpon mee. 345

Char. Come, tis thy Jealous nature: but I wonder That you which are an honeft man and worthy, Should f ofter this fufpition : no man laughes ; No one can wfiifper, but thou apprehend'ft

334 grown — grow (G., S.

334 and 335 Take . . . you. — printed as one line in Q.

335 Gods— Gads (C, M., G.

339 and 340 Will . . . difgrace?— printed as one line in Q. 342 / am— I'm (C, f.

THE FATAL DOWRY 101

His conference and his fcorne reflects on thee : 350

For my part they fhould fcoffe their thin wits out,

So I not heard 'em, beate me, not being there.

Leaue, leaue thefe fits, to confcious men, to fuch

As are obnoxious, to thofe foolifh things

As they can gibe at.

Rom. Well, Sir.

Char. Thou art know'n 355

Valiant without detect, right defin'd Which is (as fearing to doe iniury, As tender to endure it) not a brabbler, A (wearer.

Rom. Pifh, pifh, what needs this my Lord ?

If I be knowne none fuch, how vainly, you 360

Do caft away good counfaile ? I haue lou'd you, And yet muft freely fpeake ; fo young a tutor, Fits not fo old a Souldier as I am. And I muft tell you, t'was in your behalfe

I grew inraged thus, yet had rather dye, 365

Then open the great caufe a fyllable further.

Cha. In my behalfe? wherein hath Charalois Vnfitly fo demean'd himfelfe, to giue The leaft occafion to the loofeft tongue,

To throw afperfions on him, or fo weakely 37°

Protected his owne honor, as it fhould Need a defence from any but himfelfe ? They are fools that iudge me by my outward feeming, Why fhould my gentleneffe beget abufe ?

The Lion is not angry that does fleepe 375

Nor euery man a Coward that can weepe.

350 reflects— reflect (G., S.

352 'em — them (C., f.

352 beate— bait (M.

354 , —omitted by C., f.,— a probably correct emendation.

356 detect — defect (C, f., — a correct emendation.

356 right — rightly (M., f., — an unnecessary emendation for the sense, but probably correct, as it improves the metre.

357 and 358 — the ( )'s are omitted by M., f.

372 a — C. & M. omit.

373 They are — They're (C., M.

102 THE FATAL DOWRY

For Gods fake fpeake the caufe.

Rom. Not for the world.

Oh it will ftrike difeafe into your bones Beyond the cure of phyficke, drinke your blood,

Rob you of all your reft, contract your fight, 380

Leaue you no eyes but to fee mifery, And of your owne, nor f peach but to wifh thus Would I had perifh'd in the prifons iawes : From whence I. was redeem'd! twill weare you old, Before you haue experience in that Art, 385

That caufes your affliction.

Cha. Thou doft ftrike

A death full coldneffe to my hearts high heate, And fhrinkft my liuer like the Calenture. Declare this foe of mine, and lifes, that like

A man I may encounter and fubdue it 390

It fhall not haue one fuch effect in mee, As thou denounceft: with a Souldiers arme, If it be ftrength, He meet it : if a fault Belonging to my mind, He cut it off

With mine owne reafon, as a Scholler mould 395

Speake, though it make mee monftrous.

Rom. He dye firft.

Farewell, continue merry, and high Heauen Keepe your wife chafte.

Char. Hump, ftay and take this wolfe

Out of my breft, that thou haft lodg'd there, or For euer lofe mee.

Rom. Lofe not, Sir, your felfe. 400

And I will venture — So the dore is faft. Locke

Now noble Charaloys, collect your felfe, the dore.

Summon your fpirits, mufter all your ftrength That can belong to man, fift paffion,

From euery veine, and whatfoeuer enfues, 405

Vpbraid not me heereafter, as the caufe of

395, end — . (C., f.

396 lie— I will (G.

398 Hump— Hum (C., f.

403 you — C., f. make obvious correction to your.

405 whatfoeuer — whatfoe'er (M., f.

THE FATAL DOWRY 103

lealoufy, dif content, flaughter and ruine: Make me not parent to finne : you will know This fecret that I burne with.

Char. Diuell on't,

What fhould it be ? Romont, I heare you wifh 410

My wifes continuance of Chaftity.

Rom. There was no hurt in that.

Char. Why? do you know

A likelyhood or poffibility vnto the contrarie?

Rom. I know it not, but doubt it, thefe the grounds The feruant of your wife now young Nouall, 415

The fonne vnto your fathers Enemy (Which aggrauates my prefumption the more) I haue been warnd of, touching her, nay, feene them Tye heart to heart, one in anothers armes,

Multiplying kiffes, as if they meant 420

To pofe Arithmeticke, or whofe eyes would Bee firft burnt out, with gazing on the others. I faw their mouthes engender, and their palmes Glew'd, as if Loue had lockt them, their words flow And melt each others, like two circling flames, 425

Where chaftity, like a Phoenix (me thought) burn'd, But left the world nor afhes, nor an heire. Why ftand you filent thus ? what cold dull flegme, As if you had no drop of choller mixt

In your whole conftitution, thus preuailes, 430

To fix you now, thus ftupid hearing this ?

Cha, You did not fee 'em on my Couch within, Like George a horfe-backe on her, nor a bed?

Rom. Noe.

Cha. Ha, ha.

409, after with . —? (G., S.

410 heare — G. & S. read heard. The final e is blurred in Q., but cer tainly e, not d. 412 and 413 Why . . . poffibility — printed as one line in Q.

416 u in your inverted in Q.

417 my — G. & S. omit. 419 Tye — tied (G.

432 'em — him (M., f. See Notes.

104 THE FATAL DOWRY

Rom. Laugh yee? eene fo did your wife,

And her indulgent father.

Cha. They were wife. 43

Wouldft ha me be a f oole ?

Rom. No, but a man.

Cha. There is no dramme of manhood to fufpect, On fuch thin ayrie circumftance as this Meere complement and courtfhip. Was this tale The hydeous monfter which you fo conceal'd ? 440

Away, thou curious impertinent And idle fearcher of fuch leane nice toyes. Goe, thou fedicious fower of debate : Fly to fuch matches, where the bridegroome doubts : He holds not worth enough to counteruaile 445

The vertue and the beauty of his wife. Thou buzzing drone that 'bout my eares doft hum, To ftrike thy rankling fting into my heart, Whofe vemon, time, nor medicine could affwage.

Thus doe I put thee off, and confident 450

In mine owne innocency, and defert, Dare not conceiue her fo vnreafonable, To put Nouall in ballance againft me, An vpftart cran'd vp to the height he has.

Hence bufiebody, thou'rt no friend to me, 455

That muft be kept to a wiues iniury,

Rom. lit poffible? farewell, fine, honeft man, Sweet temper'd Lord adieu : what Apoplexy Hath knit fence vp ? Is this Romonts reward ?

Beare witnes the great fpirit of my father, 460

With what a healthfull hope I adminifter This potion that hath wrought fo virulently, I not accufe thy wife of act, but would Preuent her Praecipuce, to thy difhonour,

434 yee — you (C, f.

434 eene — even (G., S.

436 ha — have (M., f.

460 my — thy (C., f. — The emendation is probably correct.

461 / adminifter — I did administer (M., f. The Ms. reading may have been: adminifter'd.

464 Praecipuce — precipice (C., f.

THE FATAL DOWRY 105

Which now thy tardy fluggifhneffe will admit. 465

Would I had feene thee grau'd with thy great Sire,

Ere Hue to haue metis marginall fingers point

At Charaloys, as a lamented ftory.

An Emperour put away his wife for touching

Another man, but thou wouldft haue thine tafted 470

And keepe her (I thinke.) PufTe. I am a fire

To warme a dead man, that wafte out myfelfe.

Bleed — what a plague, a vengeance i'ft to mee,

If you will be a Cuckold? Heere I fhew

A fwords point to thee, this fide you may fhun, 475

Or that : the perrill, if you will runne on,

I cannot helpe it.

Cha. Didft thou neuer fee me

Angry, Romontf

Rom. Yes, and purfue a foe

Like lightening

Char. Prethee fee me fo no more.

I can be fo againe. Put vp thy fword, 480

And take thy felfe away, left I draw mine.

Rom. Come fright your foes with this : fir, I am your friend, And dare ftand by you thus.

Char. Thou art not my friend,

Or being fo, thou art mad, I muft not buy

Thy f riendfhip at this rate ; had I iuft cause, 485

Thou knowft I durft purfue fuch iniury Through fire, ayre, water, earth, nay, were they all Shuffled againe to Chaos, but ther's none. Thy fkill, Romont, confifts in camps, not courts.

Farewell, vnciuill man, let's meet no more. 490

Heere our long web of friendfhip I vntwift. Shall I goe whine, walke pale, and locke my wife For nothing, from her births free liberty, That open'd mine to me ? yes ; if I doe

467 Hue— lived (G., S. See Notes.

471 Puffe—Phoh (C, M., G.

473 Bleed— Blood (C., M.

482 this: fir— this, sir! (C., G., S.—this, sir? (M.

483 Thou art— Thou rt (C, M.

484 thou art — thou'rt (C., M.

106

THE FATAL DOWRY

The name of cuckold then, dog me with fcorne.

I am a Frenchman, no Italian borne. Exit.

Rom. A dull Dutch rather: fall and coole (my blood) Boyle not in zeal of thy friends hurt, fo high, That is fo low, and cold himfelfe in't. Woman, How ftrong art thou, how eafily beguild ? How thou doft racke vs by the very homes? Now wealth I fee change manners and the man : Something I muft doe mine owne wrath to affwage, And note my friendfhip to an after-age. Exit.

495

500

Actus quart us. Scaena prima.

[A Room in N avail's House]

Enter Nouall Junior, as newly dr effect, a Taylor, Barber, Perfumer, Liladam, Aymour, Page.

Nou. IV /I End this a little: pox! thou haft burnt me. oh fie

I V 1 vpon't, O Lard, hee has made me fmell ( for all the world) like a flaxe, or a red headed womans chamber: powder, powder, powder.

Perf. Oh fweet Lord! Nouall fits in a chaire, 5

Page. That's his Perfumer. Barber orders his haire, Tayl. Oh deare Lord, Perfumer giues pozvder,

Page. That's his Taylor. Taylor fets his clothefe.

Nou. Monfieur Liladam, Aymour, how allow you the modell of thefe clothes? 10

Aym. Admirably, admirably, oh fweet Lord ! affuredly it's pity the wormes fhould eate thee.

Page. Here's a fine Cell ; a Lord, a Taylor, a Perfumer, a Barber, and a paire of Mounfieurs : 3 to 3, as little will in the one, as honefty in the other. S'foote ile into the country a- 15

gaine, learne to fpeake truth, drinke Ale, and conuerfe with my fathers Tenants ; here I heare nothing all day, but vpon my foule as I am a Gentleman, and an honeft man.

Aym. I vow and affirme, your Taylor muft needs be an ex- 20

pert Geometrician, he has the Longitude, Latitude, Alti tude, Profundity, euery Demenfion of your body, fo ex-

Enter Nouall, etc. — G. & S. introduce the scene with the following variant s. d., also omitting s. d. of lines 5-8 of Q. : Noval junior discovered seated before a looking-glass, with a Barber and Perfumer dressing his hair, while a Tailor adjusts a new suit which he wears. Liladam, Aymer, and a Page attending.

13 Cell— See Notes.

14 will— wit (C, f. The emendation is probably correct.

19, end — G. & S. insert s. d. : Aside, as also after the speeches of Page ending lines, 25, 36, 40, 62, 66, and 70.

107

108 THE FATAL DOWRY

quifitely, here's a lace layd as directly, as if truth were a Taylor.

Page. That were a miracle.

Lila. With a haire breadth's errour, ther's a fhoulder piece cut, and the bafe of a pickadille in puncto.

Aym. You are right, Mounfieur his veftaments fit : as if they grew vpon him, or art had wrought 'em on the fame loome, as nature fram'd his Lordfhip as if your Taylor were 30

deepely read in Aftrology, and had taken meafure of your honourable body, with a lacobs ftaffe, an Ephimeri- des.

Tayl. I am bound t'ee Gentlemen.

Page. You are deceiu'd, they'll be bound to you, you muft 35

remember to truft 'em none.

Nou. Nay, fayth, thou art a reafonable neat Artificer, giue the diuell his due.

Page. I, if hee would but cut the coate according to the cloth ftill. 40

Nou. I now want onely my mifters approbation, who is indeed, the moft polite punctuall Queene of dreffing in all Burgundy. Pah, and makes all other young" Ladies appeare, as if they came from boord laft weeke out of the country, Is't not true, Liladam ? 45

Lila. True my Lord, as if any thing your Lordfhip could fay, could be othewrife then true.

Nou. Nay, a my foule, 'tis fo, what fouler obiect in the world, then to fee a young faire, handfome beauty, vnhand- fomely dighted and incongruently accoutred; or a hopefull 50

Cheualier, vnmethodically appointed, in the externall orna ments of nature? For euen as the Index tels vs the contents of ftories, and directs to the particular Chapters, euen fo does the outward habit and fuperficiall order of garments

26 haire breadth's — hair's breadth's (C., M., G. — hair's breadth (S.

29 'em — them (G., S. ,

30, after Lordfhip —; (C., f.

34 t'ee— t'ye (C, f.

36 'em — them (G., S.

39 I— Ay (G., S.

41 mifters — mistress's (C., M. — mistress' (G., S.

48 a-0 (C, M.— o' (G., S.

THE FATAL DOWRY 109

(in man or woman) giue vs a taft of the fpirit, and demon- 55

ftratiuely poynt (as it were a manuall note from the margin) all the internall quality, and habiliment of the foule, and there cannot be a more euident, palpable, groffe manif cita tion of poore degenerate dunghilly blood, and breeding, then rude, vnpolifh'd, difordered and flouenly outfide. 60

Page. An admirable ! lecture. Oh all you gallants, that hope to be faued by your cloathes, edify, ejdify.

Aym. By the Lard, fweet Lard, thou deferu'ft a penfion o' the State.

Page. O th' Taylors, two fuch Lords were able to fpread 65

Taylors ore the face of a whole kingdome.

Nou. Pox a this glaffe ! it flatters, I could find in my heart to breake it.

Page. O faue the glaffe my Lord, and breake their heads, they are the greater flatterers I affure you. 70

Aym. Flatters, detracts, impayres, yet put it by, Left thou deare Lord (Narciflus-lfce) fhould doate Vpon thyfelfe, and dye; and rob the world Of natures copy, that fhe workes forme by.

Llla. Oh that I were the Infanta Queene of Europe, 75

Who (but thy felfe fweete Lord) fhouldft marry me.

Nou. I marry ? were there a Queene oth' world, not I. Wedlocke? no padlocke, horfelocke, I weare fpurrs He

To keepe it off my heeles ; yet my Aymour, capers.

Like a free wanton iennet i'th meddows, 80

I looke aboute, and neigh, take hedge and ditch, Feede in my neighbours paftures, picke my choyce Of all their faire-maind-mares : but married once, A man is ftak'd, or pown'd, and cannot graze

59, after then — a inserted by C, f.

66 a— the (G.

67 a— o (G., S.

71, after Flatters , —! (G., S.

72 fhould — shouldst (G., S.

74 forme — form (C., f.

76 fhouldft— should (C., f. See Note on 1. 72.

77 oth'—o' the (G., S. 80 i'th— in the (G., S.

84 pown'd — pounded (M.

110 THE FATAL DOWRY

Beyond his owne hedge.

Enter Pontalier, and Malotin.

Pont. I haue waited, fir,

Three hours to fpeake w'ee, and not take it well, Such magpies are admitted, whilft I daunce Attendance.

Lila. Magpies? what d'ee take me for?

Pont. A long thing with a moft vnpromifing face.

Aym. I'll ne're afke him what he takes me for?

Mai. Doe not, fir, 90

For hee'l goe neere to tell you.

Pont. Art not thou

A Barber Surgeon?

Barb. Yes fira why.

Pont. My Lord is forely troubled with two fcabs.

Lila. Aym. Humph —

Pont. I prethee cure him of 'em.

Nou. Pifh : no more, 95

Thy gall fure's ouer throwne ; thefe are my Councell, And we were now in ferious difcourfe.

Pont. Of perfume and apparell, can you rife And fpend 5 houres in dreffing talke, with thefe?

Nou. Thou 'idft haue me be a dog : vp, ftretch and make, 100

And ready. for all day.

Pont. Sir, would you be

More curious in preferuing of your honour. Trim, 'twere more manly. I am come to wake Your reputation, from this lethargy You let it fleep in, to perfwade, importune, 105

86 w'ee — with you (C., M. — wi' ye (G., S.

86 not take it well — take it not well (C., M.

88 d'ee— d'ye (C, f.

90 ne're — never (M., f.

91 and 92 Art . . . Surgeon? — printed as one line in Q.

94 Humph — Hum (G., S.

95 'em — them (G., S.

96 ouer throwne — overflown (M., f. See Notes. 100 Thou' idft— Thou' Idst (C., f.

102, end . — omitted by C, f.

103 G. makes Trim last word of line 102, and lengthens 'twere to It were.

THE FATAL DOWRY HI

Nay, to prouoke you, fir, to call to account

This Collonell Romont, for the foule wrong

Which like a burthen, he hath layd on you,

And like a drunken porter, you fleepe vnder.

Tis all the towne talkes, and beleeue, fir, I iO

If your tough fenfe perfift thus, you are vndone,

Vtterly loft, you will be fcornd and baffled

By euery Lacquay ; feafon now your youth,

With one braue thing, and it fhall keep the odour

Euen to your death, beyond, and on your Tombe, 115

Sent like fweet oyles and Frankincenfe ; fir, this life

Which once you fau'd, I ne're fince counted mine,

I borrowed it of you ; and now will pay it ;

I tender you the feruice of my fword

To beare your challenge, if you'll write, your fate: 120

He make mine owne : what ere betide you, I

That haue liu'd by you, by your fide will dye.

Nou. Ha, ha, would'ft ha' me challenge poore Romont? Fight with clofe breeches, thou mayft think I dare not. Doe not miftake me (cooze) I am very valiant, 125

But valour fhall not make me fuch an Affe. What vfe is there of valour (now a dayes?) Tis fure, or to be kill'd, or to be hang'd. Fight thou as thy minde moues thee, 'tis thy trade, Thou haft nothing elfe to doe ; fight with Romont? 130

No i'le not fight vnder a Lord.

Pont. Farewell, fir,

I pitty you.

Such louing Lords walke their dead honours graues, For no companions fit, but fooles and knaues. Come Malotin. Exeunt Pont' Mal

Enter Romont.

1 10 towne talkes — Town-Talk (C, M.

1 10, after beleeue— G. & S. insert it.

in you are — you're C, M.

11$ Sent—i. e. Scent; so all later editors.

123 ha' — have (G., S.

125 I am — I'm (C, M.

131 and 132 Farewell . . . you.— printed as one line in Q.

133 louing— living (G., S.

112 THE FATAL DOWRY

Lila. 'Sfoot, Colbran, the low gyant. 135

Aym. He has brought a battaile in his face, let's goe.

Page. Colbran d'ee call him? hee'l make fome of you fmoake, I beleeue.

Rom. By your leaue, firs.

Aym. Are you a Confort?

Rom. D'ee take mee

For a fidler ? ya're deceiu'd : Looke. He pay you. Kickes 'em.

Page. It feemes he knows you one, he bumfiddles you fo. 140

Lila. Was there euer fo bafe a fellow?

Aym. A rafcall?

Lila. A moft vnciuill Groome?

Aym. Offer to kicke a Gentleman, in a Noblemans cham ber? A pox of your manners. 145

Lila. Let him alone, let him alone, thou fhalt lofe thy arme, fellow : if we ftirre againft thee, hang vs.

Page. S'foote, I thinke they haue the better on him, though they be kickd, they talke fo.

Lila. Let's leaue the mad Ape. 150

Noil'. Gentlemen.

Lilad. Nay, my Lord, we will not offer to difhonour you fo much as to ftay by you, fince hee's alone.

Nou. Harke you.

Aym. We doubt the caufe, and will not difparage you, fo 155

much as to take your Lordfhips quarrel in hand. Plague on him, how he has crumpled our bands.

Page. He eene away with 'em, for this fouldier beates man, woman, and child. Exeunt. Manent Nou. Rom.

Nou. What meane you, fir? My people.

Rom. Your boye's gone, Lockes the doore. 160

And doore's lockt, yet for no hurt to you,

137 d'ee— d'ye (C, f.

138 D'ee— D'ye (C., M.— Do you (G., S.

139 In Q., For is last word of line 138. 139 ya're — you're (G., S.

145 of—o' (C., f.

147 arme — aim (M., f.

150, end — G. & S. insert s. d. : Going.

158 'em— them (G., S.

161 And doore's — And your door's (G, S.

THE FATAL DOWRY 113

But priuacy : call vp your blood againe, fir,

Be not airraid, I do befeach you, fir,

(And therefore come) without, more circumftance

Tell me how far re the paffages haue gone 165

'Twixt you and your faire Miftreffe Beaumelle,

Tell me the truth, and by my hope of Heauen

It neuer fhall goe further.

Nou. Tell you why fir?

Are you my confeffor?

Rom. I will be your confounder, if you doe not. Drawes a 170 Stirre not, nor fpend your voyce. pocket dag.

Nou. What will you doe?

Rom. Nothing but lyne your brayne-pan, fir, with lead, If you not fatisfie me fuddenly, I am defperate of my life, and command yours.

Nou. Hold, hold, ile fpeake. I vow to heauen and you, 175

Shee's yet vntouch't, more then her face and hands : I cannot call her innocent; for I yeeld On my follicitous wrongs fhe confented Where time and place met oportunity To grant me all requefts.

Rom. But may I build 180

On this affurance?

Nou. As vpon your fayth.

Rom. Write this, fir, nay you muft. • Drawes Inkehorne

jyOM> Pox of this Gunne. and paper.

Rom. Withall, fir, you muft fweare, and put your oath Vnder your hand, (fhake not) ne're to frequent This Ladies company, nor etier fend Token, or meffage, or letter, to incline This (too much prone already) yeelding Lady.

Nou. 'Tis done, fir.

162-164 -printed as two lines in Q. : But . . . do \ Befeach . . . cireum- fiance.

163 —this line is omitted in M.

168 Tea you why fir-Tell yon? why sir? (C, M.-7VK yo»l why,

sir, G., S.

171, s. d. dag.— dagger (C, M.

174 / am — I'm (C., M.

178 wrongs-wooing (M., f. Perhaps the Ms. reading was wooings.

180 and 181 But . . . affurance f— printed as one line in Q.

114 THE FATAL DOWRY

Rom. Let me fee, this firft is right,

And heere you wifh a fudden death may light

Vpon your body, and hell take your foule, 190

If euer more you fee her, but by chance, Much leffe allure. Now, my Lord, your hand.

Nou. My hand to this ?

Rom. Your heart elfe I affure you.

Nou. Nay, there 'tis.

Rom. So keepe this laft article

Of your fayth giuen, and ftead of threatnings, fir, 195

The feruice of my fword and life is yours : But not a word of it, 'tis Fairies treafure ; Which but reueal'd, brings on the blabbers, ruine. Vfe your youth better, and this excellent forme Heauen hath bef towed vpon you. So good morrow to your Lordfhip. 200

Nou. Good diuell to your roguefhip. No man's faf e : He haue a Cannon planted in my chamber, Exit.

Againft fuch roaring roagues. Enter Bellapert.

Bell. My Lord away

The Coach ftayes : now haue your wifh, and iudge, If I haue been forgetfull.

Nou. Ha?

Bell. D'ee ftand 205

Humming and hawing now? Exit.

Nou. Sweet wench, . I come.

Hence feare,

I fwore, that's all one, my next oath 'ile keepe That I did meane to breake, and then 'tis quit.

1 88, after -fee , —omitted by G. & S.

189, end G. & S. insert s. d. : Reading. 194, after So —, (C., M.— / (G., S.

198 blabbers, ruine — blabber's ruin (M., f. The emendation is plausible, but not absolutely required.

202, s. d. Exit — C., f. place at end of line 200, its obviously correct position, as would undoubtedly Q., but for insufficient margin in the page at this point.

203 G. & S. give s. d. : Enter Bellapert, hastily.

204 Coach — caroch (G., S.

205 D'ee— D'ye (C., M.— Do you (G., S.

THE FATAL DOWRY U5

No paine is due to louers periury. 2IO

If loue himfelfe laugh at it, fo will I. Exit Nouall.

Scaena 2. Enter Charaloys, Baumont. [An outer Room in Aymer's House]

Bau. I grieue for the diftafte, though I haue manners, Not to inquire the caufe, falne out betweene Your Lordfhip and Romont.

Cha. I loue a friend,

So long as he continues in the bounds

Prefcrib'd by friendfhip, but when he vfurpes 5

Too farre on what is proper to my felfe, And puts the habit of a Gouernor on, I muft and will preferue my liberty. But fpeake of fomething, elfe this is a theame

I take no pleafure in : what's this Aywieire, 10

Whofe voyce for Song, and excellent knowledge in The chief eft parts of Mufique, you beftow Such prayfes on?

Bau. He is a Gentleman,

(For fo his quality fpeakes him) well receiu'd

Among our greateft Gallants ; but yet holds 15

His maine dependance from the young Lord Nouall: Some tricks and crotchets he has in his head, As all Muficians haue, and more of him I dare not author : but when you haue heard him, I may prefume, your Lordfhip fo will like him, 20

That you'l hereafter be a friend to Mufique.

Cha. I neuer was an enemy to't, Baumont, Nor yet doe I fubfcribe to the opinion Of thofe old Captaines, that thought nothing muficall, But cries of yeelding enemies, neighing of horfes, Clafhing of armour, lowd fhouts, drums, and trumpets :

211 loue — Jove (C., f.

6 on — omitted by C., M.

9 , following fomething transferred to follow elfe by C., f.

116 THE FATAL DOWRY

Nor on the other fide in fauour of it,

Affirme the world was made by muficall difcord,

Or that the happineffe of our life confifts

In a well varied note vpon the Lute : 30

I loue it to the worth of it, and no further.

But let vs fee this wonder.

Ban. He preuents

My calling of him.

Aym. Let the Coach be brought Enter Aymiere.

To the backe gate, and ferue the banquet vp :

My good Lord Charalois, I thinke my houfe 35

Much honor'd in your prefence.

Cha. To haue meanes

To know you better, fir, has brought me hither A willing vifitant, and you'l crowne my welcome In making me a witneffe to your fkill, Which crediting from others I admire. 40

Aym. Had I beene one houre fooner made acquainted With your intent my Lord, you fhould haue found me Better prouided : now fuch as it is, Pray you grace with your acceptance.

Ban. You are modeft.

Begin the laft new ayre.

Cha. Shall we not fee them? 45

Aym. This little diftance from the inftruments Will to your eares conuey the harmony With more delight.

Cha. He not confent.

Aym. Y'are tedious,

By this meanes fhall I with one banquet pleafe

31 of it— oft (G., S.

32 and 33 He . . . him.— printed as one line in Q.

33, s. d. — G. & S. read : Enter Aymer, speaking to one within.

45, after ayre.— G. & S. insert s. d. : To the Musicians within.

48 confent— content (C, f.— a correct emendation.

48 Y'are— You are (G., S.

48, end — G. & S. insert s. d. : To the Musicians.

Before 49 — S. inserts s. d. : Aside.

THE FATAL DOWRY 117

Two companies, thofe within and thefe Guls heere. 50

Song aboue.

Mufique and a Song, Beaumelle within— ha, ha, ha.

Cha. How's this? It is my Ladies laugh ! moft certaine When I firft pleas'd her, in this merry language, She gaue me thanks.

Bau. How like you this?

Cha. Tis rare,

Yet I may be deceiu'd, and mould be forry 55

Vpon vncertaine fuppofitions, rafhly To write my felfe in the blacke lift of thofe I haue declaym'd againft, and to Romont.

Aym. I would he were well of — perhaps your Lordfhip Likes not thefe fad tunes, I haue a new Song 60

Set to a lighter note, may pleafe you better ; Tis cal'd The happy husband.

Cha. Pray fing it.

Song below. At the end of the Song, Beaumelle within.

Beau. Ha, ha, 'tis fuch a groome.

Cha. Doe I heare this,

And yet ftand doubtfull? Exit

Aym. Stay him I am vndone, Chara.

And they difcouered. , Bau. Whats the matter?

Aym. Ah! 65

That women, when they are well pleas'd, cannot hold, But muft laugh out. Enter Nouall lu. Charaloys,

After 50, s. d. : Song— \. e. the Cittizcns Song of the Courtier, on page 146. —introduced here in text by Cunningham and S. 52, end — C. & M. punctuate with — ; G. & S. with . . 54, after thanks — G. & S. insert s. d. : Aside. 58, end — G. & S. insert s. d. : Aside.

62 Pray fing — Pray you sing (G.

s. d. after 62, Song below— Song by Aymer (G., S. ; it is the Courtiers Song of the Citizen, page 146. —introduced here in text by Cunningham and S.

63 and 64 Doe . . . doubtfull f— printed as one line in Q. 66 they are— they're (C., f.

67, s. d. — Enter Nouall lu. Charaloys,— Enter Charalois, with his sword drawn, pursuing Novall junior, etc. (G., S.

118 THE FATAL DOWRY

Nou. Helpe, faue me, murrher, murther. Beaumley,

Beau. Vndone foreuer. Bellapert.

Cha. Oh, my heart !

Hold yet a little — doe not hope to fcape

By flight, it is impoffible : though I might 70

On all aduantage take thy life, and iuftly ; This (word, my fathers fword, that nere was drawne, But to a noble purpofe, fhall not now Doe th' office of a hangman, I referue it

To right mine honour, not for a reuenge 75

So poore, that though with thee, it fhould cut off Thy family, with all that are allyed To thee in luft, or bafeneffe, 'twere ftill fhort of All termes of fatisfaction. Draw.

Nou. I dare not,

I haue already done you too much wrong, 80

To fight in fuch a caufe.

Cha. Why, dareft thou neyther

Be honeft, coward, nor yet valiant, knaue? In fuch a caufe come doe not fhame thy felfe: Such whofe bloods wrongs, or wrong done to themfelues Could neuer heate, are yet in the defence 85

Of their whores, daring looke on her againe. You thought her worth the hazard of your foule, And yet ftand doubtfull in her quarrell, to Venture your body.

Ban. No, he feares his cloaths,

More then his flefh

Cha. Keepe from me, garde thy life, 90

Or as thou haft liu'd like a goate, thou fhalt Dye like a fheepe.

Nou. Since ther's no remedy They fight, Nouall

Defpaire of fafety now in me proue courage. is flaine.

Cha. How foone weak wrong's or'throwne ! lend me your hand,

68 Vndone foreuer — Undone, undone, forever! (G. — C. & M. give this speech to Bellapert. 74 th'—the (G., S.

82 M., f. omit /s after honeft and "valiant. 86 daring looke — daring. Look (C., f. ' 89 and 90 No . . . flefh— printed as one line in Q. 93 of — its / is almost invisible in Q.

THE FATAL DOWRY 119

Beare this to the Caroach — come, you haue taught me 95

To fay you muft and fhall : I wrong you not,

Y'are but to keepe him company you loue.

Is't done? 'tis well. Raife officers, and take care,

All you can apprehend within the houfe

May be forth comming. Do I appeare much mou'd ? 100

Bau. No, fir.

Cha. My grief es are now, Thus to be borne.

Hereafter ile finde time and place to mourne.

Exeunt.

Scaena J. Enter Romont, Pontalier. [A Street]

Pont. I was bound to feeke you, fir.

Rom. And had you found me

In any place, but in the ftreete, I fhould Haue done, — not talk'd to you. Are you the Captaine ? The hopefull Pontalier? whom I haue feene

Doe in the field fuch feruice, as then made you 5

Their enuy that commanded, here at home To play the parafite to a gilded knaue, And it may be the Pander.

Pont. Without this

I come to call you to account, for what

Is paft already. I by your example io

Of thankfulneffe to the dead Generall By whom you were rais'd, haue practis'd to be fo To my good Lord Nouall, by whom I Hue; Whofe leaft difgrace that is, or may be offred,

With all the hazzard of my life and fortunes, 15

I will make good on you, or any man,

95 haue — its e is almost invisible in Q.

96 : -? (G.

96, after fhall G. & S. insert s. d. : Exeunt Beaumont and Bellapert, with the body of Nouall; followed by Beaumelle.

97 Y'are — you are (G., S.

97, end G. & S. insert s. d. : Re-enter Beaumont. 3 not — nor (C.

8 . -? (C, f.

120 THE FATAL DOWRY

That has a hand in't ; and fince you allowe me

A Gentleman and a fouldier, there's no doubt

You will except againft me. You fhall meete

With a faire enemy, you vnderftand 20

The right I looke for, and muft haue.

Rom. I doe,

And with the next dayes funne you fhall heare from me.

Exeunt.

Scaena 4. Enter Charalois with a casket, Beaumelle, Baumont. [A Room in Charalois' House]

Cha. Pray beare this to my father, at his leafure He may perufe it : but with your beft language Intreat his inftant prefence : you haue fworne Not to reueale what I haue done.

Bau. Nor will I —

But—

Cha. Doubt me not, by Heauen, I will doe nothing 5

But what may ftand with honour : Pray you leaue me To my owne thoughts. If this be to me, rife ; I am not worthy the looking on, but onely To feed contempt and fcorne, and that from you

Who with the loffe of your faire name haue caus'd it, 10

Were too much cruelty.

Beau. I dare not moue you

To heare me fpeake. I know my fault is farre Beyond qualification, or excufe, That 'tis not fit for me to hope, or you

To thinke of mercy ; onely I prefume 15

To intreate, you would be pleas'd to looke vpon My forrow for it, and beleeue, thefe teares Are the true children of my griefe and not A womans cunning.

Cha. Can you Beaumelle,

4 and 5 Nor . . . but printed as one line in Q.

6, end — C, f. insert s. d. : Exit Beaumont.

7, end — C., f . insert s. d. : Beaumelle kneels. 8 worthy— worth (G., S.

THE FATAL DOWRY 121

Hauing deceiued fo great a truft as mine, 20

Though I were all credulity, hope againe

To get beleefe? no, no, if you looke on me

With pity or dare practife any meanes

To make my fufferings leffe, or giue iuft caufe

To all the world, to thinke what I muft doe 25

Was cal'd vpon by you, vfe other waies,

Deny what I haue feene, or iuftifie

What you haue done, and as you defperately

Made .fhipwracke of your fayth to be a whore,

Vfe th' armes of fuch a one, and fuch defence, 30

And multiply the finne, with impudence,

Stand boldly vp, and tell me to my teeth,

You haue done but what's warranted,

By great examples, in all places, where

Women inhabit, vrge your owne deferts, 35

Or want of me in merit ; tell me how,

Your dowre from the lowe gulfe of pouerty,

Weighed vp my fortunes, to what now they are :

That I was purchas'd by your choyfe and practife

To fhelter you from fhame : that you might finne 40

As boldly as fecurely, that poore men

Are married to thofe wiues that bring them wealth,

One day their husbands, but obferuers euer :

That when by this prou'd vfage you haue blowne

The fire of my iuft vengeance to the height, 45

I then may kill you : and yet fay 'twas done

In heate of blood, and after die my felfe,

To witneffe my repentance.

Beau. O my fate,

That neuer would confent that I fhould fee,

How worthy thou wert both of loue and duty 5°

Before I loft you; and my mifery made

30 th'—the (G., S.

33 variously emended for defective metre: That you have done but what's warranted, (€., M. ; That you have done but what is warranted, (G. ; You have done merely but what's warranted, (S.

36 of me in— in me of (C, M., S. The emendation is unnecessary.

38 now they — they now (G.

50 thou wert — you were (G., S.

122 THE FATAL DOWRY

The glaffe, in which I now behold your vertue :

While I was good, I was a part of you,

And of two, by the vertuous harmony

Of our faire minds, made one ; but fince I wandred 55

In the forbidden Labyrinth of luft,

What was infeparable, is by me diuided.

With iuftice therefore you may cut me off,

And from your memory, wafh the remembrance

That ere I was like to fome vicious purpofe 60

Within your better Judgement, you repent of

And ftudy to forget.

Cha. O Beaumelle,

That you can fpeake fo well, and doe fo ill ! But you had been too great a bleffing, if

You had continued chaft : fee how you force me 65

To this, becaufe my honour will not yeeld That I againe fhould loue you.

Beau. In this life

It is not fit you fhou d : yet you fhall finde, Though I was bold enough to be a ftrumpet,

I dare not yet Hue one : let thofe f am'd matrones 70

That are canoniz'd worthy of our fex, Tranfcend me in their fanctity of life, I yet will equall them in dying nobly, Ambitious of no honour after life, But that when I am dead, you will forgiue me. 75

Cha. How pity fteales vpon me ! fhould I heare her But ten words more, I were loft — one knocks, go in. Knock That to be mercifull fh uld be a finne. within.

O, fir, moft welcome. Let me take your cloake, Exit Beau- I muft not be denyed — here are your robes, melle. 80

As you loue iuftice once more put them on : Enter

There is a caufe to be determind of Rochfort.

That doe's require fuch an integrity, As you haue euer vs'd — ile put you to

60, after was — ; (C, f. 6 1 Within— Which in (M., f.

77, post — The three s. d.'s are made by C., f. to follow respectively lines 76, 77, and 78.

THE FATAL DOWRY 123

The tryall of your conftancy, and goodneffe : 85

And looke that you that haue beene Eagle-eyd

In other mens affaires, proue not a Mole

In what concernes your felfe. Take you your feate:

I will be for you prefently. Exit.

Roch. Angels guard me,

To what ftrange Tragedy does this deftruction 90

Serue for a Prologue? Enter Charaloys with Nouals

Cha. So, fet it downe before body. Beaumelle, Bau-

The Judgement feate, and ftand you at the bar : mont.

For me ? I am the accufer.

Roch. Nouall flayne,

And Beaumelle my daughter in the place Of one to be arraign'd.

Cha. O, are you touch'd? 95

I finde that I muft take another courfe, Feare nothing. I will onely blind your eyes, For Justice fhould do fo, when 'tis to meete An obiect that may fway her equall doome

From what it fhould be aim'd at. — Good my Lord, 100

A day of hearing.

Roch. It is granted, fpeake —

You fhall haue iuftice.

Cha. I then here accufe,

Moft equall ludge, the prifoner your faire Daughter, For whom I owed fo much to you : your daughter, So worthy in her owne parts : and that worth 105

Set forth by yours, to whofe fo rare perfections, Truth witneffe with me, in the place of feruice I almoft pay'd Idolatrous facrifice

89 be for— before (C., M.

90 deftruction— induction (G., S., following the suggestion of M.

91, s. d. — G. & S. omit phrase with Nouals body, and affix to s. d. with Servants bearing the Body of Novall junior.

92, after feate, — G. & S. insert s. d. : Exeunt Servants. 93 me — the e is obliterated in Q.

96, end — C. & M. insert s. d. : He hoodwinks Rochfort. G. & S. place a similar s. d. at the end of the following line.

101 and 102 It . . iuftice— printed as one line in Q.

124 THE FATAL DOWRY

To be a falfe advltreffe.

Roch. With whom?

Cha. With this Nouall here dead.

Roch. Be wel aduis'd no

And ere you fay adultreffe againe, Her fame depending on it, be moft fure That fhe is one.

Cha. I tooke them in the act.

I know no proofe beyond it.

Roch. O my heart.

Cha. A ludge fhould feele no paffions.

Roch. Yet remember 115

He is a man, and cannot put off nature. What anfwere makes the prifoner?

Beau. I confeffe

The fact I am charg'd with, and yeeld my felfe Moft miferably guilty.

Roch. Heauen take mercy

Vpon your foule then : it muft leaue your body. 120

Now free mine eyes, I dare vnmou'd looke on her, And fortifie my fentence, with ftrong reafons. Since that the politique law prouides that feruants, To whofe care we commit our goods fhall die,

If they abufe our truft : what can you looke for, 125

To whofe charge this moft hope full Lord gaue vp All he receiu'd from his braue Anceftors, Or he could leaue to his pofterity ? His Honour, wicked woman, in whose fafety

All his lifes ioyes, and comforts were locked vp, 130

With thy luft, a theefe hath now ftolne from him, And therefore —

Cha. Stay, iuft ludge, may not what's loft

By her owne fault, (for I am charitable, And charge her not with many) be forgotten In her f aire life hereafter ?

121, end — G. & S. insert s. d. : Charalois unbinds his eyes.

131 With— Which (M., f.

131, after thy — G. says a monosyllable has been lost here. S. inserts foul. But an acceptable rhythm is secured by the natural stress of the voice, which emphasizes and dwells upon thy, and again stresses kept.

133 owne — one (M., f.

THE FATAL DOWRY 125

Roch. Neuer, Sir. 135

The wrong that's done to the chafte married bed, Repentant teares can neuer expiate, And be affured, to pardon fuch a finne, Is an offence as great as to commit it.

Cha. I may not then f orgiue her.

Roch. Nor (he hope it. 140

Nor can fhe wifh to Hue no funne fhall rife, But ere it fet, fhall fhew her vgly luft In a new fhape, and euery on more horrid : Nay, euen thofe prayers, which with fuch humble feruor She feemes to fend vp yonder, are beate backe, 145

And all fuites, which her penitance can proffer, As soone as made, are with contempt throwne Off all the courts of mercy. He kills her.

Cha. Let her die then.

Better prepar'd I am. Sure I could not take her, Nor fhe accufe her father, as a ludge 150

Partiall againft her.

Beau. I approue his fentence,

And kiffe the executioner ; my luft Is now run from me in that blood ; in which It was begot and nourifhed.

Roch. Is fhe dead then?

Cha. Yes, fir, this is her heart blood, is it not? 155

I thinke it be.

Roch. And you haue kild here?

Cha. True>

And did it by your doome

140, after her . — ? (C, f.

141 Hue no— Hue. No (C., M — Hue: no (G., S.

143 on — one (C., f.

147, end — G. & S. insert out, changing first word of 1. 148 to Of. C & M. make Off of 1. 148 conclude 147, and insert From to begin 1. 148. It is preferable to let the line stand as it is, letting the voice, in reading, dwell and pause upon are.

148 s. d., He kils her. transferred to end of line by C, f.

149 / am. Sure— I am sure (M.— I'm sure (G., S. 154, after nourifhed. — C., f. inserts s. d. : Dies.

156 and 157 True . . . doome— printed as one line in Q.

126 THE FATAL DOWRY

Roch. But I pronounc'd it

As a ludge onely, and friend to iuftice, And zealous in defence of your wrong'd honour,

Broke all the tyes of nature : and caft off 160

The loue and foft affection of a father. I in your caufe, put on a Scarlet robe Of red died cruelty, but in returne, You haue aduanc'd for me no flag of mercy :

I look'd on you, as a wrong'd husband, but 165

You clos'd your eyes againft me, as a father.

0 Beaumelle, my daughter.

Cha. This is madneffe.

Roch. Keepe from me — could not one good thought rife vp, To tell you that fhe was my ages comfort,

Begot by a weake man, and borne a woman, 170

And could not therefore, but partake of f railety ? Or wherefore did not thankfulneffe ftep forth, To vrge my many merits, which I may Obiect vnto you, fince you proue vngratefull, Flinty-hearted Charaloysf

Cha. Nature does preuaile 175

Aboue your vertue.

Roch. No ! it giues me eyes,

To pierce the heart of defigne againft me.

1 finde it now, it was my ftate was aym'd at,

A nobler match was fought for, and the houres

I liu'd, grew teadious to you : my compaffion 180

Towards you hath rendred me moft miferable,

And f oolifh charity vndone my felf e :

But ther's a Heauen aboue, from whofe iuft wreake

No mifts of policy can hide offenders. Enter Nouall fe.

Nou. fe. Force ope the doors — O monfter, caniball, with 185 Lay hold on him, my fonne, my fonne. — O Rochfort, Officers.

158 and friend — and a friend (C., f.

175 Flinty Flint- (G., S.

175 and 176 Nature . . . vertue. — printed as one line in Q. 177, after of — C., f. insert your. But the change is not required by the sense ; nor by the metre, if the voice be allowed to dwell on heart. 184 s. d. : Enter Nouall, etc. — G. & S. place after doors in next line. 185, before Force — G. & S. insert s. d. : Within.

THE FATAL DOWRY 127

Twas you gaue liberty to this bloody wolfe To worry all our comforts, — But this is No time to quarrell ; now giue your affiftance For the reuenge.

Rock. Call it a fitter name — 190

luftice for innocent blood.

Cha. Though all confpire

Againft that life which I am weary of, A little longer yet ile ftriue to keepe it, To fhew in fpite of malice, and their lawes, His plea muft fpeed that hath an honeft caufe. Exeunt 195

190 and 191 Call . . . blood. — printed as one line in Q.

Actus quintus. Scaena prima

[A Street]

Enter Liladam, Taylor, Officers.

Lila

WHy 'tis both moft vnconfcionable, and vntimely T'arreft a gallant for his cloaths, before He has worne them out : befides you fayd you afk'd My name in my Lords bond but for me onely, And now you'l lay me vp for't. Do not thinke The taking meafure of a cuftomer By a brace of varlets, though I rather wait Neuer fo patiently, will proue a fafhion Which any Courtier or Innes of court man Would follow willingly.

Tayl. There I beleeue you.

But fir, I muft haue prefent moneys, or Affurance to fecure me, when I fhall. — Or I will fee to your comming forth.

Lila. Plague on't,

You haue prouided for my enterance in : That comming forth you talke of, concernes me. What fhall I doe ? you haue done me a difgrace In the arreft, but more in giuing caufe To all the ftreet, to thinke I cannot ftand Without thefe two fupporters for my armes : Pray you let them loofe me : for their fatis faction I will not run away.

Tayl. For theirs you will not,

Enter, etc. Officers — two Bailiffs. (G., S. 2 T'arreft— To arrest (G., S. 4 for me — for form (M., f. 1 6 you haue — you've (C., M.

128

10

20

THE FATAL DOWRY 129

But for your owne you would ; looke to them fellows.

Lila. Why doe you call them fellows ? doe not wrong Your reputation fo, as you are meerely

A Taylor, faythfull, apt to beleeue in Gallants 25

You are a companion at a ten crowne fupper For cloth of bodkin, and may with one Larke Eate vp three manchets, and no man obferue you, Or call your trade in queftion for't. But when

You ftudy your debt-booke, and hold correfpondence 30

With officers of the hanger, and leaue fwordmen, The learned conclude, the Taylor and Sergeant In the expreffion of a knaue are thefe To be Synonima. Looke therefore to it,

And let vs part in peace, I would be loth 35

You fhould vndoe your felfe.

Tayl. To let you goe Enter old Nouall,

Were the next way. and Pontdier.

But fee! heeres your old Lord, Let him but giue his worde I fhall be paide, And you are free.

Lila. S'lid, I will put him to't :

I can be but denied : or what fay you ? 4°

His Lordfhip owing me three times your debt, If you arreft him at my fuite, and let me Goe run before to fee the action entred. 'Twould be a witty ieft.

Tayl. I muft haue erneft:

I cannot pay my debts fo.

Pont. Can your Lordfhip 45

Imagine, while I Hue and weare a fword, Your fonnes death fhall be reueng'd?

22 them— him (C, f. The Q. reading is preferable in every way.

24 fo — M. omits.

26 You are — You're (C., M.

32, after and — G. & S. insert the.

33 are thefe— or thief (U.—and thief (G., S., which seems slightly the more probable correction.

34 Synonima — synonymous (C., M.

36, end s. d. — C., f . place s. d. after felfe.

39 I will— I'll (C., m.

47 reueng'd— un-revenged (C, f.,— an obviously correct emendation.

130

THE FATAL DOWRY

Nou. fe. I know not

One reafon why you fhould not doe like others : I am fure, of all the herd that fed vpon him,

I cannot fee in any, now hee's gone, 50

In pitty or in thank fulneffe one true figne Of forrow for him.

Pont. All his bounties yet

Fell not in fuch vnthankfull ground : 'tis true He had weakeneffes, but fuch as few are free from, And though none footh'd them leffe then I : for now 55

To fay that I f orefaw the dangers that Would rife from cherifhing them, were but vntimely. I yet could wifh the iuftice that you feeke for In the reuenge, had been trufted to me,

And not the vncertaine iffue of the lawes : 60

'Tas rob'd me of a noble teftimony Of what I durft doe for him : but howeuer, My forfait life redeem'd by him though dead, Shall doe him feruice.

Nou. fe. As far re as my grief e

Will giue me leaue, I thanke you.

Lila. Oh my Lord, 65

Oh my good Lord, deliuer me from thefe furies.

Pont. Arrefted ? This is one of them whofe bafe And obiect flattery helpt to digge his graue : He is not worth your pitty, nor my anger. Goe to the bafket and repent.

Nou. fe. Away 70

I onely know now to hate thee deadly : I will doe nothing for thee.

Lila. Nor you, Captaine.

Pont. No, to your trade againe, put off this cafe, It may be the difcouering what you were,

When your vnfortunate mafter tooke you vp, 75

May moue compaffion in your creditor.

57, end . -, (C.f f. 6 1 'Tas— It has (M., f. 68 obiect— abject (C, f.

70 and 71 A way . . . deadly: — printed as one line in Q. 71, after know — G. & S. insert thee, which secures a smoother metre, but is not warranted.

THE FATAL DOWRY 131

«

Confeffe the truth. Exit Nouall ^ pont

LHa. And now I thinke on't better,

I will, brother, your hand, your hand, fweet brother. I am of your feet, and my gallantry but a dreame, Out of which thefe two fearefull apparitions 80

Againft my will haue wak'd me. This rich (word Grew fuddenly out of a taylors bodkin ; Thefe hangers from my vailes and fees in Hell : And where as now this beauer fits, full often

A thrifty cape compos'd of broad cloth lifts, 85

Nere kin vnto the cufhion where I fate. Croffe-leg'd, and yet vngartred, hath beene feene, Our breakefafts famous for the buttred loaues, I haue with ioy bin oft acquainted with,

And therefore vfe a confcience, though it be 90

Forbidden in our hall towards other men, To me that as I haue beene, will againe Be of the brotherhood.

Offi. I know him now:

He was a prentice to Le Robe at Orleance.

Lila. And from thence brought by my young Lord, now dead, 95 Vnto Dijon, and with him till this houre Hath bin receiu'd here for a compleate Mounfieur. Nor wonder at it : for but tythe our gallants, Euen thofe of the firft ranke, and you will finde

In euery ten, one : peraduenture two, 100

That fmell ranke of the dancing fchoole, or fiddle, The pantofle or preffing yron : but hereafter Weele talke of this. I will furrender vp My fuites againe : there cannot be much loffe,

Tis but the turning of the lace, with ones 105

Additions more you know of, and what wants

79 I am— I'm (C, f.

84 fits—M. reads fits, the first letter in Q. not being certainly distin guishable as / or /.

85 cape— cap (C, f.

86 fate.— sat, (C., f.

93 Offi.— i Bail. (G., S. 97 Hath— Have (M., G.

105 ones — one (C, f.

106 Additions — Addition (C, f.

132

THE FATAL DOWRY

I will worke out.

Tayl. Then here our quarrell ends.

The gallant is turn'd Taylor, and all friends. Exeunt.

Scaena 2. Enter Romont, Baumont. [The Court of Justice]

Rom. You haue them ready.

Ban. Yes, and they will fpeake

Their knowledg in this caufe, when thou thinkft fit To haue them cal'd vpon.

Rom. 'Tis well, and fomething

I can adde to their euidence, to proue This braue reuenge, which they would haue cal'd murther, A noble luftice.

Ban. In this you expreffe

(The breach by my Lords want of you, new made vp) A faythfull friend.

Rom. That friendfhip's rays'd on fand,

Which euery fudden guft of dif content, Or flowing of our paffions can change, As if it nere had bin : but doe you know Who are to fit on him ?

Ban. Mounfieur Du Croy

Affifted by Charmi.

Rom. The Aduocate

That pleaded for the Marfhalls funerall, And was checkt for it by Nouall.

Bau. The fame

Rom. How fortunes that?

Bau. Why, fir, my Lord Nouall

Being the accufer, cannot be the ludge, Nor would grieue Rochfort, but Lord Charaloys

2, thou thinkft — you think (G., S.

7 new — now (M.

15, after Nouall . —? (G., S.

18 grieue — grieved (M., f., a correct emendation.

10

THE FATAL DOWRY 133

(Howeuer he might wrong him by his power,) Should haue an equall hearing.

Rom- By my hopes 2O

Of Charaloys acquitall, I lament That reuerent old mans fortune.

Bau- Had you feene him,

As to my griefe I haue now promis'd patience, And ere it was beleeu'd, though fpake by him

That neuer brake his word, inrag'd againe 25

So far as to make warre vpon thofe heires Which not a barbarous Sythian durft prefume To touch, but with a fuperftitious feare, As fomething facred, and then curfe his daughter, But with more frequent violence himfelfe, 30

As if he had bin guilty of her fault, By being incredulous of your report, You would not onely iudge him worrhy pitty, But fuffer with him. Enter Charalois, with

But heere comes the prifoner, Officers.

I dare not ftay to doe my duty to him, 35 .

Yet reft affur'd, all poffible meanes in me To doe him feruice, keepes you company. Exit Bau.

Rom. It is not doubted.

Cha. Why, yet as I came hither,

The people apt to mocke calamity,

And tread on the opprefs'd, made no homes at me, 40

Though they are too familiar : I deferue them. And knowing what blood my fword hath drunke In wreake of that dif grace, they yet forbare To fhake their heads, or to reuile me for

A murtherer, they rather all put on 45

(As for great loffes the old Romans vs'd) A generall face of forrow, waighted on

23, after haue — C, f . insert , .

23 promis'd — promise (C., f.

26 heires — i. e., of course, hairs; — so modernized by C., f.

33 worrhy — Q. misprint for worthy; — corrected by C., f.

39, after people — C, f. insert , .

42, after knowing — M., f. insert too.

134 THE FATAL DOWRY

By a fad murmur breaking through their filence,

And no eye but was readier with a teare

To witneffe 'twas fhed for me, then I could 50

Difcerne a face made vp with fcorne againft me.

Why fhould I then, though for vnufuall wrongs,

I chofe vnufuall meanes to right thofe wrongs,

Condemne my felfe, as ouer-partiall

In my owne caufe Romont?

Rom. Beft friend, well met, 55

By my hearts loue to you, and ioyne to that, My thank fulneffe that ftill Hues to the dead, I looke vpon you now with more true ioy, Then when I faw you married.

Cha. You haue reafon

To giue you warrant f or't ; my falling off 60

From fuch a friendfhip with the fcorne that anfwered Your too propheticke counfell, may well moue you To thinke your meeting me going to my death, A fit encounter for that hate which iuftly I haue deferu'd from you.

Rom. Shall I ftill then 65

Speake truth, and be ill vnderftood ?

Cha. You are not.

I am confcious, I haue wrong'd you, and allow me Only a morall man to looke on you, Whom foolifhly I haue abus'd and iniur'd,

Muft of neceffity be more terrible to me, 70

Then any death the Judges can pronounce From the tribunall which I am to plead at.

Rom. Paffion tranfports you.

Cha. For what I haue done

To my falfe Lady, or Nouall, I can

Giue fome apparent caufe : but touching you, 75

In my defence, childlike, I can fay nothing,

55, after caufe — .— (C, M. — ?— (G., S., which is right.

67 / am — I'm (C., M.

68, after man — M. inserts , , and G. & S. ; — .

76, end G. & S. omit , .

THE FATAL DOWRY 135

But I am forry for't, a poore fatisfaction : And yet miftake me not : for it is more Then I will fpeake, to haue my pardon fign'd For all I ftand accus'd of.

Rom- You much weaken go

The ftrength of your good caufe. Should you but thinke A man for doing well could entertaine A pardon, were it offred, you haue giuen To blinde and flow-pac'd iuftice, wings, and eyes To fee and ouertake impieties, gc

Which from a cold proceeding had receiu'd Indulgence or protection.

Cha. Thinke you fo ?

Rom. Vpon my foule nor fhould the blood you chalenge And took to cure your honour, breed more fcruple In your foft confcience, then if your fword 90

Had bin fheath'd in a Tygre, or fhe Beare, That in their bowels would haue made your tombe To iniure innocence is more then murther: But when inhumane lufts trans forme vs, then

Like beafts we are to fuffer, not like men 95

To be lamented. Nor did Charalois euer Performe an act fo worthy the applaufe Of a full theater of perfect men, As he hath done in this : the glory got

By ouerthrowing outward enemies, 100

Since ftrength and fortune are maine fharers in it, We cannot but by pieces call our owne : But when we conquer our inteftine foes, Our paffions breed within vs, and of thofe

The moft rebellious tyrant powerfull loue, 105

Our reafon fuffering vs to like no longer Then the faire obiect being good deferues it, That's a true victory, which, were great men Ambitious to atchieue, by your example

77, after -But — G. & S. insert , .

80 and 81 You . . . caufe.— printed as one line in Q.

88 chalenge— challenged (G., S.— a correct emendation.

91 Tygre — tigress (C., M.

104 breed— bread (C., f. The Q. reading is perfectly satisfactory.

136 THE FATAL DOWRY

Setting no price vpon the breach of fayth, no

But loffe of life, 'twould fright adultery Out of their families, and make luft appeare As lothfome to vs in the first confent, As when 'tis wayted on by punifhment.

Cha. You haue confirm'd me. Who would loue a woman 115 That might inioy in fuch a man, a friend ? You haue made me know the iuftice of my caufe, And mark't me out the way, how to defend it.

Rom. Continue to that refolution conftant,

And you mall, in contempt of their worft malice, 120

Come off with honour. Heere they come.

Cha. I am ready.

Scaena 3. Enter Du Croy, Charmi, Rochfort, Nouall fe. Pontalier, Baunwnt.

Nou. fe. See, equall Judges, with what confidence The cruel murtherer ftands, as if he would Outface the Court and Iuftice !

Roch. But looke on him.

And you fhall find, for ftill methinks I doe,

Though guilt hath dide him black, fomething good in him, 5

That may perhaps worke with a wifer man Then I haue beene, againe to fet him free And giue him all he has.

Charmi. This is not well.

I would you had liu'd fo, my Lord that I,

Might rather haue continu'd your poore feruant, , 10

Then fit here as your ludge.

Du Croy I am forry for you.

Roch. In no act of my life I haue deferu'd This iniury from the court, that any heere Should thus vnciuilly vfurpe on what Is proper to me only.

117 You haue — You've (C, M.

Scaena 3 — omitted by G. & S., — and correctly so, for there is no change in place from the preceding, and the action is uninterrupted.

THE FATAL DOWRY j^y

DU Cr. What diftafte

Receiues my Lord ?

Rofh- You fay you are forry for him :

A grief e in which I muft not haue a partner : Tis I alone am forry, that I rays'd The building of my life for feuenty yeeres

Vpon fo fure a ground, that all the vices 2O

Practis'd to ruine man, though brought againft me, Could neuer vndermine, and no way left To fend thefe gray haires to the graue with forrow. Vertue that was my patroneffe betrayd me :

For entring, nay, poffeffing this young man, 25

It lent him fuch a powerfull Maiefty To grace what ere he vndertooke, that freely I gaue myfelfe vp with my liberty, To be at his difpofing ; had his perfon

Louely I muft confeffe, or far fain'd valour, 30

Or any other feeming good, that yet Holds a neere neyghbour-hood, with ill wrought on me, I might haue borne it better : but when goodneffe And piety it felfe in her beft figure

Were brib'd to by deftruction, can you blame me, 35

Though I forget to fufTer like a man, Or rather act a woman ?

Ban. Good my Lord.

Nou. fe. You hinder our proceeding.

Charmi. And forget

The parts of an accufer.

Bau. Pray you remember

To vfe the temper which to me you promis'd. 40

Roch. Angels themfelues muft breake Baumont, that promife Beyond the ftrength and patience of Angels. But I haue done, my good Lord, pardon me A weake old man, and pray adde to that

18, after that—M., f. insert when. See Notes.

30 fain'd famed (M., f.

32 — , after neyghbour-hood in Q. is placed after ill by C, f.

35 by— my (C, f.

44, after pray — G. & S. insert you.

138

THE FATAL DOWRY

A miferable father, yet be carefull 45

That your compaffion of my age, nor his, Moue you to anything, that may dif-become The place on which you fit.

Charmi. Read the Inditement.

Cha. It fhall be needeleffe, I my felfe, my Lords, Will be my owne accufer, and confeffe 50

All they can charge me with, or will I fpare To aggrauate that guilt with circumftance They feeke to loade me with : onely I pray, That as for them you will vouchfafe me hearing: I may not be, denide it for my felfe, 55

When I fhall vrge by what vnanfwerable reafons I was compel'd to what I did, which yet Till you haue taught me better, I repent not.

Roch. The motion honeft.

Charmi. And 'tis freely granted.

Cha. Then I confeffe my Lords, that I ftood bound, 60

When with my friends, euen hope it felfe had left me To this mans charity for my liberty, Nor did his bounty end there, but began: For after my enlargement, cherifhing

The good he did, he made me mafter of 65

His onely daughter, and his whole eftate : Great ties of thankfulneffe I muft acknowledge, Could any one freed by you, preffe this further But yet confider, my moft honourd Lords,

If to receiue a fauour, make a feruant, 70

And benefits are bonds to tie the taker To the imperious will of him that giues, Ther's none but flaues will receiue courtefie, Since they muft fetter vs to our difhonours.

47 dif-become — mis-become (C., M.

50 — u in accuser is inverted in Q.

51 or — nor (C., f.

59 motion — motion's (C., f.

60 — n in confeffe is inverted in Q. 68 freed— feed (M., f.

68, end — f (C, f.

73 courtefie — courtesies (C., f. Q. reading is preferable. See Glossary.

THE FATAL DOWRY 139

Can it be cal'd magnificence in a Prince, 75

To powre downe riches, with a Jiberall hand,

Vpon a poore mans wants, if that muft bind him

To play the foothing parafite to his vices ?

Or any man, becaufe he fau'd my hand,

Prefume my head and heart are at his feruice ? 80

Or did I ftand ingag'd to buy my freedome

(When my captiuity was honourable)

By making my felfe here and fame hereafter,

Bondflaues to mens fcorne and calumnious tongues ?

Had his faire daughters mind bin like her feature, 85

Or for fome little blemifh I had fought

For my content elfewhere, wafting on others

My body and her dowry ; my f orhead then

Deferu'd the brand of bafe ingratitude :

But if obfequious vfage, and faire warning 90

To keepe her worth my loue, could preferue her

From being a whore, and yet no cunning one,

So to offend, and yet the fault kept from me ?

What fhould I doe? let any freeborne fpirit

Determine truly, if that thank fulneffe, 95

Choife forme with the whole world giuen for a dowry,

Could ftrengthen fo an honeft man with patience,

As with a willing necke to vndergoe

The infupportable yoake of flaue or wittoll.

Charmi. What proofe haue you me did play falfe, befides 100 your oath?

Cha. Her owne confeffion to her father.

I afke him for a witneffe.

Roch. 'Tis moft true.

I would not willingly blend my laft words With an vntruth.

Cha. And then to cleere my felfe,

That his great wealth was not the marke I fhot at, 105

But that I held it, when faire Beaumelle

77 that— they (S. 88 dowry — dower (G., S.

91 could preferue — could not preserve (G, f. The emendation is clearly required.

140 THE FATAL DOWRY

Fell from her vertue, like the fatall gold

Which Brennus tooke from Delphos, whofe poffeffion

Brought with it ruine to himfelfe and Army.

Heer's one in Court, Baumont, by whom I fent no

All graunts and writings backe, which made it mine,

Before his daughter dy'd by his owne fentence,

As freely as vnask'd he gaue it to me.

Ban. They are here to be feene.

Charmi. Open the casket.

Perufe that deed of gift.

Rom. Halfe of the danger 115

Already is difcharg'd : the other part As brauely, and you are not onely free, But crownd with praife for euer.

Du Cray. Tis apparent.

Charmi. Your ftate, my Lord, againe is yours.

Rock. Not mine,

I am not of the world, if it can prof per, 120

(And being iuftly got, He not examine Why it fhould be fo fatall) doe you beftow it On pious vfes. He goe feeke a graue. And yet for proofe, I die in peace, your pardon

I aske, and as you grant it me, may Heauen 125

Your confcience, and thefe Judges free you from Exit

What you are charg'd with. So farewell for euer. — Rock.

Nouall fe. He be mine owne guide. Paffion, nor example Shall be my leaders. I haue loft a fonne,

A fonne, graue Judges, I require his blood 130

From his accurfed homicide.

Charmi. What reply you

In your defence for this?

Cha. I but attended

Your Lordfhips pleafure. For the fact, as of The former, I confeffe it, but with what

Bafe wrongs I was vnwillingly drawne to it, 135

To my few wordes there are fome other proofes To witneffe this for truth, when I was married :

137, after truth , —. (M., f.

THE FATAL DOWRY 141

For there I muft begin. The flayne Nouall

Was to my wife, in way of our French courtfhip,

A moft denoted feruant, but yet aym'd at 140

Nothing but meanes to quench his wanton heate,

His heart being neuer warm'd by lawfull fires

As mine was (Lords:) and though on thefe prefumptions,

loyn'd to the hate betweene his houfe and mine,

I might with opportunity and eafe 145

Haue found a way for my reuenge, I did not ;

But ftill he had the freedome as before

When all was mine, and told that he abus'd it

With fome vnfeemely licence, by my friend

My appou'd friend Romont, I gaue no credit 150

To the reporter, but reprou'd him for it

As one vncourtly and malicious to him.

What could I more, my Lords ? yet after this

He did continue in his firft purfute

Hoter then euer, and at length obtaind it ; 155

But how it came to my moft certaine knowledge,

For the dignity of the court and my owne honour

I dare not fay.

Nou. fe. If all may be beleeu'd

A paffionate prifoner fpeakes, who is fo foolifh

That durft be wicked, that will appeare guilty? 160

No, my graue Lords : in his impunity But giue example vnto iealous men To cut the throats they hate, and they will neuer Want matter or pretence for their bad ends.

Char ml. You muft find other proof es to ftrengthen thefe 165

But more prefumptions.

Du Croy. Or we fhall hardly

Allow your innocence.

Cha. All your attempts

138, after begin . — , (G., S— C. & M. inclose For . . . begin in ( )'s. 139 n in French is inverted in Q.

150 appou'd — i. e., approu'd; in Q. the r is wanting as above. Later editors correct. 1 66 more — mere (C, f. See Notes.

142 THE FATAL DOWRY

Shall fall on me, like brittle fhafts on armour,

That breake themfelues ; or like waues againft a rocke,

That leaue no figne of their ridiculous fury 170

But foame and fplinters, my innocence like thefe

Shall ftand triumphant, and your malice ferue

But for a trumpet ; to proclaime my conqueft

Nor fhall you, though you doe the worft fate can,

How ere condemne, affright an honeft man. 175

Rom. May it pleafe the Court. 1 may be heard.

Nou. fe. You come not

To raile againe ? but doe, you fhall not finde, Another Rochfort.

Rom. In Nouall I cannot.

But I come furnifhed with what will ftop

The mouth of his confpiracy againft the life 180

Of innocent Charaloys. Doe you know this Character?

Nou. fe. Yes, 'tis my fonnes.

Rom. May it pleafe your Lordfhips, reade it,

And you fhall finde there, with what vehemency He did follicite Beaumelle, how he had got

A promife from her to inioy his wifhes, 185

How after he abiur'd her company, And yet, but that 'tis fit I fpare the dead, Like a damnd villaine, affoone as recorded, He brake that oath, to make this manifeft Produce his bands and hers.

Enter Aymer, Florimell, Bellapert.

Charmi. Haue they tooke their oathes? 190

Rom. They haue ; and rather then indure the racke,' Conf effe the time, the meeting, nay the act ; What would you more ? onely this matron made A free difcouery to a good end ;

168 fall— fail (M.

169 like — omitted by G. & S.

170 figne — signs (S.

180 againft — 'gainst (G., S.

184 /zarf— omitted by G.

190 bands — bawds (C., f.

190, s. d. Enter Aymer, etc. — Enter Officers with Aymer, etc. (G., S.

190 tooke— ta' en (G.

THE FATAL DOWRY 143

And therefore I fue to the Court, fhe may not 195

Be plac'd in the blacke lift of the delinquents.

Pont. I fee by this, Nouals reuenge needs me, And I fhall doe.

Charmi. Tis euident.

Nou. fe. That I

Till now was neuer wretched, here's no place To curfe him or my ftars. Exit Nouall fenior.

Charmi Lord Charalois, 200

The iniurie : you haue fuftain'd, appeare So worthy of the mercy of the Court, That notwithftanding you haue gone beyond The letter of the Law, they yet acquit you.

Pont. But in Nouall, I doe condemne him thus. 205

Cha. I am flayne.

Rom. Can I looke on ? Oh murderous wretch,

Thy challenge now I anfwere. So die with him.

Charmi. A guard : difarme him.

Rom. I yeeld vp my fword

Vnforc'd. Oh Charaloys.

Cha. For fhame, Romont,

Mourne not for him that dies as he hath liu'd, 210

Still conftant and vnmou'd : what's f alne vpon me, Is by Heauens will, becaufe I made my felfe A ludge in my owne caufe without their warrant : But he that lets me know thus much in death, With all good men forgiue mee.

Pont. I receiue 215,

The vengeance, which my loue not built on vertue, Has made me worthy, worthy of.

Charmi. We are taught

201 iniurie:— C, f. read injuries, the colon in the Q. being blurred to appear like a broken j. 205, end. — C., f. insert s. d. : Stabs him. 206 I am — I'm (C., M.

207, end — C., f. insert s. d. : Stabs Pontalier. See Notes 215, after mee. — C., f. insert s. d. : Dies. 215-217 —lines in Q. are : / . . . loue \ Not . . . of. 217 worthy, worthy of — worthy of (C., M. 217, after of. — C., f. insert s. d. : Dies. 217 We are — We're (C, M.

144 THE FATAL DOWRY

By this fad prefident, how iuft foeuer

Our reafons are to remedy our wrongs,

We are yet to leaue them to their will and power, 220

That to that purpofe haue authority.

For you, Romont, although in your excufe

You may plead, what you did, was in reuenge

Of the dif honour done vnto the Court :

Yet fince from vs you had not warrant for it, 225

We banifh you the State : for thefe, they fhall,

As they are found guilty or innocent,

Be fet free, or fuffer punifhment. Exeunt omnes.

FINIS

220 We are— We're (C, M.

227 As — A (M., misprint

228 Be fet— Or be set (C., M., G.— Be or set (S.

Firft Song.

Fie, ceafe to wonder, Though you are heare Orpheus with his luory Lute, Moue Trees and Rockes.

Charme Buls, Beares, and men more fauage to be mute, Weake foolifh finger, here is one, Would haue transformed thy felfe, to ftone.

Second Song.

A Dialogue betweene Nouall, and Beaumelle. Man.

SEt Phoebus, fet, a fayrer funne doth rife, From the bright Radience of my Mrs. eyes Then euer thou begat'ft. I dare not looke, Each haire a golden line, each word a hooke, The more I ftriue, the more I ftill am tooke. Worn.

Fayre feruant, come, the day thefe eyes doe lend To warme thy blood, thou doeft fo vainely fpend. Come ftrangled breath. Man.

These songs are printed thus in an Appendix at the end of the play in Q., G., and the edition of Hartley Coleridge. The First Song is inserted at its proper point in the text — II, i, after line 134 — by C, M., Cunning ham, and S. ; — so, too, the Second Song, after line 131 of II, ii. The other two songs were omitted in C., and appear in an appendix of vol. 4 of M., — there wrongly assigned (by D.) to the "passage over the stage" which closes Act II. Gifford correctly assigns them to follow respectively IV, ii, 50; and IV, ii, 62; — where they are printed in the text of Cunningham and S.

Firft Song— A DIRGE (G., S.

Second Song— A SONG BY AYMER (G., S.

A . . . Nouall, and Beaumelle. — A . . . a Man and a Woman. (C., f.

2-4 — lines in Q. : From . . . begafft. \ I dare . . . line, \ Each word . . . hooke, .

7 doeft— dost (C., f.

8 Come ftrangled — Come, strangle (M., f.

145

146 THE FATAL DOWRY

What noate fo fweet as this, That calles the fpirits to a further bliffef Worn.

Yet this out-fauours wine, and this Perfume. 10

Man. Let's die, I languifh, I con fume.

CITTIZENS SONG OF THE COURTIER.

COurtier, if thou needs wilt wiue, From this leffon learne to thriue. If thou match a Lady, that Pafles thee in birth and ftate,

Let her curious garments be 5

Twice aboue thine owne degree; This will draw great eyes vpon her, Get her feruants and thee honour.

COURTIERS SONG OF THE CITIZEN.

POore Citizen, if thou wilt be A happy husband, learne of me; To fet thy wife fir ft in thy fhop,

A faire wife, a kinde wife, a fweet wife, fets a poore man vp. What though thy fhelues be ne're fo bare: 5

A woman ftill is currant ware: Each man will cheapen, foe, and friend, But whilst thou art at tother end, What ere thou feeft, or what doft heare,

Foole, haue no eye to, nor an eare; 10

And after fupper for her fake, When thou haft fed, fnort, though thou wake: What though the Gallants call thee momef Yet with thy- lanthorne light her home:

Then looke into the town and tell, 15

// no fuch Tradefmen there doe dwell.

(Citizens Song) 3 and 4 If . . . ftate, — printed as one line in Q.

7 feruants — its u is inverted in Q.

(Courtiers Song} 16 Tradefmen — tradesman (M.

NOTES

[Dramatis personae.] Charalois — the name Charalois is a corruption of Charolais, the Count of Charolais being the hereditary title of the heir-apparent of the Duchy of Burgundy, for whom the county of Charolais, an arriere-fief of Burgundy, was reserved as an appanage. This domain had been purchased by Philip the Bold for his son, John the Fearless.

I, i, 4. argue me of — obsolete construction: "accuse me of." Cf. Ray, Disc. II, v, 213 : " Erroneously argues Hubert Thomas ... of a mistake."

I, i, 7. dif pence with — give special exemption from. Cf. I, ii, 87.

I, i, 33- This fuch — This for this is is a common Elizabethan construc tion. Cf. "O this the poison of deep grief" — Hamlet, IV, v, 76; "This a good block"— Lear, IV, vi, 187.

I, i, 45. tooke "up — borrowed. Cf. Shakespeare, Henry IV, Part II, I, ii, 46: "if a man is through with them in honest taking up, they stand upon security."

I, i, 55-6- Your fable habit, with the hat and cloak . . . haue power — the details of hat, cloak, and ribbons, interposed between subject and verb, have attracted the latter into the plural, to the violation of its agreement with its substantive.

I, i, 70. in that — i. e., in the fact that justice had no such guards.

I, i, 73-7. For the allusion to Cerberus and the fops, cf. Virgil's picture of Aeneas' journey to Hades (Aeneid, VI, 417-425): "Huge Cerberus makes these realms to resound with barking from his tripple jaws, stretched at his enormous length in a den that fronts the gate. To whom the prophetess, seeing his neck now bristle with horrid snakes, flings a soporific cake of honey and medicated grain. He, in the mad rage of hunger, opening his three mouths, snatches the offered morsel, and, spread on the ground, relaxes his monstrous limbs, and is extended at vast length over all the cave. Aeneas, now that the keeper [of Hell] is buried [in sleep], seizes the passage and swift overpasses the bank of that flood whence there is no return." — Davidson's trans.

I, i, 75. fertyle headed — many kteaded. fertyle is used in the now obsolete sense of abundant.

I, i, 92. fuch, whofe—ior the construction, cf . Shakespeare : " Such I will have, whom I am sure he knows not from the enemy."— All's Well, III, iv, 24.

I, i, 99. men religious — the adjective is regularly placed after its noun in Eliz. Eng. when the substantive is unemphatic and the modifier not a mere epithet, but essential to the sense. See Abbott, S. G. § 419.

I, i, 137-8. — The thought of these lines is undeveloped, the phrasing being broken and disconnected. It is a scornful observation on the part

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of Romont that whether or not Novall takes papers depends on how the matter is brought before him — and he is about to add that there is a way in which Charalois can manage to gain his point, when he breaks off with the cry, " Follow him ! " Conuayance = contrivance.

I, i, 164. parchment toils — snares in the shape of documents upon parchment, such as bonds, mortgages, etc.

I, i, 166. Luxury — used here in the modern sense, — not, as more com monly in Elizabethan times, with the meaning, laciviousness, lust. The thought of the somewhat involved period which ends with this line is, that the creditors prayed only on an occasion when they feared to lose their clutch on some rich spendthrift — on which occasion they would pray to the devil to invent some new and fantastic pleasure which would lure their victim back into the toils.

I, ii, ii. Dijon — the scene of the drama, — situated on the western border of the fertile plain of Burgundy, and at the confluence of the Ouche and the Suzon. It was formerly the capital of the province of Burgundy, the dukes of which acquired it early in the eleventh century, and took up their residence there in the thirteenth century. For the decoration of the palace and other monuments built by them, eminent artists were gathered from northern France and Flanders, and during this period the town became one of the great intellectual centers of France. The union of the duchy with the crown in 1477 deprived Dijon of the splendor of the ducal court, but to counterbalance this loss it was made the capital of the province and the seat of a parlement. To-day it possesses a population of some 65,000, and is a place of considerable im portance.

I, ii, 21-3. Nor now . . . that I vndertooke, forfake it. — The expression is elliptical, the verb of the preceding period being in the future indicative, — whereas here the incomplete verb is in the conditional mood. In full : Nor now . . . that I undertook, would I forsake it.

I, ii, 56. determine of — of is the preposition in obs. usage which fol lows determine used, as here, in the sense of decide, come to a judicial decision, come to a decision on (upon). Cf. IV, iv, 82.

I, ii, 57. to — in addition to.

I, ii, 66. become — modern editors, beginning with Mason, read became; but become may be taken as a variant form of the past tense (or even as participle for having become, with nom. absolute construction, though this is less likely).

I, ii, 91-2. May force you . . . plead at — i. e. " may cause your dismissal from the bar."

I, ii, 107. purple-colour 'd — Novall wears the official red robe of judge.

I, ii, 123-4. the fubtill Fox of France, The politique Lewis — Louis XI of France, an old enemy of Burgundy.

I, ii, 127. // that, etc. — Gradually, as the interrogatives were recognized as relatives, the force of that, so, as, in " when that " , " when so ", " when as ", seems to have tended to make the relative more general and indefinite ;

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"who so" being now nearly (and once quite) as indefinite as "whoso ever." ... In this sense, by analogy, that was attached to other words, such as "if", "though", "why", etc.— Abbott, S. G. § 287. Cf. "If that rebellion

Came like itself, in base and abject routs."

Henry IV, Part II, IV, i, 32. The same construction appears in V, iii, 95. I, ii, 163. Writ man — i. e., wrote himself down as a man. I, ii, 170. Granfon, Morat, Nancy— the " three memorable overthrows " which Charles the Bold suffered at the hands of the Swiss cantons and Duke Rene of Loraine. The battle of Granson took place March 3, 1476; that of Morat, June 22, 1476; that of Nancy, January 5, 1477. On each occa sion the army of Charles was annihilated; and finally at Nancy he was himself slain. These defeats ended the power of Burgundy.

I, ii, 171. The warlike Charloyes — Charles the Bold, the Duke of Bur gundy.

I, ii, 185. /// ayres — noxious exhalations, miasma. I, ii, 194-5. They are onely good men, that pay what they owe. 2 Cred. And fo they are.

i Cred. 'Tis the City Doctrine.

Cf. Shakespeare in The Merchant of Venice, I, iii, 12 ff. : "Shy. Antonio is a good man.

Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the contrary? Shy. Ho, no, no, no, no ! My meaning in saying he is a good man is to have you understand me that he is sufficient."

I, ii, 201. right — so in all texts. With this word the meaning is per fectly plain, but the substitution, in its place, of weight would better sustain the figure used in the preceding line. Weight is a word which it is not unlikely the printer would mis-read from the Ms. as right.

I, ii, 207. in your danger — regularly, " in your power ", " at your mercy " ; so here, " in your debt ".

I, ii, 245. As — used here in its demonstrative meaning, to introduce a parenthetical clause. Cf. Abbott, S. G. § no.

II, i, 13. fits — -the common Elizabethan 3rd. person plural in s, generally and without warrant altered by modern editors. See Abbott, S. G. § 333- Cf. keepes, V, ii, 37.

II, i, 28. was — monies is taken in the collective sense.

II, i, 46. interd a liuely graue — i. e., entered a lively [living] grave. G., who first prints it so, considers he has made a change in the first word, taking it in the Q. for interr'd, as does M., who suggests in a footnote the reading: enters alive the grave. But interd may be, and is best, taken as merely an old spelling for enter'd, naturally attracted to the i-form by the presence of the word interment in the preceding line.

II, i, 63. Remember beft, forget not gratitude— ellipsis for : Remember best who forget not gratitude. Modern usage confines the omission of the relative mostly to the objective. In Eliz. Eng., however, the nominative

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relative was even more frequently omitted, especially when the antecedent clause was emphatic and evidently incomplete, and where the antecedent im mediately preceded the verb to which the relative would be subject. See Abbott, S. G., § 244. Cf. Ill, i, 134-5; i, 139; i, 332; IV, ii, 61.

II, i, 65. viperous — according to various classical authorities [e. g., Pliny, X, 82], the young of vipers eat their way forth to light through the bowels of their dam. The figure here seems to be somewhat confused, as the dead hero is the son of the country, his mother, who devours him. The thought, perhaps, in the mind of the dramatist, albeit ill-expressed, was that the mother-country owed her existence to her son, and, viper-like had devoured the author of her life.

II, i, 66. eate — owing to the tendency to drop the inflectional ending -en, the Elizabethans frequently used the curtailed forms of past participles, which are common in Early English : " I have spoke, forgot, writ, chid," etc.— Abbott, S. G., § 343. Cf. broke, II, ii, 27; fpoke, III, i, 3; begot, IV, iv, 154; 170.

II, i, 83. golden calf — the figure, from its immediate application to a dolt of great wealth, is transferred to the false god whom the children of Israel worshipped at the foot of Mount Sinai.

II, i, 93~4- Would they not fo, etc. — the Q. reading is to be preferred to either of the modern emendations. It is probably in the sense of "Would they no more but so?", with the ensuing declaration that in that case they would keep their tears to stop (fill?) bottles (probably meaning lachrimatories or phials used in ancient times for the preservation of tears of mourning).

II, i, 98-9. Y'are ne're content, Crying nor laughing — The meaning is, of course : " You are never content with us, whether we are crying or laughing."

II, i, loo. Both with a birth — i. e., both together, at the same time.

II, i, 137. Burmudas — The Bermuda islands, known only through the tales of early navigators who suffered shipwreck there, enjoyed a most unsavory reputation in Elizabethan times, as being the seat of continual tempests, and the surrounding waters " a hellish sea for thunder, lightning, and storms." Cf . Shakespeare, The Tempest, I, ii, 269 : " the still-vexed Bermoothes." They were said to be enchanted, and inhabited by witches and devils. They were made famous by the shipwreck there in 1609 of Sir George Somers ; the following year one of his party, Sil. Jordan, pub lished A Discovery of the Bermudas, otherwise called the' Isle of Devils.

Field has another reference to " the Barmuthoes " in Amends for Ladies, III, iv; but there it is not clear whether he means the islands or certain narrow passages north of Covent Garden, which went by the slang name of " the Bermudas " or " the Streights." It is in this latter sense that the word is used in Jonson's The Devil is an Ass, II, i.

II, i, 139. Exact the ftrictneffe — i. e., require a strict enforcement of the sentence which limits Charalois to the confines of the prison.

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II, i, 144. vfurers relief, etc. — a rather awkward expression, so phrased for the sake of the end-scene rhyme. The thought seems to be : " The relief which usurers have to offer mourns, if the debtors have (exhibit) too much grief." Charalois' remark is, of course, ironical.

II, ii, 10. electuary — a medicinal conserve or paste, consisting of a pow der or some other ingredient mixed with honey, preserve, or syrup of some other kind. Beaumelle means that Florimal is the medicine and Bellapert the sweet which makes it palatable.'

II, ii, 17. ferue — G. and S. read served, which is certainly correct. Not only is there nothing throughout the play to suggest that Beaumelle's mother is still alive, but she herself has just spoken of "you two my women" (1. ii).

II, ii, 18. a peep>e out — a " pip " [old spelling peepe] is one of the spots on playing cards, dice, or dominoes. The allusion is to a game of cards called " one-and-thirty " ; thirty-two is a pip too many.

II, ii, 21-2. the mother of the maydes — a title properly applied to the head of the maids of honour in a Royal household.

II, ii, 22. mortifie — there is a significant ambiguity to the word Bella- pert uses. It means "bring into subjection," "render dead to the world and the flesh;" it formerly had also a baleful meaning: "to kill;" "to destroy the vitality, vigor, or activity of."

II, ii, 32. vanuable, to make you thus — valuable is used in its generic sense of value-able, of sufficient value.

II, ii, 71. turrid in her varieties— G., S. read: trimm'd in her varieties — i. e., "decked in her varieties [varied aspects]." But adherence to the Q. is possible, with the meaning, " fashioned in her varieties."

II, ii, 82. walkes not' vnder a weede—i. e., " wears not a garment," " is not in existence."

II, ii, 88. Tiffue—z rich kind of cloth, often interwoven with gold or silver. So again in II, ii, 175-

II, ii, 89. a three-leg'd lord—the meaning is that Young Novall cannot independently "stand upon his own legs," but requires the triple support of himself, Liladam, and Aymer.

II, ii, 96. muficke houfe—z public hall or saloon for musical per formances.

II, ii, 99-100. in the Galley foyft, etc.— a Galley-foist was a state barge, especially that of the Lord Mayor of London. This, however, can hardly be the meaning of the word here, used as it is in connection with Bullion, which were trunk-hose, puffed out at the upper part, in several folds; and with Quirpo, a variant of cuerpo— i. e., in undress. " Galley- foist" may be the name of some dress of the period, so-called for its resemblance t the gaily bedecked Mayor's-barge. But it is not unlikely, as Mason sug gests, that The Galley-foist and The Bullion were the names of taverns < that day or else of houses of public resort for some kind of amusement.

II ii 104 f kip— so in all texts. But Field has elsewhere (Woman is a Weathercock, II, i.) : "and then my lord . . . casts a suit every quarter,

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which I slip into." It is probable that the word was the same in both passages, — though whether skip or slip I have no means of determining.

II, ii, 119. St Omers — more properly, St. Omer, a town of northern France. A College of Jesuits was located there, and the point of Novall's comparison is perhaps an allusion to the mean appearance of Jesuit spies who would come from thence to England on some pretext, such as to see their friends during the Christmas season.

II, ii, 122. ly'n perdieu — " to lie perdu " is properly a military term for, " to be placed as a sentinel or outpost," especially in an exposed position. Ly'n is one of the many obsolete forms of the past participle of the verb " to lie."

II, ii, 125. tye my hand— I e., tie the ribbon-strings which depended from the sleeve over the hand.

II, ii, 163. flight neglect— contemptuous disrespect.

II, ii, 174. bile— all editors after the Q. read boil. Bile was an old spelling for boil; but in the other sense, one of the " four humours " of medieval physiology, the passage is perfectly clear, and the figure perhaps even more effective.

II, ii, 186. eager relifh— acrid taste. The figure is that the law in itself is often like a sharp and bitter flavor, but that a good judge will sweeten this.

II, ii, 250 s. d. Drawes a Curtayne—the curtain of the alcove or back stage, within which was placed the " treasure," thus to be revealed.

II, ii, 298. in which yours— i. e., "because of the fact of her being yours."

II, ii, 301. for poofle and worthleffe I — I for me, like other irregulari ties in pronominal inflection, was not infrequent in* Elizabethan times. Cf. Abbott, S. G., § 205.

II, ii, 326. Curtius-like — like Marcus Curtius, legendary hero of ancient Rome. See Livy, vii, 6.

II, ii, final s. d. while the Act is playing — i. e., while the interlude music is played, at the close of the Act.

III, i, 18. relifh — a trace or tinge of some quality, a suggestion. — In III, i, 20: a flavor; or, if read with the Q.'s punctuation, a verb:

give a relish. It appears preferable, however, to take the passage as punc tuated by G., S., which makes relifh a noun.

Ill, i, 29. take me with you — understand me.

Ill, i, 37. fudden — adv. for suddenly. The -ly suffix was frequently omitted in Elizabethan times.

Ill, i, 45. Such as are fair\e, etc. — the connection goes back to 1. 42, Bellapert taking up again the thread of her remark which Novall's objec tion and her summary answer thereto had broken in upon.

Ill, i, 120. Chriftian — probably used here in the colloq. sense of: a human being, as distinguished from a brute ; a " decent " or " respectable " person. Cf . Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, I, iii, 89 : " Methinks ... I have no more wit than a Christian, or an ordinary man has."

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III, i, 122. The entertaiment of your vifitation — i. e., the entertain ment which your visit received.

Ill, i, 123. on [old spelling for one] — i. e., a visitation.

Ill, i, 126. Muske-cat — the civet-cat; applied as a term of contempt to a fop, as being a person perfumed with musk.

Ill, i, 139. there is now f peaks to you — G., S. omit is, at the same time clearing the construction and securing a more regular metre. The Q. reading, however, is perfectly possible, as an ellipsis, by omission of the subject relative, for, there is that now speaks to you [i. e., there is now speaking to you], or even, by a change of punctuation, there is — now speaks to you — , etc.

Ill, i, 148. As Caefar, did he Hue, could not except at — see Plutarch's Life of Julius Caesar, Chapters 9 & 10, wherein it is narrated how Caesar divorced his wife, Pompeia, when scandal assailed her name, although he denied any knowledge as to her guilt; " ' Because ' said he, 'I would have the chastity of my wife clear even of suspicion.' "

III, i, 148. except at — take exception at.

Ill, i, 159. pointed — all editors after the Q. read painted, an absolutely unnecessary and unwarranted emendation. Pointed means " fitted or fur nished with tagged points or laces ;" " wearing points ;" " laced." Cf. Maurice Hewlett's novel, The Queen's Quair, p. 83 : " saucy young men, trunked, puffed, pointed, trussed and doubleted." Huloet in his Dictionary (1552) has: " Poynted, or tyed with poynts, ligulatus."

Ill, i, 167. This pretty rag — i. e., the " clout " mentioned in II, ii, 123.

Ill, i, 173. in fpite of — in scorn of, in defiance of.

Ill, i, 184. thy — so the Q. All later editors read this. It is not impos sible, of course, that Romont should begin an oath " By thy hand," and Beaumelle flash back at him " And sword," transferring the thy from her self to him. But Romont would be more likely to swear by his own hand than by Beaumelle's.

Ill, i, 188. caft fuburb whores — prostitutes who had been cashiered from service. Houses of ill-fame were customarily located in the suburbs.

Ill, i, 191. legion — i. e., of evil spirits. Cf. Mark, v, 9.

Ill, i, 193. horne-mad — the word was originally applied to horned beasts, in the sense : " enraged so as to horn any one ;" hence of persons : " stark mad," " mad with rage," " furious." By word-play it acquires its sense in the present passage, "mad with rage at having been made a cuckold."

Ill, i, 202. yellow — this color was regarded as a token or symbol of jealousy.

Ill, i, 211. Carted — carried in a cart through the streets, by way of punishment or public exposure (especially as the punishment of a bawd).

Ill, i, 261. in diftance — within reach, in striking distance.

Ill, i, 331. as it would tire — as appears to be used for as if; in reality the if is implied in the (conditional) subjunctive. — Abbott, S. G., § 107.

Ill, i, 331. a beadle — it was one of the duties of a beadle to whip petty offenders.

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III, i, 352. So I not heard them — Abbott explains this construction, not uncommon in the Elizabethan period, as an omission of the auxiliary verb "do" (S. G. § 305). But here the 'main verb is heard, whereas, according to his explanation, grammar would require hear. May not the construc tion be better taken as a simple, though to our ears cumbrous, inversion of, So I heard them not?

Ill, i, 366. caufp — affair, business — so also in III, i, 377.

Ill, i, 388. Calenture — a disease incident to sailors within the tropics ; a burning fever.

Ill, i, 428-9. flegme . . . choller — in the old physiologies the predom inance of the " humour, phlegm," was held to cause constitutional indolence or apathy, — the predominance of " choler " to cause irascibility.

Ill, i, 432. 'em — grammatical precision would require him, as is sub stituted in M., f. In Field's rapid, loose style, however, a change of con struction in mid-sentence is not improbable, and the Q. reading may very well reproduce accurately what he wrote.

Ill, i, 441. thou curious impertinent — the epithet is from The Curious Impertinent of Cervantes, a story imbedded in Don Quixote, Part I.

Ill, i, 463. / not accufe—ci. note on 1. 354.

Ill, i, 467. Ere Hue — Ere I should live is required in full by strict grammar, but Field's verse is frequently elliptical. Gifford's emendation to lived for the sake of grammatical regularity, which is followed by all later editors, is unwarranted.

Ill, i, 467. mens marginall fingers — the figure is an allusion to the ancient custom of placing an index hand in the margin of books, to direct the reader's attention to a striking passage. So does Romont picture men's fingers pointing to the story of Charalois as a noteworthy and lamentable thing. Cf. IV, i, 56.

III, i, 469-470. An Emperour put away his wife for touching Another man* — The source of this allusion is not apparent. Can it be a perversion in the mind of Field of the story of Caesar's divorce of his wife, to which Massinger has already referred above (1. 148) ?

IV, i, 3. a flaxe — the flax wick of a lamp or candle.

IV, i, 3. a red headed womans chamber — Since early times red-haired individuals have been supposed to emit an emanation having a powerful sexually exciting influence. In the Romance countries, France and Italy, this belief is universally diffused. — I wan Block: The Sexual Life of our Time — transl. by Eden Paul — p. 622.

Cf. also Gabrielle D'Annunzio : // Piacere, p. 90: "Have you noticed the armpits of Madame Chrysoloras? Look!"

" The Duke di Beffi indicated a dancer, who had upon her brow, white as a marble of Luni, a firebrand of red tresses, like a priestess of Alma Tadema. Her bodice was fastened on the shoulders by mere ribbons, and there were revealed beneath the armpits two luxuriant tufts of red hair.

'" Bomminaco began to discourse upon the peculiar odour which red- haired women have."

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IV, i, 13. Cell— so in the Q. and all later texts. Yet the word is utterly unsatisfactory to the sense of the passage; it should almost certainly be coil— i. e., tumult, confusion, fuss, ado. Cf. Field in Amends for Ladies, II, iv: "Here's a coil with a lord and his sister."

IV, i, 23. a lace — a trimming of lace.

IV, i, 27. pickadille—the expansive collar fashionable in the early part of the seventeenth century.

IV, i, 27. in puncto—in point; i. e., in proper condition, in order.

IV, i, 32. Jacobs ftaffe—an instrument formerly used for measuring the altitude of the sun; a cross-staff.

IV, i, 32. Ephimerides—a table showing the positions of a heavenly body for a series of successive days.

IV, i, 39-40. if he would but cut the coate according to the cloth ftill

"to cut one's coat after one's cloth" was: "to adapt one's self to circum stances ;" " to measure expense by income." The point of its employment here is not plain; it is doubtful if anything were very clear in Field's own mind, who was merely trying to hit off an epigrammatical phrase. Per haps, " make the coat match the man."

IV, i, 72. Narciff us-like— like Narcissus, in classic myth. See Ovid, Meta., iii, 341-510.

IV, i, 72. fhould—G., f. read shouldst, but the breach of agreement between subject and verb is to be explained by the attraction of the verb to the third person by the interposed Narciffus-like; just as four lines further on we find fhouldst for should, because of the similar intrusion between subject and verb of (but thy felfe fweete Lord}.

IV, i, 92. a Barber Surgeon — formerly the barber was also a regular practitioner in surgery and dentistry. Cf. Beaumont & Fletcher, The Knight of the Burning Pestle, III, iv.

IV, i, 96. ouerthrowne — M., f. read overflown, i. e., become excessive or inordinate; so full that the contents run over the brim. The reading of the Q., however, is quite intelligible, — taking overthrown in the sense of thrown too strongly,

IV, i, 135. Colbran — more properly Colbrand or Collebrand, a wicked giant in the medieval romance of Guy of Warwick. He is the champion of the invading King of Denmark, who challenges the English King, Athelstan, to produce a knight who can vanquish Colbrand, or to yield as his vassal. In this hour of need Guy appears, fights with the giant, and kills him.

IV, i, 137. hee'l make fome of you fmoake, — i. e., " make some of you suffer." Cf. Beaumont & Fletcher, The Knight of the Burning Pestle, I, ii, 136: "I'll make some of 'em smoke for't;" and Shakespeare, Titus Andronicus, IV, iii, in: "Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome." IV, i, 138. a Confort — " In the author's age, the taverns were infested with itinerant bands of musicians, each of which (jointly and individually) was called a noise or consort: these were sometimes invited to play for the company, but seem more frequently to have thrust themselves, unasked,

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into it, with an offer of their services : their intrusion was usually prefaced with, 'By your leave, gentlemen, will you hear any music?'" — Gifford.

IV, i, 145. of — formerly sometimes substituted, as here, for on in col loquial usage. So also on for of, as in 1. 148. Cf. also 1. 182.

IV, i, 197-8. 'tis Fairies treafure Which but reueal'd brings on the blabbers mine. — To confide .in any one about a fairy's gift rendered it void, according to popular tradition, and drew down the fairy giver's anger. In instance, see John Aubrey's Remains (Reprinted in Publica tions of the Folk-Lore Society, vol. IV, p. 102) : " Not far from Sir Bennet Hoskyns, there was a labouring man, that rose up early every day to go to worke; who for a good while many dayes together found a nine- pence in the way that he went. His wife wondering how he came by so much money, was afraid he gott it not honestlye; at last he told her, and afterwards he never found any more."

There are numerous literary allusions to this superstition : e. g., Shake speare, The Winter's Tale, III, iii, 127, ff. : " This is fairy gold, boy ; and 'twill prove so. Up with't, keep it close. . . . We are lucky, boy ; and to be so still requires nothing but secrecy."

And Field himself in Woman is a Weathercock, I, i : " I see you labour with some serious thing, And think (like fairy's treasure) to reveal it, Will cause it vanish."

IV, i, 2IO-I. loners periury, etc. — that Jove laughed at and overlooked lovers' perjuries was a familiar proverb. Cf. Massinger, The Parliament of Love, C-G. 192 a: "Jupiter and Venus smile At lovers' perjuries;" and Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, II, ii, 92: "at lovers' perjuries, They say, Jove laughs." The saying goes back to Ovid's Art of Love, book I ; — as Marlowe has translated it :

" For Jove himself sits in the azure skies, And laughs below at lovers' perjuries."

IV, ii, 71. On all aduantage take thy life — i. e., " Taking every ad vantage of you, kill you."

IV, ii, 84. Such whofe bloods wrongs, or wrong done to themfelues — the Q.'s regular omission of the possessive apostrophe has in this instance confused later editors in their understanding of the passage. We would write blood's, — with the meaning : " Those whom wrongs to kindred or to themselves," etc.

IV, iii, 12. fo — there is no direct antecedent, but one is easily under standable from the general sense of what precedes ; to be fo — i. e., " as you were in thankfulness to the General."

IV, iv, 10. it — another case of a pronoun with antecedent merely im plied in the general sense of what precedes ; it = " the fact that I am not worthy the looking on, but only," etc.

IV, iv, 30. fuch defence— i. e., " the defence of such a one." Such = qualis.

IV. iv, 66. To this— I e., to tears.

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IV, iv, 70. thofe fam'd matrones—ci. Massinger in The Virgin Martyr C-G. 33 a:

" You will rise up with reverence, and no more, As things unworthy of your thoughts, remember What the canonized Spartan ladies were, Which lying Greece so boasts of. Your own matrons, Your Roman dames, whose figures you yet keep As holy relics, in her history Will find a second urn : Gracchus' Cornelia, Paulina, that in death desired to follow Her husband Seneca, nor Brutus' Portia, That swallowed burning coals to overtake him, Though all their several worths were given to one, With this is to be mention'd."

IV, iv, 112. on it — i. e., "on what you say."

IV, iv, 156. be — "be" expresses more doubt than "is" after a verb of thinking. Cf. Abbott, S. G., § 299.

V, i, 5. lay me vp — imprison me.

V, i, 7. varlets — the name given to city bailiffs or sergeants. Perhaps here, however, it is applied merely as a term of abuse.

V, i, 9. Innes of court man — a member of one of the four Inns of Court (The Inner Temple, The Middle Temple, Lincoln's Inn, and Gray's Inn), legal societies which served for the Elizabethan the function which our law-schools perform to-day. Overbury says of the Inns of Court Man, in his Characters: " Hee is distinguished from a scholler by a pair of silk-stockings, and a beaver hat, which make him contemn a scholler as much as a scholler doth a school-master. . . . He is as far behind a courtier in his fashion, as a scholler is behind him. ... He laughs at every man whose band sits not well, or that hath not a faire shoo-tie, and he is ashamed to be seen in any mans company that weares not his clothes well. His very essence he placeth in his outside. . . . You shall never see him melancholy, but when he wants a new suit, or feares a sergeant. . . ."

V, i, 13. coming forth — appearance in court, or from prison.

V, i, 28. manchets — small loaves or rolls of the finest wheaten bread. There seems to have been a commonplace concerning the huge quantities of bread devoured by tailors. Cf. 1. 88 below, and Note.

V, i,. 31. leaue fwordmen — i. e., swordmen (swaggering ruffians who claim the profession of arms) on leave. It is possible, however, that leaue is a misprint (by inversion of a letter) for leane = hungry.

V, i, 83. hangers — not "short-swords", as in 1. 31, but here "pend ants", perhaps a part of the hat-band hanging loose, or else loops or straps on the swordbelt, often richly ornamented, from which the sword was hung. Cf. Shakespeare, Hamlet, V, ii, 157-167.

V, i, 83. Hell— a place under a tailor's shop-board, in which shreds or pieces of cloth, cut off in the process of cutting clothes, are thrown, and looked upon as perquisites. Cf. Overbury's Characters, A Taylor: "Hee

158 THE FATAL DOWRY

differeth altogether from God ; for with him the best pieces are still marked out for damnation, and without hope of recovery shall be cast down into hell."

V, i, 88. Our breakefafts famous for the buttred loaues — Cf. above 1. 28, and Note ; also Glapthorne's Wit in a Constable, V, i :

" as easily as a Taylor

Would do six hot loaves in a morning fasting, And yet dine after."

V, i, 90. vfe a conscience — show or feel compunction; be tender hearted.

V, i, 91. hall — a house or building belonging to a guild or fraternity of merchants or tradesmen. At such places the business of the respective guilds was transacted; and in some instances they served as the market- houses for the sale of the goods of the associated members.

V, i, 97. compleate Mounfieur — perfect gentleman.

V, i, 102. panto fle — slipper ; here used figuratively for : the shoe-maker's profession.

V, ii, 27. a barbarous Sythian — Cf. Purchas' Pilgrimage (ed. 1613, p. 333) : " They [The Scythians] cut off the noses of men, and imprinted pictures in the flesh of women, whom they overcame: and generally their customes of warre were bloudie : what man soever the Scythian first taketh, he drinketh his bloud : he offereth to the King all the heads of the men he hath slaine in battell : otherwise he may not share in the spoile : the skinnes of their crownes flaid off, they hang at their horse bridles : their skinnes they use to flay for napkins and other uses, and some for cloathing. . . . These customes were generall to the Scythians of Europe and Asia (for which cause Scytharum facinora patrare, grew into a pro- verbe of immane crueltie, and their Land was justly called Barbarous)."

V, ii, 40. made no homes at me — to " make horns " at any one was the common method of taunting one with having horns, — i. e., with being a cuckold.

V, ii, 51. made vp with — set with the expression of.

V, ii, 102. by pieces — in part.

V, iii, 8. — Charmi's speech is addressed to Charalois, as is that of Du Croy which follows it.

V, iii, 18 ff. — M., f. insert when after that of 1. 18. This is probably the correct reading. It would be possible, however, to let the line stand without alteration, if the that of 1. 20 be taken as coordinate with the that of 1. 18, introducing a second clause depending on am forry (instead of correlative with fo to introduce a result-clause). With this reading, left (1. 22) would be taken as an ellipsis for being left; with the emended reading, for was left. Though the construction is in doubt, the sense is easy.

V, iii, 22. -undermine — an object, it, is understood, — i. e., the building of my life.

V, iii, 34. her — its was rare in Elizabethan usage. Cf. Abbott, S. G., §§ 228, 229.

THE FATAL DOWRY 159

V, in, 46. companion of— former obsolete construction for "com passion for." Cf. Shakespeare, Henry VI, Part I, IV, i, 56; " Mov'd with compassion of my country's wreck."

V, iii, 59. motion— €., f. read motion's,— an uncalled-for emendation, since ellipsis of is was not infrequent. Cf. Shakespeare, Henry V, IV, i, 197: "Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill [is] upon his own head."

V, iii, 93. and yet the fault kept from me — loose construction, not easily parsed, though the sense is clear.

V, iii, 98. As ... to vndergoe — again a loose construction. It should be, properly: That . . . he would undergo, etc.

V, iii, 107-9. Kke the fatall gold, etc.— In this passage the two leaders of the Gauls known to history by the same name appear to be confounded — (i) : Brennus, who sacked Rome in 390 B. C, and consented to with draw after receiving a large ransom of gold ; — and (2) : Brennus, who led the irruption of the Gauls into Greece in the second century B. C., and attempted to despoil Delphi of its treasure, but did not succeed in doing so. The fact that their respective expeditions are said to have borne an immediate sequel of disaster and death for both alike, may be responsible for the dramatist's mistake.

V, iii, 131. homicide — formerly, as here, = murderer.

V, iii, 139. in way of — in the manner of.

V, iii, 144. the hate betweene his houfe and mine — cf. Ill, i, 416.

V, iii, 166. more presumptions — C., f. read mere presumptions, which is probably correct. An alternative possibility should be noted, however : that presumptions by mis-reading from the Ms. (or by the mere inversion of a u) may be a mis-print for presumptious (presumptuous) = presump tive, in which case more would be retained, with the passage to mean : "You must find other proofs to strengthen these, and they must, more over, be of a nature to give more reasonable grounds for presumption."

V, iii, 174-5. — The last two lines of Charalois' speech are addressed to his judges; what preceded them to Novall.

V, iii, 190. bands — the emendation bawds, proposed by Coxeter and followed by all subsequent editors, seems almost surely correct. " Bawd " prior to 1700 was a term applied to men as well as — and, indeed, more fre quently than — to women. Cf. Shakespeare, Hamlet, I, iii, 130.

V, iii, 190. tooke — where the common Elizabethan custom of dropping the -en inflectional ending of the past participle rendered a confusion with the infinitive liable, the past tense of the verb was used for the participle. Cf. Abbott, S. G., § 343-

V, iii, 193. this matron — i. e., Florimel.

V, iii, 205. in Nouall — i. e., " in the person of Novall."

V, iii, 207. Thy challenge now I anfwere — this phrase would indicate that Romont crosses swords with Pontalier, and after a moment of fencing runs him through; instead of striking him unawares, as the modern stage direction, " Stabs Pontalier," would imply.

V, iii, 226. thefe — t. e., Aymer, Florimel, and Bellapert.

160

THE FATAL DOWRY

Court. Song, I 3. firft — i. e., " in the front part of," to meet the cus tomers and be herself an attraction and an object of display, while the husband remains "at tother end" (1. 8) of the store.

Court. Song, 1. 4. — This is a most unduly long line. It seems probable that, in the Ms. from which the play was printed, the three phrases, " A faire wife," " a kinde wife," and " a fweet wife," were three variant read ings, which, by mistake, were all incorporated in the text. Any one of them used alone would give a perfectly normal line.

GLOSSARY

affection, bent, inclination, penchant. I, ii, 32.

allow, command, approve. IV, i, 9.

anfwere, correspond to. Ill, i, 82.

arrefts, stoppages, delays. Ill, i, 43.

author, to be the author, of a statement ; to state, declare, say. IV, ii, igj-

baffled, disgraced, treated with contumely. IV, i, 112.

balm, an aromatic preparation for embalming the dead. II, i, 79.

band, a collar or ruff worn round the neck by man or woman. II, ii, 77;

etc. banquerout, early spelling of bankrupt, which was originally banke rota

(see N. E. D. for variants under bankrupt), from Italian banca rotta,

of which banqueroute is the French adaptation. The modern spelling,

bankrupt, with the second part of the word assimilated to the equivalent

Latin ruptus, as in abrupt, etc., first appears in 1543. I, i, 127; ii, 88. black, a funereal drapery. II, i, 51; ii, 117. brabler, a quarrelsome fellow; a brawler. Ill, i, 358. braue, in loose sense of approbation, good, excellent, worthy, etc. I, ii,

256; 292; etc.

bum fiddles, beats, thumps. IV, i, 140. cabinet, a secret receptacle; a jewel-box. II, ii, 34.

canniball, a strong term of abuse for " blood-thirsty savage." IV, iv, 185. Caroch, coach. II, ii, 28; IV, ii, 95. cafe, exterior; skin or hide of an animal, or garments — hence, perhaps,

disguise. V, i, 73. cenfure, a judicial sentence. I, ii, 53. — in the sense of sentence to punish-

m.ent. II, ii 166; 172. chalenge, demand. V, ii, 88.

change, exchange. Ill, i, 117. — chang'd, I, i, 66. charges, expenses. I, ii, 191.

charitable, benevolent, kindly, showing Christian charity. I, i, 117. circumstance, the adjuncts of a fact which make it more or less criminal.

V, iii, 52.

clofe, close-fitting. IV, i, 124. cold, unimpassioned, deliberate. V, ii, 86. coloured, specious. Ill, i, 139. comely, becoming, proper, decorous. Ill, i, 163. complement, observing of ceremony in social relations; formal civility,

politeness. Ill, i, 439.

conference, subject of conversation. II, ii, 139. confcious, inwardly sensible of wrong-doing. Ill, i, 353. — aware. V,

ii, 67.

161

162 THE FATAL DOWRY

confifts, lies, has its place. Ill, i, 489.

courtefie, generosity, benevolence. V, iii, 73.

Courtfhip, courteous behavior, courtesy. Ill, i, 276; 439.

credits, reputations, good name. I, ii, 67.

curiosity, elegance of construction. II, ii, 67.

curious, careful, studious, solicitous. IV, i, 102. — made with art or care;

elaborately or beautifully wrought; fine; "nice". Cit. Song. 1. 5. dag, a kind of heavy pistol or hand-gun. IV, i, 170 s. d. debate, strife, dissension, quarreling. Ill, i, 443. decent,/ becoming, appropriate, fitting. I, ii, 77. defeatures, defeats. I, ii, 177.

demonftrauely, in a manner that indicates clearly or plainly. IV, i, 55. deferued, deserving. II, ii, 189. determine, decree. II, ii, 172.

detract, disparage, traduce, speak evil of. I, ii, 271. dif-become, misbecome, be unfitting for or unworthy of. V, iii, 47. difcouery, revelation, disclosure. Ill, i, 91 ; V, iii, 194. diftafte, estrangement, quarrel. IV, ii, i. — offence. V, iii, 15. doubtfull, fearful, apprehensive. IV, ii, 88. doubts, apprehensions. Ill, i, 246. earth'd, buried. II, i, 126.

edify, gain instruction ; profit, in a spiritual sense. IV, i, 62. engag'd, obliged, attached by gratitude. Ill, i, 242. engender, copulate. Ill, i, 423. engine, device, artifice, plot. Ill, i, 157. enfignes, signs, tokens, characteristic marks. I, i, 144. entertaine, accept. V, ii, 82. entertainment, provision for the support of persons in service — especially

soldiers; pay, wages. I, ii, 188. erneft, a sum of money paid as an installment to secure a contract. V,

i, 44-

except against, take exception against. IV, iii, 19.

exhauft, " draw out " ; not as to-day, " use up completely." II, i, 103. expreffion, designation. V, i, 33. factor, one who has the charge and manages the affairs of an estate; a

bailiff, land-steward. I, ii, 135. Cf. Shakespeare, Henry IV, Part I,

III, ii, 147 : " Percy is but my factor," etc. familiar, well acquainted. I, i, 3. feares, fears for. IV, ii, 89. fit, punish; visit with a fit penalty. Ill, i, 253. forefpake, foretold, predicted. Ill, i, 251. fortunes, happens, chances, occurs. V, ii, 16. gallimaufry, contemptuous term for " a man of many accomplishments " ;

a ridiculous medley; a hodge-podge. II, ii, 95. , gamefters, those addicted to amorous sport. Ill, i, 33. Geometrician, one who measures the earth or land; a land-surveyor. IV,

i, 21.

THE FATAL DOWRY 163

get, beget. I, ii, 246.

gigglet, a lewd, wanton woman. Ill, i, 308.

honeftie, honorable character, in a wide, general sense. To the Elizabethan

it especially connoted fidelity, trustiness. II, i, 115. horflock, a shackle for a horse's feet; hence applied to any hanging lock;

a padlock. IV, i, 78.

humanity, learning or literature concerned with human culture: a term including the various branches of polite scholarship, as grammar, rhet oric, poetry, and esp. the study of the ancient Latin and Greek classics. II, i, 3- humour, used here in the specific Jonsonian sense of a dominating trait

or mood. I, i, 124; ii, 31. imployments, services (to a person). I, ii, 28. individually, indivisibly, inseparably. II, ii, 316. Infanta, the title properly applied to a daughter of the King and Queen

of Spain or Portugal. IV, i, 75. iffues, actions, deeds. II, ii, 198. kinde, agreeable, pleasant, winsome. Court. Song. 1. 4. Lard, an obsolete form of Lord. IV, i, 2. Cf. Congreve, Old Bach., II,

iii : " Lard, Cousin, you talk oddly." League, probably used for Leaguer (so emended by M., f.) : a military

camp, especially one engaged in a siege. Ill, i, 175. learnd, informed. Ill, i, 156. legge, an obeisance made by drawing back one leg and bending the other;

a bow, scrape. Ill, i, 124. liuely, living. II, i, 46. — gay, full of life. II, ii, 76. — life-like. II,

i, 232.

map, embodiment, incarnation. II, ii, 136. Cf. H. Smith, Sinf. Man's Search, Six Sermons : " What were man if he were once left to him self e? A map of misery."

mome, blockhead, dolt, fool. Court. Song, 1. 13. monument, sepulchre. I, ii, 212. moue, urge, appeal to, make a request to. IV, iv, n. next, shortest, most convenient or direct. V, i, 37. nice, petty, insignificant, trifling. Ill, i, 442. note, show forth; demonstrate. Ill, i, 504. Obiect, bring forward in opposition as an adverse reason, or by way of

accusation. IV, iv, 174.

obnoxious, liable, exposed, open, vulnerable. Ill, i, 354- obfequious, prompt to serve or please, dutiful. V, iii, 90. obferuers, those who show respect, deference, or dutiful attention; ob sequious followers. IV, iv, 43.

Orphants, obsolete corrupt form of Orphans. I, ii, 206. It survives in dialect. Cf. James Whitcomb Riley's Little Orphant Annie.

164 THE FATAL DOWRY

ouercome, usually, " conquer ", " prevail " ; but here, " out-do ", " sur pass". I, i, 187. parts, function, office, business, duty. Formerly used in the plural, as

here, though usually when referring to a number of persons. I, i, 9;

ii, 9; V. iii, 39. — qualities. IV, iv, 105. pious, used in the arch, sense of dutiful I, i, 101. practicke, practical work or application ; practice as opposed to theory.

II, i, 2. Praecipuce (mis-print for precipice}, a precipitate or headlong fall or

descent, especially to a great depth. Ill, i, 464. prefently, immediately, quickly, promptly. IV, iv, 89. president [variant of precedent], example, instance, illustration. V, iii,

226.

preuent', anticipate. I, i, 64; ii, 17; IV, ii, 32.

Prouince, duty, office, function; branch of the government. I, ii, 23. punctual, punctilious, careful of detail. IV, i, 42. purl, the pleat or fold of a ruff or band; a frill. II, ii, 77. quick, alive. I, ii, 178. Ram-heads, cuckolds. II, i, 31. recent, fresh. II, i, 19.

roaring, riotous, bullying, hectoring. IV, i, 203. fawcily, formerly a word of more serious reprobation than in modern

usage : " with presumptuous insolence." I, ii, 106. fcandall, to spread scandal concerning; to defame. I, ii, 58. feet, class, order. V, i, 79. feene, experienced, versed. Ill, i, 268. feruant, a professed lover; one who is devoted to the service of a lady.

II, ii, 40; etc.

feruice, the devotion of a lover. Ill, i, 81 ; IV, iv, 107. fet forth, adorned. IV, iv, 106. skills, signifies, matters. I, i, 286. fnort, snore. Court. Song. 1. 12. foft, tender-hearted, pitiful. II, i, 23.

footh'd, assented to; humoured by agreement or concession. V, i, 55. Spittle, hospital. Ill, i, 210. Cf. Shakespeare, Henry V, II, i, 78; V, i, 86. fpleene, caprice. I, i, 49.

ftate, estate. II, ii, 294; III, i, 24; IV, iv, 178; V, iii, 119. fubmiffe, submissive. I, i, 179. take, charm, captivate. I, ii, 206.

taske, take to task ; censure, reprove, chide, reprehend = tax. I, ii, 64. temper, temperateness, calmness of mind, self-restraint. V, iii, 40. theorique, theory; theoretical knowledge, as opposed to practice. II, i, 2. Thrift, here used in the old sense of prosperity or success. I, i, 170. toyes, whims, caprices, trifles. Ill, i, 442.

THE FATAL DOWRY 165

"uncivil, unrefined, ill-bred, not polished. Ill, i, 490. vailes, perquisites. V, i, 83. Visitation, visit. II; ii, 310.

ivagtaile, a term of familiarity and contempt; a wanton. II, ii, 7. where, whereas. I, i, 71.

wittoll, a man who knows of his wife's infidelity and submits to it; a sub missive cuckold. V, iii, 99. wreake, vengeance, revenge. IV, iv, 183 ; V, ii, 43.

BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE

THE Quarto, and the various modern editions and translations of The Fatal Dowry have already been recorded in the opening pages of the INTRODUCTION. In the editions there noted of the collected works of Massinger will be found all the plays which bear his name. (Believe As You List appears only in Cunning ham's edition of Gifford and in the Mermaid Series' Massinger.) Field's two independent plays, Woman is a Weathercock (Q. 1612) and Amends for Ladies (Q's. 1618, 1639), were reprinted by-J. P. Collier, London, 1829. They are included in Thomas White's Old English Dramas, London, 1830; in W. C. Hazlitt's edition of Dodsley's Old English Plays, London, Reeves and Turner, 1875 J and in the Mermaid Series volume, Nero and Other Plays, with an Introduction by A. W. Verity, London and New York, 1888. All other extant dramas in which either Mas- singer or Field had a share may be found in any edition of the collected works of Beaumont & Fletcher, with the exception of Sir John van Olden Barnavelt, which appears in vol. II of Bullen's Old Plays, London, Weyman and Sons, 1883.

The stage version of The Fatal Dowry by Sheil is printed in French's Acting Edition, vol. 9. Of the related plays, The Lady's Trial and The Fair Penitent may be found in all editions of the collected works respectively of John Ford and Nicholas Rowe; The Fair Penitent is also published along with Rowe's Jane Shore in the Belles Lettres Series, 1907. For The In solvent, see The Dramatic Works of Aaron Hill, Esq., 2 vols., 1760. DER GRAF VON CHAROLAIS ein Trauerspiel von Richard Beer-Hofmann is printed by S. Fischer, Berlin, 1906.

The following works have bearing upon the play or its authors : Beck, C.: Phil. Massinger, THE FATALL DOWRY. Einlei-

tung zu einer neuen Ausgabe. Beyreuth, 1906. Boyle, R. : Beaumont, Fletcher and Massinger. Englische Stu-

dien, vol. V. CAMBRIDGE HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE, THE, — vol. VI.

Cambridge, 1910. Courthope, W. J. : A History of English Poetry, vol. IV. Mac-

millan, 1903.

166

THE FATAL DOWRY 167

Cumberland : His famous comparison of The Fatal Dowry with The Fair Penitent, which originally appeared in The Observer, Nos. LXXVII-LXXIX, is reprinted in Gifford's Edition of Massinger.

DICTIONARY OF NATIONAL BIOGRAPHY — Field, by J. Knight; Massinger, by R. Boyle.

Fleay, F. G. : A Biographical Chronicle of the English Drama (I559~I^42}' 2 vols- London. Reeves and Turner. 1891. Annals of the Career of Nathaniel Field. Englische Studien, vol. XIII.

Genest, John : Some Account of the English Stage from the Restoration in 1660 to 1830. 10 vols. Bath, 1832.

Gosse, E. W. : The Jacobean Poets. (Univ. Series). Scribner's, 1894.

Koeppel, E. : Quelenstudien zu den Dramen George Chapman's, Philip Massing er's und John Ford's. Strassburg. 1897.

Murray, John Tucker: English Dramatic Companies (1558- 1642). 2 vols. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 1910.

Oliphant, E. F. : The Works of Beaumont and Fletcher. Eng lische Studien, vols. XIV-XVI. [This is not concerned with The Fatal Dowry, but contains inquiry into other collaboration work of Massinger and Field in plays of the period, with an analysis of the distinctive characteristics of Massinger (XIV, 71-6) and the same for Field (XV, 330-1).]

Phelan, James : On Philip Massinger. Halle. 1878. Reprinted in Anglia, vol. II, 1879.

Schelling, F. E. : Elizabethan Drama. 2 vols. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 1908.

Schwarz, F. H. : Nicholas Rowe's FAIR PENITENT. A Con tribution to Literary Analysis. With a Side-reference to Rich ard Beer-Hofmann's GRAF VON CHAROLAIS, Berne. 1907.

Stephens, Sir Leslie : Philip Massinger. The Cornhill Magazine. Reprinted in Hours in a Library, Third Series. 1879.

Swinburne, A. C. : Philip Massinger. The Fortnightly Review, July, 1889.

Thorndike, Ashley H. : Tragedy. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 1908.

Ward, A. W. : A History of English Dramatic Literature. 3 vols. Macmillan.. 1899.

Wurzbach, W. von: Philip Massinger. Shakesp. Jahrb., vols. XXXV and XXXVI.

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